Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (2 page)

Dirigible Boy blinked a few times, glanced at his crotch, then mumbled a surprisingly contrite, “Yes, ma’am.” He returned to his seat and dragged a book over his lap.

Ashara dropped her face into her hands. Why couldn’t the idiot have chosen the Clarity Elixir instead? The intelligence boost was clearly what he needed.

“I believe your time is up,” Professor Tatka said, picking up her notepad and frowning at Ashara.

Not able to meet her eyes, Ashara hurried to return her bottles to her satchel. The audience was still tittering and talking. Ashara wished she could leave instead of staying to vote for other presenters. She would have to settle for hiding in a seat far in the back.

As she hustled down the aisle, the figure against the wall finally pushed his hood back. Ashara nearly tripped. Even if she hadn’t recognized the face, the long blond hair, the green eyes, and the sun patterns stitched into the collar of his buckskin shirt would have told her he was a Kendorian. That was bad enough—right now, the last thing she wanted was to run into any of her people—but she had seen him once before, when she had first arrived in the city. She didn’t know his name, but he was the Kendorian ambassador and met regularly with the Turgonian president. She had hoped he had no idea who she was or that she was in the city, but from the steady knowing way he regarded her, she doubted that was true.

I know of your crime, his eyes said. And if you try to avoid me, there will be trouble.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to see someone else,” she said when he stepped forward and raised a hand to block her from entering the last row of seats.

“No,” he said in Kendorian. He shifted his arm, gesturing toward the doorway.

Ashara glanced back at the professor, hoping Tatka might order her to stay in the auditorium until the class period was over, but she was helping the next student set up. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t as if a university professor would get in the way of an official ambassador.

“What do you want?” Ashara asked, heading for the doorway. She asked the question in Turgonian, hoping he would see that she was committed to the republic now and had no intention of troubling Kendor.

“To chat,” he said easily, still in Kendorian. He smiled, a smile she instantly distrusted. “My name is Shukura. I am the diplomatic representative from our country.”

Since he stood aside to let her walk out first, the temptation to flee entered her mind. But if he had found her here, he must know the fake name she had given the administration when she enrolled, and he probably knew where she lived too. Maybe he had known she was in the city from the day she had entered it. Maybe thinking she could hide here—start a new life here—had been foolish from the beginning.

Ashara stopped under a maple tree at the edge of the square and turned, her arms folded over her chest. She wasn’t ready to give up yet, and he wouldn’t forcibly take her all the way back to their homeland, not without a large squadron of capable guards.

“Your classes do not appear to be going well.” Shukura smiled, tilting his head toward the auditorium.

“One presentation went poorly. My grades are fine.” If
barely passing
could be considered fine. Ashara would be having an easier time if the lectures and reading assignments were in her native language. But even back home, she had always done better at mastering outdoors skills rather than book learning.

“I have seen your professors’ reports,” Shukura said, not outright contradicting her—there was probably some diplomat’s rule about that—but letting her know that he knew far too much. He tilted his head. “What is it you hope to accomplish here?”

“Nothing that is of any concern to you.”

“No? I thought you might have some plan to get your children back. After two attempts to retrieve them last year, it’s difficult to believe you’ve simply given up.”

Her gut twisted, and she closed her eyes, an image of Jiana and Khanrin playing in the park back home coming unbidden to her mind. The damned ambassador did indeed know too much.

“Not giving up would have meant my death eventually.” Ashara did not mention the warrant the border guards all had, the one that said she should be shot if spotted. Shukura doubtlessly knew about it.

“I know what you
are
, Longbow. What you were trained to be. And from what I’ve read of you, you don’t give up easily.”

“Is there a
reason
why you’re reading about me?” Ashara asked, refusing to show how worried she was about the potential ramifications of this meeting.

“You are here. In my domain. And you are a criminal.”

“I’m
not
a criminal. I was wrongfully convicted. I only ran away so I could find the person who
was
responsible.”

“That is not what your record says.”

“The record is wrong.”

Ashara stepped back, hoping he would let the matter go, though she feared he would not. Shukura reached forward, grasping for her arm. Reflexively, she outmaneuvered him, clasping his wrist, her other hand ready in case he tried something else. Though she did not have her sword with her, she was never truly unarmed.

Seconds passed as they stared at each other, her hand around his wrist. She might have the advantage in a physical confrontation, but she was far tenser than he, with far more to lose. Would he call the Turgonian authorities down on her? Try to have her extradited? Would she have to run? Start all over again?

“Your country needs you,” Shukura said calmly. He never lost his easy smile.

Once, that may have persuaded her, but Kendor had turned its back on her. She would only fight for it again if her children’s safety was at risk. “The country that wants me shot?”

“There’s a message coming in from Mangdoria to their ambassador that my contact was not able to intercept. I don’t know the contents yet, but it is likely a request for assistance. At this time, our people would not find it fortuitous for the Mangdorians to receive Turgonian assistance.”

“Darn.”

Did he think she cared about political machinations? What could this have to do with her?

“Your skills may be of some use in this matter,” he said.

“Potion making?”

“No. As I told you, I’ve learned what you were, as well as who you are.”

“Yeah? Did you get a medal for that notable achievement?”

His smug smile was annoying. She supposed this was another place where sarcasm would not serve her well, but she would have enjoyed it if she could find a way to break through his calm facade and visibly irk him.

“Perhaps it will come in the mail once I’ve achieved my objective,” Shukura said, then his face grew more serious. “Now that I have confirmed that you are here, I will have to report your presence to our government. Unless…”

Ashara stared at him, not giving him anything. She did not want him to know that she was worried, that she was already dreading the idea of running again. She was already so far from her children that it was hard not to feel that she had abandoned them forever.

“If you were to work for me, prove your usefulness once again to Kendor, then perhaps the government would not mind so much if you were alive in another country.”

“You don’t have the power to promise that,” Ashara said.

“I promise nothing but an opportunity.”

She fought the urge to rub her face; that would show him she was rattled. “I’m in school, as you noticed, in the middle of my summer courses.” Courses that wouldn’t have been required if she had done better on her studies this past spring, but required they were. “What is it you want me to do?”

“It will depend on the contents of that note.” For the first time, his lips thinned in annoyance. Irritated that his “contact” had failed to intercept it, was he? “I may need you to travel to Mangdoria.”

“That definitely doesn’t fit into my class schedule.”

“I will speak with your professors if needed.”

Ashara grimaced. She didn’t want him speaking to anyone on her behalf. She wanted him to disappear.

As if she had spoken aloud, he inclined his head and backed away. “Expect to see me again soon.”

“I can’t wait.”

She dropped her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. Mangdoria. What across all of the plains and forests could he want her to do in Mangdoria? It didn’t matter. She didn’t plan to be in her room when he came looking for her again. Even if she could have started a successful business and provided a stable home for her children, she could never apply to be a citizen now, not under the false name she had planned to use or any other. He would be watching her, and he would know. He would tell them about her past, and she would have to flee from yet another nation. There was no future for her here. She wondered if there was a future for her
anywhere
.

• • • • •

Leyelchek “Basilard” of the Walking Bear Clan smoothed the woven grass strands, the tremor in his fingers only slightly less noticeable than the anxious flutters assaulting his stomach. He tried to tell himself that there was no reason to be nervous, but this moment could change his life forever. How could he
not
be nervous?

“Leyelchek?” came a soft call from the gateway to the presidential gardens.

As Basilard turned, gazing over the row of fragrant young lavender bushes and rose vines starting to twine up trellises, the flutters in his stomach increased in intensity, threatening to make him sick. If he threw up at Elwa’s feet, it wouldn’t encourage a positive response to his question.

Since he could not call out to her, thanks to the scar tissue that had formed over his vocal cords after a pit fight years earlier, Basilard raised an arm and waved. Over here, he longed to call. Fortunately, unlike most people, Elwa could understand his hand signs. As soon as she reached him, he would be able to “speak” with her—he had lit a few lanterns in the fading light of the gardens to ensure it. All he had to do was find the courage to sign the words he had rehearsed. And not throw up on her.

Elwa came into sight, a light summer dress swishing about her ankles as she strolled toward him. Her long red hair hung freely around her shoulders, and Basilard gulped, his legs growing weak. At work, when she was serving as his translator, she usually wore it bound in a braid or up in a coiffure. He rarely saw her hair down, where it accented her small, knowing smile, her warm blue eyes, and the smooth glow of her skin.

Needing support, he leaned a hand against the rim of a large pot holding a young maple tree. In his other hand, he clutched the braided cord he had crafted with the blue-green grass from their homeland. So the strands would be supple enough to work with, he’d had to import the seeds and grow the plant fresh here, out on his windowsill. He had carved the flat disk that hung from the grass cord, the Mangdorian flame maple also imported. It was the traditional wood for this purpose.

As Elwa approached, Basilard slid the necklace behind his back, afraid she would see it before he was ready. Before
she
was ready.

“What is it, Leyelchek?” Elwa asked, stopping in front of him.

He loved that she used his real name—that she knew it when so few here did—even if he wasn’t sure he deserved it anymore. The Basilard moniker that the Turgonians had pegged him with seemed all too applicable to him. Sometime in the last few years, he had come to think of himself by it. With all of the knife scars marking his flesh, what was more apt than being named after a blade? The name, and the proof that he had killed often in battle, horrified his pacifist people back home, but as long as it did not horrify Elwa…

She glanced at the darkening sky, at the first stars appearing on the eastern horizon. Wondering why he had asked her to meet him here when the workday was done? She peered up and down the flagstone aisle, the air fresh with the smell of myriad kinds of flowers. It was the perfect night for this, but she seemed to be looking for other people, expecting that he had called her down to some meeting where he would need a translator.

It was time to let her know what he wanted.

Basilard slipped the necklace into his pocket, since he needed both hands to speak with her.
Thank you for coming, Elwa
, he signed, hoping she wouldn’t notice that vexing tremor to his fingers.
I wish to tell you… how much I’ve enjoyed working with you these last six months.
Well, that was true, but it wasn’t what he wished to tell her. Not right now. He glared at his fingers, willing them to get to the point.

“Oh,” Elwa said, her voice as sweet and appealing as the roses behind her. “Thank you. I was nervous when my father chose me, because—” She glanced at the flagstones. “Well, I wasn’t sure what to expect from you. I mean, what it would be like to work with you, after you’d, ah, spent so much time here in Turgonia.”

Basilard found it heartening that she seemed nervous too. Did she have some inkling of what he intended to ask? Was she, too, thinking of life-changing moments? He hoped
that
was the reason she was fumbling her words and not that he was making her uncomfortable.

“I hope you’ve found my service acceptable.” Her forehead wrinkled, as if she worried he might want to relieve her of her position.

That was the furthest thing from his mind, though he did wish they didn’t have the relationship of employer and employee, even if Chief Halemek had made Basilard the ambassador to Turgonia because nobody else wanted to deal with the warrior society and because it had been more comfortable for all if Basilard wasn’t back in his homeland that often. The job didn’t convey any particular power; he was basically a messenger between the two nations.

You are extremely capable,
Basilard signed.
You know far more languages than our insular people usually study, and most importantly, you can understand me
. He raised his eyebrows, hoping the small joke might make her laugh. It always pleased him when he could cause that.

Elwa did not laugh, but she did smile. “I would not be a very good teacher—or student—if I couldn’t. It’s not as if your hand language isn’t based on our people’s hunting signs. Yes, you’ve added many terms, but the basics are there for anyone who knows them.”