“We should have expected something like that. I’m surprised Sparrow didn’t. Perhaps she did and was overruled.”
“She’s not the leader?”
“She’s the leader. But as far as I’ve gathered, she doesn’t make her decisions alone. If she agrees to listen to you, she’s going to want to know why she can trust your brother.” She stopped. He could tell there was more.
He decided to come at it differently. “She took the wooden globe.”
“Yes. She didn’t dismiss it.”
It was the only thing he possessed that he thought would convince Sparrow of his sincerity. Nothing else was so individual to him. “Did she figure out how to unscrew it?”
“Not in front of me. I’m sure she did.”
“You did.”
“I read the note too. I thought you would expect it of me.”
“I did,” he said. He drank more of the wine. “Where did you get this?”
“It was a bottle Rumil gave me to give to Radd. I reclaimed it after Radd died. I suppose I thought I should have something fit to serve a prince.”
She was mocking herself. “Thank you,” he said.
He had never had a moment like this, quiet in a sparely furnished hot room with a woman he would ask nothing of. Outside the window was a noise that he identified after some puzzlement as a rug being shaken for cleaning. The light sweat on the backs of Anza’s hands glistened. He realized sharply how much it would hurt him if she died.
“Anza.”
“Yes?”
“If something happens, and you have to run, where will you go?”
“Jance wants me to leave the city.”
“Before that. You would need a place to hide until you could get off-island.”
She was silent. He knew trusting him was a risk to her. He knew that whatever she told him might be a lie. If she refused to answer, he did not dare push her.
At last she said, “Would the king use a Truth Finder on you?”
“He might.”
“Then I can’t tell you, Esvar. I’m sorry.”
“I understand,” he said, disappointed but unsurprised. He would have done the same.
“What of you?” she asked. “If you can’t get off-island and there are spies crawling everywhere looking for you, do you have a place to hide?”
At the bottom of everything, he didn’t. The people he knew who lived outside the Citadel were known to the king. No ordinary person would risk sheltering him. He should have taken the time to cultivate allies in the city, but he had not.
He said, “I don’t know. The traditional place for sanctuary is the Temple, but I doubt even the Hierarch would resist the king for long. There might be some negotiating involved.” He drained his glass and set it firmly on the table.
Anza took the hint. Standing, she said, “I’ll try to convince Sparrow. I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“It’s understandable.” He rose. “I’ll send Mirovian or Marek to you in two days to find out what she said.”
She walked down to the horses with him and exchanged a few words with Mirovian. Esvar mounted. The horse was taller than she was. He leaned over and said, “Soon.”
She dipped her head slightly and said, “My lord.” A courtesy, a formality, a distance. For Mirovian’s benefit, perhaps also for her own.
He opened his mouth, closed it. He had nothing else to say. He put his hand on the reins and looked a thousand miles across the space between them and kicked the horse. Exiting to the street, he glanced over his shoulder. She was still there, watching him. Then the horse trotted forward, taking him out of sight.
* * *
He was talking to Tevin that evening when they were interrupted by a soldier. The man, only a lieutenant, was red faced and breathing hard. Esvar’s first thought was that the king had died.
“Sir,” the soldier gasped, looking at Tevin, “there’s a mob down in the city. They started at Temple Square and are headed toward the Tazekh quarter. There’s hundreds of them.”
“What’s the watch doing?”
“Nothing. They can’t. There are too many.”
“All right. Listen.” He issued a series of orders with such calmness and certainty that Esvar guessed Tevin had foreseen such an event. So many soldiers here, so many there. The Citadel would be left with essential men but not more.
Then, the lieutenant gone, Tevin stripped off his fine shirt and said, “Go put on armor and something splendid over it. We’re going out.”
“We shouldn’t both go.”
“This is the sort of thing that could go very badly wrong. Mobs don’t start like this by accident, and until we know who is behind it, I want us together. We might have to run.”
“The Citadel is the safest place in Karegg.” He caught the unintended irony of it at once and was embarrassed. He was a fool.
“Put your armor on, Esvar. Now.”
Under other circumstances he would have argued. Not now, when delay could mean death. They could have it out later. He went to his rooms, armed and armored himself, and rode out of the Citadel gates with his brother and two dozen soldiers.
It was too hot for the armor. Esvar was glad his hair was short under the helmet. He had on a cool silk singlet under the short-sleeved mail shirt and a silk vest over it, the wolf’s face of the house of Kazdjan embroidered in gaudy silver thread. Tevin was in similar dress and wore a silver circlet that appeared much more valuable than it was. The horses’ trappings were bright and showy. Royal might descending, a clear target for any person who wanted to do away with two princes at once.
They went at a quick trot. It was full dark, and the streets were empty. In the Old City the lamplighter had been by, but on the other side of the walls, streets that should have been lit were not.
A hellhound barked. The horses were trained not to respond to those barks, but the men did. Esvar’s legs tightened around his horse.
The indistinct sound of many shouts grew louder. Tevin came to a stop at the top of a steep hill. Farther down the lamps were on. Near the bottom of the hill, soldiers made a band across the street. Some held raised swords. Beyond them a crowd, extending into the darkness of the next block, jeered and hooted. A body dangled from a second-floor window, a rope around its neck.
Tevin ordered two men to question the soldiers. Watching them, he said to Esvar, “That’s not a mob. It’s been contained.”
“Can you make out what they’re shouting?”
“No. But I want to know how that hanging occurred.”
“It’s probably a Tazekh.”
Tevin nodded. He wiped the side of his face with his hand and said, “If this happens again, I’m afraid it might start a war.”
“Tevin,” Esvar said. “The resistance—”
“Do you think they’re behind this?”
“No.”
“Then wait till this is over.” One of his soldiers was returning and would be in earshot soon. Tevin was right—it was not the place for secrets.
The man reached them and said, “The crowd’s controlled now, sir. They’re being sent off from the back. But there’s a dozen dead, and the Tazekh there, and another Tazekh a block away. Captain Estaru says it all happened before he got here. The men who were here when he came told him the same.”
“Was the other Tazekh hanged too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to talk to the crowd. Come with me, Esvar.”
The horses walked down the hill. The street was clean and weedless. As Tevin came into the light, the noise of the crowd lessened. Jeers were cut off mid-word as recognition spread. Esvar recognized the quality of the silence; he had seen it when courtiers waited for the king. Fear mingled with a nervous desire to be noticed. There would be women pushing themselves forward, hoping to catch a prince’s eye.
Tevin said, “Bring that man’s body down.” He spoke to the soldiers, but his voice carried over the crowd. Ripples of movement began. The cleverer people were retreati
ng.
A soldier, signaled, blew a horn. Tevin stood in the stirrups and swept his arm from right to left, muting the last murmurs. He said, “This is an unlawful gathering. And that man’s death”—he pointed at the body—“was murder. No one takes the Crown’s justice into his own hands.”
“He was Tazekh scum!” came a yell from the back.
“I decide who lives and dies in Karegg. When you call another man’s life forfeit, you strike against me.” Tevin paused long enough for any hecklers to call back. None did, and he dropped back down to the saddle. “The Tazekhs are not your prey. The guilty will be punished by the Crown. Beware lest you become the guilty.”
Then, to the soldiers, “Break it up. Peacefully.”
Esvar looked at the lamplit swath of faces, some fair, some dark, most of them sobering with the realization that they had misstepped. “ ‘I’?” he said as soon as the soldiers were gone. “When that gets back to Karolje, he’ll have you whipped at best.”
“Who’s going to tell him?”
“You don’t know who’s in that crowd. You’re taking a lot of risks tonight.”
“I told you. I mean to be the king. Caution isn’t going to gain me a crown, as you well know.”
Esvar was glad it was too dark for Tevin to see him flush. “You’re no coward,” he said. “But which side are you playing, white or black?”
“White, of course. And—”
The interruption was an arrow. It struck Esvar’s left arm, just below the mail.
The pain was immense, but training took over. He yelled a warning and swung down sideways from his horse at the same time. He crashed onto the hard cobbles and felt his breath go out of him. The horse screamed and reared as it was shot. Esvar rolled out of the way of descending hooves, which drove the arrow deeper into his muscle. He blacked out.
When he could see again, soldiers had control of his horse. He heard a great deal of shouting and guessed he had lost consciousness for only a short while. Blood ran freely down his arm, and the pain spread from shoulder to elbow.
“Lie still,” Tevin said from a squat beside him. “The shooting has stopped.”
“Will they catch him?”
“Maybe. If they get the door down in time.”
That was the other noise, the pounding. Esvar turned his head from side to side, decided he would not faint, and sat up. He swore. He put his free hand around the arrow shaft.
“Don’t pull it out here,” Tevin said. “I’m sending you back to the Citadel. Let the surgeon do it.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“You don’t need to take chances. We’re lucky neither of us got killed. If I hadn’t had the mail on, I’d have been down too—I took an arrow to the chest. It’s a good thing it’s dark.”
“What about my horse?”
“It’s hurt much less than you are. Can you stand?”
He saw no reason to remind Tevin of how long he had endured at the whipping post. “Yes,” he said, demonstrating. Soldiers were still dispersing the crowd. He turned his head in time to see men force their way into a house. It had probably taken too long.
One of the soldiers was ready to help him onto a horse, and he gave in. The stirrups were short and he had to wait for a soldier to adjust them. He refused to yield the reins. He could ride one-handed, even with an arrow shaft sticking out of his flesh. He kicked the horse forward.
He was not feeling as strong by the time they passed through the Citadel gates. The blood had stopped flowing, but the pain had spread, and his head was thick. He dismounted carefully, stumbled, righted himself.
He walked to the surgery without assistance. The surgeon took one look, directed him to a cot, and started barking orders to his assistants. Esvar lay down, eyes closed, and let the world recede.
“Here, my lord,” said the surgeon, holding a spoon of something bitter-smelling to his lips.
“I don’t need it.”
“It will make it easier for me, sir.” The surgeon tipped the spoon.
Esvar swallowed, coughed madly, and passed out.
* * *
The first thing he noticed upon waking was the bitter taste in his mouth. His arm hurt. The bandage was neat and white against his tanned skin. His bloodied overshirt and armor had been removed. A full glass of water was on a table next to him.
He sat up and drank the water down. The surgeon entered as he was finishing and said, “It’s been about two hours that you slept. Your captain wants to see you.”
He stood. A flutter of faintness as his body adjusted to the loss of blood, then he steadied.
Marek waited in the antechamber. There were guards too, so Esvar walked out without saying anything and drew Marek aside in the hallway. “What’s wrong?” His mind was a trifle sluggish yet from the drug.
“Your brother hasn’t come back, sir.”
Had he fled? Been captured? “What happened?”
“It took a while to disperse the crowd. He left with his men while that was going on. Everyone thought he’d come back here, of course, but he didn’t. There aren’t any signs of an attack.”
He hoped that meant Tevin had gone into hiding. A plan long laid, not confided, waiting for the right moment of chaos in the city. That was why he had wanted Esvar with him. Why he had worn the damn silver circlet. The arrow shot had ruined the plan, at least as far as it concerned Esvar. Too much risk that he would hinder or delay the escape, but other events had already been set in motion.
That was all wishing. Karolje might have arranged the whole thing. “Does the king know?”
“He’s been told. He hasn’t issued any orders.”
“Call off the search by soldiers. If someone had killed him, he would have been found by now. Make Karolje rely on his spies.” He hoped he could get away with shutting things down instead of continuing to search as a loyal and dutiful son would. The decision might land him in a cell.
Marek said, “Is there any chance it was an action by the resistance?”
“There’s a chance of anything. I think it unlikely.” He could not so easily shake off the likelihood that someone in the Citadel had ordered Tevin’s death. He resumed walking. “He didn’t say anything to me about this. Do you think Karolje will believe that?”
“What will you do?”
“There’s nothing to do.”
“If he doesn’t come back—”
“You don’t need to tell me, Captain! If I want your advice, I’ll ask.” He did not often lose his temper with Marek, and he regretted it at once. “What do we know about the mob? Who started it?”
“There are several men who have been speaking against the Tazekhs since the executions in the square, sir. It was one of them. He’s being interrogated now.”
The interrogation would yield whatever Karolje wanted it to. The interrogators didn’t do their work for the truth.
“Arrest the others, quietly. They need to be held until things have calmed down. Lock them in a watchhouse, not here. I’ll talk to them myself when I get a chance. And increase the patrols around the Tazekh quarter to keep fools from causing any violence there. Make sure the soldiers know it’s not the Tazekhs I’m worried about.”
“They’re not going to want to protect Tazekhs.”
“If Vetians kill more Tazekhs as they did tonight, Korikos will start his war. That’s what I’m trying to hold off.” He moderated his voice. “Have all the shops within a mile of everywhere the mob marched closed for two days. Shop owners can enter their properties but not sell. Say it’s for their safety, that we fear what another mob might do. If anything was broken or stolen, let them invite their insurers in.” Redirecting the cost and putting the blame where it belonged would give merchants incentive to shut down Tazekh-haters instead of joining in.
“Do you think you’re safe now?” Marek asked. An innocent enough question, since Tevin had disappeared, but a dangerous one too, because the captain was asking about the king.
Esvar shrugged. If Tevi
n had been gotten out of the way, he would be next, and there wasn’t much he could do to prevent it. There was more to be said, but not within the confines of the Citadel. “That’s all.”
* * *
Alone, Esvar walked to his brother’s workroom. A servant had removed the wineglasses they had been drinking from when word of the mob came and turned down the lamp, but otherwise it was as he had last seen it. The clock said after midnight. Its ticks were loud.
The red book Tevin had said held a letter for him was shelved among volumes of history and political philosophy. He had no idea what Tevin thought was the source of kingly authority. The gods, as was signified with the priests’ bestowing the crown? Force? Precedence? Karolje claimed divine right, as had his predecessors, but his actions suggested he believed in force more than anything else.
Cautiously, as though he were doing something forbidden, Esvar eased the book off the shelf and opened it. He found the letter about a quarter of the way in, a thin piece of paper folded in thirds. He slipped it out, held it, realized he could not bear to read it. Not now. That would be acknowledging that his brother was dead. Which was impossible.
He returned the letter to the book, the book to the shelf. He turned off the lamp and pulled the door of the darkened room closed. He walked the short distance to his own rooms undisturbed.
There he found Lady Thali Kanakili, most improperly waiting.
It was much too late for her to visit him, even if he were not wounded and drugged, and she should have come to his workroom, not his private rooms. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“I know, my lord.”
Simply said, without cajolery or servility. It caught his attention, and he opened the door and waited for her to precede him. The samovar was cold, and he did not want wine, but there was a pitcher of fresh water. He poured for both of them and sat opposite her.
“What’s this about?”
“I want a divorce, my lord,” she said.
Very softly he let his breath out. “On what grounds?” He was not the person she should be asking, but she knew that.
“Cruelty to me and treachery to the state.”
The Vanished Queen Page 28
