Xiane shifted his reins from one hand to the other. How like Kirano to be so generous. Most men would have turned the woman and her babe out to starve.
Or had the reknowned sage simply not wished to be laughed at as a cuckold? There had been an odd look in those black eyes at the end … .
It made no difference why Kirano had accepted Shei-Luin as his own all those years before, Xiane decided. What mattered was now, and what he must do. As when he helped Yesuin, he must do what was right, not what was easiest.
He must take the first step upon the Way.
Forty-two
Dusk was falling as the caravan leaders swung off the road and headed for a relatively flat patch of ground in the rolling plains. Taren, riding to one side of the caravan to avoid the dust the mules kicked up, clapped his heels to his gelding’s side.
When he caught up with the head guard, he snapped, “Pig and son of a thousand pigs! Why are we stopping here? We should push on to Rhampul—we started late this morning!”
“We’re stopping because it’s nearly dark and the animals are ready to drop! And if we keep on, all will know that something isn’t right. Do you want to warn the ones who travel with you? Shall I have one of my men beat a gong and shout out ‘Ho—you’re prisoners and don’t know it yet!’” The guard rubbed wearily at his eyes. “Now go before they notice us talking.” He turned his horse away and began shouting orders.
Damn the man; he was right. Taren wheeled his horse around and set off along the length of the caravan, fighting to get his temper under control once more. He’d slipped badly this morning.
When he reached the rest of the troupe, Lleld hailed him with, “Thank the gods! I thought that madman would never stop for the night! I hate setting up a camp in the dark.”
Taren made himself smile and agree. He went through the evening like a sleepwalker, responding only when spoken to, pretending to be more tired than he was. At last everyone retired to their tents, save Linden and Maurynna, he noticed as he slipped into the one he shared with Raven and Otter. Once again the two soultwins went off, blanket rolls tucked under their arms.
There was little talk. Otter was tired, and soon fell asleep. Raven seemed thoughtful, but Taren struck up a conversation anyway as they settled into their blankets.
“There’s one thing I never understood, my young friend,” he whispered, though it was likely nothing less than a shout in his ear would waken the gently snoring bard. “Why it was that Maurynna was the one chosen to go to Mount Kajhenral, and why you’re with her instead of one of the other Dragonlords, especially Linden.”
He’d never dared ask before, lest someone think too much about it and grow suspicious. But now … Now they were so close that it made no difference. By the time anyone—especially this fool boy—added two and two and got five, he would have the soldiers from the fort at Rhampul down upon them.
Raven pulled off his tunic. “I’m going because I’m truehuman, and the priestmages won’t sense me,” he said as he folded it and laid it to one side.
“They’ll sense her, won’t they? She’s a Dragonlord, after all,” Taren pointed out.
Raven slid down into his blankets, yawning hugely. “That’s just it,” he said sleepily. “There’s something different about her. They don’t know why she’s different, either, but she is. Maybe it’s because she can’t Change like the others. But even Linden has trouble sensing her; he once said it was like she was hidden in a fog. They think the priestmages won’t ‘see’ her, either.”
Hidden in a fog … .
A memory of a rogue Oracle prophesying in the midst of her death throes came to mind, and once again he heard her words.
One alone—the Hidden One—means the end of the Phoenix. But four will give you the throne—
So Maurynna Kyrissaean was the key, the one who must be captured at all costs. The riddle was solved at last. Fierce exultation filled Taren, and he knew what he must do that night.
“Taren? What is it?”
“Nothing, my friend. Go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”
A few candlemarks later, Raven slitted one eye open as a faint noise brought him half awake. When he saw it was just Taren disappearing out the tent door, he shut it again and pulled his blanket closer, glad that his bladder was behaving. He sighed and drifted back into sleep.
The evening incense still hung sweet and heavy on the air. Shei-Luin lay on her side, watching the flame guttering in the lamp as its oil ran low. Xiane ran his fingers up and down her back as he talked about whatever took his fancy. Long accustomed to the habit, Shei-Luin listened with only half her attention, her eyelids growing heavier.
Xiane babbled on. Suddenly she was wide awake.
“My lord, what did you say?” Shei-Luin said slowly. She turned and sat up in the bed.
Xiane pushed aside a strand of hair that hid a breast. “You’re so beautiful, Shei-Luin, and just think! We shall have more time for each other when I’m no longer emperor, and you’re not empress.” Xiane smiled up at her, his head resting on his pillow. “Come, lie down with me again.”
“One moment, lord—please! Tell me what you mean by these words. I’m but a weak woman, and wish my lord’s wisdom.”
Phoenix help her, if she had understood this fool correctly, all she had risked these years was for nothing! And her sons …
This would mean the lives of her children.
“Very well, Precious Flower. I have spoken long with your father recently, and—”
Too stunned to remember imperial protocol—and too angry to care—Shei-Luin interrupted, “My father? How could you speak with him? My father is with the Zharmatians on the western plains.”
Xiane squirmed and grimaced, looking unnervingly like Xahnu when she’d caught him sneaking candied melon from the bowl in her chambers. “Um, well—no, he isn’t. With the Zharmatians, that is. I invited him to speak with me after—after something strange happened. He’s staying in one of my hunting lodges.”
She stared at him, adding things up in her mind. At last she said, “So you did send for him after all. And when I thought you were hunting lately …”
“I was talking with your father about, about …” He swallowed.
She could just imagine what they spoke of. She knew her … father and his obsession only too well.
Ah, Xiane, you fool, you idiot! Why couldn’t you have been with another woman?
Another woman she could deal with easily. Poison, or an “accident”—the possibilities were endless. Her father’s heresies, though …
Captain Tsuen paused a moment to reshape the hairs on his writing brush. Damn, but there wasn’t a decent brush to be found in this place, and Lord Jhanun hated a sloppy report.
Still, while this waiting in Rhampul was not the most comfortable assignment the great lord had given him, it was not the worst, either; at least he didn’t have to room in the barracks with the common soldiers. The inn he stayed at wasn’t of the best, but the wine was surprisingly good even if the straw mattresses were thin and lumpy. And the river that flowed beneath his chamber window soothed him to sleep at night. He paused a moment to listen to its rippling music.
A soft knock at his chamber door startled him. It was late; who could be—Ah! The chambermaid must have reconsidered his offer. He smoothed his long mustache and smiled; he’d known she would. The report could wait until tomorrow. But smile turned to astonished gape when the door swung open.
For it was no maid, but the outlander who was one of Lord Jhanun’s most trusted servants, one whose words were to be regarded as the lord’s own—and this one did not do his own errands. Tsuen had expected the man to send a messenger.
Then he saw the light of triumph in the man’s face and knew this game of waiting was over.
“Is Lord Jhanun here yet?” Baisha demanded.
“No—he stopped to confer with the other members of the Four Tigers, Kwahsiu said, at Lord Hwaene’s estates,” Tsuen reported. “He’ll be her
e later.”
“Kwahsiu and Nalorih came ahead, then?”
When Tsuen nodded, the outlander said, “Good—send a servant for them.”
When Lord Jhanun’s other men arrived, Kwahsiu said, “You have them? The dragon-creatures that will anchor the new wardings?”
“I do. They’re camped a half day’s ride from here. I must rest for a time, but if we leave at dawn and ride hard, we can take them.”
A soft splash caught everyone’s attention. “What was that?” Baisha asked, going to the open window.
Tsuen joined him. There was nothing but the darkness of the river flowing past. “A fish,” he said. “Nothing more.”
Maurynna suddenly pulled the blanket that had been pushed aside up over them. “Oh, for—it’s back!”
Linden said, “What is?”
He saw her blush in the pale moonlight. “That feeling of being watched! It went away when—a while ago. But now it’s back. If I only knew what it was—and why it’s following me!”
“My father wants you to free the Phoenix, doesn’t he?” Shei-Luin said quietly. Too quietly; Yesuin would take the warning. Would Xiane?
“Yes. He told me the true history of the Phoenix, the meanings of the portents, why so many priests died when those creatures attacked—he explained everything. The Phoenix needs to die so that it may be reborn. All things have a Way they must follow, and that’s the true Way of the Phoenix,” Xiane said.
“Those priests died because their faith was weak. As for the rest—My lord, my father was banished for his heresies. He lies! The Phoenix must stay within Mount Rivasha, else Jehanglan falls into chaos. Send him away, my lord,” she begged, leaning over him, willing him to forget everything but her as she ran her fingers lightly down his chest and beyond.
Xiane drew her down for a long, smoldering kiss. “But Kirano doesn’t lie,” he said when he released her.
Released her, not rolled onto her. That, Shei-Luin thought, was a bad sign.
Xiane went on, “So how can you say he lies? He’s a follower of the Crane Hermit. He won’t lie.”
“Then he’s mistaken. Whichever it is, send him away, my lord,” Shei-Luin said, desperate now. “He’s dangerous.”
Xiane caught her hand and frowned. “We will not discuss this anymore,” he said. There was an edge of anger in his voice she’d never heard before—not for her. “While I’ve not yet made up my mind, I am leaning toward his way of thinking. And if I do decide it’s the proper thing to do, I shall abandon the throne of Jehanglan because I have no right to it, and you and I and the boys will retire to an estate in the country where we may live simple lives as country nobles. Now—come here, Precious Flower.” He pulled her to him.
She went. Had she any other choice? But as she went through the motions she knew so well now, her mind raced in circles.
At last Xiane was done. When he had fallen asleep next to her, Shei-Luin lay awake and wrenched her thoughts into order.
Does this fool truly think we would be allowed to live quietly in the country? By the Phoenix, the country will fall into factions the moment Xiane abdicates. Can’t he see that? Can’t he see that we’d be a threat to those factions? He and I would be killed, and the boys—
A chill went through her as she contemplated the future that lay before them if Xiane pursued his mad plan.
The worst that she could imagine was that the children would be slain at the same time as she and Xiane, so that no one could snatch them to use as figureheads.
And that led to the best she could foresee: her children used as puppets by some lord claiming to reestablish the legitimate dynasty. He would install himself as regent to the “poor little orphaned princes” and, as soon as that lord—Jhanun, most likely—was securely ensconced as the true power in Jehanglan, Xahnu and Xu would fall victims to some unfortunate accident or mysterious illness. Then Jehanglan would have a new emperor, and a new dynasty. At least in this future, the boys might have a few more years of life.
But they would still die.
She couldn’t allow that. Xiane must die before he abdicated. But how? He was a young man, and healthy. Such rarely just dropped dead. An accident? As the night wore on, Shei-Luin came up with one plan after another, discarding each almost as soon as she thought of it.
With the first light of dawn came the answer. She was half asleep when she heard the drone of a fly in the room. It swooped here and there, buzzing industriously as it searched for food.
That sound … A memory stirred at the very edge of sleep. Something about that sound … .
Shei-Luin snapped awake, then had to bite her knuckles to keep from crying out. Yes, that was it. That was how it would be done—if Xiane persisted in his mad plan.
She hoped with all her heart he would turn from this path.
The next morning Raven sat staring at the wall of the tent as if he would find the answers to his questions scrawled upon the dirty canvas. Where did Taren go last night? It couldn’t have been just to water the ground; he’d have been back by now.
Raven was certain Taren hadn’t realized he’d been awake—if just barely—at the time. It was only later, when he was truly awake, that he realized Taren had been fully dressed.
So where was he? It was clear Taren meant to come back; his blankets lay where he’d stretched out the night before. Raven sighed and rolled them up so that there would be no further delay.
And why weren’t the merchants moving on? All during the journey, the merchants had pressed on as if any delay cost them gold by the candlemark. Yet when he’d gone outside a little while ago to look for Taren, he saw that while they were packed, they’d made no move to travel on. Instead they clung to their camp, small groups huddled together talking, their faces anxious.
Nor had anyone seen Taren.
And biggest question of all, why had Taren suddenly looked as if Raven had handed him the key to a chest of treasure last night? Belatedly he remembered that Maurynna had said not to speak of her inability with anyone. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Raven took out his anger at himself and Taren by throwing Taren’s blanket roll to the back of the tent. Gods curse it, why had he opened his big mouth?
The rolled blanket struck Taren’s belt pouch, left behind on the ground, and sent it flying, scattering Taren’s things. Raven shut his eyes and clenched his fists, fighting the urge to break into a string of curses.
Just my bloody, damned luck. Muttering under his breath, he knelt to pick up Taren’s belongings. The way his luck was running, Taren would pick now to return, and this was not something Raven wanted to explain.
Among the items was one that caught Raven’s eye: a small, heavy awl of darkened steel that had fallen from its sheath. But it was like no leather awl that a traveler might carry that Raven had ever seen before. How very odd, he thought. The metal portion, a narrow, three-edged blade, was perhaps the width of a hand long; the point …
Raven incautiously touched it. Bright red blood welled out; he stuck his pricked finger into his mouth, grumbling. The damned thing was dangerous!
He examined the handle. While the end was flattened as he expected an awl’s to be so that one could push it through leather with the heel of the hand, it was not the traditional bulbous shape that would sit secure in one’s palm. And it was wrapped in twisted wire like a—
It’s not a handle. It’s a hilt.
Licking suddenly dry lips, Raven examined the edges of the blade. They were honed to a killing edge.
Linden’s description of Revien’s death wound came back into Raven’s mind: There was a tiny triangular tear in the skin at the base of the skull below the left ear. I looked a little more closely; it was a small hole, hard to see, but notable because of its shape.
And hard on the heels of that memory came another like a wolf leaping upon a stag: It’s done with something like a long awl, something pointed and narrow.
Taren had been out that same night, had come back much later than had bee
n expected. And Taren owned a mysterious knife, kept carefully hidden, that looked at first sight like an—
Sickened, Raven almost cast the vile object from him, then reconsidered. The others should know of this. He had no idea why Taren had killed Revien; had the man seen or overheard something dangerous to Taren?
No matter; let wiser heads riddle that one out. His hands shaking, Raven shoved the awl-knife into his belt pouch and bundled Taren’s things together again.
Then he picked up his own bundle and walked out of the tent into the late morning sun. He forced himself to walk with unhurried steps to where Stormwind waited with the other Llysanyins; he nearly melted with relief when he saw that all of them were already saddled, and all save Stormwind had blanket rolls in place. Linden, most likely, may the gods bless him for once.
Raven sauntered up to Stormwind as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He even managed a jaunty whistle as he lashed his blanket to the back of the saddle.
“Be ready,” he told Stormwind in a cheerful voice and patted the stallion’s shoulder for the benefit of the Jehangli guards walking nearby. “We may have to make a run for it. I think treachery walks this camp.”
Every Llysanyin’s ears swiveled around at that, but only Stormwind turned to him. Raven wondered how much the animals truly understood.
Stormwind fixed a dark eye on him and bobbed his head once.
Satisfied, Raven strode off to find the others.
The lotuses gleamed white in the early morning sun. Lost in thought, Shei-Luin stood on the edge of the magnificent pool that was the center of the gardens of the empress, staring without seeing at the expanse of fragant white flowers that covered the marble-edged pond. A soft breeze teased at the heavy red silk of her robe. She ignored it.
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