by Tanya Huff
“I expect he’s back guarding the prince’s body.” She leaned forward slightly, Theron having finally directed the conversation where she wanted it. “The Emperor arranged Otavas’ visit, you know, in order that Bannon would have a reason to be in Shkoder.”
“No, I didn’t know,” the king growled. “And how do you know?”
“Bards know everything.” Then her teasing smile vanished. “His Imperial Majesty wanted the boy to kidnap his sister and take her back to the Empire.”
“Why?”
“Because he only found out that Gyhard was alive after he—they—left the Empire and Gyhard was apparently involved in a number of treasonous acts against the Imperial Throne.”
His eyes narrowed as the brother disappeared within the king. “I assume you’re referring to the rebellion he instigated as Governor Aralt and his intention to murder an Imperial Prince in order to take over his body?”
“You know about that?”
“Kings may not know as much as bards,” he told her grimly, “but we’re kept fairly well informed. I had been assured, however, that His Imperial Majesty thought Gyhard had died.”
“Bannon blamed Gyhard for the loss of Vree, and he …”
“Decided to get even?” When she nodded, Theron shook his head. “Wonderful. An immature assassin. That aside, I was also informed that if Gyhard paid for those crimes, it would destroy Vree.”
Annice spread her hands. “Vree and Gyhard are now separate people. Bannon could now take Gyhard back to the Empire without physically destroying Vree.”
“Physically,” Theron grunted. The emphasis made the alternative obvious. “What do you want me to do, Annice?”
“Intervene with the Emperor on Bannon’s behalf.”
“Intervene with the Emperor on behalf of an Imperial assassin refusing a direct order to deal with an Imperial treason?” Grasping the edge of the table, he leaned toward her, just barely maintaining a grip on his temper. “I don’t think so.”
She reached across the luncheon dishes and laid a hand over one of his. “Then intervene on behalf of a brother who doesn’t want to hurt a sister he dearly loves.”
Theron looked down at their hands then up at her face. He struggled silently for a moment then sighed, knowing when he’d been flanked. “I’ll speak with Karlene. She knows the particulars better than anyone; perhaps we can work something out.”
* * * *
“What I find most curious, Majesty, is that the Emperor went to so much trouble.” Karlene frowned down at the plush carpet covering the floor of the king’s office, seeking answers in the pattern that turned and looped around upon itself. “Why send Bannon secretly when he could have just sent a message to you to have the traitor returned?”
“Perhaps he assumed I would agree with the bards that the innocent body worn by the traitor would not be destroyed. Understandable, since it was a pair of Shkoden bards who assured him Gyhard had been destroyed.”
Karlene looked up to find the king regarding her with something less than approval. “But, Majesty, you did agree with the bards or you’d have sent them back the moment you were given my recall.”
“The moment I was eventually given your recall,” Theron amended.
Standing quietly to one side, Kovar winced.
“But since I have been assured from the beginning that this is a bardic matter,” the king continued, shooting an unreadable look at the new Bardic Captain, then turning his gaze back to Karlene, “I would like to hear a bardic solution. With your help, and the help of my niece, Vireyda and Albannon Magaly and Gyhard i’Stevana have done Shkoder a great service and I would prefer that none of them be sent back to the Empire to be executed for treason. I would also prefer not to have to explain to His Imperial Majesty that Bardic Oaths supercede oaths sworn to him when he demands that I have you and Gabris executed for harboring a known traitor.”
Karlene slowly shook her head. “He won’t demand it, Majesty.”
“That fond of you, is he?”
“No, Majesty. But if he were going to do it, he would have already done it. The Emperor wanted Gyhard back in the capital, but he wanted it done quietly. He wanted something and he wanted as few people as possible to know about it. He has to want Gyhard for something more than merely treason.”
Theron’s brows rose. “Merely treason?”
Kovar stepped forward before Karlene could answer. “What does Gyhard have that’s worth such convoluted planning?”
The office fell silent as the two bards and the king spent a moment in thought. When Theron’s stomach growled, he remembered his consort in tears, his heir pitched suddenly onto the throne, long lists of instructions from his healer, and innumerable bowls of broth. “I know,” he said, remembering the pain, and terror, and the cold weight of death pressing against his chest.
* * * *
“Eternal life?” Magda looked around the room at the king and the pair of bards and pulled a wet curl from the corner of her mouth. “Well, I suppose His Imperial Majesty might think that Gyhard had the secret of eternal life. I mean, he has lived a very long time moving his kigh from body to body, but it’s no secret how he did it.”
“How, Magda?” Theron demanded, eyes gleaming. “How?”
Recognizing where his interest originated, she smiled a little sadly. “All it takes is a fear of death so complete that you’d do anything to escape.”
“There must be more,” Kovar protested. “Or we’d have kigh jumping out of the dying all the time.”
The young healer sighed. “You don’t understand. You have to be willing, if only at that moment, to do anything.” She stepped toward the desk. “Majesty, when you thought you were dying, did you fear death so much that you would have given an innocent life to survive?”
Theron slowly shook his head, left hand rising to twist his collar button. “No.”
She nodded, satisfied. “And I don’t think His Imperial Majesty would either.”
“But there are those who would,” Kovar pointed out.
“Those sorts of people,” Magda replied, wondering why it was so obvious to her and so apparently difficult for anyone else, “are not the sort with the strength to throw themselves into the heart of their fear over and over again.”
“But if Gyhard is such a person …”
“He isn’t.” Frowning, she reconsidered. “Well, I guess he was, but he isn’t anymore.”
“Magda, true love conquering all is a bardic tale.” When she started to bristle indignantly, Theron leaned forward and held out his hand. “Child, the known path to immortality would be too great for anyone to deny.”
“He doesn’t have to deny it. He can’t do it. When he was willing to die rather than take over Prince Otavas’ body it was because he’d found something he couldn’t do—which, I would like to point out,” she added, chin lifting, “had less to do with the prince than it did with his love for Vree …”
In spite of the seriousness of the situation, both bards hid a smile at her tone. The young healer had matured a great deal since Vree and Gyhard had come to Elbasan, but she was still only seventeen.
“… at which time he lost his all-encompassing fear of death.”
“You don’t know that, Magda …”
“I do know that. I just spent days helping him anchor his kigh in the body he now wears.”
“So he’ll grow old and die just like the rest of us.” Theron sighed. “Does he know?”
“Does it matter?” Magda demanded. “Immortality now has a price he’s unwilling to pay. Why diminish him by telling him he couldn’t pay it if he wanted to?”
After a long moment, Theron nodded, and sat back in his chair, thumb tracing the design of the crowned ship carved into the broad arm. “Why indeed? Which brings us back to the problem of His Imperial Majesty.”
“The Emperor is a realist, Sire. He realizes that, occasionally, the birds he flies will miss their strike.”
The other three people in the room b
linked at Karlene in confusion. She cleared her throat sheepishly. “Sorry. You get into the habit of hawking analogies around the Imperial Court. Why not tell him that Gyhard is now just a man, no longer immortal and, furthermore, a man wearing a Shkoden body which cannot be executed for a treason committed by the body of an Imperial citizen. If you will not allow Bannon to remove Gyhard—in his new body from Shkoder—then whether or not Bannon is disobeying an Imperial order becomes irrelevant.”
Theron snorted. “He won’t like that much.”
“For what it’s worth,” Magda offered earnestly, “I really, really don’t think we could have stopped Kars without Gyhard and Bannon.”
Within the masking of his beard, the king’s lips twitched. “So I’ve been told.” Twisting the ivory button between his fingertips—they’d stopped pulling off when his tailor began sewing them on with sailmaker’s thread—Theron examined Karlene’s suggestion from all sides. “It does have the advantage of being the truth,” he said at last. “And it does solve young Bannon’s problem, as even an Imperial assassin can hardly be expected to start a war by taking the man out of the country if I won’t allow them to leave. However …” He glanced over at the beautifully detailed map that covered one wall of his office. Shkoder was a small country, bordered on three sides by mountains and the fourth by the sea. It was smaller than three of the Havakeen Empire’s seven provinces and the Empire was running out of room to expand. “… we’d best come up with a way to sweeten the pot.”
* * * *
In the long, paneled corridor outside the king’s private office, Magda fell into step beside Karlene and sighed. “I’m worried.”
Shortening her stride, Karlene glanced down at the top of the healer’s head. “About what?”
“Vree and Gyhard. Vree never came near him all the way back to Elbasan.”
“She also never took her eyes off of him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Karlene told her with sardonic emphasis. “Trust me, I would’ve noticed if she’d looked away.”
Magda glanced up at the taller woman. “You like her, don’t you? I mean, not just like but …” She could feel the blood rise to her cheeks.
“I could be a little in love with her, yes.”
“Gerek, too,” Magda said as they walked through a set of double doors and out into the public areas of the palace. “He’s with Her Royal Highness, so I guess I’d better wait for him in his suite.”
“Do you think he’s going to need a healer?”
“Not unless he’s forgotten everything Tadeus ever taught him about charm.” She smiled up at the bard. “Thanks for reassuring me about Vree and Gyhard.”
“No problem.” Karlene stood and watched the young healer effortlessly move through the crowds and wished she felt as reassured. As much as she might have wanted to believe otherwise, His Majesty had been right—true love seldom conquered all outside of a bardic tale.
* * * *
“I had thought you understood that I wanted your sister and the assassin returned directly from Bartek Springs?” The Heir of Shkoder leaned back and locked eyes with the Heir of Ohrid over steepled fingers. “I believe my exact words were, ‘I neither want my cousin with her unique and irreplaceable talents endangering herself by confronting this bardic abomination nor do I want an assassin with two not entirely stable kigh wandering around Shkoder.’”
“Yes, Highness, but after speaking with my sister, I realized she was right.”
“And I was wrong?”
Gerek dropped gracefully to one knee. “And that you had less than complete information, Highness.”
Onele’s smile held edges that flayed. “I assume it never even crossed your mind that as there was a bard readily available I would like to be informed of any new information you acquired?” Her fingertips beat out an irritated staccato beat on the arms of her chair.
“Yes, Highness, it did cross my mind, closely followed by the fear that, should you still want me to return Magda and Vree to Elbasan, I would have to disobey a direct order.”
“You would have to disobey a direct order?”
He inclined his head. “Yes, Highness, and I in no way wanted to put either of us in that position as we both believed we were acting for the good of Shkoder.”
Onele stared at him for a long moment. Someday, when she was Queen of Shkoder, he would be Duc of Ohrid and the relationship between them would determine the security of her borders. “Get up, Gerek,” she said at last. “And the next time, if it is possible, I should like to be consulted before you decide my instructions are no longer relevant.”
Gerek’s teeth flashed within the dark frame of his beard. “I guarantee it won’t happen again.”
The Heir accepted his assurance with a laugh. “I’d rather hear a guarantee that the abomination is truly gone.”
“The bards and my sister are quite certain that he is, Highness.” Frowning, Gerek tried to recall his sister’s somewhat confused explanation. “Magda says his kigh has gone back into the Circle.”
Onele rolled her eyes, an expression that reminded Gerek very much of her aunt. Although Annice would have probably snorted as well. “The priests keep telling us all things are enclosed, but I doubt sharing the Circle with such a man is going to make them very happy.”
Having heard a small fraction of Kars’ story, Gerek was surprised to find himself feeling sympathy for the ancient Cemandian. “He was what circumstances made him, Highness.”
“Aren’t we all. What about the others? The assassins?”
“Bannon has returned to his position with Your Highness’ cousin, Prince Otavas. Vree …” He paused. “Gyhard was under Magda’s care most of the way back to Elbasan. Vree seemed to be avoiding him.”
“How unfortunate after all they’ve been through.” The Heir of Shkoder cocked a speculative brow. “But I wouldn’t have thought an Imperial assassin avoided anything.”
* * * *
“Highness, I am sorry but I didn’t know what else to do but throw myself on your mercy.” Down on one knee, Bannon stared fixedly at the carpet between Prince Otavas’ feet. His Highness had been with a cousin when the seven of them had gone their separate ways upon arriving back at the Palace, giving him time to bathe and change. By the time the prince returned, he’d decided to tell him everything, from the moment he’d met with the Emperor until the moment the prince had welcomed him back. When he finished, he lowered his head until his forehead rested on his bent knee. “Highness, His Imperial Majesty gave me an order that I cannot obey.”
“Are you saying that your inability to cause your sister pain outweighs your oaths to the Empire?” Otavas asked softly.
Mouth dry, Bannon swallowed nothing and nodded.
“But this Gyhard i’Stevana is a traitor to the Imperial Throne.”
“Highness, when Gyhard was Aralt, he was a traitor to the Imperial Throne, but this Gyhard’s only a man that my sister loves.”
“He is the same man.”
“No, Highness. I’m not the same man I was before I went into Ghoti. You’re not the same man you were before Kars. Gyhard’s not the same man he was before …” Bannon’s hands closed into fists but he managed to finish the sentence. “… he fell in love with Vree.”
“And she loves him?”
Bannon sighed. “Yes, Highness.”
“Look at me.”
Bannon looked up.
The prince met his gaze and held it. “You are disobeying an Imperial order and yet you returned here to me, risking arrest, risking being sent back to the Empire and a traitor’s death. Why didn’t you run?”
Surprised, Bannon opened and closed his mouth but no sound emerged. “It never occurred to me, Highness,” he said at last. “Who would guard your dreams if I was gone?”
“Who indeed.” The prince’s brilliant eyes grew more brilliant still. “So for love of your sister, you refused an Imperial order and you returned to Elbasan for love of me?”
> Had Vree felt this way, Bannon wondered. As if she’d been fighting her way out of a walled town? “Yes, Highness.”
Otavas smiled. “Then, in order to keep you in my service, I have to keep you from being executed for treason.”
“Yes, Highness. You’ll speak to his Imperial Majesty?”
“I doubt that just my speaking to father would be enough.” Love. Otavas repeated the word to himself; first in Shkoden and then in Imperial. Assassins could fall in love. And if assassins could fall in love, then anyone could. His voice rose and his eyes shone. “I have an idea.”
* * * *
Princess Jelena stared at Otavas in astonishment. “You want us to what?”
“Be joined. But not right now,” he added hurriedly at her expression. “Look, Jelena, we both know we’re due for political joinings. Shkoder is a small country, the Empire isn’t. It can only benefit Shkoder to have closer ties. If when you’re Queen, your consort is an Imperial Prince, well, that’ll secure your borders for at least another generation. You’re not quite fifteen, so nothing’s going to happen for three years anyway, but wouldn’t it be nice to have the threat of being joined to a perfect stranger taken away?”
Her eyes narrowed. “And what about us?”
Otavas backed up a step and wondered why he’d ever thought she was shy. “Us?”
“You and me. Especially you.” She poked him in the chest. “Give me a reason that isn’t politically based or you can just go home and have His Imperial Majesty join you with some fat old man in the Third Province whose ancestral lands happen to have access to a natural harbor.”
“How did you hear about him?”
“The bards told me!”
His brilliant eyes sparkled. “You were asking the bards about me?”
“Tavas!” Smacking her palm down on the sketches of strange machines that lettered her desk, she glared at him. “I want a better reason than politics!”
“All right.” He captured her hand. “I like you. A lot. Someday, if we give it enough time, I’ll probably love you.”
“Probably?”
“And even if I don’t, I can’t think of any way I’d rather spend my life than beside you, staring at the stars.” When he bent his head to kiss her hand, she changed her grip and nearly pulled him off his feet.