A Charm for Draius: A Novel of the Broken Kaskea (The Broken Kaskea Series Book 1)

by REEVE, LAURA E.

  She motioned for him to continue.

  “While he showed me the lodestone, Taalo would glance at another figure, as if for support or approval. I saw him practically flinch when the man gestured at him. Big, broad, tall fellow.” The clerk stood up and showed them the approximate size of the man.

  “What about his voice?”

  “He was careful to hide his face and head with his hood, and he stayed in the shadows. I never heard him speak.” Usko couldn’t provide any more information about the leader; no sense of lineage or occupation could be gleaned from his description. As for other members of the conspiracy, he had no names and could barely provide basic information like heights, weights, and genders. Apparently, there was a woman, perhaps two, who Usko thought might be merchants.

  Draius took a deep breath and mentally ticked off another dead end. “Well, let’s establish some relationships between the victims.” Maybe Usko might now prove his worth.

  “I never met this Vanhus fellow, and all Sareenians look the same, don’t they? The only Sareenians I met were associated with shipping the lodestone, which left port almost two eight-days ago.”

  She checked her calendar, moving her fingers over one eight-day, then another. “Do you remember exactly when it sailed?”

  “I think it was Third Kingday.” Usko sounded hesitant. “I remember thinking how miserable the weather was, and how I pitied the Sareenian captain, having to travel with the lodestone.”

  “What happened after the ship sailed?”

  “We all know that answer: the storms stopped tearing the cities apart.”

  Draius pressed her lips together. Usko was being purposely obtuse. “I meant, what happened between the members of your conspiracy? Some of them soon came to tragic ends.”

  “Well, nobody bothered to tell me about the situation, but I could see things were going badly. I saw Reggis arguing with others and I wondered whether these people had the best interests of Tyrra at heart.”

  Draius exchanged a glance with Ponteva, whose eyes were narrowed. She agreed: it was a little late for Usko to profess allegiance to Tyrra and King.

  “So you think the murders were the result of conflict over the destination—essentially control of the lodestone?” she asked.

  “Maybe, but there were other problems. The ship may have been lost at sea, so the Sareenians were upset about the cost of fitting the ship.”

  “Could the ship’s crew have stolen the cargo? What about pirates? And what about your cohorts at the destination; can they be trusted?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t know, either, or they wouldn’t be so frantic about finding the ship.”

  “And Honorday evening? When the Phrenii reported the attempt to enter the phrenic circle?”

  Usko pressed his lips together. “My ‘cohorts,’ as you call them, only entrusted me with guarding a door.”

  “Who was present on Honorday?” She wondered if it was pique at being left out of the “inner circle” that was causing Usko to open up and turn on the others.

  “Since Reggis is gone, the only one I ever meet is Taalo—but I think he’s fallen from favor. As for others, perhaps ten people arrived. They protect their identities, even from each other. When they finished, one person was carried away.”

  “Did you see what happened that night?”

  “As I said, I’m only allowed to tend the door. But every evening since Honorday, the result has been the same: someone collapses, but I’m not told any specifics.” Yes, Usko was bitter about his status in the conspiracy.

  “Can you tell us the location of this warehouse?”

  Usko gave her a wry smile. “Unfortunately, I can only guess. I meet Taalo in the market square and I get blindfolded.”

  She glanced at Ponteva, who nodded. He would work with the clerk, trying to get any clues as to the location of the building.

  “Could you tell if anyone was armed?” she asked.

  “No. Never thought about it.”

  She tried another tack. “You know how some Guard look when they’re without weapons. They’re fiddling with their belt, their sword and knife hands seeking those weapons. When they have their arms, they often rest their hand upon them. Anyone behave like that?”

  The corners of Usko’s mouth lifted in sour amusement. “Officer Draius, most of these men are feeling for their money-purses, not their weapons. I suppose I’ve seen one or two of the robed figures ‘fiddle,’ as you say.”

  So the attack on her and Lornis still pointed straight at Haversar, but why? Haversar ran his organization with a brutal, pragmatic outlook entirely oriented on profit. Anything stolen by his people had to be saleable on the streets. No one who worked for him would dare identify him to the Guard, so few people in the Guard knew what he looked like. Draius did—she’d seen Haversar once when he was meeting with Jan—and loyalty to her husband had kept her mouth shut. Haversar was big enough to fit Usko’s description of the leader, but surely he wouldn’t be involved if there wasn’t any likely profit.

  She shut away thoughts of the attack and focused again upon the clerk. “What other information did you give Taalo? He couldn’t have been only interested in your ability to forge customs documents.”

  “Oh, nothing of consequence. I think they were testing my loyalty. They asked for watch schedules and other meaningless items, such as manpower reports.”

  “You fool!” Ponteva couldn’t contain himself. Usko cringed, confusion on his face.

  “You might have thought those schedules meaningless, but they were probably pretty helpful to the conspirators,” she said. “You’ve betrayed King and country with your actions.”

  “But—I never meant—”

  “What’s done is done, but perhaps you can remedy things. Tellina’s body will be released today, so Ponteva will take you immediately to the morgue. Let’s see if you recognize him as a member of the conspiracy.”

  “That’s unlikely, ser.” Usko blanched; although he worked for the City Guard, he had never been around corpses. However, Draius had no compassion for the clerk. She dictated what Usko would do in the coming days: he would remain under covert Guard custody, in hopes that Taalo would contact him again. He would continue to go home and go to work at the regular times, and he would be constantly watched.

  When she finished and opened her office door, Miina had a message for her. “Someone stopped by to see how you were doing, a sickly looking fellow named Wendell. He waited for a while and eventually left.”

  She’d thank Wendell for his concern later. Meanwhile, she gave orders that Miina and Ponteva would be responsible for Usko, with the help of the rest of the watch. Above all, she stressed, the appearance of normalcy must be maintained so the conspirators wouldn’t suspect that Usko had confessed.

  Draius penned a note for Perinon, which read:

  Sire, the existence of the lodestone has been confirmed through an eyewitness. This eyewitness supposes the object was shipped out of Tyrra on the Sareenian ship Danilo Ana, on the Second Farmday of Erin Two. Destination of the ship is still unknown.

  —Your faithful Officer of the City Guard, Serasa-Kolme Draius.

  She marked it with “For the King’s Eyes Only” and sealed it with an official King’s Law seal. As she gave the note to a runner, she wondered what Perinon would do with this information. Lately, the King had been showing a propensity for abrupt decisions.

  For a moment she wondered whether her cousin was already wandering into madness. After all, the strain of the Kaskea was real. Mielis was only one example of several kings who had broken from that strain, albeit the most famous one.

  She rubbed her neck as she indulged in a few wistful memories of running about the streets of Betarr Serasa with her cousins on imaginative quests and battles. Would Perinon ever laugh like that again? For that matter, would she?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Postures and Facades

  Tyrra has been established longer than mankind can remember. She was
sequestered safely behind her magic until the Fevers, which had no regard for magical walls. In 1456, King Valos dismantled the Lightning Wall of the Phrenii, and the Mapped World clearly saw the complicated manner of Tyrran governance. The Kingship carries the authority of a hereditary principality, while the matriarchy selects who holds the Kingship, as well as enforcing a mysterious control throughout the populace. Networks of elected officials and administrators, who shift and change over time, alleviate the threat of treason. All this creates a state that is easily held, and almost impossible to overcome through disaffection.

  —To Have and Hold Power, Avo Cabaran, T.Y. 1471

  It was time for Draius to give King Perinon her report, unwelcome as it may be. The Guard in flashing silver and green said she’d find the King in the great Council Hall, although no formal session of the King’s Council was in progress. Lightly bounding up the stairs of the Palace of Stars and through the stone archway, she kept her mind on her task—no time for memories, good or bad, today. Turning right into the corridor for the Council Hall, she regretted her haste. Two Groygans, wearing red and yellow uniforms of the embassy, were lounging in front of the chamber doors, which appeared to be new.

  It was too late to turn back without losing face. Draius slowed down as much as she could while still looking purposeful. Unfortunately, there was no other reason to be in this hallway other than to go into the great hall. The Groygans pushed away from the wall with sinuous motions and stood in front of the doors, blocking her way. Through the closed chamber doors came the sound of raised voices, but she couldn’t distinguish words.

  “Honor, look. It’s far fintemila,” said the Groygan on the right, identifying himself as lower ranking by his words. He had bright yellow eyes and his skin was a sickly orange, the result of getting less exposure to the sun than he did in Groyga. He bared his canines at her.

  “All I see is the offspring of cats,” she said, addressing the higher-ranking Groygan. The younger one had called her a girl-pretending-to-manhood, which she had heard before. Likewise, her return had little sting, being a traditional jibe at the Groygan eye shape and elongated, slit-shaped pupils.

  They were just going through the motions, posturing. She’d purposely addressed the senior of the two, who would now have to respond to her insult, weak as it was. As this older Groygan looked her up and down, she knew he was the more dangerous of the two. He’d been addressed as “Honor,” so he was an Honored Sword of some rank. His bronze body looked battle-hardened and his posture screamed for his sword, which he wasn’t allowed to wear outside the Groygan Embassy. The long blade on his ceremonial knife, however, almost went beyond his diplomatic rights and could be a formidable weapon. Her hand drifted to the hilt of her own long knife.

  “Our women don’t give birth in the fields, ride a-straddle, or manage property and money. They don’t pretend to be men.” The younger Groygan spat a gob, defiling the marble floor. She continued to ignore him.

  The Honored Sword was taller than Draius and he came closer to stare into her face. She kept herself staring coldly into his foreign eyes. He moved to her side, which would constrict her primary weapon arm. She moved with him, face to face, purposely turning her back on the younger Groygan. The Honored Sword’s mouth twitched into an unpleasant smile, and she returned it.

  “No, De Garra, we should pity her. She’s probably sterile, like most Tyrran women. Let her play at manhood, since she can no longer fulfill her purpose.” The Honored Sword had a smooth voice and spoke impeccable Tyrran.

  She was shocked, on several accounts. The Tyrran language was taught and known throughout the mapped world, but Groygans she’d previously encountered had spoken it with strange inflections. Their guttural accents were heavy and identifiable, like De Garra’s, and she had never heard a Groygan who could pass for a Tyrran. Then there was the nature of the insult, which worried her and although she’d never admit it, cut her deeply. Never before had any Groygan touched upon the shameful problem of the Tyrran matriarchy: the dwindling birth rate. Since Tyrrans never talked of this, how did this Groygan know? Was their situation obvious to strangers?

  “My son is nearly old enough to learn the sword.” She clenched her teeth. A warning sounded inside her head: don’t get emotional, don’t get carried away.

  The Honored Sword cocked his head in a very Tyrran gesture. “Well, good for you,” he said heartily, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was casual and condescending. “And he probably has a good amount of Meran blood. What’s your son’s name?”

  His hazel eyes with the narrow pupils flicked over her blond hair, her gray eyes, and her dusky skin: all the indicators that showed her Meran lineage—which was usually irrelevant to a Groygan. Draius was unsure how to respond, because the Stars would fall into Darkness before she’d give her son’s name to a Groygan. Names were unique within each Tyrran generation, which this Groygan probably knew.

  The doors behind her opened with a thump, banging against the walls and releasing the smell of freshly carved wood. It took strength to make those heavy doors fly open, and Draius had to ignominiously scamper out of the way of Groygan Ambassador Velenare Be Glotta. Velenare swept by without giving her a glance. He was broad, tall, and twice her weight. He could have knocked her into the marble wall without noticing.

  “Prendergi, Be Lottagre,” said the Ambassador in a deep, guttural voice to the Honored Sword. Although Velenare was the first Groygan Ambassador to adopt Tyrran styles in clothing and hair, there was no doubt that his voice was Groygan. The Honored Sword and De Garra immediately fell in behind Velenare as he strode down the hall.

  Trying to salvage her pride, Draius glared at the back of their three heads. Groygans typically had hair color that couldn’t possibly pass for Tyrran: Velenare’s hair was flaming red and De Garra’s was a shocking orange, but the Honored Sword had dark muted bronze locks that were left long, in the Tyrran tradition. De Garra kept his hair disgustingly short and spiky, but then De Garra had no chance of being mistaken for a Tyrran in the dark—

  She was caught flat-footed as the Honored Sword looked back at her before turning the corner. His eyes caught hers in a knowing, amused glance. Then he winked at her, and went around the corner.

  She was infuriated. The King’s Guard at the door let her stalk into the King’s Council Hall. As soon as she realized that Sevoi was speaking, she backed up until she stood near the doors.

  “We can’t give in to his pressure. We had every right to conduct the raid into the Auberei Islands, and we had the blessings, even the encouragement, of every Sareenian state.” Sevoi was the oldest man in the room, having been the master of arms, the commander of the King’s Guard, for over thirty years.

  “Turning over Rhobar might appease them, and we wouldn’t lose face by doing so.” Councilman Muusa had been recently appointed to the King’s Council as a temporary replacement for Reggis. He was a thin man of average height and he looked agitated.

  “You’re wrong, Councilman. They’ve already swallowed Gosleir, with no protest from us, or anyone else. Giving them Rhobar would be tantamount to admitting Groygan influence now extends over the Auberei Archipelago,” Sevoi said. “Rhobar doesn’t come under Groygan jurisdiction, and as for whom he’s wronged? He’s extorted ransom and tribute from the Sareenians, and he’s attacked and raided both Tyrran and Kitarran ships. Everyone is out for his blood.”

  Draius glanced about the room, noting Sevoi, Lady Aracia, Muusa, Perinon, and Perinon’s ever-present Guards. The Phrenii were absent. Perinon looked haggard, as Sevoi and Muusa argued in front of his chair. Lady Aracia was an icy presence standing near the tall windows, removed from the argument.

  “Groygan ships suffered from Rhobar as well,” Muusa said.

  “So Velenare claims. But I suspect he fears Rhobar will be exposed as a Groygan privateer, not just a common pirate,” Sevoi said.

  “We can’t go back to the days of the Lightning Wall, when we symbolically cut ourselves off from th
e world,” Muusa said.

  “The Lightning Wall was more than just a symbol, Councilman.” Perinon waved the ring that had the sliver of Kaskea. His gesture was languid and like Aracia, he didn’t seem engaged by the dispute.

  “What if Groyga interprets our raid as an act of war, Sire?” Muusa ran his fingers nervously through his thin beard. “They could stop trade, they could claim—”

  “Sire, the King’s Council shouldn’t have raised taxes on Groygan imports.” Aracia’s cool voice cut across Muusa’s and everyone in the hall looked at her. “I must remind you, gentlemen, that our productivity has not increased since the Fevers and our population still dwindles. We have developed wondrous and comfortable inventions, but we must exchange our mechanical advancements for food, clothes, and labor. We now need Groygan food to sustain ourselves, to stay alive. Capitulating on the matter of the pirate and appeasing Groyga, Sire, may be a matter of survival.”

  Aracia’s words rang like a death knell. In the following silence, she bowed her head to Perinon and completed a grand exit; this time Draius couldn’t have spoiled it. There was silence as they waited for the most powerful matriarch in Tyrra to leave the hall.

  “Sire, Velenare surprised us during an informal meeting and I take full responsibility for that. I will immediately adjust the training of the King’s Guard. But his demand to hand over Rhobar cannot be accommodated without offending Sareen and Kitarra.”

  Muusa muttered something under his breath. The argument had stalled, without producing workable options. Perinon dismissed him with a wan gesture and Muusa walked out. He then noticed Draius near the doors and motioned for her to come forward. After she bowed her head, Sevoi gave her a nod.

  Draius was still piqued by her exchange of insults with the Groygans. “Sire, Master Sevoi, I met—encountered—Ambassador Velenare. He has an Honored Sword here, doesn’t he?”