The Lyre Thief

by Jennifer Fallon

  Adham looked at Kalan. “Have you asked the Harshini to speak to the gods?”

  “Of course I did,” she snapped, as if he was a fool for asking something so obvious. “It was the first thing I asked them to do.”

  “And?”

  “They said we won’t find him by looking for him.”

  “What did you say?” Wrayan asked with a frown.

  “That’s exactly what the Harshini told me, Wrayan, and I gather they were able to get at least some of the gods to answer them. You won’t find him by looking for him.”

  “That’s what Dace said about the lyre missing from the Citadel. Exactly what he said. You won’t find it by looking for it.”

  “Do you think the two are connected?” Adrina was still unconsciously patting Broos, as if he gave her some small measure of comfort.

  Kiam couldn’t imagine how they might be connected, but who knew how the gods worked?

  Luciena shook her head. “Gods, I hope not.”

  “I still don’t get how they could be,” Julika said.

  “One could argue,” Kalan explained to her daughter, “that if Jaz has been kidnapped and this stolen token from the Citadel is important as the Medalonians would like us to believe, then right now, the God of Thieves is basking in the two greatest thefts to happen in a generation. I’m not surprised he doesn’t want to talk to mere mortals like us.”

  “Then what do we do?” Adrina asked. “My son is out there somewhere, on his own, alone, afraid—”

  “I doubt he’s afraid,” Kiam told her. “He’s a tough little nut.”

  “He’s eleven, Ky,” Luciena reminded him. “Of course he’s afraid.”

  Before Kiam could answer that, the door opened again and this time it was Gaffen who strode into the room, followed by the Harshini, Glenanaran, who had been leading the search of the wedding guests’ thoughts. The Warlord’s expression was thunderous as he walked up to the table and tossed two jackets onto it. They were filthy and reeked of shit. Even Glenanaran looked serious, which was alarming for someone who, as a rule, never stopped smiling.

  One of the jackets Kiam recognized as the white embroidered jacket Jazrian had worn—under protest—to the wedding. The other was sodden and covered in grime, but it was unmistakably the distinct red jacket of a Medalonian officer.

  Adrina rose to her feet, pale as Jazrian’s jacket. “Where did you find them?”

  “Stuffed behind a pipe in a sewer two streets from the palace. I’ve had men searching the tunnels since Jaz went missing.”

  Adrina stared at the jackets for a long time. Nobody else said a word.

  “Do you have any useful information to add to this, Glenanaran?”

  “Sadly not, your highness,” the Harshini said. “We’ve scanned nearly all the guests, and other than many of them having the same tune stuck in their minds, there was nothing untoward or anything relating to Prince Jazrian in their thoughts.”

  “What song?” Kalan asked. “Do you mean the same song as the assassin who tried to kill Damin?”

  “No, my lady. This was much less . . . influential. It was a snippet, really. Not much more than a half-forgotten memory, and certainly didn’t affect any of the palace staff. Just some of the guests. I mention it only because it seemed odd, not because it offers any insight as to Prince Jazrian’s whereabouts.”

  Adrina frowned. She seemed to have come to a decision. “Can you get a message to the Citadel for me, Glenanaran, via the Seeing Stone?”

  The Harshini nodded. “Of course. I’ll send it straight away, myself.”

  “The message is for the Princess Marla. Please inform her about what has happened to her grandson.”

  “As you wish, your highness.” The Harshini bowed and turned for the door.

  “Once you’ve done that,” she called after him, “please ask her to inform the Lord Defender that unless the Medalonians who have taken the crown prince return him immediately, she is no longer authorized to negotiate peace.”

  The Harshini turned and stared at her blankly. “I’m sorry, your highness, I don’t understand.”

  “It’s quite simple, Glenanaran. If Jazrian isn’t returned to us unharmed by the end of the week, I want you to tell Marla she has my full authority to declare war.”

  THE MEETING BROKE up around dawn. By then everyone who could do anything to help locate Jazrian was given a task to do. Kiam’s task was to seek the help of the Assassins’ Guild—whether officially or unofficially—and bring their considerable network of spies and informants to bear.

  Kiam didn’t doubt Elin Bane would offer his assistance. Keeping the guild in business was as much about politics as it was about killing. Being owed favors by powerful people in positions of real influence went a long way to securing the guild’s future.

  He glanced up at the sky as he let himself out of the palace doors and stepped onto the broad landing at the top of the palace steps. The morning was cool, the real heat of the day some way off. Broos bolted out of the door beside him, ran straight over to one of the large marble planters, and cocked his leg.

  Kiam smiled. Poor beast had been inside for the better part of the night. Then he glanced around to make certain the palace seneschal was nowhere in sight or he’d be handing Kiam a bucket and a scrubbing brush, insisting he clean it up himself.

  As soon as he was done, Broos ran to the steps and bounded down them, barking madly, the noise echoing off the palace walls in the silence of the early morning so loudly Kiam cringed. The fool dog was going to wake everyone in the palace, and Adrina had probably only just gone to bed. Kiam called him to heel, but the dog ignored him and disappeared from sight down the steps. He hurried after him, wondering if Broos had spied a cat, and that was what had riled him, but as soon as he reached the edge of the steps, he discovered why Broos was so excited.

  There was a carriage parked in the forecourt. Old Lord Branador was being lifted inside by his son, Braun, as their slaves loaded Princess Rakaia’s luggage onto the roof. Olivah was standing there, not helping his father at all, and beside him stood Rakaia, dressed in a dark blue gown, a fur coat in her arms, no doubt in preparation for her journey into the snowy mountains around Highcastle. She didn’t look happy to be traveling. She had a resigned, almost melancholy expression on her face.

  Her face lit up as soon she heard Broos. He ran up to her as she squatted down to hug him, and he slobbered all over her face.

  Olivah was pushed aside in his haste. He staggered a few steps and then raised his boot to kick Broos out of the way.

  “Only if you want to lose that leg, Olivah,” Kiam told him. He’d moved down the steps with all the speed and silence of an assassin and his sudden appearance behind the young man made him jump with fright.

  “Dear gods!” he exclaimed. “Don’t sneak up on a man like that, Kiam!”

  “I don’t,” he said, and then turned to Rakaia and bowed. “Good morning, your highness.”

  She stood up, unable to hide her smile. He figured she was smiling because Broos had greeted her so enthusiastically.

  What other reason could there be?

  “Master Miar! I missed you!” she said, and then she added, almost as an afterthought. “At the wedding, I mean.”

  “I was otherwise engaged, I’m afraid.”

  Braun had finished settling his father in the carriage. He stepped back down and turned to Kiam with a frown. “Any news?”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  “It’s the reason we’re leaving so early,” Braun explained. “We need to get back to the border. I’ve already sent word on ahead, but I need to be at home. It won’t be across my border that someone takes Jazrian.”

  Kiam was sure Braun Branador meant every word. For all that he was a brute, the Branadors were family. Nobody was taking Jazrian’s disappearance lightly.

  Except Olivah, perhaps, who snorted impatiently, “Stupid kid’s probably just run off to play with the street urchins and is going to turn
up at lunchtime, covered in dirt, wondering what all the fuss is about.”

  “I noticed you haven’t offered to stay behind and help look for Prince Jazrian, Olivah,” Kiam remarked.

  “I’m needed on the border.”

  “Sure you are,” Kiam said, and then he ignored Olivah and turned back to Rakaia. “I trust you’ll have a pleasant journey to Highcastle, your highness.”

  “I’m sure I will,” she said with a vast lack of enthusiasm.

  “How can she not, with me for company?” Olivah chimed in from behind. “I’m sure Granny and I are going to be firm friends by the time we get home.”

  Kiam was a trained assassin. He’d spent years learning patience, mental discipline powerful enough to resist a Harshini mind scan, and, most of all, how to keep his temper.

  Right at that moment, he was prepared to ignore everything he’d ever learned for the momentary pleasure of punching Olivah Branador in the face.

  He clenched his fist by his side but didn’t turn around. That would be too much temptation.

  Rakaia smiled faintly at him, as if she knew the internal battle he was waging. Then she bent down to kiss Broos goodbye. “I shall miss you so much,” she said, although Kiam wasn’t entirely certain she was talking to the dog. “You made my trip here bearable.”

  “Why don’t you take him with you then?” Kiam said almost before he realized what he was saying.

  She looked up at him in shock. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course he isn’t serious,” Olivah said. “That thing is a beast! I hate dogs, anyway.”

  That decided it. Kiam nodded. “I mean it. The Raven has been at me to find him another home, and you’re the only other person he’s ever really taken to. I’d be honored if you’d take him.”

  “No! You can’t! Father, tell her she can’t have that beast. For one thing, it will never fit in the carriage with us!”

  Braun didn’t seem to care. “What’s this us business, lad? We’re riding on ahead, Ollie. In case you’ve forgotten, we have a border to secure. I’m not going to wait on the traveling pace of an old man and a fussy girl. Gods, lad, where do you get the idea you would be traveling with your grandfather all the way home in a carriage?”

  “Yes, Ollie,” Kiam asked. “Where did you get that idea?”

  Olivah shot him a venomous look and then strode off to untie his mount from the back of the second wagon where Rakaia’s new maid, Tazi, another much younger female slave, and a handsome, fine-boned man wearing the jeweled collar of a loronged court’esa sat among the other supplies and wedding gifts the Branadors had acquired since arriving in the city.

  “Do you mind, Braun?” Rakaia asked her stepson. She had quickly deduced, Kiam could see, where the power lay in her new family.

  “Do whatever you want,” he said with a shrug. He would have been hard pressed to show less interest. “Just don’t let it shit inside.”

  “He’s house trained,” Kiam promised. “Just ask the palace seneschal.”

  Braun grunted something and moved away, yelling at the slaves loading the carriage roof to move one of the trunks or they’d tip the damn thing over.

  Rakaia smiled at Kiam. “‘Thank you’ seems inadequate.”

  “I should be thanking you for taking him.”

  She was looking at him with such intensity he suddenly felt the need to break away from her hypnotic gaze before he did something extremely foolish, so he squatted down and took Broos’s velvety ears in his hands and looked into the dog’s trusting eyes instead. “You take care of her, you hear? Don’t let anybody hurt your new mistress.”

  Broos licked his face in reply, which make Rakaia laugh. He stood up again, wiping away the dog slobber. Whatever had happened between them a moment ago, Broos had ruined it. Thank the gods.

  “I will take the best care of him,” she promised.

  “I know you will.”

  “You could come and visit him sometime. If you wanted to.”

  Kiam nodded. “As soon as Jaz is safe and sound, I’ll be there.”

  Braun came back around the carriage before Rakaia could reply. “Come on, then, lass,” he said. “The sun’s almost all the way up. Get your arse aboard, and the beast, too, if he’s coming.”

  Kiam offered her his hand and helped her up into the carriage, where Frederak was already softly snoring, his head resting on the window pillar. Broos jumped in after her as if he knew what Kiam had asked of him and was happy to obey.

  With some reluctance, he let go of Rakaia’s hand as she settled in beside Frederak.

  “Will you give Adrina and the children my love?” she asked. “And tell her I’ll pray to the gods every day that Jaz is found soon, and brought home safely?”

  “I will.”

  He stepped back and closed the door. Almost immediately Braun gave the order to move off and the small caravan turned toward the palace gate.

  Kiam watched them leave, telling himself the only reason he felt like a part of him was being ripped from him was because he’d just given away his dog.

  It was a lie, but he wasn’t prepared to admit the truth, even to himself, so he waited until the Branador caravan was gone from sight completely before he headed for the gate himself.

  It was time to speak to Elin Bane. He needed to find out if the Raven of the Assassins’ Guild had any idea who had kidnapped the crown prince of Hythria before they were plunged into war.

  Epilogue

  “YOU’RE LATE,” ELIN said as the assassin let himself into his office. He turned from watching the empty courtyard below, already set up to test their next batch of hopefuls. It was past midnight and he wanted to get some sleep before tomorrow’s recruitment began.

  “Sorry,” the young man said. “I’ll try better next time.”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me, lad.”

  “Then I’m not sorry. Why did you ask me here at this hour?”

  “I have a job for you,” Elin said, indicating the assassin should take a seat and he took his own seat behind the desk.

  “And you couldn’t tell me about it during daylight hours?”

  “It’s something of a . . . delicate matter,” Elin said. “It requires more discretion than our normal contracts.” He took a key from the chain around his neck and unlocked his desk drawer to retrieve a single, folder piece of paper. “It’s a commission, actually, from the Fardohnyan guild.”

  “Since when do we do their dirty work?”

  “As a matter of professional courtesy, we often do their dirty work, just as they will do ours when the need arises.”

  He slid the paper across the desk. The assassin picked it up and unfolded it, reading the name written there with no visible reaction. He considered it for a moment and then slid the paper back to Elin.

  “I thought we didn’t do royalty?”

  “We don’t,” Elin agreed. “Turns out this one isn’t royal at all. She’s a bastard, passed off by her mother as a princess.”

  “And now Hablet wants his revenge.”

  Elin nodded. “Glad you understand.”

  “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wouldn’t—”

  “No.”

  The assassin shrugged. “Where is she now?”

  “On her way to Highcastle, I imagine.”

  The young man nodded and climbed to his feet. That was one of the things Elin liked about this man. He didn’t argue or ask for reasons. He just got the job done.

  He was at the door before Elin remembered the other instruction he had regarding this job. “Oh, one other thing, Arex. It has to look like an accident.”

  The White Fox nodded. “Of course.”

  And then he was gone.

  Elin leaned back in his seat, relieved the job was assigned. He muttered a prayer to Zegarnald to ensure a successful kill, and then added a heartfelt plea at the end of his prayer that Kiam Miar would remain so distracted by the search for Prince Jazrian that he
never found out about it.

  Characters

  MEDALON

  CADEN FLETCHER—Captain in the Defenders. Aide to the Lord Defender of Medalon.

  GARET WARNER—Commandant of the Defenders. Head of Defender Intelligence and second most senior officer in the Defenders.

  MANDAH RODAK TENRAGAN—Formerly a novice and now a pagan. Rebel from Medalon. Elder sister of Ghari. Wife of Tarja Tenragan.

  TARJA TENRAGAN—Tarjanian Tenragan. Lord Defender of Medalon.

  HARSHINI

  BARANDANAN—Harshini healer from the Greenharbour Sorcerers’ Collective.

  BELENDARA—Harshini ambassador to the Fardohnyan court.

  BRAK—Lord Brakandaran té Carn. Also known as the Halfbreed. Died helping the demon child in a confrontation with Xaphista the Overlord.

  DRANYMIRE—Prime demon bonded to the house of té Ortyn.

  KORANDELLAN TÉ ORTYN—Deceased. Last king of the Harshini. Nephew of Lorandranek and brother of Shananara.

  LORANDRANEK TÉ ORTYN—Deceased. Former king of the Harshini, driven mad by the task laid on him by the gods.

  R’SHIEL TÉ ORTYN—Daughter of J’nel Snowbuilder and Lorandranek, king of the Harshini. The demon child.

  SHANANARA—Her Royal Highness, Shananara té Ortyn. Daughter of Rorandelan. Sister of Korandellan. Queen of the Harshini.

  TELENARA—Harshini healer from the Greenharbour Sorcerers’ Collective.

  YANANARA—Horse master to the High Prince of Hythria.

  THE GODS

  BREHN—God of Storms.

  CHELTARAN—God of Healing.

  DACENDARAN—God of Thieves.

  GIMLORIE—God of Music.

  JASHIA—God of Fire.

  JAKERLON—God of Liars.

  JELANNA—Goddess of Fertility.

  JONDALUP—God of Chance.

  KAELARN—God of the Oceans.

  KALIANAH—Goddess of Love.

  LEYLANAN—Goddess of the Ironbrook River.

  MAERA—Goddess of the Glass River.

  PATANAN—God of Good Fortune.

  VODEN—God of Green Life.