“I don’t know why you needed any of them. You should have had them all killed.”
“We’ve been through this, Mother,” Loethar said, his tone suggesting how tedious she was.
“Well, we might have, but I can’t help but remind you, Loethar. People with any skills, low level or otherwise, are dangerous. And you’ve got them all packed away together. What makes you think they won’t use that power against you?”
“I’ve explained before, Mother, that to waste the power of the Vested is short-sighted. I’d rather harness it and use it to my own ends. And rather than cooping them up and making enemies of them, I’m now doing a controlled release of them throughout the realm so I know where they are. Some have extraordinary powers.”
“Like that wretched blood taster of yours. He makes my flesh crawl.”
“Like Vulpan, yes. Speaking of whom, Stracker, have you sent word ahead to get Vulpan moved immediately up to Francham?”
“Yes, but I have to question if Freath is really so important that we’re going to drop everything and chase after his killer? He’s not going to be mourned by anyone.”
“This is not about Freath. It’s about the death of a key member of my retinue and the mystery surrounding it. Why would someone Freath willingly met kill him in cold blood? And why all the secrecy? What ever your personal opinion is, Freath has worked closely alongside me for the past ten anni. What if this is connected to a plot against me? Freath must have lost a lot of blood. If Vulpan can follow the trail, he might be able to find where Freath died.”
“He’d need to taste his blood first,” Stracker remarked, looking bored.
“It doesn’t have to be fresh, does it?”
Now the general grinned. “No.” He reached to his waist, unsheathed a dagger and strode to where Freath’s corpse lay. Staring at he mottled, gray face of the aide, he plunged the dagger into the middle of the body’s chest, just below the sternum. “Ah,” he groaned with plea sure. “That is very satisfying. I’ve wanted to do that for years.”
His mother chuckled, unaffected by her son’s ghoulish behavior. Loethar, however, ground his jaw as he blinked, his lips slightly pursed. “Done?” he asked with forced politeness as he reached for the corner of the shroud.
Stracker withdrew the blade and stared at the dark, sticky mass that coated it. “Vulpan will enjoy this.”
Loethar’s bland expression hid his concern at his family’s lack of finesse. “Take whomever you need,” he told Stracker. “Get Vulpan to Francham and hunt down where Freath died and get onto the trail of the person or persons who did this. And find me Master Kirin. I need to know why he and Freath did not suffer the same fate.”
“Can I use what ever means I need to fulfill your orders, my emperor?”
Stracker was baiting him. Loethar took a moment to consider his reply. “No killing, Stracker.”
He watched his half-brother glance at their mother before he nodded. “When did you turn so soft, brother?”
“These days a more subtle approach is prudent,” Loethar replied carefully.
“Don’t change too much,” Stracker warned, turning to leave.
“Or what?” Loethar asked in a quiet voice.
Dara Negev’s gaze flicked anxiously between her sons. They both ignored her. Stracker turned around and regarded his younger sibling. Loethar’s stare impaled him, unflinching. For the briefest moment Loethar believed Stracker was finally going to share what he was really feeling, what was really building within that huge barrel chest of his. But it seemed the influence of their mother was still too strong.
Stracker shook his head slightly and then smiled wryly. “Or you’ll disappoint your true people,” he answered. This time when he turned his back on the emperor, he left, although Loethar would have put money on the guess that Stracker’s expression was far from smiling as his broad body moved across the threshold of the chapel and closed the door behind him.
Loethar glanced at his mother. “Trouble is brewing.”
“Always has been between you two.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I think we handle our differences rather well.”
“It’s easy to say that when you’re emperor.”
“Should I be worried?”
Dara Negev sighed. “Not as long as I’m alive, son. Beyond that I cannot say. But Stracker isn’t a deep thinker; you know that. He’s someone who reacts. Keeping him under such control for this long is a miracle.” Loethar nodded. He knew his mother was right. “He thinks you have forgotten what the struggle was all about.”
“Mother, Stracker never knew what my struggle was.”
She regarded her son. “He could be forgiven for assuming you both shared the same vision.”
Loethar looked down. “Yes, he could be. But he doesn’t know.”
“And if you want to keep your throne, child, he must never know. Remember who answers to him. You are emperor and our people respect you—always have, even when you were a mere barbarian warlord. But now the Set people respect you, too. It’s quite an achievement and I never doubted you could attain this goal. But Stracker doesn’t share the same ideals.”
“I know,” Loethar said, tiring of the obvious.
“An heir is critical now, Loethar. If the monster you call a wife doesn’t give you a son, kill her and take a new wife. Bearing heirs is all she was ever good for and if she can’t do that for you, she is a pointless waste of time. Daughters will not protect this throne. As soon as your son is born, move to protect him.”
Loethar looked up to the chapel’s ceiling, where sparrows flitted in the rafters. “Curious, isn’t it, how history repeats itself?”
“What do you mean?”
“Brennus. He did everything to protect the line of the throne. And now here I am, suddenly finding myself in the same precarious situation.”
“It’s how it’s always been.”
“Not for the Steppes people. We fight for our throne.”
She smiled. “Don’t you ever forget it, son.”
“Come,” Loethar said. He glanced once more at Freath, then turned away to call for the runners to carry his mother back to her chambers.
Crouching beneath the shrouded table that held Freath’s corpse, holding his breath, a young page prayed to Lo that the emperor and the crone would leave quickly. He was sure his trembling was shaking the linens that hid him.
Empress Valya stared out of her window, so overwhelmed by her frustration that she felt rigid, her thoughts fractured. Her marriage was a sham. Her love seemed to hit the wall of stone that her husband had become, bouncing back sharply to pummel her with silent derision.
She felt the baby inside her belly shift, and marveled helplessly at the strange little shape that pushed against her body. An elbow, she thought, just for a blink, amused and transported by the wonder of it.
“I always loved your father more than he loved me,” she began, stroking where her child stretched, finding a small mea sure of comfort in talking to her unborn. “And if I’m honest perhaps he never did make a promise to love me. That’s a pity, for I love him more intensely now than ever and my unrequited affection is more damaging than his unspoken words. I realize now he married me simply for show, so that he would fit the mold of the Denovian he strived to be. And you are the reason for our marriage. You’re not the first, of course. But it seems I am inadequate as a breeder. I have failed every time, until now. You must hold on. You will be my triumph, and my bartering stick. For he wants you more than he wants anything in this land. Don’t be a girl, sweet child. You must be a male, or all of us are lost. I might even have to kill you myself if you are born female. I would be showing you a mercy. He will not want you; none of them will want you. And I will be cast aside as their patience wears thin of my—” She stopped her murmurings at the sound of the door. “Who is it?” Valya snapped.
“It’s Fren, empress,” came a small voice through the door.
Valya hated the new gait her body had adopted as
her pregnancy had edged closer to its finale. Her once lithe, trim body was hugely misshapen, forcing her to waddle. She had known women who had been smug and proud of the swollen outline produced by these moons of childbearing, but she hated it; hated that she couldn’t ride or move with elegance, that her ankles were twice their normal size, that fat had seemingly layered itself all over her body. Like a sea vessel in full sail she drifted in a swaying motion toward the door and pulled it open, scowling. “Do you have news?”
The boy nodded.
“Come,” she ordered.
The child stepped inside her chamber.
“Did you take care?”
“Yes, empress, very good care.”
“Tell me.” At Fren’s hesitation, she grabbed his thin arm. “Tell me!”
He was frightened, she could see that now. What had he heard? “Fren, where have you been?”
“In the chapel.”
“Chap—Why?”
“You told me to take every opportunity to eavesdrop on the emperor.”
“And?”
“I knew a runner had been sent to summon Dara Negev regarding Master Freath’s death and I thought he might talk openly to her about it.”
“Hurry up, Fren,” she said. “Why are you drawing this out?”
Fren flinched as she snapped her fingers before his face. “I…I heard the emperor talking to General Stracker and Dara Negev.”
Dawning spread on Valya’s face. “Really? So they had a gathering without me.”
“All I know, empress, is that he summoned both once he’d arrived in the chapel.”
“What was said?”
“They discussed Master Freath’s death. The emperor is very angry about it.”
“I don’t know why,” Valya said, waving a hand dismissively. “Good riddance, I say, to the oily old coot.”
“I believe that is how the general felt, empress.”
“But not my husband.”
“He is angry. He wants answers. He said Freath’s not important. Er, I just have to remember this properly, empress.” The boy frowned, presumably running back over his recollection of the conversation. “It’s not about Freath, he said, it’s about why Freath was lying.”
“Lying?”
“Yes, empress, that’s what I understood although I didn’t really follow what—”
She flicked back her golden hair with irritation. “Fren, remember the words themselves, what he did say.”
“He said: ‘that’s what is so galling, I trusted the man.’ I don’t understand galling but the way he said it, it sounded as though he was lied to by Master Freath.”
Valya pondered this information, her thoughts racing. Had Freath really lied to Loethar? “Why do they think Freath might have lied?”
The boy shook his head. “They said Freath must have known his attacker or at least willingly left the inn with him. The emperor spoke with one of the soldiers who had escorted Master Freath to the north. The soldiers were in the inn with Master Freath, and had seen him drinking ale. Then he disappeared, under their noses from what I could tell, empress.”
“I see. So if he hadn’t been a willing victim, there would have been some sort of disturbance to alert the soldiers?”
Fren beamed. “That’s exactly what they were saying.”
“Interesting,” Valya said, her brow creased in thought, one hand on her swollen belly. “And how was the mood in the room, Fren?”
“Mood?”
“Yes, you know, how were the two men talking to one another? I know my husband never raises his voice but he can still make his listener understand when he’s threatening them.”
“Then the mood was awkward, empress. The emperor and the general seemed…um…”
“Angry?”
Fren shook his head.
“Argumentative?”
“Sort of. What’s the word when the conversation sounds as though everyone’s trying to keep his temper in check?”
“Tense?”
He beamed. “That’s it, empress. Yes, it was tense between those two.”
“Tell me, did the general challenge my husband? You know, lay down any sort of threats?”
The boy looked back at her, wide-eyed. “Not really, empress. But after the general had left, the emperor asked his mother if there was a problem. Trouble, he called it.”
“And he was referring to his brother?”
“Yes, because she said…” The boy paused again, his face creased in concentration. “She said the general could be forgiven for believing they shared the same vision. She also said that if he was going to keep the throne, Stracker must never know.”
Valya had been pacing but now she swung around, astonishment on her face. “Those were her words?” she demanded.
Fren nodded. “I have a very good memory, empress, as you know.”
She feigned a conspiratorial smile. “That’s why you’re my favorite and most handsome spy,” she assured. “This is very intriguing, Fren. Very intriguing, indeed.”
“Is that good, empress?”
“Probably,” she said. “And Dara Negev didn’t say what this secret might be?”
Fren shook his head. “From the way the conversation went, they both seemed to know what it was.”
She smiled for his benefit, turning away so he wouldn’t see her fresh expression of outrage and confusion. Why, after all she had been through with them, would she not be privy to some great secret being shared between her husband and his mother? “Was I mentioned at all during this conversation?” she said absently, merely for something to say as she puzzled over Loethar’s secret.
Fren cleared his throat. “Yes, you were, empress.”
She stopped pacing and turned back. Cocking her head to one side, she asked, “Really?”
He nodded but Valya noticed he looked suddenly fidgety.
“What was said about me?”
Fren bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, empress, they were talking about an heir for the empire.”
“They being Dara Negev and the emperor?”
“Yes.”
“Go on. What about the heir?”
“Just how important he is.”
“He. Yes,” she said. Almost to herself, she added, “I wonder what will happen if it’s a she?” She didn’t expect an answer, began returning her thoughts to Loethar’s secret, and so was shocked to be given an answer.
“They would kill you.”
Valya rounded on the boy. “What did you just say?” she hissed.
Fren swallowed. “Dara Negev said you should be killed, empress, if you can’t produce the heir needed.”
Valya blinked. “You’re quite sure she didn’t mean a daughter should be killed?”
“I’m sure, empress. Her words were: kill her and take a new wife. She said that bearing heirs is all you were good for and if you can’t do that, then…then you are a pointless—”
“Stop, curse you!” Valya exclaimed, her breath suddenly shallow.
“I’m sorry, empress.”
She paced, wringing her hands. “Kill me?” she said, testing the words aloud. “How did my husband reply?”
“He didn’t, empress. He changed the subject to something about how history repeats itself. He seemed more concerned about his general’s intentions than the need to secure the rule with an heir.”
Valya sneered, enraged that Loethar had not even pretended to stick up for her. “Well, of course he would be.”
“Dara Negev did say, now I think about it, that as long as she was alive, the emperor was safe, but beyond her death she couldn’t say.”
Valya pulled aside a tapestry and from a shelf recessed into the stone behind it took down a small wooden chest. Opening the chest, she took out a few coins. “Here, Fren. This should feed your family for a month at least.”
The boy’s eyes shone as the heavy coins landed in his hands, and he immediately tucked the money away in a pouch around his neck. “Thank you, empress.”
“There’s more of that for you. Keep your eyes and ears open. I want to know everything you hear immediately. Do you understand? No matter what time of day or night.”
“I understand,” he said gravely, then bowed. “Thank you, empress.”
She flicked a hand at him, hardly noticing his departure as her mind fled to how she might protect herself. Well, she thought, rubbing at her belly, she wasn’t that easy to do away with.
Nineteen
Kirin stole a glance at Lily, glad that he could, thanking his luck that it was his left eye that was blind. She looked like a picture, standing here on the village green with dozens of other young couples. Her veil was not nearly as elaborate as some of the other girls’ veils but going by those he could see through the gauzy head coverings, his bride was by far the prettiest. Her cheeks looked flushed and she’d found a suitable dress from somewhere—he couldn’t imagine where. It looked old, the embroidered rosebuds slightly faded, and yet it wasn’t tatty and Lily made it look fresh and perfect. Her boots were muddy but he rather thought that summed up Lily—the little he knew of her, anyway. For a moment Kirin felt breathless. He was getting married.
“Stop staring,” Lily admonished out of the side of her mouth.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“Concentrate. Our bit’s coming up.”
He took a deep breath, listening as names were read out by the droning voice of the priest, clearly wearied by his role.
“Master Kirin Felt and Maiden Lily Jeves?”
Maiden? Kirin thought and had to stifle a smile, as did Lily, he noticed. How quaint. “In Lo’s presence, we solemnly swear,” they both answered. Kirin noticed Lily’s smile fade as she proclaimed her vow. He felt a pang of regret. It was a pity she was not in a position to mean it.
Kilt Faris was on a mission. He had already left the main camp and was hurrying back down from the high parts of the forest, ignoring the draw of Francham, where he had last lain with Lily, and heading furiously to Woodingdene, where Coder had overheard the breakaway party was headed.
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