“Certainly, sire,” Salme said. “We could let your brother rule or fight him in battle or you could choose not to fight at all and weather assassination attempt after assassination attempt. You need to consolidate your rule. You would have had to do it no matter what. You just have to do it early, that’s all.”
Early and against the only remaining member of his family. Vasenu clasped his hands together and twisted them slightly.
“No matter what, sire,” said Arenu, “we’re better off under your rule than your brother’s. Ele has proven that this night.”
The murmurs in the room sounded like agreement. Vasenu felt twenty years older. He had hoped that they would excuse him, apologize for their mistake, and take Ele on as ruler. But they hadn’t–and they wouldn’t. Vasenu was his father’s choice. And in many ways, his father’s word was still law.
“Then I want a force heading for those caves,” Vasenu said. “And I want my brother and Tarne before me as soon as possible.”
He stood, swayed a little, and nodded toward the group. They nodded in return. Then he went out the door and leaned on it in the narrow hallway. He didn’t know how much more he could take. And yet he would have to go on. He would have to take control of his rule, of the kingdom, and of his brother’s life.
CHAPTER 47
Ele’s hands chafed and his mouth was dry. The horse jolted him and he had trouble maintaining his balance. He hadn’t realized how much he relied on his arms and legs when he rode.
The desert was cold in the darkness. The company, a hundred in all, rode silently. Tarne’s displeasure stung as much as the chill air. The only sound that accompanied them was the crunch of hooves on sand.
Tarne was taking them to the caves. It was the only place he could build a defense on short notice. But Ele didn’t expect Tarne to run away and defend himself. The man was too cunning for that. Tarne’s scheme to kill Vasenu and blame Ele would have removed any support that Ele would have had within the palace. Ele would have had to rely on Tarne—if Tarne let him live. Tarne could also kill him and claim that he had done so to protect his King.
Ele glanced back at the palace, a dark mountain on the face of the plain. His brother was probably awake, steering advisers, leading a force to attack Ele. Tarne was brilliant.
Tarne rode beside Ele, his black tunic and trousers blending into the darkness. He stared straight ahead. He hadn’t paid any attention to Ele since they had left the palace.
Another horse rode up beside them. A man, also wearing black, glanced at Ele and Ele recoiled from the scar tissue covering the man’s face.
“What do you want, Kendru?” Tarne didn’t look at the man, but the man didn’t seem upset.
“I don’t think we should go to the caves.” Kendru’s voice was gravelly. He kept glancing at Ele.
“Oh?”
“I don’t think we should trap ourselves there.”
“What gives you the right to express your opinion?”
Kendru sat up even taller in his saddle. “You asked me to help you.”
“I asked you to kill a king. You failed.”
“He sent for the guards.”
Tarne finally faced Kendru. Tarne’s glittery gaze also took in Ele. “You should have killed him before they arrived. I thought you said these men were loyal to you. Loyal men would have died in the service of their leaders.”
Kendru patted his horse’s neck. Ele could see anger in his movements. “You never said anything about sacrificing ourselves.”
“I thought you were smart enough to figure it out. Men do not kill kings easily or lightly. There’s always a price.”
Tarne’s words echoed in the cold air. The crunch of hooves on sand continued, the only sound for miles. Ele took a deep breath. The air smelled of horses, sweat, and fear.
Kendru glanced back. Ele did too, and even in the darkness could see the trail the horses left.
“They’ll find us,” Kendru said.
Tarne didn’t look back. He clucked at his horse and moved a little ahead of Kendru. “They won’t find us tonight. And tomorrow they’ll be too busy to think about catching us.”
“You’ve made plans. You didn’t tell me any plans.”
Tarne placed his horse in front of Kendru’s. The entire troop stopped. “You’re not in my confidence. You are an old soldier past his prime looking for easy answers. You had promised to help me and you failed. It’s only for old times’ sake that I don’t kill you now.”
“Perhaps that would be better.” Kendru’s hand fluttered over his sword.
“Perhaps,” Tarne said. “For you. I need you to guard our little princeling here. When Vasenu’s soldiers arrive, they’ll have no qualms about killing you. You’re clearly a traitor. You can stay at the caves and defend yourself, or you can try your luck with the desert.”
“And what do you plan?”
Tarne weighed the question. Ele tried to swallow, hating the dryness in his throat. His jaw ached from the pressure of the scarf, and his tongue felt thick. Finally Tarne sighed. “A number of soldiers went into town today to proclaim the King’s death. We’ll meet those soldiers before dawn, and set up the first skirmish. After that, we’ll keep Vasenu so busy, he won’t have a chance to search for you. And if he does, he will find you—and kill you for aiding his brother. Unless, of course, you’re smart enough to fend him off.”
“I thought we were old friends and partners,” Kendru said.
Tarne guided the horse’s reins and started riding again. “So did I,” he said.
Ele tried to spit the gag out of his mouth. Vasenu had never fought in an expected manner. That’s how he always won the war games. He didn’t think like a normal commander. Tarne was going to surprise Vasenu, but Vasenu would probably try to surprise Tarne.
And Ele would be stuck—helpless, roped, and gagged—in the middle.
CHAPTER 48
Stashie finished wrapping the turban around her head. She hated getting up before dawn. Darkness was for sleeping and yet every morning she had been at the bazaar, she had arrived before the sun came up to set up her table and be ready for early morning customers.
She hadn’t slept well. She wasn’t sure if she should even go to the bazaar this morning. After the events of the day before, she was afraid that the soldiers would do worse today. They had made it clear that the bazaar should close out of respect for the King. But, as Ytsak had reminded her, the city depended on the bazaar for its food and trading. To shut down the bazaar was to shut down the city.
Still the bazaar didn’t need its magicians. She could, if she wanted, spend the day in her room, away from the noise and bustle. She could sleep and think.
But then she wouldn’t see Dasis again. If indeed that young boy had been Dasis. Ytsak didn’t think so, but Stashie had been with Dasis half a lifetime. She should recognize her partner’s movements, no matter what the disguise.
Stashie tucked a free strand of hair under her turban, adjusted her skirt, and patted her pouch of gold. She still had a lot of money from the reading, some of it stashed in the pockets of her skirt, but the bulk of it in the pouch she wore around her waist. Someone would have to get close to her to take the money away—and she wasn’t going to let anyone she didn’t know well get that close.
She grabbed her dice and let herself out of the room. It had taken her nearly two hours to find the dice after the soldiers tore up the bazaar. Ytsak had begged her to stop looking, to buy new dice, but she had refused. These dice had belonged to Radekir, and they were all Stashie had left. She wasn’t about to forget a woman who had died for her, and she would keep the mementos as long as she could.
The corridor was quiet, as it usually was this time of morning. The late night revelers had all gone to bed, and most of the workers were not yet up. She went out the back door and onto the street.
The torches had burned low, and in the east a tinge of color touched the sky. She had to hurry. Her table had been undamaged in the attack, but others
hadn’t. She could set up and then she wanted to help all the other people who had helped her—particularly Ytsak, whose booth had been demolished.
The city was unusually quiet. She didn’t even hear the scurry of rats on their early morning foraging or the snores of drunks against buildings. The entire place seemed to be waiting. She thought she heard a footstep behind her, but when she stopped she could hear nothing.
Her hands were shaking. The attack the day before had left her more frightened than she wanted to admit. When she closed her eyes last night, she had seen fires everywhere, had heard women screaming, and her brother yelling. The memories had been on the surface since she and Dasis had come to Leanda, and now they were even stronger.
A door banged behind her and she jumped. She stopped for a moment, put her hand on her heart as if that would calm her panic. She hated soldiers, hated their unpredictability. She would have expected them to act with caution and decorum when their king had died, not participate in a revelry.
But then she would have expected them to have the decency to spare children when they attacked a village, and they hadn’t.
The light in the east had gotten brighter by the time she reached the bazaar. People were already moving.
Some looked as if they had spent the night repairing their booths and rugs. Ytsak was there, his tunic streaked with dirt. His partner, Pare, was covering the booth with cloth, hiding the gaps in the structure left by the previous day’s attack. Stashie stuck her dice in her pocket and walked over to them.
Ytsak didn’t say a word. He handed her a date and she took it, welcoming the fruit’s sweetness. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. “I keep wondering if we should do this,” she said.
“We’re not going to let a few wild men on horses scare us away.” Ytsak gazed in the distance as if he expected the horses to return. “Does it seem quiet to you this morning?”
Stashie nodded. “I’m not sure if it’s because I’m on edge or because the entire city is.”
“It was quiet the morning they attacked my village.”
Stashie glanced at him in surprise. He had never before spoken to her about his past. She waited, knowing better than to ask.
“I was ten, too young to fight.” He smiled and touched his eye patch. “Sometimes too young doesn’t matter, though.”
“I know.” Odd that they were both thinking about the same thing this morning. She wasn’t sure if it was caused by the attack or by the silence.
Ytsak put his arm around her. She leaned into him. “Come on,” he said. “You don’t need to be here today.”
“I want to be.”
“No, you—”
Half a dozen shouts drowned his words. Soldiers sprang from corners. Others rode down the main thoroughfare, plucking torches out of their holders as if it were a game. This was different than yesterday. These soliders weren’t out of control. They moved with a purpose, as if everything had been planned. The foot soldiers disappeared into the taverns. The others rode by buildings, tossing torches onto the roofs.
Ytsak’s grip tightened on Stashie. He tried to push her to the ground, out of the way, but she wouldn’t let him.
“We’re not safe here,” she shouted.
Pare stood and watched as the soldiers came forward. The air was full of screams and battle cries. Smoke poured off the roofs, smoldering big and black, tickling the back of Stashie’s throat. She watched them—
(They came in on horseback, almost peacefully. Tylee had watched the growing cloud from the window and slipped out the door alone. He wouldn’t let Stashie go with him. “I’ll take care of this,” he said.)
—the melee moving in a circle around her. Ytsak had the same faraway expression on his face that Stashie felt on hers. Pare tugged his hand. “We need to leave.”
Her own words. She’d said them to Tylee and he’d yelled, “No one abandons their village. No one.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “We do. Ytsak.”
She took his other hand and pulled him forward. Pare glanced at her, as if she should lead. She didn’t know where to go. In a few short minutes, the soldiers had surrounded the bazaar. Smoke came from all parts of the city. Other soldiers, bleary eyed, half-dressed, carrying only swords, had emerged from the inns and were fighting in a daze. She didn’t know who was fighting whom. They all wore the same uniform, all had the same technique. It was as if they were fighting brother against brother. . . .
“Oh no.” She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until Pare looked at her. But she couldn’t tell him. This was her fault, hers and Dasis’s. If they’d lied as Tarne wanted, the morning would be clear. No smoke would be clogging the bazaar. People would be working instead of screaming and fighting.
“We need to get out of here.” She pulled harder on Ytsak. “Come on.”
He heard her this time. She and Pare put their arms around him and pulled him forward, running back toward Stashie’s inn as if that would make a difference. The streets were clogged with running people, fighting men, and screaming children. Stashie longed to scoop them all up and carry them away before they lived through the things she and Ytsak had. They pushed past people, the three of them serving as a battering ram. But they moved deeper into the confusion instead of away from it. The smoke had gotten thick, blocking the light. Stashie’s lungs burned.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” Ytsak said.
But Stashie didn’t want to stop moving. If they stopped, they would get hurt. She couldn’t bear to see anyone else hurt. And they didn’t dare go into a building like they had the day before. The smoke had turned into flames on many roofs and the buildings were disintegrating, the wooden beams charring and cracking the mud-brick.
Yesterday. She had forgotten Dasis. That young boy who saved her, the one who moved like Dasis. Stashie stopped and turned, but Ytsak dragged her on.
“Come on,” Pare said.
“Dasis,” Stashie said.
“If she’s here, she’ll have to take care of herself. Finding her will be impossible.”
Stashie only heard half of Ytsak’s words, but enough to know what he was saying. She knew he was right, but she didn’t want to believe him, any more than she believed that Dasis had stayed out of the city. The smoke was making her eyes water. Ahead, a clash of soldiers had huddled around each other, circling like hungry dogs. Pare eased Ytsak and Stashie onto a side street.
Stashie took a deep breath. The air wasn’t as sooty here. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“We need to get out of the city. The fighting must be everywhere,” Pare said.
“We can’t go toward the palace,” Stashie said.
Both men looked at her. Horses pounded by—more shouting soldiers. Stashie cringed against the wall, but they weren’t looking for civilians. They were looking for other soldiers. Ytsak stared at them, then at Stashie, and suddenly understanding filled his face.
“The King—”
“—is dead,” Stashie finished for him.
“The twins?” Pare asked.
Stashie nodded.
“There’s nowhere to go then. No escape.”
“Except north,” Stashie said. “They’ve been fighting in the north. They’ll turn the troops around.”
“That’s not going to help us now,” Ytsak said. People crowded past them, most too terrified to scream. Licks of flame poured down the building they were near and the street had already grown hotter than it was at midday. “I think we’re trapped.”
CHAPTER 49
Tarne’s horse pranced beneath him. His white tunic was already turning gray with smoke. The entire city was in flames. The men were frenzied, battle lust thick. Already swords were bloodied and bodies covered the ground.
Tarne led his horse into the mess. Men fighting hand to hand on the ground. The advance troops, on horseback, had set the fires, adding to the confusion. He didn’t care who killed whom at this point. He just wanted that arrogant Vasenu to know who had the power. Vasenu’s
men were disorganized and startled. Tarne’s were in control.
He put a scarf over his mouth and nose to protect himself from the rising dust. The smoke dug into his eyes, but he didn’t care. Soon the whole city would be burning. Vasenu would lose the center of his kingdom in a single day.
Ele had already lost his chance at ruling. The stupid bastard hadn’t even planned on fighting for his own birthright. He didn’t know how to use power to his advantage. He didn’t realize that war was destruction—necessary destruction—and peace was rebuilding. The man who could come in after a war and give the people prosperity could be King forever, no matter what his lineage.
Ele didn’t have that ability. Tarne did.
A man slammed into his horse and bounced away. The horse kept moving as if nothing had happened. Tarne always made sure his mounts were battle trained. He couldn’t have them spooking at the first sign of disturbance. People were screaming and children crying, the din wonderful and cacophonous at the same time.
Tarne rounded a corner and found himself facing the bazaar.
It was not in flames, just disarray. Most of the merchants had run, leaving their wares behind. A few remained, using swords to protect their goods. Tarne rode past a booth, reached down and took some fruits from the baskets, then kicked the booth over. He wasn’t going to fight, not yet. But he was getting ready. His biggest fight would be with Ele. If he couldn’t convince Ele to listen to him, to be a puppet ruler, then Ele would die.
He chuckled softly and pushed a woman away with his sword. It was a beautiful morning. He hadn’t felt this good in a long time.
CHAPTER 50
The screaming woke Dasis up. She rolled off the rug, pushing it away from her. She was too hot and she had gotten dust in her throat. She coughed—the air was thick—and wiped her eyes.
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