Heart Readers

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  Ele twisted his hands together. Vasenu hadn’t moved.

  “The other brother has loved every day of his life. His heart is marred, pocked, and scratched. He understands how to give and how sometimes even giving can grant hurt. This brother has a pure heart, for he understands that love cannot exist without pain.”

  Dasis set the slates down. They clunked against the stairs. She stood and pulled Stashie up beside her. “Vasenu,” she said, “your heart is pure, and you know how to love.”

  Ele let out a strangled cry and half rose to his feet. Tarne didn’t move. Damn women. They had probably chosen Vasenu to spite him. He glanced at one of the guards near the door and nodded. The guard nodded back and left.

  The King snapped his fingers and the servants helped him rise. “Vasenu.” The King extended a hand to his son. “As of today, you will bear the name of my heir and successor. You will take my place when I die, and rule fairly until your son replaces you.”

  Vasenu took his hand, and stood beside his father. Ele sank back onto his cushion, his expression blank.

  “My son, Ele,” the King continued, “shall inherit my brother’s lands east of the palace. He will hold a place as Vasenu’s most trusted adviser, and he will retain all the respect due a king’s son.”

  Tarne crossed his arms in front of his chest. Ele was angry. Tarne could feel it from even this distance. Vasenu might hate Tarne, but Ele never had. Ele might consider redressing his father’s betrayal.

  “As for my advisers,” the King continued, “I expect you to treat Vasenu as you have treated me, with courage, honesty, respect, and loyalty. This kingdom holds our futures. We must do everything we can to make sure that it survives.”

  The heart readers gathered their possessions and moved to the side of the dais. “Enough speeches,” the King said. He clapped his hands. “Let the festivities begin.”

  Outside, the choir began again, this time voices lilting in a rousing, joyous tune. Tarne wanted to strangle the notes out of their throats. He didn’t feel like celebrating. The damn women had made too much work for him. He stood, only to be shoved by advisers pushing their way toward the dais, trying to be the first to congratulate the new king. Ele stood off in the corner with the readers, forgotten and lost. Tarne pushed his way toward Ele. Stashie saw Tarne coming and scurried out of his way.

  Tarne took Ele’s hand, and squeezed it once. “Luck can be changed, you know.”

  “How?” Ele asked.

  But Tarne didn’t answer him. They couldn’t be seen talking in front of this group. He would bide his time, and make his plan known when he felt it safe. Until then, he pushed his way forward, ready to congratulate Vasenu on his new, very short, reign.

  CHAPTER 35

  Stashie grabbed Dasis’s hand. They had to get out of there. They had to leave before something else could happen. Tarne had gotten too close to them a moment ago, and all of the people—the King’s people—were pressing against her. She couldn’t stand it. She needed to get away.

  She started down the stairs, when Dasis stopped her. “We haven’t gotten paid yet.” Dasis almost shouted the words above the din. The cold room had suddenly gotten hot with the press of bodies.

  “I don’t care,” Stashie said and tugged at Dasis.

  Dasis still didn’t move. “What about Radekir?”

  Stashie’s heart froze. She had forgotten about Radekir. In her concern for herself, she had forgotten all about the woman who was imprisoned because of her mistake.

  Stashie dropped Dasis’s hand, and steeled herself. She pushed her way through the throng that had gathered around the King and his son. The other son, the impure one, watched her, eyes haunted.

  “Excuse me, sire.”

  No one looked at her except the man next to her. His expression told her she was out of place. She shouldered past him and tried again. “Sire!”

  The King glanced up. He did not look pleased. At his movement, the conversation ebbed.

  She bobbed a little, trying to show respect. “Excuse me, sire, but we have a friend who is still imprisoned. We did do the reading. Could you set her free?”

  Dasis had shoved her way to Stashie’s side. “And, please, sire. We haven’t been paid either.”

  Her voice rang in the now quiet hall. “Impudent peasants,” someone whispered. The sibilant sounds repeated themselves over and over, each time the derision sounding worse.

  The King started to speak, then doubled over in a racking cough. His heir grabbed him and held him tightly. Blood seeped through the King’s hands. A servant handed him another handkerchief, which the King used to wipe at his hands and face. He rose slowly, as if the movement were painful. “See to it that they’re paid, Aene. And free that woman.” He swallowed, then addressed Stashie and Dasis. “Thank you for your services. I am sorry for the actions of my adviser. Be assured that no one will bother you again.”

  Dasis nodded. “Thank you, sire.”

  Stashie bobbed again. She didn’t believe the King’s words, but she saw no reason in confronting him. She was a peasant, as someone had said, and peasants were always bothered by royalty and royalty’s people. Nothing would ever change that.

  The King’s servant, Aene, came down the stairs beside them. “I will get your money and help you release your friend,” he said.

  The voices started up again. Dasis followed Aene closely, wending their way through the crowd on the stairs. Stashie lagged a little, getting trapped behind person after person.

  Someone grabbed her arm. She wrenched it away, only to have it grabbed again. She looked up. Tarne stared at her, his cheeks flushed, eyes glittering. “Don’t think you can betray me and survive this easily,” he said. “I still have a great deal of power, more than anyone thinks.”

  Stashie yanked her arm away. “You have nothing to gain by terrorizing us anymore.”

  “I can let people know that they shouldn’t cross me. Imagine your partner’s head on a spike. A little sample of what might be to others who try your tricks.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  Tarne shrugged. “Probably not. That’s too obvious. I’m better known for doing the unexpected. And don’t worry. You will pay for what you have done. I guarantee it.”

  Stashie shoved him away from her, and forced her way through the crowd. She glanced back once. He didn’t follow her. He stood at the foot of the stairs, smiling, as if the entire afternoon and his humiliation had never happened.

  The aisle was thinning, and it took her only a moment to catch up to Dasis and Aene. “You okay?” Dasis asked. “You’re pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Stashie said. She walked with determination, careful not to let Tarne see that he had frightened her. Once they were free of the palace, she would talk Dasis into leaving Leanda. Tarne couldn’t touch them if he didn’t know where they had gone. She would ask Dasis to take Radekir too, at least part of the way. She didn’t want Tarne to interrogate Radekir to find Stashie.

  Aene led them out a side door in the Assembly Room, and into a narrow corridor. He took them down a flight of steps into a small, rounded hallway. A torch burned beside the door at the end of the hallway. Aene grabbed the torch, and knocked five times in a repeating pattern. Then the door swung open.

  Candles burned on tables inside the room. The room smelled of smoke and sweat. Four men sat at those tables, copying figures and counting coins. The King’s money house. Stashie had heard of it, but had never thought she would see it.

  “I need payment for the heart readers,” Aene said.

  One of the scribes got up. He went to the back of the room, opened a small door and disappeared. A moment later, he returned carrying four small pouches.

  “I’ve broken it up, easier to carry,” he said.

  Aene took the pouches and handed two to each woman. Stashie was astonished at the weight. Dasis opened hers. Gold glittered. Stashie tied hers to the inside of her skirt, so that the pouches would pound against her leg. Dasis did the same.

>   Aene thanked the scribe and led them out of the room. “Don’t think you can reenter,” he said. “The knock-code changes daily, and if you try to get in on your own, you will be killed. Is that clear?”

  Stashie nodded. Murder, terror, and intimidation. She hated the way these people operated. Dasis clutched Stashie’s hand. Her palm was damp.

  “What about Radekir?” Stashie asked.

  “They took her to a room off the Assembly Room. Come.” Aene returned the torch to the wall, and led them up the stairs. Once inside the corridor, he turned left. The corridor got darker and had a musty smell. Poor Radekir. All she had tried to do was make sure that nothing had gone wrong. She had come even though Stashie had treated her so coolly when she left. She believed in Stashie and was now paying the price for that belief.

  The corridor seemed endless. It grew dank and chill. A single torch guttered in the weird, thick air. Aene glanced at it, and Stashie thought she caught a sense of unease.

  “Come along,” he said. His voice held an urgency that hadn’t been present before. He picked up his stride.

  Dasis and Stashie did too. Perhaps he just didn’t like to be in this hallway. Perhaps something about it spooked him. They had gone another few feet when Stashie saw the torch holder. It was empty, and the entire area was dark. A smell had seeped into the air, thick and rank, a familiar scent, one that made her think of—Tarne, and her brother Tylee.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Get that other torch,” Aene said.

  Stashie had already turned. She was running down the corridor, away from the smell, away from Dasis, away from everything that reminded her of the past. Then Radekir’s face rose in her mind, the soft touch of her hand, and the sweet smile she had had just the night before. Stashie made herself slow down. When she got to the torch, she took it out of the holder.

  The torch had burned halfway down and was warm against her hand. She had to move cautiously because each time too much wind caught it, the torch threatened to go out. As she approached the other two, she saw what was alarming Aene. The torch holders were all empty. The corridor should have been well lit. They hadn’t put Radekir in a dungeon at all. They had just put her in a fairly comfortable place to guard her while she waited. But there was no light. And there should have been.

  “Where is she?” Dasis asked.

  Aene licked his lower lip. “She should be in the room up ahead,” he said.

  Stashie’s torch illuminated the ground in front of them. Burnt-out torch husks were scattered across the floor. She kicked one aside, and it hit another, rolling until they bumped against the wall.

  “Radekir?” Stashie’s voice echoed. She sensed no presence other than theirs, no warmth that would respond.

  Aene took the torch from Stashie. He held it before him like a sword. “There should be guards here,” he said.

  The chill had seeped into Stashie’s bones. Dasis grabbed Stashie’s hand, but Stashie shook her away. She didn’t want to concentrate on anyone else. She had to find Radekir.

  Aene stepped into the room. His hand shook, and the torch guttered. Dasis took it from him before he dropped it. He turned away, and vomited against the wall. Dasis put her hand over her mouth and backed out of the room. Stashie took the torch from her and walked forward. She could handle what was in that room. She had seen almost everything.

  The rank smell was even stronger here. The walls were black with blood, and the floor sticky. Stashie stood in the center of the room and stared at the thing before her. Its face—her face, Radekir’s face—had been left intact, but the rest of her body had been spread across the room like festival decorations. Some parts had been burned so that they would fuse against the wall. Stashie ignored that and walked forward, staring at Radekir’s head. Her eyes were wide with fright, her mouth pulled into a line of pain. Stashie touched Radekir’s cheek. It was still warm. She hadn’t been dead long.

  I’m better known for doing the unexpected. You will pay for what you have done.

  Stashie balled her free hand into a fist. Tarne. This time she was not frightened, but angry. This time he had taken her through everything, the worst of everything. And he was wrong.

  This time, he would pay.

  PART THREE

  Four Months Later

  CHAPTER 36

  The stables were warm and smelled of horses. Vasenu rubbed down Misty, cleaning the sweat off her black hide. He liked doing this kind of work. It made him feel a part of the cycle, and remember how life had been before his father had gotten ill. Sometimes Vasenu wondered if the heart readers hadn’t been wrong. He didn’t enjoy the busy work of ruling. He hated the small decisions, each with the power to alter lives. Perhaps it would be better to have someone who didn’t care, someone who made the decisions lightly, instead of agonizing over every change and every detail.

  The horse nickered. He reached in his pocket, but had nothing to give her. One of the grooms came over and provided her with a sweet. Vasenu smiled his appreciation.

  “Sire?”

  Vasenu turned. Since his father’s illness had gotten worse, everyone treated Vasenu as King. He was still not used to being addressed with the same respect people had accorded his father, but he at least answered to it now.

  Aene stood at the stable door, his face flushed. He was breathing heavily, as if he had come a long way. “Your father, sire. He needs you.”

  Vasenu handed the brush to the groom, then hurried out of the stable. The mid-afternoon sun was fierce. It reflected off the sand and made him squint. He hated the heat, hated the sunbaked warmth of this place. He didn’t understand why the palace hadn’t moved north, where the air was fresher and cooler, and every event seemed like less of an emergency because the heat didn’t make things worse.

  Aene led him past the barracks, through a small copse of trees, and around the back of his father’s wing. The servant said nothing, but he moved with a rapidity that surprised Vasenu.

  “What is it?” Vasenu asked.

  “He’s dying.” Aene opened a side door. “I’ll fetch your brother, if you like.”

  Vasenu nodded. “Ele needs to be here.”

  He went on ahead as Aene ran off in the direction of Ele’s quarters. His father’s wing smelled of blood and sickness. Vasenu always grimaced when he entered it. He couldn’t stand coming, but he forced himself to show up every day, even though his visits probably didn’t matter. His father had stopped talking shortly after the reading. Then he began to sleep all the time. Last week, he had mumbled gibberish, and this week, he had lain on his pillows, staring straight ahead and drooling.

  Vasenu hated to watch the deterioration of this once-powerful man. When his father ceased speaking, Vasenu only let close advisers, a few servants, and Ele see the King. And in the past few weeks, no one had come on their own. No one except Vasenu.

  He pushed open the door to his father’s chamber and went inside. The sickness smell was stronger here. His father looked like a pale ghost resting against the cushions. His skin was translucent, and the bones jutted prominently in his face. He had aged decades in the past few weeks. Now the man that Vasenu had known had become an elderly doddering corpse, waiting for the breath to leave him.

  “Father?” Vasenu knelt down and took his father’s hand. The fingers twitched weakly. The King’s eyes were closed.

  Vasenu couldn’t see what had caused Aene to seek him out, but something about the King’s demeanor had frightened the servant. He had not called Vasenu away from his tasks before.

  “Father, it’s Vasenu.”

  The twitching continued. The King’s tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. His cheeks were flecked with blood. Vasenu smoothed the hair off the King’s forehead.

  “I’m here, Father.”

  The King didn’t move. Aene appeared at the door, Ele beside him.

  “What’s changed?” Vasenu asked.

  “I give him water and he does not swallow.” Aene’s voice trembled. “I put f
ood on his tongue and it stays there until I clean it off. His breathing has gotten very shallow. I do not think it will be much longer.”

  “It could be days,” Ele snapped. He had been angry since the readings.

  “No.” Aene knelt beside Vasenu. “He told me how his father died. Explained the symptoms and the progression. Hours, maybe, but not days.”

  “Thank you.” Vasenu kept his grip on his father’s hand. Hours. The word sent a chill through him, a chill that ended in an emptiness. He had been expecting his father’s death, welcoming it, because he hated seeing his father suffer. But he was not ready for it. If he had been ready for it, the emptiness would not have appeared.

  Vasenu closed his eyes, remembering the stern man, the powerful one with the deep voice, the father who had raised them and kept them by each other’s side. As a boy he had adored that man, doing everything he could to get his father’s attention and his father’s praise.

  A hand brushed Vasenu’s arm. He opened his eyes. Ele sat beside him, and caressed his father’s face.

  “He was always such a strong man,” Ele said.

  “He still is,” Vasenu replied, “or he would not be clinging to life like this.”

  “He’s not clinging. He’s dying.” Ele pushed himself away and went to the other side of the room. “I don’t know why you need me here. You can do the deathwatch alone.”

  The rhythm in the twitching fingers remained constant. Vasenu didn’t look at his brother. “I need you to show him you care.”

  “Why should I care about him? He abandoned me.”

  Vasenu squeezed his father’s hand, then let it go and turned to face his brother. “He did not abandon you. We both knew that one day we would have separate tasks. He prepared us for that from birth.”