Emissary

by Melissa McShane

  “I never had the right partner until now.”

  He brought his arms around her and squeezed, gently. “I will be your partner forever, in every way that counts,” he told her.

  She smiled into his chest. “Just think how much we’ll save on accommodations,” she said.

  He laughed, a deeper rumble now that her ear was pressed against him. “I would like to think,” he said, “that my company means somewhat more to you than that.”

  She lifted herself on her elbows, breaking his hold. “One bed,” she said. “Think how narrow some of those beds are. And you’ll be able to guard my body better than ever before.”

  “And what a lovely body it is,” he said, seizing her and rolling her onto her back as she shrieked a laugh. “Let’s take another look at it.”

  ***

  Later:

  “I have a confession.”

  “What?”

  “You know when I came into your room this morning with my shirt off? I took it off on purpose so you’d see how good I look naked and be filled with desire. Stop that. I swear, woman, how can this relationship go anywhere if it’s founded on you laughing at me all the time?”

  ***

  Even later:

  “I’m sorry I was so stubborn about dinner with Dakariou.”

  “I’m sorry I called you a bully and proud.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t apologize sooner.”

  “I’m sorry I let my jealousy influence how I treated you.”

  “Did I tell you I love you?”

  “You can never tell me enough.”

  ***

  Still later:

  “Zerafine. Zerafine, sweetheart, wake up. It’s a dream.”

  “They hurt me so much. I can’t stop thinking about it. They wouldn’t stop kicking me.”

  “Don’t cry, love. It will never happen again, do you hear me? Never. I swear it.”

  “Promise?”

  “My life on it.”

  ***

  They finally fell asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, and Zerafine didn’t dream anymore that night. She woke to the sound of someone knocking on the door. She judged it was about an hour past sunrise. Reflexively, she sat up and wrapped the blanket around her chest, pulling it off Gerrard’s shoulders. He came instantly awake, but didn’t sit up.

  The knocking came again. “Madama thelis?” said Aesoron. Does that man know everything? “There is a thelos from the temple of Sukman here to see you.”

  She looked at Gerrard. “Surely not Genedirou?” she said.

  “Aesoron would have said,” he replied. He rolled out of bed and tossed her gown at her. She made a face. “I’m going to look like a slob,” she said.

  “You’re going to look like a woman awakened at an ungodly hour by someone she wasn’t expecting,” he said, pulling on his undershorts.

  She waited until he was fully dressed before opening the door, feeling an unaccountable shyness at being seen coming out of his room. There was no reason to be ashamed, but their love was so new, she felt tender of it.

  But Rovalt, waiting in the sitting room, didn’t even notice. He stood, wringing his hands, unable to keep still. “Zerafine,” he said. “I apologize for bothering you so early, but....” He swallowed hard. “Genedirou’s dead.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Sit down, Rovalt,” Zerafine said, sinking onto a couch and patting the seat next to her. He stumbled to her side and landed heavily on the couch. “What happened?”

  “A banishment,” Rovalt said. “Like a hundred others. They’ve taken longer, lately, but.... The apparition was a man. It was a big fat man. Genedirou stepped inside it. I’ve never seen him do that before.” He shuddered. “The thing sort of collapsed on itself, it shrank until it was nothing, and Genedirou had a massive seizure. And then he was dead. I don’t know what to do.” He covered his face with his hands and shook. Zerafine put her arm around his shoulders.

  “Rovalt, you have to tell me everything that’s happened since the banishments became difficult,” she said. “Those things could kill others.”

  “I know,” he said. He raised his head. “Genedirou wouldn’t talk about the details. He always said it wasn’t my job to understand, just to serve. So I only know what I’ve observed. Every time, it takes—took—a little longer. And it looked like it was harder every time. Like he was having to work to get Sukman’s attention. The apparitions, too...at first they’d just dissolve, but lately they would fold in on themselves, or shrivel up. It was as if they were fighting for their lives.”

  “But Genedirou was never hurt by any of them?”

  “Not until today.” He covered his face again and let out a sob. “I don’t know what to do,” he repeated, his voice muffled by his fingers.

  “You have to carry on. Genedirou wouldn’t have wanted the daily ceremonies to stop just because he was gone, right?” Zerafine felt a little uncomfortable, a thelis of one faith telling a thelos of another what to do, but Rovalt was clearly unhinged by his superior’s death. She also felt guilty. If she’d been more patient with Genedirou, more willing to subordinate herself to his pride, would they have been able to find a solution that didn’t leave Genedirou dead?

  “Did you arrange for the body to be sent to your sanctuary?” she continued. “I can send someone to Berenica’s house if you haven’t done that yet. And worshippers will need comforting. I know you can handle all that.”

  She wasn’t as certain as she sounded, but Rovalt nodded. “I can do that.” He wiped his eyes. “Will you find out why he died? And stop the apparitions from killing again?”

  “You can leave that to me,” she assured him, and led him to the door. When he was gone, she slumped against its dark solidity and shook her head. “This isn’t good. I wish I’d been there to see it.”

  “You realize how callous that sounds,” Gerrard said.

  “I know. I don’t mean it that way. But it would help if I knew what happened to the apparition to make it deadly. Even banishing Baz didn’t do more than make my arm hurt for a short time.” She plucked at her old gown. “I need to get dressed. And we need to talk to Castinidou.”

  But Castinidou wasn’t available, not even to the official emissary. He was closeted with the rest of the Council, discussing how to handle the crisis. Though the banishment had been performed on private property, the tale of Genedirou’s death spread at the speed of gossip and grew mightily in the telling. By the time they left the Capitol, their errand unfulfilled, Zerafine had heard rumors that the apparition had swallowed Genedirou whole—that it had turned into a wolf that bit his head off and spat it on the ground—that it had dissolved his bones to jelly so there was nothing left of him but a skin bag. As disturbing as the images were, Zerafine was relieved that she hadn’t heard the far more disturbing rumor that apparitions had begun attacking people across the city. For now, the problem was contained.

  “I don’t want to hang around here waiting for Castinidou,” Gerrard said. A hot wind blew through the plaza, chased by clouds that promised rain.

  “Neither do I.” She was still getting dirty looks from passersby, though most of them just kept their heads down against the wind. There were far fewer glares and warding gestures than on the day of Alestiou’s death, but she didn’t feel like exposing herself to their antagonism. Zerafine chewed her lower lip and thought. What else could they do? Return home to wait? Sit the hours out—and she had no doubt it would be many hours—inside the Rotunda? She had no desire to wait at all, but what else was there? Unless....A grin spread across her face. “I have a truly excellent and cunning idea,” she said, and headed off across the plaza toward Talarannos hill.

  “What are you—wait. Just stop there a minute. That’s not an excellent and cunning idea, it’s insane. If you muscle your way into Alita’s estate, she can have you brought up on charges, emissary or no. Portena has some very strict ideas about property rights and unreasonable searches.”

  “I’m not going
to force my way in. I’m going to ask them, nicely, to let me speak to Morica Akennos. And if they won’t, then you can muscle my way in. Didn’t you say just the other day that you rarely get to flex your muscles in my defense?”

  “That was when I thought the worst thing we could face was a mob of uncoordinated rabble.”

  “Seriously, if they refuse, I’ll go away quietly and we’ll think of something else.”

  Gerrard reached up to scratch his beard and seemed mildly surprised to find bare skin. “All right. But I don’t like the look in your eye.”

  “What look?”

  “The one that says that you’re not going to let them refuse.”

  She patted his cheek. “I can be very persuasive.”

  He captured her hand, kissed the tips of her fingers. “I remember,” he said.

  “Zerafine!”

  She turned to see Dakariou running toward them, a satchel bouncing awkwardly at his side. When he arrived, panting a little, she hissed in sympathy. He looked exhausted. He also had a truly spectacular black eye.

  “I won’t ask how you got that,” she said, and glared at Gerrard, who managed to look impassive and smug at the same time. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault, madama,” he said. “What your sentare undoubtedly didn’t tell you is that he only got one blow in before I twisted his arms behind his ears and held him under the fountain until he calmed down.” At her amazement, he added, “I said I didn’t take up wrestling as a career. I never said I gave it up entirely. Grand Amateur Tournament winner, four years running.” He eyed Gerrard. “That’s an...interesting look for you, sirrah. I’m sure the color will even out nicely in a few days.”

  Gerrard now looked impassive and embarrassed. “An amateur wrestler got the better of a fully trained master longstaff fighter?” Zerafine said, teasing. “I may have to fire you.”

  “I didn’t have the staff,” Gerrard muttered. “I was in a hurry. Remember, you were dying.”

  She took his arm. “No wonder you were so upset.”

  Dakariou looked from one of them to the other. “And may I congratulate you both on working out your...little difficulty?” he said with an arch smile.

  Zerafine looked at him in confusion. “I know I told you,” she said, “but how did you know that Gerrard—”

  “He figured it out that night,” Gerrard rumbled. “Something about how I was behaving more like a man in mortal fear for his woman than a worried colleague.”

  “And you didn’t tell him how I felt? Dakariou, how cruel!”

  “It was your secret, my dear,” Dakariou said. “Yours to keep, yours to share. I thought it best to let the two of you work it out yourselves. Besides, it all ended well, no?”

  Zerafine had to admit he was right. She wouldn’t give up that memory of Gerrard’s quiet voice confessing the same feelings, the same fears that had gripped her that whole awful night and day. “Then I suppose I owe you my thanks,” she said.

  “Please don’t. I haven’t forgiven myself for letting you go into mortal danger. It’s not rational, I know,” he said, throwing up a hand to forestall her objection, “but there it is. I’ve tried to make up for my failings by finding out who hired those assassins. It wasn’t an easy trail to follow. Two of the four men were known thugs for hire. My agents learned that the other two were, we think, professionals lately come to Portena. And may I say that I hope never to make you angry at me, Zerafine. What you did to those men...I’ve never seen anything so destructive.”

  “I didn’t do it. Atenas did,” Zerafine said, feeling her eyes go moist at the memory. “When one of His own is threatened, sometimes He intervenes with swift and proportionate justice. An insult to the god might be answered with, oh, temporary muteness or blindness, or an attempt to strike me might result in a broken arm. It’s why we have sentaren, to deliver a less...punitive form of justice. Those men wanted me dead, so....” Gerrard put his arm around her. She hadn’t added And Gerrard wasn’t there; no sense reminding him of something painful that he already knew.

  Dakariou looked respectful and, she thought, a little afraid. “At any rate, my agents were able to trace your attackers back to an intermediary,” he said, “who in turn had been hired by a woman we only just located a few hours ago. That woman...she’s refusing to talk, but the man she hired to do the recruiting says she wore Talarannos colors when he met with her. Not the official livery, but it’s a start.”

  “So you can prove Alita was behind it?”

  “‘Proof’ is a complicated thing,” he said. “If we can get the woman to talk, and it’s doubtful that we will, it’s still her word against Alita’s. So if you’re looking for justice in the courts, you’d have a tough time of it. You’d have better luck under Atenas’s justiciary—”

  “Except that as a thelis of Atenas I can’t receive judgment or act as judge on my own behalf.”

  “Yes. Exactly. So what you’re left with is knowledge you can use to protect yourself against future attacks. I don’t know if Alita will try anything so openly again, but you should be alert. If it were me, I’d use it to blackmail her, but I know that’s not in your repertoire.” He grinned.

  “If I need the Weasel, I’ll call on you,” she said, and Gerrard snorted a laugh. Dakariou glanced at him. “You’ve certainly got a menagerie looking out for you. The Ox and the Weasel.” Gerrard glared down at him; Dakariou was unmoved by his looming menace.

  “I’ve got to run this errand for Castinidou now,” he said. “The Council is, well...saying they’re in an uproar would be understating it. You might want to stay out of their way for a bit,” he added. “Some of them are criticizing your handling of the situation, saying that you’ve acted too slowly, that Genedirou wouldn’t be dead if you’d been more diligent, that sort of thing. I’m sure you can imagine who’s leading that faction.”

  “Alita’s definitely with the Council at the moment?” Gerrard said.

  “Ranting her little patrician heart out,” Dakariou said.

  “Good. Thank you for the news, Dakariou,” Zerafine said. “I think we’re about to solve the mystery. Don’t tell the Council, though. I want to be certain of the answer.”

  Dakariou glanced over his shoulder at Talarannos hill, then back at her. An evil smile spread across his face. He took her hand and kissed it. “Good fortune to you, madama,” he said, and walked away in the direction of Kalindi’s temple.

  “He’s clever,” Zerafine said, watching him go.

  “He was taunting me,” Gerrard growled.

  She patted his arm. “If you didn’t make it so easy for him, he would stop.” Then, in a lower voice, she added, “If it helps, you might remember that the bed I slept in last night was not his.”

  Gerrard brightened. “That’s true,” he said with reminiscent pleasure, and Zerafine laughed at him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  With Nacalia in the lead, they trod up the hill to the Talarannos estate for the second time in three days. At the gate, Zerafine pulled the cord and heard a bell ring, somewhere in the distance. They waited. Zerafine pulled the cord again, harder, though this didn’t seem to make the bell ring any louder. Gerrard pounded the door with his longstaff. Finally the gate creaked open and a small, stout woman in Talarannos formal livery peered out. “Madama isn’t home,” she said in a voice that belonged to a much larger person.

  “I know,” Zerafine said. “I’m here to speak to Morica Akennos.”

  “She’s not receiving visitors,” the woman said, and made as if to close the gate.

  “Wait,” Zerafine said, and Gerrard inserted the end of his staff into the gap to prevent the gate from closing entirely. “May I ask your name?”

  The woman looked suspicious. “Toria.”

  “Toria, tokthelos Genedirou was killed by an apparition this morning. You and everyone on this estate are in danger. Morica’s experiments may make things worse. I need to speak with her to ensure the estate’s safety.” Only half of that was a lie
. No, not so much a lie as a calculated guess, because her mouth tasted no bitterness.

  Toria’s small, round eyes darted between Zerafine, looking innocently earnest, and Gerrard, looking stolid. “Move your stick,” she said, kicking it, and shut the gate.

  Zerafine sighed. “I suppose—” she began, but then the gate swung open fully, and Toria motioned to them to come in.

  “You better be right,” she said darkly. “Atenas alone knows why I take such risks.”

  “You’re a worshipper,” said Zerafine, startled.

  “My dad was a thelos ‘fore he gave up the traveling life. I adore Madama, we all do, but she’s been toying with things she ought to have let lie.” Toria glanced up at Gerrard. “My mam was dad’s sentare,” she added. “Damn near deadly with a longstaff, she was.”

  Zerafine smiled at her. “Thank you, Toria.”

  “Don’t thank me, thank the god, because when Madama finds out I broke the rule I’m like to be out on my ass. But just this morning I was thinking it wasn’t right, keeping this secret, and I believe you’re a sign from the god that I’m doing the right thing.”

  Toria led them into the salon and knocked on the door. “Visitors for you, madama,” she said.

  “Who—wait a bit. I’m not ready.” Moments later the door opened and Morica Akennos stood before them. She wore a leather apron and a sleeveless tunic. Her hair was even untidier than before and she had a smear of the white powder on her cheek. A pair of complicated lenses rode high on her forehead. She seemed unsurprised to see Zerafine and Gerrard. “Good, you’re here,” she said. “Come in.” She walked away as if assuming they would follow; exchanging a mystified glance, Zerafine and Gerrard did.

  The room was small and windowless, but well-lit by lanterns and a few of Kandra’s spheres hovering at the ceiling. It was also brutally hot. The source of the heat was a forge that took up most of one wall. A table bearing the tools of the blacksmith’s trade, hammer, tongs, files of all sizes, lay adjacent to the forge, and a barrel of what Zerafine took to be water or oil stood opposite. But pride of place belonged to a bizarre contraption of metal bars, some rough, some filed down, about three feet in diameter. A cage. And it was made entirely of seicorum. She’d never seen so much refined metal in one place in her life. Even Atenar kept its stores in raw ore. No wonder Gerrard had gotten such a good exchange rate.