Heir's Revenge (Return of the Aghyrians Book 4)

by Patty Jansen

  “What do you mean?”

  “I read all of Foundation Law. Foundation families can veto decisions made by the council.”

  “Only if they’re in possession of the Foundation stones,” one of the young men said. “I studied law.”

  She met his intelligent eyes. Then what are you doing starting a shop? But she knew why he was here. He didn’t agree with the ruling forces and therefore was denied employment with Miran’s Lawkeepers.

  “We can worry about the protocol later. Let’s start with trying to get the Foundation families together and back to Miran for this meeting. Does anyone know how to contact the Ilendar family?”

  One of the young men nodded. “They were our neighbours.”

  “Andrahar?”

  The young men shook his head and others did the same. “Not sure even if they still have an heir. Iztho was the oldest and he went missing. Not sure if he’s still alive. He wasn’t married.”

  Ellisandra was beginning to get very sick of this oldest son of oldest son requirement. The family representative should be the person most apt to do a good job. Maybe she could claim herself the heir of the Takumar family and act in Enzo’s stead. This was one of the first things she would change if she went into the council. “There were three other sons. I’m sure one of them has a son.” Vayra would be able to tell her. “What about Velisar?”

  “They live in Kesilu. You could find a contact for them. They’re probably the easiest to reach.”

  “Then,” someone said, “you must ask your brother. He’s the only Foundation family heir we still have in Miran.”

  “Enzo is pretty much lost to us. He’s too involved with Asitho Bisumar.” Too scared, too.

  The fifth family, Calthunar, had probably died out, but then again, there had been four Foundation families for a long time, so four would have to do, or however many people from the four she could bring together.

  Sariandra asked, “What are you trying to do? Why should these people who have left Miran long ago make any difference?”

  “Because they’re Foundation families and according to the law, they still have a say. The council sits the day after Theatre Day to vote for these law changes. If we get members of Foundation families—preferably heirs, but anyone we can get—in the audience, we can make a stand, and we have the law on our side to defeat the proposed changes. If the law says that we need the stones, I know where they are. We simply get them.”

  Jintho’s eyes grew wide. “You mean steal them?”

  Her cheeks grew hot. “I guess Father would know how to get them out of the cabinet without smashing it, but at this point, I don’t care.”

  The young man who had studied law said, “I’m not sure that will be worth the trouble, because Foundation Law isn’t clear on the point of whether the right to veto still holds. It would probably give you more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “How can you say that? How can all of you just sit here, complain and do nothing? This is our one chance to stop the isolation of Miran. Your entire business model depends on it. The stones are ours anyway. I don’t care how we get them. Last I looked, uprising and rebellion was never legal anyway! We need a team. We need people to support us. You are it. Stop being complacent.” She was fully aware that she borrowed that word from Vayra.

  The Lawkeeper student asked, “That’s all very well, but how do we get into contact with the other Foundation families? The Exchange will know if we try. They can listen in on anything we tell them.”

  “I think I know a way to get around that,” Ellisandra said.

  “But the Ilendar family lives in Damarq. Nothing is secret about off-world communication.”

  “I know. I still think I can contact them without anyone noticing. I just have to ask Vayra. He’s got a lot of modern devices. Is there a way I can get upstairs from here?”

  “There’s the fire stairs,” someone said.

  Jintho rose. “I’ll show you.”

  By the time Ellisandra had followed him into the cold corridor, her burst of energy had faded. Why hadn’t she noticed how hungry she was, and how much she trembled?

  “I have to hand it to you, sis, you’re an excellent politician.”

  “You jest, certainly.”

  “No, I’m serious. You scare me. The way you get people to believe in what you say, and to feel that you can really improve our lives, that’s a rare gift. Nemedor Satarin had it, once when he was young and angry. He is going to be scared of you.”

  “Already is. He tried to rough me up this afternoon after our rehearsal.”

  “What? You’re serious? Nemedor Satarin himself?”

  Ellisandra nodded, thinking back to that frightening encounter. The shock and concern on Jintho’s face made tears prick in her eyes.

  “You should go into hiding,” Jintho said, his voice low. “You’ve become a target.”

  “I can’t. I have to look after Father.”

  “Darma will look after him.”

  “Really?”

  She met his eyes and saw in his expression that he didn’t believe his own words either.

  Then he said, “Ask Vayra for protection.”

  “Since when do we need help from foreigners to stage rebellions?”

  “I get what you mean, but having money makes it a lot easier. He’s got limitless supplies. You ask him, and he’ll put a guard on you. It will be a Mirani man, paid with Mirani money.”

  “Don’t you ever think of what Vayra’s aims are? Don’t you ever worry that he’s buying your favours or leading you into a trap of dependency. I know he looks Mirani, but he’s not. I know he genuinely loves Miran, but he remains a foreigner. The central issue remains that we still don’t know who he is.”

  Jintho returned her stare unflinchingly. “That may be as it is, but the other alternative is to ask Enzo for money or try to get a loan to start a rebellion. Between the three, I know which option is going to deliver the goods.”

  True.

  “I wish I knew Vayra’s full story,” she said.

  “It will be an interesting one, and we’ll probably discover it sooner rather than later.”

  And that was true, too.

  23

  ELLISANDRA AND JINTHO had arrived at the far end of the dark corridor, where there was a narrow door, which, when Jintho opened it, led into a dark maw where just the first few steps of the emergency stairs were visible.

  Ellisandra swallowed. She did not like tight and dark spaces, and to be honest, she was beginning to feel very shaky. She peeked into the darkness. “They’re on the first floor, right?”

  “Yes. There’s two more floors above the office, but they can’t use these stairs.”

  Ellisandra started up the stairs. It was dark inside the tight space and her footsteps echoed muffled between the heaviness of the stone walls. The air smelled stale with a faint tang of decay. She was halfway up when a wave of dizziness hit her.

  Damn it.

  She held tight onto the railing, waiting for the feeling to subside. Coloured spots danced before her eyes, accompanied by a sharp stab of pain in her cheekbone. She thought she heard music, but that had to be her ears ringing. Warm fluid trickled over her face and when she touched the spot where Asitho Bisumar’s rings had hit her, her fingers met the stickiness of blood.

  On the first floor landing she found a heavy door held shut by a spring. She had to pull with all her weight to open it, while covering the wound on her cheekbone with one hand.

  The door came out in a kitchen area. A faint glow of light fell in through the door, showing a couple of cups sitting on a clean bench. Outside the kitchen was a neat hallway with a traditional mosaic floor.

  As soon as the door clicked shut, the sound of footsteps came from elsewhere in the apartment, and voices. A man appeared in the doorway backlit by the light. Squinting against the light, she could just make out that it was Vayra.

  “Lady Ellisandra! Are you all right?”

  “I think so.” S
he staggered an uncertain step.

  “You don’t look all right. Come, I’ll put something on that cut.” He supported her with an arm around her shoulders.

  He led her into a large room between rows of desks to a smaller room with a desk and two chairs. On the far side was a window which looked out over the main square.

  The chair closest to the window was occupied by an older man holding a Mirani style metal lute on his lap. He jumped up as soon as Vayra guided her in, putting the lute on the desk with a faint musical thump. He was very tall like Vayra, and had a sleek curtain of black hair. His eyes were very dark, but his skin pale.

  Vayra said something to him and he left. Vayra guided her to the closest chair.

  “Wait here. I’m going to get my kit.” Vayra left, too.

  Ellisandra leaned against the back of the chair. It was quite warm in this room and it would be nice if only the room would stop spinning.

  “You should go to the hospital,” Vayra said, returning with a sturdy pack which he set on the desk next to the lute.

  “The hospital has better things to do.”

  “Really? I think he hit you a lot harder than you’ll admit. If nothing else, you’ll get a nasty scar.” He flipped off the lid of the pack. Inside was a full medical kit.

  He selected a little bottle with a long tip and a pointy lid that came off when he twisted it. He dabbed the wound with a ball of fabric.

  “Ow, that stings.”

  He squirted fluid from the bottle onto her cheek and used a spatula to spread it. “What is that? It makes the skin feel warm.”

  “It speeds up the healing process. It glues the sides of the wound together to reduce scarring. Have you met my father, by the way?”

  “Your father?”

  The older man leaned against the doorway. He was tall and gangly like Vayra, but the eyes that met hers were eerily dark. Did eyes even get that dark? She could see clear similarities in the faces of father and son. He nodded at Ellisandra and asked Vayra something in a language she didn’t recognise. Vayra replied.

  “What’s that language you’re speaking?”

  “Trader Coldi.”

  And he expected the council to have no trouble with this man and his mother living in Miran? “Were you just playing music?”

  “We were practicing. I said I’d get you players for the orchestra. My father has been a professional musician for many years.”

  Ellisandra looked at the man in the doorway. Something about him didn’t quite seem right. Maybe his hair was too dark, maybe his face too Endri, maybe he understood every word she said. Maybe she was becoming entirely too paranoid about Vayra. “Is your mother Mirani?”

  “My parents are both Aghyrian.” Which wasn’t really a reply, because according to the definition of some, Endri were an Aghyrian race.

  He now took a bandage from the box and some tape. With a knife from the kit he cut a square piece from the bandage, as well as a few lengths of tape. The square he carefully deposited over the wound, and then affixed it with the tape. His touch was gentle and professional, but it occurred to Ellisandra that it was the first time that a man who was not a family member had touched her, or at least since she had become an adult.

  That was a strange thought. All her life, she had expected that man to be Jaeron, and she had waited and hoped in vain for signs of Jaeron’s affection. Now she’d made a definite decision that this wasn’t going to happen. She was free. She could flirt if she wanted, not that she wanted to do that right now, but the freedom was there.

  It was a strangely liberating thought.

  She met Vayra’s sand-coloured eyes and smiled.

  He returned the smile. “You know, people don’t normally smile when they’ve been almost knocked out.”

  “I’m too scared to act unhappy. I have stopped caring for my safety. When we stage the play, I expect it will be total mayhem after the genteel audience sees the final scene. We’re interpreting the play as it has never been interpreted before, and many people won’t like it. I’m scared out of my mind of what the council’s reaction will be.”

  “Hold on tight. You have more supporters than you think.”

  He finished putting the bandage on the wound and then went to bring her some tea, leaving her in the room with the man he said was his father. He still leaned against the doorframe, and observed her with a cool gaze.

  She tried not to stare, but didn’t know where to look.

  He wasn’t supposed to speak Mirani, but she wondered what would happen if she said something rude or provoking. How good an actor was he? Or did he really not understand Mirani? She had trouble believing that, although there did seem to be a foreign feel about him. His clothing was certainly strange enough. The trousers were a thick blue, a dirty-looking, unevenly dyed fabric. There was a little hole in them, too, on the side of his thigh. Maybe the fabric had worn there from carrying things in his pocket.

  The lute on the desk, though, was a most magnificent Mirani instrument, with patterns beaten into the metal panels and little glass-stone beads on the knobs to tighten the strings. You couldn’t buy an instrument like that in a shop. This was custom-made. It looked like a Darumin-made instrument, and merchant Darumin had died about ten years ago. This was not something he would have sold to the first random customer who walked into his workshop. Had merchant Darumin ever sold his lutes to foreigners?

  When Vayra’s father noticed her looking at the lute, he picked up the instrument. It had a strap which he slung over his shoulder. He set his fingers on the strings and started playing.

  Within a few bars, Ellisandra was completely lost in the music. This man couldn’t just play the lute; he made the lute perform magic.

  She barely noticed Vayra come back into the room carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. He sat next to her on the desk.

  They listened.

  When his father stopped playing, there was a moment of silence before Ellisandra applauded. He bowed his head in acknowledgement.

  “That was amazing!”

  “I said I’d get musicians for the orchestra,” Vayra said.

  “We need to let him play a solo.” She’d said it before realising that an obviously foreign man in the orchestra was going to create a lot of protest. She could get away with Vayra because he looked somewhat Mirani, but . . . “Do you think he could bleach his hair? I don’t want any trouble—or any more trouble than I’m already going to get.” Who was she kidding anyway? There would be so much trouble over this play. “I’d like everyone to stay calm until the very end of the play.”

  Vayra nodded. “I’m sure we could arrange for both of us to look very Mirani. Don’t worry.”

  He distributed the tea and they drank in silence for a while.

  “Anyway, the reason I’m here is because I think you have a way of contacting people outside Miran without using the Exchange.”

  Vayra gave her a critical look.

  “I saw that screen in the tent. You were replying to someone outside Miran.”

  “That’s just going to Barresh, using the satellite.”

  The army had satellites. They were built in a factory near the airport and taken up in military aircraft. They were said to spy on remote mountain regions and Barresh. She couldn’t imagine Vayra’s machine using these satellites. “Does Barresh have satellites?”

  “Barresh doesn’t, but the Trader Guild does.”

  And he was a member. Another reminder not to trust him too much.

  A wave of doubt hit her. Did she want to use a non-Mirani satellite to contact people about a Mirani problem?

  Well, she couldn’t use a Mirani satellite.

  But everyone in gamra would know what she was doing.

  That might not necessarily be a bad thing.

  On the other hand, how would she know? Miran could be overrun with foreign interests if she did this.

  Damn it, wasn’t that why they’d got into this problem in the first place? The Mirani fear of foreigners?
That fear had been drilled into everyone from birth. It was not just the council, it was embedded in all the people, Endri and Nikala both, in the council, the merchants in the markets, the workers, everyone, even her. And she needed to get over it.

  She licked her lips and nodded to Vayra. “I will use it.” I will use it and suffer the consequences, because we cannot go on living like this.

  He put his cup down. “Come with me.”

  She followed him into the main room of the office—whoa, her head—where there was a central communication hub. Much of the equipment was at least ten years old and probably had been abandoned when the family left Miran. Vayra had hooked up some more modern-looking equipment to one of the screens.

  “You sit here and type on that. I presume you know how to use a local hub?”

  She gave him a what-do-you-think-I-am? stare.

  “Do you know the gamra codes of the people you want to contact?”

  “I need to look those up. Not all of them are outside Miran.”

  Next he would want to know who she wanted to contact, and once she told him, there would be no way back, and this whole avalanche would be in motion with no way to stop it.

  “I’ll help you.”

  She’d been afraid of that. Asking to figure this out in a private room by herself would have been too much to ask, right? It was now or never, another moment for a choice. Live like this, or try to make life better.

  She spoke in a low voice. “I have to warn you, to allow you to back out if you can. This is not an innocent chat I want to have with these people. I want to contact all surviving members of all Foundation families. I want as many as possible to come to Miran for the council session where the new laws are being voted on. I don’t know if the current laws still give us the right of veto, or if they do, if the council will honour it, but I want to try.”