King of Swords (The Starfolk) (33 page)

“Inadvisable, Your Highness.”

“Release me!” she shouted, revealing the strain she was under. “You will not forbid me my last farewell.”

“He is right, Talitha,” Vildiar said loudly. “The distemper may prove to be contagious, and we Naos are too precious to risk now.”

For a moment Rigel feared she would ask whose fault that was, but she ignored the murderer and let the mage lead her back to the circle. When Rigel’s gaze returned to the sick man at the center, he realized that Kornephoros had not breathed once during that brief interchange. There was a sigh like a gentle wind through reeds as the watchers came to the inevitable conclusion: the prince’s torment was over. One of the mages crept timidly forward to hold a silver dish over the corpse’s mouth and nostrils and establish that there was no misting.

Prince Vildiar stepped forward, honing in on the gold collar.

Talitha raced in front of him. “Don’t you touch that!”

He raised his hands as if to ward her off. “My sympathy for your sad loss, my dear. He will be sorely missed.”

The mockery in his voice was sickening, and Talitha reacted with more anger.

“You will leave his collar alone. It isn’t yours yet.”

“You are distraught. You should rest. The collar belongs to the realm. I was merely going to take it to Her Majesty with the sad news, which is my duty as the most senior Naos present.”

“The most junior Naos delivers the collar. You want precedents? When Albaldah died it was done that way. When Algorab was killed by—”

“You have a wonderful memory, my dear,” the giant said, “considering that those worthies died long before you were born. But I can quote precedents too.”

“You are both wrong!” Queen Electra stood in the doorway, four steps above them, which made her taller even than Vildiar. She glowed with stars from her ears to practically her waist. Secretary Alfred hovered at her back, no doubt unnoticed by anyone except for Rigel.

Talitha knelt and everyone else followed her lead. “The collar stays with the deceased,” Electra continued, “until his pyre is lit.” She scanned the crowd, which was growing as newcomers crept in at the back through other doorways. “And when the funeral has ended, I shall bestow it upon Prince Vildiar.”

“Your Majesty does me great honor,” the giant said. He was within reach of his lifelong ambition, but he displayed no emotion—he was good at that. Talitha could not hide her distress, yet what could she have expected? By Starlands standards she was centuries too young to rule.

For a long moment the court was silent. Electra seemed to be searching for words. “Kornephoros did his best,” she said at last, “and we must honor him for that. If his best was not good enough, then the fault was mine for imposing on him an office he knew he could not fill, and which he fervently did not want.”

Was that a dig at a prince who wanted it far too much? She sent a meaningful glance then, not at her new heir designate, but at Rigel. What was she trying to tell him? She started to speak again, then shook her head. Alfred stepped forward, a diminutive human alongside a towering starborn. The queen laid a hand on his shoulder and went back inside, leaning on him.

Another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. It fit well.

Talitha had insisted that the queen would never lose her head over a hulking gardener. No, Electra had probably never lost her head over any male, starborn or otherwise, but she was one tough-minded lady, capable of setting bears on people to attract their attention. Rigel had no trouble imagining her cold-bloodedly ordering some young hunk to strip and climb into her bed.

Alfred was still a well-built, handsome man. Using expressions like “pseudo-Victoriana kitsch,” he was certainly no gardener. He was most definitely a full-blooded human; he showed no elfin characteristics, and did not even project his name. Starfolk wouldn’t notice, for they took no account of age, but Rigel could tell that he could not possibly be older than a well-preserved forty. What qualifications could he possibly have possessed twenty-two years ago to be appointed Her Majesty’s private secretary? It was much easier to imagine him playing the role of bed warmer.

He had been curiously tolerant that evening when a certain young halfling had chosen to get cheeky. One gets you ten that Secretary Alfred had last seen that halfling twenty-one years ago, in Winnipeg, when he was a terrified teenager, panicking as his newborn son screamed for care and his lover bled to death. If that were true, the last person Electra would ever admit it to was Rigel himself, who was older now than Alfred could have been then.

Yes, a very tough lady.

And that meaningful look she had given him when she appointed Vildiar her heir? Rigel bore the king of swords. She had arranged for him to be given the helmet Meissa. He had everything that a well-outfitted assassin needed. No starborn could rid the Starlands of the usurper Vildiar and prevent him from murdering again—but Rigel Halfling could, an invisible
killer with an invisible sword. It was his duty to both his mother and the woman he loved.

Lies, lies, and more lies. Rigel Halfling, Lord High Executioner.

F
ollow me!” Talitha took off at a run.

The portal was just closing behind the queen and her companion. Talitha elbowed past a group of starfolk to reach it before they did. She pulled it open, and Rigel followed her through it into musty-smelling darkness. She closed the door behind them, and opened it onto a place he had never seen before. Then again, and again.

“Um?”

“Just making sure we aren’t followed,” she said.

Again they went through, but this time he could smell the sea, and moonlight threw a bluish gleam on stone walls covered in inscriptions. They were back in the palace at Canopus. They might never have left the city, but location was irrelevant in the Starlands.

Talitha found an open window with a view of black trees and white roofs in moonlight. “Harpy!”

Rigel could hear the distant murmur of surf, but the only noise from the city itself was the faint screeching of a cat fight. “We’re going to rescue Izar?”

“I can’t leave him in the hands of those monsters! We have about a quarter of the night left. He’ll have to wake up soon.”

“You mean…” Of course Izar would have put himself into a deep trance; that was his standard way of dealing with any difficulty. “Let’s get to it, then.”

A harpy flopped down on the window ledge. “The shame of it, the shame of it!” It croaked. “Why are you dragging this poor wretch around the palace at this time of night, when he so desperately wants to get you back into bed? Just look at the bulge in his—”

“Silence! Tell Wasat Halfling to meet me at Miaplacidus immediately. Go now, and don’t argue.”

Grumbling obscenities, the smelly bird departed.

Talitha started to walk along the shadowy corridor, and Rigel followed. Their bare feet made no sound on the polished granite floor. White moonlight lay in slabs under each of the great windows.

“I feel so guilty,” she said.

He took her hand. “About what? Izar?”

“Of course Izar, but I was thinking of Father. I find it very hard to mourn him. He was indifferent when I was a child and tyrannical when I grew up. All my life he was regent, far more concerned about politics than he was about me. Now he’s gone, and all I’m worried about is the realm and the politics. It sounds terrible, but I don’t think I will miss him.”

“Children are eager to share their love. A parent who isn’t loved must have worked very hard to reject their child. My foster mother was a terrible person, really, but I still loved her. I needed her; she needed me. We shared hunger and cold often enough, but the sharing was what mattered. Don’t feel guilty. It was his fault, not yours.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s true. Tell me about your mother.”

“I never really knew her. I was born late in their pairing, after they’d already agreed not to renew it, and she died in a skyboarding accident when I was only two. But I never lacked for love and care. Starfolk are dotty about starlings. I didn’t have to rely on Father.”

“What are you going to do once we have Izar back?”

“Run away,” she said firmly, tightening her grip on his hand. “Extrovert with you and Izar and a sack of gold, and live happily ever after. How does that sound? It will have to wait until Izar can dissemble well enough to hide his ears, but that won’t take very long at the rate he’s going.”

“Sounds like a sad loss for the Starlands, but I’d be happy. Total debauchery. Are you serious?”

“It may be the best way out, except I think I’d always be waiting for Hadar to kick my door in. Have you a better suggestion?”

Better but not good. “I could kill Vildiar for you. Or die in the attempt.”

She stopped and swung around to face him. “No! How can you even suggest it? You would be as bad as Hadar!”

The moon was at his back, and the way its light refracted in her eyes was glorious. “But it’s your only chance of ever leading a normal life.” Or any life.

“Doesn’t matter! You mustn’t even think it.”

“I understand that you can’t directly order me to do it, or you’d be killing yourself with the guilt curse, but if you just—”

“No! No! I am ordering you
not
to do it! You’re not a mudling, anyway. You have free will and discretion. You could refuse the order, so the curse wouldn’t apply.”

“Right,” he said, pushing the argument to its insane conclusion, “I understand. Don’t worry. I’ll exercise my free will. And discretion. It will be a very discreet assassination.”

“No!”
she screamed. “I forbid you to kill anyone, anyone at all! Except in self-defense, I mean.”

He had the free will to refuse that order too. “Or to save you?”

“I suppose so.”

“Or Izar.”

“Yes…”

“So Vildiar has to go.”

“No!
Oh, Rigel,
stop it
! You’re tying me in knots.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, pressing his cheek to hers. He was ready to accept a kiss if it was offered, but he wouldn’t push his luck. No kiss came, but she did cooperate in the hugging. They were wearing only moon-cloth wraps, so it was very nearly whole-body contact; she had to be just as conscious as he was of the instant reaction in his groin. He kissed the side of her neck cautiously, unsure of whether starfolk could get hickeys.

“Stars!” She broke free. “No, we mustn’t! I want to, want to, want to, but we mustn’t.”

He drew a few deep breaths in an effort to regain control. “Sorry.”

She took his hand and smiled wanly. “I’m not, it was wonderful—but not yet, please. Maybe someday. Soon, I hope.”

“That’s a promise?”

“Almost. We must go.”

They set off into the moonlight. He was tremendously relieved to know that she truly did not want him to kill Vildiar, whether it was because she really didn’t want him to or because it would be too dangerous to have him do it. He loved
her so much for it that he would have to kill Vildiar anyway, of his own free will, just to keep her safe.

Soon after that they saw a glow ahead and when they rounded the next corner, sunlight was streaming out from the doorway of the royal archives. The treasury portal had been opened, and it was always noon in Miaplacidus. Shielding their eyes against the glare, they stepped through.

“Two!” said Anubis. “Three.”

Wasat trudged over the sand to meet them, looking rumpled, stubbled, and understandably curious to learn why he’d been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night. He bowed stiffly to Talitha; gave Rigel a smile and a nod. “How may I serve Your Highness?”

“Basilisk masks,” Talitha said. “Five of them.”

“No!” The old man recoiled, shocked. “You are not serious?”

“I am extremely serious and very much in a hurry. Now give me what I need, or I shall order Rigel to chop you into small pieces.”

“She means that she will have me shake you vigorously,” Rigel said. “It will be very horrible.”

Still Wasat hesitated, chewing his lip. “I heard about Izar…”

“I shall count to three,” said Rigel the henchman. “Starting at two.”

Wasat shrugged and led the way to the most distant of his storerooms. He hefted a box down from a high shelf and counted out five strips of flimsy cloth, like silver gauze. Talitha stretched one over her eyes to look through it.

“That will do,” she said, removing it. “And the deadliest fire amulets you have.”

“Your retainer already has the best there is,” Wasat grumbled, but he produced a finger ring for her to wear as well. “You must never use this against a starborn, Highness. It will kill.”

“Good. What else do you have that will kill? Something unexpected?”

Shaking his head in misery, he produced yet another box of rings. “Throwing knives,” he said. “Only one throw per ring. They never miss, but they are so rare that nobody ever carries a defense against them.”

“Rare why?” Rigel asked suspiciously.

“Because it’s much more effective to have a bow ring on one hand and an arrow ring on the other. Far greater range, faster rate of fire.”

Talitha accepted four of the rings, Rigel three. If those weren’t enough to protect him on top of Saiph and whatever the masks did, he was sure to die anyway.