Path of Honor

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  This is not news, she told herself, her fists clenched until her knuckles whitened.

  “Reisil?” Kebonsat reached out his hand. She flinched. If she let him touch her, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself together. She drew a deep breath.

  “I hadn’t realized until just now.”

  “What?”

  “Who you are.”

  “And who am I?”

  “You’re—” How to say it? How to put it into words? “You’re the next Dure Vadonis.”

  He thrust out an impatient hand, waving her words away. “It’s hardly a revelation. That cannot be what has made you goggle at me.”

  “You always seemed so . . . ordinary.” That wasn’t true. He’d never been ordinary. He’d been generous and courageous and kind. “I had forgotten you were in line to become Karalis.”

  “A very long line, and one that I don’t anticipate ever reaching the head of,” he said dismissively. “Is that what is suddenly troubling you?”

  “Here, those who use such language with me are most certainly not my friends. But then . . . neither are you. It isn’t possible.”

  Fury kindled in his expression. He stalked to the balustrade, staring down into the milling crowd, his fingers tapping the buttery marble.

  Almost too low for Reisil to hear, he muttered, “In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends.” After a long moment, he spun around and stalked back, standing so close, she could feel his breath on her cheeks.

  “You must understand this, Reisil. Courts are battle-grounds. One makes alliances; one advances and retreats, ambushes and sacrifices. Rules of manners have to be obeyed—otherwise, it would be madness and slaughter. That is the first lesson my father taught me. To believe a court is merely a place of social congregation is suicide.” To emphasize his warning, Kebonsat grasped her upper arms and gave her a little shake. Saljane hissed at him, swaying on Reisil’s shoulder as her talons gouged the leather of the gauntlet. Kebonsat gentled his grip but did not let go.

  “It is a hard fact, never to be forgotten without fatal consequences. One cannot afford friendships at court. One cannot count on them to survive in this toxic atmosphere.” He paused, his brown eyes grave as he stared down at her. “But hear me well. I vow this on my honor: You may count me among your true friends. I will never betray you.”

  Reisil’s heart stopped and her breath froze in her chest. She put up her hand as if to block the words. “Don’t say that. You can’t. What about Vertina Emelovi?”

  He captured her hand in his. “That’s not your concern.”

  Reisil’s hand tightened on his, urgency coloring her voice. “It is an astounding gesture, and I thank you. It means more than I can say. But surely you must see that you cannot do this. It will endanger all you have come here to do.”

  “It is done. I will hear no more about it,” he said, withdrawing his hand. Reisil caught his arm.

  “At least sleep on it. I won’t think anything less of you for changing your mind.”

  Kebonsat hesitated, and then gave a short nod. “I will not change my mind. But if it will please you, I will obey.” With that he bowed again, kissing her hand as he would that of any noblewoman. “I must go. If I do not see you downstairs, I shall see you at first light. Do not be late.”

  Then he spun on his heel and was gone. Reisil gaped after him. What had just happened? Even if he changed his mind, she would cherish that gesture forever.

  Reisil reached up and scratched Saljane’s chest.

  ~We aren’t alone after all. Are you ready? The sharks await.

  Saljane’s answer was to raise her head with a piercing cry, hot with pride and defiance.

  Kek-kek-kek-kek!

  Every head below shot up like a herd of startled deer. Reisil’s face settled into a chiseled mask, green eyes glittering. She had Saljane and Kebonsat and Juhrnus. Whatever happened next, she need not face it alone.

  “If it’s a fight they want, then it’s a fight they’ll get. I’m done sitting on my hands.”

  With that, Reisil began her descent onto the battleground.

  Chapter 18

  Kebonsat stalked through the corridors to his quarters in the east wing, his mind tracing methodically over his encounter with Reisil. She was too thin by far, like a dagger honed too fine and equally brittle.

  He paused at the turning to his apartments, stopping in the shadows. He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes. What have I done, making such an oath?

  With a groan, Kebonsat scraped his fingers along his scalp, yanking his hair clasp free and several strands of hair with it. She’d opened her door, and desire had slammed into him like a battering ram. Had it blinded him? To commit himself that way—had he fatally damaged his suit to marry the Vertina before he even entered the running? Kebonsat had been here hardly a day before he discovered the depth of hostility, jealousy and distrust Reisil generated in nearly every soul at court. The Verit and Lord Marshal would likely see him thrown out of Kodu Riik for having anything to do with her.

  And yet, would he do it differently? There was something about Reisil—and it was more than his desire, more than an urge to protect her from her enemies. Events were about to transpire. The plague was already moving into Patverseme, and those demon beasts the Kodu Riikians called nokulas. They were harbingers of something worse, something that would destroy his country. Kebonsat could feel the danger swelling like a summer storm. At the heart of it would be Reisil. And he was certain she would stand on the side of right and honor. Not even his innate wariness and cynicism raised a single doubt about that. By her side is where she would need him, and where he would need to be if he was to protect Patverseme and his family.

  He straightened, giving himself a shake. His decision was made. He didn’t need to sleep on it. When she needed him, he would support her. He sighed. But that didn’t mean abandoning his mission to win the hand of the Vertina. Not yet, anyhow. And he was late, an unacceptable quality in a lover.

  He set off up the corridor in a brisk walk, unable to stifle his groan upon seeing his steward hovering outside the entry.

  “My lord, I do say, you are quite late! Punctuality, sir, is a virtue not to be carelessly disregarded.”

  “Yes, Quillers. I had an appointment.”

  Quillers followed him inside, wringing his hands, his pursed lips too small beneath his softly formed nose and jiggling white cheeks. Kebonsat retreated into his dressing room, where Palig, his whipcord-lean valet, added steaming water to that cooling in the copper tub. Kebonsat stripped off his clothing and settled into the bath, relaxing under Palig’s deft ministrations. Quillers paced outside, flashing back and forth in the doorway.

  “Sir, I would be quite pleased to keep your calendar updated so that you did not run late, if you would just make me aware of your appointments. I should not wish to inconvenience you with a conflict.” His voice was breathy and high-pitched. Kebonsat hunched forward, dangling his head and letting Palig massage his neck and shoulder muscles with sweet-almond oil.

  A sudden memory made him smile. The Dume Griste Mountains. Reisil, sitting by a fire, combing tangles from her wet hair, teasing him about his life of leisure with valets and housekeepers. A sharp ache flared in his chest and his smile faded. That had been the night Upsakes and Glevs had sprung their ambush. Glevs. Maybe that was why he had felt so driven to make his oath to Reisil. Glevs had been closer than a brother, and he had betrayed Ceriba, betrayed Kebonsat, betrayed Patverseme.

  Kebonsat scooped water in his hands and splashed it over his face. He and Reisil had learned together how little professed friendship meant. His vow to her had been as much for his sake as hers. He had needed for her to believe in him: to be certain his friendship was solid, irrevocable and immutable.

  He leaned back, letting Palig sponge his face with lather. He felt a surge of irony as the razor smoothed over his cheek and jaw. There was an attitude of great trust involved in letting this little man anywhere near h
is throat with such an instrument. But it wasn’t trust at all. It was calculation. He needed his diplomatic contingent to work well under him, to believe in his confidence and judgement. If he refused to let them do their jobs, they would perceive it as a sign of weakness. One that he could ill afford. Let it get around that he didn’t even have confidence in his own valet and he would become a laughingstock. But it was a difficult facade to maintain. Glevs’ betrayal had tainted him, coloring every relationship he had, excepting only his family, excepting only Reisil.

  Palig finished attending him, and Kebonsat stepped out of the tub. Palig impatiently allowed his master to aid in his own dressing, not yet resigned to Kebonsat’s sad lack of decorum. Like a nervous hen, Palig smoothed and tucked, buttoned and laced, twitching every last wrinkle out of the tailored cobalt jacket over the black, hip-length vest, tugging the elegantly tied cravat about Kebonsat’s neck just so, adjusting the white cuffs of his lawn shirt, buffing his boots and flicking nonexistent lint from his black trousers. Palig lastly settled the heavy chain of office around his master’s neck before securing Kebonsat’s hair with a clip made of silver knotwork.

  Glancing in the mirror, Kebonsat had to commend the valet’s efforts. On the battleground of intrigue, appearance was but another weapon, a means of distraction, diversion and disguise. It was never to be overlooked, but always planned carefully.

  “Very nicely done, Palig. I shall turn heads.”

  But would he turn the right one? Would he even be allowed close enough to the Vertina for her to notice him? In the few weeks he’d been in Koduteel, he’d seen the Vertina a bare handful of times, and in each one he’d spoken fewer than ten words to her. Hardly an auspicious beginning. He spared a grim smile. Battles were never won in a single engagement, and he was prepared for a long siege.

  “Really, sir, you are most late. The Vertina will be curious at your tardiness,” Quillers called from the other room. Palig had forbidden the nervous steward entrance into his domain, for which Kebonsat was grateful. “Evral Ogal and Evral Eyan are expecting you in the drawing room to accompany you down.”

  “Thank you, Quillers. Please inform them that I shall join them shortly. And send Rocis to my study.”

  “But sir, the time!”

  Kebonsat cast his fussy steward a mild look.

  Quillers paused, his mouth open, recognizing the warning. He snapped it shut, looking as if he’d just eaten a handful of chokecherries, and nodded. “Very well, sir. I shall be quick.”

  Kebonsat made his way to his study, leaving the door open. It was a dark-paneled turret room, its angled windows offering a view of the steel-gray ocean and the lighthouse standing watch over the deepwater harbor.

  He settled himself behind the ornately carved chestnut desk, its corners and edges finished with hammered silver. From a drawer, he withdrew a lockbox banded with iron and sealed with three locks. He turned a key in the first and murmured a word, and then repeated the procedure with the next two locks. As he turned the last key, the box sprang open. Inside were several sheaves of papers. He withdrew a thick packet and began to flip through the pages of closely written information.

  “Sir?”

  Kebonsat glanced up and motioned Rocis forward. The other man stepped up to the other side of the desk, his eyes fixed on the empty shelves behind Kebonsat’s head. He stood halberd-straight, his uniform unwrinkled and unstained, his brown beard closely trimmed, his hair neatly caught behind his head. He wore his lohar secured to his belt, the simple hilt inlaid with brass.

  “I have an additional assignment for you.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rocis shifted his gaze to Kebonsat, his almond eyes sharp and discerning.

  “I have become aware that some of the court politics have taken a rather more fatal turn for some. I need to know more specifics than are here.” Kebonsat tapped the packet in his lap. “It is essential that this information be obtained quickly and quietly. I want to know the factions, the players and their recent activities. Particularly the less savory ones. This is all very good as far as it goes, but lacks depth and detail.” He tossed the packet back into the lockbox.

  “Do you have any questions?”

  Rocis considered a moment and then shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “You shall report to me twice a day, more often as necessary. I shall expect your first report before breakfast.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dismissed, Rocis spun and moved fluidly out the door. Kebonsat frowned after him, drumming his fingers on the desk. Then he closed the lockbox, securing the locks and resetting the magical wards. He returned the box to the drawer and stood, turning to face the bank of windows.

  There was someone after Reisil. He was certain of it. He couldn’t imagine that he was sufficient a threat to anyone to merit the attempt. Not yet anyhow. A marriage between him and the Vertina was far from likely. And assassinating him, the Patversemese ambassador, would likely provoke a war that Kodu Riik could ill afford.

  But why such a blunder? Any assassin worth his salt would have aborted an attempt with such little chance of success. Why put her on her guard? Why involve him? And what was the purpose of the poison?

  The rattling of the windows brought him back to himself. When would the next attempt come? He could teach Reisil to defend herself from sword and knife attack, but he couldn’t do a damned thing to help her against a crossbolt, short of locking her in a closet. Silent and deadly and impossible to counter, even with plate armor, they were ideal for the determined, patient, shadow work of a proficient assassin.

  Kebonsat jammed his hands into his pockets. He couldn’t protect Reisil. No more than he could protect any of his soldiers when they took the field for battle. And on this battleground, far from home and with little authority, there was even less he could do to protect her. The only thing he could do was give her the benefit of his experience and training. Which meant anticipating her enemy, seeking out and exploiting his weaknesses. And that required information.

  His last thoughts as he departed his study to join his waiting companions were of Reisil in the moist heat of summer, her flower-scented hair tangled around his fingers, her pale, naked body urgent beneath his.

  Chapter 19

  “Must you go?” “I’m late already.”

  “I could come with you.”

  Juhrnus bent to kiss Karina’s inviting lips, slipping his hands inside her robe to stroke her breasts. His body quickened as she squirmed closer. He lifted his head, breathing heavily.

  “I would not be able to spend any time with you. This is ahalad-kaaslane business.”

  Desire evaporated with the words. He pulled away. Ahalad-kaaslane business. As if he had any business with them. As if they hadn’t turned the same cold shoulder to him that they had to Reisil. How did she stand it? The feeling of helplessness and abandonment? He lifted Esper into his sling and pulled his cloak on.

  “I’ll try to visit again soon.”

  “Don’t be too long,” she said, sitting back down on the bed, reclining to reveal her long, pale legs and the tuft of red hair at their apex. “Father will be sailing home soon. I’ll be less . . . available . . . then.”

  Curiosity stayed him. “I will admit that I’m surprised your mother and uncle allow my visits. I cannot marry. Our play taints you for the kind of husband that might answer their ambitions.”

  Juhrnus disliked Karina’s fawning uncle Halvasti, a useless fop who dangled around the fringes of the court licking boots—a ring-pigeon for anyone’s plucking. Her mother was little better. She craved the power her wealthy merchant husband spurned and didn’t mind using her four daughters to gain it. Juhrnus couldn’t regret that they turned a blind eye to his frolics with Karina, but it did not earn them his respect.

  Karina smiled and stretched, her robe falling open to expose her curved body, her full breasts above a narrow waist, and the pattern of finger bruises and bites Juhrnus had left on her skin.

  “I wouldn’t worry for me. I shall get the husband
I want. But to answer your question, someone might have told my uncle and mother that you were highly placed among the ahalad-kaaslane and at court—that you have the ear of even the Iisand himself.”

  Juhrnus’s mouth fell open. “You didn’t?”

  Karina smiled wider, running her fingers through her long auburn hair and then suggestively down her body. “I couldn’t help myself, could I? And they have been so grateful for my help. They have so little time until Daddy comes home. He dotes on mother, really, but he won’t put up with her machinations. Are you sure you won’t stay a while longer?”

  Juhrnus shook his head. He’d spent much of the last couple of days in bed with Karina, trying to forget. He found a few moments of oblivion in her arms, but he couldn’t avoid the truth forever. He was a token ahalad-kaaslane . Even more so than Reisil. At least she still had a calling; she wore the Lady’s blessing on her face and carried Her power in her hands. The Lady did not call to him. Nor did his ahalad-kaaslane brethren accept him into their circle. They spoke to him, welcomed him back to Koduteel, ate and drank with him, but shut him out from their secrets. They asked him for nothing, expected nothing of him. Useless as tits on a boar.

  His assignment to play nanny to the Scallacians was hardly more than a bone, but it was all he had, and he meant to do it.

  “I’ll come again soon,” he promised again.

  Karina yawned delicately, pulling a sheet over herself and settling back on her pillows. “You can see yourself out, can’t you?”

  Juhrnus skittered as fast as he could along the twisting roadway, its cobbles slick with ice. Wind rattled the shutters on the upper stories of the buildings, dipping down to swipe at him as he made his way along. His cloak belled like a sail, tugging him sidewise, and he lurched to a knee, cursing as he fell, pain shooting up to his hip. Esper squirmed in his sling, his tongue flicking uneasily at the rough ride.

  ~Sit still, Esper. I can’t keep my balance as it is.

  ~Cold. Esper’s mindvoice was as cool and dry as a salt cave.