The Fire Seer and Her Quradum

by Raby, Amy

  “That’s what I thought.” Mandir poked Bel-Sumai with his toe. “You knew he was sick, didn’t you? You’re the newest arrival—you’ve been here only four months. The king was dying four months ago, when you left the palace, and you knew.”

  “Everybody knew he was sick,” said Bel-Sumai. “We didn’t know he was going to die.”

  “Was it your idea?” asked Mandir. “Or did you do it on King Izdubar’s orders?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “Yes, you do.” Mandir’s voice was soft. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. King Izdubar must have worried about it a great deal. He’s always been a good king. He’s kept the peace; he’s kept order. Two of his sons are much like him; they will rule well as joint kings. But the third son was a problem, wasn’t he? King Izdubar must have agonized over that problem, asking himself, What will happen when I die and Tufan shares the throne with his brothers? Perhaps he confided in you, his trusted veteran guard, about the dilemma he was in when his health began to fail.”

  “It’s not my business what the king wondered about,” said Bel-Sumai. “Nor is it yours.”

  “I think he made it your business,” said Mandir. “And I’m sorry, because those are terrible orders to lay on a man who is, above all, loyal to the crown. You are loyal, aren’t you?”

  “Of course,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “King Izdubar knew he was dying,” said Mandir. “He knew his third son was unfit to rule. That’s why he sent you. It all makes sense. Nobody does a second stint here in the middle of nowhere, especially not a trusted veteran like yourself. He didn’t send you here as penance for your sins. He sent you here because he knew he could count on you to carry out his orders.”

  Bel-Sumai was silent.

  “He sent you here to kill his son,” said Mandir. “To dispose of Tufan as humanely as possible, so that he would never ascend the throne.”

  Still Bel-Sumai said nothing.

  “You did an excellent job,” said Mandir. “Completely hands off, a painless death for the prince. You were loyal to your king above all. You did the service he asked of you.”

  “What do you know of loyalty?” snarled Bel-Sumai. “What do you know of service? You are Tufan’s worthless bastard. You know nothing. You are nothing.”

  “Did he tell you to plant evidence and set up somebody else to take the blame?” asked Mandir. “Or was that your own idea?”

  “Mandir, there are fourteen palace guards out there,” said Bel-Sumai. “Fifteen if you include Bel-Zaidu. Do you think they’ll believe your story over mine? If you want to survive another day, you’d better untie me right now.”

  Mandir snorted. “If I untie you, that will be my death.”

  “It’s your death if you don’t,” said Bel-Sumai. “Do you want an all-out war between the Coalition and the crown?”

  Taya had not said a word throughout this exchange, thoroughly stunned, but everything Mandir had said rang true. The piece of the puzzle that had been missing was motive. Why would a palace guard kill a man he’d been charged to protect? It didn’t make sense—unless he had been ordered to do it, by a dying king who wanted to make sure he would not be succeeded by a terrible and incompetent ruler.

  How frustrating that Bel-Sumai wouldn’t just admit what he’d done so that they could have a rational conversation about this. If the king had ordered Bel-Sumai to kill Tufan, then no crime had been committed. Tufan’s death had been a royal command, and Yanzu’s death was accidental. There was a way out of this, and it didn’t have to involve anybody dying. “If you killed Tufan on the king’s orders, you did nothing wrong.”

  “Except plant evidence in my saddlebag and blame me for the crime,” Mandir pointed out.

  Her partner wasn’t helping. “Look,” she began. As she gestured, she noticed the wilted corobane lying on the floor. Perhaps now was the time to explain its significance. She picked it up. “See this?”

  Bel-Sumai raised a brow at her but did not answer.

  “It’s spotted corobane,” said Taya. “I found it in that little wood where you hunt game birds.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?” said Bel-Sumai.

  “Did you go hunting on the day your dog died?” asked Taya.

  “Why are we talking about something that happened ten years ago?”

  “Because you’ve carried a grudge about it for all of those ten years,” said Taya. “And now you’re trying to get back at Mandir for something he never did. On that day ten years ago, did you perhaps catch a quail and feed it to your dog?”

  “Yes,” said Bel-Sumai. “My dog ate quail all the time. It never made him sick.”

  “This quail may have,” said Taya. “Where I grew up, in the south, we never ate quail that lived in areas where spotted corobane grows. If the quail eats the seeds of this plant—” She shook the branch again. “—its flesh becomes poisonous. It kills by causing paralysis. You poisoned your own dog, Bel-Sumai.”

  Bel-Sumai’s face lost its color. “I did not poison my own dog.”

  “You didn’t mean to do it,” said Taya. “It was an accident. But you were wrong to blame Mandir then, and you’re wrong to blame him now.”

  All three guards twisted in their bonds to stare at the wilted plant in her hand.

  While she waited for this information to sink in, Taya glanced out the window. They were running out of time. The fourteen palace guards plus Bel-Zaidu could head this way at any time. She was gambling now, hoping the guards would see reason, and see it soon enough that they could end this conflict without bloodshed. “It’s a terrible thing to lose an animal you cared for,” she added gently. “I’m sorry it happened.”

  “I didn’t kill your dog,” said Mandir to Bel-Sumai. “I told you that years ago.”

  “You might as well have killed him!” snarled Bel-Sumai. “How do I know if my dog died from poisoned quail or from something you put in his food? Even if you didn’t do it, you’re the sort of person who would have done it.”

  Mandir sat on Tufan’s bed. His shoulders slumped. “I’m not. I never was.”

  Taya, seeing that he needed her, sat next to him on the bed and interlaced her fingers with his.

  “The river country would be better off without people like you,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” said Taya. “And that’s not your judgment to make. The king ordered you to kill one man, for a specific purpose, not to persecute some other man you happened to dislike.”

  Bel-Sumai scowled.

  “I have a proposal.” She glanced out the window again. So far she didn’t see the guards. “Bel-Sumai, I propose that you forgive Mandir for the sins you believe he’s committed against you. And Mandir will forgive Bel-Sumai for planting evidence to get him into trouble. Yanzu’s death was an accident. There’s no reason we can’t claim that Tufan’s was as well.”

  The room fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  Finally Bel-Sumai spoke. “The king said I had to bring someone back to face trial.”

  “Why?” asked Taya.

  Bel-Sumai attempted to shrug despite his bound wrists. “I don’t know. Plausibility? All of Tufan’s bastards are worthless; who cares if one of them is executed?”

  “I care,” said Taya. “Nobody in this household is worthless. Setsi and Nindar certainly aren’t. Mandir isn’t. Ilinos is young enough to make a turnaround, and who’s to say that Runawir and Shardali might not improve if they leave this terrible place?”

  Bel-Sumai snorted his contempt.

  “As I said, it’s not your judgment to make,” said Taya.

  “I’m supposed to bring somebody back,” said Bel-Sumai.

  “The man who gave you that order is dead,” said Taya. “You’ve done your duty. You stopped Tufan from becoming king over the river country. You saved us all from the horrors that Tufan’s sons suffered every day under his rule. It’s time to stop blaming the sons for what their father did
to them. It’s time for their suffering to end.”

  Mandir’s eyes were soft and liquid. He wasn’t saying much, but Taya could see that he was moved by this conversation. He rose to his feet, picked up a knife, and walked to Bel-Sumai.

  Taya tensed, but Mandir only reached down and cut the ropes that bound Bel-Sumai’s wrists and ankles. He took the man’s hand and helped him to his feet. “I forgive you for setting me up, and for beating me when you thought I’d killed your dog. Let us promise—” His voice broke as he said it, but he soon recovered. “Let us promise never to harm each other again.”

  Bel-Sumai stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head.

  Mandir went to the other two guards and cut their ropes as well. He helped them to their feet.

  Taya glanced out the window. The newly arrived guards were leaving the stable and coming this way. They had little time left.

  The three guards in the room shuffled their feet and rubbed their wrists, saying nothing.

  Bel-Sumai’s gaze went to the window. A muscle jumped along his jawline as he spotted his reinforcements on the way. Then he went to Mandir. “I forgive you,” he said gruffly. He held up his hand, and the two men touched fingers.

  Bel-Apsu and Bel-Ditana came up and touched fingers as well.

  “Prince Tufan died of an accidental overdose of nepenthe,” said Bel-Sumai. “Are we agreed?”

  There were assents all around, just as the mob of guards reached the door.

  Chapter 30

  Mandir followed Taya out of Tufan’s chambers, feeling not only relief but a wave of love for her that was almost overwhelming. “I could kiss you,” he said.

  She turned and grinned. “Then do it.”

  He intended to—but first he wanted to take a moment just to look at her. Her black hair shone, adorably mussed as it always was, with pieces falling out of the headdress. And her face was flushed from the confrontation with the guards. Flood and fire, but she was sexy. He loved everything about her. “Nobody ever did that for me before.”

  “Did what?” she asked.

  “Defended me.”

  Her eyes went soft. “It’s not unusual, you know. Even if we weren’t lovers, we’d be Coalition partners, and I’d have defended you then. Even if I still hated you, I’d have done it.”

  “Well, you’re not like the people I grew up with.” For years, he’d thought of her as naive and innocent, himself as worldly and cynical. But in this, he was the naive one. Innocence he could not claim, but for years his view of life and human relationships had been cruelly distorted. When it came to trust and partnerships, love and relationships, he was but a babe in the woods, wide-eyed with wonder as he experienced them for the very first time. And it was Taya who was worldly and wise.

  He took her face in his hands and pulled her close. The curves of her body fit neatly into the planes of his own. He kissed her. Her nipples hardened as they brushed against his chest, but her mouth was soft against his. He tilted her head a little, tasting her from a different angle.

  His cock was swelling, a natural bodily reaction to his touching and kissing her, yet he felt more affectionate right now than sexual. He didn’t want to pound into her so much as he wanted to stroke and caress her, to show her the love and reverence that played the gentle counterpart to his darker fantasies.

  She brought her hands up to his shoulders, leaning into the kiss. He stroked the back of her neck. She was so warm and yielding. Great Mothers, but she killed him. Killed him every time and in every which way. He wanted her so much that she left him quivering, like wet clay.

  “That was clever of you,” he murmured. “Figuring out what happened to Bel-Sumai’s dog.”

  “Thank you—although I don’t know for sure that’s what happened. I don’t think we’ll ever know.”

  “You created doubt, which was all that mattered,” said Mandir. “And I would never have made that connection on my own.”

  “Well, you were smart to figure out that Bel-Sumai was acting on the king’s orders.”

  He grinned. “We make a good team.”

  “We do.” Her eyes were soft.

  Mandir wanted nothing more than to take her back to the guest room and love her—slowly this time. Gently. They could take the whole afternoon. But with so many guards on the property, and their tentative peace agreement with Bel-Sumai so fragile, they couldn’t afford the indulgence. “We need to pack and get out of here.”

  “I know.”

  They headed to the guest room to collect their things. Mandir found his saddlebags a mess, with his clothes and personal items strewn all over. What a zebu’s ass Bel-Sumai had been to plant evidence here and then stage a search—it was violating in so many ways. Mandir was tempted just to shove everything back in the bag, but if he did, the knowledge of his messy bag would nag at him, so he carefully retrieved, folded, and packed each item.

  Taya, meanwhile, packed her own saddlebags.

  Mandir finished his work and tied the saddlebag shut. He pulled the two nepenthe vials from his pocket. “Look what I still have.”

  Taya looked up and started as if he held a poisonous snake. “Bantu kasu annasi, get rid of those!”

  “Why? This is part of the evidence that the vials had their contents swapped.”

  “We don’t want that evidence,” said Taya. “Tufan died of an accidental overdose, remember? No swapped vials involved.”

  That was true, but he feared the guards might renege on the deal they’d made. That was probably his suspicious nature at work; trust did not come easily to him, and never would.

  “You know what?” said Taya. “I suggested to Gadatas that I’d give him back his nepenthe if he told me whether or not Yanzu stole it from him the night of the murder.”

  “And did he tell you?” asked Mandir.

  “He did,” said Taya. “Though he wasn’t enthusiastic about it.”

  Mandir looked thoughtfully at the two vials. “Are you saying you want to keep your word and return it to him?”

  “No,” said Taya. “But what else are we going to do with it?”

  “I have an idea,” said Mandir.

  ∞

  Gadatas was not in his quarters. Even so, Mandir saw signs he’d begun to prepare for departure. His shelves had been emptied, and his chest had been pulled out from the wall to the center of the room. Somehow he’d managed to cram all his belongings into the chest, and he’d done it the proper way, by neatly folding and organizing everything. Mandir approved.

  “Shall we try the stable?” said Taya. “He might want to secure a horse.”

  “He can’t put that chest on a horse.” Still, it was a good suggestion.

  They headed for the stable. Gadatas wasn’t there, as it happened, but Nindar was. The boy was busy grooming and watering the fourteen horses of the newly arrived palace guards.

  “Will you be ready to go soon?” Taya asked him. “We want to be on the road before dark, you and me and Setsi and Mandir.”

  Nindar nodded. “I’ve just about finished here. I’ll go to the house and pack my things.”

  “Have you seen Gadatas?” Mandir asked him.

  “Down by the river, filling waterskins.”

  They spotted Gadatas at the river, panting heavily and trembling as he ascended the bank, carrying three full waterskins.

  “How’s the shaking?” said Taya.

  “Worse than ever,” said Gadatas. “Were you able to recover my nepenthe? I really need it. I don’t know if I’ll be able to even sit a horse right now.”

  Mandir didn’t believe that he truly needed it, and after what he’d seen at Neshi’s place during his Year of Penance, he was never going to give Gadatas back his nepenthe. If he did, he’d be complicit in the man’s suffering and eventual death. “You should come with us to Rakigari. I’m sure Neshi would be happy to take you in for a while and help you through your withdrawal sickness.”

  Gadatas scowled at this idea.

  “Did you have somewhere
else in mind to go?” asked Mandir.

  “I was thinking maybe the palace.”

  Mandir raised his brows. “Didn’t they exile you?”

  “Yes, but it’s been a while,” said Gadatas. “And...well, there will be a new king. Two new kings.”

  Taya jumped in. “You really think you can go back to the palace, shaking the way you are and craving nepenthe, and they’ll just put you back to work?”

  Gadatas said nothing.

  “Taya’s right,” said Mandir. “You can’t go back in this state. You know what will happen. You’ll steal more nepenthe. The new kings aren’t going to be any more tolerant of that than Izdubar was.”

  “I’m not going to steal anything,” said Gadatas.

  “Never mind—I have good news.” Mandir pulled the two vials of nepenthe from his belt pouch and showed them to Gadatas. “See these?”

  Gadatas’s eyes went wide, and he took a step toward Mandir. “One of those is mine.”

  Mandir, who made it a habit never to give ground to another man, held out an arm to stay him. “Not so fast—they’ve been tampered with. Taya figured out that the contents of your vial had been swapped with the contents of Tufan’s. And the two vials have different dosages.”

  Gadatas blinked. “How so?”

  “Yours was concentrated,” said Mandir. “And Tufan’s was dilute. A normal dose from your vial was a single drop, whereas from Tufan’s vial it was ten drops. When the contents were swapped, Tufan took ten drops of the concentrated variety, and he died of an overdose.”

  Gadatas’s shaking grew wilder. He hugged the three waterskins to his body. “Why would somebody do that?”

  Mandir gave him a hard look. “It’s not your business. And I suggest that if you do know anything, you’ll forget about it immediately. For your own safety. Do you understand?”

  Gadatas swallowed. “I understand.” His eyes went back to the nepenthe vials. “Are the contents still swapped?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then Tufan’s vial is the one that should be returned to me,” said Gadatas.

  Mandir ignored that. “Do you understand the implications of what I’ve said? You’ve been taking a reduced dosage for several days now, one-tenth of the amount you used to take. That’s why you started shaking.”