by Tia Reed
“Release me,” she said, without conviction. It would not do for her to be in thrall of a spell.
“Princess, it is you who hold me,” Arun replied.
She looked at her hand, which seemed to have grown a mind of its own. It rested on Arun’s arm, and none too lightly at that. With grave effort, she retracted it and placed it upon her stomach. Arun immediately looked down. Beneath that hood, his expression was impossible to read. She might have sensed disappointment. More likely it was her own bitter regret she tasted. She had thought, of all the mahktashaan, he respected her despite her gender. Now here he was, taking advantage of her weakness. She would not have it. She opened her mouth to dismiss him only to have a drum interrupt.
“It was a mercy, Your Highness,” Arun said through the brash musical phrases. He sounded troubled. “The tribesman was so far in porrin’s bliss he was drowning in his own vomit.”
Kordahla took a steadying breath and watched a teal paddle his family away from all the noise. It helped her push the gruesome image of the corpse from her mind. Father might conceivably forgive her the loss of the veil, but the one thing he would never tolerate was dereliction in matters of etiquette. Brushing past Arun, she went to stand at Mariano’s side. Vinsant bounded up a moment later. As the last notes of the fanfare died, a stout, moonfaced man appeared on deck. His full beard tickled his midriff but was partially hidden beneath a blue woollen coat that, in Terlaan at least, was of a quality afforded by the merchants rather than the noble class. His eyes widened as he saw them. The royal offspring were a grand welcome for a messenger. He should not have considered himself privileged. It was only Vinsant’s desire for an excursion on a clement summer afternoon that had brought them here this day.
“You are honoured as a guest in Terlaan,” Mariano said, the formal words of welcome. “I am Crown Prince Mariano. This is my brother Prince Vinsant, and my sister Princess Kordahla.”
Lord Ahkdul’s messenger bowed low. “I am most grateful for your exceedingly generous hospitality,” he said, exuberant in voice and manner. “I did not expect such illustrious hosts,” he added, appraising Kordahla as her brothers might a horse.
His attention was not lost on Mariano. Her brother pursed his lips. “We are ever grateful for an excuse to ride the town,” he said. The touch of frost in his voice was reassuring.
The messenger cleared his throat. His cheek twitched. “May I introduce myself. Baiyeed deq Ikher, personal attendant to Lord Ahkdul, son of Lord Hudassan, Shah of Verdaan, and currently Verdaani Ambassador to Terlaan.”
“I was not aware Verdaan boasted royalty,” Mariano said. His eyes were forbidding, his trademark courtesy barely on offer. Kordahla just wished deq Ikher would leave off ogling her. The grebes ruffling their brown breeding plumage out on the lake were less obvious than he. She folded her arms and stared right back. He seemed to sense her discomfort because he cleared his throat and began to make small talk with Mariano. After a few minutes expounding the trials of river travel in Verdaan, and the joys of the same in Terlaan, he blinked, mopped his brow, and woke up to the tediousness of his exposition.
“I take it your lord has sent details for his ship,” Mariano said.
“He has,” deq Ikher replied, removing a piece of parchment from inside his coat. “As well as some preliminary thoughts on the illicit porrin trade. To facilitate discussions on his arrival. If it so please His Majesty Shah Wilshem, to consider them.”
“Huh?” Vinsant breathed as Mariano adjusted his stance. This was not what any of them had expected. Verdaan’s production of the drug was decimating Terlaan. The trek of smugglers across the border had been an issue of contention since before she was born.
“And of another matter besides,” deq Ikher continued. The right corner of his mouth twitched. The unfortunate timing made it look like he spoke in jest. “But I fear that one I must deliver to the Shah himself.”
“If the news demands it, that is only right. Come. We will escort you to the palace.”
“What other matter?” Vinsant whispered to her.
“It must be connected to the ship,” Kordahla replied.
“I don’t think so. Deq Ikher would just talk about that.”
Which was true, since the lucrative commission had been the cause of much public excitement, in particular among the shipwrights. The galley’s hull was complete in the dry docks across the lake, the carpenters awaiting Lord Hudassan’s instructions for the cabins. The Verdaani dictator had insisted on sending his son to select the fittings and trimmings, and apparently to negotiate matters of state as well. When deq Ikher’s vessel had been spotted, it had been something of a surprise. The messenger’s reluctance to disembark only fuelled her suspicions. His eyes travelled to the prisoners, still bound and sedate next to two mounted guards. The meatball vendors had the gaunt frames of those long addicted to porrin. It was a wonder she had not noticed before.
What she did notice was deq Ikher avoiding a direct line of sight with the disconcerting mahktashaan. Levi had realised that too, because he had directed his men to fan around the royal party, to stand in a circle that opened at the gangplank.
“Your Highness is occupied with prisoners at present,” deq Ikher said. Even at this distance Kordahla could see sweat shining on his brow. “Perhaps, I could approach the palace at a more convenient time.” His cheek spasmed twice.
“The Shah has granted you an audience this evening,” Mariano said. “And our guard must search your vessel before the appointed time.”
Telling, how Baiyeed deq Ikher’s nervous tic twitched a steady beat. “I’m afraid,” he started, and licked his lips, “as part of Lord Ahkdul’s convoy, this ship has diplomatic immunity.”
Four mahktashaan glided into a row in front of the gangplank.
“I’m afraid you are mistaken,” Mariano said. “Your arrival was not expected, and while you might represent Lord Ahkdul, you do not accompany him. However, should you wish to remain aboard while the mahktashaan search the vessel, I will understand.”
“It is not customs who will conduct the search?”
Mariano did not deign to answer. Access to the royal grounds required a higher clearance than the mere lack of prohibited goods. When the first of the mahktashaan negotiated the plank, deq Ikher waddled down with alacrity. He stopped in such proximity to Mariano that Kordahla wondered just how much contraband he harboured on the ship.
The mahktashaan spread out across the deck, their unique talents enabling a thorough search in minutes. One emerged from below with paper packets stacked in his hands while another led three unblinking and docile sailors, tied at the wrists, off the ship. Kordahla held her breath. Undoubtedly, the mahktashaan had subdued their wills, but the dilated pupils, the clammy sheen on their skin and their lengthy breaths gave testament to their intoxication. Porrin, the staple diet of Verdaan, had extended its foul reach yet again. There was no end to its mischief this day.
Deq Ikher fidgeted as he looked from the sailors to Mariano. The salt and sweat of the journey had crusted so deep in his pores, they fouled the citrus scent he wore. “You cannot…these men are under Lord Ahkdul’s protection,” he said. His conviction had drifted away on the current.
“They are not,” Mariano replied. “But they are your men. Do you wish to assume responsibility for them?”
Deq Ikher opened his mouth. Kordahla thought he might have missed the warning, but he clamped his jaw shut and shook his head.
“Since you have come to offer testimony to porrin’s value, you should witness how seriously we take its threat.”
At his words Levi drew his sword. Kordahla felt herself tremble.
“I would not think less of you if you looked away, sister,” Mariano said.
She should have, but the gleam of sunshine along the blade entranced her. Her eyes fixed on Levi as he pressed a palm against the sailors’ forehead and awareness returned to their gaze. It was replaced an instant later by terror so abject that she squealed.
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br /> Mariano pursed his lips. “Majoria, please remove those addicts from my sister’s sight.”
With growing horror, she watched the mahktashaan march the shouting sailors through the crowd scattering from the wharf. Her heart thudded as Majoria Levi escorted the protesting deq Ikher after them. Vinsant dawdled a few steps down. She reached an ineffectual hand toward him.
“Vinsant, you will stay here,” Mariano commanded, with a frowning glance at her, knowing too well she would never stay put if their baby brother followed. Thank the Vae Vinsant listened.
At the corner of the warehouse, Baiyeed deq Ikher balked. His shuffles only delayed his turning. The merciless Majoria guided him to the cover of the stone building. The wharf was empty save for a one-footed gull pecking at discarded scales, and yet she could not look away. A scream drowned the lap of water. She started, had barely grounded herself when a spurt of blood sprayed across the wharf and into the lake. Her trembling hand flew to her mouth, but could not disguise her gasp. Blood drained from her face, and she was sure her knees would buckle. An execution was nauseating enough, but what malevolence lurked beneath those hoods that the mahktashaan would not grant the condemned calm oblivion as the blade slid home?
“It is the law, Princess. They must understand why they die, and must face the Vae with their wits,” a low voice said into her ear. It was Arun again, and he had her elbow. Fear flitted through her eyes. Had he read her thoughts?
“No, Princess,” he said, belying his words. “Your thoughts are plain on your face. Nor have I used magic to soothe you. I shall release you now, but take my arm if you have the need.”
She nodded and placed an arm around Vinsant instead. Her little brother was staring toward the returning mahktashaan, a queer expression on his face.
“If they come to Terlaan, they must abide by our laws,” Vinsant said.
It was Father’s sentiment. Kordahla couldn’t help feel a pang that Vinsant might embrace more of the Shah’s values than even he knew.
“Oh don’t look at me like that. I am not!” he said, not even bothering to phrase the entire thought. She knew him so well, he didn’t need to. That he was growing like Father was a tease she oft employed when he voiced conservative views. If she had any hope the outdated laws which kept her chained in ignorance would crumble once Father passed on the crown, it was because her brothers doted on her. Vae’oenka knew, she took every chance to sow the seeds of change. It was never enough. These barbaric executions were testament to that. Oh, how she longed to visit Myklaan, if only for an eight-day, to be done with Terlaan’s rigid rules and the harsh realities of womanhood. What ideas she would bring back and plant in her brothers’ minds! It was no comfort the fairer sex fared so much worse in Verdaan.
She glanced at deq Ikher, who was waddling as fast as he could from the bloody executions. The Verdaani emissary stopped as close as he dared to them, and stared at her. Whatever Vinsant might claim, his expression did not suggest one awestruck by beauty.
“Do you find me so hideous?” she asked, annoyed by his rudeness and craving a distraction from the brutal images which kept intruding into her mind.
“Your loveliness is a gift from Tiarasae,” he replied. His cheek twitched and Kordahla wondered whether to believe him. Not even Father had compared her to the Queen of the Genies, a daughter so beloved of Mahktos that the Old God had freed her from the bind of her name.
She scowled at Vinsant for snickering, more to turn away from deq Ikher than anything else.
“Then why do you address her as a commoner and feast your eyes upon her, as though she were a whore?” Mariano said, his countenance rather than his inflection revealing just how annoyed he was their guest paid her so much attention. “I would have you know I hold blood honour for her.”
Deq Ikher jerked his head towards Mariano. “A thousand apologies, Highness. A hundred thousand for the transgressions of a besotted simpleton.” Kordahla had to stifle a giggle herself when Vinsant poked a finger in his mouth. “It is only, you allow your noblewomen to wander in public without a veil?” he blurted. “Lord Ahkdul will not be pleased.”
Kordahla frowned. Two of his men had been executed and this was what concerned him?
Mariano mounted his horse and looked hard at deq Ikher. “And what do I care for Lord Ahkdul’s pleasure in the behaviour of my sister?”
Baiyeed’s face coloured. His tic fired with unbelievable speed. “I only meant…it is not the custom for the high born in Verdaan, Highness.”
Kordahla had a sinking feeling he had meant infinitely more than that.
Chapter Three
While the journey down the eastern arm of the River Bahmar had been tolerable, Lord Ahkdul of Verdaan, soon to be Prince Ahkdul of the Kingdom of Verdaan, was loathe to re-embark on the sea-going Tenacity without appropriate entertainment to take his mind off the pitch, the yaw or any other nuisance a competent captain should avoid while the second most important personage in the realm graced his vessel. The fact Captain Treme, though Nertese, would be Commander of the Verdaani fleet in more trying times did little to either boost his confidence or appease his distaste of the coming voyage. Unfortunately, the boy Ahkdul had selected to minister to his needs had bawled the entire first day and night, prompting the frustrated lord to grant him his wish to return home by tossing him over the gunwale. If the boy had any ability to swim, he might have sloshed as far as the bank before the jabberweis chomped him into morsels. Neither Ahkdul nor the crew had any illusions he made it back to his family, now living in unaccustomed style as recompense for the loss of their superfluous fifth son, but shortly to be hung, drawn and quartered for failing to deliver quality merchandise. Frankly, Ahkdul was glad of the resulting quiet.
The boredom, though, was vexing. So he had decreed they would delay in the overcast port of Fayrhan until he found an appetising replacement for the lad. In the sultry, salt-stained air, distant thunder rumbling, the task was proving wearisome. The Fayrhani boys they encountered cracked worldly jokes despite their tender years. Their eyes were wary, their faces grimy and their hands chaffed from work on the wharves. They might have been amenable if rewarded with a few lek, but their crass retorts rather dulled their appeal. Nor did the lass barely into her teens, who sidled up with a seductive hitch of her faded skirt, entice.
“Do you have a younger brother?” Ahkdul asked, more to deter the ragged whore than out of hope.
Her thin face fell as she shook her dusty tangle of red hair. The little fool ignored his dismissive wave, and titled her head toward the nearest guard. Scarred Kahlmed rewarded her with a brutish grope of her budding breasts. Before her thin lips could form a proposition, he pushed her onto the rain-dotted dirt and laughed in her shocked face. Ahkdul’s men were well aware their pleasure was not to be indulged before their Lord’s.
Since Ahkdul’s satisfaction was currently less than assured, he stubbornly insisted they push deeper into town. The merchant mansions with their tender occupants sat well back from the dangers of the malodorous water, a belt of untamed but fragrant greenery setting them apart from the dilapidated dwellings of the rabble. They had the refined neighbourhood in sight when Ahkdul heard the clop of hooves on cobbles. Holding up a hand to stall the group, he peered through loose shrubbery, and licked his lips as he spied a father and son atop a rustic horse. Tired and travel-stained, dressed in drab kurtas, and wrinkled shoes, they nonetheless projected an air of decency lacking in the wharf-dwellers.
“Him,” Ahkdul said to Kahlmed. The heavyset man stepped in front of the horse.
“Oi! You, man. Halt.”
The father tensed. Alone, Kahlmed would have given a seasoned fighter pause. The jagged scars crisscrossing his face were testament to his survival skills. With men backing him, a lone rider stood no chance. The father’s vigilant eyes assessed the guards, five with hands on hilts, one with an arrow nocked. Their tabards of Verdaani saffron bore the ruling insignia, a red sword through the mouth of a sharp-toothed, river-dw
elling jabberwei. Their identity was plain, compelling the man to stop his horse and rouse his drowsy son. His dismount was precise, and he lifted the disoriented boy down with ease. Whatever Ahkdul may first have thought, this was not a common man. As guards blocked the retreat across the grass, the pair bowed. Ahkdul let them linger in the position so he could consider the virtues of the small body in front of him.
“You may rise,” he said eventually. His gaze flicked over the man and would have passed straight back to the child had the black moustache and beard not held a trace of familiarity. He dallied over the face, pleasant but a little too long to consider handsome. The man could be nobody of consequence. The round-faced child, on the other hand, was a perfect age. Young enough to be pliable, old enough to be trained without him squalling Ahkdul deaf. His skin glowed with evidence of an adequate diet and his short, dark hair, while mussed, was untangled. That was just as well. Delousing the child would have proved difficult in the confines of the ship.
“Have you had occasion to greet me before?” Ahkdul asked the strapping man, examining what little of the boy’s olive skin lay exposed.
“My lord, I am Rasheed deq Mekresh of the Third Watchtower, second to Captain Subhi.”
“Ah.” That explained both the hint of recognition and the horsemanship. “You are far from your post, deq Mekresh.”
“The Captain has granted me leave. I received word my mother ailed and she would see her grandchild once more. She travelled to Vae’oenka at the setting of the moons, happy that he thrives.”