by John Marco
‘Forgive me, Master,’ begged the girl. Her age showed when she spoke, so small was her voice. ‘I will go now, if you like.’
‘No, I would not like that.’ The count let go of her collar. He turned and went to his piano, sitting himself down on its crushed velvet bench. Eris stood uncertainly in the center of the room. His eyes washed over her, drinking in her loveliness. ‘This is not a good night for me, Eris. There are things on my mind, too. It might help me to hear your own troubles, to put mine aside for a while. Tell me, please. What is obsessing you?’
‘Oh, Master, it’s truly nothing. I would never burden you with such trivia.’
‘I insist.’ Biagio gestured to the floor at his feet. ‘Come. Sit here by me.’
Eris complied. He was a tall man, and when she sat he towered over her. But he was in a gentle mood tonight, and he had suspicions why the girl might be troubled. Their troubles might be twins. Eris looked up at him, and her sad expression made him reach out and stroke her dark hair.
‘Be at ease, girl,’ he said. ‘I only want to talk to you. Or more truly, to hear you. This is about your lover, isn’t it?’
‘Master . . .’
‘Stop. I know all about it, remember? I gave you to Simon, after all’
‘Yes, Master. Thank you. I don’t know how to repay that.’
‘You repay me every time you dance, child. And when we get back to Nar and you dance for them in the Black City, that will be a triumph and all debts will be paid.’ Biagio felt a rush of exhilaration. ‘The three of us will return to Nar together. It will be glorious.’
‘I would like that,’ said Eris. ‘To dance in the Black Palace for all the lords of Nar. I’ve dreamt of it since I was young.’
‘You will dance for them, Eris, and it will be a conquest. The lords of Nar will swoon at your feet. Your name will be famous throughout the Empire. I promise you that.’
‘And we will marry? Simon and I?’
The count’s heart sank. Tf that’s what you wish. I stand by my word to Simon Darquis, girl. You are his, just as soon as he does this thing for me. When he returns, you may marry. That soon, if it’s what you want.’
‘I do, Master. Very much. He is dear to me. And I to him.’ She stopped abruptly, realizing what she was saying. ‘But many things are dear to him, of course. Serving you is dear to him. It’s all he talks of ‘I’m sure,’ said the count dryly. Eris lied very poorly. ‘And how dear are you to Simon? I wonder. You’ve been given a great gift, child. Performers in the Empire would willingly sell their souls for your talent. Which do you love more?’
Eris crinkled her nose. ‘Master?’
‘If you had to choose, which would it be?’
‘But I could never choose,’ said the girl. ‘They are both part of me. I love Simon dearly. But dance is what I am. I would be nothing if I couldn’t dance. I would be dead.’
Dead. Biagio lingered on the word. He knew what it was like to feel so close to something. It was how he felt about Nar, even about his dead emperor. Only now, a full year later, was he starting to recover from Arkus’ death. Surprisingly, he was glad for Eris. Her life had direction, something too many Narens lacked these days.
‘You are a great prize to me, Eris,’ he said. ‘But I give you to Simon because he is also dear to me. He has served me very well, for years now. When he returns, you will be his. He may free you if he wishes, but I ask only that you come to Nar with me and perform. And you will do that, yes?’
‘Oh, yes, Master,’ said the girl. ‘Happily.’
‘And Simon will come with you, and the three of us will live together in the Black City. Perhaps together in the Black Palace, eh?’
Eris didn’t smile at the notion. Tf you wish, Master.’
Biagio sighed. He was tired and making foolish statements. Simon had no interest in him, and that was the truth of it. Simon was in love with this fragile thing on the floor, with its green eyes and soft breasts and its mortality. When they did return to Nar – if they did – Simon and Eris would go off and have a family of their own, and Biagio would be alone in the Black Palace, without a wife or emperor to comfort him.
Carefully, Biagio reached out again for the girl and stroked her raven hair, loving the feel of it between his fingers. Eris bowed her head submissively. Biagio sensed the fear in her but ignored it. Much as he craved her, he would not take her to his bed. He was a man of his word, and he had promised her to another.
She belonged to Simon now.
Seventeen
A Call to Arms
Sharp as a razor, the Prince of Liss sliced through the waters of northern Lucel-Lor. Three weeks out of Nar, she had rounded the cape of Kes and was charging full-winded toward the isthmus of Tatterak. It was midday and the visibility from the warship’s deck afforded a perfect view of the horizon. The crew of the Prince gathered on the prow, their curious eyes fixed on their destination. For days they had hugged the coast of Tatterak, navigating the cold and unfamiliar waters. They were weary and homesick and a little afraid, but the sight of the citadel put joy back in their hearts.
Fleet Commander Prakna looked up at Falindar and felt his world diminish. He had seen many things in his life, had been many places, but nothing had prepared him for this. The mountain castle dominated the landscape, climbing in a shining arc toward Heaven, its white spires agleam, as if adorned with shattered diamonds. At its zenith the citadel was a stepladder for angels, at its base a sprawling metropolis of stables, gardens and grounds, all cut defiantly into the side of a mountain. Prakna felt a rush of exhilaration. They had made it.
‘It’s amazing,’ said Marus. ‘You were right.’
‘Unforgettable,’ said Prakna. The fleet commander had only seen the citadel once before, and then only from a distance on a cloudy day, but it still had been awesome.
‘We should send up a signal,’ suggested Marus. ‘Let them know we’re coming.’
Prakna laughed. ‘Don’t you think they see us from up there?’
‘It’s not that. It’s been a long time since a Lissen ship has been in their waters. We shouldn’t be furtive.’
‘We’re one ship, Marus. And they’ll recognize our colors as friendly.’ As he spoke he pointed to the Lissen flag snapping above their heads. ‘We’re not so easy to forget, either.’
Satisfied, Marus settled down. They were piloting the Prince directly toward the citadel, preparing to anchor offshore. Prakna himself would row ashore to meet Vantran and the other one, the new lord of the castle. Prakna struggled to remember the name. Lucyler? But Vantran would remember him, certainly. As if reading his commander’s mind, Marus floated a question.
‘What if Vantran isn’t here? What then?’
‘He’s here,’ replied Prakna. ‘Where else would he be?’
‘It’s a big land, Prakna. He could be anywhere.’
Prakna didn’t answer, because he had no answer. All he had was hope. If Vantran wasn’t in Falindar, they had wasted the trip.
‘You talk too much, old friend,’ Prakna told Marus.
‘Maybe,’ admitted Marus wryly. ‘But even if he is here, how are you going to convince him to come with us? You haven’t explained that to me, either.’
‘You are full of questions today.’
‘Yes, I am. Why aren’t you?’
‘I’m not worried,’ said Prakna. ‘Convincing the Jackal to fight against Nar is like convincing water to flow. No need to even try.’
‘That was a long time ago,’ said Marus. The officer nodded toward the citadel. ‘Living in such a grand place might change a man’s mind about things.’
Prakna turned to his friend. ‘Really? Do you think living in a palace would change your mind about avenging Liss, Marus?’
‘Of course not.’
Prakna said no more. He turned and watched the citadel grow closer. Vantran would join them, he was sure of it. It was the same need that had driven them all against Nar, made them leave their families and homes, turned them
into pirates. Vantran was no different. Like all of them, he knew about loss. It had glowed in his eyes like fire when they’d met. And a fire like that didn’t just extinguish itself. Prakna knew that from experience. So did Marus.
‘I would like to meet this Vantran myself,’ said Marus. ‘I hope he comes aboard. I could tell my wife I’ve met him.’
‘You’ll have bragging rights to that, don’t worry,’ Prakna assured him. ‘When he hears what we’re offering, he won’t turn us away.’
Richius Vantran stood on shore, staring at the Lissen schooner in the distance. He had been in his chambers with Dyana and Shani when he’d heard the news of the ship’s arrival, and had raced to his window to catch a glimpse of the vessel.
She was unmistakable.
In the absence of Lucyler, Deemis was in charge of the citadel. Deemis had been one of Kronin’s men, and Lucyler trusted him implicitly. It was Deemis that had brought Richius the news of the ship, guessing correctly that Richius would want to accompany them to greet the vessel. Without waiting for Dyana, Richius had followed Deemis down the mountain road to the shore. After finding a nurse to look after Shani, Dyana had joined them. Now she stood beside her husband, pale-faced and silent as she watched the schooner in the distance. Deemis and his warriors stood proudly in front of them, their jiiktars strapped to their backs. A little boat was dispatched from the schooner, rowing toward them with three men inside. Richius fought to still his anticipation. He couldn’t see the vessel’s occupants, but he was sure he knew one of them already.
Prakna.
It seemed now that the Lissen commander had indeed lived up to his pledge. Prakna had promised Richius he would return to Lucel-Lor if he ever needed help. Richius bit his lip. His eyes flicked to his wife. Dyana was mute with worry. Very gently he slipped his hand over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
She pulled away. ‘This is a nightmare,’ she whispered.
Richius attempted a smile. ‘Perhaps it’s nothing,’ he offered, then realized how stupid that sounded.
‘What’s going on here?’ asked a voice from behind them. Simon sauntered up and shielded his eyes with his hand. ‘Lissens?’
‘Yes,’ said Richius.
‘Here for Richius,’ added Dyana sourly.
‘We don’t know that.’
‘For you, Richius?’ asked Simon, astonished. ‘Looks like you were right. They did come back for you.’
‘Simon, please . . .’
Seeing Dyana’s expression, the Naren grimaced. ‘I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.’
The careless statement made Richius bristle. Over the past few weeks, Simon had grown almost too comfortable with them both – even Dyana. Though the two of them rarely spoke, Simon no longer shunned her or tried to avoid her when she walked down the hall. Until now, Richius had been glad about that.
Simon flashed Richius an apologetic grin, backing up a step. The wind ruffled his hair, blowing it into his eyes. Dyana shivered a little and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Deemis and his men stood stone-faced, oblivious to the cold, looking regal on the shore, their long, white hair pulled back by the breeze. Counting Deemis, there were five of them. Not the welcome Prakna anticipated, Richius imagined. He hoped the sight of the warriors wouldn’t startle the commander. More than likely, Prakna was expecting Lucyler.
The Lissen rowboat was almost to shore. A tall man stood up in its center and folded his arms across his chest. His head bobbed a little as he tried to make out the figures on the beach. Richius squinted for a better look, recalling his memories of Prakna. He recognized the thin face and the light, short-cropped hair cut in bangs across his forehead. He wore a well-worn uniform of deep blue that gleamed with golden buttons and bore no sidearm from his belt. As he drew closer the man raised a hand in greeting. Richius returned the gesture. Deemis and his warriors did not.
‘Is that him?’ Dyana asked.
‘I think so,’ Richius replied. It was hard to tell in the sunlight, and all Lissens sort of looked the same to him, like all Triin once had. Dyana groaned hopelessly.
‘Tall,’ Simon remarked. ‘I’ve never seen a Lissen before. They sort of look like Triin.’
In fact, they were remarkably similar, a trait that never went unnoticed by an outsider. Like their Triin brethren, the people of the Hundred Isles were delicate and fair, with reedy limbs and long bones and almond eyes that made them seem otherworldly. They were a handsome race, too, strangely compelling to behold. As he watched them approach, Richius suddenly understood Arkus’ long fascination with them.
‘King Vantran?’ called the man as the boat skidded onto the beach. ‘Is that you?’
‘It’s me,’ replied Richius uncertainly. He stepped out of the group to greet the visitors. ‘Prakna?’
‘Yes, boy!’ said the Lissen excitedly. He didn’t wait for his men to rack the oars, but instead jumped out of the rowboat and splashed ashore. There was a giant, relieved smile on his face. The Lissen commander walked up the beach, paying no heed to Deemis and his warriors, and reached out for Richius’ hand, shaking it vigorously. ‘God help me, I’m glad to see you. I feared you might not be here.’
‘Prakna, hello,’ stammered Richius, unsure what to say. ‘It’s good to see you too, I guess. But I must say I’m confused. What’s this about?’
Prakna’s grin was inscrutable. ‘We’ll talk, Vantran. I’ll explain it all to you. But first . . .’ The fleet commander turned to Dyana and, his face full of reverence, dropped to one knee in the sand. ‘You’re Dyana, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘Vantran’s wife?’
‘Yes,’ said Dyana, flabbergasted. She glanced at Richius for an answer, but her husband only shrugged. ‘Yes, that is me. Greetings, Prakna.’
The Lissen kept his head bowed as he spoke. ‘I am honored to meet you at last, Lady. You are spoken of in Liss with great regard.’
‘Am I?’
‘Indeed, you and your husband both. He is the Jackal of Nar, after all. A hero. And you are his woman.’ Prakna straightened and flashed a beautiful smile. But when he saw Simon standing behind Richius, his pleasantness vanished. ‘Who is this?’ he asked pointedly.
Richius stood aside so Simon could step forward. ‘This is Simon Darquis, Prakna.’
‘A Naren?’
‘A friend of mine,’ Richius corrected. ‘From Nar, yes. He’s a deserter from the legions of the Black City.’
Simon inclined his head to the Lissen. ‘Commander . . .’
An icy pall fell over Prakna. He studied every inch of Simon, even his swollen nose. ‘A deserter from the legions? I didn’t think there was such a thing. How long has he been here with you, Vantran?’
‘A few weeks,’ said Richius. ‘A bit more maybe.’ He didn’t like the Lissen’s probing and so volunteered nothing. ‘He’s not a threat if that’s what you’re worried about, Prakna. I had those doubts myself at first. Be at ease.’
‘Forgive me, but it’s not easy for me to relax around Naren butchers.’ As he spoke the commander stared directly at Simon, refusing to flinch. ‘No offense, Simon Darquis.’
There was a long silence before Simon spoke, and when he did his voice was sweet like candy. ‘I am not offended at all, Lissen. I know what the Empire is like, and what they did to Liss. It’s why I deserted.’
‘You can never know what they did to Liss,’ said Prakna gravely. ‘Please don’t say that to me again.’
‘Prakna, this is Deemis,’ interrupted Richius, hoping to change the subject. ‘He’s one of the protectors of the citadel’
Deemis’ granite facade cracked with an offered smile. The fleet commander of Liss returned the grin tenfold, bowing deeply to the Triin and his warriors.
‘An honor,’ he said. ‘Forgive me, I speak no Triin. Tell him for me, please, Lady Dyana. Tell him I am honored to meet him and be on his shores again.’
Dyana quickly translated, and each of the warriors softened in turn, lowering their guard just a little. In the rowboat, the men who ha
d ferried Prakna ashore were dragging the vessel onto the sand. They were garbed similarly to their superior, with fancy uniforms that had gone threadbare. Prakna waved them both over to him.
‘These are two of my crew,’ he said. ‘They’ve been on the Prince with me for months now, patrolling Nar’s coast.’
‘Yes,’ said Richius. ‘I’d heard stories that Lissens were raiding the Naren coasts. It’s true, then?’
‘More than just true,’ said Prakna. ‘Successful. I have a lot to tell you, King Vantran. If you’d permit me, I would like to accompany you back to the citadel, tell you why I’m here. And see your lord Lucyler, too, if he would allow it.’
‘I’m sorry, Prakna, but that’s not possible,’ said Richius. He explained how Lucyler had been called away to Kes, to quell some growing animosity between two of the Triin warlords. Prakna shook his head miserably at the news.
‘This Lucyler has his hands full,’ he said sadly. ‘I don’t envy him. Tharn’s been dead little more than a year, and already the Triin warlords are at each other’s throats again.’ He glanced at the five Triin warriors, then added softly. ‘May God end war forever, everywhere.’
‘Yes,’ added Dyana. ‘May He do that. And quickly, too.’
Her meaning wasn’t lost on Prakna. ‘Dyana Vantran, I know you don’t want me here. I ask only that you don’t judge me too quickly. The business I have with your husband is grave indeed.’
‘I have been through wars before, sir,’ said Dyana. ‘I know what they are about.’
Prakna smiled deferentially. ‘I won’t argue with you, Lady. I’m no lover of battles myself He turned to Richius. ‘If we can speak, then, King Vantran?’
‘Inside,’ Richius offered. ‘Your men, too. If you’re hungry and tired . . .’
‘Anything you can offer my men would be appreciated, thank you. But I prefer to speak to you alone.’
Dyana raised an eyebrow. ‘I would like to hear this myself. I think it concerns me.’
‘Forgive me, Lady,’ said Prakna. ‘But the things I have to discuss are between me and your husband.’