“Once,” she said. “We both know it won’t happen again. That was why we did it. It won’t get in the way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Killing Karolje matters more.”
“Very well,” said Sparrow. “Go rest.”
Anza went tiredly up the steps. Her legs had stiffened. At the top she turned around and glanced back at Sparrow. The woman was staring forward, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. On her face was an expression of loss. Anza remembered her first impression that Sparrow would do anything to win. She had been wrong. Even for Sparrow, some things cost too much.
THE FOG STILL hung heavily over the Citadel and the city at nightfall. Esvar was hollow and exhausted. He snapped at the servants and slammed doors. Ever since the men he had sent to find Jance Mirovian had returned with news of his murder, he had felt himself unraveling. His soldiers had recognized the other body in the flat, a man who had been exiled from the Citadel Guard to the city watch some months ago for brawling on duty. Doru did this, he thought. He was afraid that if he summoned the spymaster, he would kill him.
There had been no sign of Anza, which distressed him more than he could say. He was tempted to go riding off in a blind rush to look for her. Only the knowledge that he would himself be followed kept him in the Citadel. If she had managed to escape, he needed to leave her that freedom. He wondered if she had had time to read his letter.
He sent for Marek and fought with the captain in the practice yard. Mist swirled around them in the lamplight. It was like fighting underwater. They used blunted blades, but the clang of metal against metal, the force of impact when he was hit, assumed the weight of a genuine fight as he went on. He looked at Marek’s familiar face and saw an enemy. He could trust no one. This is how I become like the king, he thought. It didn’t matter. He kept raising and swinging his blade. His arm ached with strain.
Marek stepped back and dropped his sword, yielding. At first Esvar didn’t understand, and only the muscle discipline of years of practice kept him from striking an unarmed man. Then his mind caught up to his body, and he lowered the sword. He turned his head and saw the visitor whose arrival had halted the fight. An ordinary soldier, his hand extended, palm up.
“What is it?” Esvar asked raggedly, sides heaving. He expected some new calamity.
“The king wants to see you, sir. He sent a while ago. No one knew where to find you.”
Not quite a calamity, but he would have preferred nearly anything else. He retreated to his rooms to wash and change, splashing cold water in his eyes to waken. The physical tiredness from the exercise was creeping up on him. He put on formal clothing, not out of respect for Karolje but as an assertion of his own power. There was a chance, as always, that he would be killed or locked away.
The king’s doctor waited outside Karolje’s bedroom, obviously unhappy at having been dismissed. Crossing the threshold, Esvar staggered with the corruption in the room. The fruitwood and herbal medicines could not cover the stench of a long sickness. Karolje sat in his chair, papery skin drawn tightly over sharp bones, eyes black and sunken and still vital. The lesions on his face had increased in size. But his voice had lost none of its command.
“You took your time.”
“I was in the practice yard.” That could not be disapproved of.
Karolje looked him over. “Sit down, my son.”
You’re dying, Esvar thought. He had never felt more naked. He sat, not wanting to, unable to disobey. His legs and feet yielded as little to his will as chunks of marble.
“I’m your son again, am I?” he said.
Karolje laughed spitefully. It sent him into a spasm of coughs, his body jerking. His face reddened, then blanched. He reached for something beside him in the chair and tossed it at Esvar’s feet. A letter, battered with transit.
“Your brother is a traitor. Read it.”
Esvar obeyed, feeling sick. He saw almost immediately what it was, but he read the entire thing, slowly, hoping to irk the king. It was Tevin’s letter to Nasad, shah of Milaya, proposing marriage to one of the shah’s daughters.
He raised his head. “A forgery. I learned recently that Doru is falsifying documents. He intends to take me and Tevin down. He killed one of my men today.”
“Don’t be so innocent, boy. You know that letter’s treason. You’re my heir now.” He spoke almost invitingly. Esvar reminded himself that the king had attained much of what he wanted by presence rather than by force. Had he not been so evil, he could have been great. “I will abdicate in your favor. Do you want the crown?”
Esvar’s breath caught. His left hand clenched and his heart sped up. Everything he had said to Sparrow yesterday about fighting for his brother vanished in a surge of desire. Gods, he wanted it. He didn’t want it for the people of Karegg, of Vetia, he wanted it for himself. All his life he had been second, the ally, the support, the listening ear. He wanted to be the one to order himself. He wanted the control. Needed it. Power was safety. Power was life.
It’s a trick, he told himself. That did nothing to convince the hungry part of him.
“Why?” he managed to get out.
“I’m not answering questions. There’s an offer. Do you want it or no?”
His mouth opened. He was going to say yes despite his better sense. He wasn’t strong enough to refuse.
He remembered his words to Anza: He finds a lie that will make the hideous more palatable. Karolje never gave, always took.
On Esvar’s ninth birthday, in the time between his mother’s death and Karolje’s return south to fight another Tazekh war, the king had summoned him to his chambers for dinner. There had been all his favorite foods, musicians playing during the meal, and a juggler afterward. Well, lad, Karolje said, it is time we get to know each other a little better. He was kindly, deep-voiced, and charming. After the entertainers left, they played chess. The king promised him the beautiful new horse he desired, and ruffled his hair affectionately and kissed him on the forehead when it was time to go to bed.
And then, a week later, when Esvar dared to ask about the horse, Karolje said, I never promised you a horse, boy. Why would I give you a new horse? You won’t grow out of the one you have now for a few years. And I’ve already sold that one to Lord Imru. A king gives horses as rewards, and you’ve done nothing to earn one. Esvar said, But Father—my lord—and Karolje struck a blow that sent him reeling against the wall and said, Don’t snivel, you brat. Sometimes I wonder if you’re even my son. That was the last time Esvar had called the king “Father.”
He’s lying, he’s lying, he’s lying.
“There must be conditions.” He forced the words out like mud through a strainer.
“Three, in fact,” said Karolje. He smiled, an obscene death’s-head mask, his gums an unhealthy white. “First and most obviously, you don’t get to turn around and hand the throne to your brother if he reappears. If you do that, I’ll kill both of you. Second, you may recall that I gave you the opportunity once to kill a guard with your own hands, no weapons. You declined. Now you have to do it to your cousin Goran. And third, you marry one of his daughters and consummate the marriage. Which daughter, I leave up to you and Tahari to negotiate.”
Revulsion, far stronger than his desire to be king, shocked through him like ice. It was not in him to do that to a girl of ten. Part of his mind gibbered in relief.
In the Temple garden, Anza had been injured and afraid, and she had challenged him. She would lie or thieve or trick if she had to, but not betray. Her god was justice. She held on to her truths and became immovable. If he gave in to Karolje now, he dishonored everything she had done. Some things were worth dying for, and the shreds of goodness in himself were among them.
“My brother is the heir. Why do you want Goran dead?”
“You surprise me. I thought you had ambition to match your station.”
“If you thought I had such ambition, you would have made this offer when I came of age. Or eliminated me.” And th
ree years ago he might have been fool enough to accept it. His breath was steadying. “What happens now?”
“That depends upon your brother.”
Did that mean Tevin was alive after all? “Am I your hostage for his return?”
“That would be useless. His regard for you is not so high as yours for him. Come here.” He beckoned with one skeletal finger. Esvar couldn’t disobey. Karolje’s hand shot out and caught him by the wrist. “You think I’m bluffing.”
He pulled free. “I do not. I have never known you not to carry out your threats. You taught me that, at least.”
“Why do you fight me so? What have I ever done to earn your enmity?”
“You killed my mother,” Esvar said, sudden viciousness escaping him. All that kept him from attacking the king were fatigue and grief. Violence required more strength than he had.
“No. That’s your brother’s lie. It was Asps. Don’t you remember? They killed her maids and the guards and took her. An Asp’s knife was left in one of the maid’s hearts.”
Tazekhs would have either sent back Mirantha’s head or held her for ransom. Her disappearance did not serve them at all. It was hard not to say it. Not to let the king stir him up any further. Karolje could be so convincing.
The king was staring at him, waiting for opposition. Esvar smiled thinly and said nothing. So must his mother have been silent for years. Even in his illness Karolje seemed invulnerable.
Yet Mirantha had not lost herself in silence. She had never submitted. She had if anything grown stronger. That was why the queen had had to be Disappeared; subtly killed and buried royally, she would have been an endless rebuke to Karolje. Gone, her body vanished, she faded from memory. She had seen that coming and had sent her journal away to protect what she could of her voice. For her sons, yes, and also for the other people the king had silenced. She could not know what manner of men Esvar and Tevin became; it was the people like Anza she had to rely on to preserve the memory of her. To say, The king is unjust.
“A weapon proves nothing,” Esvar said.
“If I killed her, I could kill you.”
“I’ve known that since I was eight years old.”
“Where is your brother?”
“I have no idea.” He touched his bandaged arm. “He said nothing to me. I was drugged in the surgery when he disappeared.”
“I find it hard to believe, that he would not tell you.”
“Why? You’ve made sure each of us are good at keeping secrets. That’s how you keep your power. You don’t like having it turned on you.” He felt almost drunk with recklessness. “He’s still trying to shelter me. All these years, and it’s our mother he’s loyal to. Not you. It will never be to you.”
“Let me tell you something about your mother. I let Ashevi have your mother. A few times I even watched. Shall I tell you what they looked like together, how scared she always was that they would be found out? That was what he liked the most, to see her frightened. He—”
“You killed her because she was stronger than you. You’re weak, old man, and you always have been.”
Karolje laughed. “We’re more alike than you think, you and I. Tevin takes after his mother, but you, you’ve learned to survive. What do you say to my offer if I don’t make you marry one of the girls? Kill your cousin and you can have the crown. Then you can execute Doru too. Why wait?”
Tevin was the heir. Esvar said, “If you want to abdicate, abdicate.” Arguing would only give him strings for Karolje to pull. Offer nothing. Take nothing. As soon as he started bargaining, he would have to give up ground.
“You know it’s what you desire. Don’t punish yourself for wanting.” The king’s voice smoothed. “Want is how you know you’re alive. Those who want nothing become nothing. Their hearts are straw, their skin is a husk. This court is full of such people. You’re better than that. They will follow you. They—”
Esvar interrupted. “Save your breath. You need it.”
Karolje’s clawlike hand curled, released. “I didn’t think you were so weak. Should I reverse this offer and have Goran kill you?”
That threat was so futile he almost laughed. “Goran’s a coward,” he said. It occurred to him that he had an opportunity to strike back. “And before you decide to choose him over me as your successor, there’s something you should know. Tahari was pregnant when he married her. With your child. My brother.” How strange those words were. His brother had always and only been Tevin.
“Who told you that?”
“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is this. The boy took ill one year with winterfever and died. The death wasn’t natural. Goran smothered him. Tevin saw him do it, through a peephole.”
Karolje hissed. “You lie.”
“No. Imagine it, the boy just lying there, ill, a pillow over his face. It wouldn’t have taken long. You wanted him as your heir. Tevin and I wouldn’t have survived past his majority, and neither would Goran. He must have been very pleased when the fever struck.”
It was the first time Esvar had ever by himself brought the king to silence. He wished it had come as a result of his own strength, not his brother’s secrets.
“I’ll test the truth of this,” Karolje said. “Your brother is a liar.”
“As you wish,” Esvar said, letting a bit of insolence color his voice. “Here, or in the Green Court?”
“Here, of course. You have a lot to learn.” He rang a bell.
Sickeningly, Esvar realized that he had just become the king’s collaborator. It might be only for this moment, but it was real. He was supposed to have threatened Goran with divulging the information, not to actually do it. Karolje had baited him, and he had swallowed it completely. He turned.
“You’re not leaving,” said Karolje.
The door opened and a guard entered on those words. The man looked at Esvar warily, as though expecting to be commanded to arrest him. His hand was close to his sword hilt. Esvar imagined kicking him, wrestling for the sword.
“The chancellor,” said Karolje. “And a Truth Finder. Now.”
The guard twitched. “Yes, my lord,” he said. He retreated.
Esvar went to a window and stood with his back to the king. His reflection, deformed with shadow, framed with mist, looked back at him. The lake was invisible. Had Mirantha ever looked at it and wanted to throw herself in? I have walked in terrible places and done terrible things. Such as he was doing now?
The words echoed in his mind with some other familiarity. Terrible things. I will do whatever I must, even if it is a terrible thing, to end it. He has to pay. Sparrow’s words yesterday.
He saw it then, her face, the shape of her jaw like Tevin’s, the grief when she spoke of her children. The concern for Tahari.
It couldn’t be. The words were a coincidence, the resemblance his own desire. His mother was dead. What his heart wanted deceived him. Sparrow led the resistance that might kill him or his brother. What mother could do that?
When they acquiesced to Karolje, how could she know it was out of fear and not agreement?
Sparrow had refused to see him. Had demanded he show his honesty with something only he would value. A test, that was, of what in the past still mattered to him. And he, all unknowing, had given her the thing that might most resonate with her. A toy, still treasured, or he would not have kept it.
Sparrow could not be Mirantha, but she was, she was.
The knowledge was more than he could countenance right now. He had to. He could not let Karolje even guess at any of this. He tried to find inside himself that silent place where he had gone during the whipping.
“What do you look at?” Karolje asked. “Your kingdom?”
“Darkness,” Esvar said, turning. “Even you can’t avoid it. Have you thought what happens next, when Goran is dead? You have to leave the throne to me, unless you want it to go to a child—a girl—and be taken from her through marriage by a man not even of our family. Your legacy will be the end of the lineage.”
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“Well argued, but incomplete. You are not thinking through all the facts.”
“You’re dying. What other facts are there?”
Again Karolje’s lips moved in that parody of a smile. “When Goran dies, Tahari will be a widow. I had one son with her. I can have another.”
“No one in this court is going to kneel to an infant,” Esvar said. “Not even yours. If you kill me and marry Tahari, Doru will kill her and make his move. He’ll sit on the throne while the worms feast and make merry with your body. The Messenger is waiting for you. Your words stink of decay, and they neither frighten me nor tempt me. You’ve missed your chance.”
“You are a fool, boy.”
There was a rap on the door, startling both of them, and Goran entered. He bowed to the king and looked smugly at Esvar.
“Sit,” said Karolje, as though he were inviting Goran to take tea. Esvar remained by the window, arms folded.
Goran took the chair Esvar had vacated, edging it back. He acted confident. A sudden summons to Karolje was not unusual, even this late. Esvar supposed the chancellor expected he was here to testify against the prince, instead of the other way around.
Karolje said, “Your loyalty has never been doubted,” a sentence that would have made any reasonable person prepare for the worst. Goran inclined his head. The king went on. “Except for a lapse of a few minutes, nine years ago.”
“My lord?”
“Your wife was pregnant with a son when you married her. You killed the boy.”
“Who tells you such lies? Him?” He jerked his head back at Esvar. “He is jealous. And ambitious.”
“In this matter I find him credible.”
“The boy had a fever, my lord. He died. I grieved at his death. These accusations are baseless.”
“The boy was my son, as you well knew. That was why you married her. To raise a royal child as your own, not a cuckoo but a hostage.”
“Why would I kill him then? What did I gain? All that came of his death was grief. And how could Prince Esvar know? He was a child himself. Winterfever takes the old and the young and the weak, and that year was a bad year for it.”
The Vanished Queen Page 35
