The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  Perhaps I was something more to him than a tool, a weapon.

  Receding footsteps. My neck muscles had almost completely relaxed.

  “Lizbeth—” Worry now.

  “Towels, hot water, I know.” Not as shrill as before. Determined and grim. Even with my eyes closed I could see her hitching up skirts, darting off toward the kitchen.

  “Right. Now. You, Guardsman—”

  “Erick.”

  “Whatever. Follow me. We’ll take her up to her room.”

  More jostling. We’d almost reached my room when I began to thrash.

  “Gods!” Borund gasped.

  Erick shoved someone out of the way and tossed me onto the bed. “Hold her, damn it! She’ll hurt herself!”

  Hands clamped down onto my shoulders, a body pressed down over my chest. More hands gripped my legs.

  “Gods, she’s strong,” Borund muttered. One leg tore free. My knee connected with something soft and fleshy and I heard Borund bark, “Shit!” before he recaptured the leg.

  I heard Lizbeth gasp as she returned, and then there was a flutter of quick movements and a moment later, still thrashing madly, someone pressed a hot cloth against my forehead, water drenching down into my hair.

  “She’s sweating up a storm,” Lizbeth said.

  Erick only grunted.

  I felt the tremors easing again, felt the strength draining away, leaving me empty.

  “I think it’s stopping for now,” Erick muttered, and he drew his body weight off me, carefully.

  I began to sob, the tears hot and salty, my chest hitching painfully. I tried to speak, but the strength was draining away too fast.

  “Shh,” Lizbeth murmured, her voice close, her breath tickling my ear. “Hush, you’re safe now.”

  Exhaustion dragged her away. Just before it claimed me again, I heard Erick say faintly, “That’s not the end of it.”

  And it wasn’t. I rode the waves of tremors and exhaustion as I’d done before on the Dredge, waking enough that I could hear things faintly. But the pain was too intense. I never opened my eyes, only listened.

  “. . . in bloody hells happened!” Borund, voice vehement.

  “It was an ambush,” Erick spat back. “They were waiting for her!”

  “Who?”

  “She called the one Cristoph.”

  “Cristoph? But she was supposed to be following Alendor!”

  Erick grunted. “He knew. He must have led her to the alley where Cristoph was waiting.”

  Silence. Then Borund said, “Cristoph is Alendor’s youngest son. Perhaps Alendor is more daring than I thought. Or more desperate.”

  Another silence. “She’d be dead if I hadn’t intervened.”

  Someone else entered the room. “Master Borund. The fire has spread through the warehouse district and entered the wharf. All ships have taken to the harbor, but, of course, with the blockade none can leave.”

  Borund swore. “Damn Avrell! Why can’t he get the harbor opened? All our ships are safe?”

  “Yes.”

  Borund sighed, began pacing. “What about the rain? Is it helping? Are we safe here?”

  “The wind is blowing the fire toward the wharf. There’s a chance it will jump the river to the other side of the harbor, but the rain seems to be keeping the fire damped. It’s hard to tell. . . .”

  I felt Borund approach, stand over me. But I could feel myself fading. “We’ll stay here as long as possible. I don’t want to move her.”

  A breath against my face as someone leaned close. Then I heard Borund whisper, “You damn well better come back, Varis. I can’t lose you. Not after almost losing William.”

  His voice was choked.

  Darkness. Soft darkness, like cloth.

  Then a patch of light.

  “How long will she be like this?” Borund asked.

  Someone’s hand pulled away from my chest. The trembling fit had abated and I could already feel the exhaustion pulling me down, the cloth moving back over my head.

  “Hard to say.” Isaiah, the healer. “But the seizures aren’t as strong now as before. She’s recovering. . . .”

  More darkness. I pulled its cloth close, smothered myself in it. But another patch of light intervened.

  “And what about Alendor?” A new voice, smooth and careful. I struggled with the cloth of darkness, pushed it back. It was Avrell, the First of the Mistress.

  “No one’s seen him since the fire,” Borund answered.

  Avrell sighed. “Parts of the warehouse district are still smoldering.”

  “Thank the Mistress for the rain. All of Amenkor might have burned.” Borund had moved closer. “But it doesn’t matter,” he added. “With the warehouse district gone, we’ve lost most of our food stocks. The consortium is dead whether Alendor survived the fire or not. There’s nothing left in Amenkor for the consortium to control.”

  “He’s still a danger.”

  “I won’t kill him,” I tried to say, but the darkness was returning. I couldn’t tell whether anyone had heard me, whether I’d even spoken out loud.

  Borund leaned in closer. “Not anymore.”

  I fought the darkness, screamed at its resilience. “I won’t kill him!”

  Avrell moved closer as well. “In any case, we still have the problem of the Mistress. Nathem and I have tried to replace her, to seat someone else on the throne, but it isn’t working. And the current Mistress still refuses to release the blockade.”

  Silence. “And what do you expect me to do about it?” Borund sounded tired and distracted.

  I felt Avrell leaning over me, felt his presence like a weight. “Remember our discussion when I came to your manse a few weeks back? You told me that Varis once said she sees people as ‘red,’ and that is how she knows who to protect you from.”

  Borund grunted.

  “I questioned that Seeker who brought her to you. He told me a similar story, that Varis claimed one of the Mistress’ marks that she helped him to hunt down was ‘gray,’ that Varis told him that meant the mark was innocent. I’d heard of this before, so when you and Varis came to the palace, I had one of the Servants check to confirm my suspicions.”

  I stilled, felt the darkness drawing in close and tight and struggled against it. But I was still too weak.

  Avrell leaned back, his clothes rustling. “I know what needs to be done now.”

  Before Borund could respond, or Avrell could continue, the darkness claimed me. One last time.

  * * *

  When I woke again, it was from true sleep. No feeling of cloth darkness shoved aside for a brief moment. No patch of light. No uncontrollable trembling. Instead, there was weariness, sunk so deep into my bones I could barely move. But I opened my eyes.

  Sunlight. It flooded the room . . . my room.

  I blinked up at the ceiling, let the throbbing of my face, my chest, my entire body flood through me. The pain in my chest was edged and concentrated. The pain in the vicinity of my lip was dull and spread out. The rest of my body was simply bruised, muscles and flesh worn and tired and completely drained of strength.

  I lay a long moment and simply breathed. The air was tainted with smoke.

  “Welcome back.”

  I turned my head, ignored the warning pangs from my neck.

  William sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, watching me. He smiled, and I felt something inside the empty hollowness of my gut warm. “Aren’t we the pair,” he added, then laughed.

  I smiled, or tried to. There was more wrong with my face than the split lip. I remembered the bearded man punching me and lifted one arm tentatively to my cheek. It felt swollen and hot to the touch.

  I let my hand drop back, more for lack of strength than anything else.

  “How long?” I asked.

 
; William leaned forward. “Five days. The first two days we were afraid we’d have to move you because of the fire, but the rain halted that, or at least held it at bay. By then we realized that the seizures weren’t as bad each time and were spaced farther apart. We figured it was only a matter of time.” He hesitated, then asked, “What happened to you?”

  I turned away, stared up at the ceiling again. A surge of fear rippled through me, but not as strong as I expected. I’d never told anyone about the river, about what I saw. Not directly.

  But Avrell knew now, and I assumed Borund. I found it strange that they had not told William.

  “I don’t see things the same way you do,” I said. I paused, but the ripple of fear was smothered by the warmth. “When I want to, I can make everything a blur, as if I’m staring through water. Only the things of importance are clear. But it isn’t easy. Sometimes, when I push things too hard, or when I do something unexpected, something I didn’t realize I could do before, I get sick.”

  I waited, not certain what to expect.

  After a long moment of silence, I turned back to see William still sitting forward watching me. He smiled again, then stood.

  Moving carefully, one hand holding his side, he came up to the edge of the bed.

  “I’d better go tell Borund you’re awake. He and Avrell want to talk to you.”

  My stomach clenched and I thought, I won’t kill him, but then William reached forward and gently brushed my hair away from my face, distracting me. A light touch that sent shivers down my neck and shoulders and into my back.

  I held myself perfectly still and watched as he left the room.

  * * *

  I stood at a window in the palace and stared down at the city and harbor below. It had taken three days to recover enough so that I could get out of bed, and another two days before I felt well enough to come to the palace with Borund in order to see Avrell.

  Borund had tried to push me. But I didn’t listen to Borund anymore. I made my own decisions.

  On the harbor below, patrols still blockaded the inlet, the sleek ships flying the Mistress’ colors weaving back and forth beneath the sun. On land, a large chunk of the city close to the water was blackened, a few charred walls and half buildings still standing. Some warehouses had survived, and most of the docks, but close to a quarter of the city had burned.

  I thought of Cristoph heaving the lantern at me and frowned.

  I thought of Erick and bit my lip. I hadn’t seen him since that night, had only heard him in the days that followed. And he hadn’t been there at the end, when the tremors weren’t as bad. I’d only heard Borund and Avrell.

  Behind me, Borund suddenly blurted, “Where in bloody hell is he?” and stopped his pacing.

  As if he’d heard, the door to the little room opened and Avrell stepped in. He was followed by Erick.

  I shifted away from the window unconsciously, but halted. Erick’s face was set, grim and determined and dangerous. The same face he wore on the Dredge, when he was about to kill a mark. As if he were about to do something he regretted, but that he felt was necessary.

  His eyes caught mine but revealed nothing. He didn’t even nod in acknowledgment.

  I settled back as Avrell moved forward, suddenly uneasy.

  Avrell approached Borund first, caught his gaze, and said simply, “It didn’t work. We’ll have to do what we discussed earlier.”

  Borund tensed. “Are you certain? There’s no other option?” He did not look toward me as he spoke.

  “I see no other way,” Avrell said.

  Borund sighed, shoulders sagging, and nodded. Then they both turned toward me.

  I straightened at the looks on their faces, felt my bruised shoulders tense, felt my face set into a guarded expression. I watched Avrell, but it was Borund who moved forward.

  “Varis, we need your help.”

  My stomach tightened and I drew in a deep breath, anger flaring, but before I could say anything, Borund continued.

  “The fire that was started in the warehouse district . . . it burned up a significant portion of our reserves. The food we’d put aside, the food that had become scarce even before the fire, all of that . . . is gone. If we gather together everything that’s left, from all the merchants in the city, and if we buy and ship as much as we can from the nearest cities, we might be able to survive until the spring harvest. But in order to do that the ships have to leave within the next five days. They have to leave now or they won’t make it back before winter makes the seas too rough. Do you understand?”

  I shook my head, the tightness in my stomach beginning to sour. Because a part of me did see, already knew what was coming. “No, I don’t understand.”

  He sighed heavily. “We can’t buy and ship what we need when the harbor is blockaded.”

  I glanced toward Avrell. “Then unblock the harbor. Let the ships out.”

  Avrell didn’t move. “We can’t. The Mistress ordered the harbor closed. The Mistress has to order the harbor opened again. Baill won’t listen to anyone else, including me. He doesn’t have to listen to anyone else, not when given a direct order from the Mistress.”

  My gaze darted back to Borund. “Then get her to change her mind.”

  “She won’t,” Borund said. “We’ve tried.”

  The room fell silent. I knew what they wanted, but I wanted to hear them say it.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  And now no one wanted to speak. Borund drew back, breath held. Avrell stilled. Erick stood by the closed door and watched me, his expression still hard, closed.

  “She’s insane, Varis,” Borund finally managed. I was surprised. I’d expected Avrell to speak first. “We want you to kill her.”

  “No.” I said it almost before he finished, and he stepped back at the vehemence in my voice. “No, I don’t want to kill for you anymore. Find some other way.”

  “There is no other way!” Borund said. His voice became hard, commanding, desperate. “We’ve tried reasoning with her, we’ve tried countermanding her orders. We’ve even tried replacing her—”

  “Enough.”

  Avrell’s voice cut Borund short and he turned, angry and belligerent, but Avrell ignored him. Instead, he watched me.

  “You heard us discussing this before. The Mistress is insane. Something in the White Fire six years ago drove her insane. She ordered the palace guard into the city, infiltrating the streets when there was no serious threat. She ordered the blockade of the harbor, for no reason whatsoever. But that isn’t the worst.” He stood, moving forward, taking the place of Borund, who fell back.

  Behind them both, Erick perked up, suddenly attentive.

  Avrell stopped in front of me, held my gaze. “When the fire started in the city below, the Guard instantly responded. We moved to form brigades to the harbor, lines of men to pass buckets of water to help put it out, or at least try to contain it. But the Mistress ordered the guardsmen not to help. And so they didn’t. I stood on the tower beside the Mistress, stood there in the rain, and watched the city burn, let it burn. Because that’s what the Mistress had ordered. And do you know what she did as it spread toward the docks? She smiled.” He paused, and I saw rage in his eyes. “She let the city burn, Varis. If I had any doubts about her sanity before, they’re gone now.”

  “Then replace her,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I tried. Everyone I seat upon the throne dies. Horribly. The throne twists them somehow, tortures them without leaving a mark upon their bodies. Looking at the histories, no one has ever tried to replace a current living Mistress. The Mistress has always been dead before a new Mistress was named. No.” He shook his head again. “No. The current Mistress has to die before I can replace her.

  “I’m sworn to protect the throne, not the Mistress.”

  I looked into his eyes and saw how much
it had torn him inside to admit it. A deep tear, as deep as anything I’d learned on the Dredge . . . or in Amenkor. Because in the end both the Dredge and Amenkor were the same. The people were the same.

  My gaze shifted toward Erick, took in his rigid stance. “Find someone else to kill her. Like Erick. Make her one of the guardsmen’s marks.”

  Avrell shook his head. “No. It has to be you, Varis.” He shot a quick glance toward Borund, who shifted uncomfortably. “Borund told me that you see the world differently, that you say those that are dangerous to you and to him are ‘red’. Erick says you told him something similar when you hunted for him on the Dredge.”

  I felt a hot shudder of betrayal snap through me, shot a glare at Borund, then Erick, but Avrell had already continued.

  “The Mistress knows when someone is approaching, so someone like Erick won’t be able to get close enough to kill her. No. The only one who might have a chance is someone like you, someone who uses senses other than the normal senses.” Avrell had shifted close to me, stood directly in front of me so that I was forced to focus on him, not Erick or Borund. “I don’t know how this . . . talent of yours works, but it’s our only chance to kill her. You are the only one capable of getting close enough to try. It has to be you, Varis.”

  He felt me hesitate, and so added, “You wouldn’t be killing her for us, Varis. You’d be killing her for Amenkor.” Then he backed away.

  I sagged slightly, turned toward Erick, appealing to him for help, for support.

  His expression was set, hard and unforgiving. “I’ve seen her, Varis. She truly is insane. But you already know that. You saw it first, there on the Dredge. Remember Mari?” He drew in a breath, let it out slowly. “You told me she wasn’t a mark. I didn’t believe you then, but I do now. The Mistress was wrong. Mari shouldn’t have died. Someone who can’t see the difference shouldn’t be sitting on the throne.”

  I frowned at Erick, feeling cheated somehow, the sense of betrayal deepening, and turned back to Avrell.

  Something else flickered behind his eyes, something deeper, as if he hadn’t told me everything, as if he were still holding something back, some hidden purpose.