Sillara held Soren like she would never let go, and Soren’s heart broke to think that his mother’s beauty had gone to the grave, that his father’s vigor was extinguished, but it also swelled with pride that Ajalira had died as a proud Tamari.
Nothing more was said. Konas shifted his weight from one foot to the other, seeming to be waiting for something. When that something did not come, he turned away. Merieke went with him, and though Soren could not hear them over his own and Sillara’s wailing, they spoke animatedly about something. Darien led Nathen away, too, and the twins fell into each other’s sorrow, finding their comfort only in each other.
Konas, Sillara’s husband, and Merieke, Soren’s concubine, had no place in their private grief, nor did Soren make any excuses to himself. He was willing to take as much honorable comfort from Sillara as he could and give her as much as he could.
The twins wept until evening, and it was not until Konas reappeared that they composed themselves enough to hear the details of their parents’ deaths.
“Speak, therefore,” Soren said. “Tell us how this happened.”
Though Konas eyed the space next to Sillara on the bench, he did not sit there. Instead he sat on the stone bench across from them. “Nathen did it.”
Soren jumped up. “What?” Anger suffused him, but it had no direction. Nathen?
Konas held his hands out before him in a gesture of patience. “I know he’s your friend, but he’s a sneaky bastard, a schemer and an eavesdropper, just like his mother. He must’ve found out about Tivanel’s intentions and planned to hasten the inevitable: your father’s death.”
Nathen knew about the Ausir King’s obsession with Ajalira. He had talked about it with Soren before. “He wouldn’t do that.” Soren did not want to believe it.
“Yes, he would. Almost any man can kill if driven to it. You should’ve seen his face when I told your parents that Sillara and I are married.” Konas gazed at Sillara, but she hid her face in Soren’s chest. “He switched targets and tried to kill me.”
Soren’s voice shook in his suppressed rage. “So why do my parents lie cold and you yet live?”
“Nathen knew your parents were honoring me as their dinner guest. He poisoned the drink. I made a Seranimesti toast to your father, and he drank first, as is the custom.”
“What custom?” Konas’s story was not making any sense to Soren, and it only angered him further.
Konas waved away the question. “I can explain that later. What’s important is that I know Nathen did it.”
“Did you see him do it?” Sillara asked.
Konas’s features softened as he looked on his wife. “No, dearest, but I know.”
Soren wanted to throttle Konas for his familiarity. Konas had fucked Sillara, and the thought of that drove Soren mad.
Sillara rose and pulled gently on Soren’s elbow. “How?”
“Merieke.” Konas stared at the twins’ point of contact. He worked his jaw muscles in clear frustration.
“Merieke is skilled with poison,” Sillara said, and Soren hearkened to her. “She learned all manner of herbal skills from her mother before she died. And there would have been no poison at the oasis.”
“Could he have gotten it here?” Soren asked.
“Doubtful,” Sillara said. “Our Tamari are not like the Zenji. They are not poisoners.”
“And I saw Merieke give Nathen a small bundle wrapped in linen on the day of our departure,” Konas said. “He tucked it away in his belt, and I never got a chance to look at it. He guarded it with his hands even as he slept in the balloon. It must’ve been the poison.”
Soren narrowed his eyes. “How do you know for sure it was poison?” He did not trust his pale Ausir rival.
“Your mother confirmed it.”
Soren pressed his forehead against Sillara’s. “I’ll kill him. Our parents’ blood cries out for vengeance.”
“Kill him now,” Konas said. “He’s too dangerous for any delay. You are King, Soren. Order him seized and executed by your guard.”
Soren considered the idea.
“You must act now,” Konas said, this time his voice louder, more frantic. “If he finds out you know, he might strike first.”
Konas was afraid. He—not Soren—had been Nathen’s target. But there was something more to Konas’s stratagem. The crafty Ausir was desperate for Soren to kill Nathen immediately.
“No.” Soren had other plans for Nathen, his oldest friend save Sillara. They had been through danger on the high seas together; he would not have him executed by strangers who could not even speak his tongue.
“Why? You are King.” Konas stepped closer. “Act like one.”
Soren came nose to nose with Konas. “Nathen was my friend, and if he murdered my parents, he will pay, but by my hand.” He raised his fist before his face. “He didn’t act against King Soren of Tamar but against Soren Itenu, son of Kamen. On those grounds will I deal with him.” But there was more Soren thought that he did not say. Kamen’s murder, though foreseen, was only collateral damage. Soren wished Nathen had not been such a poor marksman. He looked on Konas and hated him, blaming him for all his woes.
Konas stepped away from Soren’s wrath. “And what about Merieke?”
Darien lived almost by her looks. If Soren executed or killed her by his own hand, there was no telling what the old Admiral would do. From the stories told about him, Darien might slaughter Soren’s entire guard to get to him, to wreak vengeance on Soren for depriving him of his only daughter.
Merieke, his concubine, and Nathen, his dear friend, had betrayed Soren. Nathen was his friend and lover, and though Soren was sad, this revelation did not surprise him. The siblings had connived to trap him in a contract of concubinage, so this murder was not beyond their obsession. Soren could not judge who wanted whom more, whether Merieke wanted Soren or Nathen wanted Sillara.
“I’ll think on what’s best to be done with Merieke.” Soren hugged Sillara with one arm and kissed her brow. “Go to your chambers, sister. I must have Nathen summoned here. I will draw the truth from his own lips and then send him to Nistaran.”
Sillara snuggled against Soren’s shoulder. “I go, but be careful.” And she left.
Soren and Konas both watched her go, but once she was gone, all that was left between them was their rivalry. Though sorely tempted to take up a sword and slay Konas, Soren mastered his impulse.
“Leave me,” he said. “I’ll deal with Nathen in my own way.”
Konas stood for many moments gritting his teeth, but in the end he said nothing, turned on his heel, and stomped away.
Soren sat alone with his thoughts. What would he say to Nathen? How would he achieve his friend’s death? Thinking about the act tore him apart, but Nathen had to die. Though he killed Soren’s parents for love of Sillara, still he was a murderer. There would be no mercy.
A noise pulled Soren from his dark musings, but Nathen was not the figure who appeared before him. Instead Darien stood in the doorway, his massive build filling the frame.
“Your father was a good man.” The old Admiral’s soft voice belied his monstrous size.
Soren nodded. “I know.”
“I don’t think you do.” Darien walked nearer. “What he went through for your mother—I mean, it was war. You should’ve seen him as a young man. A captain could not have asked for a better first mate. A man could not have asked for a better lover.”
Soren thought of Nathen, his lover, his second mate. The times they had shared, the nights they had lain in bed holding each other—Soren knew at that moment how he would kill Nathen.
“Will you build a memorial for my parents in Arinport?” Soren asked.
Shock registered on Darien’s face. “You’re really not going back?”
Soren shook his head. “There’s nothing left for me.”
“Nothing left? Boy, are you daft? Has grief stripped you of your good senses? Your father’s estate and the Itenu name demand you return and claim
what is yours by birthright. You have a duty!” He pointed at Soren's falcon tattoo, the symbol of his house. “What's that for, then?”
Soren sighed. Darien could never understand that life apart from Sillara was meaningless. A noble title? Lands? They were nothing compared to a mere afternoon spent in her company. This was precisely why Soren had accepted the Tamari crown. He would never be parted from Sillara again, even though her oath belonged to another man. Her heart, he knew, belonged to him. Here in the city of Tamar, the Desertmasters would keep Sillara and Konas apart, but back in Arinport, there would be no bar to Konas's lust.
“I can’t go back,” Soren said at last. “They’ll never let Sillara go, and I cannot abandon her.”
“Then I’ll bring an army back and liberate her.” Darien smashed his fist into his palm.
Soren could almost believe the old man. “You’d never get an army across the desert, and there simply aren’t enough balloons in Arinport.”
“There has to be something we can do. You’re handy with a sword. Let’s stand back to back, with Sillara between us, and cut our way to the balloon. We’ll be away with the dawn.”
If Soren were inclined to leave, he might have agreed to the intrepid plan. He understood why Kamen had loved Darien so much. The old Admiral still burned with an unquenchable fire that drew people in.
“Let me think about it,” Soren said, hoping to calm Darien down. It worked.
“Good night, then, Your Grace.” He bowed with a smile. “My sword arm stands ready; just give me the word.”
And Soren was left alone with his dark thoughts. His sword arm, too, was ready, and it would soon deprive Nathen of his life.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Sillara sat in her chamber, her head splitting. But there was still supper to make, and though she doubted that either she or Soren would want to eat, she knew that they both should. Furthermore, Soren, King of Tamar, was entertaining a guest, Lord Admiral Darien. But what of their father's murderer, Soren's old shipmate, Nathen?
Soren's lover.
Sillara rose and bathed her face, shaking back her curls. Yes, Nathen had been Soren's lover, but it was common quarters, Sunjaa custom. Nathen was not her rival.
Murderer. Nathen, a murderer? Nathen, who had spoken such words of love to her?
Why must any man love her besides Soren? If she had been given to Soren, then her parents would still be alive, and Nathen and Konas would be innocent of their crimes.
But their crimes remained theirs. Nathen a murderer and Konas a kidnapper. They might have loved her even had she been given to Soren, and their guilt would not be less. The love that she and Soren shared was like a rock, and those who would stand against it could only break themselves on it.
The loss of her parents was a weight on her, a heavy burden that she could not manage to escape from. And yet she knew that it would have come eventually, and sooner rather than later to her Ausir way of thinking. Kamen and Ajalira would have died while Sillara and Soren were yet in the bloom of their youth, even if Kamen had lived out the longest lifetime of Men. Her parents had died together, had been true to the end. There was comfort in this, comfort of a hard, Tamari sort, but comfort nonetheless. Sillara squared her shoulders and went back down the stairs. The sunlight was fading fast, and evening would soon come. She was glad that she had laid out bread to rise in the morning, for she would not have had time now to mix it. As she sprinkled on the saffron and set it down to bake, she heard a light footfall, so light that it could belong only to Merieke.
“Please fetch in the root-vegetables,” said Sillara without looking up. “I am making stew for Soren's guests.”
“Yes, sister.” Merieke's voice was so kind that Sillara started and looked up at her.
“What?” Even the use of the word Sillara so hated to hear from Merieke, “sister”, could not overcome the gentle tone.
“I am so, so sorry about your parents.” Merieke's eyes were not red, but her words seemed genuine. “I had wanted us to be like them, you know. Your parents and mine—me and Soren, you and Nathen.”
Sillara drew in a shaky breath. Nathen had murdered her father, had gone back to the oasis with the intention of murdering him. Even if Nathen had changed his intended target from Sillara's father to her husband, still he had intended Kamen's death at one point, and he had achieved it, regardless. And Merieke felt no guilt? Sillara could not believe it, but there it was. Merieke felt no guilt at all over the deaths of Kamen and Ajalira, and she could even mourn them as a loss to Soren. “My father was poisoned, and my mother died for love of him. Poisoned...”
“I am so sorry,” said Merieke again. She hugged Sillara, who stiffened in the embrace. “No, Sillara.” Merieke did not release her, instead placing a warm kiss on Sillara's mouth. Her tongue teased the seam of Sillara's lips, but Sillara did not open to Merieke. Instead, she pulled back and stared.
“I am Konas's wife,” said Sillara at last.
“And I am Soren's concubine.” Merieke shrugged her shoulders. “Why does that mean that we cannot take comfort in each other's arms during this time of sorrow?” She kissed Sillara again. “I, too, have lost my mother, Sillara, and I would be glad to share my father with you.”
It was at that moment that Sillara realized Merieke had no principles whatsoever. For Merieke, as Sillara suspected it had been for her mother before her, principles were something to be considered a weakness. Lady Saerileth Kesandrahn, Red Lotus, had moderated her behavior only for the sake of the Admiral whom she had loved. Merieke had no principles to hold her when her affections directed her. Affection for Nathen would have prompted her to give him the poison, and affection for Soren, and in a twisted way for Sillara herself, now prompted this attempt at comfort. But nowhere was there a sense of responsibility or guilt or shame.
“You cannot think, Sillara,” said Merieke, holding her close, “that either my husband or yours would be in the least upset at our fucking. They would love it. You know they would.”
“Master,” said Sillara. “Soren is not your husband.”
Merieke ran her hand up Sillara's side, cupping Sillara's breast. “But you could ask him, and he would marry me.” Merieke leaned down to kiss Sillara again, but she pulled away.
“No, Merieke. I am wedded to Lord Konas. I cannot couple with anyone else.” Sillara detached herself from her one-time friend. “It is not the Ausir way.”
Merieke sighed. “I wish you hadn't married that stuffy Ausir. You should have married Nathen.”
Sillara went back to the vegetables. Soren was growing agitated, and she knew that soon Nathen would be with him. Soon after, Nathen would be dead.
Sillara envied Nathen. He would die, die by Soren's hand, but she had to live? Live for centuries knowing that she was divided from her soul?
“I'll get the root-vegetables.” Merieke stepped outside, but her footfalls were soft and light as always.
Within a few minutes, Sillara had the stew prepared, except for the root-vegetables. Merieke had never brought them back, so Sillara got them herself and finished Soren's supper. She was stirring the pot when she heard a loud knock at the door.
“Sillara!” It was Konas's voice, and Sillara opened the door to him.
“Come to my house,” said Konas. He glanced at the door guards on either side of him. “I want to talk to you privately.”
Sillara felt her mouth go dry. She could not refuse Konas, but if he were quick enough and crafty enough, he might be able to taste her body without the guards knowing.
“Yes.” Sillara pulled on her cloak, the distinctive blue cloak she had been given after her coronation. She walked with Konas, flanked by guards, the half a street's distance to Konas's home.
She stepped inside, and Konas closed the door behind her. The guards were present, but they stood outside.
“Sillara, my wife.” Konas took her in his arms and kissed her. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Sillara wanted to laugh hysterically. Eve
ryone wanted to comfort her with sex, but the only person whose sex she wanted, the only one whose embrace could comfort her, was the only one whom she could not touch. But she resisted the urge and simply said, “We cannot, for if the guards lose sight of me from the window, they will break down the door.”
Konas smiled. “Don't worry, my love. I have taken care of everything. They will see you leave in a moment.”
“What?” Sillara could not understand.
“I will leave.” Merieke whispered the words from a dim corner of Konas's front room. “I will wear your cloak, and you can throw your voice to speak as though you were directing them to take me—that is, you—back to Soren's house. Then you and Lord Konas can creep out. I'll get the balloon to you outside the city sometime tomorrow.”
Sillara choked on her horror. The plan could actually work, and, as Konas's wife, she was bound to obey him in the attempt. This was far worse than she had feared, and she thought she could not breathe.
“So, wife, do it.” Konas had never actually given her a command before, but Sillara was not surprised by it now. Konas had obtained her by deceit, and here he was packed in with Merieke, past mistress of deceit.
“Yes, my lord.” Sillara would not ever call Konas “husband” again. She stepped into the corner, passing out of sight of the windows. The guards immediately began to knock, but giving Merieke her cloak was the matter of a moment. Then Merieke, whose height and build so closely resembled Sillara's that they could exchange clothes, put on the cloak and pulled it up around her face, shrouding herself.
“Now speak.” Konas covered Sillara's body with his own, keeping her hidden from the doorway as Merieke opened it.
“Take me back to the King's house,” said Sillara, speaking from within Merieke's cloak.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The Desertmasters accompanied Merieke back to Soren's house, and Sillara despaired utterly.
“My Queen, my wife.” Konas's kiss was demanding, but though Sillara did not resist him, she could not respond either.
“What is your plan, my lord?” Sillara spoke as soon as he released her lips. “For though Merieke can deceive them long enough to get to my brother's house, surely you cannot think that we will be able to walk through the city without any of the Desertmasters noticing me?” Sillara realized bitterly that Konas had chosen his time perfectly, for at any other moment, any other time than this one when Soren's own anxiety, dread, and sorrow at having to kill Nathen were overwhelming both Soren and herself, her fear would have been enough to alert Soren to her danger.
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