“I’m sorry,” Jozan said and took a few steps away, and Lisen finally turned. Jozan’s back was to her, her blond hair braided high, up off her neck. “It’s a thankless business,” she went on, “and if I could do any of it for you, I would. So would the captain, I’m sure. As would Nalin, for that matter. But you are the Heir-Empir. It has to be you, and you can’t give up.” She turned and smiled at Lisen. “So, come back. I’ll tell the captain to be nice, all right?”
“I don’t think ‘nice’ is in his vocabulary,” Lisen replied, pouting.
Beside her Jozan sighed. “It probably isn’t, but maybe we can introduce him to the concept.”
Lisen nodded. “Sure. Whatever.” Jozan put an arm around Lisen’s shoulders and guided her back to the clearing and the captain.
“He’s the best,” the heir whispered as they approached him. “You do know that, don’t you?”
“I don’t know anything,” Lisen whispered back, leaning in closer to Jozan as they walked arm in arm.
“Well, he is. He trained your brother. He can certainly train you.”
“Tell me something,” Lisen said, returning to a normal volume.
“Anything,” Jozan replied.
“Is the Heir-Empir…is my brother really capable of murdering his own mother?”
The heir laughed, a bell of irony cutting through the morning air. “I always say look to who gains, and who gains from the Empir’s demise?”
Lisen stopped walking and looked at Jozan who halted beside her. “He can’t be the only one. He’s just seventeen, same as me. How could anyone get to be that evil so early in life?”
Beside her, Jozan shrugged. “Allegedly Flandari never loved him. I know I never saw her direct anything but criticism at him these last couple of years I’ve been in court. That does something to a child, not being loved. It shuts and locks a door that can never be opened again.”
Lisen could think of nothing to say. She knew so little about this world, but she had known the love of two generous parents on Earth.
“So I say again, who gains?” Jozan continued. “And the only answer to that question is the person who believes he’ll inherit Flandari’s legacy, Heir-Empir Ariel.”
“If you say so.” Lisen couldn’t imagine ever wanting anything badly enough to kill someone, especially your mother, over something that would be yours eventually anyway.
“She’s right,” the captain said as they approached this man Jozan claimed was the best. He stood where Lisen had left him, a study in patience. As she stepped forward and retrieved her sword from the ground, he smiled at her. “In my six years as a guard, two of those at the Keep, I never saw that child act out of anything save his own interests. I was assigned to train him in weapons mastery. It turned out I was the last in a long line of guards he’d played with and then rejected because they wouldn’t start with how to kill. That’s all he wanted to know. Ignore the basics, forget the fundamentals.”
“But isn’t that the point of a sword fight?” Lisen asked. “To win? And when it really counts, to kill?”
“Of course, it is. But Heir Ariel took no pleasure or pride in the practice. Perhaps as you continue your training, you’ll come to understand.”
“Perhaps.”
“And then again, perhaps not,” Jozan whispered in Lisen’s ear and then left, heading back to camp.
Lisen smiled absently at that, distracted but unsure why. She backed away a couple of steps to settle into her best approximation of the opening stance, focusing herself on the moment. She found herself trying to adjust her upper body again. It was a hard habit to break.
“No,” the captain said. “That’s enough for now. I worked you longer than I should have your first day, and we need to get on the road.”
She stared at him as he gathered up their scabbards, handing Lisen’s off to her as he passed her.
“What?” she asked. “You’re giving up on me?”
“No,” he replied as he returned to their camp. “I’m not giving up on you. I’m giving up on today.”
Lisen stomped off after him, and when she reached their little camp, she realized that while she and Captain Pain-in-the-Ass had exchanged first martial and then verbal thrusts, Jozan had packed everything up, and the horses and pony awaited them. The captain arrived and silently inspected each animal in turn—the adjustment of each saddle’s girth, the knots the heir had employed to secure their baggage, no detail ignored. Jozan had followed him over, and the two conferred quietly as Lisen observed them. The captain then obliterated the signs of their fire with one booted foot and looked up at Lisen, and she knew what he saw. She stood where she’d initially stopped in the middle of the former campsite, still filled with rage, hyperventilating, sword in one hand, scabbard in the other. He shrugged.
“Are you coming?” he asked in a civil tone.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she replied in what she hoped sounded more polite than she actually felt. She sheathed her sword and stepped out towards the other two, knowing full well her muscles would be protesting louder than ever by the end of this day.
Three nights ago Nalin believed sleep would come easy after more than a day and a half of none, but that was three nights ago. Once again, he awoke as he had yesterday—and the day before that—from a restless slumber filled with dreams of running and running, then tripping and falling, only to find himself looking up at a laughing Ariel. Not that the waking world greeted him with much solace. Jozan and the captain and the poor little novice of an Heir-Empir were out there somewhere. He knew their safety depended on their independence from him. He would have felt better if he were with them rather than here, but his contribution lay in keeping Ariel appeased, lulling him into believing that he had gotten away with murder. Therefore, Nalin knew he must remain in Avaret to reduce Ariel’s paranoia while promoting the illusion that the boy had reached his goal and no longer had reason to worry about discovery.
Nalin sat up, dropped his throbbing head into his hands and remained there, hoping the pain would subside. Not good, he thought. Not first thing in the morning. He dreaded another day of waiting, of waiting and pretending he didn’t know he was being followed. But he knew. Ariel was having him followed, although what he expected to learn, Nalin had no idea. Nothing—no, not nothing—but almost nothing of what Nalin did every day meant anything other than what it appeared to be. The waiting Nalin could manage, but Ariel’s scrutiny rankled.
Announcements for the funeral rites in a fortnight had gone out from the Keep yesterday. When Nalin’s notice had arrived, he’d wondered if it had come thanks to protocol or if this were Ariel’s reminder that Nalin’s moment in the sun of Flandari’s reign had now faded into a dwindling twilight of impotence. Nalin chose not to waste any time wondering; Ariel did nothing that didn’t directly benefit Ariel.
Finally, Nalin surrendered to the inevitability of morning and rose from his bed. He was alone now, not even Benir here to see to his needs or fill his ears with gossip. He sighed, pulled a tunic from his wardrobe, not even noticing what color he’d chosen. Ah, burgundy, he thought after he pulled it on and looked down at himself. He combed his fingers through his long hair, pulling the front up and away from his face, and tied it back with a piece of leather, leaving the back loose and free. He was about to attempt a fool’s goal, but he’d made a promise to himself late last night. He’d sat at his desk, lingering over a goblet of wine and the last few details in his report, and he’d committed himself to approaching Ariel today and offering—even begging if necessary—to speak at the rites. Ariel would refuse at first, if only for the pleasure it would give him, but Nalin had composed his arguments and would do or say whatever it took to secure the honor.
Nalin set out from the old palace, report in hand, the hair on the back of his neck on end, the spy on his tail. Every bit of his being urged him to turn around, confront the perpetrator of the footsteps carefully echoing his, but Ariel’s agent would only melt away, blend into a statue or a column
before Nalin could issue his challenge. So, Nalin continued across the plaza, filled with the comings and goings of Garla’s ’tween-session traffic, and came to the Keep where the presence of four guards at the great doors rather than the usual two brought him up short.
“Your business, my lord,” the captain of the four demanded gruffly.
“I must speak with the Empir,” Nalin replied. “It’s urgent.”
“The Empir is in mourning, my lord,” the captain said. “He’s barred everyone from the Keep save the staff and the Guard.”
“Captain,” Nalin said, “I have completed my report on the murder of Empir Flandari. I’d hoped to give it to the Empir himself, but I’ll settle for delivering it to the commander. Now, if you’ll let me pass.”
“I will give it to the commander on your behalf,” the captain offered, reaching out his hand.
Nalin looked deeply into the captain’s dark eyes and shook his head. “That is unacceptable, I’m afraid. Come with me.” He nodded his head to the right, then stepped away a few feet in that direction. The captain followed. “So, Captain…?”
“Palla, my lord. Captain Palla.”
“Ah, Rosarel’s friend. Good.”
“You know me?” the captain asked.
“I brought a note back from the Isle for you.”
“You did that yourself, my lord?”
“As a favor to your friend who was doing a favor for me,” Nalin replied.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“So, Captain, my report is vital to the success of your friend’s mission, and I must deliver it personally to the commander.”
The captain looked over at his colleagues, then back to Nalin and shrugged. “All right, my lord. But I can’t let you in without an escort.”
“Understood.” Nalin could finally breathe normally again, and he felt the air restoring his mind and his body as he followed the captain back to the other guards. Soon he found himself heading into the Keep beside a sergeant who said nothing. She led him down the stairs into the subterranean vault which served as barracks for the on-duty guards, a dungeon for detainees of the crown and housing for the works for the bath on the main floor above. They exited the enclosed, claustrophobia-inducing stairwell, and Nalin realized he’d been here only once before, when Flandari had shown him the way here via the secret tunnel. It was dark here, dark and slightly humid. A single torch lit the hall, but the lack of sunlight was oppressive.
The sergeant stepped across the hallway to a door almost directly opposite that from which they’d left the stairs, and there she knocked.
“Yes?”
Nalin recognized the commander’s voice.
“Sergeant Fifer, Commander. Holder Corday insisted on seeing you.”
The door burst open almost immediately, and the commander gestured Nalin inside. “Come in, come in. Thank you, Sergeant. Return to your post.”
“Aye.” And with a salute, the sergeant departed.
“My lord, please, sit down,” the commander said as she cleared the clutter from the chair in front of her desk and then took her seat behind it. Nalin sat and waited for the commander to fully settle. The small room benefited from light coming in from a high window, a window at ground level outside. “You’re late,” she said.
“It was harder than I’d anticipated. Has our new Empir asked about it?”
“Once, yesterday, but I told him I’d heard from you and that you were finding it difficult to relive the details.”
Nalin smiled wryly. “I’m sure he appreciated my weakness.”
“It seemed to satisfy him.”
“Well, here it is, then.” He set the rolled-up parchment on the woman’s desk, patted it once and then let it be.
“With the details we discussed omitted?” the commander asked.
“Yes.”
“It’s difficult to believe, my lord,” she said very softly. “A child murdering his own mother.”
“Consider the child,” Nalin reminded her.
“It’s an ugly business. I don’t like it.”
“Nor do I, Commander,” Nalin said with a sigh, “but if we allow him to get away with this, he’ll figure he can get away with anything.”
“Aye.”
“Commander, a favor?” Nalin said, leaning in towards her.
“Name it.”
“Get me in to see him. Today.”
“He’s not seeing visitors,” the commander replied. “Grieving, you know.”
“Gloating, more like. Regardless, I do need to see him.”
“Last I heard, he was in the his new office, rummaging through his mother’s papers.” The commander rose and reached out in a gesture of invitation. “I’ll escort you myself, my lord,” she said with a smile. “It might help.”
Nalin also rose, and the two of them headed upstairs. The guard at the door to the Empir’s office saluted the commander and stepped aside without a hint of reaction to the one person he undoubtedly knew his new Empir did not want to see. Nalin followed the commander into the office and waited with her as Ariel, deep in the reading of some fascinating document, gave absent attention to the intruders.
“Yes?” he said, his eyes never wavering from the papers in front of him on the desk.
“My Liege, Holder Corday has delivered his report.”
“Ah, good. Finally.” Ariel still did not look up.
“I’ve brought him here to speak with you.”
Ariel took a deep breath and finally raised his head from his studies. “What is it, Nalin? I left orders not to be disturbed.”
If Nalin had ever held any illusions about Ariel’s abilities to move beyond his own selfish motives, the boy’s expression now would have crushed them. His brown eyes sparkled with glee belying the grim set of his mouth, and nothing in his demeanor came near to projecting sorrow of any kind. Poor Flandari, Nalin thought. Unmourned by the child she’d nurtured and unknown by the child she’d abandoned. Only Nalin himself left to grieve the passing of her soul to another existence. Only Nalin himself left as a bridge between two generations.
“My Liege, I want to discuss the late Empir’s rites,” Nalin ventured.
“What about them?” Ariel asked as he shooed the commander out with a wave of his hand.
Nalin waited until the door shut behind the commander and he and Ariel were left alone. “I want to be included amongst the speakers. It would mean a great deal to me.”
“It would?”
“Yes, my Liege,” Nalin replied sincerely. “It would.”
“You’re not, perhaps, planning on using this speech of yours for the purpose of propaganda, are you?”
“My Liege, do you honestly think I’d sully Empir Flandari’s rites in such a manner?”
“I don’t know what to think, Nalin. You were there at the time of her death, and I was not. You’ve provided Commander Tanres with your version of what happened, but I can’t help but wonder how accurate that version is.”
“My Liege, how would I profit from altering the truth?”
“Perception is everything, Nalin. You know that. And you have to admit that altering the truth to make it fit your perception of what happened could be very tempting. Like keeping some tidbit, some important detail from your Empir, say, for use against him later?”
Creators, he knows. Nalin’s heart began to race. He knows about his sister. He took a deep breath to steady himself. It didn’t work. No. No, that can’t be it. Eloise had the original Order of Ascension Decree and orders to destroy it, and the girl has the revision that Flandari wrote on the way to the Isle. There’s nothing else in writing. Maybe it’s the involvement of a necropath he’s hinting at. That was it. Ariel’s watcher must have told him about the necropath.
“My Liege, why would I withhold information?” Nalin asked. “You’re the Empir. No one can take that away from you.”
“True.” Again that sly, gleeful smile. He didn’t know about his sister. Nalin suppressed a sigh of relief.
&
nbsp; “So, I ask again, my Liege. May I please speak at your mother’s rites? I promise to speak only of her as mentor and guide, nothing else.”
“Of course, you will, Nalin. Because I am certainly not qualified to speak of her in such terms.”
“Forgive me, my Liege. I didn’t mean to irritate old wounds.”
“You may speak at the rites. Just remember. No speaking out against your new Empir while praising the old.”
“Of course, my Liege.” Nalin bowed his head. “Thank you, my Liege.” Then Nalin turned on his heel and escaped Ariel’s malicious presence. Nalin immediately began trying to figure out a way to get word to Rosarel that the young Heir must be prepared as quickly as possible. In the meantime, he would pray that the Creators would keep her, keep them all, out of danger.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE STUDENT AND THE MASTER
To Lisen, the next few days blurred one into the other. Rising early, training, breaking camp, riding until day’s end, making camp, and, finally, sleep broken too soon in order to begin again. This unforgiving schedule silenced Lisen’s mournful yearning for her music, her books, her friends…her parents. She could live without a computer, and if she had to survive without a cell phone, she would. But she wondered how long it would take for the music to fade from her inner ear, for the wonder that was Harry Potter and the loyalty of his companions to slip from easy recall, for the faces of her friends and the memories of the love and the passion in that house in Woodland Hills to dissolve, unrecoverable, into blind spots in her mind. Seven years of her life had disappeared into a hole, as though a car bomb had exploded, taking with it Earth and her life there. One minute there; the next minute here with no “there” to confirm it had ever existed. Thankfully, the numbing routine of her life “here” usually diverted her from this painful meandering through the past. Tears for an intangible nonreality were pointless.
On the second day after crossing the Rukat River and six days after leaving Solsta, the sun settled itself at a leisurely pace into the west. Lisen could no longer keep her eyes focused, or even open. Her head nodded to the rhythm of the pony’s quick little walk until her chin met her chest, and sleepy memory drew her back to that morning and its particularly difficult workout.
Fractured (Lisen of Solsta Book 1) Page 14