She stood stiffly as her women worked, surprised at her own fatalistic
resolve. Not that she wasn’t afraid—in fact, her heart beat with an almost buzzing intensity, and she could feel the sweat gathering on her brow and
at the base of her neck. Outside the window, the evening darkness bespoke
an ominous hour. He had finally ordered her to his bedchamber. She hadn’t
escaped after all.
She’d had chances to attempt an escape. Not very good ones, admittedly,
but opportunities nonetheless. Times when she could have ducked into an
alley in the city, or run from her pursuers, hoping to be lost in the crowd.
Each one had seemed too dangerous, however. She saw the haunted fear in
the eyes of the city men. All of the guards and soldiers had been mercilessly executed. Those who remained understood the monster that ruled Ral
Eram, and she doubted they would help to hide her from his searchings.
In addition, Shinri had never lived outside of noble accommodations; she
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 459
suspected she would have nearly as difficult a time surviving on the city
streets as she would in the wilderness.
Wait for a better opportunity, she had told herself. You need to try and escape through the Oathgates, seek refuge with a foreign power—someone who can protect you.
Unfortunately, there seemed to be few places of refuge remaining in
the world. Alethkar invaded, Ral Eram captured, Prallah in virtual ruins
. . . How she wished she had taken King Amelin’s suggestion that she stay
with him in Thalenah. Her meeting with the king seemed so distant now,
as if it had occurred during a different epoch—one where Shinri had been
Jasnah’s ward, a simple girl doing another woman’s errands.
Shinri tensed her left hand, fingers gripping the knife hidden within
her enveloping left sleeve. She was a woman now, by virtue of title or
events, and had to decide upon her own actions. Perhaps she had made a
mistake; perhaps she should have tried to escape into the city, despite her reservations. Those opportunities were gone now, and events left her with
only one certain determination.
She would not let that man touch her again.
The handmaidens finished their primpings. So soon? Shinri steeled herself, clenching her right hand to still its quiverings, and began to walk forward. She didn’t move toward the door that connected her bedroom
with that of the king, but left in the direction of the main hallway. Ahven had sent specific instructions for her to be seen leaving her rooms and
entering his.
The knife was a strangely calming weight in her hand. She had stolen
it off of the men’s table during a feast, swiping it from the place before an empty seat as she passed. She knew her intent to kill Ahven was, from one
viewpoint, ridiculous. A simple dinner knife wielded by an untrained woman would hardly provide a serious threat for the man who had killed Talshekh
Davar in a duel. However, she didn’t really expect to succeed—killing
Ahven was just one of the potential victories she could obtain this night.
How would Ahven respond to being threatened, perhaps even wounded,
by his own wife? Would he kill her in retribution? If he did, he would
suddenly find himself without a tangible link to House Davar. The two
houses would be cast back to the same uncertainty they had faced that
night so long ago, the night of the dueling competition. One man with an
army, the other with a throne. Ahven or her father would have to die—and
either event would suit Shinri just fine.
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And if he doesn’t kill you? Shinri thought with trepidation as her ladies led her to the king’s chamber door, which was opened by a steward. What if he leaves you alive, and just decides to . . . punish you?
That was an option for which she was also prepared. She would not live in
such a situation. Either she would escape, or she would . . . remove herself from his power in another way.
Ahven’s rooms were oddly simple. They were adorned as one would expect
for one of his position, but none of the furniture or art seemed to display any measure of personal taste. They were indicative of position without
being showy, as if placed out of necessity rather than actual fondness. The only item that seemed even marginally original was a group of minstrels
who sat at the far end of the sitting chamber, ready to act upon their
master’s call even at the late hour.
Shinri’s handmaidens led her to the bedroom chamber doors, and the
steward knocked, then opened the door for Shinri. He and the others
remained behind as Shinri stepped into the room.
Ahven stood consulting the map that hung predominantly on one wall.
He looked over as she entered, his eyes flat, and waved for her to shut the door. She did so with a quiet hand.
“Kenor,” Ahven said. “She is here.”
Shinri frowned slightly as a different door opened, and a man walked
into the room. Of medium stature and perhaps in his sixth decade, the
newcomer wore expensive but not lavish clothing—a fine and square-cut
pair of trousers, a long white sencoat, and a loose blue seasilk shirt.
“Come here, woman,” Ahven ordered.
Shinri did as commanded, gripping her knife uncertainly.
“This is Kenor Isavar,” Ahven said with a direct tone. “He is a physician.
Soon your father and I will leave to deal with the remnants of the Aleth
military. In a few weeks’ time, you will inform your ladies that you believe yourself to be with child. Kenor has been assigned as palace physician. He wil examine you, and declare that you guessed correctly, then send a message
to your father and myself declaring the happy news. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Shinri said.
“Good,” Ahven said. “Two months later, assuming I have not returned,
you will feign pains in your abdomen and send for Kenor. He will excuse
all but his assistants from the room, and attend to you. Afterward, he
will sadly inform the palace that you have suffered a miscarriage. He will provide proof of the child’s death, and you will substantiate anything he
says. Do you understand?”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 461
“Yes, my lord,” she said. In more ways than one.
“And why do you think I am doing this?” Ahven asked.
The question caught her off guard. “I am not sure, my lord,” she said, lowering her eyes. “But I am just a simple woman. I will do as you command.”
Ahven snorted derisively. “Do not play with me, child,” he snapped. “You
were trained by Jasnah Kholin, and you have the spark of intelligence in
your eyes. You think you can fool a man who was himself forced to feign
stupidity for the better part of two decades?”
Shinri flushed, looking up. “You fear that once my father has an heir, he
will try to have you killed. However, if the Davar noblemen assume you
aren’t trying to make good on your promise of uniting the houses, they
might not give you the support you need. So, you have devised this plan
to make it appear as if you have produced an heir, then lost it to chance.”
“Very good,” Ahven said with a nod. “Now, take off your clothing and
throw it in the corner.”
Shinri froze, suddenly becoming tense. “What?” she demanded.
“Your women and my servants think that I am bedding you r
ight now,”
Ahven said. “If you come out as pristine as when you entered, the facts will be obvious. So, go throw your clothing in the corner, mess up your hair
and facepaint, then go sit on the bed and make the proper noises so those
listening at the door will have gossip to spread. Kenor and I must confer.”
Shinri balked, only for a moment, but it was too long for him. Suddenly,
his hand was at her chin, gripping her face between cool fingers and
twisting her head up so her eyes met his.
“You forget the lessons you learned on our wedding day so quickly?”
he whispered. “You will do as I command, child, both today and when
it comes time to feign pregnancy. A clever woman can either be an asset
or a grave hindrance—and I am generally inclined to believe the latter. If I think—even for a moment—that you will betray me, then you will die. I
would sooner kill you and your father, then take my chances with the other Davar noblemen, than have to worry whether or not you will obey me. Do
you understand?”
Shinri gripped her knife. She could do it. She could raise her arm
and plant it directly in his chest. But . . . He’s going to leave you alone.
He’ll humiliate you again, true, but he’ll have to leave you in the palace when he leaves—he can’t take the chance of having you with him on the battlefield, pretending to be pregnant when your father and the other Davar noblemen are close enough to send their own physicians. Survive this night, and you won’t have to wait in tension and fright. He’ll be gone, and you can escape.
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Shinri lowered her eyes and nodded, shivering slightly.
“Good,” Ahven said, pointing toward the bed.
Shinri followed his commands with as much dignity as she could gather,
undoing her beautiful talla then tossing it in a heap beside the bed. Ahven watched the process with obvious lust in his eyes, smiling with a leering
twist of the lips. He was so cold most of the time, but in this one thing he obviously had difficulty masking his emotions. Or, were there any masks?
Was this, perhaps, the only emotion he actually felt? Could a man really
be that . . . broken?
Shinri paused, glancing down at her white seasilk undershift. He
hadn’t said to remove it as well, but he could probably argue that it should be wrinkled. She could feel his eyes and his smile. The room felt quiet
despite the physician’s calm voice, telling Ahven of the drugs he would give Shinri to feign morning sickness and to stop her woman’s issue.
Ahven watched. He was waiting. A test? I need him to believe, Shinri thought. Believe I’ll do as he says, so he’ll leave me here. Alone.
She removed her underclothing and wadded it up, dropping it in a pile.
Then she sat on the bed, quickly pulling the bedding up and wrapping it
around her. To the side, she saw Ahven’s eyes linger on her for a moment,
then the physician drew his attention, and the king began speaking to the
man in a low voice.
Had she passed some sort of test, or had she simply encouraged his
lusting? Shinri sat miserably, trying to wash away the feeling of his eyes upon her. Ahven said something to his companion, speaking in a voice too
quiet for Shinri to hear. The physician nodded in response, waving his hand to the side in a gesture of emphasis. As the hand flickered, Shinri thought she saw something beneath the cuff of his shirt, something coloring the
back of his wrist. An Elinrah tattoo.
An Elinrah brother? Shinri thought. Coincidence? Or is the king involved with them? Before, when gloating over his ability to see through her submissiveness, Ahven had bragged of his ability to hide his intelligence
for so long. And, despite the reputation of idiocy he had founded, he had
still managed to seize power. The events seemed near-impossible, even for
a brilliant man. If the Elinrah were backing him, however, it all suddenly became more plausible. Shinri focused, closing her eyes, trying to piece
together what the king was saying to his companion.
“Noise,” Ahven suddenly said in a louder voice. “Those outside expect to
hear sounds from within, woman. I will not tell you again.”
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 463
Sighing softly to herself, Shinri did as ordered, destroying any chance
she had of eavesdropping on the conversation.
The knowledge that Ahven had no intention of risking a child by her
made Shinri’s nights pass a little less tensely. Unfortunately, the days only grew worse. Ahven had complete power over her, and he seemed to take
amusement from expressing his control. He would order her to his rooms
and have her sit naked on his bed while he worked on his maps and went
over troop counts. He took her to social functions—even in the midst of
war preparations, the nobility felt the need for occasional mingling. At each of these meetings, Shinri was told to keep her eyes down, to remain at his side, and never speak without direct permission.
Shinri saw discomfort and fear in the eyes of the other noblewomen.
Ahven employed no female scribes—he used monks in the open and
Elinrah in private. Shinri heard little, since she was allowed minimal time for socializing, but her handmaidens reported some of the local gossip. The Veden women were concerned with their king’s behavior, primarily his
treatment of Shinri. They whispered that he was dissatisfied with the power women held over Kanaran politics, and that he intended his treatment
of Shinri to become the model. The Veden were a people dependent on
tradition—they would not be easy to change. However, the generals and
noblemen watched Ahven, and some of them displayed quiet approval.
So it was that Shinri wasn’t the only one who was relieved when Ahven
finally announced the army’s departure. The declaration sent a wave of
anxiety through the soldiers and their commanders, and for the first time
Shinri realized that, to many, the preparations might seem rushed. She had waited and prayed for Ahven’s departure, and each added day had seemed
to drag like a winter highstorm. However, two weeks was not that long a
time to move an entire army in through the Oathgate and to organize it
in the city below.
Ahven seemed to be waiting for something. Even after the army began
to move down the slopes to the base of the Mount of Ancestors, Shinri saw
Ahven in frustrated conference with his generals. He often glanced north-
ward, his eyes uncharacteristically troubled. He looked toward Kholinar.
Was he worried about Dalenar, or was it something else?
It was about that time that Shinri realized she hadn’t seen the king’s
Shin henchman in quite some time. With a feeling of dread, she realized
she knew where he might have been sent. Ahven had focused a great deal
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of energy on capturing Ral Eram in secret, but someone had escaped. Lady
Jasnah.
Shinri’s anxiety returned tenfold. The Shin were said to be warriors of
almost supernatural ability—if anyone could track Lady Jasnah’s escape, it would be such a man. If Shinri’s guess was correct, this man had already
slain a half-tenset Shardbearers, slaughtered children, and mercilessly
advanced his master’s domination of Vedenar. If such a creature had been
sent to hunt Jasnah . . .
Shinri wouldn’t let herself worry about such things. She had more
pertinent problems—such as her own escape. She
still had no idea how
she would manage it. Perhaps expecting her plans, Ahven had set a special
guard over the Oathgates. Ten men and one Shardbearer stood guard at
all times, and none of them made any move to join the departing army.
Even with the withdrawal, the palace hallways were still well-patrolled
by soldiers, as were the ramps leading down to the city—not to mention
the guards on the city walls themselves. Ahven obviously felt it worth the cost of a few thousand troops to maintain a hold on Ral Eram, and he was
probably right. Still, the preparations made Shinri’s escape look less and less probable.
However, she could do nothing before Ahven’s unyielding eyes. She
needed to see him gone, sent to his unfortunate task with a surety of her
submissiveness. So, when Ahven finally declared that he himself was riding to battle, Shinri prepared herself in her finest dress and jewelry to bid him a properly triumphant farewell.
Ahven’s honor guard gathered on the palace plateau, along with several of
the more important noblemen—including her father. When Ilhadal noticed
her, his eyes didn’t linger. He hadn’t displayed indignation, or even offence, at Ahven’s treatment of her—she had expected neither. In fact, from the
way her father had treated her when she was growing up, Shinri suspected
that he highly approved of Ahven’s new etiquette.
Ahven made his appearance in a suit of bril iant white Shardplate. Shinri
didn’t recognize it—he had probably had the armorers paint and adorn it
especially for the occasion. The helm bore a fan-like crest that came to
several points, and the shoulderplates were draped with golden seasilk. The breastplate was embossed in the form of a magnificent palh-burst bearing the glyph pel—the symbol for intelligence. The opposite of idiot.
Ahven was accompanied by two Shardbearers who had, until just recently,
been common guards. They had been awarded the only two Blades captured
during the taking of Ral Eram—Ahven had made a great display of them,
THE WAY OF KINGS PRIME 465
but Shinri heard whispers that the same number of Blades had been lost
to Jasnah’s escaping group.
Ahven made no speech, nor did he acknowledge her—though she was
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