“I don’t believe you.”
Kira shrugged. “That is your prerogative. But consider this: General Kun shipped off to Fort Edgemar three weeks ago to lead the Lysterian offensive. The first time he has left Burz-al-dun in three years, since he returned from the Ghalamarian campaigns. Did his departure date perchance coincide with a sudden and consistent cancellation of your wife’s tea appointments?”
Nun said nothing for a long time. Ganon laughed drunkenly in the background. He was still holding the crossbow, but one of his Horellian guards had the good sense to unload it.
“I am going to kill that bastard,” Nun concluded.
“I completely understand that desire,” Kira said. “But it will be difficult, given his location. Edgemar is quite restricted with the war.”
“I’ll find a way.”
“I can help, if you wish.”
Nun glared at her. “Why?”
“Because even barbarians know what it’s like to be betrayed. We don’t enjoy it, either.”
Nun said nothing, but he didn’t walk away, either.
“Go see Minister Ato in the morning,” Kira continued. “He will give you everything that you need to exact your revenge.”
Nun’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose you’ll want some favor down the road for this.”
Kira smiled. “Let’s worry about that after you’ve shoved Gra- kus’s cock down his own throat, shall we?”
Nun nodded. “Deal, Empress.”
Vera kept an eye on Nun as he stormed his way through the crowd, leaving the gala.
“Do you see it yet, Vera?”
“I see you filling this gala to the brim with everyone’s shit.”
“They filled their own pots. I’m just stirring things up.”
“To what end?”
“You’ll see.”
Ato and Nun were the only people that Kira manipulated with such graphic fervor, but she flirted and gossiped with ministers for hours. Despite having been the empress of Balaria for only a few months, Kira had managed to perform some small kindness or minor favor to almost every minister in the room. When she hadn’t specifically helped them, a flirtatious touch of a shoulder and glimpse down her low-cut gown was often enough to get a minister talking—and sharing more information than they should. Who was having an affair? Who was addicted to opium? Who worshipped the wrong gods? Who was greedy? Who was loyal? The politicians of Balaria were more than happy to fill Kira’s rumor quiver with ample secrets and leverage. Vera had to admit that Kira’s ability to effortlessly siphon sensitive information from people was impressive.
Up on the dais, Ganon was attempting to reload his crossbow with a dinner fork. One of his Horellian guards—a man named Pij—was trying to get him to stop while the second—Thrash—scanned the crowd with careful, relentless eyes.
There were thirty-three Horellian guards at the gala, but those two typically stayed closest to Ganon, so Vera had learned as much as possible about them. Unlike the widows, who were trained from birth, Horellian guards were hand-plucked from the standard military ranks after proving themselves in battle. Pij and Thrash had both earned their positions by killing Ghalamarians in large quantities during their rebellion ten years ago.
Kira continued mingling. She joked and laughed and built small alliances, one secret at a time. Eventually, she circulated toward the outskirts of the gala and snatched a glass of bubbled wine from a servant.
“This place is more of a rat’s nest than Floodhaven court—everyone vying for the smallest advantage over their peers. No priorities beyond their own self-interest.” Kira took a sip of the wine and surveyed the thinning crowd. “It’s thrilling to make them dance.”
“Thrilling is not the word that I would use.”
“Oh, come on, Vera. Don’t pretend you don’t sometimes feel the same way. Perhaps not from political subterfuge, but I’ve heard stories about the thrill of battle. The bloodlust. Did you not feel that up in the Razorback Mountains, cutting your way through the Skojit to reach me?”
“Bloodlust makes people sloppy. It is a weakness, not an advantage.”
“This is why people joke about widows having ice water in their veins,” Kira said, smiling. “Does my work seem sloppy to you, Vera?”
“It seems risky,” she responded. “If Nun composes himself between now and tomorrow, he might start to wonder why Ato is providing him such special access. They could talk, and your extortion would be revealed.”
“Maybe. But Nun is a very long way from wrapping a rope around his composure.”
“All the same, you are making the job of protecting you extremely difficult.”
“If you’re so worried about it, go talk to Osyrus Ward about that name you brought him. He should have run down the details by now, and the full moon is not far off.”
Vera glanced at Osyrus Ward. She wasn’t eager for whatever the next part of his dragon-oil caper involved, but Kira was forcing her hand.
“I’ll talk to him,” Vera said.
“Good.” Kira emptied the last half of her bubbled wine in a single gulp and set it aside. “While you’re doing that, I’m going to have a little chat with the chief minister of city levies. He looks just drunk enough to be talked into relaxing the taxes on our municipal fisheries.”
“By the way, Empress, you should adjust the top of your gown,” Vera said, pointing to the place where the top of her areola was showing. “You’re revealing a lot of skin.”
“Oh, Vera. The key to all of this is giving people a glimpse at something they want, but shouldn’t have. You tease it, so they can imagine the rest of it, hiding just out of sight. Then you let them salivate until they’ll do anything to get the complete picture, regardless of whether it makes sense or is in their own best interest or actively against it. That minister is going to relax those taxes, and he’ll do it for nothing more than a long look at the top of my left nipple.”
“And why do the fisheries deserve a tax break?”
Kira smiled. Glanced at the enormous clock set in the middle of the room. “This gala will be over soon. You need to get an update from Osyrus Ward, and I need to torment that minister. After we’re both done, let’s go back to my chambers and spar.”
“I’ve told you many times before that training after drinking isn’t a good idea.”
“I used to watch the wardens of Almira practically drown themselves in ale before riding off to a skirmish.”
“The wardens of Almira are savages.”
“Ha! I knew you felt that way, I’ve just been waiting for you to admit it. But savages or not, a little training after a gala burns my hangovers away and helps me relax. Thirty minutes?”
Vera sighed. Truth was, sparring with Kira was her favorite part of the day, regardless of the time and circumstance.
“Thirty minutes.”
Vera broke off to speak with Osyrus Ward, who had pulled his mechanical spider into a corner and was unscrewing the shield plate with a long, crooked tool. He stopped fiddling with the machine when he saw her approach.
“It took me two months to build Bartholomew,” he said. “Our emperor destroyed him in a few drunken seconds. Pity.”
“You name those things?” Vera asked.
“Of course. They are my creations. And everything needs a name.”
Osyrus ran his hand over the puncture marks on the spider in an oddly tender way—as if it was a favorite dog who’d been ravaged by wolves. Vera found the gesture unsettling.
“Maybe you shouldn’t build expensive toys for drunken emperors.”
“I did not build Bartholomew for Ganon. I built him for me. But the emperor visited my workshop for a hangover cure and saw him. Took an interest. He is nothing if not keen on ways to make these gatherings more … exciting. And here we are.” Osyrus sighed. “You have not been serving the rulers of this world for as long as I have. Mark my words, they will always disappoint you, Vera. Some with careless cruelty, like Ganon. Others, with a narrow-minded hunger fo
r power that precludes true vision, like Actus Thorn.”
“Kira is a ruler of this world. Does she disappoint you?”
“Not so far. Perhaps she will be the anomaly that I have been waiting for. The ruler with true vision.”
Vera took a long look at the spider. “What vision compels you to build mechanical insects for fun?”
Ward tucked the tool he’d been using into his dragonskin jacket. Looked at Vera. “We humans are made of such flaws. I seek to build creatures who are unburdened by defects.”
“Something cannot be beautiful without flaws.”
“Is that a Papyrian outlook?”
“It is my outlook.”
“Interesting. But I respectfully disagree. True beauty lies in perfection.”
“Actus Thorn did not make it sound like there was a lot of perfection occurring in your laboratory below the castle.”
Ward smiled. “Yes, he mentioned his disapproval for my work in the council meeting, didn’t he? You need not be concerned. My work is not sinister. Just messy. The path to perfection always is.”
Vera didn’t trust the word of Thorn or Ward, so she’d checked the sublevels of the palace in an attempt to learn the truth for herself, but the laboratory had been completely cleaned out by Thorn’s men. The only thing that remained in the sublevels was charred bricks and rat shit. That was unfortunate, but so was the fact that Vera’s list of assets and allies was desperately short. The reality was that if Osyrus was willing to help her build contingency plans to ensure Kira’s safety, she didn’t really care what he’d been doing in that basement.
“Have you learned where Clyde Farus is smuggling his dragon oil?” she asked.
“You were hesitant at the start of this. Why so eager now?”
“I just want the job done.”
“Well, my informants are making progress,” Osyrus Ward said. “I hope to have the location for you within a few days.”
“Hope? Before, you made it sound like it would take you no time at all.”
“Farus is a cautious man—using a large web of intermediaries and shell registries to conduct his business with the Malakar crime family in Taggarstan. He runs all their black-market dragon oil out of the city—a job you do not keep long if you are stupid. To be honest, I am curious how you managed to suss out his name so quickly.”
“I had to kill four men.”
“Is that a lot for you?”
“It is a lot for anyone.”
“Hm, well, they were criminals. Violent deaths are an occupational hazard. Once I determine where Farus will be stockpiling his next shipment of dragon oil, I will need you to go fetch it for me.”
Vera narrowed her eyes. “I cannot steal a shipment of dragon oil by myself.”
“No, no of course not. Knowing that Farus is a creature of the Malakars, I have already seen fit to drum up some qualified assistance.”
“What assistance?”
“Three mercenaries from out of Taggarstan working for a competitor outfit. They’re competent. And untraceable back to you or the empress.”
“Taggarstan? You’re joking.”
Vera had been to Taggarstan. It was a nest of criminals and murderers and thieves.
“Trust me, Vera. This is the best way to get what we need. The only way.”
“You must earn my trust, Ward. You haven’t done that yet.”
He bowed his head. “I look forward to the challenge.”
* * *
Vera blocked Kira’s jab with her forearm, then slapped the empress of Balaria on the side of the head with an open palm.
“Ow!”
“You’re dropping your hands,” Vera said. “You do it when you’re sober, too. But the bubbled wine makes it far worse.”
They’d retired to Kira’s bedchamber and cleared the sofas off the carpet in the middle of the room. Vera had removed her armor and Kira had changed into a black tunic and simple pants that allowed for kicks and lunges.
“Again,” Vera said. “Try an iga counterattack this time.”
Vera advanced and threw a powerful but obvious kick directly at Kira’s chest. The empress sidestepped, batted Vera’s leg away with a strong push, then went for Vera’s throat, belly, and groin. Vera blocked and dodged the iga sequence, but the attacks were done well.
“Good. Again, but this time use an oroku sequence.”
They met in a flurry of blows and blocks and grunts.
“Decent. But keep a firmer wrist. Remember, your hand is the blade.”
“My hand is the blade,” Kira repeated, looking down at her arm.
“Free-form this time. Be unpredictable. Focus on improvising. Go until your lungs give out.”
They started again, shifting and grappling and wrenching each other’s bodies. Vera let Kira stay on the offensive, dodging each strike and launching a quick counterattack. At the twenty-nine-minute mark, Kira collapsed—gasping for air in big, heaving breaths.
With most disciples, you had to force them to find their limit. But Kira always pushed herself to the breaking point on her own. In a widow, that was the sign of a dedicated warrior. But in an empress, Vera was not sure what the trait portended.
“Quiz me,” Kira said, still gasping.
Vera shook her head. Suppressed a smile.
“Weakest points on an armored man with a gorget. In order.”
“Armpit, thigh vein, elbow joint.”
“Missed one.”
Kira chewed her lip. “Eyes. Eyes after armpit, depending on the man’s height.”
“Correct.” Vera paused. “Why did you go through so much effort to send Nun to Lysteria in a fit of jealous rage?”
Kira smiled. “Ah. The topic shifts from battle to politics.”
“That wasn’t politics. That was extortion and manipulation.”
“Like I said, politics.”
“Answer my question. What’s special about Nun?”
“He’s not special at all. But his rage is potentially useful. With administrative access to Edgemar Fortress, there is a very good chance that he will successfully kill General Grakus when he arrives. That will leave a hole at the top of the military command that can only be filled by one person.”
Vera thought about that. “Actus Thorn.”
Kira smiled. “Correct. Grakus served under Thorn for decades—so he was the logical choice to run the campaign. Corsaca Mun would have been another good candidate, but Thorn sent him to the western coast of Almira to captain the Time’s Daughter. If Grakus dies, Thorn will be deprived of trustworthy subordinates to manage the armada’s first real campaign. So he’ll do it himself. And while everyone agrees the Lysterian revolt will be short-lived, Actus Thorn will still be gone from Burz-al-dun for at least a few weeks. And that is all I need to remove him from power.”
“You’re going to arrange a political coup in a few weeks?”
“There’s no need. The Balarians wrote their laws much differently than Almirans. As emperor, Ganon is certainly within his rights to appoint a prime magnate to rule in his stead, but the ministers can override the appointment with a seventy-percent majority vote.”
Vera dropped her hands. “Kira…”
“Of course, this would have been much easier if Ganon had simply dissolved Thorn’s position when I asked him for the fiftieth time. But he is uniquely stubborn when it comes to shirking his duties as emperor. So we’ll do it the long way. The first step was getting Actus Thorn out of the city for a while—the ministers would never call a vote while he looms over them. But once he is gone? There are plenty of powerful politicians in Burz-al-dun that harbor no love for Actus Thorn. And plenty of ways to change the minds of those who do.”
“I see.”
Beneath all the gossip and lies and complex manipulation, there was a certain simplicity to her plan.
“Just watch. Actus Thorn will return from Lysteria to find his job legally dissolved. No coups. No bloodshed. Just politics. Of course, Ganon will become overwhelmed by the
position within hours, but this time, I will be there to help. And before long, I will be in control of this empire.”
Vera wasn’t sure things would be quite that simple. But the general plan was sound.
“And that last thing with the fishery taxes, how does that fit in?”
“That’s separate. The minister of fisheries is named Freemon Pence. He’s an unimportant bureaucrat, but those fisheries are one of the few places within the city limits that produce food. Relaxing his taxes might open the door for me to compel Pence to send an allotment of fish to the slum districts.”
“Where is the political advantage in that?” Vera asked.
“No advantage. It’s just the right thing to do.”
Vera gave her a measured look.
“Okay, okay. Pence is also one of Ganon’s closest drinking companions. I will compel him to keep my husband occupied while—as Ganon would put it—I fuck about. But there is no reason that I can’t do some good for the people while I oust their militaristic overlord.”
Vera smiled. “Caught your breath?”
Kira nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Good. Ichikaro feign this time. Make me believe the lie. You’re going to need the practice.”
13
BERSHAD
The Big Empty
As promised, Empress Okinu provided Bershad and Ashlyn with a fully stocked ship to sail north, beyond the Soul Sea and into the vast ocean they called the Big Empty.
There were several sets of armor in the ship’s hold. Steel plate. Lamellar. A decent chain-mail hauberk. Problem was, nothing fit. Bershad tried three breastplates, all of which felt more like torture devices than protective garb. There were several well-made pairs of steel-shinned boots, but he couldn’t cram his feet into any of them. Nothing worse than ill-fitting shoes on a long walk, even if he could heal the blisters each night.
“Seems that Papyria isn’t used to accommodating warriors of your stature,” Ashlyn said, making a quick inventory of the charts, food, and alchemy supplies while Bershad sorted out his armor. Okinu had also stocked the ship with almost every type of alchemy ingredient there was, including ten ounces of Gods Moss.
Sorcery of a Queen Page 16
