by Steven Brust
“You are most welcome.”
Daro dismounted and turned her horse over to the care of a groom, while Cawti continued on toward the House of the Dragon. Daro entered the Palace and followed the familiar path to the Last Antechamber, where she gave her name and asked to speak with Her Majesty. She was admitted in less than two minutes, and at once walked up to the Empress, making the proper obeisance.
“What is it, Countess?”
“Your Majesty, may we speak privately?”
Zerika frowned. “Very well.” She rose, as did everyone else in the room. She nodded to the nearest guard and announced, “I will be in the Blue Room for a few minutes.”
Daro followed her out the east door and down a very wide stairway that had, in Daro’s opinion, far too much gold filigree. The second door on the right was the Blue Room, named not for the walls, which were an inoffensive beige, but for the furnishings—a long couch and three comfortable chairs. There was also a table, upon which a servant deposited an open bottle of wine and two glasses. Neither Daro nor the Empress so much as glanced at the wine.
Her Majesty sat in one of the chairs and nodded to Daro, who sat at the end of the couch.
“What is it, Countess?” The Orb, slowly circling her head, was a pale green.
CHAPTER THREE
CAWTI
The Easterner left the Tiassa who dressed like a Lyorn and spoke like an Issola. Then she continued on to the House of the Dragon, where she put her horse into the hands of a groom, with instructions to return her to the livery stable in South Adrilankha. The groom bowed, and Cawti tipped him, thanked him, and approached the House itself.
The doors stood open; she walked past the guards who flanked it, ignoring the way they ignored her. They’d seen her before, and had learned not to interfere with her, but they didn’t have to like it. She walked through the Grand Hall and took the White Stairway up three floors and so to the private chambers of the Heir. A single guard stood beside the pale yellow door with the e’Lanya symbol embossed in silver. This guard, too, recognized Cawti, and pulled the rope hanging next to the door.
Presently the door opened to reveal Her Highness Norathar. “Cawti! Come in!”
Cawti smiled and entered. “Greetings, Princess. Ouch!”
“I told you I’d smack you if you called me that again. Sit. What are you drinking?”
“Nothing. I need a clear head. You aren’t drinking either, sister.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Don’t play stupid; you see how I’m dressed.”
Norathar nodded. “Either something is up in South Adrilankha, or it’s about Vlad.”
“Nothing is up in South Adrilankha.”
“Start at the beginning.”
“The beginning would be when Her Ladyship the Countess of Whitecrest came to my door.”
Norathar sat back. “Really! She came to your house? That’s priceless!”
“Isn’t it just?”
“What did she say?”
Cawti described the conversation; Norathar appeared to enjoy it; especially the negotiation.
“So,” said the Dragon Heir. “We have a Jenoine invasion—”
“The threat of a Jenoine invasion.”
“Right. And an artifact that can help that is supposedly in Vlad’s possession, and an Empress agreeing to use the Orb to locate him.”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve drawn the obvious conclusion.”
“I’m glad it’s obvious to you, too, or I’d have to wonder if paranoia were contagious.”
“It’s obvious. Any idea how they’re going to do it?”
“Not yet.”
“What is this silver tiassa?”
“I don’t know anything about its history or properties, if that’s what you’re asking. It’s something Vlad used in a caper a few years ago. Before we were married, in fact. So far as I know, it doesn’t actually do anything. I wouldn’t mind seeing it again.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It was pretty.”
“And it reminds you of Vlad.”
“This is a lovely room. Is the still-life new?”
“Cawti—”
She sighed. “I’m not the Countess of Whitecrest.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Everything I do does not, in fact, revolve around the guy I used to live with.”
Norathar stared at her. “Where would you get the idea that I thought it did?”
“All right. It was a strange conversation with the Countess. I mean, while we were riding over. Nothing significant, just strange.”
“It must have been.”
“Have you met László?”
“The Empress’s … I mean, the Easterner?”
“Yes.”
“Sure, we’ve met.”
“He’s one of the finest masters of witchcraft the world has ever seen. Ever. He has two familiars, which as far as I know has never … he has extended his life for hundreds of years. You can’t do that with witchcraft. He—”
“What’s your point?”
“He’s the Empress’s lover.”
“Just because everyone sees him—”
“No, no. That’s how he thinks of himself. That’s the most important thing there is to him.”
“That’s very odd.”
“Yeah. And from some of the things the Countess said, it sounds like she’s another. Maybe. I don’t know, I could be wrong. But it sounds like what matters to her is that she’s married to the captain. And then you said—”
“Oh. I see.”
“You know about my work, even if we don’t talk about it.”
“Yes.”
“Whatever you think about it, that matters.”
“I know it matters to you.”
“No, it—all right, we won’t get into that. My point is—”
“I’m way ahead of you, sister. I’m sorry.”
“But you know why Vlad is on the run.”
“I know.”
“I hate it that he threw everything away to save me.”
“I know.”
“I hate it that he saved me.”
“I know.”
“I hate it that I have to feel grateful to him.”
“I know.”
“And now—”
“Yes. I understand.”
“Are you in, Norathar?”
“Is that a stupid question, or a formality?”
“A formality.”
“I’m in.”
Cawti smiled. “Thank you.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“Of course.”
“All right. This is your score. What’s the first step?”
“A visit to the Empress. You can get me in?”
“Of course. I’m a princess.”
“Hey, it’s got to be good for something.”
“Are we in a hurry?”
“I don’t know. Best to assume we are.”
“Give me a moment.”
“Of course.”
Norathar vanished into her dressing room, and emerged five minutes later wearing a cloak of Jhereg gray over her clothing, which was the black and silver of the House of the Dragon. She wore a sword belt; she took her sword from where it hung on the wall and slid it into the scabbard.
“Ready,” she said.
“Like the bad old days,” said Cawti.
“For me, they were good.”
“They were that, too. Let’s go. I’ll fill you in as we walk.”
It was only a couple hundred yards from the House of the Dragon to the entrance to the Imperial Wing.
As they passed through on their way to the throne room, Cawti said, “You saw the looks?”
“The tall one tried to keep his face blank. I think he may have sustained a permanent injury.”
“I may have sustained a permanent injury trying not to laugh at him.”
“The Dragon Heir and an Easterner, both wearing Jhereg cloaks. I don�
��t think I blame them.”
“Nor do I. But I am tempted to go out the Liscom Door, circle around, and do it again.”
“Aren’t we in a hurry?”
“I suppose so.”
They had no trouble until they reached the Last Antechamber, where the pair of guardsmen seemed to have some trouble admitting Cawti. Norathar was about to demand to see the captain when the door opened from within and Lord Summer announced that the Empress wished to see the Princess Norathar and her guest. Summer guided them through the throne room and out the Orb Door and conducted them just a few steps down a wide hallway, where their guide opened a pale blue door and stepped aside for them.
Cawti felt a quick thump from her heart, and silently cursed herself for it.
They entered. Her Majesty was standing next to a chair of the same shade of blue as the door; the Orb, circling her head, was a light shade of green. Facing Her Majesty was the Countess of Whitecrest. Cawti and Norathar bowed.
“Please sit,” said Her Majesty. They all did so.
Old eyes in a young face, thought Cawti.
“Lady Taltos, Princess Norathar.” She smiled without warmth. “Let’s hear it.”
She didn’t offer us refreshment. I think I won’t correct her about my name.
“May I ask Your Majesty a question?”
“Princess, if this concerns the threat from the Jenoine, ceremony is a waste of time. If it doesn’t, this whole conversation is a waste of time. Ask your question.”
“In the matter of finding the silver tiassa, have you had an offer of assistance from a Jhereg?”
The Empress briefly appeared startled, started to speak, stopped, and said, “Not assistance; a request to observe the process.”
“On what basis?”
“A legal one.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Using the Orb to locate a citizen is illegal except for ‘pressing Imperial reasons,’ which means whatever the Emperor wants it to. So legally, any House that wishes may send a witness.”
“So,” said Norathar. “The Jhereg wants a witness. No one else?”
“The Athyra, but they always do. Locating someone via the Orb is unusual, and they like to send someone to study the spell.”
“Always,” repeated the Princess. “How many times has this been done?”
The Empress hesitated, presumably consulting the Orb, then said, “This will be the thirtieth.”
Cawti looked at Norathar, who was looking back at her. They nodded to each other.
“Well?” said the Empress. “What is it?”
“I’m afraid,” said Norathar, “that Your Majesty has been duped.”
The Orb darkened. “I was beginning to get that feeling. Daro?”
“As I told Your Majesty, it was a request from Cawti. I trust her.”
“You do?”
“Conditionally.”
The Empress looked at Norathar. “Is it about the silver tiassa?”
“No, it is about the individual who doesn’t have it.”
The Imperial eyes turned to Cawti. “Your husband.”
Cawti nodded.
“We learn of a Jenoine invasion, we suddenly learn of an artifact that can help, then we learn that it is in the possession of your husband.”
“Yes.”
“Is it possible,” said the Empress slowly, “that this entire threat is false?”
“Possible, yes,” said Norathar. “But it’s more likely the Jhereg learned of it and decided to exploit it for their own purposes.”
“The Jhereg?” said the Empress.
Cawti cleared her throat.
“Speak up.”
Cawti forced herself to ignore the irritation she felt and said, “It would be more accurate to say elements within the Jhereg.”
“I will find them and destroy them.”
“Your Majesty—”
“But until we know, we must assume the threat is real.”
The Countess said, “Was that the royal we, Majesty, or did you mean the four of us?”
The Empress chuckled, and the Orb briefly flickered white. “I meant the four of us.”
“What would you like us to do?”
“I’m not the one with the plan,” she said. “They are. True, Your Highness?”
“True, Your Majesty.”
“Let’s hear it, then.”
“Your Majesty,” said Norathar. “We want to test this theory by asking you to feign locating Count Szurke, and then give a false location. If we are wrong, Your Majesty can always give the true location later.”
“And this false location will be?”
“A place Cawti and I will choose.”
“What will happen at this false location?”
“We will see who arrives there.”
“And report back to me?”
“Of course,” said the Dragon Heir, staring at a place on the wall over Her Majesty’s shoulders.
Zerika stared at her, frowning.
“All right,” said the Empress at last. “I’m willing to do that much. But I want to know what’s behind this.”
“After it’s over?” said Norathar.
“Very well. When do you want to begin?”
Cawti caught her friend’s eye, and nodded. “We’re ready now,” said Norathar.
The Orb flickered again, and Her Majesty said, “Very well; the wizard will be in the throne room shortly. Have you selected a place?”
Norathar looked at Cawti. “Do you have something in mind? It should be far enough from the city to be believable.”
“Remember that little hamlet just east of Candletown?”
Norathar smiled. “It would be hard to forget. Bevinger’s House.”
“Yes.”
The Princess bowed to the Empress. “Your Majesty may take the location from me. I’m thinking of it now.”
“I have it. Go. I’ll return to the throne room and make sure everyone knows what I’m doing. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Yes, Majesty.”
Norathar led the way out, taking a long detour around the throne room. The Countess walked with them.
“I am concerned for the Empire,” she said.
“As am I,” said Norathar.
“I’m not,” said Cawti. The Countess gave her a look, but Norathar just smiled.
“Not,” added the Countess, “that I have any special concern for what happens to the Jhereg.”
“There we all agree,” said Norathar.
“But the last thing the Empire needs is warfare within the Empire. The Interregnum did not end so long ago. A battle among Houses, and the slaughter of Imperial personnel, would not be good just now.”
“I don’t think the Jhereg would have much of a chance,” said Norathar. “But still, you’re right.”
“So, what do we do about it?”
“What I’m going to do about it is deal with the immediate threat.”
“The threat to—?”
“You don’t need to know that, Countess,” said Norathar.
Whitecrest started to speak, but then stopped and nodded. “Very well. If I am there when Her Majesty does the location spell—”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps I can discover who will be taking the information.”
“How?”
“Her Majesty might tell me, if I ask nicely.” She smiled.
“Then what?” said Norathar.
“Then I’ll tell you.”
Norathar nodded. “I’ll expect to hear from you, then.”
“Good luck.”
“And to you.”
The Countess left; Cawti and Norathar continued out of the Palace.
“Are you comfortable doing the teleport?” asked Cawti.
Norathar nodded. “I’m fine with it.”
They left the Palace through the Hearthfire Door, and took the path toward the Athyra Wing, stopping in Songbird Circle. “This is good,” said Norathar.
“I’m ready,” said Ca
wti.
Norathar concentrated, and, just to be safe, gestured. Cawti felt the world spinning, and the ground seemed to move. She closed her eyes and knelt down.
“It’s been a while,” she said. “I’d forgotten how much I hate teleporting.”
“Take your time.”
Cawti nodded and regretted it; then just waited for it to pass. When it did, she stood up and opened her eyes.
“It hasn’t changed,” said Norathar.
They had appeared behind the inn, between a pair of oak trees near the stable, blocked from view of the back door by an old well.
“This is the spot you gave the Empress?”
“Not exactly. Closer to the well.”
“Good. A triangle, then.”
“Yes. Do we give him a chance?”
“Can’t afford the time; it’s liable to be someone good.”
Norathar nodded.
Cawti said, “Testing me, sister?”
“Yes. It’s been a while. I need to be sure—”
“Now you’re sure.”
Norathar nodded.
Cawti looked around, moved to a place two feet in front of the stable, and drew her daggers. Norathar walked to a place equidistant from Cawti and the well, and drew her sword.
Cawti felt her shoulders relax. The daggers felt cool in her hands, forefingers at the balance points, middle finger for leverage, palms up just above her hips, pointing just a little bit toward each other. For knife-fighting, she would be using different weapons, holding them with the points inward and the edges out—but this wasn’t for fighting, this was for killing.
“Ready, sister?” said Norathar.
“Just like the old days,” said Cawti softly.
“Just like. I’m telling Her Majesty to go ahead.”
Cawti nodded. Her eyes unfocused, and she felt her breath coming evenly and slowly. “Good,” she said, a little surprised to hear the soft, distant monotone of her own voice. “Let’s get it done.”
Then there was the wait.
There was always the wait.
If nothing else had brought it all back, that would have—the familiar easy tension, the hint of excitement, the trace of anticipation.
Gods! Do I miss this?
Across from her was Norathar, sword relaxed in both hands, point slightly off to the side, face like stone, eyes like ice.
She isn’t missing this.
One endless moment from when she took her position to the appearance of—may as well say it—the targets. More, stretching from the first target, a cleaner’s assistant who couldn’t keep his hands off the stock. All the way from him, and twenty-eight others. Twenty-nine, counting Vlad. In, then out, then back in. Like stepping in and out of a different world; the colors were duller but the edges sharper, and nothing and everything mattered and didn’t matter. All moments were one moment of waiting for the targets that were all the targets, with her sister, Norathar, silent and steady and ready and dire, like two walls that could never fall over because they were leaning on each other.
