Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists)

by Giacomo, Jasmine

  Bayan opened his eyes again and shuffled to his desk. “Bhattara, you wake me for this?” he griped, reaching for a fresh sheet of paper.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m finally going to write a letter to my sponsor. Do you know when the next royal packet leaves for Akkeraad?”

  The Feast of Tuq

  To Surveyor Philo Sallas,

  Greetings from Bayan Lualhati.

  Thank you for the kind gifts and ducats you have been sending. I have made good use of them, except for the taffy. Calder eats it all each day that your packages arrive.

  Philo smiled as he broke his fast at his broad dining table, Bayan’s letter in one hand and an oaten honey cake in the other, pleased that the boy had taken the time to write back, even if it had been over a year since he’d seen him. The lad had a fine hand for Waarden, too.

  Our Elemental Duelist examinations are coming up. I think we are ready, but the instructors push us every day. I barely stay awake to do my homework in the evenings. Sometimes we run around the barracks barefoot in the frosty grass to wake up. If it’s snowed overnight, we still run, but it’s a challenge remembering where all the sharp rocks are. Thank Bhattara for chanters.

  A friend stopped by to see my hexmate Kiwani recently. Surely you know the friend I mean; he had a bauble marked like the one you picked up at the Marghebellen border, though he wore his secretly. His visit didn’t end well, though. Kiwani was dying for him to leave after he made some pointed remarks; they cut her pretty deeply. But he won’t be saying anything more. I wonder if he has any more friends I should know about.

  Looking forward to your reply.

  Philo mentally distilled the letter’s hidden information over bacon-and-cream pastries and freshly-squeezed orange juice. As he daintily patted his mouth with a linen napkin at the end of his meal, a few more pieces of his great puzzle fell into place, and he realized that Lady Iyanu wasn’t the lock he sought, after all. Her daughter Kiwani was. I’ve been wrong all along. Lord Eshkin isn’t conducting the Aklaa steel plot. He’s its victim! All that posturing was borne of fear for his daughter’s life. I was getting too close. His blackmailers must have acted to punish him—thank sints the assassin failed.

  Philo sat up straight as a new thought followed his epiphany. Lord Eshkin’s blackmailer would only feel free to act against Kiwani if he thought he could continue without Lord Eshkin’s help. They must be nearing completion of their plan. And I have no idea what it is. But now that Kiwani is safe, I think I can finally learn the truth.

  Philo put on his best black wig, the one with the pearls, and threw a long black stole over his silk tunic before calling for his carriage. As he arrived at his destination, Philo thanked Nic and bade him wait in the drive, as there was a good chance he’d be exiting both soon and with haste.

  Nic, phlegmatic as usual, merely nodded and adjusted the fine iron sword on his belt.

  Philo descended from the carriage and climbed the stairs to the broad portico. He gave the thick bell cord a gentle pull and waited. When the butler opened the door, Philo simply told him, “I’ve been summoned.”

  The butler led the way to an upstairs parlor, where Lord Eshkin and his wife sat on cozy padded chairs near a small hearth, each holding a glass of pale blue wine.

  Lord Eshkin stood at once, glaring. “What are you doing here?”

  The butler gave Philo an affronted look. “He said he was summoned, my lord.”

  “I didn’t summon you!”

  “No. Kiwani did.” He held up Bayan’s letter. “I’ve received word of her adventure, and I believe we have much to discuss.”

  Eshkin paused, his expression angry and reluctant, but he dismissed the butler. To Philo, he merely said, “Sit.”

  Philo took a spot in a third chair, which directly faced the fireplace. Holding Bayan’s letter, he studied it for a moment before giving his employer a disappointed look.

  “I wish you had trusted me with this, Wateyo. As I see it, my questing for the truth of the steel ring led directly to the attack on Kiwani. For that, I am sorry, but I cannot apologize for doing what my emperor demands of me.”

  “He has tasked you with investigating the ring, then.”

  “Yes.”

  Wateyo’s shoulders slumped. “We have doomed ourselves. At the crux of the matter, it comes to the choice we made to protect our daughter rather than the empire. Yet, there was no other choice to make. The empire is as strong now as it has ever been. Surely it can withstand one more plot. But the matter remains that I have turned against my emperor, and my friend. It was an impossible choice, and one I wish I’d never been forced to make.”

  “There is yet a chance for redemption. Tell me what you know, everything you know, about those who contacted you. The ring, the lost crime reports, all of it. I have reason to believe they’re nearing the final part of whatever plan they have. Do you know their goal?”

  Iyanu set down her wineglass. “Anuq never told us anything except what we were to give him: information in my case—regarding the palace interior, scheduling, that sort of thing—and disinformation through the Ministry of Ways.”

  “Hiding the number of vagary attacks,” Philo mused.

  “Yes,” Wateyo confirmed.

  “That implies that Anuq’s associates were creating the vagary attacks.”

  “Yes, I assumed so.” The lord looked down in discomfort.

  “The attacks seemed to be concentrated away from the central provinces. Do you know to what end?”

  “The reports that I ‘lost’ seemed random. I tried to make sense of it all, but I never found a connection between the steel rings and the attacks; it’s possible they were just separate acts of rebellion.”

  “That ring’s a dangerous sign to be wearing so casually. The emperor has concerns that this group is up to something more serious than siccing hired vagaries on random imperial citizens. Is it possible that neither the attacks nor the lost reports themselves were their goal?”

  “What other purpose—?” Wateyo began, then stopped, with an expression of dawning suspicion on his face. “The riots. No, they couldn’t be that clever…”

  “Wateyo, be clear,” Iyanu demanded.

  Wateyo licked his lips. “The outer provinces contain predominantly Akrestan, Dunfarroghan, and Bantayan citizens who have recently begun rioting in their provincial capitals.”

  “Why?”

  “The usual list of complaints, but I’ve heard a new one this time: insufficient High Way safety. They’re demanding to know why duelists haven’t been dispatched to deal with the vagaries.”

  “Your lost reports.”

  Wateyo sighed. “Yes.”

  “But surely the rebels aren’t expecting those provinces to support them.”

  “They don’t have to,” Iyanu said. “As long as the provinces stop supporting the Kheerzaal.”

  Philo leaned forward, elbows on knees, and met his employer’s eyes. “Yet, the steel. That implies something rather more martial than simply trying to cause chaos within the empire. Is there anything else, anything at all, that you can recall overhearing?”

  Iyanu nodded. “Anuq once mentioned something called the Lost Starflower. It was over a year ago, and I don’t think he meant to say it in our hearing. He hasn’t mentioned it since.”

  Philo felt a deep twist in his gut. “The Lost Starflower? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, quite sure. I raise exotic flowers in my solarium, and I have some Nunaa starflowers.”

  “We lived in the dark with Anuq.” Wateyo shook his head in frustration. Then he frowned. “He did mention something recently about looking forward to enjoying the Feast of Tuq this year—something about praying on the right soil.”

  “Feast of Tuq.” Philo delved deep into his memories of working in Nunaa after the end of the Raqtaaq Wars. “In order to pray to Tuq properly, his faithful need to kneel on sacred dirt. I don’t believe there’s any sacred dirt anywhere within the empire. Maybe
he was referring to being done with his mission and getting back home.”

  “Isn’t the Feast of Tuq supposed to be on the first day of spring? Some sort of fertility ritual?” Iyanu delicately wrinkled her nose.

  Philo’s jaw fell open. “But that’s just a score of days away. After all this time, we still only have pieces!”

  The noble couple couldn’t meet his eyes.

  Philo sighed. “I shan’t keep you any further this evening. Thank you for your assistance. I’ll inform the emperor of your willingness to cooperate—”

  “No, I shall speak on my own behalf,” Wateyo interrupted.

  Philo dipped his head. “As you like, my lord. And please, if you think of anything else at all, do not hesitate to contact me.”

  Philo took his leave, mincing out into the cool night air.

  Nic looked down from his driver’s bench. “Better than expected, Surveyor?”

  “Yes, but not as good as I’d hoped. Let’s head home. I need to think.”

  Once inside the carriage, Philo leaned back and stared out the window at the passing buildings, streetlamps, open squares, and fountains. He pondered what little he’d learned at Lord Eshkin’s manor.

  I only have a score of days to figure it out. Whatever they’re planning, it’s happening very soon. The steel angle is simply slaying me. It does imply an attack on duelists, but where? How much steel do they have? They wouldn’t dare attack the Academy itself. A duel den in Aklaa? What would that gain them?

  Philo sunk his focus deep into his memories, searching through the places he’d been in Aklaa and the people he’d met, the things they’d complained about, been worried about. Newly conquered people, unsure of their future.

  When he was nearly home, a memory surfaced. A once-well-to-do trader named Kimaaq had been reduced to selling pineapples at a country intersection for his new Waarden plantation owners. He had a lot to be bitter about, but instead, the man’s pragmatism and self-deprecating humor had given Philo a much-needed moment of pleasure. Traders everywhere were the same, no matter their culture.

  Yet Kimaaq had mentioned one thing that had truly saddened him: the Aklaa royal princess, pride of the Aklaa nation and traditional focus of their courtly love, was now the last one the world would ever see: the Last Starflower.

  Princess Qivinga had been fifteen years old when the Raqtaaq Wars ended. Jaap’s father, Emperor Hedrick, ordered her married to a sterile man of older years, so that she could be controlled and kept from bearing rebellious children. When she left her homeland, never to return, her mourning people renamed her the Lost Starflower.

  Rebellion and steel, after all. The chill realization slithered down Philo’s spine. Qivinga lives right here in Helderaard. Married to Lord Kobus vooren Zeegat, the ship aficionado, up in Muggenhem.

  But I cannot just waltz in and ask what her plans are. How do I get anyone close to her, this late in the game, and not set off her suspicions? If the blackmailer fled to Muggenhem after he ordered the attack on Kiwani, he’ll know Kipri on sight, and likely anyone else from the Kheerzaal as well.

  So whom do I send?

  The Lost Starflower

  Kobus voorde Zeegat was a gentle man. He hadn’t had the heart, a score of years ago, to try and break the wild spirit of his teenage bride, seeing in her a childlike exuberance he knew he’d never see in his own children, for Kobus was sterile. His first wife had left him because of it. Though Kobus’ family was held in high regard, he was often perceived by other nobility as an odd fellow at best, and being sterile had just pushed him further from their perception of an equal and closer to that of the eunuch class, who served them.

  His passion was ships, boats, and all things that floated on the sea, which was why he had chosen to live permanently in Muggenhem, unlike most noble families who came only for the summer season. He had built his own private dock into the Gyre, and replaced it every time the swirling sea destroyed it during a storm. His three boathouses were well-protected from the weather, though. And his bedroom suite had numerous broad windows that faced the water, so that he could sit and look at it anytime he wanted.

  He sat at his desk now, but his eyes would never see the sea again. Qivinga, Starflower of Aklaa, stood over his body, bloody daggers in both hands, thrusting them into his back over and over, weeping and laughing at the same time. Her long, curly black hair made a wild cloud around her head as she jerked and stabbed. Her dark eyes were wild with visions she had created to sustain her soul during a score of years in captivity.

  For a captive she had been, trapped inside the pretty, bright colors of Waarden fashion, only allowed to wear blue on certain holidays rather than every day as was her royal privilege. She had been shunned by other noblewomen at social events. A dirty rebel, they called her, not even bothering to hide their lips behind their gloved hands. Kobus had never defended her, abandoning her with the women in the funny-looking shell headdresses as soon as he could—she refused to wear the tiny sea animal carcasses over her hair—so he could head for his own friends to discuss ship designs and the like. Trapped alone in a world of wealthy and cultured enemies, Qivinga embraced the tattered wings of madness that offered her a freedom she could find nowhere else.

  Two women rushed into the room, drawn by Qivinga’s hysterics. She raised her eyes from Kobus’ corpse and stared at the two indentured handmaids Kobus had procured to keep her company—two among a household of servants loyal to their beloved, canny, patient Starflower rather than the paunchy imperial who bought them. Uunaq and Silyik stared back.

  Then they began to giggle.

  “You did it, Starflower.” Silyik spoke in Tilaa, which caressed Qivinga’s ears like warmed silk. “You’ve struck the first blow on imperial soil. Soon, others will fall.”

  Uunaq dashed out and returned with clean rags. While the two Aklaa indentureds set about cleaning up the bloody mess, Qivinga washed her hands in Kobus’ private basin.

  “Is Sanniq ready?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Nearly. Kilik is helping him with his Waarden accessories.”

  “Excellent. Have them wait for me. I need to change gowns before I’m seen waving farewell to my husband as he leaves on his trip north. Sanniq knows how to dispose of him?” She nodded toward the body the women were rolling into a rug.

  “Aa, Starflower. He’s found a peat bog near the road to Pallithea.”

  “Good. Send word to Anuq that it is safe for him to move in. My husband no longer minds if I have personal guests.”

  While her loyal servants packed her husband’s body into a large travel box and loaded it onto the back of Kobus’ traveling carriage, her ladies helped her out of her bloody gown and into a clean one.

  She looked into the long closet that housed her many gowns. They were sorted by color, so that she could remember which to wear on which holidays. Behind a hidden panel, her ladies had secured several gowns of Aklaa design, which she wore around the house while Kobus was away on his frequent trips. Just seeing herself in the mirror as she always should have been was more rewarding—and less dangerous—than taking a lover.

  Besides, the only Aklaa men in Muggenhem are indentureds or eunuchs. Naa, thank you.

  “I’ll wear the bird-bead dress when I return from my happy farewell for the neighbors’ benefit.”

  “Aa, Starflower,” Uunaq murmured.

  Qivinga strolled out the side door next to the carriage house and waited for the carriage as it slowly pulled up the drive.

  “Sanniq.” She rested her fingers on the carriage windowsill. “Do not return for at least ten days, and make sure you remove the vooren Zeegat crest from this carriage before you pawn it off on some Akrestoi.”

  “Of course, my lady,” replied the man in her husband’s travel clothes. “I wish I could be here to greet your new guests when they arrive. You’ll no doubt need the girls’ assistance to handle them all.”

  “Do not worry about me, Sanniq. You will be home soon enough, and I’ll be happy
to put you to work then.”

  Sanniq grinned. “I live to serve, Starflower.”

  The carriage rumbled out onto the main street. Qivinga waved at it, and Sanniq extended a gloved hand to wave back, as had been her tradition with the late Kobus.

  Once the carriage was out of sight, Qivinga returned to the house, leaned against a door frame in the parlor, and gazed up at the crystal chandelier suspended from its iron chain.

  I am a crystal. I break the light; I am not broken by it. My life is my own again!

  When I return home in triumph to help Savitu lead our people in war, no one will ever hear me speak of this place. In fact, I shall destroy it. I shall tear this prison to the ground and burn its shattered walls!

  Her brother’s agents would arrive sometime in the next two days. Before then, she would turn the interior of this house into a haven of Aklaa culture and cuisine.

  Aa, the least I can do is to offer a familiar last meal, surrounded by music and decorations of home, to the martyrs who come to set our people free.

  ~~~

  Bayan leaped over the cresting wave of sand that tried to bury him and rolled to his feet in front of Instructor Mikellen. Using Earth, he thrust a cross-arm strike at her chest, hurling shards of stone at her, but she raised a wall of sand to absorb them as she dived to the side. Bayan chased her across her own arena floor, avoiding the spiky stone pillars that she flung up at him from beneath the arena floor. He invoked Wind, attempting a leg-sweep that blasted his own hair back with its force. Mikellen shot his Wind spell full of sand and dragged its speed down to a thick breeze.

  “Come now, Bayan, quit toying with me. You are toying with me, aren’t you?” the Earth Instructor called through the sand-laden air.

  Bayan grinned, exhausted though he was; his Earth Arena skill duel had been going on for nearly an hour. It was time to end it. Using the Earthcast of Sandstorm, he blasted her airborne sand back toward her and bent it into an encapsulating sphere. With a surprised cry, she blasted the sphere to sandy fragments with a spinning Wind kick that left her low to the ground.