Felgor moved toward the corner of the room, away from the main door, and fiddled around until he found another hidden latch. A small door popped open—just like the linen closet—and Felgor went inside.
They wound through a long series of narrow, unadorned passageways that were empty except for copper pipes running along the ceiling. It wasn’t much different from the sewers except there was a lot more headroom and everything smelled like rosemary.
Eventually, Felgor motioned for them to stop and crouched down. He fiddled with a latch and popped open another door. Peeked outside. Closed it again.
He motioned to Vera and Bershad, then whispered. “Two sentries, twenty paces outside this door. One of them is more or less facing you straight on, the other is angled down the other side of the hallway.” He paused. “They need to die very quietly if we don’t all want to get arrested in the next five minutes. Every room down that hallway has a guard posted inside.”
“No other way around?” Vera whispered.
Felgor shook his head. “Only one way into the eastern towers. One way out, too.”
Vera nodded, then unstrapped the short sling from her thigh. Loaded a shot into it.
“How fast can you cover twenty paces?” she asked Bershad.
“Fast enough.” He unbuckled his scabbard and drew his sword carefully so it didn’t make any noise. Nodded to Felgor.
The thief opened the door and slipped out of the way. Bershad sprang forward, keeping low and making long, quiet strides. The sentry who was facing them squinted, trying to figure out what the sudden movement was about. When Bershad had covered half the distance the sentry’s eyes widened and his mouth opened to let out a cry.
Then his face caved in.
The sentry’s body quivered and fell to the floor with a metallic clatter. Luckily, he fell facedown so that when the second sentry turned to see what had happened, he didn’t see the damage from Vera’s sling. He didn’t look down the hall, either.
“Thorin?” he asked. “What’s the—”
Bershad grabbed the sentry’s face and shoved it into the wall. Then he took a quick step back and cleaved the back of his head off with an upward swing of his sword—it was the only killing stroke he could manage in the narrow hallway. The sentry fell onto his back. Bershad knelt and pressed a hand over the sentry’s mouth, just in case he somehow managed to scream without the back half of his brain.
He didn’t.
Felgor had already fished out a set of keys from the other sentry and was trying them in the lock. Vera was pulling the first body by the arms toward the small passageway they’d come from. Bershad did the same with the man he’d just killed. As he dragged him, he noticed there was a coin-sized clock embedded in the man’s bracer. It was still ticking. After he’d hidden the body, he returned for the back of the man’s skull and tossed that into the passageway, too. Closed the door.
Felgor had the apartment door open. There was a spiral staircase on the far side—bars of moonlight shining across the floor every few feet from narrow windows on the walls. They went inside.
The tower was a honeycomb of hallways, but all of them were deserted. Once they’d risen a few flights, it seemed like everything was a door leading in a different direction. Felgor took a look at each lock, but moved past each of them. Snorting and shaking his head. When they got to the top, they found a gilded oak door with dozens of ticking clocks pressed into the wood. Felgor squatted down next to it, ran his finger over the gold plate of the lock, and then pulled out a small hook and wire from his coat.
“She’s through here.”
“You’re sure?” Bershad asked.
“Every lock is a story. This one’s all about a princess who doesn’t want unannounced visitors. No other reason to have something so complex.”
Felgor fiddled with the lock for a few minutes.
“Tough little bitch,” he muttered at one point. Then there was a soft click and the door opened. Felgor stood aside and held out a hand. “Time to play the hero,” he said.
The door led into a hallway that was actually an enclosed bridge leading to a separate tower. Bershad walked across and tested the door on the other side. It was open. He went back.
“Get out of here, Felgor,” Bershad said.
“What?” Felgor asked.
“What if Kira isn’t in there?” Vera asked.
“She’s in there. The bedrooms of royalty have the same feel on both sides of the Soul Sea. You’ve done your part, Felgor.” Bershad turned to Vera. “And we keep our promises.”
Vera hesitated, but eventually nodded.
“You’re free, Felgor.”
Felgor looked at them. “Thank you, both of you. I know what Rowan would say.” He swallowed, face turning serious. “Try not to die, eh?”
And with that, the Balarian thief bowed and slipped into the shadows.
Vera and Bershad crossed the bridge and opened the door. Inside, there was a circular room with a massive round bed placed in the center and a large trunk sitting against the far wall. The ceiling was glass. Moonlight touched everything.
A woman slept in the bed—Bershad could see the sheen of her black hair and the curve of her hip beneath the silk sheets. One arm dangled off the edge. His eyes flicked across the room, looking for sentries or doors. He saw neither, so he stepped inside.
It was the middle of the night, but the moonlight made it easy to see her face. Bershad had only seen Kira as a child, but there was no mistaking a Malgrave face.
“Wake up, Princess,” he said.
Kira had high cheekbones and full lips. Where Ashlyn had gotten the severe, calculating look of her father, Kira had the wild beauty of her mother. She stirred in the bed, opened her pale turquoise eyes, and blinked.
“Hello. You must be the Flawless Bershad.”
She propped herself up on one arm—the silk sheet slipping off her skin and revealing her breasts. She made no move to cover herself.
“How do you know me?”
“You’re the most famous person in the realm of Terra,” she said. “And my sister always said you were the only one she could rely upon in a real pinch. I’m betting she sent you here to rescue me, right?” she asked.
“Something like that,” Bershad said.
“I don’t need rescuing. I never did.”
Bershad looked around the room. “Where are your clothes?”
Kira waved a hand through the air. “There are a few dresses in that chest. I rarely put them on these days.” She smiled. “Ganon prefers me without clothes.”
“Cover yourself up, Princess,” Vera said, moving around Bershad. She kept her voice quiet, but Kira moved the sheet over her chest as though she’d been screamed at.
“Vera?” Kira asked. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” Vera hissed, kneeling beside the bed. “You were kidnapped, do you think I would just leave you to the mercy of the Balarians?”
“I wasn’t kidnapped, Vera.” Kira rolled her eyes. “I ran away to marry Ganon!”
Vera blinked once. Her face turned red for a moment, then returned to its natural color through what appeared to be sheer willpower.
“Princess,” Vera said. “I have traveled hundreds of leagues through wilderness and danger to rescue you. I have killed dozens of men. And you’re telling me that you left of your own volition?”
“Well, yes. I’m sorry for the trouble, but really I’m doing just fine. After I marry Ganon, I’ll be wife to the heir of the Balarian empire. I’m not chained to some backwater, muddy country of savages anymore. Burz-al-dun is civilized and modern and powerful. This is where I want to be. Where I belong.”
“You’re sorry for the trouble,” Vera repeated.
“That’s right.”
Bershad balled his hand into a fist and resisted the strong urge to slap Kira. But there were more important things for him to worry about. He wondered if the emperor’s chambers were nearby.
Ver
a put her hand on Kira’s jaw. Squeezed ever so slightly.
“If you ever do something like this again, I will kill you myself,” Vera whispered. “Do you understand?”
Kira’s faced scrunched up. All at once, the young woman melted into the child.
“Yes, Vera.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vera asked.
“You’d have stopped me.”
“I’d have tried,” Vera admitted. “But I’d have gone with you, too. If that’s what you really wanted. I can’t protect you—”
“If you’re not with me,” Kira finished, rolling her eyes. “I remember. But right now what I really want is to stay in Balaria. There’s nothing for me back in Almira.”
Vera looked at Kira for a long time. Bershad could tell she was conflicted—battling her frustration with Kira against her duty to protect the princess.
“Then I’m staying with you.”
Kira looked wary, as if she suspected a trick.
“It’s not like I can sneak you out of the castle in the middle of the night if you don’t want to go,” Vera continued. “You have royal Papyrian blood in your veins, which means my job is to protect you no matter where you are. And no matter who you marry.”
Kira smiled. “You always were a pragmatist. I’ve missed you, Vera. More than I expected.”
“I missed you, too, Princess. I was so worried, I…” Vera swallowed. “I’m glad you’re safe. And I won’t leave you unprotected again.”
Vera hugged Kira. The tenderness looked foreign on a woman who’d killed so many people.
Bershad cleared his throat. “The emperor might not be so accommodating to a widow who snuck into his castle and killed his men.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Kira said. “I can convince Ganon of anything, and Ganon will convince the emperor to let you stay with me.” She smiled. “This will be wonderful, Vera! I’m sure of it.”
Vera nodded, then turned to Bershad. “You need to leave, Silas.”
Bershad glanced toward the door.
“You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked.
“I’m sure,” she said. “Whatever you do next, I won’t stop you.”
Bershad put a hand on her shoulder. “Take care of Kira. But take care of yourself, too.”
“I will.”
Bershad headed for the door, but before he reached it, the high, delicate sound of a calling-bell rang through the chamber. He turned around and saw Kira’s free hand wrapped around a small string that dangled from the ceiling near her bed. It was attached to the bell she used to call servants. The mischievous smile was back on her face.
“Oops,” she said.
Instead of a servant or two flitting into the room—ready to help Kira get dressed or fetch her some breakfast in bed—a score of soldiers in full armor streamed through the door a few seconds later. Bershad had six spears pointed at his throat before his sword was halfway free from its sheath.
“Put down your weapons,” said one of the sentries—a sergeant by the looks of him. “And you’ll get to leave this room alive.”
Bershad considered the eyes of each man and found grim, hardened faces. He lowered his sword onto the ground.
“You, too, Papyrian.”
“Black skies,” Vera hissed, then dropped her daggers.
“They’re not to be harmed!” Kira piped. “Ganon said—”
“I am aware of my orders, Princess,” the sergeant said in a less-than-reverent tone. “You can go back to sleep. Thank you for your assistance.”
Bershad noticed that all the sentries with spears at his throat were stealing glances at Kira’s naked body while the sergeant talked to her. He moved his fingers to the base of his scalp and felt the glass vial he’d tied there back in the mountains. Still intact. He started to untie it from his hair, but before he could finish the sergeant turned back to him.
“Bind their hands,” he said.
A sentry circled Bershad, then pulled his hands behind his back. As he tightened a pair of irons around his wrists, the sergeant came closer and looked at his face. The makeup had washed off his cheeks, making his blue bars easy to see again.
“You’re the Flawless Bershad,” he said.
“That’s right,” Bershad said.
“Thought you’d be bigger.”
One of the other sentries glanced at him sideways. Probably because Bershad was already the tallest person in the room by half a head.
“Sorry to disappoint. What happens now?” Bershad asked.
“The emperor wants to see you,” the sergeant said. “Can’t predict your future much beyond that.”
Someone yanked a burlap sack over his head. Bershad didn’t struggle—they were taking him where he wanted to go. He smiled to himself. After all these leagues of pain and trouble, he’d finally gotten a stroke of good luck.
“No!” Vera started to shout when they tried to take her away, too. “I must stay with the princess—”
The thud of someone punching her in the stomach filled the room. Vera groaned and then there was a splattering sound of vomit hitting the floor.
“If you touch my widow that way again, soldier, I will have you killed.” Kira gave the order with such authority that it took Bershad a moment to realize she was the one who’d said it. “Vera stays with me.”
The room was silent a moment as the sergeant weighed his options.
“Fine,” he said. “The widow stays with the princess. The Flawless Bershad comes with us.”
* * *
The sergeant prodded Bershad through the castle with the butt of a spear. After several minutes of shuffled walking, they led him into a room and sat him on a cushioned chair. Four strong hands held him down by the shoulders, then someone unlocked his wrist irons and immediately replaced them with two thicker wrist clamps that weren’t connected to each other.
“I’m not that dangerous,” Bershad said. Nobody responded.
A few doors opened and closed. They left the sack over his head, but Bershad could hear the intermittent sniffing of a man behind him.
“Think I can get any breakfast?” Bershad asked.
“No talking. Don’t make me gag you,” the sentry said. “Because I will, but I’ll beat you till you piss blood first. Clear?”
Bershad just grunted.
There was nothing to do but sit and wait. Seemed like Vera would be all right with Kira. Bershad wondered where Felgor was by now, too. Probably blind-drunk in a tavern, enjoying his freedom. Good. The clever thief deserved to survive this mess.
After a long time, Bershad heard a door open behind him. A large group of people entered, judging from the number of footsteps he heard. There was some rearranging of chairs, then the sack was pulled off his head. Bershad squinted in the morning light. Surprised at how high the sun was already.
He was sitting in another lavish room, although this one looked like an office instead of a bedchamber. The chains on his wrists were connected to two steel plates that had been bolted to the floor. He could move his arms, but the chains were too short for him to put his hands together. There was a long series of bookshelves on the wall in front of him and a massive map of Balaria and her colonies to the right. Seven soldiers were spread out along the edges of the room. They wore ornate, steel-plated armor and each carried a sword and spear. Bershad could hear the clocks on their bracers ticking.
A polished ebony desk was in the middle of the room. There were two men on the far side of it.
The first was sitting. He wore a simple but expensive set of dark blue silk robes. He looked like he was about forty years old, but his dark hair and close-cropped beard were littered with silver strands, which made him look older than he probably was. His eyes were a gray so pale they almost looked translucent.
The second man stood behind the first. He was a spindly old man who looked more like a dying tree than a person—his face was gaunt and his limbs and finger joints were knotted. His beard and long gray hair were twisted into a wild arr
ay of branchlike shoots that were held together by oil and twine. He was wearing a strange jacket made from green leather, and he had a look of intense curiosity on his weathered face.
“The Flawless Bershad,” the seated man said in Almiran. “Defeated by a naked girl and a bell.”
“In all fairness, it was the armed soldiers that forced the issue.”
“I’m told they were afraid to go in there. Twenty veterans and your name still got them pacing about and pissing from the nerves.” The man leaned forward on his desk and squinted at Bershad with those unsettling eyes. “Is that shit in your hair?”
Bershad tried to run a hand through his hair, but was stopped short by the chain on his wrist. He kept his hand there for a moment and tried to gauge whether he could lower his head and reach the vial in his hair. It would be a stretch.
“I expect it is,” Bershad said. “Sorry about that.”
The man leaned back again. “You are a long way from home, exile.” He spoke Almiran with the sterile pronunciation you can only achieve from hundreds of hours under a tutor’s instruction.
“Exiles don’t have homes.” Bershad studied the man. “You’re the emperor, aren’t you?”
He smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth, except for a silver one off to the side. “I am Mercer Domitian. Emperor of Balaria, commander of her military, and overlord of her colonies.”
“Impressive titles,” Bershad said, feeling his pulse quicken.
He’d made it. After crossing the sea, the mountains, and a desert. After taking lives, losing his best friend, his donkey, and snapping his bones to pieces, he’d found the man he came to kill. Bershad noticed the seam of a scar running down Mercer’s jaw—well covered by his beard but not invisible. Could have been a battle wound, or he could have just fallen down some palace steps by accident as a child.
Blood of an Exile Page 38
