The Fire Seer and Her Quradum

by Raby, Amy

  Never mind; nothing could be done about it now.

  Back in the guest room, she climbed into bed. Mandir followed, and moments later, his strong arms encircled her. She snuggled up to him, knowing that lovemaking wasn’t an option, but enjoying the closeness nonetheless. For all the horrors of this place and all the uncertainty, at least they had each other.

  Chapter 13

  Mandir slept more deeply than he’d expected to, given the evening’s events. When he awoke, sunlight from the window painted a slash of warmth across his face, and someone was knocking on the door.

  “Coalition?” a voice called.

  Mandir’s half-conscious mind struggled to process words. Coalition—that presumably meant him or Taya, although they weren’t usually addressed in that way. The voice was familiar. Which of his brothers did it belong to? Ilinos, probably.

  “Coalition mages?” called Ilinos. “Tufan is dead, and the guards want everyone in the dining room.”

  Tufan is dead. The words sliced through Mandir’s torpor like a knife through butter. Had he heard that right? He scrambled to his feet, hurried to the door, and yanked it open. “What did you say?”

  Ilinos’s black eye had matured during the night into an uneven ring of puffy, purpled skin. “Tufan is dead.”

  “How can that be?” said Mandir.

  “The guards say he died during the night. Nobody is to leave the house until they figure out who killed him. They want us all in the dining room.” Ilinos hurried off, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.

  Mandir turned to Taya, who stared at him in shock.

  “Tufan is dead?” she said.

  “It sounds like the guards think he was murdered.”

  Taya’s eyes lit. “If Tufan is dead, our problem is solved. We can take Nindar and Setsi away from here.”

  “We’d best not talk about that right now.” If someone had murdered a prince of the realm, he and Taya would do well to refrain from gloating over how that benefited them.

  “Nobody is to leave until they figure out who killed him,” said Taya. “Does that apply to us?”

  “I’m sure it does.” Everyone in the house would be a suspect. Mothers help him, if only he hadn’t acted the fool yesterday at supper, demonstrating for everyone his hatred for Tufan and his inability to control his temper. After that performance, Mandir might find himself the primary suspect.

  “Let’s go to the dining room,” said Taya.

  Mandir took a few minutes to straighten his clothes and hair—no time to shave this morning, or to bathe or even change—and headed there with Taya.

  He felt as if he were floating numbly in a nonsensical dream. Tufan, dead—truly? So many nights, he’d prayed for it to happen, and now it finally had. He didn’t grieve for the man—probably no one would—but Mandir didn’t feel exactly happy about being fatherless. Instead he felt cast adrift, a raft in the river whose tether had broken from shore.

  The dining hall was crowded with people, some sitting at the table and some standing against the wall. Most of Mandir’s brothers were present, as was Shala. Mandir scanned their faces, looking for hints of how each of them felt about the prince’s death. Most of them looked shocked, even the usually implacable Runawir. He supposed this was a lot for his brothers to take in. They’d never lived in any environment but Tufan’s household, and now that he’d died, it was hard to say at this point what would become of them.

  The palace guard Bel-Sumai held court at the head of the table, with all three of the other guards at his sides. “I’ll be talking with each of you individually—” He spotted them. “Coalition. Have a seat.”

  There were no two adjacent empty seats, so he and Taya sat on opposite sides of the table.

  “As most of you now know, Prince Tufan died last night,” said Bel-Sumai. “We believe he was poisoned.”

  “What were his symptoms?” asked Mandir.

  Bel-Sumai frowned. “This crime is not within your authority, Coalition.”

  “If magic was involved, it is,” said Mandir.

  “Magic wasn’t involved,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “With respect, sir,” said Taya, “that’s for us to determine.”

  Bel-Sumai looked annoyed. “Very well. You can look at the scene later to see for yourselves that there was no magic involved. Bel-Zaidu, Bel-Apsu, Bel-Ditana and myself are the designated agents of the king and, as such, are responsible for all arrangements concerning the prince’s death.” He nodded toward each of the guards as he named them. “Since we have no means of delivering the body to the palace speedily enough for services there, we will hold the funeral here. My fellow guards and I will also investigate the prince’s death, determine who killed him, and bring that person before the king for trial. No one may leave the property until—”

  Bel-Sumai paused as someone Mandir had never seen before entered the room. The new man was gray-haired and too old to be one of his brothers. His pallor suggested that he was sick. No—hungover. This must be the tutor with the drinking problem.

  Bel-Sumai acknowledged the tutor with a nod. “No one may leave the property until I, as the highest-ranking of the king’s agents, say they may do so. Anyone who departs without our permission shall be declared a fugitive of the crown and executed for treason. Is that clear?”

  Assents around the table.

  Ilinos ran into the room, panting. “I can’t wake Yanzu.”

  Bel-Sumai blinked. “Why, is he passed out from drink?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Runawir shoved his chair back from the table. “I’ll help you.”

  “I’ll come along,” said Mandir.

  In the end, almost everyone traipsed down the hall to Yanzu’s room and crowded around his bedroom door without entering. Yanzu was lying in bed, quite still, wearing his nightclothes.

  “Is he breathing?” Mandir asked.

  The others hung back, so Mandir pushed his way into the room. He wasn’t squeamish; he’d seen dead bodies before and unconscious ones as well. He placed a finger on the side of Yanzu’s neck to feel for a pulse. He couldn’t find one—yet Yanzu’s body felt warm. Stepping closer, he leaned down and put an ear to the man’s chest.

  “No heartbeat,” said Mandir. “And no pulse. He’s dead.”

  Around the room, several people gasped.

  Mandir stared at the corpse, perplexed by the lack of life in a body that had been so full of life yesterday. Not that he’d ever liked Yanzu. But this was his brother, whom he’d known for years, and death was so fundamentally disturbing. One expected it to happen gradually, but in reality it was so sudden.

  Taya slipped up beside him. “Two deaths in one night,” she murmured.

  “Everybody out,” said Bel-Sumai, gesturing the brothers and Taya toward the door.

  “You said we could see the crime scene,” said Mandir.

  “I meant the other one,” said Bel-Sumai. “But look around, if your Coalition insists on it.”

  Chapter 14

  Taya wished she and Mandir could have privacy while they examined the scene and body. She had a dozen questions she wanted to ask her partner, as well as some ideas on which she wanted his opinion. Not only that, she was concerned about his emotional state. While she knew that Mandir loved neither of the dead men, the fact remained that he’d lost his father and one of his brothers in a single night. That had to affect him.

  But Bel-Sumai’s hostile eyes left her holding her tongue. Mandir had confronted and embarrassed Bel-Sumai yesterday at supper. Now the guard had the opportunity to take his vengeance, if he chose to do so.

  Of the two crime scenes, this one was the fresher; it might have more to tell them than Tufan’s room, which the guards had surely been over by now, obscuring possible clues.

  Yanzu’s room was similar in layout and furnishings to her own guest room. A small washroom contained a ewer half full of water and a chamber pot, which had been used. Back in the main room, a single window faced west into a hazy mo
rning fog. She leaned out the window, breathing in the fog, and checked the ground below it for footprints. The earth, though slightly moistened now by the morning air, was hard and cracked from weeks of dry weather. No footprints showed, nor were they likely to on such ground.

  Mandir was looking at the body. Leaving that to him, she explored every corner of the room. Its furnishings consisted of a bed, a table with three chairs, and several chests and cabinets, which held clothes and a few writing tablets and personal items. On the table sat a cup with a bit of clear liquid in the bottom. She leaned down to sniff it. It smelled like nothing. “Mandir.”

  He came to the table, peered into the cup, and sniffed it. “Looks like he had a cup of water after dinner, probably poured from that ewer in the washroom.”

  “What do you think killed him?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Mandir. “Come and look.”

  She followed him to the bed.

  Mandir rolled the body over, showing her Yanzu’s wholly undamaged back and sides. There was a bandage wrapped tightly around his left bicep, stained with blood that had soaked through and dried.

  “I don’t think he had that injury at dinner,” said Mandir.

  “No, it’s fresher than that,” said Taya. And yet it didn’t look like the injury had killed him. The bandage seemed to have contained the bleeding.

  Bel-Sumai, who’d been standing by the door, came over to peer at the bandage. “Unwrap it,” he said. “I want to see the wound.”

  Mandir unwrapped the bandage, revealing under each layer another layer beneath it with a slightly larger blood mark. Still, Taya maintained her opinion that the injury itself had not killed him. When Mandir bared the skin beneath the bandage, it was clear they were looking at a minor stab wound.

  “Poisoned knife?” suggested Taya.

  “I don’t know,” said Mandir.

  “Are you satisfied now?” said Bel-Sumai. “He obviously wasn’t killed by flood or fire.”

  “Nearly,” said Taya, although Bel-Sumai was right; this murder clearly wasn’t magical. She and Mandir were arguably overstepping their bounds, but given that Bel-Sumai might later accuse Mandir of the crime, she felt it was essential that she and Mandir collect what evidence they could.

  Mandir pointed to the bottom of Yanzu’s left foot. “He’s got a cut here.”

  She leaned over to look. It was a short, shallow cut that had bled sparingly. Yanzu’s feet were otherwise unremarkable—dirty, with toughened soles from walking outdoors. Yanzu could have been out on the grounds last night, hunting for the dogs like everyone else. He could have cut his foot by stepping on something in the dark. Or perhaps he hadn’t been out there at all, if he’d gotten in a fight with someone after dinner and been stabbed. That wound on his arm wasn’t a dog bite. “Did you see Yanzu when we were looking for the dogs?”

  “No,” said Mandir. “I heard more people than I saw, but I couldn’t say who most of them were.”

  “It looks like he bandaged his wound, drank some water, used the chamber pot, and went to bed,” said Taya. “And then died in his sleep. I see no sign that he struggled or had convulsions.” She wondered what sort of poison could kill quietly. Unfortunately, she and Mandir were not experts on poisons; they specialized in magical crimes.

  Taya lifted Yanzu’s eyelids. “Look at this.”

  Mandir came over, followed by a curious Bel-Sumai.

  Yanzu’s pupils were small as pin pricks. “He died during the night,” said Taya. “Shouldn’t his pupils have been large because of the darkness?”

  Mandir’s brow furrowed. “It’s as if he looked at a bright light just before he died.”

  “Or perhaps it was an effect of poison,” said Taya.

  Mandir went back to the table, dipped his finger into the water glass, and raised it to his mouth.

  “Don’t,” said Taya quickly.

  Mandir put the finger in his mouth.

  Taya’s neck burned. Foolish, reckless man. “Are you crazy? That might have been poisoned!”

  “How else am I going to learn if there was anything in it?” said Mandir.

  Bel-Sumai looked interested. “Did you taste anything?”

  “Just water,” said Mandir.

  “Never do that again,” snapped Taya. She didn’t like this feeling of being concerned for Mandir. For years, she’d wished him dead. Now her stomach twisted at the thought of his coming to harm.

  “You’re right,” Mandir said to Bel-Sumai. “This wasn’t a magical crime. We’d like to see Tufan now.”

  ∞

  As Mandir led the way to his father’s chambers, he was aware of the hostility emanating from Bel-Sumai. He’d embarrassed the man last night at supper, and Bel-Sumai might just get back at him by blaming him for Tufan’s murder. Certainly no one could argue that Mandir didn’t have the desire to kill Tufan, as well as a hot and poorly controlled temper.

  His best defense was to find out who had really done it.

  Bel-Ditana stood in front of Tufan’s door.

  Mandir held out his hand to touch fingers. “Terrible circumstances.”

  “Spare me the false sympathy,” said Bel-Ditana. “You’re glad your father is dead.”

  “Let them pass,” said Bel-Sumai. “I told them they could check the scene to see if the crime was magical in nature. It’s their right, as agents of the Coalition. Did you hear that Yanzu is dead as well?”

  Bel-Ditana’s brows rose. “Really?”

  “He seems to have died in his sleep. Had a stab wound on his arm,” said Bel-Sumai.

  Bel-Ditana, who seemed sufficiently shocked by this to forget his hostility, opened the door and ushered them inside.

  Mandir had seen Tufan’s chambers before, nine years ago, and they hadn’t changed much. The prince, who had a fetish for gold, had trimmed all his furniture in gold leaf. When Mandir had been a lad, he’d been impressed by the shine and flash, but now that his tastes had matured, the room looked ridiculous. It was overdone, as if compensating for some fundamental insecurity. Mandir spotted a walking staff propped in a corner, tipped with a gold knob, very likely the one Tufan had used last night to punish his errant dogs.

  He glanced at Taya, wondering what her fresh eyes thought of the scene. Her nose was wrinkled—apparently she wasn’t impressed by the gold leaf either. As a farmer from a poor family, she wouldn’t think much of a cruel, ungenerous man who hoarded his wealth in a back bedroom.

  If one ignored the gold leaf, Tufan’s crime scene looked similar to Yanzu’s. Tufan lay in bed with his eyes closed, his bedcovers only slightly disturbed. A cup sat on a table beside the bed, flecked with telltale specks of gold. That would be Tufan’s customary nightcap of wine laced with nepenthe and gold dust.

  He turned to Bel-Sumai. “You discovered him just like this?”

  “We moved the body a bit, trying to wake him up,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “What caused you to go in his room in the first place?” asked Taya.

  “He likes to be awakened every morning at precisely one hour past sunrise,” said Bel-Sumai. “I went in to wake him at that time, and couldn’t.”

  Mandir approached the bed.

  “He obviously didn’t die in a fire or in a flood,” said Bel-Sumai.

  That was true, but Mandir wanted to learn as much as he could before the guards forced them to leave. It was hard to touch Tufan’s body at all. The man’s eyes were closed, and he looked like he could just be sleeping. Some small part of Mandir, the little boy inside him, feared the corpse would rear up and grab him, make him pay for this transgression.

  But he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and he knew dead men didn’t rise. Steeling himself for the physical contact, he used a finger to check for a pulse, and when he didn’t find one, he lowered his ear to the man’s chest to listen for a heartbeat. There wasn’t one, and the body was getting cold. The man was certainly dead, but unlike Yanzu, there was no stab wound and no bandage. Mandir threw back the blankets and checked his feet
for cuts, in case that was significant, and found none. Tufan hadn’t a mark on him. Mandir lifted the eyelids. “Taya.”

  She came over to look.

  The pupils were like Yanzu’s: tiny black pinpoints.

  So far, the evidence suggested that Tufan and Yanzu had died in the same way. He returned to the cup. “Could the wine in which he takes his gold dust have been poisoned?”

  “Unlikely, since I tasted it for him,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “Did you feel sick at all last night?” asked Mandir.

  “No.”

  “Did you taste it before or after he added the gold dust and nepenthe?”

  “Before,” said Bel-Sumai.

  Mandir nodded. The poison could have come in with the gold dust or the nepenthe. Or it could have come with the wine, and Bel-Sumai hadn’t been affected because he’d had only a sip, while Tufan had drained the entire cup. “Who brought his wine last night?”

  “Shala,” said Bel-Sumai.

  That meant Shala would be a suspect. So would Mandir himself, especially if one of his brothers tried to set him up. A wave of despondency washed over him. He didn’t want to solve this crime. He wanted to take Setsi and Nindar and leave this place. He wanted to be away from here. He wanted to make love to Taya as they camped by the side of the road and then return to the Coalition Temple, where people could trust each other, at least most of the time.

  Taya dipped her finger into Tufan’s wine cup.

  “Don’t you dare,” said Mandir.

  She stuck the finger in her mouth.

  “What are you doing?” asked Bel-Sumai.

  “Seeing if it’s poisoned,” said Taya.

  “Very likely it is,” fumed Mandir. “Woman, are you crazy?”

  “No crazier than you,” she said. “How can we tell if Tufan and Yanzu were poisoned by the same substance without testing both of their cups?”

  “You can leave now,” said Bel-Sumai. “Clearly his death wasn’t magical, and I have work to do.”