by Tia Reed
She walked around the courtyard, sizing up the guards, to the feather-ruffling approval of a pair of multi-coloured parrots on the wall. “A mere dozen. How boring.” Her slippered feet were silent on the cobbles. “Anyway, I should hardly think this specimen was one. Just consider the dashing physique of these guards, and only one of them sufficiently droll to relieve my tedium.”
A splotch of embarrassment spread over Raj’s neck. He could not have expected a woman to usurp control. As for the guards, they were casting curious glances at each other to discern of whom she spoke. It would amuse them for an eight-day or two, to try to trap each other into an admission, until they realised her jest. It would amuse her more to note the heightened colour in their cheeks when she next addressed them. They made a quick adjustment of their posture when Matisse sauntered through the ivy-covered arch separating the high-walled courtyard from the palace gardens. His dishevelled hair and rumpled clothing suggested he had enjoyed an interesting night. He wore his crumpled appearance like a badge of honour, and nobody, she least of all, could deny it increased his appeal.
“Has the prisoner decided to cooperate?” her brother asked as though it bore little import.
“He says he believes our request unreasonable,” she replied, sinking back onto the bench and drawing her feet up.
“He looks discomfited, but not afraid. Is his neck not under discussion?”
“Our conversation has not quite reached that point,” Jordayne said, refusing to make room for her brother to sit. If he wanted to pretend he was passing through on his way to his chambers, she would foster the charade.
“He is not a very observant fellow,” Matisse smirked.
The funny little man broke into an agitated shuffle. One of the guards wagged a finger in Sul’s direction. The executioner gave the noose a yank, returning an exaggerated wink Raj’s way. Raj had the good sense to start to panic.
“Ah. You see? There is no arrangement to be made,” she said. “Would you like to reconsider abasing yourself at my feet?”
Raj’s legs were too shaky for him to succeed in holding himself proud. “Myklaan do not execute prisoners.”
“Times change, and Myklaan has a stellar reputation for keeping with them.”
“What times? There is no change.” He was looking about now, searching for an elusive escape. A few more words and she would have him in the palm of her hand.
“The sad truth is they have changed,” she said.
Discarding his nonchalant air, Matisse said, “Verdaan creates suspicion of war. The rules during times of conflict differ from those in peace, as I am sure you are aware.” Every bit the ruler-in-waiting now, he paused, his eyes hard and still. “As,” he finished, enunciating each of his last words so there was no mistaking their import, “the Verdaani are wont to remind us.”
Dear Vae’oeldin, she had not considered her brother so bloodthirsty. What was it about royal men that they measured their worth by the blood they spilled? If they could not forget the past, they should at least lay it aside.
“I do not work with others,” Raj said.
“No?” Matisse raised a hand. The guards flanked the prisoner and dragged him to the noose.
“Up you go,” Sul said, gesturing to the crate. Raj’s slippery struggles would have drawn the crowd at a pantomime. “May I expect that artist, Lady? Blood curdles quickly in the dead.”
Raj’s eyes went wide in perfect time with her covert signal. The guards relaxed their grip, and the cheat of a porrin merchant tugged free. With utter predictability, he dropped to the ground, and kowtowed.
Jordayne affected a yawn. “I grow bored. Give me information or give me an execution.”
“Lady, spare me.”
She sighed as the guards seized his arms and dragged him up. The world had seen the last of the truly brave aeons ago. She nodded at Sul, who drew a hand across his thick neck.
“I deal with taverner in Zulmei,” Raj blurted. “Korwin of Crooked Bow.”
“Who else?” Matisse demanded.
“One or two youth in village on road from Mykver Fort.” They waited. “That is all. I swear.”
“What are Lords Hudassan and Kamir deq Ramil planning?” The ruler and the drug lord were notorious for their ruthless pursuit of power.
Content to let her brother garner the brutal information, Jordayne searched Raj’s face for signs of deceit.
Raj shook his head. “No war. I swear, no war. Lord Kamir want gold and wealth. He has much porrin to sell. He is rich man. Richer than brother Lord Hudassan, some say.”
“And you do their bidding.”
“I am humble merchant. Lord Kamir pay me for sell porrin to fools with desire for bliss.”
“Your contract is with the Crown, and permits you to sell only to the mages or the palace.”
“You can’t blame man for seeking to expand fortune.”
“You were right, sister. He has cooperated,” Matisse said. At his nod, the guards dragged him back through the portcullis leading to the dungeons.
“Wait. Wait. I cooperate. You release me.” Raj called.
“As soon as we corroborate your testimony, Raj. We can’t just take the word of a thief and a cheat, can we?” Jordayne said, rising.
The poor merchant looked positively dumbstruck.
“Do you believe him?” Matisse asked when the prisoner was out of earshot.
“About our neighbouring lords? It is plausible, I suppose, though the real threat lurks in Terlaan. Their populace is ravaged by the drug. If the rumours of a marital alliance are true, Wilshem is astute enough to demand limits to the quantities that reach his shores.”
“It is a strange bargain,” Matisse observed, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.
“There is little else for him to gain by bartering his daughter to the savages.”
“Perhaps, then, the threat of war is unfounded.”
“Whatever Wilshem’s intent, more drugs will trickle past our borders. Lord Kamir is a merchant and, as Raj has demonstrated, that breed will go to great lengths to secure a profit.”
“And so we had best be about the business of securing our borders, sister.”
“Well then. There is a visit to Zulmei to organise.”
Matisse grinned. “I have no business here that cannot be tied up within a day. This matter is of such import, I think I might deal with it myself.”
“I thought you might,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Do give my regards to Lady Rochelle. And try to remember the real reason you are there.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Kordahla pleaded a headache. She had to hope the flickering candles in the stuffy, inner parlour cast her dread into a mask half as ghastly as that on her maids. Since it did not deter the mahktashaan guard marching straight from her father, she could not, despite her Samille’s earlier assurances, be sitting to worst advantage.
“Permit me to cure it,” the mahktashaan said, igniting a tiny spark deep inside his carrot-coloured crystal.
She set her needlework aside, rose, and took her sheer, sky blue shawl from Karie. Vae’oenka strike her if she was going to allow a mahktashaan to lay a finger on her again, particularly one she did not know and most especially when she was lying. It was ill fate the little used room, a few chairs around a hearth really, had not concealed her past the luncheon hour.
“Where are we to meet?” she asked.
“Your veil, Highness,” the mahktashaan reminded, no doubt at Father’s prompting.
“You forget your place.” She held his stare, if one could call the shadows beneath the hood that, and thanked the Vae he averted his face first.
“I’ll fetch it,” Karie offered, her hands clasped in front of her.
“There is no need,” Kordahla said, allowing Samille to fuss the shawl over her shoulders. “Will the shah be joining us?”
“His Majesty has matters of state to attend,” the mahktashaan answered. “His Highness, Crown Prince Mariano has the duty of escorting
you.”
Her lips parted at the perturbing implication. She had entertained no doubt Father would instruct her to accompany the men, but for him to instruct Mariano to chaperone her! It could only mean he was considering Ahkdul’s distasteful proposal in earnest. She could forget the affected headache; she really was beginning to feel sick.
“You don’t look well,” Samille said. She turned to the mahktashaan with a blink which highlighted the length of her lashes. “You must send her guest her apologies.”
“Yes,” Karie added. “She has been suffering all morning. You can see how little needlepoint she has worked.”
“The shah insists.”
Kordahla swallowed. It seemed there was no escaping the detestable task. “Then our guest will have to excuse my reticence.”
Her nerves carried her through the tapestry-lined halls and down the stairs to the ground floor. They passed the wall hanging depicting Mahktos without so much as a twitch from her escort, and descended the five steps at the end of the hall to the bare foyer outside the flooded boat room. Her older brother was waiting, garbed in the rich Terlaani burgundy in which he had ridden from the palace earlier that morning. He parted from the knot of mahktashaan guards assigned to escort them, and kissed her fondly. Holding her at arm’s length, he looked her up and down.
“Tell me what Father said,” she demanded when he forbore to comment on how her slate-grey kameez ill-suited her complexion. He was astute enough to guess it had been a deliberate choice.
He shook his head. “I was not privy to that conversation, but I gather Ahkdul looked smug at its conclusion.”
Kordahla frowned. “Then prepare me for what I face.”
“Kordahla, Father would not request you marry Lord Ahkdul for a trifle, but as Princess you have an obligation. Try to consider Terlaan. The porrin is destroying us.”
Then why not just go to war! It was easy for him to be so cavalier about marriage. As Crown Prince in a time of peace, he had his pick of the ladies, here and in Myklaan. Nobody even thought to suggest he marry a Verdaani woman. “You are not Father. Do not talk to me like you are.”
“A fair comment, sister,” he conceded.
She could not help herself. She had to ask. “The gossip, do you think it’s true?”
Mariano gave her a reluctant nod. “He brought a page with him. I gather Arun healed the boy of some hurts.”
So, this burning was what pure rage felt like. She was shaking with it. That Ahkdul would flout his predilections so openly in their home. And in the face of his marriage proposal! To think how close Vinsant had come to falling prey to this monster. She turned and paced the length of the stairs and back. “We cannot leave the child to such an appalling fate.”
“Then what would you do?” he asked. Turning from her, he instructed one of the mahktashaan to check if the boat was prepared.
She glimpsed the vessel floating at the bottom of the boatroom steps when he opened the door. She watched the black-robed figure descend, waiting until he had begun his enquiry of the boatmaster. Then she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I shall instruct the Treasurer to purchase the child.”
That forced him to take her seriously. “Don’t be so naïve. If not this child, then another. I cannot imagine the pervert making the return trip without some form of entertainment. Better he destroy one child’s life than two. Better that horror belong to a Verdaani child than a Terlaani one.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” she said. She blushed to recall Vinsant’s identical outburst. Deep down she had to admit that if the rumours were true he would, and Terlaan would be powerless against a parent willing to sell his child.
“Hush now, Ahkdul comes,” Mariano said. “I expect you will conduct yourself with decorum. The last thing we need is open hostilities if Father is to broker an agreement.”
An agreement with her life. Her nose twitched in disgust to think of how he used the poor little boy. Well, she would do what she could. She whispered an instruction of her own to another of the mahktashaan guards. As he left, Ahkdul arrived, his saffron kurta an insult to the sun. He dipped his shoulders in a gesture that could hardly pass as a bow.
“Lord Ahkdul, may I present my sister, Princess Kordahla.”
“It is an honour,” Ahkdul said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “Your beauty is celebrated, and yet that fame is no match for the vision of you before me.”
No human could call the ill-proportioned man attractive, and worse still, his rehearsed words drifted to her on the stench of drink. Kordahla regretted not donning the veil. Why had she thought his perverted preference would preclude him from appreciating feminine beauty? If he sought a token wife, she would be a prize. Disagreeableness was her only recourse, so she stared him in the face and said nothing.
“Shyness is an admirable virtue in a woman, though I hope the three of us will have the chance to become better acquainted this afternoon,” Ahkdul said, drawing together his bushy brows.
He understood nothing, though Mariano’s arched eyebrow told her that her brother did.
She turned and entered the cavernous boat room. The waters of Lake Sheraz lapped at the shed on the western side. Inside, the young boathands labouring over repairs stole glances her way. She descended to the berth, where the friendly head boatman assisted her to board the first of two barges. Mariano was no longer smiling at her silence, and frowned at the heavy way she sank onto the burgundy cushion, before the men were even aboard.
“Please wait,” she said as the boatman went to untie the rope. “I have asked Lord Ahkdul’s page to join us.”
“That is a presumption,” Ahkdul said. “My page has duties to attend.”
“You will have to forgive this shy woman, I’m sure,” Kordahla said, managing to keep her voice meek. “But all I presumed was that the child has never set foot outside Verdaan. It will surely be a treat for him to experience our lake. And I do enjoy the company of children. Don’t you, Lord Ahkdul? Don’t you desire a brood to continue your line? I can think of no other reason you might propose.”
She glanced at Mariano, but had to look away. Her brother looked like he did not know whether to laugh or berate her. They sat in awkward silence until the dark-haired boy arrived. He hesitated when he saw Ahkdul, and she bit her lip, suddenly, guiltily wondering if he might have preferred to remain in the palace, free of Ahkdul for a few hours. Thank providence Arun appeared behind him. The child did not relax, but she felt safer in the Minoria’s presence.
“Come, I would like you to sit by me,” she said to the child. He was dressed in simple black shalvar and green kurta, as bright as he was bleak. When Ahkdul remained silent, he came down, setting both feet on each step.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He looked straight through her without answering.
“It is Timak,” Ahkdul said as though it were of no consequence.
She gestured the child into the seat opposite Mariano.
“Which part of Verdaan are you from?” she asked as the boatman ordered the crew to row the boat to the portcullis that separated the room from the walled section of the lake.
“Answer!” Ahkdul commanded.
“Teqrin, my Lady,” the child whispered, keeping his eyes down.
“You will address the Princess as Highness,” Ahkdul interjected.
“That is not necessary,” she said right over him with a wink at Timak. “While we’re in this boat, you can call me Kordahla.”
“I’m afraid protocol is necessary,” Mariano said as the portcullis winched up, and the boat glided into the private semicircle of lake.
She ignored him, too. “You remind me of my little brother.” A more dissimilar child there could not have been, but how else could she connect with the broken soul next to her? “Vinsant takes a keen interest in far off lands. Perhaps you could spend the evening with him. He craves company his own age. The chamberlain will provide you with a servant, Lord Ahkdul, one who knows the pal
ace and could better serve your needs.” Having delivered the last words in an icy manner, she resumed a light-hearted chatter about swimming in this private, shadowed pool, pretending not to notice Ahkdul’s clear contempt.
As they reached the outer gate, the boatman whistled a signal. A guard on the rampart whistled back, and a metal door ground up into the wall, allowing the boats to pass into the lake proper. Together with the Arezou River, the vast waters of the lake cradled Tarana, providing its water and commerce. Kordahla loved the lush lands around its gentle shores, the sweeping view to the eastern peaks and the distant hustle of the city on the western shore. The rhythmic swoosh of the oars rippled the calm surface. She fell into a lull, the better to soak up the freedom of gliding upon the sun-warmed waters.
Unfortunately, Ahkdul was of a dissimilar mind. After a cursory glance at the scenery, his eyes alighted on her, and he began a barrage of mundane questions designed to draw her attention to him.
“Mariano is more knowledgeable than I,” she said, and turned to gaze at the snow-capped mountains.
“My sister is modest,” Mariano said. “Come, Timak. The view from the bow is not to be missed.”
Kordahla threw her brother a withering look as the compliant child went forward, leaving her with no choice but to answer Ahkdul.
“Your modesty does not extend to covering your hair,” Ahkdul said, bolder now they were out of Mariano’s hearing.
“I am not wont to follow outdated customs,” she replied.
“The citizens of your city do not regard it as such. My men spied not a single woman uncovered as we traversed your river and lake.”
“You exaggerate, surely.”
“I do not. I hope the inconvenience of covering yourself will not deter you from outings when you visit Verdaan.”
“Veils are not a nuisance, merely unnecessary to prove a woman chaste. Regardless, I am not inclined to visit your intriguing country at present.”
“You speak directly for a woman, a trait you garnered from your father, I am sure. Women in Verdaan are not outspoken. They defer to their husband, and they perform their duties willingly or face his discipline.”