by Darian Smith
Ula let her breath gently move the flame of her candle, then spat on her fingers and rubbed it into the dirt at its base. The familiarity of the ritual calmed her, strengthening her connection to the elements and earth spirits. She placed her hands palms down on the ground and waited.
Prior Caal broke the silence after only the briefest of communions. He held a scrap of paper out like a token. “King Aldan of Kalanon sends word and a request. He wishes one of us to break isolation and journey to Alapra.”
A murmur passed through the council and a snort from Prioress Lule. “The Djin do not answer to foreign kings. We are not his to summon.”
Ula waited for quiet before speaking. “Why does he make the request, Caal? Does he give his reasons?”
Prior Caal peered at the paper in his hand and read it aloud. “His Royal Majesty greets the Priory of Gradinath Keep and wishes prosperity, blah blah blah . . . ” His free hand traced circles in the air beside him. “Ah, here it is, ‘requests assistance with a matter of urgency. A heinous crime has been committed, the trappings of which appear Djin in nature. A prince of the royal house has been murdered. Kalanon requests an expert in the matters of the Risen to establish how this was done and for what purpose. Let the expert make haste to Alapra . . . ’ and it closes with the usual salutations.” Caal lifted his gaze to take in the silent group. “So you see, it seems quite serious.”
Ula stared at the candle flame, thinking. The murder of a royal prince was serious indeed, but that alone would not cause a foreign king to approach the ruling body of Djinan. They had been neutral throughout history—and never more so than in the war between Kalanon and Nilar. Their isolation had been a carefully guarded treasure, keeping them pure of distractions and blood.
“Not a lot of detail to go on,” a voice murmured.
“Foreigners kill each other all the time,” said another. “What’s it to do with us?”
Ula looked up sharply. “Don’t you see? He thinks a Risen did it. Or a shaman trying to turn the prince into a Risen. Why else would he request an expert on such things?”
Lule looked shocked. “You can’t be serious. Why would any of us want to do such a thing?”
“I don’t know. But he must have some evidence to make him think it.”
“Then he’s a fool,” growled Prior Glaak. The lids of his eyes sagged with age but fire sparked beneath them. “When have we ever had an interest in foreign politics? To accuse us of assassination is an insult.”
Caal lifted a placating hand. “There is no accusation. Merely a request for help.”
“The accusation is implied,” Lule argued. “Ula is right about that.”
Glaak shook his head, the beads in his dreadlocks clacking together. “Either way, we should ignore it. Perhaps they’re bored with peace. If they want to pick a fight, let them come to us and meet the Risen on our shores. We’ve no need to send a sacrifice to their bloodthirsty gods.”
“I didn’t mean to say the Kalan king accuses us,” Ula said quickly. Her heart felt dark when she thought of actually having to use Risen to defend Djinan. “Just that he seems to think there’s something similar to our ways in what was done.”
“That’s right,” said Caal, brandishing the paper yet again. “The request is for someone with knowledge to give him clarification on the matter. It’s very likely nothing at all.”
“That’s true enough,” Lule said. “Kalans know nothing about being a shaman. Write him back and tell him he’s mistaken.”
“Ah,” said Caal, just as Ula opened her mouth to speak. “But what if he’s not?”
Ula nodded. “I think we need to be sure. Kaluki are very sneaky. What if they’ve found an unguarded door to this world? Worse, what if there is a rogue shaman bringing Risen to Alapra?”
“What if there’s not?” Lule frowned. “I, for one, do not relish the thought of travelling to Kalanon only to find the king imagined a movement in this prince’s corpse and thinks it’s a Risen.”
Ula took a deep breath. She hated contradicting Lule. The woman always held a grudge. “If he didn’t imagine it, though, Lule, think of the disaster it would mean. Our sacred responsibility is to keep the kaluki contained and siphon their power so that they can never be a threat for our world. If we ignore even the hint that they could be getting past us somehow, then we give up our purpose and it will be only a matter of time before the breakthrough. We must remain vigilant.”
The candles burned in silence for a moment before Glaak spoke again. “We have always been vigilant, Ula. We always shall be.” He sighed and shifted his weight, moving one of his legs out from under him. “Perhaps we must now take our vigilance to Kalanon.”
Ula nodded. “I believe we must.”
To her relief, the mood in the room seemed to agree. For a moment, she had worried that they would ignore the risk leaving such a report uninvestigated would pose. Now, however, she concentrated on grounding herself again. She dug her fingers into the dirt floor beneath her, and let her vision linger on the candle flame as the remaining priors signaled their agreement that a shaman should be sent to Alapra to speak with the Kalan king.
“And I believe we know who this representative should be,” Prior Glaak said.
Startled, Ula looked up to see who he meant. The eyes of all the other priors were on her.
“Oh no.” The words came with such force that her candle blew out.
Chapter Five
Lady Latricia of Sandilar, Keldan’s wife, was a strikingly angular woman. The sharpness of her was accentuated by widow-black. Brannon had seen her at court enough to know that she was a handsome woman who normally embraced the latest trends in color. Seeing her now, perched on the edge of a lawn chair opposite him, mouth tight beneath a net mourning veil, one hand clutching her young son close, he couldn’t help think of her as a dark-hued mantis, ready to rear up and defend her territory against intruders.
The territory—the reflection garden of the townhouse the Sandilars used when in Alapra—was outstandingly beautiful. Positioned to catch the afternoon sun, the garden was discretely screened from the house and the surrounding neighborhood by hidden fences and cleverly positioned flowering shrubs and vines. A small grassy area provided space to sit and drink tea with friends or spend time alone. To one side was a pond, stocked with a variety of fish to provide easy sport for those who enjoyed fishing. In the center of the pond was an artificial island of stone, inlaid with a shiny mosaic of the Sandilar crest. A broken path of stepping stones across the water led to and from the island. On the other side of the lawn was a rose-covered arch, framing a love seat nestled in the fragrant shadows.
The boy wriggled in his mother’s grasp. “Mom, can I go look at the fish?”
Lady Latricia’s hand tightened convulsively. “No, Tommy. Sir Brannon and Magus Draeson have come to pay their respects. You wouldn’t want them to think you’re rude, would you?”
He shook his young head gravely and turned to his guests. “Thank you for your,” he paused for a breath before carefully pronouncing the next word, “con-dol-enc-es.”
“You’re welcome, Tomidan.” Brannon smiled at the boy. He couldn’t be more than six years old. The last time he recalled seeing him he’d seemed much smaller. Blood and Tears, last time the child had barely been able to speak at all! He glanced up at the boy’s mother. “How do they grow up so fast?”
Latricia’s mouth softened a little. “I honestly don’t know.”
Brannon turned back to the boy. “Tommy, I wonder if you could do me a favor. Could you go and count how many fish are in the pond for me? Maybe you could feed them too.”
Tomidan’s face lit up, but Latricia stiffened. “I’d rather he stayed here with me.”
“We need to talk about Keldan and what happened,” Brannon said softly. “It’s probably best if he’s not here for that.”
Latricia hesitated, her fingers twitching on her son’s shoulder.
“It’s just over there,” Draeson said, g
esturing to the pond. “It’s not like we’re sending him to Nilar. He’ll be in sight the whole time.”
She nodded slowly. “Off you go then, Tommy. Make sure you stay where I can see you.”
“Yes, Mom.” The boy raced off before the permission could be withdrawn, skipping across the stepping stones with speed and ease before flinging himself onto his belly at the edge of the mosaic island and peering into the water. “There’s lots of orange ones!” he called back.
“Okay,” Latricia replied. “Play quietly.”
“He’s a good boy,” Brannon said. “It must be hard on him to have lost his father like this. Hard on you both.”
“He’s only six. I don’t think he really understands it yet,” she said, her voice becoming hard. “After all, we haven’t been able to have a funeral yet because of what you’ve done to Keldan’s body. Did you know the staff at the Blue Rose are charging a dollar to view my husband’s corpse through your enchanted ice, Magus Draeson? Strangers can see him for a dollar but his family cannot see him at all, let alone give him a decent burial. Now, does that seem right to you? You knew my husband quite well. Do you think he would approve?”
Draeson remained impassive, his hands spread in the slightest of gestures.
Brannon felt his face burn. No matter how often he’d seen death in his new role as a physician, it was as a soldier that he was most familiar with it. In battle, dignity for a dead man was rare and his family got the news late and the body often not at all. Master Jordell always insisted that when a patient died, the physician’s role was to help the family heal. He had forgotten that lesson for Keldan. But with good reason. “We need to find out who killed him, Latricia. Keeping the scene as it is will help us do that. There are other experts that we want to see what was done.”
She snorted in disbelief. “Yes, the king told Roydan all about your plan to get some Djin hedge-witch to investigate. Apparently a war-hero physician and immortal mage aren’t enough. And what is it that the two of you are doing while we wait for this person to arrive?”
“Questioning you,” Draeson said.
Brannon shot him a sharp look. “We’re following other leads and gathering as much information as possible. We’ll get Keldan’s body back to his family as soon as we can, Latricia. And I’ll make sure to set guards I know will keep the sightseers away.”
Her body collapsed in on itself, making her seem smaller now that she was alone. “I suppose that’s something,” she said. Her eyes followed Tomidan as the boy got up and started making little twig boats to throw in the pond. Finally, she sighed. “Ask whatever it is you came to ask. I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Thank you,” Brannon said. “Do you know of anyone who might have a reason to hurt your husband?”
Latricia straightened her back and shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. Keldan was a good many things but he was pleasant enough to everyone and he didn’t really make enemies the way others do at court. The only thing remarkable about him worth killing for was his inheritance.” Her glance flicked quickly to her son.
“I suppose it’s Tommy’s inheritance now,” Brannon said.
“Yes, it is. When he gets old enough to claim it.”
Brannon caught Draeson’s eye and the mage raised a brow. “What about business associates? Any deals that went bad or things like that?”
“Not that I can think of. Keldan was always a bit more ambitious than he was smart, but he never would have cheated anyone, if that’s what you mean. He wanted to impress his father but Roydan is a hard man to compete with when it comes to business.”
“Could he owe someone money, perhaps? Someone he wouldn’t want you to know about?”
Latricia bent the net of her veil up over her hair, leaving her face unobstructed. “Have you been to Sandilar, Sir Brannon?”
“Not recently.”
“When Keldan and I were first married, he took me to the back reaches of the province where the gold mines are. He showed me a cave where the walls shone like starlight. I thought he’d used paint to play a practical joke on me, but it was gold.” She raised her bare wrists. “Most of the women at court wear gold bracelets to show off the wealth of their husbands. I don’t bother because the stuff is so common. So, no, Keldan did not have any money problems. And if he did, whomever he owed would know that Duke Roydan would cover it.”
Brannon couldn’t help but agree. It was no secret that Sandilar was a huge source of wealth. “What about business difficulties of a different kind? You mentioned his ambition. Could he have overreached in some other way?”
“Dealing with Nilarians, for example,” prompted Draeson.
Latricia’s eyes went very wide. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Actually, yes. He was negotiating with the Nilarian ambassador for a silk deal. There’s been no trade between Nilar and Kalanon since before the war and Roydan wanted to establish exclusive trade rights for silk. He thought there would be a demand for it now that the war is seven years past. Keldan heard about it and thought he could get a better deal for himself. He . . . he wanted to impress his father.” She looked from one to the other of them. “Surely he wouldn’t have been killed over that?”
Brannon shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe if there were other competitors trying to get the same deal?”
“Or the Nilarians took a disliking to him,” Draeson muttered. “This confirms why there were silk samples in the room, at least.”
“It does,” Brannon agreed. “What it doesn’t confirm is whether it has anything to do with why he was killed. Latricia, what did Keldan tell you about the deal?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Just that negotiations were going ahead. Other than the fact that it was with Nilarians, there was nothing unusual about it at all, as far as I know.” She reached for the tea service on a small table between them and poured a cup. “I’m afraid I need something to settle my nerves. I hope you’ll join me.”
She handed the cup to Draeson, then a second cup to Brannon, who took it carefully, feeling as though his large hands could crush the delicate china with only a moment’s inattention.
“Did you know Keldan was unfaithful?” Draeson said. “Witnesses say he was with a woman in the room where he was killed.”
Brannon slopped tea over the edge of his cup.
Latricia, however, seemed unsurprised by the bluntness. She set down her own teacup, as yet unfilled, and looked at her hands. “Keldan has had many mistresses over the years.”
Brannon felt his eyebrows go up. “So you knew? Weren’t you angry?”
Latricia sighed. “Only when he wasn’t discreet. But usually he was very good about not embarrassing me.”
“So you didn’t mind your husband sleeping with other women?”
She gave a wry, tight smile. “My, how very black and white of you. Things aren’t always so clear in a marriage. I suppose, never having been married yourself, it might look strange.”
Brannon frowned. “What do you mean?”
Latricia shrugged. “I mean, Sir Brannon, that marriage is about a range of things and some of them are more important than fidelity. My mother always told me that to understand a man, you must look to his father. Duke Roydan is a powerful and respected man, but he’s also a notorious philanderer who has scattered bastards throughout the kingdom. I knew what I was getting into when I married his son.”
Brannon took a gulp of tea. There didn’t seem much to say to that. He knew Roydan’s reputation well enough—he’d been there as a young man when it was being established. His friend had always had an eye for the ladies and it seemed he’d passed the tendency along to his son. Perhaps Latricia had made peace with it the way Roydan’s wife eventually had.
“Sounds like a motive for murder to me,” Draeson said.
To Brannon’s astonishment, Lady Latricia laughed. At first it was an involuntary chuckle, then an uncontrollable giggle, then at last she gave in to it and howled with laughter, hugging her stomach as she did.
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br /> Brannon found himself leaning forward, watching her intently for a sign of whether this was an act or genuine mirth.
“Mama?” Tomidan, distracted at last from the fish, came and took his mother’s hand. “What are you laughing at?”
“A good question,” Draeson growled.
Latricia quieted to a few gasping breaths. “Oh dear. Nothing you’d think was funny, Tommy. Why don’t you go and pick me some roses from the arch over there.”
When her son was once more out of earshot, Brannon spoke up. “You think being suspected of murder is funny?”
Latricia gave a bitter snort. “I think the suggestion that I would murder Keldan over some floozy is funny, yes. If you had any idea how worried I’ve been since I heard about his death, you’d think it funny as well. Look around you, gentlemen. Where are we? Who do you think pays for all this? Where do I live? What do I spend? Why do I mix with the people I do?”
Brannon began to understand. “This is the Sandilar townhouse. You rely on Sandilar money.”
Her lips made a sneering smile beneath angry eyes. “Oh well done! I have nothing of my own. My family was a good one, you understand. Very well pedigreed, but our lands were on the wrong side of the river and when the Nilarians came we lost everything. I’m the only one left and my entire Hooded life relies on Sandilar money. So why, by all that is holy, would I kill my husband?”
“Perhaps,” Brannon said slowly, “so that your son could inherit that money.”
“At six years old?” This time the sneer was a snarl. “What kind of fool would do that? With Keldan alive, the line of inheritance was clear. If Roydan dies now, no one will accept a six-year-old duke. We’ll have older, illegitimate children fighting for the title at every turn. Ahpra’s Tears, Roydan may even make one of them heir while he’s alive just to secure everything. Better a bastard grown son than a child grandson to run things. If that happens, Tommy and I can both kiss our lifestyle—if not our lives—goodbye.”