by Tia Reed
Did he have to bring that up? Father would never let her leave the palace walls again, not in an eternity of eternities. “Lord Ahkdul is willing to negotiate an agreement,” she said. “Isn’t that the other matter to which you and Ambassador deq Ikher referred?”
Mariano took a half step. It was a movement of discomfort, not reassurance. “With a true alliance there would be more sway. Lord Hudassan has indicated he will commit resources to dissuading the smugglers if he has ties to our realm.”
He had given voice to a shattering betrayal. What use did a woman have at court except to barter? What value other than to forge ties? Her hand flew to her mouth. She knew her eyes were wide. From the time she could toddle, she had counted on Mariano to help her fight for her limited freedoms. Without his support, there was nothing she could say.
“How will he succeed?” Vinsant asked. “Doesn’t most of the porrin…Ow,” he complained as she pinched his arm. Now was neither the time nor the place. They would not do this in front of the ambassador. The man was looking at her like a lost puppy, no more attractive for the absence of his tic.
A thud startled her into looking at the prisoners. A guard’s boot was stomping the younger man’s head into the floor. Merciful Vae’oenka, they had heard every word of this humiliating exchange. Could she be divested of any more pride?
As if in answer to her question, the doors behind the throne opened, admitting Majoria Levi. He glided across the floor in the eerie way the ranked mahktashaan employed when on official business. Had the hem of his robe not skimmed the marble, she would have assumed his feet floated.
“Majoria,” Father greeted, resuming the throne. “I trust you have news.”
“Majesty,” Levi said, without deference or the slightest bow. Such was his esteem in the eyes of the court, the Shah took no offence. “Minekeeper Fenz located the writings of which we spoke.”
“Then you have confirmed the legend,” Father said. Beneath him, the Diamond Throne pulsed.
“The reference is obscure, but it is written in Shah Gustav’s hand. Events herald a momentous occasion.”
“Are we talking about falling fish?” Vinsant interrupted. “Because if you’ve found the reason can I keep him?”
Levi turned to Vinsant, his sharp nose shadowed by his hood. His decision to don it in the presence of the royal family reinforced her dislike of the man. “Prince Vinsant, Mahktos sent that fish. The mahktashaan must use it to determine the god’s intent.”
“Scums,” Vinsant said, rolling his head back. “Here you go, then.” He tossed the fish at Levi. The unruffled Majoria rotated his hand. Blackness flashed from the crystal around his neck. The fish slowed in the air before landing neatly along his arm.
“I thank you, Highness,” Levi said, his sarcasm evident in a tiny bow. Had anyone else been the beneficiary of Vinsant’s prank, she would have chastised her brother as he rubbed the freckles on his nose. She had, after all, taken it upon herself to raise him after their mother’s accident eleven years back. But no prank, to her knowledge, had ever managed to ruffle the Majoria and, if she were to believe Vinsant’s rambling tales of woe, Levi was not above revenge, prolonged, humiliating and painful. That said, Vinsant just did not seem to learn. She would need to have a word with him later. Father would expect it.
She fidgeted as a mahktashaan guard she had not noticed glided out of a recess and took the fish. Arun, she realised with lifting spirits and heated cheeks, though she could not fathom why it should be so. After yesterday’s intoxicated conversation she should be happy if she never saw him again. Vinsant watched him carry the grapper from the room with an expression of loss akin to that of a child relinquishing a favourite toy. She dipped her head. With the Minoria gone she could count one less potential, if silent, ally.
“Cheer up, Vinsant. I’ll ask the cooks to serve you grapper for dinner,” Mariano said with a wink. The comment earned him a black look.
“Father, you mentioned a legend,” Kordahla said because she wished to be done with this audience.
“It is for the Majoria to tell,” the Shah answered.
Levi turned to face her square. “It concerns Shah Gustav, Prinn-cessss.” His lingering over her title sent tiny shivers down her spine.
She nodded to show she understood of whom he spoke. The early Shah of Terlaan was depicted on the wall by the swimming area of the lake. Starting, she remembered he held a fish in his hands. A fish about the same size and shape as a grapper.
Levi placed his hands behind his back. He may have meant his pacing to unnerve her, but it served only to irritate. By the time he stilled, opposite her no less, she was regretting the asking. Her mood did not invite a saga. “Shah Gustav was blessed by a shower of grapper as he rode to welcome the Satrap of Crystalite and his daughter Lisabelle to Tarana. At his side was the king of one of the Eastern Kingdoms, and his daughter, Faromi, to whom Gustav was informally engaged. Assuming the fish were a divine blessing, Gustav ordered them served for dinner on the eve of their betrothal. What method the cook had used to prepare the fish we cannot say, but as the Shah cut into flesh, his knife struck metal. He was yelling for the cook, threatening to stuff the fish down his incompetent gullet, when the curious Lisabelle begged him to investigate.”
“Well what else would you do?” Vinsant said.
“Behead the cook,” Mariano replied.
Levi ignored the interruption. “The girl was a demure and tranquil beauty for whom the shah harboured feelings. Embarrassed by his outburst, Gustav felt unable to deny her. As he parted the flesh he found a diamond ring, a jewel the like of which has never been matched since. Faromi was abed with a stomach upset, so when Gustav slid the ring onto Lisabelle’s finger, both she and her father assumed he proposed.”
“A misunderstanding that would have led to embarrassment on all sides,” Father observed. He was leaning over one elbow, intent on every word.
“Who did he wed?” Vinsant asked as Levi paused.
“Relations with a foreign king are far more delicate than those with a satrap under the shah’s jurisdiction. Against the advice of his councillors, who thought grappers and ring a portent from Mahktos, Gustav married Faromi, promising Lisabelle their respective offspring might wed.”
Kordahla stared at the lip of the black hood. The Majoria was not given to idle words, but the story failed to make a point. Either way, she did not like the direction the tale was taking. A royal marriage had taken place, and the Levi was looking at her, speaking to her, when Father was in the room. She kept her gaze direct, and her mouth closed.
When it became apparent she was not about to ask for the conclusion, Levi went on. “The day after the wedding, Gustav took Faromi boating on Lake Sheraz. A wild storm rose from calmness, and lightning struck the vessel. As you are aware, both Gustav and his bride drowned.”
Butterflies fluttering in her stomach, Kordahla said, “This history entertains as much as it teaches. How is it we have not heard of the ring before?”
“After Gustav’s younger brother and successor, Guntek, took Lisabelle for his wife, he forbade all present at the fateful dinner to mention the incident, on pain of death.”
“Why?” Vinsant asked, crinkling his freckled nose.
“We speak of a time when the Shah was divine and the mahktashaan not yet in existence. It is likely Guntek wished his councillors to refrain from constant reminders of their insight,” Father replied.
“Then you know of it how?” she persisted.
“A written record persists in the mahktashaan library, signed by Guntek himself.”
She did not pursue her thoughts. The mahktashaan had come into existence under Guntek. Everyone in the room barring the prisoners would be aware of it. Her spirits sinking, she swallowed, and grasped at the only straw she had. “Guntek abdicated the throne after only a year. He was clearly unfit to rule.”
The slight clench of Levi’s hand unnerved her. “A mahktashaan serves Mahktos over all others. His abdication wa
s a sacrifice that brought about a greater good – the founding of our order.”
Shah Wilshem tapped a finger on his lip. “What is important here is the benefit to Terlaan when divine will was followed. Had Lisabelle not wed Guntek, mahktashaan might never have blessed this realm. What say you, Majoria?”
“It is as you say, Majesty.”
Mariano asked, “Did fish ever again fall from the sky?”
“Not until yesterday, Highness,” Levi replied.
“What happened to the ring? The one Lisabelle wore?” Vinsant asked.
“Lisabelle felt compelled to gift it to Faromi on her wedding day. Beyond that, the histories fail to give further mention of it,” Levi said. He frowned. “Her father may have taken it east.”
“Once, these fish fell upon a Shah and his divinely chosen fiancée. Now they fall on a Princess of Terlaan and the bearer of a marriage proposal,” Father observed. “This bears thinking upon.”
Not sure what that had to do with anything, Kordahla said, “You mean to take this as an omen I should wed? What of my feelings in the matter?” she asked.
“You will do as you are told, Kordahla,” Father said. The throne he sat was altogether too bright.
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” she replied with a bow of her head and complete insincerity. There had to be a way to avoid such a fate, but she was not about to argue in present company. Suddenly queasy, she swallowed. “Perhaps I may be excused?”
“Unfortunately, there is another matter of direct concern to you,” Father replied.
She closed her eyes, not caring what any present might think. The Majoria knew her intimately, had witnessed her growth to womanhood and could, for all she cared, have one more indiscretion to hold against her. The Verdaani ambassador had already seen her at her most vulnerable. As for the prisoners, well, they were about to learn what their presence in this room meant.
“Street vendors,” the Shah began. Again, the prisoners attempted to raise their heads and again the guards stomped their noses to the marble floor. Crimson spots of blood blemished its polish. “You are charged with the crime of peddling porrin in the guise of meatballs, and attempting to poison the royal children with those meatballs. By the testimony of Crown Prince Mariano and the Majoria of the mahktashaan, you are found guilty of said crime. According to the laws of Terlaan, which I am sworn to uphold, the punishment is death, to be executed immediately.”
In the seconds of silence, butterflies whirling around her stomach, Kordahla found the audacity to speak. “Might they not be allowed to vouch for themselves?” she asked.
“Silence!” the Shah roared, making her jump.
Whimpers rose from the condemned, turning into pleas for their life.
“They are guilty!” the Shah said. “Any claim otherwise is false. Nothing they might say will alter that fact.”
The Shah waved at the mahktashaan. They raised their swords, and lowered them in perfect unison, severing the heads of the luckless duo from their bodies. Kordahla covered her mouth and turned away as bile rose in her throat. It was inconceivable such a barbaric act be committed in this of all rooms, before the sacred Diamond Throne. Vae, most such executions took place in the square before the wharves or, when the glut of beheading had lost its appeal to the bloodthirsty public, in the dungeons of the palace. Kordahla stared at her father’s feet, trying to blot out the stagnant image of two heads swimming in a congealed pool of red.
“I did not expect you to bear witness to this.” Mariano had crossed to her side. She nodded, not sure what she was agreeing to. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Perhaps next time you will see fit to accept my judgement.”
The rebuke stung. She lifted her head and stared past Levi, defiant even as she fretted she might have lost her brother’s regard.
“Relax Kordahla,” Mariano continued. “I cherish your spirited ways, but all indication is that Terlaan is not ready for a woman such as you. There are repercussions to your actions, doubly so in these strange days.”
Kordahla felt a surge of bitterness. “You don’t need to lecture me, Mariano. I am well aware of the consequences I will face when Father thrusts me into Ahkdul’s arms.
Chapter Five
Lady Jordayne del Giordano, niece to Shah Ordosteen and second in line to the Myklaani throne, was accustomed to needing no introduction and certainly no ushering when she set foot inside the Mage Guild. When the ignorant, carrot-haired apprentice who intercepted her in the airy entrance requested she wait in the empty front room until a mage could attend to her unannounced visit, she fixed him with a regal stare.
“My dear,” she said, “my patronage pays for your tuition and the robes on your back, not to mention the amorous attentions of Master Magus Drucilamere. I trust you will remember that in future.”
Having educated the scruffy lad, she strode down the green tiled passage into the heart of the guild. The shuffle of his feet as he followed sounded satisfyingly hesitant beneath the jingle of the metal ornaments adorning her skirt and cropped bodice. As was her habit, she paused in the back room to admire the breath-taking panorama of the rugged coastal rocks that swept around isolated Mage Cove on Lake Tejolin. Beyond the northern arm of the bay, Myklaan’s neat capital, Kaijoor, nestled inside stone walls. Wyn deq Kaelor, whether one blessed him, cursed him, or most likely blessed and cursed in equal measure, had had the vision of a Myklaani when he constructed this guild on the slender promontory some three hundred years past. Backed by low cliffs and isolated enough to afford the mages the privacy they required, it nonetheless kept Kaijoor in their sight in times of unrest. Not to mention the spectacular views and extravagant fittings, every bit as sumptuous of those in the palace.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Drucilamere said, emerging from his study to the left end of the room. He was, she was pleased to note as he walked the length of the oak table which dominated the room, beaming at her. For that, Jordayne flung her arms around him and, standing on tiptoe, pulled his head down and pressed her lips hard against his, one hand sliding inappropriately low down his back as his found her bare waist.
She broke the embrace as abruptly as she had initiated it, running a teasing finger along the edge of his dark green kamarband, and trying not to breathe too deep of the intoxicating pine scent he wore. “The pleasant part will come later, Druce. We have business to attend to.”
“That will be all, Brailen,” Drucilamere said to the gaping apprentice without the slightest hint of shame. Jordayne stepped to the room-length window with a seductive tilt of her back. The irksome lad remained fixated on her bosom and midriff until Drucilamere cleared his throat. Remembering in whose company he dawdled, Brailen jumped and fled down the stairs like a hare pursued.
“Anyone would think the boy had never seen a woman before,” she said, amused.
“None so brazen as you, I’m sure, Jordayne. Although, I must say I would have thought today’s garb a little modest for your taste.”
“I’ll treat you to a spectacle of the flesh later, darling. I’ve rather missed your bold approach to lovemaking. Satrap Sorkel is far too gallant, and as for the palace guards, well, they do rather have to be put in their place.” Satisfied she had kindled a spark of jealously, she walked along the glass. The green tiles of the passage continued as a border and central motif among the white tiles of this room, ensuring it remained light and airy on overcast days. The walls were plain but for a band of calligraphy quoting magical lore, directing the occupants’ attention to lake and cove. She gazed out past the small dock, at the boat bobbing on the waves. Withholding her attentions from Drucilamere had nothing to do with their hectic schedules and everything to do with punishing him for his oversight with the guild’s porrin merchant. Jordayne believed men were there to serve, in every way imaginable.
Her back to her favourite lover, she executed an artful stretch. “But to the dreary task of business first. I received a report from Mykver Fort that our dear porrin supplier Raj entered Myklaan
eight days ago. He was searched, routinely of course, and found to be carrying a five-weight more than the agreed quantity of porrin. For once, the soldiers followed their orders and passed him unchallenged. Two accompanied him south on the pretext of having business in the city, but there’s been no word they have arrived.” Frustrating, since it was only a seven-day ride from the pass to Kaijoor. “The cheating scum of a man has to be lodging somewhere, most probably Zulmei.”
Drucilamere’s breathy attention as he absorbed the information brought a smile to her lips. As always, Jordayne was refusing to allow a business conversation to disguise her feminine charms. Their allure, she congratulated herself, was a significant accomplishment for one of modest looks, with straight ash blonde hair, and a boyish figure. The tilt of her hips, the pout in her lips were skilfully cultivated to disarm the men she dealt with by kindling their lust. Two minutes into a conversation the fools realised that not only did her station supersede their own and her intellect leave them stammering children, but they desperately desired a woman they were unlikely, ever, to bed. The tall Master Magus, while not as gullible or stupid as some, was no exception. Apart from their lovemaking, of course. Though starting to sport specks of grey in that distinguished moustache of his, he was probably the most pleasurable lover she had ever taken to her bed. She turned to find him openly feasting his eyes on her.
“Magus Trove scried Raj leaving Zulmei three mornings past. If he has not delayed further, our porrin merchant should arrive at the city gates late this afternoon.”
“How is our dear senior mage?” she asked, watching a gull dive for fish.
“I’m afraid you will be shocked.”
The gravity of his tone drove away her languid pretence. Fearing the worst but not daring to ask, she hastened down the stone steps to the lower level and the huge back room. The frieze of porrin leaves running along the three frescoed walls had, for centuries, proclaimed the status of Myklaani mages. With the populace under the ravages of the drug, it now mocked the plight of the realm. At the back wall, mages Santesh and Kaztyne bent over tasks at elaborately carved desks, taking the occasional moment to gaze out at the rocky landscape when spray pattered against the glass. On the far side of the room, Brailen and the serious older apprentice, Shom, looked up from the books they were pouring over as she entered, but hastily resumed their study. Jordayne almost missed Magus Trove dozing in a large armchair set in a narrow pool of sunshine in the centre of the room. She gasped when she saw him. In a matter of eight-days, the ancient fellow had shrivelled to skin and bone. Having forgone a kamarband, the green silk kurta the mages wore in deference to the ruling house swallowed him. At her chaste, fond kiss on the cheek, he opened his eyes.