Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (2 page)

"And you have done it well," he assured her. He was silent for a moment before clearing his throat. "You will have no aid in Meekin. There will be an observer, of course, but you will not know who it is. Be certain, though, that whatever you do will be noted."

Azmei drained her soup. "You said I had a decision to make," she said, and the words echoed back to her from their first meeting, when he had told her she must decide whether to publicly survive the assassination or go into hiding and play dead. He had always left the difficult decisions to her. It was one of many reasons that she loved him--he never treated her as if she were incapable of making those decisions, even if she made the wrong choice.

"I did indeed." Tanvel set his bowl aside and took a long pull from a tankard. "You may return to Ranarr as a Dedicate to the god of peace. Or you may return to Tamnen as her princess. Once we have destroyed the Perslyn brood in its den and uncovered its patron, there will be no more reason for you to remain in hiding. You will be free to live the life you had planned for yourself."

Azmei stared at him, almost wishing he hadn't said it. Of course it had occurred to her, but wishful thinking was one thing. Tanvel presenting it as an option was another thing entirely.

"The life my father had planned for me, you mean," she murmured.

"Perhaps so, but it was the life you were prepared to live, before you met me." Tanvel was watching her. Azmei couldn't identify the strange gleam in his eyes. Did he want her to remain a Shadow Diplomat? Did he think she should return to her old life? And if she did, should she marry Vistaren as planned? Would it truly make any difference in the war now?

Azmei lifted her own tankard. "What do you think I should do, master?"

She saw the surprise bloom in his eyes. She had asked his opinion many times in the past three years, but it was obvious he hadn't anticipated the question. He turned his gaze down into the depths of his tankard, jaw working.

"I do not know," he said finally. His voice was low. "You are the finest student I have ever trained. True, you have stronger motivation to learn than any of the rest of my students. But you have an aptitude for intrigue and understanding people. It would serve you well as a Shadow Diplomat, even though you lack faith in the peace god." He licked his lips. "And yet..." He studied her face. "And yet, I think the world could use a queen such as you would be. You were already well on the path to being a fine queen for the Amethirian Empire. You won Vistaren's loyalty and the loyalty of two of his finest servants. You charmed the Ranarri people, who are seldom impressed by outsiders. I believe you would be good for this world."

Azmei stared at him. Never had he spoken to her like this before. She felt her throat tighten and fought against a sudden upswelling of emotion.

"And there is this: as queen, you might be in a position to end the war between Tamnen and Strid. As Shadow Diplomat, you almost certainly never would."

Having spoken his piece, Tanvel sucked down the rest of his tankard of ale and stood. "Do not think on it overmuch, Aevver. Get through the test. Things may look much different after you have had your justice."

Chapter 2

Prince Razem Corrone had been angry, off and on, for most of the past four years, since the Dinnsan Massacre. His favorite cousin Venra had been killed in the final defense of Dinnsan, along with nearly two thousand of Tamnen's best-trained warriors.

Razem had simmered with anger through Venra's funeral, barely able to meet his cousin Arisanat's red-rimmed eyes as the man wept for his younger brother. It had been Azmei who had comforted Arisanat. It had been Azmei who had spoken so eloquently of Venra's generous spirit and kind sense of humor that all the other hardened warriors at the funeral had wept along with her. It had been Azmei who spent the next month with Venra's family, ensuring they wanted for nothing that she could provide. Razem had served as a poor representative for his father at the funeral, then pushed his horses all the way back to Tamnen City, where he had urged his father to mount a counter-offensive that would retake Dinnsan and push the Strid out of the Kreyden District forever.

When Azmei had come home and agreed to a marriage treaty with the Amethirian Empire, Razem's anger had burst out at her as well. They had argued almost until the day she set sail to meet the boy she had agreed to marry. Razem didn't know what grace had led him to make his peace with her before she left, but he was grateful for it. It had been the last time he saw his sister.

He heard someone knock on the door to his chambers, but he ignored it. His head was throbbing, and though he'd meant to be up before dawn, he'd let himself linger in bed. It had been a mistake, as it always was. Whenever he slept past sunrise, his dreams turned foul. Razem didn't bother listening to the lowered conversation. Gendo would tell him if it were important.

The door closed. Gendo's footsteps were soft on the marble floor. "Prince Razem? His Majesty requires your presence in the council chambers."

Curiosity flickered to life in the back of Razem's mind. That was new, at least. His father hadn't much use for him lately. "Did he say what the matter is?"

"I'm sorry, highness. I told the messenger you would attend the king with all speed."
With a groan, Razem climbed from his bed. He rushed through his ablutions and let Gendo dress him in clothes appropriate for the council. Twenty minutes later, he presented himself to his father and the council.

"My lord father, you summoned me." He didn't actually wish to be obstreperous. But when he glanced up at his father, he saw that Marsede looked troubled, but not angry.

"I did, Razem. Thank you for your promptness." The king was not an old man. He was not yet sixty. And yet he looked older than his years. The war with Strid had aged him, Razem thought, and Azmei's death had been yet another blow to his health. Life had not been kind to Marsede Corrone.

Life did not seem to be in the business of kindness.

"How may I serve, Father?"

Marsede gestured for Razem to take a seat at the council table. Razem obeyed, glancing around at the assembled faces. Lady Riman of the Second Family, Lord Birona of the Third Family, Lady Tel of the Fourth Family, those were all expected. Lord Belnat of the Sixth Family was less so, though he was well liked and . Arisanat should have been there, as the head of the First Family, yet he was absent. The Fifth Family had no representative currently on the council, though they were ever in the king's heart, since Queen Izbel had been of the Fifth.

"I have just finished explaining to the council that I have been negotiating with the Strid this season," Marsede said. "Not for peace, as that would please none of our people and solve no problems, but yet for common ground, from which we may eventually reach some truce that would end the fighting while we attempt true peace talks."

"What!" Razem bounced back out of his seat, mouth open, but his father was already gesturing for him to sit down and be silent. Razem swallowed his protests but remained standing, glaring defiantly at his father.

"Sit you down, son." Marsede's voice was harder than it had been a moment before. "You will hear me before I listen to your diatribe against the Strid. I am weary of war. My council is weary of war. My people are weary of war. It would not surprise me were the gods themselves weary of this war. The only people gaining from this war are those who supply the army with weapons and armor and food." Lord Birona shifted in his seat, but didn't speak.

"And Azmei's murderers!" Razem burst out. "Have you forgotten about your murdered daughter?"
"How could I?" Marsede's voice crackled harshly. "Did I not raise her? Did I not dandle her upon my knee? Do not lecture me about your sister, boy!"

Around the table, several of the assembled counselors shifted in place. Razem swallowed the accusations he had been ready to spew. His face grew hot. His father had never spoken to him thus in front of the council. They had exchanged plenty of heated words in private, but never in public. Suddenly he wished very much to be back in the practice ring with Kho instead of here in the council chamber. He dropped back into his chair without a word.

"I have weighed all these things in my heart, and I have come to believe that Azmei would wish us peace. She went to Ranarr in the name of peace. She accepted Vistaren of Amethir's marriage proposal in the name of peace. And yes, she even died in the name of peace. Why would she then wish war upon us, when she made the ultimate sacrifice attempting to bring us peace?" Marsede rose from his chair and paced slowly along the length of the table.

Razem didn't know if his father was expecting him to respond. He wasn't sure what he would say. Azmei might counsel peace if she were here. But if she were here, Razem would have no need to argue.

"I have sent emissaries in secret to speak with the Strid. One of the Diplomats who traveled here after Azmei's death was willing to negotiate on our behalf. He has been half a year in Lindira, and finally he has accomplished at least one of the objectives we gave him." Marsede stopped pacing and placed his hands on the table, leaning in to look at each of them in turn.

Razem wondered if he was supposed to ask. He didn't. His father had told him to be silent, as if he were a small boy. Very well, he would be silent.

Marsede leaned forward still further. "The Strid have agreed to give us Jacin Hawk."

For a stunned moment no one spoke. The counselors looked around at each other, mouths open but silent. Razem stared at his father, wondering why Emran Kho wasn't here. What would Kho do if Hawk came back to the Tamnese army? Kho had been his commander, but everyone had known it was Hawk who directed the movements of the soldiers, Hawk who was the truly brilliant strategist.

The silence dragged on so long it was becoming uncomfortable. Razem could see that Lady Tel wished to speak, but she only stared at the king. Lord Belnat was gnawing on his lower lip with such fervor that Razem wondered if it would be bloody when he left the council chambers. Lord Birona's shrewd gaze was turned, not on Marsede, but on Razem.

Razem cleared his throat and stood again. "At what price?" he bit out.

Marsede met his gaze. "We are returning their Duke Oler."

"The Deranged Duke!" Razem burst out. "Father, have you gone mad? Duke Oler slaughtered women and children! He put the aged to the sword and spared no nursing mother! How can you--"

"Because he has no health left to him, and we would let him die in his homeland," Marsede interrupted. "He is a frail old man himself, now, and I will take any advantage I have that might yield me a temporary truce. If they will give us our Hawk in exchange for their dying Duke, I will take that trade."

"Damn you," Razem growled. "You are not the father I thought I had."

"And you are not the son I would wish for!" Marsede snapped. "But you will go to Salishok, and you will exchange their damned duke for our war hero Jacin Hawk, and that is final!" He slapped his palm against the wooden table with a crack that made Lord Belnat jump.

Razem drew himself up until he felt as if his spine were a sword. His gaze locked with his father's and his heart begin pounding in his chest. But he had never seen his father so implacable before. Even when he sent Azmei off to the highest bidder in Amethir, he had been apologetic rather than authoritarian. Today there was a light in his golden eyes that made them seem as if they could burn right through Razem. He dared no further protest.

"I will serve as I am ordered," he gritted out, "but I will not like it."

"I do not ask you to." Marsede's gaze was steely. "Bring Jacin Hawk home in one piece. Shower him with all honor and glory. Give him every courtesy. Flaunt him as a hero in Salishok and every city and village and hamlet between there and Tamnen City." He drew himself up to his full height. "And when you have done that, you may beg my forgiveness and all may yet be well."

Razem could feel his teeth cutting into his lips, but he refused to show his father any expression besides defiance. Who, he wondered, would tell Lord Arisanat? It wouldn't be Razem, that much he would swear to. "If that is all," he said.

Marsede made him wait for an answer. He looked around at the group of nobles shifting in their seats and refusing to meet anyone's gaze. He lowered himself into his seat and tapped his fingers on the carved wooden arm. Finally, when Razem thought he would burst, Marsede said, "The lord-general will accompany you. Speak to General Kho about your escort."

Razem forced himself to bow, his gaze never leaving Marsede's face. He left the council chambers without looking at any of the other members of the king's council. He hoped he could eventually forget everyone who had witnessed this confrontation. He wouldn't like to hold it against them for being present when his father provoked the argument.

As he strode through the vast stone corridors of the palace, he considered and discarded a dozen things he should have said to his father in response to his cowardly pacifism. Nothing was sufficient to convey the depth of his rage, though. No words could capture the gut-twisting hatred he felt for the Strid. He wanted to march all the way to the Strid capital and raze it. He wanted to leave nothing but a path of ashes from the border of their kingdoms to the lavish palace where Prince Anderlin lived his depraved, debauched life.

"You could set the building alight with your eyes, I believe, Prince Razem." Emran Kho himself, dressed in his characteristic linen and wool, breeches tucked neatly into his boot tops, shirt buttoned to the neck. He was a tall man with black skin and broad shoulders, and Razem had always privately thought he had the most wistful smile in the world. Their relationship had always been distant, but polite.

Razem's rage boiled over. "Did you know what the king was planning?"

Kho straightened, his hands loose at his sides. "I knew I would receive orders today, highness, if that is what you mean. But I did not--still do not--know what those orders may be."

His forthright address soothed the roughest of Razem's temper, though it did not make him any more patient. Razem scowled and folded his arms across his chest.

"My father, in his infinite wisdom, has agreed to a prisoner exchange with Strid. You and I are to travel to Salishok with Duke Anyet Oler so we can get the Hawk back from his Strid prison cell."

The effect these words had on Kho disappointed Razem. The general didn't even blink. He merely said, "So that is the king's will. When shall we leave?"

Razem opened his mouth to respond, then drew in a long breath. He was going to have to travel halfway across the kingdom with Kho, and he had always liked the man. He didn't need to be at odds with him. "The king didn't see fit to inform me," he said, only a hint of acid in his voice. He took another breath, feeling his heartbeat slow infinitesimally. "But I imagine we leave at our earliest possible convenience."

Kho nodded. "Am I to attend the king?"

"He told me to consult with you about the escort." Razem finally mastered himself enough to smile crookedly at Kho. "I assume that means you and I are to plan all the details, subject to his approval."

"Very good, highness. Shall I accompany you to your quarters? We shall begin planning at once."

***

"--and that's for Da when he gets back from the quarry!"

Arisanat paused in the passageway and glanced at a passing servant. The man moved closer. "The Lady Rija is within, my lord," he murmured. "She and Master Variden have a...project, I believe they are calling it."

Arisanat raised an eyebrow and tiptoed to the archway into his son's rooms.

"I think he'll like it," Rija was saying. "You got her hair and eyes right. Will you give it to him now? I think I heard his carriage in the courtyard."

"Not until it's done. I haven't got Uncle Venra in it yet."

Arisanat's throat tightened. Variden had only been four when Venra was killed. He couldn't possibly remember much about his uncle, but Arisanat and Rija talked about him to Variden. He drew in a long breath and stepped back from the archway.

"By the winds, I come home after a long journey and the only one to greet me is the chamberlain? Don't I have a son, or did the horse traders finally steal him away?"

"Da!" There was a clatter inside the room and then Variden ran out to the passage. He launched himself into Arisanat's arms.

"Oof--you're too big, I'll drop you," Arisanat teased, pretending to lose his grip. Variden shrieked with laughter and wrapped his arms and legs around his father. Arisanat kissed his son's temple. "Did you miss your da, Vari?"