Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) (26 page)

***

Razem spent the entire journey back to Tamnen City agonizing over the words he had exchanged with his father before they parted. He should have learned from his experience with Azmei. He should have held his tongue, kept his temper in check. He should have thought first of his father and only second of himself. What must Marsede be feeling as he lay injured and in pain, without his son near? Who would sit with him and watch over him and keep him company? What if Marsede died before Razem got home?

It was probably a good thing Razem had Kho's company of soldiers with him; they forced him to stop when he would have pressed on, insisting that rest was necessary for the horses as well as the men. When Razem was particularly impatient, Arisanat had reminded him that riding a horse to death would not get him to the capital any sooner, and might delay them needlessly.

Razem found himself missing Hawk's strange introspection and odd pauses before speaking. He hadn't realized before how he had grown used to the man, despite the fact Hawk had not turned out to be quite the war hero Razem had been hoping for.

No, that wasn't right. Hawk
was
a war hero. But he wasn't...well, a hawk. He didn't seem to glory in past victories or relish the thought of new ones. He seemed to yearn more for a life of peace in Rivarden than any continued involvement with the war against the Strid. What was more, it didn't seem rooted in any love of Strid that he had acquired during his time there. Razem knew there would be some who argued Hawk had been subverted during his captivity, but that was not the impression Razem had. It was just that Hawk knew the true cost of war, and deemed it too high a price to pay.

This knowledge, combined with Razem's guilt and worry over his father's health, made the ride back to Tamnen City very uncomfortable.

What would happen when he got to the palace? Would there be people in the streets, calling for justice for their king? Would everyone blame the assassination attempt on the Strid? Razem would be inclined to, except that Strid had never claimed credit for Azmei's assassination. At first he had taken that for a realization that they had crossed a line. But as the war continued, he had realized the Strid felt no shame for Azmei's death. It had not been until recently, since meeting that Strid Commander, Elin Ayowir, and spending time with Hawk, that Razem had begun to wonder if that meant, actually, that they had not had anything to do with it.

Marsede had suggested it more than once, saying there were too many things they did not know, and too many things they might never know. But Razem had never been willing to listen. And now, he thought, gulping against a sudden wash of grief, now he might never have the chance to repent and listen to his father's opinions.

The day they reached the capital, Razem had a raging headache. He had thrashed and tossed on his cushions all night, hours of sleeplessness interspersed with snatches of sleep plagued by nightmares. After the last of these nightmares, he'd got up and paced around the inside of the tent until he heard someone calling the morning waking. He'd managed to eat half a bowl of corn porridge for breakfast, but the taste of the pork diced into it had turned his stomach.

So he rode into Tamnen City with the cowl of his robe pulled low over his eyes to shield them from the sun, his memories wandering back to the debilitating headaches Azmei had had from time to time. He missed his sister desperately.

Captain Ysdra met Razem's party before they were halfway to the palace. He saluted the prince and fell in beside him, rightly assuming the prince's bearing meant he was less interested in ceremony than in reaching the palace quietly and quickly.

"Your Highness, I am very glad to see you," the man said. "Your father's condition is unchanged, and the healers have hope that he may improve once he hears of your arrival, but..."

Razem let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He had assumed his father still lived, since the city wasn't draped in black. But that was a very low threshold. If his father had slipped into that permanent unconsciousness that usually ended in death, that would have been kept quiet until he drew his last breath. Then again...

"That is assuming my father is no longer angry with me," Razem murmured.

"No, my lord, he has been asking for you. He says there are things he must tell you, things he cannot tell anyone but you. Your man has been sitting by him, night and day, serving the king in your absence."

"Gendo. Bless him." Razem swallowed hard. "I wish I had been here with him. It seems every choice I make lately is the wrong one." He sighed.

"Were you successful in exchanging the prisoners, your highness?"

Razem grunted. "I did manage that much. I even threw celebrations at every step of the journey between Salishok and Rivarden, though goodness knows some of the villages had little enough to celebrate with. Not to mention it slowed your people finding me." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing the throbbing would subside. "Lord-General Kho has been invaluable to me. I shall require you to continue on in the capacity you have been serving here. I need Kho with me at all times. You'll brief him when we reach the palace, and then he will report back to me."

"Very good, Your Highness."

They had reached the palace grounds. As they passed inside the palace walls, the clatter of horses' hooves on flagstones echoed off the stone walls, making Razem wince. "Gods above and below, this head will overmaster me," he grumbled.

"I'll have one of the healers prepare a tisane to ease your pain, highness," Ysdra said. "Your father is resting in his bedchamber. Shall I send the tisane to you there?"

"Yes, I'll go straight to my father. I cannot rest until I see him." Razem dismounted and threw the reins to the stable boy who was waiting. "Thank you, Ysdra. I see why Kho calls you indispensable."

Ysdra flushed with pleasure and saluted.

Razem kept his cowl pulled low as he made his way through the palace to his father's bedchamber. He was grateful for the soft soles of his boots; they let him walk softly, loosening his hips and rolling his feet to keep his brain from jarring inside his skull. As soon as he had seen his father, he promised himself, he would have a hot bath.

It was a promise that would take a long time to keep.

"The king has been asking for you, highness." Gendo's eyes had dark swathes under them, and his stubbled cheeks seemed hollower than they had a few weeks ago.

Razem abandoned propriety and embraced his manservant. Gendo, a handful of years older than Razem, froze for several heartbeats before one hand tentatively came up to touch Razem's back. With a shaky breath, Razem squeezed him more tightly and then released him, straightening. He blinked fiercely, trying to keep from falling to pieces now.

"Thank you, Gen," he whispered, and brushed past him to enter his father's bedchamber.

"His highness Prince Razem, my lord," murmured a soft-voiced healer who rose from the chair by Marsede's bed. Razem's stomach flipped at the tone. He remembered that tone from his childhood. It was a soothing voice, a voice that urged you not to excite or upset the patient. It was a voice that meant your mother was going to die. Or your father?

He swallowed and threw himself into the chair the healer had vacated. His headache was forgotten as he took in the bandages wrapped around Marsede's head and the one hand that rested atop the coverlet. He barely noticed the healer slipping out of the room.

"Father. I am so sorry. I came as quickly as I could."

Marsede opened his remaining eye and looked at him. As soon as his gaze found Razem's, his lips parted in a beatific smile.

"There you are," he said. "I have been waiting for you. There is so much I must tell you."

"Father, I love you," Razem blurted. "I'm sorry I argued with you. I've been so ungrateful—"

"No, no, never mind that." Marsede's voice strengthened. His bandage-clad hand lifted and touched Razem's clumsily. "You're here now. And I love you, son. More than you will ever know." He took a series of shallow breaths.

"What can I do, father?"

"The pain will pass. The problem is with the drugs they give me to ease it." Marsede rolled his head so he could look more directly at Razem. "I fade in and out after my dose, and I cannot afford that now that you are here."

Razem tried to smile. "What do you have to tell me that can't wait?" Sleeping gods, was his father dying? Ysdra had said the healers thought he would recover. Hadn't he?

"Much of plots, and plots upon plots." Marsede closed his eye, lines marring his forehead. "And I must ask you to forgive me, Razem, for I have done you a great wrong."

"Never—" Razem began, but Marsede opened his eye and fixed him with so stern a look that he subsided.

"Do me the courtesy of believing that I understand the magnitude of my sin, Razem," he said. "I have lied to you. To all of our people. Your sister is alive."

The wind whooshed out of Razem's lungs. If he hadn't already been sitting, he would have fallen. His jaw dropped open and he stared at his father, his brain scrabbling for words but unable to grasp any. Azmei— But— "Wha— But—" he stuttered, staring.

"You must tell no one!" Marsede's grip tightened on Razem's and he pulled his torso up from the bed. "No one, Razem! Promise me!"

"Promise," Razem repeated, more because he feared his father would hurt himself than out of any agreement. But— "I don't understand."

Marsede subsided back against the bed. "It was for her safety as well as for ours. She did nearly die. Feigning her death seemed plausible. But the Ranarri Diplomat who told me about the assassination attempt also told me that she intended to go into hiding until those behind the attempt could be uncovered."

"The Strid—"

"No," Marsede's voice was heavy. "Almost certainly not. Someone here. Someone within Tamnen." His lips curved in a smile that spoke of weary exhaustion. "You see now why I could offer you no proof, but why I was so adamant."

Razem bowed his head, eyes stinging. Azmei was alive. He was stunned, but there was an edge of joy so deep it was nearly pain. He nodded. "I see now," he whispered. "Father, what a burden for you."

"Don't pity me. I saw how it destroyed you, and I still kept it from you." Marsede's voice was even. "I knew what I was doing, Razem. I am sorry."

"I forgive you." It was easy, he found. Not only because his father might be dying, but because Azmei was alive. Because Razem had done what his father had ordered and shown Hawk honor. Because his sister had done as she promised, and protected and served her father and brother.

"There is more. The man who—protected her. Tanvel of Ranarr. He is the reason I still live." Marsede panted for a moment, his face twisted into a grimace.

"Father, can't you rest—"

"
No!
" Marsede's voice was a hoarse gasp. "I don't know how long I will have to tell you all this, Razem," he whispered. "And you must know it all."

Razem nodded. "Very well, then, Father. Tell me it all."

Marsede was silent for several long breaths. Razem almost wondered if his father had lapsed into sleep before he spoke. "You know I was in the Hallowed City when they attacked?" He opened his eye and looked at Razem, who nodded. "I had only Tzen with me. The others were at the entrance to the Hallowed City. Tzen..." He trailed off. The old manservant had been with Marsede nearly forty years. Razem had grown up loving Tzen like an uncle. He realized suddenly that the man must be dead.

"Go on," he whispered.

"Four attackers. Two were Tamnese, two from the Long Coast. I had my blade, but...When they got Tzen, I...I dropped my guard. They would have killed me outright if it hadn't been for Tanvel."

"Who was Tanvel? The Ranarri?"

"Yes. The man who trained Azmei." Marsede's smile was grim. "He is a Ranarri Diplomat, but not the sort we are used to."

"There's another sort?"

"The Shadow Diplomats. Skilled assassins." Pain lanced across Marsede's face and he lifted his bandaged hand for a cup of water.

The man who trained Azmei. Trained her in what? Razem poured the water for his father and held it to his lips, lifting his head gently with his other hand. Was Princess Azmei of Tamnen now an assassin for the Ranarri?

"So it wasn't the Strid?" Razem prompted when Marsede was done drinking.

"Tanvel and Azmei had been following the trail of her would-be killers for three years." Marsede sounded stronger. "He sent Azmei to Meekin. She went to exact justice from the Perslyn Family."

"Perslyn—that's the girl who was killed in the attack against Azmei."

"Not just the girl," Marsede corrected. "The assassin. That girl traveled with Azmei to Ranarr with the express purpose of stopping the treaty. She traveled from within our own kingdom, Razem. She was hired with Tamnese gold. Hired by someone of our people who wants no peace with Strid."

"Gods," Razem blurted. "I'm lucky you didn't think it was me."

Marsede gave him a look that expressed how patently ridiculous the statement was. "The pool of possible suspects is far too deep, I fear. But Tanvel believed he had found proof that it was one of the major Families. He sent Azmei to Meekin partly to look for the final proof of who had hired the Perslyns."