by Tia Reed
No matter. It was almost over.
Matisse pounded on the side door to the court.
Jordayne sighed. “You may as well give up. It is clear our uncle seeks neither our opinion nor our advice.”
Two guards stepped forward as Matisse raised his fist again, crossing their raised swords in front of the door. “No one is to be admitted,” one said.
“I command you to stand aside.”
“His Majesty’s orders,” the guard amended, as if it had not occurred to them Ordosteen was the only personage with the authority to countermand the heir.
Matisse turned to her. The strain on his face was a novel sight. Jordayne would wager their stunning Terlaani guest had made more of an impression than he cared to admit. “Did Ordosteen intimate what he was going to do?”
“I should think that rather obvious,” she replied. She intended to give their neglectful uncle an earful for admitting highborn guests into the court without the chance for refreshment. It was highly irregular, and of course a deliberate plan to exclude her from negotiations.
“Who summoned me?” Drucilamere asked. The Master Magus was standing hands on hips, contemplating the wooden door. “Was it you or the Shah?”
“The three of us were of one mind,” she replied. “Shah Wilshem saw fit to send a mahktashaan with Crown Prince Mariano. The real question is how Ordosteen managed to orchestrate our exclusion from the meeting. I was at the hospice this morning when I received word the emissaries had arrived.” She turned to her brother. “Where were you?”
Matisse strode away without answering. She would have to seek Kordahla out and ask, though the girl would need a delicate touch to divulge that titillating titbit.
“Where are you going?” she called after him. If he was ever to make the shah their dear uncle believed he could be, he was going to have to put the realm above his liaisons. Although last night’s, if it had occurred, was one of which she wholeheartedly approved.
“The main entrance. At some point, they will need to leave.”
True, though at that point events would be outside their influence. She touched Druce lightly on the arm to indicate they should follow. The retreating backs of their Terlaani guests as they moved into the palace proper was not what she had hoped to see. Sparing a scathing remark for the guards who blocked their access to Kordahla, she swept across the front of the palace, through the irritating brightness of the left pistaq, beneath the oak-and-bear mosaic of the iwan, and into the now open court. Ordosteen, sitting crooked on his throne, was staring at the marble floor. His posture did rather spoil the care he had taken with his regal coat.
“I take it you were expecting us,” she said, as the others piled in.
“You turned her over,” Matisse accused, pointing his sword at Ordosteen’s heart. The guards did not wait for orders to draw theirs, nor did Matisse acknowledge the threat. His face puce, Ordosteen rose.
“Stop this nonsense,” Jordayne said, moving to embrace her uncle. For his ears alone, she said, “I hope whatever prize the djinn offered was worth the guilt.”
Grabbing her arms, Ordosteen growled, “What do you know of it?”
She fought hard to bury her surprise and her hurt. “Unhand me. I will not stand for this.”
“You forget who is Shah.”
“Release her, Uncle. Your quarrel is with me.”
Ordosteen strode down the court, stopping within reach of the sword. “Lower it before I find you guilty of treason.”
“I will not till you explain your actions.”
“Oh do grow up, both of you. Men are such boys when it comes to women.”
Matisse stepped forward. The point of his sword pressed into Ordosteen’s kurta. In a blur of reaction, the guards were upon him. He slashed left and right, disarmed one then another, parried and thrust. And their guilty, lovesick Uncle just stood there, not even watching.
“Lord Matisse, you forget yourself,” Drucilamere said, stepping in and eliciting a curse from Matisse as he jerked an upswing short to avoid cutting the mage. He brought the point of the sword down.
“You barter your life, mage. And I am not the one who forgets my duty.”
“This helps no one. You cannot slake your lust from the dungeon, and you,” Jordayne said, turning to Ordosteen, “cannot hope to govern this realm without the assistance of an heir.”
Matisse threw Ordosteen a look of disgust, then belted his sword.
“That’s better, brother dear. Now why the sudden genuine interest in the Princess? I was sure she was merely the prospect of a good bedding before today.”
“Did you lie with her?” Drucilamere asked, urgent.
Matisse stared across the court at the double doors Kordahla had exited.
“Did you bed her?”
“She intended to give herself to you last night. I hope she experienced one night in the arms of someone who could pleasure her,” Jordayne said.
Ordosteen gurgled. A storm cloud had settled about him. The decision to hand Kordahla over to her family sat ill, it seemed, with her dear, honourable uncle, who was not so honourable after all. “Rochelle was not in her room last night.”
“Rochelle was entertaining me.”
“My poor Princess. I was counting on you seducing her, Matisse. You have rather let me down. A man should never doom a girl to a life of loveless beddings without first educating her as to how delightful the intimacy she fears can be.” Ordosteen, she decided, was a pig if he could hand a woman over to the likes of Ahkdul. And that went double for the Crown Prince of Terlaan.
Matisse flushed. How interesting. She would not have thought mere words could ever embarrass her womanising brother. His guilt did make her reconsider. “Oh?” she said. “Have I misjudged the pair of you?”
“I ask you yet again. Did you lie with the Princess?”
“Enough, Drucilamere. It is not your place,” Matisse said.
“He did,” she said. “I can see it in his face.”
Drucilamere’s hands formed fists by his side. “You callous boil on the butt of a hairy djinn. They will put her to the sword if they find out.”
“She has only to keep her mouth quiet,” Jordayne said.
“Which will buy her time only until Lord Ahkdul deigns to take her to his bed. What do you imagine his justice will be like then?”
The thought shocked them all to silence. Ordosteen was looking pale.
Drucilamere turned on the Shah. “Do you intend to return the crystals?”
“Myklaan has no crystals.”
“She gifted them to you in exchange for protection.”
“Everywhere we turn, portents of a grim future bear down upon us. If such a talisman were in Myklaan I would not relinquish it.”
“Then you do nothing to avert a war. Why? Why did you surrender her when it brings you no gain?”
Poor Drucilamere. He was not in possession of all the facts. Her fault. No one had taken the time to inform him of the djinn plaguing the Shah these forty years. Or the night-time visit she had heard the Princess received.
“It is not your place to question my decisions. It is done,” Ordosteen said. He rounded on Matisse. “Though I expected better of you. Was this any way to treat a guest?”
“I did not think the girl would seek me out. By the Vae, I thought she might enjoy the respite.”
“You mean she caught you cheating on her?” Jordayne asked. The conversation was getting more intriguing by the minute.
“My door was locked. I swear. I don’t know how she entered.”
That did not require much effort of thought. “Felt many still winds lately?”
Ordosteen blanched to a peculiar translucence. “She did not object to my decision,” he said, his voice tremulous. “She did not object,” he shouted, regaining colour too fast. It did sound like he was trying to convince himself. The problem was Jordayne suspected he was reasoning in much the same way she was. Smarting from a rejection and faced with a life of abuse, the
foolish, naive girl was likely to do something stupid. The Vae knew she would.
“They are still in the palace grounds. It is not too late to change your mind. Or regain your honour,” Jordayne said.
“I will not sacrifice the good of Myklaan for a single Terlaani girl.”
“A Terlaani princess, Uncle. Who could help us acquire more of those crystals you are enamoured of if the right union were made.” She shot Matisse a pointed look.
Ordosteen mounted the dais and sat on his throne with the deliberate authority of a ruler about to make a binding decree. “Princess Kordahla claims she lost the crystals in the scums. Her brother will have to accept that. I command you all to make no mention of her gift.”
“There was a mahktashaan with them,” Drucilamere said. The vein at his temple was throbbing with the strain of keeping his anger in check.
“There was,” Ordosteen said, rising, “though I fail to see…”
“Slow on the uptake, today, aren’t we?” she couldn’t help saying. Her disgust was growing by the second.
“The Crown’s decision is sound. Anyone who opposes it is guilty of treason.”
Well it wouldn’t be the first time. “Where are they?” she asked, feigning a languid disinterest. “The least we can do is bid the princess goodbye.”
“They have taken her to her room. After that, they go to the dungeons. With my blessing. With my blessing, do you hear?” Ordosteen looked at them each in turn, daring them to oppose his will before he stormed from the room.
Jordayne sighed. “Come along, Matisse. I doubt there is a way to put this to rights, but you will at least try. I might need you too, darling.”
“How nice, Jordayne. You just might need me to fix another of your messes.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. This is hardly my mess.”
“Oh no? Don’t tell me you didn’t encourage her. Don’t tell me you didn’t flaunt your sexuality in her face.”
“As I recall, you were a rather willing participant.”
Matisse strode from the room, his sword in his hand. At that precise instant, they both stopped arguing. With a knowing look at each other, they hurried after him.
Chapter Fifty
The mahktashaan with the saffron crystal, whose name Vinsant still did not know, unlocked his chains, led him by the same rocky route they had walked each morning since he arrived, and delivered him to Mahktashaan Fenz. The silent minekeeper pointed to a practice sword among the weapons and armour stored around the sides of the small cavern. Vinsant picked it up, warmed up with a few swings, and stepped over the edge of the training ring which had been scraped into the levelled floor. Minekeeper Fenz launched straight into a bruising attack before somehow managing to instruct Vinsant in a new manoeuvre without uttering a single word. The malicious man was deliberating aiming for his chaffed wrists and sore leg. Bitter experience over the last three days had taught Vinsant the sooner he shut up and mastered the strokes, the sooner he could devour the tasteless slop they served him for breakfast. The only saving grace of the meals in this dismal, dusty pit lay in the quantity of food at each, but with the forced labour he was bound to endure he suffered a constant gnawing in his stomach.
The swordplay over, he followed Saffron Crystal through more rough-hewn tunnels to the rough crystal-lit chamber Levi used to instruct him. Not that he needed an escort. The chambers were labelled in much the same way as the lair under the palace. This chamber was not much different from the one he practiced swordplay in, really, except here the room was bare.
“All praise to Mahktos. All honour to you, Majoria,” Vinsant intoned with a bow before his magic lesson began. This was by far the most enjoyable part of the day, even if Levi had reverted to his no question approach. In fact, the Majoria had even stopped giving lectures. The only words that came out of his mouth were those necessary to avert calamity as Vinsant messed up one magic feat or the other. It made for a lonely life. His muscles ached from his labours. His hands were becoming calloused. And he smelt. Three days without a bath in the grime of the stinking dungeon was inhuman.
Today’s lessons involved opening locks. Easy since he had already stumbled on success in the dungeons back home. He mastered the trick in minutes, spent many more perfecting magicks from previous days and sighed as Levi pointed at the exit. He had tried to mess up the magic yesterday, just so he would not be forced to the mines and the tedious, backbreaking digging so soon. Summoning water just outside the bowl or in such minute quantities it simply seeped into the ground was not difficult to arrange even while convincing Levi he was concentrating. His brilliant plan had failed. When his allotted time was up, Levi had sent him on anyway.
So he followed Saffron Crystal, his supervisor for the remainder of the day, down and along narrow caves, out of the area where the mahktashaan conducted their daily business to the excavation tunnels. Resigned to another day of torture, he held out his wrists for the shackles that prevented the use of magic to aid in the gruelling task, picked up his pick and set to striking the craggy rock in the hope of finding a buried crystal. At least he had this evening’s swordplay and magic lesson to look forward to before they chained him to the wall in his barred cell for the night. Well, for one hour of it, anyway. Which was almost more than he could bear.
Thank Mahktos there were only three and a half more days to serve. Vinsant was sure he could last that long, and then he would treat himself to a feast, a bath and a long earned rest, whatever Levi tried to demand. He was still a prince after all.
“I’ve never met anyone who enjoyed being abused so much.”
In his surprise at hearing someone strike up a conversation, Vinsant almost drove the pick into his foot. He looked around. Saffron Crystal had retreated down the tunnel to consult with another mahktashaan. There was no one else in sight. That sent a prickle of warning down his spine because the voice had been strangely familiar. Worse, goosebumps were erupting over his arms.
“You really are a speck of dirt on the behind of a flea,” the indigo djinn said, emerging from the rock. He pointed at Vinsant’s shackles and they fell off his wrist.
“Oh no,” Vinsant said, desperately trying to fasten them back on because an extension of his punishment was the last thing he needed. Just his luck they would not lock. “Put them back.”
“Don’t you want to see what predicament your delicious sister faces? Is all your concern for her an act?”
Vinsant froze. It was a goad and he knew it, but he was suffering this humiliation for Kordahla.
“It only takes a small amount of water.”
What harm could there be? The mahktashaan were moving further away. Acquos, Vinsant thought, because Levi had taught him while spoken words helped focus the magic, a good mahktashaan would eventually learn to think them. He hadn’t succeeded at it yet but the last thing he needed was Saffron Crystal investigating the sound of his voice. Well, how was that? A sliver of rock in the wall he was hacking turned damp. Acquos. Acquos. A shallow pool trickled into the shallow depression he was concentrating on. Heart beating fast, he looked in. Vermillion eyes blazing, the djinn pointed a finger at the pool and blew. Vinsant gagged on his fishy breath. The breath misted the surface of the water, then evaporated. Kordahla’s face appeared on the water. Her left eye was swollen, her cheek inflamed. Even as he watched, her head jerked as a punch connected with her face.
“No!” Vinsant said, gripping a couple of crags.
“Your precious sister is no longer pure. She has given herself to a man like a common whore. The swine is going to kill her.”
“Stop him.” The djinn floated to the ceiling. Lying on his stomach he looked down at the image in the pool. “Stop him,” Vinsant pleaded.
The djinn sighed and held out a hand. Vinsant backed away.
“She thinks you want to be a mahktashaan to protect her. What good will quartz or crystal be if she is dead?”
“You’re lying.”
The djinn yawned and rolled onto thi
s back. “Cunning, yes. Duplicitous, certainly. Devious, without a doubt. But where is it written djinn lie?”
“Now you’re splitting hairs.”
“So be it.” The creature’s lower body dissolved into indigo smoke.
Vinsant hesitated. He glanced at the pool. Kordahla’s face was a mess. “Take something else. Anything else. They’ll kill me if I lose this quartz.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Oh very well. I’ll throw your puny, worthless life into the bargain. Now give me the quartz.”
“My life?” Vinsant asked, not entirely convinced the djinn could do that. His life belonged to Mahktos and Mahktos was a god. God trumped djinn any day. In the pool, Kordahla was weeping like the end of her life was near. It shamed him. Scared him.
“Wait!” Vinsant cried, yanking the crimson quartz off his neck. He wasn’t supposed to be crying, but he could never live with himself if Kordahla died. Being a mahktashaan would mean nothing. The djinn began solidifying once more. Vinsant closed his eyes. Forgive me, Mahktos. Trembling, he held out the quartz.
“Apprentice, no!” Fenz cried, racing towards him, Saffron Crystal at his heels.
* * *
As soon as they entered her chamber, Kordahla dropped to her knees. She stared straight ahead, through the sunlit balcony the maids must have opened, to the lazy cascade of fiery lantana over the terraces in the hanging garden. She would not empower these men by looking up.
“My lords, I have dishonoured your families. I have given myself to another man. I submit to your justice. I submit to your sword.”
Ahkdul’s reaction came quick as a djinn. He punched her in the face. “Is it true, whore?” he demanded.