Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (51 page)

“I know lots of people,” Maldynado assured him. “Lots of people who would love to do me favors.”

“Women people?” Amaranthe asked.

“Naturally. I’m sure I could find a business owner who could use a chief of security.”

Basilard grimaced again, this time at the idea of being consigned to a life that involved violence. He caught Ashara watching him, but couldn’t quite read the expression on her face. Mostly, she appeared to be tired and in pain. He wished he could do something for her.

“Perhaps an assistant chef, Basilard?” Amaranthe suggested.

“I don’t know.” Maldynado scratched his jaw. “Not everybody appreciates a man who forages for his weeds in disreputable alleys.”

They’re herbs, not weeds,
Basilard signed, reflexively responding to the old argument.

The idea of working in a culinary capacity was more intriguing than spending his days as a security guard, but it also sounded a touch… sedate. Like something he might be interested in trying in another twenty years, after he had seen more of the world and had a few more adventures. He snorted at himself. After the madness of the last week, was it crazy that he longed for employment that involved adventures? Probably so.

“If they’re growing where people throw their refuse and where dogs water them, they’re weeds,” Maldynado said.

I will consider my employment opportunities this fall.
Basilard nodded at Maldynado to let him know he appreciated the help, if not the condemnation of foraged herbs.
I must first aid Ashara with a problem, if she is still interested in my assistance
. He raised his eyebrows in her direction.

Ashara raised her brows in return. Had she not expected him to bring this up again? He certainly owed her a favor for her help this past week. A number of favors.

“I will have to heal fully before thinking about that,” Ashara said slowly. “And make sure I have a home that is suitable for, uhm—” She glanced at her audience. Mahliki had found her dusty, smashed pack and was rooting in it, and Amaranthe and Sicarius were murmuring to each other, but Maldynado watched brightly, seeming to think he was a part of the conversation. “Yes,” Ashara said, “I will return to Turgonia with you, for now.”

Basilard meant to nod but found himself smiling, pleased that she would come back with them. He hoped she might find a future that was better than her past. He wasn’t sure what to hope for when it came to himself.

Epilogue

The sound of voices came through the door, but Ashara could not hear what they said.

“You don’t think he’s getting in trouble, do you?” she whispered.

Basilard stood beside her in one of the wide hallways of Montichelu Manor, the one that happened to run past the president’s office. He kept plucking at the fringes of his buckskin shirt. Ashara had also been resisting the urge to fidget. She understood why
Basilard
had been ordered in to see the president, but why her? And how much would he know about her when she walked into his office? He’d had plenty of time to do some research—or have some research
done
—on who she was. Ashara might have helped out with Mahliki’s mission, but she doubted the president would like what he found in her past.

I don’t think so,
Basilard signed.
Their voices aren’t raised.

“I’ve had plenty of superiors initiate disciplinary action upon me without raising their voices.”

Basilard arched his eyebrows in her direction.
Oh? Were you a troublemaker?

“I had an independent streak. The army doesn’t like that.” Though it was probably what had led to her being chosen for the night stalkers. That was one position where being able to work independently had been valued.

That sounds like a yes.

She didn’t deny it. His eyes had an appealing twinkle as he signed the words. She wondered if he would look at her in such a friendly manner if he found out about her former profession. Or
when
he found out. Which might be soon if the president mentioned it in this interview. Maybe she should tell him her last secret before someone else did.

Before she could contemplate that further, the door opened. Corporal Jomrik strode out wearing his black dress uniform. On the way in, he had been mopping sweat from his brow with his handkerchief and scrubbing his hand through his hair. Now, his back was straight, his chin was up, and his eyes gleamed as he thrust his chest toward them, perhaps trying to draw attention to the new medal dangling there.

You don’t look too upset, Corporal
, Basilard signed.

“Must mean the cost of that lorry isn’t coming out of his salary,” Ashara said.

“Not this time. And it’s sergeant now.” Jomrik stepped forward and clasped Basilard’s hands. “Thank you for putting in a recommendation for me.”

You’re welcome
, Basilard signed when he had his hands free again.

Jomrik saluted them smartly and strode down the hall.

“I didn’t realize you’d spoken to the president already.” Ashara eyed the open doorway. Jomrik hadn’t shut it behind him, and nobody else had come forward to do so. That probably meant they were next.

I haven’t, but I sent ahead that report I was working on while you and Mahliki were in the village with the healer. It seemed easier to write out some of the news than explain it all in person.

Ashara had no doubt of that, but she suspected that report had come about more because Basilard had been trying to keep himself busy while the injured were attended to, especially since he had not been invited to stay in the village. He hadn’t been out in the woods alone—Maldynado, Amaranthe, and Sicarius had camped with him—but he couldn’t have found it that restive. Ashara had seen him once, up on a ridge, watching over his daughter and a group of children running races and practicing with bows. She’d thought about going up to talk to him, but Elwa had beaten her to it, leaving the village to have a long conversation with him. Ashara had been too far away to hear any of it, but she hoped Basilard had not been hurt further by her words. Whatever had transpired, he had seemed eager to leave when Ashara and Mahliki were well enough to do so. She hadn’t caught him looking back over his shoulder too many times on the trip to the highway.

“What did you tell him about me?” Ashara asked. “I don’t suppose I’ll get a medal.”

Do you want one?

“I’d settle for not being shot.”

Basilard’s brow wrinkled.
Why would you expect that? Because you worked for Shukura? The Turgonians haven’t shot
him
yet.

Ashara did not want to explain that, in addition to being a criminal in her own country, she had killed a few Turgonian operatives, back when she had worked along that border. She hoped Starcrest had no way to know it had been her specifically, but his intelligence people
would
know that Kendorian night stalkers had been responsible. Her association with them might condemn her, even if her specific deeds were unknown.

“He has diplomatic immunity,” was all Ashara said.

Basilard lifted his hands to respond, but a male voice called out to them first.

“Basilard, you’re next. Bring your friend.”

Your friend? Ashara tried to decide if that sounded promising or ominous.

She let Basilard lead the way inside. By habit, she checked the room for danger before turning to face the man waiting for them. Though spacious, the office was more practical than ostentatious, with windows that overlooked the gardens. The large desk was set so that it wouldn’t be in the line of fire, should some sniper visit those gardens with a rifle. The tall, silver-haired man behind it was leaning against the wall instead of sitting in the chair. He appeared fit, and his height and intent eyes gave him an intimidating presence even though he wore relaxed attire devoid of weapons. Since he had been a military officer, Ashara assumed he could still be quite dangerous.

Starcrest nodded to each of them as they entered. Sicarius stood in the corner of the office, also leaning against the wall, his arms folded across his chest in a manner similar to Starcrest’s. She didn’t know if he was to be part of the debriefing, if he had already given his own report, or if Starcrest liked having him there for security purposes. His expression did not give anything away when Ashara looked at him.

“Let’s have the story, Basilard.” The president waved to the two seats in front of his desk.

Basilard walked up to one but did not sit down. Ashara did not know if that invitation extended to her. So far, the president had only glanced in her direction. She preferred to stand, especially since Sicarius would be at her back if she chose one of those chairs. She didn’t expect him to attack her, but it was hard not to feel an itch between one’s shoulder blades when an assassin lurked in the background.

You read my report, sir?
Basilard signed.

“Yes, it was very diplomatic. Feel free to give me the
non
-diplomatic version.”

Ashara found a wall of her own to lean against while Basilard signed the story. She fought the urge to squirm whenever her name came up and Starcrest looked her way. Since her hip and back still ached from that damned fall, squirming would only hurt.

Mostly, Starcrest listened—or watched Basilard’s signs—instead of speaking. A couple of times, he asked Sicarius for clarification on something Basilard had not seen, so Ashara understood why he was there. She still hadn’t figured out why
she
was there. Because Basilard had mentioned her in his report? Because she was to be questioned about the Kendorian presence in Mangdoria? Because he planned to turn her over to her old government?

“So you have no duties back home in your nation?” Starcrest asked, speaking for the first time in several minutes.

Basilard had finished his tale. He shook his head.
No.

“Then you need a job.”

Basilard gazed back at him, blinking a few times.
I am capable of surviving in the wilderness without employment indefinitely, sir, but… one does hope to find more to do than simply surviving.

“And do you feel the same way, Ashara Longbow?” Starcrest looked at her.

Ashara almost fell over, both because she had never given any of them her surname and because he hadn’t spoken to her the entire time she had been in the room. But she couldn’t find his knowledge surprising. Hadn’t she just been thinking that he must have researched her by now?

“I suppose I would agree with that.” Ashara caught herself almost calling him
sir
but reminded herself that he wasn’t
her
military or political leader. She wasn’t a citizen here.

“I understand you are attending the university here, a course for those who wish to become entrepreneurs.”

“Yes.” She licked her lips, uncomfortable because he was gazing at her and also because she couldn’t imagine what he was leading up to. He couldn’t mean to offer
her
a job. Could he? What kind of job could she possibly be qualified for? She was still struggling to read the language here, and she had over a year left until she might have a partial degree at the university.

“Is attending our university your true wish, or were you seeking a route toward citizenship?” Starcrest asked.

Ah, he was familiar with that loophole. Of course he would be. He probably knew everything about… everything. Wasn’t that a requirement of the office?

“Citizenship, sir.”

Damn, how had that
sir
slipped out? He had that military air about him that demanded respect.

“Because you can’t go home.” Starcrest said it like he already knew the answer.

“Not easily, no.” Ashara wondered if she should have pretended to have some more grandiose reason for wanting citizenship here, something more than,
Well, you’re the closest country to my children that’s willing to take people in.

“All right. You’re a citizen.” Starcrest waved a hand at her. “Do you want a job?”

“I… what?” Even if she had been wondering if he had jobs in mind, his hand waving her into citizenship made her falter. Was that even legal? Legitimate? Shouldn’t someone be recording the minutes of the meeting—and the creation of new citizens—into some official file?

“I’m told you have unique skills that would make you a valuable field agent.” Starcrest glanced at Sicarius, who gazed back, his expression bland. Basilard appeared as startled as Ashara. That was somewhat encouraging. She hated to be confused and off balance by herself.

“A field agent?” Ashara asked. “Someone who works for your intelligence department?”

“That’s right. Are you interested?”

“You want me to work for
you
? The enemy of my people? Doing work that might make me go against Kendor?” She knew she should stop gaping with her mouth open, but she couldn’t believe this was happening. How could he ever trust her? Did he think that she would attack those she had once served with if she came face to face with them?

“Are they making you a better offer?”

“Uh.” No, they wanted her dead.

Starcrest turned one palm up, his fingers spread. “We wouldn’t send you to assassinate your government leaders or anything of that nature. I’m certain the desert city-states and our restless overseas friends are busy enough to keep numerous agents employed.”

Restless overseas friends? The Nurians? They weren’t
friends
with anyone.

“Even so, I have… family members in Kendor,” Ashara said. “I wouldn’t want my actions to put them in jeopardy.”

“Basilard said he offered to help you retrieve your children.”

“Oh.” Ashara should have been paying more attention to his gestures. She looked at him now and found him smiling and nodding encouragingly.

“I could send other operatives, as well.” Starcrest glanced at Sicarius again.

Ashara almost gagged on the idea of strolling into her homeland with
him
. Indeed, she had to clear her throat before she could speak. “I would have to think about it, sir.”

“Good. Do so. Let me know.”

Let him know? Should she stroll up to the front door of the building, knock, and ask for a tea party with the president? Or would it be a cider party here? The Turgonians did love their apple beverages.