Besieged (66 page)

He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

‘Too loyal for your own good.’ She examined him further, clucking over his old scars and burns. ‘It’s a wonder you’re still walking, but you’re right. There’s nothing I can do for you. The sisterhood offers you food and shelter for tonight and longer, if you need it.’

Sorne shook his head.

‘Have it your way.’ She came to her feet and dusted off her hands. ‘But I will say this. It’s a disgrace, the way they’ve treated you. And as for sending you out to spy... Yes, I saw your blind-man’s costume. Consider this. The Mieren roughed up Bedore just for being a half-blood. If they catch you spying, they’ll string you up.’

The Malaunje brought him hot food, and took his clothes away to be laundered.

They next morning, he had a hearty breakfast and dressed in clean clothes. When he reached the gate, they gave him a well-made leather travelling kit, packed with a clean blanket and food for the journey.

He set off, aware that a lot of what Oskane had told him about his own people was an outright lie. The new leather travelling kit was too good for his disguise, but his old poor-man’s bundle was literally falling apart. So he put it inside the new bag and rubbed dirt on the leather, until it looked grimy.

Restored, he set off for Port Mirror-on-Sea.

Chapter Fifty-Three

T
OBAZIM WONDERED IF
he had looked so young the day he left the sisterhood’s estate to start his life with the brotherhood. It did not help that Athlyn was a particularly pretty youth. At almost seventeen, he could have passed for a girl, although certainly not naked, as he was now.

Learon handed him clothes, boots and cloak. It was late summer, but the nights were cold in the mountains.

While Athlyn dressed, Tobazim studied the front of Silverlode Retreat. It looked much the same as it had during his childhood. The sandstone glowed in the midday sun. Several white-haired T’En children peered down curiously from the walkway above the defensive wall. He could remember doing the same, and wishing he was grown up. But, when the day came for his choice-mother to declare him dead to her, he had not wanted to go.

He’d been afraid his non-martial gift would make him a target in the brotherhood. Sensing this, his choice-mother had had taken him aside.

It’s easy to kill and destroy
, she’d told him, holding his ink-stained fingers in her hands.
It is much harder to build and grow. The things you build will live on after you. Take pride in that
.

Not long after he’d arrived in the brotherhood winery, he’d found a silver nib in his bedroll with no explanation for how it got there. But he knew his mother had asked one of the brotherhood Malaunje to give it to him, as a sign of her faith in him.

Now the children parted, as she appeared on the wall-walk. He waved and shaded his eyes.

‘Look at you, Tobazim,’ his choice-mother said. ‘All grown up.’

The sound of her voice was enough to make him smile.

‘Not as big as me,’ Learon boasted. Coming up behind Tobazim, he caught him in a headlock and knuckled his head as if they were twelve. The children laughed.

‘I doubt there are many as big as you, Learon.’ There was love in their choice-mother’s voice.

Learon released him. Tobazim straightened his clothes and brushed hair from his eyes.

‘Watch over Athlyn for me,’ she said. ‘He’s a good boy.’

They glanced to the youth, who was sitting on the mounting block, tying his boot straps.

‘I’ll check his mount’s stirrups,’ Learon said, heading off with a wave to their choice-mother.

‘We would watch over him,’ Tobazim said, ‘but after we deliver Athlyn, we’re going to the city.’

‘That’s... Things have not been good in the city. An all-father broke his covenant oath, and the healer’s sacrare daughter was killed.’

‘We heard.’ He glanced over his shoulder. Learon was waiting, holding the horses’ reins. Athlyn sat in the saddle.

‘I heard about your bridge.’

‘It’s going to stand for hundreds of years.’ He couldn’t keep the pride from his voice.

She smiled. ‘When you reach the city, be careful of Kyredeon. The all-mothers don’t trust him.’

‘He executed the two brothers who killed the sacrare. He knew nothing of their plans.’

‘Of course.’

It was obvious that she believed the worst of All-father Kyredeon. Tobazim was disappointed.

‘I’ll look for your name,’ she said.

‘And I’ll keep your silver nib safe.’

G
RAELEN INSPECTED THE
Mieren king’s greeting chamber. It was as fine as anything in the Celestial City – marble floor, frescoed ceiling, intricate screens over the windows.

‘Built in the last thirty years,’ Kithkarne whispered. They were both very aware of the Mieren guard on the door. ‘This is where the king’s gold went, instead of repaying us.’

Graelen glanced to the door. The Mieren guard met his eyes, then looked away quickly. They thought T’En could overcome their will and enslave them with a glance.

Kithkarne settled in a chair and placed the leather folder holding his notes on the table. He looked pale. They’d carried him in a cart and taken it slowly, making the journey in six days instead of four, but the old brother had still found it taxing. Then, this morning, they’d had to wait for an hour in the grand hall with everyone else who wanted to have an audience with the king, before a servant led them to this chamber.

Graelen’s stomach rumbled. It was lunchtime, now, and he could smell food cooking somewhere in the palace. He hoped the king would see them soon.

They were kept waiting all day, and by dusk he was starving. A servant arrived to say the king been delayed and wouldn’t be able to see them. Four guards waited to escort them from the palace.

Infuriated, Graelen had to help Kithkarne to rise.

The old male winced as he bent to collect his folder. With dignity, he straightened up and informed the servant, ‘You can tell King Charald we will come every day, until he sees us.’

They returned to Chariode’s warehouse, where Dragomyr was intensely curious as to why they wanted to see the Mieren king.

Z
ABIER ENTERED THE
queen’s private chamber on a wave of delicious anticipation. It seemed he was fated to fall in love with unattainable women.

Strictly speaking, since priests were meant to be celibate, all women were unattainable for him. But the last king’s daughter – poor Marantza, who had died so tragically – and the new king’s wife were unattainable for almost all men. Why couldn’t he settle for some poor girl who would be grateful for a roof over her head and food in her belly, in exchange for certain favours?

No, he had to desire Queen Jaraile. Not desire...
love.

Whoever had decreed that priests should be celibate was a fool. Men were not meant to go without a woman’s touch. The more he tried not to think of it, the harder it became. Lucky for him, the priestly robe could have been designed specifically to hide his indiscretion.

Poor Jaraile. In late winter, the queen had lost her newborn and her father within a day and, ever since then, she’d turned to him for advice. Here she came now, slipping into the chamber almost at a run.

She was a small woman, with soft curves and slightly protruding front teeth that made her top lip beg to be kissed; he found her mouth fascinating.

‘Father’s-voice, thank you for coming.’ She hurried over to him, carried on the whisper of silk and the scent of jasmine. ‘I’m at my wit’s end. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Tell me. I’m sure I can help.’ It would be Charald, curse him. Ever since poor Jaraile delivered the blue baby son, his rages had been getting worse. At least when her father was alive, the baron could calm the king. Since Jantzen’s sudden death, it had been left up to the queen and himself, and they didn’t have the knack. ‘Is the king in a rage?’ Again.

‘No, but he soon will be. I’ve just come back from visiting the Mother’s church. You know how I pray every day that she’ll give me a healthy baby...’

Zabier nodded.
He’d
give her a healthy baby. There was something wrong with Charald’s seed. All those blue babies his last queen had produced, and now Jaraile.

‘...coming back to the palace, I overheard some milliner apprentices talking.’ She clutched his arm, hands trembling. ‘They know about Prince Cedon’s club foot. If apprentices know, everyone must know. The king...’

Naturally, the king wanted to keep his son’s deformity quiet. He’d been consulting healers to see if they could fix the boy. Zabier had lost all faith in healers after he’d been defrauded of a small fortune, while his mother was dying.

‘Father’s-voice?’ She saw his expression. ‘I knew it. He’ll have me killed and get himself another wife. He killed his first two wives.’

Zabier didn’t deny this. ‘Have faith, my queen. You’ll give him a healthy son.’ It would amuse him to cuckold the king and see his own son on the throne. If he could convince Jaraile that her life depended on producing a healthy boy, he might stand a chance. She was as morally upright as Marantza had been. Mind you, he’d been a callow youth back then, and terrified of her father. King Matxin seemed to be able to look into his heart and know exactly what he was thinking or feeling.

The day Matxin died, he wanted to ring the church bells in celebration, but instead he’d ordered the bell ringers to sound a dirge. Marantza had been stoic, relieved by the time her father’s suffering ended. Back then, he’d been so shy, he hadn’t done more than confess his love and try for a kiss. For which she’d magnanimously forgiven him, then turned around and run off with Baron Nitzane. Curse him.

‘Would it help if I prayed?’ Jaraile asked.

‘I’ll pray with you.’ He knelt, and she knelt with him. He pulled her closer, pressing her cheek against his chest. ‘Say what is in your heart, my child.’

Her prayer poured out of her, revealing all her fears and the king’s growing weakness. For all his boasting, Charald could not maintain an erection and, if he did, he couldn’t get to his release. Zabier learnt all this from her delicately-phrased prayers.

Silently, he thanked King Matxin. Eight years of watching how that king manipulated and used people had trained him for this.

When Matxin came to power, he’d been afraid the king would order Hiruna’s execution and hand Valendia over to the priests for sacrifice. Zabier had not dared to protest, as the king wanted ever grander offerings to impress the high church officials and keep his nobles in line, not even when those offerings included half-blood infants. He’d had to make himself cold inside to save Hiruna and Valendia. The Zabier who did those things was a different Zabier from the one who rubbed his mother’s feet in winter and bought his sister musical instruments.

So different was he, that when Sorne had asked about half-blood sacrifices, Zabier had been genuinely horrified.

After living in fear for so many years, Zabier never wanted to be powerless again. He’d thought, when he took advantage of the holy-swords’ insurrection and talked the king into sending Sorne away, he would replace Sorne in the king’s trust. But Charald had proved a capricious master, and nothing anyone did satisfied him. These last three years had convinced Zabier he could not go on living like this.

Jaraile’s hot tears seeped through his robe and warmed his heart. And elsewhere. Time to plant the seed of doubt in her mind. ‘Tell me, do you welcome the king into your bed?’

‘I do my best.’

‘So did the last queen. She bore him one boy, then six blue babies.’

Jaraile swallowed. ‘You think–’

‘I think you must give the king a healthy son, or...’ He waited for her to make the connection. It would be so much better if she came to him. ‘Pray with me again.’

Poor little thing. She prayed so earnestly. And that top lip...

The door flew open. A shaft of light illuminated Zabier with the queen. From where Zabier knelt, the king appeared huge in silhouette. Zabier was grateful he hadn’t given in to the urge to kiss the queen.

‘There you are, Jaraile. Praying again? Fat lot of good that does.’

The queen sprang to her feet and made her bow. ‘My king, I–’

Charald ignored her. ‘Despite your grand offerings, Zabier, you and this True-man Warrior’s-voice can only come up with vague visions. Sorne used to offer relics, yet his visions came true.’

Sorne, always Sorne. First his own brother Izteben, then his mother and Valendia, and now King Charald.

‘The gods are capricious, my king,’ Zabier said. Matxin had never worried if the visions did not come true. He’d used them to justify getting rid of his enemies. Feeling a fraud and desperate for visions of his own, Zabier had resorted to the pure form of pains-ease to produce visions, but even these did not come true. Now he took the pure pains-ease because he liked the way it made him feel – powerful. Only Utzen knew his secret vice.

‘Forget the gods, I have more pressing problems.’

Zabier noticed the queen tensing, but Charald sent her away. As soon as the door closed, he began to pace. Zabier recognised the signs. He could go like this for days, hardly sleeping, wearing out servants and nobles alike.

‘A delegation of Wyrds wanted an audience today. I kept them waiting. They stayed all day. They had the audacity to say they’d come back every day until I saw them.’

Zabier lifted his hands. ‘If you found out what they wanted–’

‘I know what they want. I want you to find a way to use the gods against the Wyrds. I’ve seen the gods devour half-bloods and T’En artefacts. Would they accept a living full-blood? I suspect they would. I want you to work out a way to harness the gods so we can use them as a weapon against the Wyrds. I want to wipe out Cesspit City.’

‘Sire...’ Zabier could hardly speak, his mouth was so dry. ‘If we turned the gods loose, they could...’
devour us all
.

‘That’s why you need to get Oskane’s chest back from Nitzane. There’s seventeen years of notes in there. Oskane set out to find a way to defeat the Wyrds. Put your priests to work.’