Path of Honor

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Oh, my Lady! Are you all right?”

  “What did you hit me with?”

  “A candlestick,” she answered, helping him sit up. He cradled his left arm. “I didn’t know—”

  “My fault. I was afraid you might have one of your maids here.”

  “No.” Her voice turned brittle, and he frowned.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Nothing.” Yet. But she couldn’t tell him any of that. “How are you here?” She glanced at the panel.

  “Now that is a story. And one I have no time to tell.” He paused, staring at her. She shivered, suddenly aware of her light nightshift. She raised a hand to cover the spot where Prensik had bitten her. “I’ve worried about you,” he said abruptly.

  She nodded. “Me too.”

  The silence stretched between them, and Emelovi shifted, curling her toes into the piled rug.

  “I am leaving Koduteel,” he said at last. “I want you to come with me.”

  Emelovi just stared.

  He reached for her hand, his fingers warm and firm. “Please. I can’t leave you here. I know I have nothing to offer. I don’t even have my name anymore. But at least let me get you free of the city, from Aare. There must be someplace safe you can go until this is over.”

  Emelovi’s mind clicked on the last. Over? Nothing was going to be over. “My brother is planning to take the crown. But he’s been hunting the ahalad-kaaslane. He says they kidnapped my father.”

  But Kebonsat was nodding. “I know. I know more than that. The ahalad-kaaslane did not kidnap him, Emelovi. That much is a fact.”

  “Then he is safe?” She clutched his hand.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know where he is. I know he did leave with Sodur, and I believe he went freely.”

  Emelovi closed her eyes as a sudden wave of dizziness swept over her. “Thank the Lady.”

  Kebonsat tugged on her hand, pulling her down onto the bed, grunting as he jerked his injured arm. “Emelovi, surely you see how dangerous your brother is? Hunting the ahalad-kaaslane? I’m Patversemese, and even I know how deranged that is.”

  Emelovi thrust herself to her feet, an odd sense of protectiveness driving her. “Aare is a strong hand and intelligent.”

  “You’re a good sister, Emelovi. Loyal. But you can’t tell me you really agree with what he’s been doing. You know what he’s capable of. You can’t defend him.”

  His voice had turned hoarse. Emelovi stared at him, her mind whirling. Everything in her craved escape. But she was the Vertina and a Varakamber. To run would be a coward’s act. And who would speak for her father? Kebonsat read the answer in her face. He swung to his feet, sliding his hand around to cup her neck, his lips inches from hers. She splayed her hands on his chest. He could persuade her. So easily.

  “Please listen,” he said. “If you leave, you will have a chance to find your father, to stop your brother from destroying everything your father built.”

  Emelovi licked her lips. Find Father. Hope blazed within her—he would know what to do. He could stop Aare with a word. Hope joined inclination and fear. “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

  Kebonsat let out a gusty sigh, like he’d been holding his breath for days. “Gather some traveling clothes. The sturdier the better. Any jewels or money you have. You might need them.”

  Emelovi turned to obey. He watched as she packed, then dressed behind her screen.

  “Here,” she said, dropping her bag at his feet. She held up a silk scarf and threaded it around his neck and arm, tying it firmly. “Shall we?”

  As they stepped into the passage, pulling the panel closed, Kebonsat laid a hand on her arm, his face haggard in the candlelight. “Emelovi—” He broke off and glanced away at the wall and then back. “Emelovi, I want you to know how much I’ve come to care about you. I want nothing more than to see you safe. I could never forgive myself if I left here without you.”

  His words made her eyes burn with sudden tears. She took his hand, brushing his cheek with her lips, delighting in his musky scent, like tobacco, mint and bryony.

  “Let’s go find my father.”

  Juhrnus skulked in a shadowed doorway, his skin clammy. At the end of the corridor was the entrance to Kedisan-Mutira’s room. He’d watched long enough to know she was alone. Still he dithered. Since the Regent had begun purging the ahalad-kaaslane these last weeks, it wasn’t safe to walk along the streets, much less come here. Standing in the palace now was the most supremely stupid thing he’d ever done. He stroked Esper’s head. Not content to risk his own fool neck, he’d brought Esper too.

  ~I wouldn’t be left behind.

  Juhrnus twitched. He should turn right around and leave. Forget about her. Instead he pushed himself out of the shadows. He tapped lightly on her door with his fingertips, glancing back up the corridor, his spine prickling. He tapped again. Finally the door swung open. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. She wore a silken wrap tied loosely at the waist and nothing else. The skin arrowing down to her navel was white and splotched with red, yellow and purple. Bruises. He didn’t want to imagine where they came from.

  She said nothing as he slid into the room. Her face was remote, and it was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides.

  “What brings you here?” she asked, her voice husky and low as if she’d had a cold.

  In the five weeks since the Regent had begun his campaign to be rid of the ahalad-kaaslane, Juhrnus had kept hidden, helping Karina to move people out of the Fringes and out of the city when possible. Following his warning to the Temple, many of the ahalad-kaaslane who escaped had joined the effort. Too many others had been caught. What had become of them, Juhrnus hated to think about. The way Soka went silent and all expression bled from his face told Juhrnus more than he wanted to know.

  Juhrnus had been grateful for the labor, for the danger, for the worry—anything to take his mind off her. Still he had not slept for more than a few hours at a time. And now he was here, where he shouldn’t be, and he couldn’t think of a thing he wanted to say.

  “You’re a mess.”

  Juhrnus reached up to touch his hair. It was tangled and matted, and the gale outside had done little to improve it. He hadn’t shaved in weeks; his eyes were deepsunk and bloodshot. He looked more than halfway to being a corpse. Kedisan-Mutira wasn’t the first to say so.

  “I thought he might have taken you,” she said.

  “Had some warning. Got away.”

  “So I see.”

  An awkward silence fell. She continued to look at him with that remote, inscrutable expression, as if she watched him from a great height.

  He smoothed the nap of his cloak with uneasy fingers. “I wasn’t sure I’d find you alone.”

  “No?”

  He glared. “No.”

  “Well, you have.”

  She ceded not an inch, everything about her armored and forbidding. What was he doing here? What did he expect? She drew him like a moth to flame, but there was nothing here for him. Nothing at all.

  “I should go. I’m going to be late.” He reached for the door.

  “You’re leaving.”

  He stopped. “Yes.”

  “Koduteel,” she added.

  He hesitated. He couldn’t trust her. Even if he wanted to. But he couldn’t help himself. He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why did you come here?”

  He turned helplessly. “On my life, I do not know.”

  As he watched, the mask slipped from her face. She frowned, her dark eyes tired and troubled. “You shouldn’t have. It’s very dangerous.”

  The more so if she decided to sound the alarm. He fingered the wax-covered pellet of tanghin poison in his pocket, a gift from Soka with the helpful advice, “Don’t get caught.”

  “I had to see you. And now that I’m here . . .” He spread his hands out helplessly. “You are the enemy.”

  “Do you think I’ll betray you?”

  “If necessary.” Her flinch at
his forthright response startled him. “Don’t think I wouldn’t do the same,” he added softly.

  “What do you need?” she asked, folding her arms across her stomach.

  Juhrnus drew back. “I can’t—”

  “I’m not asking for your plans. I ask only what you need. If I can afford to give it to you, if it’s in my power—tell me.”

  He licked his lips. “Time. We need time.” Time to get away, time to organize.

  “How much?”

  “All we can get.”

  She nodded. “You should go. I never know when the pengakum will come.”

  Juhrnus scowled at the mention of the two sorcerers. His eyes slid to the bruises on her pale skin. There wasn’t anything he could do. She didn’t want rescuing, even if he had the means.

  “Don’t take chances. Keep yourself safe. I’d like to know you were safe,” he said.

  She smiled and shook her head, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Her touch jolted him to his boots, and he closed his eyes against the force of it.

  “There is no such thing as safety. Only chance.”

  He caught her fingers and held them. “May your Dahre-Sniwan guard you well. I won’t forget you.”

  His throat closed and he dropped her hand, yanking the door open. Juhrnus slipped into the corridor, returning to the hidden passage. His face contorted. What had he told Yohuac? You should have kissed her while you had a chance. He wiped roughly at the corners of his eyes. He doubted he’d have another chance. Next time he saw her, she’d be in the midst of Aare’s army.

  “I don’t care what you say. We aren’t going with you.”

  Metyein took a breath to argue, but Soka jumped in first. “Suit yourself. Give our regards to the Regent when you see him.” Soka winked at Metyein with a knife-edged grin.

  Metyein frowned. There was a growing wildness about him; one might even say madness. Soka hardly seemed to value his own life anymore, though he’d become almost fanatical about improving his sword skills. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going to sell his life cheaply. He carried quick-acting poisons secreted all over his body. He wasn’t going to let Aare take him again. Not for the first time did Metyein wonder what had happened in Aare’s underground torture chambers. But Soka wasn’t telling.

  “Come, gentlemen. We have given you the password. Do not be foolish. Surely Kebonsat said to trust whoever gave it to you, no matter how unlikely?”

  “I did.” Kebonsat stepped through the panel. He looked at his men, and they blanched. Kebonsat turned back to Metyein. “Perhaps I was not entirely clear. We shall, I hope, have time to sort it out later. But now I think it best we leave, as we are now late and we no longer have the option of staying.”

  He extended his hand toward the panel, and for the first time Metyein noticed that Kebonsat’s left arm was caught in a makeshift sling and that there was someone else in the passage. He drew a short breath. “Dazien.” He pursed his lips. “I think Aare’s going to be a very unhappy Regent. We’d better go now.”

  Kebonsat ordered his household into the passage. All told, there were nine of them. Metyein fell in behind the Vertina.

  “I must warn you, Dazien, the means of our leaving will not be pleasant.”

  “I did not expect it,” she replied. “Nor did I expect you. Your father has ardently defended you against the charges of kidnapping my father.”

  “My father is correct,” Metyein said. He thought of the message he’d left in his father’s study. A scrap of paper tossed on his desk. Just five words and no signature: What honor and duty require. Would he find it? Would he understand? He dropped back beside Soka.

  They reached the ground floor and left the palace. The wind howled and the rain fell like ax blades, soaking them to the skin. Metyein couldn’t remember experiencing such a storm and thanked the Lady, hoping it would last long enough to mask their escape.

  The guards at a sally port on the west side were friendly to a pouchful of gold and motioned the group through with little care for who they were, wanting only to return to the warmth and protection of their guardhouse.

  Metyein led them down along the curtain wall parallel to the road, the path ankle-deep in mud and rainwater, dawn just beginning to glimmer through the thick pewter clouds. Eventually he led them across the road and down a narrow thoroughfare, turning at last into the courtyard of a dilapidated mansion.

  He waved the small group into the stables. The wide entry doors were hanging drunkenly, and grass was springing up around the cobbles. Inside, the sound of the wind and rain seemed even louder as it rattled on the loose roof tiles.

  “Nice day for a walk,” Juhrnus observed, moving out of the shadows.

  “We had a delay,” Metyein said, nodding toward Dazien Emelovi.

  Juhrnus’s eyes widened. “I guess you did. Soka has to be over the moon.”

  “It will be a lovely surprise for Aare,” Soka said. “I should almost like to be there to see it.”

  “I think you’ve seen quite enough of Aare these last weeks. Enough to make my hair fall out.”

  “All of it?” Soka scanned down Metyein’s body. “The ladies will be so disappointed.”

  Metyein shook his head, unable to suppress a grin. “I’m just relieved you’ll be out of Aare’s reach. Why you’ve insisted on reporting to him instead of lying low, I’ll never understand.”

  “Couldn’t disappoint him now, could I?”

  There was that wildness again, brittle and dangerous. And Juhrnus’s face was bleak and unrelenting.

  “Someone break your favorite doll?” Soka asked.

  Juhrnus made a rude gesture at Soka and strode away. Metyein followed.

  “Nothing’s wrong?”

  “Only if Karina doesn’t get the wagons.”

  Metyein didn’t push further. Taking this step was wrenching for all of them. Abandoning friends, leaving them to the mercy of Aare, was bad enough. But after that—Treason. For the right reasons and the right cause. They hoped. But it was a difficult, dreadful decision all the same, and until now, one that they could always back away from.

  They settled uneasily into the stables to wait. The first wagon rolled in less than an hour later. The driver sat hunched against the wind and rain. He wore a floppy-brimmed hat pulled low over his face and an oilskin cloak. A large red X was painted across the back. The high, slatted sides of the wagon rose behind him as if meant to carry hay. Water sluiced off the wagon boards, and the mules shook themselves like dogs. The driver pushed his hat up with a thick, scarred hand. He had a broad face and gray, curly hair.

  “Stevaal! I didn’t expect you,” Juhrnus said, reaching up to grasp the other man’s arm in greeting.

  “Orders, laddy. Given the cargo,” he replied. His gaze snagged on the Dazien, and he pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Good thing, too. Everyone up for this?”

  “They will be. Or they’ll not live long enough to learn better.”

  Juhrnus turned to the assembled group, capturing each gaze in turn. “What you’re looking at is a plague wagon,” he announced. “No one stops them, no one checks them. The bodies are tossed inside and taken out of the city to be burned. There’s a false bottom box inside. Three of you will be loaded inside, and then Stevaal will make the rounds. When the wagon’s full, he’ll drive it out to the pyres, and more of our people will unload you. You’ll then make for the trees, where supplies and horses await. But here’s the promise we made. Anyone who doesn’t go, doesn’t get left behind to talk about it.”

  “But—Won’t we catch the plague?” This from a loose-jowled man, his watery eyes wide.

  Metyein nodded. “It’s a chance.”

  “Better than staying,” Soka added. “The Regent would make you a guest of his pleasure chambers. Wouldn’t matter if you knew anything or not.” He touched his covered eye. “I’d rather have the plague and die easy.”

  Metyein swallowed. If Soka called that easy . . .

  “It is the only way out,” Kebon
sat said. “And the walls of the palace will not protect us from the plague, even if that were the worst of our worries. Do you agree to come?”

  They each nodded, faces pale.

  “Good on us all, then,” Stevaal said. “Load up and on our way.”

  The first to go were Kebonsat, the Vertina and Juhrnus. The Vertina’s face was pale. Metyein smiled reassuringly as he dropped the door back into place.

  “Be careful, Stevaal. And give our thanks to Karina. Warn her about the Vertina. The Regent is going to screw things down.”

  “I will. And no thanks needed. Just don’t forget us. Oh, and this.” Stevaal reached gloved fingers inside his cloak and pulled out a small packet wrapped in oiled canvas. “For Dannen Relvi. If you can get it to him.”

  Metyein took the packet and slid it into his cloak pocket. “I’ll get it to him.”

  Stevaal yanked his hat back down and flicked the whip. The mules jogged to the side, unwilling to return to the tempest outside, but Stevaal spoke sharply and pulled them around, and soon the wagon was moving down the barn rows and back out into the courtyard.

  “He brought the Vertina along.” Soka came to stand next to Metyein. “And you tell me not to antagonize Aare.”

  “I tell you not to do it when you’re standing within arm’s reach,” Metyein corrected. “But you’re right. Aare’s not going to take this well. If it wasn’t personal before, it is now. He’ll likely raze the city looking for her. I hope my father can keep a leash on him.”

  “I’d rather your father put chains on him.”

  Metyein shook his head. “He’d never do it. And when Aare takes the throne, my father will serve him as loyally as he served Aare’s father. And when that happens, we’d better be ready.”

  “You think it will be soon.”

  Metyein met Soka’s shrewd look, his heart sitting like a stone in his chest. “Maybe even before the end of the summer.”

  “That doesn’t leave us much time.”

  “And we don’t even know if Reisiltark is still alive. And sane.”