Ghost in the Throne (Ghost Exile #7)

by Jonathan Moeller

  It struck the apple with enough force to bisect it, and the knife and both halves of the apple fell to the ground.

  A round of applause went up from the spectators.

  “A fluke, you say!” said Cronmer, responding to an imaginary heckler. “Well, let us see if our Natalia can prove otherwise!”

  He tossed another apple into the air, and another. Caina flung two more knives, hitting each of the apples, and the applause grew louder each time. In truth, the feat was far less impressive than it looked. The apples were not moving that fast, and they were not far from her.

  But viewed from a distance, though…

  The cheers grew louder with every apple she hit.

  At last Cronmer flung the last of his apples, the pieces rolling across the ground. One of the halves bounced against Caina’s left foot. She stooped, picked up the apple, held it over her head for a moment, and then lowered it to her mouth and took a bite, flicking the rest disdainfully at Cronmer.

  A chorus of laughter went up from the crowds, followed by more cheers.

  “So!” shouted Cronmer. “It seems Natalia of the Nine Knives can direct her blades against apples! Perhaps we should up the stakes a bit, eh? Perhaps we should put something valuable on the line. And what is more valuable than royal blood?”

  He gestured, and the carpenters spun one of the mirrors to shine upon Annarah, the light glinting off her costume jewelry and the Seal of Iramis.

  “Behold Nadirah!” said Cronmer. “A princess of the Anshani royal blood, one of the daughters of the Shahenshan of Anshan’s wives! Our barbaric Natalia has come down from the frozen north and taken this daughter of the desert captive, and now the lady of the Nine Knives shall demonstrate her skill upon the captive.”

  More of the carpenters rushed forward, carrying a wooden plank the size of a door. They set the plank upright and tied Annarah too it, her hands bound over her head while Annarah shouted threats. Alas, deception was not one of Annarah’s many virtues, and her outrage seemed a bit forced. Fortunately, the crowd did not seem to care. One of Tiri’s drummers came forward and began to beat a slow, steady beat on the drum. Caina circled around Timost, swaying a bit as she did (the heeled sandals made that easy), letting her stride fall in time to the beat of the drum.

  The drumbeat came faster, and reached a rolling crescendo.

  Caina whirled, skirt flaring around her, snatched another throwing knife from the tray, and flung it. It spun from her fingers and struck the board an inch from Annarah’s left temple. Annarah let out an unfeigned gasp, her green eyes wide, and Caina flung a second knife, the blade thudding into the board an inch from the right side of Annarah’s head.

  A roaring cheer went up from the crowds.

  Of course, it was all trickery. Or at least partially. The “board” that held Annarah was actually soft cork, painted to look like rough wood. The throwing knives sank into it easily. Additionally, powerful lodestones had been hidden into the cork, arranged in the outline of Annarah’s body. The lodestones drew the steel of the blunted knives, allowing the dull blades to sink deeper into the cork than they would have otherwise. The knives had not been sharpened, but if Caina missed, she could still nonetheless hurt or even kill Annarah.

  So she didn’t miss.

  The drumbeat came faster and faster, and she whirled around Timost, emptying his tray of knives into the board. The cheers grew louder, and for a moment Caina almost forgot the challenges that awaited them in Istarinmul.

  For brief instant, she understood why Theodosia sang upon the stage of the Grand Imperial Opera night after night.

  The final knife leapt from her fingers and quivered next to Annarah’s shoulders, and the loremaster let out a long sigh of relief.

  “Alas!” said Cronmer. “Will no one defend our kidnapped Anshani princess? Will no one guard her honor? Will a champion come forth?”

  Another round of cheers came from the spectators, and Kylon stepped from the tents of the circus, the valikon in his hand.

  ###

  His armor was ridiculous.

  Cronmer’s costumer had a very specific idea of what a Kyracian champion was supposed to look like, an idea that had no relation whatsoever to reality. So he wore an ornamented cuirass that might have passed for the archaic style of Old Kyrace in bad light, and an ashtairoi’s helm with a plume of black and gold. The customer had tried to give him a huge round shield, but Kylon had refused. Below the cuirass he wore trousers and boots reinforced with steel greaves, a final concession to the customer.

  A huge crowd surrounded him, thousands and thousands of people. Annarah stood tied to a board, wearing in a peculiar golden costume that looked vaguely Anshani. Caina stood before Annarah, clad in a red skirt that revealed almost all of her left leg and a halter that concealed some of her chest but little else.

  She looked…good. Really, really good. Distractingly so.

  Kylon strode forward, the valikon loose in his right first. The gaze of the crowds did not trouble him. In a way, it reminded him of the gladiatorial games. Those had the same sort of elaborate rituals around them, the same large, cheering crowds. Though a man was more likely to be killed in the gladiatorial games than in the circus, unless one of Vardo’s lions ran amok.

  “Behold!” said Cronmer in his thunderous voice. “A champion of the Kyracian people, come to defend the royal daughter of Anshan! Can the valor of the champion defeat the cruel steel of Natalia of the Nine Knives?”

  Cronmer’s grandson rushed forward with another tray of those blunted knives, and the drummer’s beat began again. Caina met his eyes across the field, and a quick grin flashed across her face, a wild and delighted expression.

  Kylon strode forward, both hands coiling around the valikon’s hilt.

  The drumming reached a peak, and Caina whirled, the skirt flaring around her waist, and she seized a knife from the tray and flung it at him. A burst of the sorcery of air went through Kylon, and he whipped the valikon up. Caina’s knife clanging from the blade to land at his feet.

  A stunned silence went over the crowd, and then they erupted with cheers.

  “Luck or skill?” said Cronmer. “Let us discover the truth!”

  Kylon began circling Caina as she circled the boy with the tray, and she plucked another knife, and another, flinging both of them at him in rapid succession. Kylon used short bursts of the sorcery of air to deflect the blades, enough that his inhuman speed would not be obvious to anyone in the crowd. The cheering grew louder. He saw Caina watching him, saw her smile as she threw another knife at him.

  He could not sense her emotions without touching her, but he could tell that she was enjoying this.

  Gods of storm and sea, Kylon supposed he was enjoying this as well.

  Five more knives came at him, and he deflected every one of them, the blades spinning away. One more knife came at him, and Kylon snapped the valikon up, the knife clanging to the earth. Then he stood only two yards away from Caina, her eyes fixed on him.

  She was out of knives.

  “The Kyracian is victorious!” said Cronmer, and the roar of the crowd sounded like the surf pounding against the shore.

  Caina stared at him for a moment, her eyes blazing, and before Kylon could react, she crossed the distance between them, leaned up, and kissed him long and hard upon the lips. Her emotions flooded through him, a mixture of tension and exhilaration and love and raw attraction.

  A gale of laughter went up, followed by more applause.

  “It seems,” said Cronmer, “that our Kyracian champion has conquered more than Natalia’s knives, that his valor has found its way into the citadel of her heart.”

  “He has,” murmured Caina into his ear before she stepped back. She gripped his free hand, and Kylon returned the valikon to its sheath. Together they offered a deep bow to the crowds as the carpenters untied Annarah from the board.

  “Was that Nerina Strake I saw with you?” said Kylon.

  “Yes,” said Caina. “But come w
ith me first. Just for a moment, just for us.”

  The acrobats began tumbling their way across the open space, and Caina led Kylon to the maze of wagons and tents that housed the circus’s equipment and possessions. They ducked into one of the costume tents, and Caina kissed him again, harder than before. Some part of his mind pointed out that a costume tent probably was not the best place for this, but the rest of him did not care. A single jerk of his hand pulled aside her halter, and then a moment after that he was out of his armor and lying on the ground, Caina atop him, the red skirt bunched around her hips.

  The next several moments were intense.

  After they finished, Kylon slumped back, trying to blink the sweat from his eyes. Caina still sat atop him, breathing hard, and she leaned forward, bracing her hands against his chest to keep her balance.

  “Can’t breathe,” coughed Kylon.

  Caina leaned back, blinked, and laughed. “Right. Yes. Not thinking clearly just yet.” She grinned at him. Her hair had fallen out of the ghostsilver diadem, and she pushed it away from her face, her emotional sense deep with affection and satisfaction. “Oh, Kylon. Kylon, Kylon, Kylon. I…”

  The tent flap opened, and Vardo stepped inside, clad in his crimson finery. Caina’s arms jerked up to cover her chest.

  “Mistress Ciara,” he started, “your performance was most…”

  He froze in mid-step.

  “Vardo,” said Caina. “This really isn’t a good time.”

  Stark embarrassment flooded through Vardo’s sense, and he all but fled from the tent.

  Caina and Kylon looked at each other, and a moment later they both erupted with laughter. She rolled off him and lay next to him, still laughing.

  “Why is that funny?” said Caina. “That shouldn’t be funny.”

  “You saw his face,” said Kylon. “If one of his lions ever eats him, he’ll look just like that right before the end.”

  That set her off laughing again, and it took a few moments for both of them to calm down.

  “Oh, gods,” said Caina, wiping sweat and tears from her face. “Gods.” She sighed and gripped his hand. “We really should find the others.”

  Kylon nodded. “But we ought to get dressed first.”

  She laughed again. “Yes. True. That is an excellent idea” She hesitated. “I…love you, Kylon.”

  He felt the surge of affection that went through her, and something deeper and stronger than mere affection. There was fear there as well. She was afraid of losing him. She knew what that would feel like, just as he did. She was afraid of the future, of what awaited them in Istarinmul.

  So he pushed back her hair, his thumb stroking her cheek.

  “I love you,” said Kylon, “and I will see you to whatever end awaits us.”

  Caina nodded, closed her eyes, and gripped his hand, resting her head against it.

  “Let’s find the others,” she said after a moment. She smiled a little. “Also, something to drink. I’m really thirsty.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” said Kylon.

  For some reason, that set them both to laughing again.

  ###

  Caina stared at Nerina Strake, unable to process what she had just heard.

  “That can’t be right,” Caina said at last.

  She stood next to Kylon at the edge of the circus’s tents, Nasser, Laertes, Morgant, Annarah facing Nerina and Malcolm. Caina had recovered her blue dress and headscarf, though she was so obviously disheveled that it would have been easy to guess what she and Kylon had been doing.

  Right now she did not care.

  “There are hundreds of the proclamations posted in every public place in Istarinmul,” said Malcolm.

  “I counted two hundred forty-seven of them,” said Nerina. “All were identical. They announced that Lord Cassander Nilas of the Umbarian Order had slain Caina Amalas, the rebel and insurrectionist who claimed to be the Balarigar. Cassander intended to call upon the Grand Wazir to receive his reward.”

  “Opening the Starfall Straits to the Umbarian fleet,” said Caina.

  Malcolm snorted. “Would not the two million bezants be enough?”

  “But he’s dead,” said Caina. “Cassander is dead. Did you actually see him?”

  “Only from a distance,” said Nerina. “A man seventy-five inches in height and two hundred and five pounds of weight, wearing a long black coat and a golden medallion.”

  “We watched as the Umbarians went to the Golden Palace,” said Malcolm. “Lord Cassander did look heavily scarred.”

  “It couldn’t have been him,” said Caina. “Cassander Nilas is dead. I was there when he died. He could not possibly have survived. He…”

  Caina fell silent, trying to get her emotions under control. The news that Cassander Nilas might still be alive had hit her much harder than she would have thought. Caina had almost died at Rumarah and was still not sure of herself, but at least Cassander Nilas had been dead. Knowing that the Umbarian ambassador was dead had been a consolation.

  A false one, as it turned out.

  “We did not,” Morgant pointed out, “ever see his body.”

  Laertes grunted. “There didn’t seem a need. The explosion completely destroyed the Corsair’s Rest. We saw Adamant Guards blasted out of the windows, their flesh burned away. It was impossible for anyone to have survived inside the common room. They would have burned to ashes.”

  “She survived,” said Morgant.

  “Do you remember what happened in the Corsair’s Rest?” said Kylon.

  “No. Parts of it, anyway, and none of them clearly,” said Caina. “The last thing I can remember for certain is falling to the floor of my room. Then…only bits and pieces until I woke up in Rumarah.”

  “Then you do not remember,” said Nasser, “if Lord Cassander was in fact killed in the explosion.”

  “We did not see a body,” said Laertes, “but neither did we see him leave the wreckage.”

  “The Huntress,” said Kylon. “We saw the Huntress escape. Could she have saved him?”

  “Kalgri would never lift a finger to save anyone,” said Caina. “She must have realized what was about to happen. That’s why she fled, though gods know why she took my dagger and shadow-cloak.” Caina let out a long, ragged breath, getting her seething emotions under some semblance of control. “And it’s not…impossible for a sorcerer to have survived what should have been certain death.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “If I listed all the examples I have seen, we would be here until morning,” said Caina. There had been the Moroaica, who had died so often that she had regarded death as a vexing inconvenience. Sicarion, who had grafted stolen flesh from corpses to heal his injuries. She had killed or helped kill Ranarius repeatedly, and his spirit had moved to a different body each time.

  And Kalgri had not been a sorceress…but Caina had seen her fall from the cliff below Silent Ash Temple, and she had returned to stab Caina in the back at the Corsair’s Rest.

  Again that awful memory burst through her mind.

  Laertes’s voice snapped Caina out of the dark reverie.

  “We didn’t see Cassander leave the wreckage,” said Laertes.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Caina, her voice quiet. “There are many ways for a sorcerer to cheat death. He could have moved his spirit to a new body. Maybe he had a vial of Elixir Rejuvenata he stole away from a Master Alchemist somewhere. Maybe he had a warding spell that allowed him to escape, or maybe he did something I’ve never seen before. No matter what happened…we have to assume he’s still alive.”

  “This complicates matters considerably,” said Nasser in a low voice. He held the Staff in his right hand, still disguised as a spear. Annarah waited next to him, clad in her usual brown dress and headscarf once more, the Seal hidden on a chain around her neck, just as Caina wore her father’s ring beneath her collar. “If the Huntress followed us for months…”

  “We have to assume she did,” said Caina.


  “Then she was the one who brought Cassander to Rumarah,” said Nasser. He hesitated. “Mistress Strake, Master Malcolm. I urge you to keep secret what you are about to hear. Our enemies are willing to kill everyone in Istarinmul to learn these secrets.”

  “We are Ghosts,” said Malcolm. “We took the oath.”

  Nerina nodded. “The probability that I will reveal any information voluntarily is exactly zero.”

  Voluntarily, thought Caina, was the key. If Cassander or Callatas suspected that Nerina knew anything, they would make her tall.

  “Very good,” said Nasser. “We must assume that Cassander Nilas knows about the Staff and Seal as well, and it is possible he has communicated the information to the rest of the Order.”

  “He wouldn’t have,” said Caina. “And I don’t think the relics are his main priority right now.”

  “And just how can you know that?” said Morgant.

  “Because,” said Caina. “Kalgri didn’t tell him that I am still alive.”

  Silence answered that.

  “Perhaps she thinks that you are dead,” said Kylon at last.

  “No,” said Caina. “She wouldn’t have been fooled. But she didn’t tell Cassander that I’m dead. Else he wouldn’t be shouting it from the rooftops in Istarinmul. He would have gone to Drynemet, killed us all, and then gone to the Grand Wazir to claim his reward.” She shrugged. “Once he has opened the Straits and sent the Umbarian fleet to attack Malarae, he’ll have high standing in the Order. He’ll have leisure to hunt down the relics.”

  “So why didn’t the Huntress tell Cassander that you are dead?” said Morgant.

  “I have no idea,” said Caina. “But it would be for the same reason she does anything. So she can kill more people by doing it.”

  Maybe Kalgri wanted to see the Empire fall. Perhaps she wanted to revel in the slaughter that would be unleashed if the Umbarian Order seized Malarae and rampaged through the western provinces. Yet as far as Caina knew, Kalgri had never shown any interest in the Empire.