Besieged

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  Turning away, Sorne focused on the tasks ahead of him. He wanted to warn Marantza that Charald would not wait much longer but, as he was so late, he went to see his family first.

  He was relieved to find them on the terrace. They were safe, but for how much longer if what Graelen feared was true? Perhaps he should take Valendia to Graelen and... what? Hand her over to T’En warriors whose gifts would bind her to them?

  At the same time, they would die to protect her.

  If she remained here, what would happen to her when Hiruna died? That was something to worry about another day, hopefully many years from now.

  When Hiruna saw him, instead of her ready smile, she frowned and shook her head. Valendia noticed Hiruna’s expression, stopped playing her pipes and turned around.

  ‘You’re late.’ Zabier glowered and came to his feet. ‘I don’t know why you bothered coming at all.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Valendia said. ‘I don’t mind.’

  He glanced to the table, saw the special treats and realised...

  ‘You forgot her birthday.’ Zabier spat the words. ‘You expect to walk in here and pick up after all these years, and Mother lets you. She trusts you with... How do you get people to trust you, Sorne? And since when do priests wear swords? Since when does a half-blood flout the laws of Chalcedonia? You and Nitzane, with his two baronies, walk into my church like you have the right to–’

  ‘Enough, Zabier,’ Hiruna said. ‘Sorne, what’s wrong with your face?’

  He lifted a hand to his mouth. If he told the truth, he would worry Hiruna, yet, if he lied and said it had been an accident at weapons practice, he would infuriate Zabier. He could not win. ‘It’s nothing, Ma. I’ll go now. I’m sorry, Valendia.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ The twelve-year-old did not meet his eyes.

  ‘No, it’s not,’ Zabier snapped. ‘If he’s been drinking and brawling, he shouldn’t have come here.’

  ‘I don’t drink,’ Sorne protested.

  ‘Dia, I want to lie down.’ Hiruna lifted a hand.

  Sorne went to help her.

  ‘That’s right,’ Zabier sneered. ‘Play the dutiful son when it doesn’t cost you anything.’

  Sorne bit back a retort, waiting until Hiruna and Valendia had left the balcony before turning on the man his brother had become. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask him what had happened to the Zabier he knew, but that would only get his back up, and Sorne had already made a mess of things today. Better to state the facts.

  ‘I’m late because there was an attempt on my life. I carry a sword because of the assassination attempts.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘You’re right. And I wouldn’t have come, but I need to see Marantza. She’s still protected by the church, isn’t she?’

  ‘What do you want to see her about?’

  ‘King Charald intends to marry her sooner than any of us anticipated.’

  ‘I’ll tell her. She trusts me.’

  As the Fathers-voice, he was the equivalent of a king inside the church’s walls – a king who could be voted down and replaced at any moment, a king whose protection of a half-blood sister made him vulnerable, especially if Graelen’s suspicions were true. ‘There’s a rumour half-bloods are being sacrificed.’

  ‘Who said this? Who’s spreading this disgusting rumour?’ Zabier was so angry, he shook. ‘Tell me. Tell me and I’ll have them silenced.’

  Sorne took a step back. The force of Zabier’s reaction satisfied him. If the head of the Seven’s churches knew nothing, then this was just a vicious rumour, unless... ‘Are any of the other churches making–’

  ‘Only the Father’s-voice speaks directly to the gods, until you came back.’

  Ah, that explained Zabier’s resentment. His return had stirred up the old rivalry between the two biggest churches. But... ‘What if there was some hidden group, eager for power?’

  Zabier was shaking his head before Sorne had finished. ‘That first demonstration of power when Izteben and the prince died scared them off.’

  As far as Zabier knew, Sorne thought.

  Graelen would have to follow the rumours to their source and track them down.

  Sorne took his leave and returned to the palace. By now it was nearly dusk, and his body ached with every step. He wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath, then crawl into bed, with a T’En artefact pressed to his chest. After sleeping with it, he would wake refreshed and revitalised.

  And to think, he used to scorn the she-Wyrd for her addiction.

  Shame curdled his belly; Graelen must despise him.

  Charald’s palace had been built to imitate the great Wyrd palaces, and the best chambers had hot running water. Since Idan’s death, he had no servant, so he lit a lamp, prepared the bath and stripped.

  He was dozing in the sunken tub when he heard a furtive noise. Assassins, here?

  He pulled himself out of the tub and reached for his sword. Still dripping, he crossed the tiles, making for his bedchamber.

  There he found two figures in the shadows on the far side of his bed. He circled the bed, blade ready.

  ‘Sorne?’

  ‘Nitzane? Who’s with you?’

  ‘Do you normally greet visitors naked with a blade?’ Marantza asked.

  The laughter in her voice made him feel ridiculous.

  ‘Get dressed, Sorne,’ Nitzane said, but his voice also held laughter. ‘You’re offending my wife.’

  Wife? ‘What are you two doing here and when did you...’ Decide to infuriate King Charald by uniting the wealthiest baron with his heir? Sorne turned away, dried himself and dressed.

  While he did this, Nitzane lit a lamp and tried to justify his actions. ‘After I learnt what Charald did to my mother, I got to thinking. He’s used people all his life in the pursuit of power. Why should he use Marantza? So I returned to port and–’

  ‘Came to see me,’ she said, keeping her gaze on a point somewhere above Sorne’s shoulder as he laced up his breeches. ‘I told Zane no last night, and again this morning, but–’

  ‘She didn’t want to marry Charald, a man who’s nearly old enough to be her grandfather, so she settled for me,’ Nitzane said with a fond smile. Sorne wanted to shake him. ‘We were married this afternoon in the Mother’s church.’

  And by the way they reached for each other it was a love match. Could two people fall in love so quickly?

  All he could think was poor Zabier, no wonder his brother had been angry. He must have suspected Nitzane was up to something, but he was hardly in a position to offer Marantza an alternative.

  ‘Why come to me?’

  ‘We want you to smooth things over with Charald,’ Nitzane said.

  Sorne backed up a step. ‘No, thank you. I–’

  Someone hammered at his door.

  ‘Just a moment,’ Sorne called.

  ‘King Charald demands your presence, Warrior’s-voice,’ a man announced.

  ‘The Father’s-voice must have discovered I’m missing,’ Marantza whispered. ‘He usually has his evening meal with me.’

  Sorne finished dressing and then tossed a robe to Marantza. ‘Put this on. You’re tall enough to pass for a man. Stay here until I’ve led him away. Nitzane, where are your men-at-arms?’

  ‘I’ve thirty trusted men with Ballendin, waiting on a ship to sail to my estate down the coast.’

  ‘Good. Make your way to the wharves. I’ll do what I can to buy you time.’

  ‘Warrior’s-voice?’ the escort prompted.

  Sorne strode to the door, thrust it open and stepped out as he finished plaiting his wet hair. ‘What’s this all about? I was bathing.’

  ‘The Father’s-voice is here. The Lady Marantza has been abducted and...’ – the young guard lowered his voice – ‘the king is livid.’

  Sorne understood. The king was in a rage. Sure enough, when he approached the chamber, Sorne found a dozen terrified servants huddled in the corridor. None dared go inside,
but neither did they want to leave and miss all the excitement.

  Sorne mentally prepared himself. He had been dealing with these outbursts for eight years now. When he entered the chamber, he found the Father’s-voice standing to one side of the entrance, staring straight ahead with a strained expression while the king raged.

  Zabier looked pale, as if he wished himself anywhere but here. The remains of a meal was splattered across the wall, and broken crockery lay scattered across the floor.

  ‘You?’ The king pounced on Sorne, thrusting a finger in his face. ‘Why didn’t you warn me about this?’

  ‘You haven’t requested a vision, since we arrived–’

  ‘I want a vision now. Ask the Warrior where they’ve taken her.’

  Sorne played for time. ‘You know we must wait until season’s cusp.’

  ‘This priest tells me he can reach the gods anytime.’ Charald stabbed a finger at Zabier.

  ‘There’s a holy site, very powerful, one day’s ride from here to the east,’ Zabier said.

  ‘Then, by all means, let us go there,’ Sorne said, his mind racing. Inland was good, it would give Nitzane and Marantza time to set sail. But, unless they wanted civil war, he would have to find a way to reconcile Charald to the idea of their marriage by having a vision that told him... what? All he could think of was Graelen’s warning. Would this be the time he poked the beast and it turned on him? ‘We can arrange the offering as soon as I have a suitable artefact. Do you have T’En artefacts, Father’s-voice?’

  ‘It may take several days to find a suitable one.’

  All the better.

  As Zabier bowed and left, it was clear he was happy to escape. Sorne followed him to the door, calling for more food. A meal would settle the king, combined with a little alcohol and a soothing powder.

  While Charald held forth on Marantza’s parentage, Sorne poured some wine, slipped the powder from his robe, unfolded the paper and tipped the contents into the goblet. He had been gradually increasing the dosage, as the king seemed to have built up a resistance to it. The powder took a moment to dissolve, and when Sorne turned around he found Charald had settled himself at the table.

  Charald accepted the wine and tossed it back. ‘More.’

  ‘You know...’ Sorne said, as he poured a second one. ‘The Warrior moves in mysterious ways. What if this was meant to happen–’

  ‘My wife abducted?’

  ‘She is not your wife, sire. She’s your heir. But if her abductors killed her, you would be free to marry where you chose.’

  ‘And if they didn’t kill her, they would feel justified in claiming the throne.’

  ‘Not if you already had a wife and an heir on the way.’

  ‘Ignore Marantza’s claim on the throne?’

  ‘The stronger your claim is, the weaker hers appears by comparison. A son–’

  ‘Yes, a son.’ He grimaced. ‘I’ve had no luck with sons.’

  The blood rushed in Sorne’s ears, but the king seemed to have forgotten he was Charald’s eldest and only surviving son. Somehow, he found his voice. ‘There is still my vision of you on the ship’s deck with a small boy to consider.’

  ‘That’s right!’ The king looked delighted. ‘A wife and a baby boy within a year would stop the tongues wagging. I’m almost fifty-three, but look at Oskane, he was still scheming at seventy-two. I could have another twenty years in me. Time to secure the kingdom and the empire for my heir.’

  Servants arrived with food, and he welcomed them. As they set the table, Sorne’s stomach rumbled; he’d barely eaten all day. Behind him, he heard servants scurrying about as they cleaned up the broken crockery and spilt food.

  ‘Sit down.’ Charald gestured to the chair on his right. ‘Tell me about the barons’ daughters. I like them short and plump, with thighs a man can grab a hold of.’

  Sorne reached for a chicken leg.

  ‘This isn’t the war tent.’ Charald slapped his hand with the flat of his knife. ‘In the palace, you know your place. Now talk.’

  Sorne swallowed down his anger with his hunger, wiped his fingers on the edge of his robe and gathered his wits. ‘The southern barons who followed you back to Chalcedonia are either foreign nobles or mercenaries who have made good. They may have daughters of a suitable age, but–’

  ‘You’re right. I want noble blood, old blood. What about the Chalcedonian barons who came crawling to lick my boots?’

  ‘I’ll make a list of suitable girls. You could invite those barons to witness the Warrior’s offering. Once they see you have the most powerful of the Seven gods on your side–’

  ‘Do that. Excellent.’ Charald wiped the grease off his mouth with the back of his hand and tore off a chicken leg. He tossed it to Sorne, who caught it. ‘They’re afraid of you. Think you have some sort of hold over me. But they don’t understand, Oskane trained you well. Eat up.’

  Sorne forced himself to take a bite of chicken.

  ‘You know...’ The king tore the meat off another chicken leg and threw the bone onto the table. ‘I think they did me a favour, abducting that bean-pole of a woman. Sour-faced bitch was always looking down her nose at me.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  IMOSHEN KEPT HER head lowered and her gift under tight rein as she passed through the causeway gate. Warriors from Kyredeon’s brotherhood were rostered on the gate today. Their brotherhood symbol was the eye of foresight. Back when Kyredeon’s brotherhood was first formed, the all-father had been a seer. But none of the brotherhoods had produced a seer for hundreds of years. Now only Reoden’s sisterhood had a scryer, the female version of the gift. Poor Lysitzi felt so guilty about not foreseeing the sacrare’s death, she would not let Reoden heal her face.

  The Mieren cloak made Imoshen all but invisible to the gift-warriors on the gate. Feeling lighter of heart, she went down the causeway. She’d just crossed the arched bridge to the foreign quarter when student-he hailed her in Sagorese.

  Imoshen gave him the Sagora obeisance and they walked on in silence. Even though this was only their fifth lesson, her instinct was to trust him.

  ‘Were you in the city when the sacrare was killed?’ she asked softly in T’En.

  ‘Yes. Such a waste.’ He shook his head.

  Reoden’s exact words. Her heart warmed to him. Of course, it could all be an act, designed to win her confidence, but if it was, she couldn’t see the point. He did not know who she was.

  He glanced to her, only his mouth and jaw visible. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘The sacrare debacle is why I took up Sagorese. I want to study on Ivernia.’

  ‘And your all-mother has approved this?’

  ‘She said I must learn their language first.’

  ‘That’s why you study so hard. But what does studying with the Sagoras have to do with the girl’s death?’

  Imoshen hesitated. They’d come to the centre of another arched bridge, where she could see straight down the canal to the lake and the shore beyond. It was late afternoon, nearing midsummer. Sunlight danced on the water, reflecting on the buildings, creating shimmering patterns of light.

  Beautiful, but it was still the Celestial City and all that entailed.

  ‘What did you think of Rutz’s latest play?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t see the connection.’

  ‘Answer the question.’

  ‘What did you think of it?’

  ‘I saw it three times.’

  ‘So you liked it?’

  ‘It made me cry every time.’

  ‘But it was billed as a comedy,’ he protested, with a smile.

  ‘It was a tragedy masquerading as a satire.’

  He said nothing, which disappointed her.

  ‘So you want to leave the city and study with the Sagoras because you can’t stand the restrictions of T’Enatuath society?’

  Imoshen smiled with relief. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You agree with Rutz? The restrictions reinforce the problems they are meant to allev
iate?’

  Imoshen nodded.

  ‘So your answer is to run away.’

  She flushed. ‘I am only one person. What can I do?’

  ‘Rutz is only one person. He writes plays.’

  ‘And people laugh at them. They don’t see what he is satirising.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘But I am only one person.’

  ‘Change starts with one person.’

  ‘Tell that to All-father Rohaayel!’ And she walked off.Tears stung her eyes and she fought back a sob. Horror filled her. She must not cry here, in front of a T’En man, not after what she’d said about Rohaayel. She should never have brought up his name.

  By the time she reached the Sagoras’ premises, she’d regained her self-control.

  He caught up with her in the foyer.

  ‘Rohaayel broke the covenant,’ he said. ‘He hid a female child. He knew the risks he was taking. He went about change the wrong way.’

  ‘There is a right way?’

  He hesitated.

  ‘By writing plays that go over people’s heads?’ Imoshen prodded.

  Feeling she had made her point, she went through the courtyard and took her place as student-she. But it was a hollow victory, because she did want to change things. These were her people, whether she liked it or not. When Iraayel grew up, he had to live amongst them. If she had another child... The thought shocked her.

  She had no chance of another child. The sisterhood would never give her one. And she wasn’t going to take a Malaunje male for a lover, not when she risked having to give up her baby if it was born a half-blood. In the eight years she had been here, no T’En man had ever asked to tryst with her on midsummer’s day. The brotherhoods feared and hated her. She was a symbol of T’En female oppression. To the sisterhoods, she was a symbol of T’En male aggression.

  She would never fit in, and she didn’t want to. She should leave. But, as the lesson progressed, she realised that the Imoshen who had lived on Lighthouse Isle would never have run away.

  That Imoshen would never have given up, and she was still that Imoshen. A shiver passed over her body, rousing her gift. Even though he sat across from her, she felt student-he react, his power rising in answer to hers.