“Anticipate my needs.”
She smiled. Of course she hadn’t acted out of his need, but let him believe she had. “It’s my pleasure to act on your behalf, my Liege.” And she returned to the table, sat down and began sorting through the papers.
“My mind keeps working, Lorain. It keeps working, all day and all night. I can’t sleep.”
“My Liege?” She turned in her chair.
He started to pace “I need to find a way to get rid of the hermits.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, my Liege.” So that was what brought him down here every night. She should have realized. He feared the hermits and their ways as much as the Thristans did. In him, though, it made no sense. It seemed to her that as Empir, he should only fear those who threatened his power. But, on the other hand, an Empir’s paranoia regarding the hermits could prove useful in her acquisition of that damn rock they refused to return to Bedel.
“They plague me, Lorain. In here.” He tapped his forehead twice with his middle two fingers. “Once this investigation is settled, once we know what really happened, I shall issue a decree of some sort. A decree that will force them to rejoin the world, leaving their havens which will then, of course, revert to me. An ‘assimilation’ decree.” He grinned. “Yes, that’s it. ‘Assimilate or be eliminated!’”
“Caution, my Liege. Most noble families have relatives within those havens. It wouldn’t do to—”
“‘Wouldn’t do,’ Lorain?” he interrupted. “I’m Empir. I determine what will and will not do!”
“Yes, my Liege.” She backed down with a deferential nod, vowing to revisit this with him later, before he could put his plan into action. She had to discourage him from alienating the hermits. Instead, he must play them, pamper them, all while she set them up for her own move on the Isle. That, however, would come later, after the pampering had softened them. A hard hermit was a dangerous hermit. She turned back to her work, but he couldn’t let it be.
“And the necropaths.” There was venom in his voice. “They’re the worst. I’d like to round them up and execute them all, see how they deal with death when it’s their own.”
Not the necropaths! her soul screamed. They are the worst. “Please, my Liege. Hold off on making any decisions until we have more information.” She’d never heard him speak before of this particular obsession, but in light of the disappearance of the necropath who’d helped his mother, it seemed understandable. Seemed understandable. That was the problem. Part of his guilt? she wondered.
“I’ll move when I see fit, Lorain.”
“Yes, my Liege.” She nodded her head. “Do I have everything I need here, my Liege?” She had to refocus his attention on the present. Hers as well, she realized. She’d allowed herself to get worked up over this hermit stuff. Calm, Lorain. Calm, she told herself.
“Yes, yes,” Ariel replied with a dismissing gesture of his hand. She gathered up everything she deemed important and non-redundant and stood. “Oh. No,” he said. “Wait. I promised Nalin he could speak. Add his name but make sure he’s reminded of his promise to me.”
“Which was?”
“That he not speak out against his new Empir as he praises the old.”
“I’ll see to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me….”
He smiled for the first time since she’d arrived, and she nodded in reply. His eyes danced, and she knew he’d once again reward her in the only way he knew how. Thank the Creators he didn’t know that it only meant something to her because it meant something to him.
She left him and headed downstairs. She needed her own office in the Keep. Commander Tanres had one, even if it was located in that awful dungeon of a basement. Tonight she would request one, when he was vulnerable and needy.
Two days later, as Lorain sat in the office upstairs reserved for Empir-spouses, the office she had wanted all along, she received her first report from Arspas. He had wasted no time; his letter contained invaluable information. First, he’d arranged a meeting with one of the guards who’d accompanied Flandari to the Isle, and this guard had willingly shared her tale. It seemed she had overheard enough to provide Stellet with a slew of clues. The guard had confirmed that Jozan and Captain Rosarel had left the Isle, taking with them a young hermit whom Lorain assumed must be the necropath. Only after they had gone had Nalin and the remaining contingent departed accompanying the Empir’s body back to Avaret. Further, the guard had overheard Nalin and Rosarel discussing Halorin and a Riverside Inn. Lorain believed this all had something to do with the necropath. Odd that until the mention of one three days ago, she’d thought Solsta had lacked a necropath for quite some time. Stellet referred to her as a girl, so perhaps she had only just returned from training.
Lorain shook her head and set contemplation of Solsta’s apparent acquisition of a death guide aside for another time. Stellet continued on to say that he had sent Lazlin on to Halorin and would follow her there himself once he’d seen to it that his employer was updated. Good choice, Arspas, she thought. Reliable, observant, and wise enough to defer to his employer the decision of when to act and when not to. After making a few notes in a code she had devised as a child to keep secrets from her parents, Lorain placed Stellet Arspas’ letter over the candle, lit it, dropping the burning parchment into the metal bowl she kept on her desk for this purpose, and watched it burn to ash. With no evidence to incriminate her, she could continue to gather information while maintaining her role as Empir-Spouse-in-waiting. Ah, life is good.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
FAREWELL
It was warm for February, and waiting in the staging area of the arena, Nalin had to concentrate very hard to keep from squirming in the heat. The rites for Empir Flandari should have begun over half an hour ago, but Ariel was running late. Can’t even arrive on time for his own mother’s funeral, Nalin thought with disgust. After agreeing to allow Nalin to speak, Ariel had sent Lorain to remind Nalin to keep to the topic and not wander into the swamp—Nalin’s word, not Lorain’s—of the younger Ilazer’s character. Ariel certainly feared an accounting, a feeling that Nalin doubted Lorain shared. Nevertheless, Lorain had complied with Ariel’s demand. Otherwise, she’d have jeopardized her position of favor. Nalin looked over to where Lorain waited. Tenacity and ambition, he thought with debatable admiration. She would need both with Heir Ariel Ilazer.
And then, without fanfare, the alleged Empir, the boy apparently the Heir, strode into the staging area, decked out in the most somber of somber-grey tunics, his auburn hair gleaming even in the limited light. Everyone rose, a gesture which on Nalin’s part was less respect than relief that at last they could move forward. Lorain stepped over to Ariel, whispered in his ear, and, with a malevolent little laugh, he stepped into the middle of the room.
“My lords, let us move out,” he ordered as though they’d all kept him waiting. He marched up the ramp and through the wide opening which led onto the arena’s floor, Lorain keeping up with him and everyone else scrambling to catch up.
The small dais set up in the middle of the arena stood dwarfed by the circular stone edifice, its tiered rows of seats rising up around the field. Commander Tanres already stood on the covered stage with three other guards, all in the polished sheen of the elaborate gold of their dress uniforms and chest plates. More guards stood at attention at the base of the dais. Beyond them, benches and chairs had been set up on planks of wood which covered the arena’s dirt field, and there the dignitaries of Garla sat waiting in the hot sun. As Nalin and the others processed into the arena, he looked up into the stands at the sound of the masses rising and saw that all the seats were filled. At the arena’s capacity of twenty thousand, the entire population of Avaret must have come to honor their late Empir.
Behind the dais stood the pyre, upon which lay a body wrapped in white—Flandari’s body prepared for its final journey. Nalin blinked several times to clear his sight. Nothing had seized his heart quite so fully since his father’s funeral six years ago.
He stood at his chair directly behind his new Empir and waited for Ariel to sit. An expectant silence settled over the mourners, and yet Ariel remained standing, allowing no one to sit until he did, confirming his limitless dominance. Nalin prayed the sister would be ready by May; he’d never be able to stomach the conceit of the brother much longer than that.
Ariel did take his seat, finally, and Lorain settled in beside him. Nalin couldn’t help but wonder if Lorain had played any part in the assassination. Given her intelligence and a degree of patience bordering on obsession, he couldn’t believe she’d known anything about Ariel’s impulsive plan in advance. She certainly knew by now though, even if Ariel hadn’t told her. Lorain seemed to know everything eventually, and Nalin realized they should worry more about her ability to ferret out information than about anything Ariel might be able to do.
Each step of the rites blurred into the next. Nalin had watched Flandari die, and yet how could she be gone? Even his own brief part in the proceedings blew by surrounded by a mental fog. As he watched Ariel put the torch to the pyre, Nalin realized he couldn’t recall speaking, couldn’t remember what he’d said, or even if he’d said all that he’d intended to say. He only knew that he’d already begun packing his things and that he had made it quite public that he would be leaving immediately following the funeral—Casille, his home in Holding Felane, his alleged destination. Escaping the reception and sending Elsba Tuane in his place to make his apologies and confirm his departure for home was all that remained, and then, as everyone else celebrated Flandari’s life, toasting her presumed Heir, he would take off and ride directly to Halorin to join up with her true Heir.
Elsba—the holder of Minol and Jozan’s father—had only arrived late last night. He had sent word to Nalin that due to fatigue, he would be unable to see Nalin then but looked forward to speaking with him between the rites and the reception. So much to discuss. Nalin’s initial note to Elsba had been purposely evasive. Now he would fill in the details, and although he didn’t want to put Elsba in jeopardy, he knew they needed an ally on the Council.
And so, as the drama, though not the substance, of Flandari’s rites remained fresh and vibrant in Nalin’s soul, he and Elsba met in Nalin’s quarters just after noon and spoke as Nalin finished packing. Elsba looked older, paler, more hunched over than Nalin remembered, and what Nalin had to tell him wasn’t likely to return the glow to the man’s cheeks nor straighten his aging back.
“It was a fitting ceremony, don’t you think?” Elsba commented.
“Uh, yes. Yes, it was.” Nalin dug through his wardrobe. He couldn’t take everything, but he needed just one more tunic.
“It’s too bad Bala didn’t come,” Elsba chatted on, “but she wanted to make sure one of us remained in Seffa should Jozan try to contact us.”
“I wondered where she was,” Nalin replied absently. He remained enmeshed in a quest for that last piece of clothing, but he did recall Jozan’s little sister with older-sibling fondness.
“She’s so young,” Elsba said with a sigh. “She’s having difficulty accepting Flandari’s death.”
“She’s not alone,” Nalin commented, still obsessed with his need to find just the right tunic.
“She was a beautiful girl, you know.”
“Huh?” Nalin asked. He’d finally found a plain brown tunic, and he pulled it out, then turned towards the bed where Elsba sat. The older man held his old crooked staff between his knees with both hands. “What did you say?” Nalin asked.
“Flandari.” Elsba’s blue eyes sparkled. “There was a moment….” He drifted off into silent reminiscence, or so Nalin assumed. But then Elsba spoke up again. “Then I met Firjo, and we fell in love. Flandari was too young for me anyway.”
“Ah,” Nalin responded, finally comprehending where Elsba had taken the conversation. He started folding the tunic.
“Now, about that note of yours,” Elsba said. “It was a bit vague.”
“I know,” Nalin replied, smoothing the wrinkles out of the tunic he had just placed in his satchel. “I’m sorry.”
“And these details you promised?”
Nalin buckled the satchel and sat down on the stool facing Elsba. “Ariel has a sister.” He paused to allow Elsba to absorb this revelation, and Elsba’s blue eyes widened.
“There’s another Heir?”
“A twin, Ariannas, secreted away at Solsta right after her emergence. Flandari was on the way to fetch her when she was killed.”
“Creator.” Elsba paused, thinking. “And that’s where Jozan has gotten to, isn’t it. She’s with this Heir.”
“She and a captain of the Guard have headed to Halorin with her,” Nalin replied with a nod. “I’m to meet them there in a few days’ time. That’s why I have to leave today.”
“And then?”
Nalin shook his head. “I’m not sure. Flandari had it all planned out. First, bring her daughter back here. Second, break the news to Ariel that he wasn’t the Heir. Third, teach the girl the basics of ruling. But then….” Nalin sighed. “Well, then Flandari was murdered.”
“Leaving you to come up with a new plan.”
“It gets worse,” Nalin said, intertwining his fingers as he considered his next words. “She’s hermit raised and will require extensive tutoring and training.” He paused. “Oh, and there’s another complication.”
“Which is?” Elsba asked.
“She’s a necropath.”
“That’s a complication?”
“A necropath, Elsba. Who knows what she’s capable of?”
“Need I remind you that my sister isn’t even a necropath, and she’s capable of a great many things?”
“Your sister is a powerful sooth. It’s because of her that Ariannas is still alive. But she trained a long time. This girl is only seventeen. How much training has she had?” Nalin paused, then continued. “And here’s the worst. Before assisting Flandari in her passing, Ariannas tried to help the assassin. Something happened—I’m not sure what—but she came away knowing that the servant had been pushed.”
“By Ariel?” Elsba asked.
“No, no,” Nalin replied impatiently. “By someone no doubt hired by Ariel.”
“Creator.”
“Unfortunately,” Nalin went on, “the rogue became aware of the girl’s presence in the assassin’s mind and now knows a necropath sensed the pushing.”
“Which means Ariel knows, too,” Elsba deduced.
“You know how Ariel fears the hermits. This won’t help.”
“For someone who’s afraid of the hermits,” Elsba commented, starting to rock slowly back and forth, “he certainly seems to have no such fear of what their rogues can do.”
“He is a contradiction. Of course, when it’s to his advantage….” Nalin left the thought hanging in the air and rose from the bed, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “Jo and the captain are waiting.”
Elsba rose with difficulty, even with the aid of his staff. “And I’ll make sure Ariel knows you were too distraught to stay one moment longer in Avaret. He’ll take pleasure in that.”
“He will.” Nalin started for the door, then turned back to Elsba who was following him out. “I’m counting on you.”
Elsba clapped Nalin on the back. “Whatever you need.”
Nalin looked into Elsba’s eyes, the wisdom within shining through, the potential extent of “whatever you need” fully understood. A shiver ran down Nalin’s back. “Whatever we need,” he echoed softly. Then he shook his head to return to the present. “Take any communication from me as a sign that we’re ready to move.”
“I understand.”
“I’m hoping for the next Council session.”
“In May. That’s less than three months away. Do you think she’ll be ready?”
“She’ll have to be. Ariel’s official ascension will make him more difficult to unseat.”
“True.”
Nalin nodded, hiked up the satchel over his shoulder and ope
ned the door. “I just hope she’s as strong as her mother.”
With that, he strode out the door, away from Elsba Tuane, and headed for the stairs. Lorain would see through his deceit and wonder where he’d really gotten himself off to. All he could hope for was enough of a head start to avoid being followed to Halorin. He must reacquire leadership of their group, of their conspiracy, before the questionably trustworthy Captain Rosarel took over completely.
Eloise hadn’t slept at all last night. Instead, she had huddled up, cold and sleepless, waiting for the advent of a choice already made and played within her visions. Today she would confront this demon of decision. Today she would make her own small sacrifice in the ascension of Ariannas. But today, for a few more brief moments, she would sit, secure in her small makeshift shelter behind the tannery shop, waiting.
A week and a half ago, she had arrived in Avaret, deep in the night, riding behind the late Empir’s body at the back of the hearse, bumping along on the cobblestones, until it had begun the final ascent to the Keep. She had dropped off the hearse onto the street, slipped into the shadows and listened to the fading clip-clop of the two horses as they pulled the carriage and its sad cargo up the hill. The waiting had begun then, and with the waiting had come time, time which she had used contemplating how, long ago, she had broken the only rule of soothsaying—she had interfered. And why? An unforgiving compulsion had driven her. She didn’t fully understand it. To everyone else involved, it appeared to be about one Empir and her Heir, but Eloise knew one thing if she knew nothing else; it went far beyond that. Why else risk bending the future’s will to her design?
It would have appalled her master to know what she’d done, even before entering the haven, even before coming under his tutelage. By then she’d already modified the future and then had continued to do so despite her vow to the contrary. No one would have understood anyway. After years of molding her plan—including ferreting out the one world that could safely harbor the young Heir—it had taken only moments to set that plan into motion. She had easily convinced Empir Flandari, a childhood friend, that the fate of Garla depended on Flandari turning her female twin over to Eloise immediately following the twins’ emergence from the pouch so that Eloise might keep her hidden, safe from her male counterpart.
Fractured (Lisen of Solsta Book 1) Page 16