by Milla Vane
“He poisoned her wine with fellroot,” Yvenne said flatly. “It was not a demon’s evil that kept her trapped in that tower. Instead it was his greed and ambition.”
“The corrupt greed of the man who refused reward after he smote the Smiling Giant? The selfish ambition of the man who risked his own life to hold the line at the Fourth Ridge? You would cast such aspersions on an honored warrior?”
“As he ruined the name of Ran Marek with his false accusations,” she said, then looked to Maddek, hoping her brother’s words were not provoking him to anger.
He seemed to be not even listening. Calmly, he ate his fish.
“That is only partial truth.” With an expression of soul-deep pain, Bazir sat back, his gaze returning to Maddek. “Did you never question why a woman born of a legendary line of warrior-queens, each one tall as Rani herself and possessing the strength of ten men, was so weak and small? It is because her own mother recognized what was growing in her womb and took the half-moon milk before it was fully formed. And when the babe emerged with its heart still beating, our mother attempted to strangle her.”
Such an unbelievable collection of lies. Such a ridiculous story. Yet that was what made it so believable, too. Not for one moment would anyone suspect that a member of the alliance council would spout such an outlandish tale unless it held truth, for Bazir’s own standing would be forever ruined if the story was exposed as false. And if he had simply called her afflicted, her own manner could persuade Cadus and Gareth to her truth. But now her every denial could be read as confirmation through the veil of his lies.
Yet it must be denied. “If our mother ever intended to kill me, she would have used her teeth to rip out my throat—as she did to our father as he raped her. What story would you give to his scar?”
He would give no story to it, because he was still continuing his own. “It was my father who saved the weakling demon babe,” he said to Maddek, who still calmly ate his fish. Not even tearing it apart, but taking small bites of the delicate flesh. “Fool that he is. But he saw her moonstone eyes, and believed she might be the true heir to the Syssian throne. And he believed that perhaps my mother was mistaken . . . or that the demon still resided in my mother, and through her had meant to strangle the true heir. But my mother was not mistaken, and all that she could do in her weakened, poisoned body was to curb the demon’s schemes. And so she did, until her tragic death.”
Such hatred filled Yvenne then that she shook with it. Yet her brother did not make the claim she expected him to, a truth wrapped in lies and so painful that she could not even speak to Maddek of that day.
“That was when she sent the message to your mother and father,” Bazir continued with a look of guilt. “And there our lies to the alliance council began, because my father thought if we now revealed that my mother had birthed a daughter with moonstone eyes, our people would be so hungry to see Nyset’s heir on the throne that they would not let themselves see her true nature. But your parents saw that nature, Commander. She lured them with a sad tale of abuse and imprisonment, but as soon as my father led them to her, so they might see with their own eyes what she was, they recognized the same demon they’d fought a generation ago. That your father attacked a woman of our household was not a lie; we only hid the truth of who that woman was.”
“Ran Marek attacked no one,” Yvenne said fiercely. “The attack upon him came from our father and his Rugusian guard.”
“You note her missing fingers? They were lost when she caught your father’s blade—and then turned it upon him.”
Now she was Ran Marek’s murderer? “That is not truth.” In fear and agony she turned to Maddek and insisted, “It is not.”
As if unconcerned by both her brother’s claim and Yvenne’s denial, Maddek gave no response, except to signal the attendant to bring another fish.
“All that followed might have been prevented had we simply slain my demon sister then . . . but my father still had hope. And he still believed a true daughter might reside in that twisted body.” Shame clouded her brother’s face. “So he applied to Ran Ashev for help, as she was a warrior-queen in her own right who could stand against a demon as our mother did. Ran Ashev agreed. During the days, she would visit with my sister in the tower, to see if there was anything human in her that might be saved. And there my sister told again her lies of abuse, though she lived in luxury and was given every comfort.”
Now Yvenne could not refute him with the truth of what happened, or she would lose her tongue. To Maddek she hissed, “Let me speak of your mother.”
He denied her with a shake of his head. Because he believed her already? Or because he did not trust that what she said would be truth?
Pain and frustration closed her throat. Seething, she stared at her brother, made him drop his gaze away from hers.
Yet he continued still. “What story did she give of Ran Ashev’s death—that it was an attempted escape? That Yvenne drew the arrow that killed Lazen?” Sadly he shook his head. “In truth, she drove your mother mad with her whispers and lies, turning your warrior mother against my father and brothers. Ran Ashev rampaged through the citadel, and though my father tried to contain her, they were forced to kill her in self-defense. But my father does consider himself responsible for your mother’s death, because he was the one who allowed her such close contact with Yvenne through so many turns of the moon.”
“This is not truth.” She shook with rage. “This is not truth.”
“What would you claim is the truth?” he asked her, a smirk in his eyes though he carefully kept that smug smile from his mouth.
Because he was clever and observant, and had seen that she gave no real response to anything regarding Ran Ashev. He might not know the reason, but he knew she would not speak of that queen.
Never had she been so angry and frustrated and helpless. She had thought herself ready to battle her brother’s lies. Yet Maddek’s vow had shackled her tongue, so she could not use truth to attack or defend. And she knew not what Maddek believed, but she could see that Gareth and Cadus had been well persuaded by him.
Oh, she should not have attempted to defeat her brother here. She should have commanded Maddek to flee with all his warriors to the boat, instead, and taken their chances on the sea.
“And now you are in close contact with her, Commander,” Bazir said. “Do you not ask yourself why her skin is hotter than any other—”
“Because I am Nyset’s heir! Our bloodline runs hot.”
“Or why the weight of her gaze is as terrible as any stone wraith’s—”
Without looking up from his plate, Maddek spoke over him. “Why would your father send a demon to marry the Tolehi king?”
Not a breath of hesitation before Bazir’s answer came. “He did not send her to marry a king. That was only the story she was given. In truth my father was sending her to the Tolehi monks, who are better equipped to contain a demon such as she.”
“You say she needed containment, yet there were no monks in her carriage escort. Only one brother and a handful of soldiers.” He took a small bite of fish. “Either your father sent an unfettered demon on a journey through three realms without warning his allies of what passed through their midst, or Yvenne is as she claims: a daughter sent to marry a weak king and to further your father’s schemes to control yet another realm within the alliance.”
Maddek believed her. Sudden relief burst through her chest, painful and sweet, thickening into a lump in her throat.
“The containment was the story we told her—that she would be married to a king. Her own ambition is what made her compliant.”
Maddek choked. “Compliant?” Now he glanced up, shaking with laughter. “If ever Yvenne was compliant for the duration of a journey, that is when I would think her possessed by a demon.”
Bazir regarded him in sudden dismay. “I feared this. You are completely enslaved.�
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Another hearty laugh broke from Maddek. “That might be truth. But tell me, was it her compliance that sent the message to me in Ephorn, so I would steal her away—though it meant sacrificing the throne you say she coveted?”
“What ambition is greater—to be queen of Toleh or queen of the Burning Plains? Of course she saw an opportunity and took it.” His gaze darted to Gareth, who had been quietly watching. “Forgive me. I do not mean to say that Toleh is the lesser of the two. Only that she could not resist gaining control of the Parsathean army.”
“You think the riders would serve as a demon’s puppets?” Maddek’s amusement hardened, then faded altogether as he turned away from Bazir and addressed the Tolehi minister. “This sly-tongued cur only wishes to conceal the corruption that has festered in Syssia since Zhalen took the throne. Nothing of what Bazir claims happened to my mother and father could he have seen with his own eyes, not while he served on the council in Ephorn. He was but a swaddling babe when Yvenne was born and can be no true witness to the birth he claims was a demon’s or the queen’s attempt to strangle her. Yet my bride was in Syssia when my parents were murdered. She saw with her own eyes what happened to my mother and father, and so I weigh her truth more heavily than his.”
The minister gave a slow nod. “Zhalen gave an account of what he saw with his own eyes, yet now his son claims those were lies told to conceal a demon daughter and heir to the throne. Whatever the truth of your bride’s nature, clearly the testimony given in that original investigation was false. So the council will reopen the inquiry into their murders.”
“Best the council not waste its time,” Maddek replied. “Other matters are of greater concern. Vela told us that the Destroyer returns, and dark sorcery is being used within the realms. With my own eyes, I saw magic used to raise revenants.”
Gareth glanced at Yvenne. “You told Prince Cadus that it was your brother Aezil who made these revenants?”
Bazir scoffed. “You cast blame on our brother, though it is you who were there—and it is well known that a demon can also make revenants.”
“Only by befouling them with flesh and blood, not with spells cast from afar,” Maddek said. “With my own eyes, I saw that Yvenne never had opportunity to befoul the corpses that rose and attacked us. With my own eyes, I saw a Rugusian red-footed eagle flying above us.”
And Gareth had also marched against Stranik’s Fang, knew how those priests had used their magic to raise revenants exactly as Maddek described.
His face troubled, the Tolehi minister looked from Bazir to Yvenne again. “Are you certain it was Aezil and not another, unknown sorcerer?”
She was certain. But did she have evidence? Not even Vela had spoken a confirmation that her father and brother were serving the Destroyer.
“I have no proof it was Aezil,” she admitted.
Her brother gave her a triumphant look. “No proof, because there is no proof to be had. Aezil is no sorcerer.”
“With my own eyes, I witnessed the goddess Vela give my bride the task of forming a great alliance to stand against the Destroyer—and to root out the poisonous seeds he left behind. Though we have no evidence that one of those seeds is Aezil, he has lost an eye, and a Rugusian eagle was used as a familiar along the river road at the same time Yvenne’s family had reason to be searching for her. Neither of those is proof of his sorcery. But in combination, they give compelling reason to suspect him.”
Gareth nodded. “So they do.”
“She is the poisonous seed left behind,” Bazir insisted. “A demon raised by the Destroyer himself. If there was a task given, it was to you, Commander—so that you could continue the legacy of your mother and father, who gave so much to the alliance. It is only Yvenne’s influence that warps your view. She is determined to destroy each member of the royal house of Syssia, one by one. Now she twists a task given by a goddess to justify killing another brother.”
This time his relentless lies had not as much effect on the others. For instead of renewed doubt, Gareth asked of Maddek, “You were given order not to harm Zhalen’s sons, and the Syssian soldiers who returned with Cezan’s body claimed it was Nyset’s heir who killed him. Was that truth?”
“It was,” Yvenne answered proudly, unsheathing the jeweled dagger at her calf and holding it up for them to see. “Maddek did not touch him. Instead I used Cezan’s own blade to pierce his heart from behind.”
Anger flashed through Bazir’s moonstone gaze like the flash of firelight on the silver blade. “One by one,” he said again, each word a hard bite instead of his usual slick tongue. “Until each of us is dead by her hand. What do you say to that, Commander?”
Maddek grunted and turned approving eyes upon her. “I say she has made a good start.”
“A good—” Her brother halted, blinked. “You say it was a good start?”
Unlike every other emotion he’d shown, the outrage and disbelief in that shrill echo was not faked, and the realization dawning over his face was like a dagger twisting into Yvenne’s heart, but despite the agonizing pain it wasn’t blood that spilled out. Only rage, rage, rage, swelling up her throat in a howling shriek—but her mother had taught her well.
Never give warning.
Bazir’s expression twisted with malicious glee. “Did you not tell him, demon? He knows you murdered Lazen and Cezan. But does your barbarian know that you also killed our—”
Yvenne hurled the dagger with all her strength. No arrow it was, yet still her goddess-gifted aim was true, and the knife flew straight to Bazir’s eye.
Her aim was true; the throw was not. Instead of the sharpened point, the jeweled handle thunked into her target. Still, Bazir screamed in pain and slapped a hand over his eye. The dagger clattered to the table. Both Cadus and Gareth lurched to their feet, shock and alarm elongating their faces with mouths gaping open and eyebrows shooting to hairlines. The attendants scrambled, some running to help Bazir and others running to shout for help.
Heart thundering, Yvenne sat back. Bazir was curled over, hand cupped over his eye, and not screaming now but resisting with gritted teeth the Tolehi minister’s attempts to examine the wound.
The bridge of his nose bled from a thin cut, where the misthrown blade had sliced his skin. She had hoped for great spurts of blood. Those few drops were not enough.
Beside her, Maddek calmly took another bite of fish. “Did you not say we shouldn’t let him provoke us?”
Her rage was not over. In a low voice she hissed, “Why did you not let me speak of what truly happened? Why did you leave me no defense against his lies?”
“Because a warrior makes use of what she has.”
“And you thought this was a good time for a lesson?”
“Battles are won or lost in throne rooms,” he said in a measured tone. “And though you have great skill in slinging arrows and sparring with words, never have you taken them to a true battlefield. Now you have. This has been good practice.”
“Practice?” Her brother had persuaded good, rational men that she was a demon, that she had murdered Ran Marek and driven Ran Ashev to violent madness. And her brother had twisted and twisted and twisted every truth, as Yvenne had told Maddek that Bazir would, and yet he still forbade her from speaking her own. “This was a true battle and you denied me a sword and shield.”
For the barest moment, his gaze touched her face—and that gaze was not calm. Smoldering anger burned in his dark eyes—and she abruptly understood that Bazir’s words had elicited a response. But Maddek had not let that emotion overrule his actions or his thoughts.
As she had. Nothing Maddek had said to Gareth to persuade him of their truth had been unknown to her. Maddek had chosen an angle of attack that the Tolehi minister would best respond to—by telling Gareth what he’d seen with his own eyes. An angle that Yvenne would have used herself had she not allowed her brother to provoke her. If she had
not been so torn by frustration and rage at not being able to speak her truth.
She had thought herself prepared to face her brother, yet she had not been. Perhaps because after so many years spent on the alliance council, Bazir had so much experience in similar battlefields.
It had been a valuable lesson. Yet her frustration and rage and disappointment still filled her chest and throat, choking her. Because Maddek might have let her speak of Ran Ashev and still she would have learned the lesson. Her brother would have twisted that, too, but she would have eventually seen that she’d failed in her attack, and tried another direction. She’d have stopped sparring with her brother and focused on Gareth, as Maddek had.
And she was embarrassed. How arrogant and foolish she seemed, lecturing him on how to respond to her brother and behave through this dinner.
So badly she wanted to be alone now. So desperately she wanted to find a private spot and cry until emptied of all this hot, painful emotion clogging her heart and throat.
Yet she could not. Prince Cadus approached, carrying her jeweled blade. His expression seemed both abashed and amused. “My sister once threw a knife at me over dinner, too. My response was to dump a trencher of stewed boa over her head. Family has the special ability to lower even the most reasonable among us to the level of slinging blades and meats.”
Maddek gave an amused grunt. “That is truth.”
So many attendants swarmed around Bazir now that Yvenne could not even see him. She leaned forward, trying to better catch sight of what damage there was. “Did I put out his eye?”
In a reassuring voice, Cadus replied, “It will merely be swollen and bruised.”
She sat back with a scowl.
“Did you note his bare lie?” Maddek said, glancing up at the prince.
“I did.” Cadus appeared abashed again. “As did Gareth, I think.”
Yvenne looked at him in amazement. “You think there was only one lie?”