The Skewed Throne

by Joshua Palmatier

  “But since the Fire, this Mistress has. Her orders no longer make sense. There is no reason to close the harbor, and no real reason to saturate the city with the palace guard.”

  “So that wasn’t you,” Borund interjected. “Or Baill.”

  Avrell shook his head. “No, that came directly from the Mistress.”

  He paused, as if undecided whether he should say anything more. He watched Borund carefully, and Borund stirred in his seat under his gaze. Then he turned to me.

  I held perfectly still, tried to remain expressionless.

  Avrell considered me a moment more, then straightened and turned back to Borund, as if coming to a decision. “In the past few months, the Mistress’ actions have shifted from simply eccentric to truly bizarre. She ascends to the tower and stares out at the sea at odd hours, even in the dead of night, in the rain, remaining there until one of the servants or the guards is forced to drag her back inside. She roams the halls of the palace, mumbling to herself, laughing, sometimes singing, sometimes growling, often in languages that no one understands. I’ve placed guards at the door to her chambers, to follow her, to make certain she does not harm herself, but somehow she manages to elude them. I ran across her in one of the gardens not two days ago, staring down at the roots of a tree when she was supposed to have been sleeping. She told me the sea was red with blood, the throne was cracked, and that the garden had once been a plaza. I took her back to her rooms, and the guards assured me they had not seen her leave. Nothing like that happened before the Fire passed through the city.”

  Borund had grown increasingly uncomfortable as the First spoke. “Why are you telling me this?”

  The First kept quiet for a moment, then smiled grimly. “Because more is going on than it would seem. If it was the Mistress, and only the Mistress, I believe I could handle the situation myself. But no. There’s too much going on in the city. You told me yourself about the attack in the Broken Mast, and the deaths of the merchants.”

  “Yes.”

  The First nodded. “I heard nothing of it until our meeting a few weeks ago, the night you were attacked in the middle ward and your assistant—William, I believe?—was wounded.”

  Silence, as both Borund and the First watched each other.

  The First stirred. “There is a conspiracy among the merchants, an attempt to seize control of trade within the city at a time when trade, not only here in Amenkor but everywhere on the Frigean coast, is in peril. At first I thought it was something that should be left to the guild to be sorted out. Guild politics in play, if you will. But after speaking to you a few weeks ago at your manse . . .”

  He let the thought fade, but Borund picked up the thread.

  “You think that this conspiracy—I’ve been calling it a consortium—extends into the palace itself.”

  “Consortium,” the First muttered, as if trying out the word for the first time. He smiled. “I like that. But, yes, I think this . . . consortium is much larger than a few merchants, and has connections in the palace. In particular, I think it includes the good captain of the palace guard, Baill.” Avrell’s voice twisted with distaste at the captain’s name.

  Borund’s face darkened as well. Reaching for the glass of wine that had so far gone untouched, he drank, brow creased in thought. The First eased back in his seat and waited.

  After a long moment, Borund glanced in my direction.

  I dove deep beneath the river, shifting the currents toward Borund as I went, then turned toward the First.

  In the swirling gray currents, the First appeared gray.

  As I let the river go, I felt something tug at the currents, heard a vague noise, like the dry rasp of dead leaves blown across stone, like a voice . . . or many voices. But it faded.

  I nodded to Borund, Avrell watching the exchange with interest. He said nothing, but his gaze was intent, much more focused than before.

  I sat back and dipped beneath the river again, but the sound of dead leaves was gone. I shrugged it aside.

  “Charls is dead,” Borund began.

  The First straightened slightly. “So I heard.”

  Borund grunted. “I thought he was the man behind the deaths of the other merchants, and in one respect I was right. He was the one organizing and ordering the deaths. He tried to kill me at the tavern on the wharf, but failed due to Varis’ intervention. I suspected he was behind the deaths of the other merchants after that.”

  Borund paused, and the First glanced toward me. I didn’t react.

  “I see,” he said. And he did see. I could hear it in his voice.

  “Only after the fact did I learn that it wasn’t really Charls giving the orders, that more merchants were involved.”

  “And do you know these merchants?”

  “Yes. But the only one of consequence is Alendor. He controls almost half of the trade in Amenkor himself. If you factor in all of the other merchants I believe he has sway over . . .”

  “He can control the entire city, especially if he feels he has power over the guard.”

  Borund nodded in agreement. “There are only three significant merchants left in the city not under his control: myself, Regin, and Yvan. I had thought that if the three of us allied ourselves together, we could send out what ships remained under our control still in the harbor before the weather changes. Perhaps we could find enough resources, buy enough staples, that the city could survive the winter months. William and I were just beginning to discuss this option when we heard the noise in the harbor.”

  The First grimaced. “By order of the Mistress, the harbor has been closed. Not even Baill expected this. He protested more than I did.”

  Borund leaned forward, placed his hands flat on the table. His face was drawn, his voice so intent it almost shook. “I’ve calculated what stores Regin, Yvan, and I already have here in the city.”

  “And?”

  Borund shook his head. “The city will never survive the winter. There will be famine. At least half the city will starve, and that’s assuming the winter is mild.”

  “And where there is famine, there will also be plague.” The First frowned, looking down at the floor. “What of Alendor’s stores? Would the city survive if we could seize control of what this consortium holds?”

  “I cannot say. Based on what we know they hold, perhaps. But I don’t have access to Alendor’s books. Nor Charls’.”

  Avrell’s frown deepened, his shoulders tensing as he thought. Anger and desperation flowed off him in waves, tightly controlled.

  Borund stood. “We have to get our ships out of the harbor,” he said, voice tight, “or the city will starve.”

  When Avrell glanced up, his eyes were dark. “I believe that Nathem, my Second, and I can deal with the Mistress. Somehow, we will get her to open up the harbor again. But even if we succeed with the Mistress, there is still the consortium. We need their stocks, and if Baill is in league with them, we cannot take them by force. We have to break the consortium itself. Now.”

  Borund nodded grimly. “In my opinion, the best way to do that is to eliminate Alendor.”

  The First’s lips thinned.

  And then they both turned toward me.

  On the walk back to the manse, Borund muttered to himself continuously about what would need to be done once Alendor was dead, but I ignored him. I watched the street for threats, but did not see it. Not really.

  I had agreed to kill Alendor. Another hunt, like Charls. Only this one would be worse. Because now I wouldn’t see the man threatening Borund and William and the other merchants of the city. I wouldn’t see the man attempting to gain control of all of the trade, the man willing to starve all of Amenkor to do it. No. I’d see the man underneath as well, the man that would plead for his life at the end if he had the chance.

  We reached the manse, Gerrold opening the iron gate outside to let us in. Borund had ordered it kept locked since the first attack.

  As we passed inside, something drifted through the river, a
scent I felt I should recognize but couldn’t, like lantern oil and straw.

  I straightened, halted just inside the gate and stared out at the street, gaze flickering swiftly over the few people, scanning the few alcoves where someone could hide. But I saw no one, and the scent—so vague—was already fading.

  “Varis?” Borund asked behind me. “Is something wrong?”

  Frowning, I turned and said curtly, “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

  He pulled back, hearing the lie in my voice. But he said nothing, confused, as I moved past him to the house, Gerrold shutting the gates behind us.

  I went to my room, that had once been Joclyn’s—a servant’s—room, and stood inside the doorway. Nothing in the room had changed in the past few months except that now there were a few clothes folded in the chest of drawers. I moved to the chest and opened up one of the drawers, stared down at the pouches inside, pouches full of coins. Lizbeth placed them there on a regular basis, but I hadn’t used any of them. Borund provided everything I needed: clothes, food. I’d never needed anything else.

  Looking down at the pouches, I suddenly realized I didn’t like Borund.

  I closed the drawer, glanced once swiftly over the room, and then wandered out into the hall, turning toward William’s room without thought.

  William was sitting upright on the bed, sheets of paper scattered all around him. He smiled when I knocked and stepped inside the room.

  “Varis,” he said, his voice weary but light. Something had changed around his eyes though, something subtle. They were no longer wide and bright and open. Instead, they appeared pinched and dark.

  It could have been simple exhaustion, but I didn’t think so.

  His smile faltered slightly, troubled, but remained. He motioned me inside. “Come in. I need a break.”

  I moved a few steps closer, but didn’t approach the bed.

  “Borund wants me to kill Alendor,” I said.

  His smile froze, then faded. His shoulders slumped and he turned to stare out the window. He’d had the bed moved since that morning, so that he could see the harbor and the Mistress’ ships guarding the entrance to the bay.

  “And what did you say?” he asked. His voice was flat, without inflection, without judgment.

  I swallowed, standing rigid. “I’ll need to know where I’ll most likely find Alendor this evening. Borund said that you would know, that you know what inns and taverns most of the merchants frequent.”

  Silence. William didn’t turn, but after a long moment nodded, as if to himself, as if he were finally accepting something that he had not wanted to believe. In a voice a little rougher and softer than the first, he said, “Alendor will be near the warehouses tonight. He usually checks on his own stocks, then finds his way to the Splintered Bow for dinner.”

  I nodded, then hesitated, waiting for more, but William stared stoically out at the harbor, what I could see of his face hard and harsh, closed off. All traces of the smile were gone.

  I turned to leave, feeling a warm pain deep inside my stomach, as if I’d been stabbed and was bleeding on the inside. And the blood flow wouldn’t stop.

  I’d almost reached the door when William said, loudly, “Varis?”

  I stood still, looking out into the corridor through the open door. I could tell by William’s voice that he’d turned toward me, was staring at my back, but I didn’t turn around. “What?” I was surprised at how thick my voice sounded.

  “How . . . ?” he began, but he didn’t continue, struggling.

  I looked down at the floor and closed my eyes, then turned toward him purposefully. “When I was six, my mother was killed by two men when we were returning from a trip to Cobbler ’s Fountain. We lived on the outskirts of the slums, near the Dredge. Or at least I assume so, since that’s where Cobbler ’s Fountain is. I don’t remember much from before.” I paused, seeing again in my head the two red men, heard myself say in a child’s innocent voice, Look, Mommy. Look at the red men.

  Then I focused on William’s face again, on his steady, green eyes. “They killed her for what little she’d carried with her . . . some coin perhaps. They did nothing to me, left me with her body in an alley on a backstreet I didn’t recognize. I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know where to go, where to run to, so I stayed there, next to my mother’s body, until the guardsmen came.

  “They didn’t know what to do with me either. They were arguing about it, trying to decide, when a woman that my mother knew showed up and offered to take me in.” I shuddered. “The guards handed me over without much hesitation—what else were they going to do with me?—and for a while I lived with this woman. She wasn’t bad I guess, but she had five kids of her own already.”

  “But what about your father?”

  I thought immediately of Erick, of the white-dusty man, but grimaced. “I don’t remember my father. I don’t remember much of anything from before Cobbler’s Fountain and the night my mother was killed, mainly flashes of scenes, nothing significant. So I went with the woman.”

  I clenched my jaw at the memories—resentment and pain held tight but still leaking out into my voice. “After about a year—a year of defending myself from the other kids when she wasn’t looking and fighting to get enough food to eat—I decided I’d be better off on my own. So I left. I ran away, moved deeper into the slums beyond the Dredge. I lived like an animal there, scrounging in garbage heaps, eating anything I could find, scraps you and Borund wouldn’t even feed to a dog. I was dying and I didn’t even know it. Then I ran into a street thug named Dove and his gang. They showed me that I could do much better if I was a little more daring. They taught me how to survive, how to steal, how to pick pockets, how to be quick and subtle, and how to distract. I was especially helpful to them for that. All I had to do was sit in the shadows of an alley and cry and someone would come in to investigate.”

  Some of the hardness had seeped out of William’s eyes, but for some reason that didn’t make me feel any better.

  “So what happened?” he asked after a moment of silence.

  I looked away from him. “Dove took one of the setups too far. One of the takes decided to run and it awoke something inside Dove that I didn’t like. I told him I wouldn’t help him hunt the woman down and so he abandoned me.” I winced, feeling again Dove’s fist as he struck me after I’d said no. “But it didn’t matter by then. I was almost eleven and I’d learned everything I needed to know to survive in the slums.”

  The room fell completely silent. I could feel William’s eyes on me, but did not look up. Strangely, the anger I’d felt had died, along with the tension in my shoulders, in my jaw. As if telling William had released me somehow.

  “So why did you leave the slums? How did you end up on the wharf, where we found you?”

  I did look up at this. I didn’t want to tell him about Bloodmark, about Erick. So instead, I said, “Someone pushed me too far. And I finally realized that I didn’t want to just ‘survive’ anymore. I wanted something else.”

  And now I found myself in the same situation, I thought wryly. I didn’t want to go on killing. I wanted something else.

  William said nothing, trying to understand, the intent clear on his face. “So you . . . grew up in the slums?”

  I laughed, the sound without humor. “I survived the slums,” I said with force. “Any way I could.”

  “But . . . how can you do it? How can you—”

  “Because it’s what I am. It’s all that I know.”

  A pause, and I turned to go. Then, in a voice much less harsh, he said, “But you have a choice now.”

  I tried not to sigh. “No. I don’t.”

  And I left.

  I waited outside the Splintered Bow in a darkened side street, leaning against a wall. Outside the tavern, torches flared and spat in the breeze coming off of the water, and clouds roiled overhead, blocking out the stars and the moon. Winter clouds. The air tasted of rain, a cold rain, but it was still distant. Alendor had entered the t
avern an hour before, with three others—another merchant, one I’d seen at Charls’ manse, and two men I didn’t know—and so I waited, trying not to think of William or Borund, Erick or the white-dusty man. I tried not to think of anything at all, submerging myself beneath the river, floating there.

  On the side street, no one tried to approach me. A patrol of palace guards on horseback sauntered by, but they said nothing, only watched me with contempt before turning and vanishing up the main thoroughfare, heading toward the palace.

  The tavern door banged open and I shifted away from the wall as Alendor moved out onto the street. He stood straight, a cloak draped over his merchant’s coat. The other merchant followed a few steps behind him, like a mongrel. The remaining two men moved like guardsmen, casual and deadly, eyes always watching.

  I frowned, suddenly glad there were clouds. I’d need the darkness. In the warehouse district, there were few places to hide. I’d discovered that when trying to follow Borund.

  Alendor turned and said something to his bodyguards, then motioned back toward the warehouses near the docks. When they headed away from the tavern, I fell in behind them, far enough back that the guardsmen wouldn’t see me.

  At the same time, the Fire inside stirred. I’d been expecting it.

  They moved slowly, warily, deeper into the warehouses, taking side streets, doubling back once. I pulled back even more, allowed them to get farther ahead. I knew the main thoroughfares here from accompanying Borund and William, but Alendor wasn’t using the main streets. He used the narrows, the alleys between the large buildings.

  As I followed, the Fire continued to grow, tingling down along my arms.