The Throne of Amenkor

by Joshua Palmatier

  I glanced down at the wharf in the moonlight, counted the masts of the ships at dock, and frowned in thought.

  Since becoming Mistress, I’d settled into the steady pattern of the palace, become familiar with the eddies and flows of the guardsmen, of the servants and the supplicants from the city, with an occasional break—never announced, always at random—when Westen would appear and escort me down to the training room. Avrell had guided me through the first few rough days, when I’d been forced to see and hear grievances from the people of the city and the guilds and then asked to make a decision. At first, such grievances had occurred every day, but as the days edged toward winter, they slowed to a trickle.

  At one point, Avrell had muttered that we were fortunate I’d taken control of the throne at the beginning of winter. When I’d asked him why, he’d said that there were few envoys and delegations from the surrounding cities during winter. Everything of major political importance had already been settled, and he’d have time to familiarize me with the coast and all of its cities during the winter months.

  I’d scowled at him in annoyance. I already disliked dealing with the squabbles of those in the city. I didn’t want to think about dealing with the entire coast. He’d already started tutoring me, though, a few hours a day spent discussing the other city-states along the coast—Venitte, Marland, Temall, and Merrell—as well as the Kandish cultures to the east and the Zorelli to the south.

  And then there were the dreams—of murders, of rapes and killings and mutilations—most of which occurred in the slums beyond the Dredge. I sent out the Seekers when I could, just as I’d sent out Erick to find Corum. But a few of the dreams hadn’t provided me with enough details—a face, a place, a name—to send someone searching. In those cases, there was nothing I could do except remember.

  But this dream was different. I wasn’t living someone else’s life as it was ended or as they were hurt. This was a memory.

  Except this last time, at the end, it hadn’t even been that.

  A few hours later, dawn’s light just beginning to break the horizon behind me, I heard a cautious step on the balcony and turned to find Marielle holding out a cup of hot tea.

  “Mistress.”

  I took the cup, shivering in my shift. Below, beyond the three stone walls that surrounded the palace, the streets of Amenkor were coming alive. I watched the movements of the people as I drank deeply, then sighed, turning away.

  “I want to speak to Avrell.”

  “Shall I have him summoned?” Marielle asked as we stepped inside, motioning sharply to the other girls in the room. They began arranging my usual clothes, one moving to pull back the sheets on the bed. I watched intently as the sheets were stripped off, wadded up, and new sheets laid down. I suddenly realized I’d never made a bed before, never even seen it being made by someone else, not even here at the palace since I’d taken the throne. At Borund’s manse, it had always been made when I’d returned, and on the Dredge I’d never had a bed.

  “No,” I said, distracted, watching the servant work. “I’ll go to him.”

  “Very well, Mistress.”

  When I turned around, Marielle and the girl presenting my clothes were trying to suppress smiles.

  I growled and grabbed for my shirt.

  * * *

  I found Avrell in a section of the palace I’d never seen, hunched over a table with a slanted top covered with parchment, Nathem at his side. His hands were stained with ink, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. One hand trailed down a column of numbers, and he mumbled something to Nathem under his breath, the creases in his brow deepening.

  I hesitated a moment, then asked, “Where are the ships?”

  Both Nathem and Avrell glanced up, Avrell’s eyes darkening briefly at the interruption before he recognized me. Leaning back, he stood and stepped out from behind the desk with a small smile.

  “Mistress, you did not need to come down here. If you needed me, I could have come to you.” He noticed the ink on his hands and folded them together, hiding them in the sleeves of his robes.

  But then you would have had time to prepare, I thought.

  Behind him, Nathem began shuffling the papers, discreetly continuing whatever they’d been working on.

  “I needed to get out of my rooms,” I said, and began pacing restlessly. “Regin said that most of the ships should return within the month. We’re already at the end of the third week and there are only three ships at the docks. Where are the others?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I paused, hearing the undertone of concern in Avrell’s voice. Concern that he was trying to hide.

  He shifted back to the table, impatiently waving Nathem to the side, tapping the papers he’d been reading. I glanced down at them, but could only pick out a few letters and numbers. Marielle had been working with me on a daily basis, but I had no patience for such things. I fought back a surge of frustration. I didn’t like having to rely on Avrell, didn’t like having to rely on anyone for anything.

  “These are the reports from the captains of the ships that have returned,” Avrell said. “The first two are from Marlett and Dangren, both towns within a few days’ sail north of here. The ship that returned yesterday came from Merrell, much farther up the coast, also north of Amenkor. All of the captains report rough water, and all three of the cities are in the same condition we are: short on food and supplies for the winter. However, none are worse off than we are. Most have sufficient grain and other essentials for the winter, and a few have some to spare. After some heavy bartering and with quite a few favors called in, all three ships managed to return with at least three quarters of their holds full.”

  “What of the other ships?”

  Avrell shook his head. “Nothing, not even a message returned by land.” He caught my gaze. “We should have heard back from them by now, even if it was to say they were caught in port by the seas or storms. But we aren’t the only ones who’ve lost contact with their ships. Both of the captains from Merrell and Dangren said that ships have vanished from those cities. The most common explanation is piracy and early winter storms.” His voice was tinged with doubt.

  I began pacing the room again, Nathem shifting out of my way. “But you don’t believe that.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Avrell’s eyes darkened. “Piracy rises when food is short, but not to this extent. And ships and their crews don’t vanish completely without sign, by storm or by piracy. Wreckage or bodies would wash ashore somewhere. We’ve heard nothing from any of the small villages and towns along the coast concerning raiders or unexplained debris from destroyed ships.”

  I paced silently for a moment, Avrell watching.

  “So where do we stand on resources for the winter with what Alendor and the consortium left behind and what these three ships have brought back? Along with what the fishing boats have harvested.”

  “With strict rationing, we can feed perhaps three quarters of the city now. No more.”

  I swore, Avrell raising an eyebrow at my vehemence. Even Nathem seemed surprised, coughing as he pulled out a second sheaf of papers and began working at another table.

  “There is some good news,” Avrell said. “Merrell has promised to send a shipment overland, but there’s no telling when it might arrive. Perhaps not till spring. The roads between Amenkor and Merrell are not good even in the summer. But the grain they’ve already sent will be helpful.”

  “So,” I said, halting. “What can we do?”

  “Hope more ships arrive,” Nathem deadpanned, without looking up from his own papers.

  I frowned at him in annoyance, then bit my lip in thought.

  Avrell straightened almost imperceptibly under my steady gaze. “What is it?” he said, voice guarded.

  For a moment, I considered telling him about the dream. But then
I recalled his face the night he and Borund and Erick had convinced me to attempt to kill the Mistress, saw his eyes.

  I wondered if he was lying to me now, holding back supplies. But why? He had more invested in Amenkor then I did. He’d only be hurting himself. And I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to replace me if he didn’t like my decisions. He’d already attempted to assassinate Eryn, a woman he’d aided for years. He barely knew me.

  Except that we both knew he would never succeed. He’d tried to place other Servants on the throne before resorting to me, and they’d all died. No one else could control the throne and survive.

  And besides, I’d been trained as an assassin. He’d never get anyone close enough to kill me. The throne would warn me that they were coming, and I had my own skills, learned on the Dredge and now being expanded by Westen, to keep me alive after that.

  I growled, shoved away the useless doubts and mistrust. “I need to get out of the palace.”

  The words came out more heartfelt than I’d intended.

  Avrell hesitated, then said, “Of course. You’ve been inside the inner ward since you seized the throne. You’re used to having the run of the city.” He paused. He knew I was holding back something, but he couldn’t determine what it was. “I’ll arrange an escort.”

  He moved to the door, where my usual escort of four guardsmen waited outside. His hand had just fallen on the handle when I said, “I’d like you to come with me.”

  He stilled.

  “Of course,” he said in a neutral voice. Then he opened the door and said something to the guards outside.

  An hour later, I stepped out of the main doors to the palace onto the wide stone steps of the promenade. They descended down to a circular courtyard where an escort of ten guardsmen and two Seekers waited on horseback, two other riderless horses saddled and ready near the front. The two Seekers nodded in my direction with cool smiles—I’d sparred against both of them under Westen’s watchful eye—and the other guardsmen nodded as well, with obvious respect.

  I frowned. Westen had said word that I’d disarmed him during our first match was spreading among the guard.

  Avrell came up behind me, his blue-and-gold robes replaced with a fine blue shirt, leather breeches, and boots. He looked strange in the new clothes; I’d only ever seen him in the First’s robes.

  “Are we ready?” he asked.

  “I don’t know how to ride a horse,” I said.

  Avrell paused. “I see. Then I suppose we’ll have to go on foot.”

  He motioned to the lead guardsman, who issued a curt order. All of the guardsmen hesitated, glancing at each other in confusion, then slowly began to dismount. When Avrell and I descended the last few steps of the promenade and headed for the gate, they formed up around us.

  The first thing I noticed was that I was at least two hands shorter than any of the guardsmen or Avrell. The second was that they formed a tight group. I suddenly understood why Eryn had slipped away unnoticed on occasion, causing Avrell, Baill, and the guardsmen so much grief. They’d thought it was her madness, but I began to wonder. Having an armed escort all the time, even in the halls of the palace, became tiring.

  We passed out through the inner gates into the middle ward, the entire group pausing just outside the gates.

  I drew in a deep breath, smelled the sea salt on the air, a weight lifting away from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how confined I’d felt inside the palace. The sensation of openness enveloped me and I grinned. This was the Amenkor I knew: the streets, the alleys, the narrows.

  The people.

  A small crowd huddled around the gates waiting to get in, mainly servants and guardsmen, a few men and women that my gutterscum eye marked as easy, rich targets. They turned to look, curiosity mingled with suspicion lining their faces.

  After a long moment, a few heads bent together and the suspicion faded, replaced with awe. A few pointed toward me, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

  On the Dredge, and working as Borund’s bodyguard, I’d always faded into the background, become gray. I’d depended on not being noticed, never being seen. But now . . .

  I turned away from the gawking faces, from the sudden flurry of noise as word was passed down through the crowd, like a ripple on water.

  Avrell grunted.

  “What?” I asked, not looking toward the group.

  Avrell glanced at me, then turned to survey the crowd, back straight, head held high. In the shirt and breeches he seemed somehow more . . . regal, more arrogant and severe. “News that there was a new Mistress flew quickly through the city,” he said, turning back to me, “especially after you lifted the blockade. But no one knew who you were. It took them a moment to realize you were the new Mistress because the Mistress almost never leaves the palace. And when she does, she’s always either ridden a horse or left by carriage. You’ll have to learn to ride eventually.” He glanced at me, scanning my clothes. “I’m certain they expected something . . . different.”

  I glowered at him, then turned back to look at the crowd. “Why are a few of them bowing?”

  Avrell’s eyebrows rose. “Because you are the Mistress, and most of the people of the city revere the Mistress. You are their liege, their protector . . . their god.”

  I shuddered, an emptiness opening up inside me. Uncomfortable, I turned away from the bowed heads.

  “Let’s go,” I said, heading off to the right. The guard fell in smoothly around us.

  “Where are we headed?” Avrell asked after a moment, his eyes darting down each street we passed, his brow furrowed in consternation.

  “Wait.” I didn’t want to tell him, wanted to watch his reaction.

  He sighed, but continued to scan the streets, perplexed.

  I walked swiftly, turning down a few streets and alleys, but keeping the palace wall in sight. People moved out of our way, staring after us in confusion or awe once we’d passed, but I ignored them all, attention on where we were headed. I paused once, uncertain, but chose a street at random and reoriented myself once we’d reached the next cross street.

  Twenty minutes later, the number of people on the streets dropped off. The buildings took on an empty air, windows blank, doors shut, some boarded up with signs in the window. The middle ward held all of the guild halls, housed some of the more influential merchants and their offices. But since the coming of the Second Fire six years ago—when the huge wall of White Fire had swept in from the ocean and burned its way through the city, leaving a small part of itself embedded inside me—the economy had slackened. Many of the buildings that had once held thriving businesses were vacant, the store owners and their employees now residing in the lower city.

  Or the Dredge.

  We rounded a corner and came upon the stable, the entire entourage halting.

  “Do you recognize it?” I asked, watching Avrell’s face closely.

  Avrell nodded. “Yes. It’s the building that houses the entrance to the tunnel beneath the palace wall. But why did you want to bring me here?”

  “Who owns the building?” I thought I knew the answer already, but I had to be certain.

  “The palace, of course.”

  I nodded. Avrell seemed as perplexed as when we’d left the gates behind. “Let’s go inside.”

  I’d taken a few steps before I realized Avrell hadn’t moved. “I don’t understand what we’re doing here,” he said.

  I sighed. “I have something to show you.”

  Avrell shook his head but followed.

  The guardsmen pulled back the stable door and we stepped inside, the smell of old manure and fresh straw sharp on the musty air. Avrell covered his mouth with his hand and grimaced as he glanced around at the stacked crates that filled the building. A narrow path led down the center to the trapdoor and the tunnel.

  “What did you want to show me?” Avrell asked, voi
ce strained. He was trying to breathe through his mouth.

  “Look,” I said, moving up to the crates.

  Avrell squinted at the markings on the sides. “Capthian red,” he muttered, straightening abruptly. His eyes flashed. “We haven’t had Capthian red in the palace in six months. It’s been almost impossible to find.”

  I eyed him carefully, but he was scanning the crates in confusion, shoulders tight. I felt my suspicions begin to shift, turning away from Avrell, focusing on someone else. “Then who does all this belong to?”

  Images of the lists provided by the merchants’ guild flashed through Avrell’s mind, I could see it in his eyes. Though his hand still clutched his nose and mouth, he no longer seemed annoyed about the forced outing, or the smell. Instead, his body was tense with concentration.

  After a long moment, his gaze caught mine. “No one. None of the merchants reported owning any Capthian red.” He glanced around at the number of crates, stacked to the ceiling. “Not in such quantities at any rate.”

  He thought for a moment, then stepped closer, inspected the markings on one of the crates. “There are no ownership markings on the crates either.”

  “Which means what?”

  He stood, brow furrowed in confusion. “It means that this was smuggled into the city. But who would smuggle in this much wine? Alendor? One of the other merchants?”

  I shook my head, a spark of anger igniting deep inside me, coloring my voice. “The building belongs to the palace. Alendor would never have hidden it here.”

  “Then who?”

  I walked up to the nearest crate, glared at the markings on the side that were still gibberish to me, and said with utter certainty, “It was the Mistress.”

  I turned at Avrell’s shocked silence, my face hard.

  “It was Eryn.”

  Chapter 3

  “How?” Avrell spat.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. We were moving down the corridor leading toward Eryn’s chambers, the guard escorting us—reduced to the usual four now that we were inside the palace—scrambling to keep up.