Taln nodded, then rested a weak hand on Lhan’s shoulder, not caring that doing so revealed his poor clothing. “Let’s go,” he said.
chapter 30
Jasnah 7
With the duels finished and the awards bestowed, there was little for the men to do but drink. As the hour grew late, the feast hall slowly drained of participants, the feasters trickling off to the sitting rooms. Those who remained in the main hall were subdued, their drunkenness leading to stupor and lethargy.
Jasnah’s table—or, rather, the queen’s table—was mostly empty. The women sat in clandestine conferences, their seating rearranged now that formality had broken down. Many of the less-important women had retired, and many of the more-important had moved to more suitable locations for evening conferences. On the next day, there would be further feasting and dueling, but the main events had already occurred. Those men who had important duties could be on their way—though, from the looks of many, it would be well into mid-afternoon before they considered leaving.
Seven hours of duels—interspersed by the near-catastrophe with the madman Taln and her frustration at Shinri’s disappearance—had provided Jasnah with little insight into her problems. There were only three ways to break the forced betrothal. The first required Elhokar’s permission, which was unlikely. The second was to join the monastery—the Order of Chonra accepted women. The third was to have Meridas’s mother forbid the union.
Neither prospect looked very appealing. Joining the monastery would require Jasnah to forsake all political aspirations and worldly possessions, not to mention require her to join the service of a religion she did not endorse. The second was highly unlikely—through the marriage, Meridas’s family would secure ties to the royal Kholin line. Even if Jasnah were to engage in some extreme scandal—such as taking an illicit lover—she doubted Meridas’s kin would renounce the union. Besides, even if Jasnah were to persuade them to break the engagement, Nanavah would still have her Right of Decision. There would be many an aspiring lord willing to marry the king’s sister, no matter how unappealing Jasnah made the union.
Even if Jasnah put her displeasure with Meridas aside for the moment, she found herself frustrated. The queen’s maneuvers made very little political sense. Why would Nanavah marry Jasnah to such a powerful man? Why manipulate Elhokar into renouncing Jezenrosh? It made no sense.
Perhaps Nanavah had heard about the assassins. That could be a valid reason for removing Jezenrosh from his position, thereby weakening the man’s claim to the throne. It was a move Jasnah herself might have considered, had she been in Nanavah’s place. Could the moves be nothing more than spousal duty? Why, then, did Jasnah feel so strongly that she was missing something?
Jasnah shook her head, rising to retreat from the Eleventh Hall. Nelshenden stood by the wall, waiting dutifully as always. His loyalty to Sheneres was unwavering—The Way of Kings spoke disapprovingly of any excess, including drunkenness, and it would take a royal edict to get Nelshenden to have more than a single glass of wine at an evening feast.
As she stepped out of the room, a familiar figure appeared in the hallway, making his way toward the Eleventh Hall. Kemnar was not dressed like a nobleman—his cloak was of rough shennah with no dies, his clothing a simple vest-smock tied over a pair of ragged trousers. His eyes glistened with urgency.
“You found something?” Jasnah said eagerly, pulling the man aside as he joined them in the outside hallway.
“The assassins are here,” Kemnar replied, pulling out a purse, “in the city. I had to use nearly every gem you gave me to figure out where.” He gave the purse to Nelshenden, who handled all of Jasnah’s finances—the two soldiers knew better than to try and hand her gemstones, even currency.
That was it, then. Balenmar was right; Ralmakha was wrong. “Where are they?” Jasnah demanded.
“They’re posing as a merchant company,” Kemnar explained.
“You know when they plan to strike?” Jasnah asked hopefully.
Kemnar shook his head. “This is a clever group, my lady. Very professional, very well-established. They don’t make mistakes, and even the most important crime lords know not to ask too many questions.”
Jasnah folder her arms, tapping her foot in frustration. “What’s the name of their merchant front?”
“The Channal group, out of Palinar,” Kemnar replied.
Jasnah froze. She’d heard that name before. She thought back, trying to clear the muddled events of two months of intrigue. Channal . . .
Her eyes widened in surprise. That was the name of the company in the treasury logs, the one Nanavah had been purchasing emeralds from. An irregularly large number of emeralds, at an irregularly high price.
“By the winds . . .” Jasnah whispered. “Nelshenden, gather my guards! And as many of the Royal Guard as you can persuade to come with you.”
Nelshenden frowned. “Now, my lady?”
Jasnah paused. You’re betrothed now, she thought to herself. The next few days will be filled with marriage preparations. Elhokar will never believe your allegations, not without proof, and you won’t be in a position to go out on your own. Move now, or not at all.
“Yes,” she said. “Immediately.”
“The queen wants my brother dead,” Jasnah said in a hushed tone.
Kemnar and Nelshenden sat across from her in the hand-drawn carriage. The streets were empty enough this late at night to allow for such a bulky vehicle. They had gathered about thirty soldiers, including her own, and the group marched alongside the vehicle. Hopefully, it would be enough.
“That’s a dangerous claim, my lady,” Nelshenden said solemnly, his face shadowed in the dark carriage.
“The emerald purchases weren’t meant to drive up the market,” Jasnah explained. “They were a pay-off—a way for Nanavah to transfer a large amount of money to the assassins without drawing attention to herself, and without having to delve into her own pockets. Ironically, my brother funded his own assassination.”
“But why, my lady?” Nelshenden said, shaking his head. “She has power, she has rank, and she has the king’s ear. Killing him accomplishes nothing.”
“Unless she wishes another to take his place,” Jasnah said. “A lover no one—not even women of court—has discovered.”
“Who?” Nelshenden asked with a frown.
“Meridas,” Jasnah said.
Kemnar frowned. “That’s a stretch, my lady.”
“Is it?” Jasnah asked. “He’s now a Parshen, and betrothed to the king’s sister. That’s not a large step away from the throne.”
Kemnar sat thoughtfully for a moment. “Not a stretch to believe,” he finally admitted, “but a stretch to prove. We have had no hint of an affair.”
“We’ll find one tonight,” Jasnah said.
Kemnar looked appreciative. “Assuming you’re right, they’d have to get rid of you after they kill the king. They’ll probably wait a short time—a year or so. With you out of the way, Nanavah and Meridas could make their union official.”
“My lady,” Nelshenden said. “We should not be acting on this alone. I repeat my objection from before—we should bring your concerns to the king. It is the proper way.”
“That’s very honorable of you, Nelshenden,” Jasnah replied. “But you just pointed out that Nanavah has the king’s ear. What proof do I have? Some figures in a ledger? Speculation? We need more.”
Nelshenden did not look satisfied. “You should not have come, my lady.”
“You know me better than that, Nelshenden,” she replied. “Don’t worry—I’ll remain in the carriage until the assault is finished.”
“Yes,” Nelshenden said as the carriage pulled to a stop, “but we’ll have to leave men behind to protect you.”
He and Kemnar hopped out of the vehicle, landing quietly on the street. Jasnah had given orders to stop a block from the Channal guildhouse.
As her men made their preparations, a stern face approached her carriage window. Lord Z
enach, second captain of her brother’s personal guard, was an aging man she couldn’t remember ever having seen smile. His reputation for sobriety was legendary—only Nelshenden could have convinced him to agree to such a clandestine operation. His eyes, however, warned that he would go no farther without good cause.
“We’re here, my lady,” he said in an even, but unyielding, voice. “Now you will tell me what this is about.”
“There is a group of assassins posing as merchants in that building, captain,” Jasnah explained. “They have a contract on the king.”
“This is about Lord Jezenrosh?” the captain asked, eyeing the dark building.
“You’ve heard about that?” Jasnah asked.
Zenach looked back at her. “Yes.”
“You take the threat seriously.”
“It is my duty to take all threats seriously,” the man replied. He strode away to confer with Nelshenden and Kemnar. A few moments later, Kemnar and four men retreated to the carriage, surrounding it, Jasnah, and the four pullers in a loose circle. The other twenty-five men drew their weapons and approached the building, splitting into three groups.
Overhead, the stars sat in stoic regard, most of them concentrated in an enormous cluster the monks called the Dwelling. They gave little light this day—the Dwelling was low on the horizon—and Jasnah quickly lost sight of her men in the darkness. Then, all was still. Seconds passed as heartbeats, then gathered into minutes which pulled on her nerves like weights on a string.
Finally, a group of three men returned from the building; one was Nelshenden. Jasnah didn’t wait—she climbed from the carriage and approached him with a rushed step.
“The guildhouse was empty,” the guard said. “They cleaned out, taking all of their gear. Only one watchman stayed behind.”
“You captured him?” Jasnah asked hopefully.
“Barely,” Nelshenden said. “He had a trapdoor out the back. Zenach caught him.”
“Take me to him,” Jasnah ordered.
“I don’t know anything!” the man exclaimed. “I’m just a scratch!”
“What’s a scratch?” Jasnah asked, turning toward Kemnar.
“A local man,” Kemnar explained. “Hired from outside the organization to provide experience in the region.”
Jasnah nodded. Two lanterns showed that Nelshenden had been right—the building was empty. The rooms had been stripped of all ornamentation and personal effects, leaving behind only a few tables and chairs, one of which held the prisoner. He was a wiry, nondescript man, and his nervousness seemed a little too exaggerated.
Kemnar approached the assassin, leaning down with a threatening look. Jasnah watched with folded arms, Nelshenden and Zenach standing beside her. The room’s only other occupants were the two lantern-bearing soldiers.
“You do know something,” Kemnar said, drawing his knife. The well-made steel—created from an Awakened alloy to be stronger than regular metals—glistened in the lanternlight. It was a stabbing weapon, designed to get through the faceplate of a Shardbearer.
“I swear by the Tenth Name of the Almighty,” the assassin whispered, cowering. “They didn’t tell me anything.”
Kemnar leaned down closer, putting the tip of the weapon against the man’s neck. “I realize this isn’t a group one betrays lightly,” Kemnar whispered. “But they’re not here. I am.”
The point of the weapon drew blood.
“Kemnar!” Nelshenden said. “You are not to hurt him!”
Kemnar sighed, standing and shooting a dry look at Nelshenden. He stepped back to Jasnah, speaking in a quiet voice. “He is going to make this very difficult, my lady.”
“We must follow Sheneres,” Nelshenden said. “We have nothing if we have not honor.”
“Nelshenden,” Jasnah said. “This assassin has knowledge that might save our king’s life.”
“Better we risk the king than betray our souls, my lady,” Nelshenden said. The words were not spoken lightly—his eyes bore a weight of decision. “If we follow what is right, the Almighty will see us to victory.”
The Almighty, Jasnah thought. Wonderful.
Kemnar turned, eyeing the prisoner. “He’s no simple scratch,” Kemnar said. “He puts on a good show, but a group like this wouldn’t hire someone they didn’t think was trustworthy—and able to withstand a little torture. I can probably break him, but it will take time. Maybe days.”
Kemnar paused, eyeing the captive, then turned back. “The thing is, my lady, we might not have days. There are only two reasons the assassins would have abandoned this building. Either they thought they’d been discovered, or the assassination is planned for tonight.”
“You think they would attack the king in the middle of a dueling competition?” Nelshenden asked skeptically. “Do you have any idea how many Shardbearers there are in the palace right now?”
“Blades and Plate don’t protect against a knife in bed, Nelshenden,” Kemnar said. “Besides, half the palace has drunk themselves silly. I doubt most of those Shardbearers even remember their own names right now.”
Zenach swore quietly, breaking his silence. “He’s right, my lady,” he said. “Those palace guards who weren’t on duty participated in the duels, and with all the Shardbearers around, we let a good number of them off. We’re as understaffed as you’ll ever find us.”
“Then we have to assume that the king is in danger,” Jasnah said. “Captain, take your men and mine and return to the palace as quickly as possible. I want you to gather every guard and Shardbearer you can to protect the king. My captains and I will stay here and see what we can gather from the captive. We’ll join you if we discover anything.”
Zenach’s only response was a curt nod. His two men put down the lanterns, and all three were out the door in a matter of seconds. Jasnah remained, Kemnar and Nelshenden beside her, regarding the captive. Kemnar was right—they didn’t have days to wait. They may not even have minutes.
There was a way. The thought entered Jasnah’s head idly, then refused to leave. She could place a stress upon this man’s soul that no simple physical torture could equal.
No! Jasnah thought, I will find another way.
But what? Even if she persuaded Nelshenden to let the torture progress, it was unlikely they would discover any information in time.
She could make him break. There was one thing every Rosharan feared more than threats, more than pain. She resisted the option, but it would not depart her mind. She kept thinking of Elhokar—a man who was, to her, little more than a boy trying so hard to be king. What was more important? His life? Her soul?
“Nelshenden,” Jasnah said quietly, holding out her hand, “give me a gemstone.”
“My lady?” Nelshenden asked with surprise.
“Do it!” she said.
The soldier quietly pulled open his money pouch, selecting a gem and placing it in her hand. The ruby was covered with a light glass glaze and stamped with the seal of Alethkar, declaring it to be worth fifty Ishmarks. As soon as the stone touched her hand, Jasnah could hear its Tone. The note sounded powerfully in her ears, even through the glass.
Could she do it? What would Kemnar and Nelshenden think if they knew? Like monks, Awakeners were required to forsake wealth and privilege—but unlike monks, Awakeners were also ostracized. Removed from their families, feared, shut away. They were strange, inhuman creatures. Their arts changed them. People whispered that Awakening didn’t just change them—it stole their souls. It took from them their humanity.
Jasnah closed her eyes, and held up the ruby. If she concentrated, she could hear another sound coming from within her—her Soul Tone. Unlike the ruby, her Soul Tone didn’t give off a simple note—it produced a brilliant, vibrating cord. It was her own unique harmonic, usually so quiet she couldn’t hear it.
She reached out with her Soul Tone, the familiar chord growing louder somehow, though she knew she didn’t hear it with her physical ears. She took the Soul Tone, and touched it against the ruby, strok
ing its Tone like a finger upon the strings of an instrument. Her Soul Tone gave strength to the ruby’s music, amplifying it, making its pure, solitary note grow in force and strength.
The ruby shivered in her hand. It began to vibrate with a soft hum that would be audible even to non-Awakener ears.
She heard Nelshenden gasp. She opened her eyes as the vibrating gemstone shattered its glass glazing. The gem began to glow with a pure red light, rising into the air above her hand, illuminating the room with a faceted rubicon glow.
The prisoner watched mutely, eyes widening. Then he screamed, struggled against his bonds, pulling ineffectually against the ropes tying his arms and legs to the chair. Gone was his false anxiety and overdone cowering.
“Speak,” Jasnah ordered, holding her hand forward, the gemstone vibrating and spinning above it.
“I know nothing!” the man screamed.
Jasnah turned her hand to the side, palm facing toward the far wall, the ruby spinning and glowing before it. She nudged the ruby with a stroke of her mind, flipping it through the air toward the room’s lone table. The gemstone struck the wooden table, shattering into a shower of red dust, transferring its vibration to the wood itself.
The strike sounded loudly, like a sharp pop, within Jasnah’s mind. She grabbed ahold of the table’s Tone—a chord far less complex than that of a living creature. Normally, non-gems had Tones far too weak to notice, but the ruby’s explosion brought the table’s Tone to life like a bell suddenly struck by an iron rod.
Jasnah held tightly to the table’s Tone, which vibrated irregularly, its own Tone struggling against that of the ruby. If she did nothing, the table would cast off the ruby’s Tone, returning to its natural state. However, Jasnah refused to let that happen—she pushed, hearing and remembering the ruby’s Tone in her mind, forcing the table’s Tone to change, to become a uniform note instead of a chord.
It had been years since she had Awakened, and her abilities were weak. She strained against the table’s Tone, the departed ruby’s note hanging and vibrating in her mind. For a moment, she could see beyond the table’s form. She glimpsed past sight, feeling the table’s pure substance— the lhel, from which all things were created.
The Way of Kings Prime Page 35