Grave Ghost

by Tia Reed

  “I die for a greater cause, General,” he said, eyes on Wilshem. The crude assassin had one final twitch of the cheek as Mazronan cut him down. In the blood that spilled over the assassin’s coat, Wilshem saw his own mortality slipping away.

  The doors burst inwards. Dropping his sword, the Swordmaster General stepped over the body to reach him.

  “Kor-dah-la.” What had he done? What monsters had he traded his precious daughter to? The excruciating agony of that admission. The devastating awareness his precious child was nothing more than a pawn in Hudassan’s elaborate play for his throne. The rake of its claws eclipsed the stab of the knife. He had to make Mazronan understand. He reached for the Swordmaster. The man was too far. His hand closed on air.

  “Kor-dah-la.”

  Wilshem toppled from his chair.

  Chapter 56

  IDO NOT wish to part on strained terms,” Mariano said.

  Kordahla ran her hand over the ribs of the columns that suspended the roof of the bathing pavilion. As little comfort as her brother had provided of late, she would feel abandoned when he left on the morrow.

  “Will you visit if there is a child?”

  “I’ll bring Vinsant with me.”

  He offered his arm. She took it. They strolled a path through the manicured gardens abuzz with industrious bees. Flowers and bushes flourished between the canals, providing an oasis of gnat-repelling fragrance in this harsh land of putrid marsh and steep hills. She would find such sanctuaries where she might in the arid years that stretched before her.

  “You will make an exceptional shahbanu, Kordahla, if you but work at being an obliging wife.”

  She let go his arm and stopped beside a crop of irises. “Does the first depend on the second?” A blue butterfly fluttered past her nose and landed on a daisy. “I suppose in Verdaan it must.” Ahkdul’s grace had granted them this private conversation. As their last, the topic was upsetting. Even so, she would not shirk it. The rose genie had blown her a petal of hope. Caught in Ahkdul’s trap, Rosie had not only endured but found a way to break free. “How long do you presume it will take before I am cowed to subservience, before there is nothing of the sister you once knew save her face?”

  “With effort, Kordahla, that need not come to pass. Shah Hudassan is already well pleased.”

  “That his perverted son came to me last night? Our union was as distasteful to Ahkdul as it was to me.” Her husband was a slave to his father and not the trusted son he had led Father to believe.

  Mariano stopped, a deep frown on his face. “You should not speak of this.”

  “Does it nettle your conscious when I remind you how sordid I find this union?” Her husband’s hasty departure had made her feel like a brood mare whose prime value was her pedigree. She touched the watermelon gem that rested between her breasts. It pleased Ahkdul she wore it. One day, she might reveal its origin, and the sentiment she had attached to it. “Would you rather I spout insincerities with which you may gratify Father?”

  “Will you not make this easy on yourself?”

  “Rather, I will not make this easy on you. I will not appease your conscience with lies, nor will I accept the way you and Father have bartered me. If you wish to part on decent terms, let us talk of this no more.”

  He took her by the arms, her gentle, loving brother. “Whatever you believe, we have not abandoned you, Kordahla.”

  The flush of anger in her cheeks exploded into searing heat. He would have slain her with his own hand had he guessed the truth of her dishonour. The urge to confess in a brutal act of defiance was strong. Without a thought for decorum, she pulled free and skipped past a line of imperial crowns. The yellow flowers bowed to the sun even as caterpillars nibbled holes in their leaves. Mariano was forced into a brisk walk to keep up. He would never believe her. Not when Arun had denied it. Not when Hudassan had attested before the entire family to the bloodstain on the marriage sheet.

  Mariano gestured towards the pavilion. The late afternoon sun was reflecting off the brown marble floor, washing the columns with gold. “Hudassan was insistent we sample its delights.”

  She held her tongue. Safra had made it clear a woman bathing in the presence of any man was a baseness past redemption.

  An old servant attending to the pool in the pavilion looked over, noted the strain between them, and returned to his task. They left their Terlaani guards at the bottom and climbed the five steps between the columns. At the top, her exclamation delighted the servant into a smile. He finished pouring a scented oil over the water, bowed and retired, leaving them in the light of the candles that floated along the narrow canal bordering the pool.

  “It is grander than anything I expected,” Mariano said, admiring the large stone petals which formed the plinths.

  She dawdled past a row of large jugs filled with oils of jasmine, frangipane and sandalwood. At the midpoint, a set of steps led into the pool. Arranging her voluminous skirt to hide her feet, she sat and dangled a hand in the water, swirling the rose petals that laced the surfaced. Mariano stripped off his coat. His modest vest and baggy shalvar did not hide muscles hardened through the days of travel. With a grin that reminded her of their childhood, he dived in. When he surfaced, he shook his head, spraying her with water. She could not help but smile.

  “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.

  “I am not dressed to bathe. Nor do I believe my husband would approve.”

  “At least put your feet in.”

  She complied, enjoying the sensuous pleasure of kicking through the water.

  “This is a luxury you could enjoy every day.”

  “I could,” she granted.

  Before she had finished answering, his hands were at her waist and he had pulled her in. She shrieked through the splash, glided into a laugh. The water soothed her sorrows.

  A movement caught her eye. She sobered. “Someone’s there.”

  Mariano turned and peered at the columns. “A shadow.”

  She placed a foot on the step but Mariano held her there. “My fault. I will see your husband does not object to a brother bidding his sister farewell.”

  “You will be gone tomorrow.” She would pay for this indulgence, but right now, remembering the languid summers they had splashed in Lake Sheraz, she refused to care. She swam for the end, kicking faster and harder as Mariano drew alongside and then passed her. She never had been able to beat him, but it never had mattered. He was always waiting to catch her, to whirl her around with a laugh. This revival of their childhood games was a charming parting gift. She twirled among the petals as he swam back.

  A brown hem whipped behind a column. Someone was there. She pushed off the wall, hoping to intercept Mariano but he swam right under her and surfaced at the opposite wall.

  “Who’s there?” she called, reaching the steps, climbing out.

  “Guards!” Mariano called, alerted by her wary tone.

  Save for the splash of Mariano’s kicks, the pavilion was quiet. But three candles were lifting from the canal and tipping into the water. For too precious a moment, her surprise caught her voice. The bath oil whoomped alight before she remembered it coated the pool. The flames raced towards Mariano. She screamed. She splashed down the steps as he looked over his shoulder. He floundered, and then pelted for the side. Someone grabbed her and tugged her up. She fought, dragging her captor down another step.

  “Help! Help him.” She bent over with panic.

  “Get back!” Mariano yelled. Dear Vae’oenka, the fire was licking his feet. He was not going to make it. “Go!”

  She fell against the step, tried to right herself but toppled to her knees. Her rescuer, no stronger than she, grabbed her kameez and tugged. She resisted but he gripped her and dragged her out of the water, heedless of how her knees knocked the marble. Mariano’s hand slapped onto a step. She reached for him. He pulled back. Dear Vae, because of her, he pulled back, and now the surging flames had caught his feet.

  He dived.
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br />   “Help,” she sobbed, unable to spy him.

  Whoever had been behind her was gone. She raced to the garden and screamed into the dusk. The guards were not at their post. Something thudded. She turned. Her mouth opened and for an agonising moment her heart stopped. Two jugs were on their side, bridging the canal and pouring their oils into the pool. The enraged fire devoured the fuel, and flames leapt towards the roof.

  “No!” She staggered over, dragged a jug from the lip of the pool. Oil dribbled into the canal and over a candle. Flames sprang up, smoking her skirt. She screamed, waving the fabric away from her body. The burn to her shin was both searing and numb. Ignoring it, she ran for the second jug. Her wet feet slipped on the marble. She crashed to the floor, biting her tongue as her chin bumped the marble. She crawled the rest of the way, and pulled the lip of the jug from the edge. It was empty.

  At the sound of whooshing water, she turned. Mariano was rising through the flames, gasping for air as he thrashed for the steps. He lumbered up, screaming as fire engulfed his oiled body, as he fell to the floor and rolled.

  Sobbing, Kordahla slid out of her kameez and beat at the flames. Merciful Vae’oenka, they went out. Shivering in her dripping undergarments, she slipped towards the garden, shrieking for help. A groan made her turn. Mariano stretched a hand towards her. She forced herself to calm enough to approach him but could not stem the stream of tears. His body was a blackened mess of charred flesh. She knelt beside him, reached out but dared not touch. His mouth moved but his words were mere breath. She leaned forward to hear.

  “. . .love. . .him?”

  She stiffened at the insult. “You would ask that? After he did this to you?”

  He clutched at her bodice. His hand looked like the hand of death itself. “Arun. Do. . .you. . .love him?”

  Her eyes opened wide. “I don’t know,” she said. What did it matter? He was dead. The agony of knowing that stabbed straight through her. She closed her eyes, to gather the courage to reveal the truth. Opened them to admit it. “Yes.”

  Mariano’s hand lost its grip and slid into her lap. “Good man. Tell Father.” His eyes stared at the ceiling.

  “No!” She shook him. He did not respond, not a gasp of pain or a blink of his eyes. “NO!” As her cry echoed off the columns, she threw herself on top of him, weeping.

  Men shouted. Footsteps pounded towards her. Hands hauled her off Mariano. She screamed at them, beseeched the body which bore no resemblance to her handsome, beloved brother to rise.

  “Kordahla.” The voice had no right to be calm.

  “Get away from me. Get away from him.”

  Undeterred, Ahkdul forced her singed kameez over her head and bore her towards the garden. The Terlaani guards were gone. In their place, Hudassan stood feet apart, his face inscrutable. The sight of him kindled a hatred so heated she might have burst into flames herself. Quelling her sobs, she stopped struggling and looked him straight in the eye. He had ordered this done. The Vae knew he had.

  “A tragic accident,” Hudassan said. “It is a miracle you are not hurt.”

  The hypocrisy almost made her hurl her accusation. But she was a prisoner in his house. She must bide her time or suffer her brother’s fate. The thought of Mariano made her knees buckle. Ahkdul caught her. She lashed out.

  “You are distraught. I will forgive this madness.”

  The self-control it took to right herself sent streaks of silver across her sight, but she would not accept support from the arrogant, murdering swine. She would delve until she had uncovered the shocking truth of this assassination. And if he had played a part in Mariano’s death she would drive a blade through his conniving heart with her own hand.

  Feet tapped across the floor behind her. She knew from the hesitant rhythm who it was. He too was responsible for this. The idiot mage in his saffron cloak tottered down the marble steps, dropped to his knees and kowtowed. His assassination had been so effective she wondered if his foolishness had been an act. Then he spoke.

  “I pulled her from the pool. Used my magic, great master.” His tremulous voice convinced her these villains had never intended to endanger their prize mare. Without an heir from her womb they could never claim Terlaan.

  “Your magic should have ensured she never entered the water,” Hudassan said, his voice low and unforgiving, and by his words she knew she was right.

  “He set the pool alight,” she said. “The candle lifted onto the oil.”

  Brailen shook his head. “No. There was a gust.”

  “Then why did you hide?” Her words were flat. The slightest hint of emotion and she would not be able to stem the tide.

  “If it is true, he will be executed.” A slight gesture of Hudassan’s head sent Verdaani guards to seize the mage. Brailen kicked and screamed as they dragged him off.

  She suffered no illusion about his fate, the one mage in this land of brutal greed. A mock interrogation would find him wrongly accused by a woman irrational from grief. No matter. Her humble status was her cloak. She would wrap it tight around her so they would never suspect. Dindarin beam her vow to Vae’oeldin because by the warrior god she intended to make every last one of them pay.

  About The Author

  Tia Reed lives in Australia with her cat and two boisterous dogs, all three of whom believe writing takes too much of her attention away from them. Much of the inspiration for her stories has come from experiences thrown at her while travelling. When she is not teaching or writing, she enjoys taking her dogs for walks, cuddling her cat and trying to tame her overgrown garden.