His Conquering Sword: 3 (The Novels of the Jaran)

by Kate Elliott

  David loved the iris beds in Charles’s greenhouse. He escaped from the inevitable commotion brought on by their arrival and fled to the quiet of the gardens. He sat on a bare patch of turf and just breathed in the scent of Earth. But he recalled the smell of the grass, whipped by the wind on the plains, and a whiff of smoke on the breeze wrenched him back to Karkand, that night after the siege when Nadine had come to his tent, her scent mingled with the smell of burning that had permeated the air. That night. Other nights.

  David sighed. Then he heard voices, and there came Charles, leading a tour of the greenhouse for Owen and Ginny and several of the actors. Ah, well, one never could escape the world. One way or another, it always intruded. There was no point in dwelling on things that couldn’t be changed. He got to his feet and went over to the others.

  “Look,” he said, by way of greeting. “Is that a group of Chapalii coming in? They look like protocol officers.” He pointed toward the southwest entrance, beyond the vegetable flats.

  “That was fast,” said Charles. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said to his guests. “David?”

  David went with him, circling the roses and the rhododendrons and crossing carefully through the neat lines of daffodils. They met the officials under the grape arbor.

  “Tai Charles.” The protocol officers bowed and folded their hands together. Behind them stood two Chapalii in mauve robes, three stewards, and a heavily veiled female ten steps back. Leaves curled down, framing them in green. It smelled of growing things here, heavy and rich.

  “You have acted swiftly, as I ordered,” said Charles, “to restore to me these members of my house.”

  One of the officials flushed red, the other blue. “Tai Charles.” Blue faded from the official’s skin, and he folded his hands into a different arrangement. “We have restored these of your retainers, as you ordered, but charges still endure on the protocol lists. As well, it is written that any ke who violates an interdiction must face the rite of extinction.” Both protocol officials turned to look toward the veiled female.

  David hissed softly on an exhalation.

  “I will see that justice is done on the matter of the ke,” said Charles. “As to the other, I order that all the charges be withdrawn.”

  This time, both officials flushed blue. “I beg your pardon, Tai-en, but only the Tai-en Naroshi may remove these charges from the notice of the Protocol Office, since he tendered them. If he does not wish to remove them, then they will be brought to the notice of the emperor.”

  “Ah,” said Charles, expressionless. “I see. You may go.”

  They had to go, of course. Charles watched them, and when they were out of earshot, he said. “An interesting legal concept, that he can define how I choose to interdict my own planet.”

  David shrugged. “Come now, Charles. Be fair. They did break the interdiction, you know.”

  A smile caught on Charles’s lips and vanished. He turned to regard Hon Echido and his retinue. “Hon Echido. Your presence is welcome.”

  Echido bowed. “You are magnanimous, Tai-en. I will dispose of this nameless one immediately, so that you need not be bothered with such a trivial matter.”

  Dispose of the ke. It suddenly occurred to David that since the ke had no name to lose, she must therefore lose the only other thing she possessed: her life. She did not move, and he could see nothing of her under the veil. Was she glad of the thought of death? Resigned? Rebellious?

  “I have other plans for this ke,” said Charles, and he paused. “If she so wishes.”

  There was a long silence. The female stirred and was silent. Both Echido and the other merchant flushed green, the color of mortification.

  “Nameless ones have no wishes, Tai-en,” said Echido, and what his colorless voice could not betray, his skin did. David wondered if they had ever before encountered a Chapalii lord who cared what a ke wished for.

  “Nevertheless,” said Charles, “this ke has acted to serve my house, and I will not allow her to be killed unless she herself prefers death to exile. Good Lord, Rajiv would never forgive me, for one, and for the other, she’s too good at what she does for us to lose her.”

  “What about Duke Naroshi?” asked David, suddenly fiercely glad that Charles could save one life, at least. It was a tiny victory, but a victory nonetheless.

  “Hmm.” No evidence showed on Charles’s face that his flying in the face of Chapalii convention bothered him one whit. David could practically see the wheels beginning to turn in his head. “The Tai-en Naroshi and I will have to have a meeting.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “ON THIS DAY COMES the Tai-en Mushai to Sorrowing Tower.”

  Tess blinked twice, but she could not get the field of vision to narrow in. A wilderness of towers grew out beyond her eyes, and like a faint tracery beneath them she could see the parquet flooring of the minor audience hall in the palace in Jeds.

  “Damn,” she muttered. The towers blurred and began to coalesce, and Tess chuckled and said, “Terminate.” A whitish haze spread over her vision and faded, and she looked out over the audience hall, empty now except for herself, Aleksi standing guard at the far door, and Cara sitting on the steps beside her, reading a book.

  “Hmm?” Cara asked, looking up.

  “It’s very disorienting,” said Tess. “Looking at two things at once.”

  “Evidently that’s one reason that particular technology has never become widespread. See what you can do with it. It seemed the best solution to you needing access to a modeler without any awkward physical presence.”

  “No, just me sitting and staring into space and muttering to myself while people wonder what I’m doing.”

  Cara smiled. “They’ll think you’re wise, or mad.”

  “Or both.” Tess jumped to her feet suddenly and paced over to the arched windows which looked out onto the loggia which in turn opened up onto the central courtyard. Beyond the courtyard lay the greater audience hall, with its elaborate arcade fronting the great avenue that led into Jeds proper. “Ah” she said, watching as two carriages escorted by twenty Jedan militia rolled up on the paved bricks below. A swallow-tailed pennon emblazoned with a falcon rising fluttered from the first carriage. “There is the baron, finally.” She practically ran back to the dais and threw herself into the prince’s seat. “What are you reading?” she demanded of Cara, who closed her book in a leisurely fashion, stood, and came to stand beside Tess.

  “The new tract by Sister Casiara. She seems to be formulating a legalistic argument against slavery, of all things, based on the principle of the spiritual equality of man.”

  “Good Lord,” said Tess mildly. The far doors swung open and four guardsmen entered, bowed, and retreated.

  “But she is a bit of an iconoclast,” added Cara, “so I’m not sure if this argument will fire the church or Jedan society at large.”

  Tess tapped one foot impatiently on the fired tile on which the prince’s throne sat; the tile lapped up against the low steps that led down to the parquet floor. It was stuffy in here, since the windows had not yet been opened for the summer, but Tess preferred the minor hall to the greater one since the huge mural celebrating the triumph of philosophy that decorated one wall of the greater hall made her feel as if Charles was watching her. Finally, a second set of guards appeared. They marched in and knelt before her, resplendent in polished breastplates embossed with the prince’s eagle. Behind them walked Baron Santer in his court robes, gray hair crowned by a soft cap, and behind him, a figure veiled from head to toe. Not even its hands showed.

  “Your highness,” said the baron, bowing. He looked at her. Every time Tess looked in his eyes, she thought of some creature that had been dead and was now reanimated; his gaze was cold and flat, his expression bland. “I have delivered this emissary from the docks, as you desired me to do.”

  It was a little test. They both knew it. She ran him through hoops these days, keeping him busy, reminding him that she now held power in Jeds. He had g
iven over his regency gracefully enough, but she did not trust him.

  “You may withdraw, Baron,” she said. “Attend me this evening.”

  He bowed again and left. Tess dismissed the guards to the loggia beyond the doors. With mounting excitement, she regarded the veiled figure. “You are safe now,” she said finally, in formal Chapalii. “You may unveil.”

  The ke stirred but did not remove her heavy veil. “Tai-endi.” Her voice had a strange sibilance, an eerie echoing quality, that sent pure thrilling shivers up and down Tess’s spine. A Chapalii female, at last. “Once already has this nameless one violated an interdiction. Only before another nameless one or a female am I allowed to reveal myself.”

  “But I am a female!” said Tess, standing up.

  “You are Tai-endi, heir to the Tai-en Charles,” replied the ke.

  Tess sighed, exasperated. “And therefore I must be male. But I’m not—” She broke off and switched to Anglais. “Oh, hell, Cara, now what? How do I convince her?”

  “Maybe you let her get her bearings, Tess. Like Yevgeni Usova, she has just been exiled to strange climes, away from everything she once knew. I’ll take her back to my quarters. I’m not burdened with a title.”

  “Yes, Doctor,” said Tess. She turned back to the ke. “You may go with Cara Hierakis. She is a female, and in our lands, females do not go veiled in front of anyone.”

  “As you command, Tai-endi.”

  “Oh, and Cara, let her come to the audience with the baron. Perhaps if she sees the way he treats me, she’ll understand that I’m female, too.”

  Cara paused by the small door set into the wall on the dais which led into the private apartments beyond. “What? Are you saying that you think Baron Santer treats you differently than he did Charles?”

  Tess gave a short bark of laughter. “I suspect that the baron believes that if he could only bed me, he could take control of Jeds back into his own hands. It’s time he and I had a little talk.”

  “I’ll be sure to be there,” said Cara, and she led the ke into the private quarters.

  Aleksi sauntered up from the far door. He had changed, Tess reflected, watching him. He had grown, or refound, his confidence. To her surprise, she liked him better this way, and at times she felt a little embarrassed at the way she had treated him before, using him for her own purposes, her own needs, rather like Charles used her.

  “I don’t think Baron Santer likes taking orders from you, or running your errands,” he said now.

  “I don’t either,” said Tess. “Let’s go find Niko and Juli. We need to plot out our tactics.”

  In the end, she met with the baron in her private salon, a setting intimate enough to suggest that she wished to confide in him and yet provided with a curtained gallery from which Cara and the ke might observe the scene. She kept Juli with her, like a chaperone.

  Shown in by her chatelaine, the baron bowed, remarked the elderly jaran woman with his eyes but without a greeting, and seated himself in a chair opposite Tess at the only table in the room. It was cool enough this evening that Tess had built a fire in the fireplace, and candles burned on the mantelpiece, echoing the lanterns set at intervals into the whitewashed walls. “Cakes, Baron?” Tess asked, offering him the platter with her own hands. He took one, and thanked her. “You have administered Jeds wisely, Baron,” she remarked casually as he nibbled at the cake. “I commend you. But it is past time that we discuss how Jeds must be administered in the future.”

  Coolly, he finished the cake and then regarded her with his flat gaze. “Your wish is my command, your highness.”

  “But surely, Baron, you must know that your understanding of the minutiae of Jedan governance far exceeds mine. I rely on you to continue to administer wisely together with the governor I have brought from my husband’s empire. I, of course, have only my inheritance from my brother, may he rest in peace, what trifling knowledge I learned at the university I attended in Erthe, and my husband’s army to sustain me.”

  Startled by this last addition, he flashed a gaze up at the two portraits hanging side by side over the mantle, the portraits David had painted: one of her, one of Ilya. Tess was inordinately fond of Ilya’s portrait. “Your husband’s army?”

  “I have this map—” She lifted a hand, and Juli brought the map over to her, took away the platter of cakes, and brought a lantern. Tess rose. The baron rose at once. Smoothing out the map, Tess spread it over the surface of the table and placed the lantern on one corner. Its glow spread out over the parchment like the favor of God, bright nearest the flame and fading to darkness at the margins. “You see, Baron, that even with the new information I have added to my map, gleaned from Jedan merchants, I can’t be sure how long it will take for Bakhtiian’s army to reach Filis, given the ground he must cover and secure in between.” She covered Filis, the principal city of the great princedom that lay to the north and east of Jeds, with her index finger.

  “An army can meet many obstacles,” said the baron cautiously.

  Tess smiled and looked up to see him staring straight at her. He lowered his gaze at once, reminding her incongruously of a jaran man, although in his case modesty had nothing to do with it. “Yes,” she agreed. “That is why I feel inclined to install your son as head of the Jedan force that will, slowly and cautiously, of course, push our sphere of influence northward, in order to prepare the ground for the advance of the jaran army. Better that they stable their horses in Filis than in Jeds.”

  He blanched. “My son? But he just turned twenty!”

  So there was something he cared about beyond himself and his power. “It is a great honor for your son, Baron, and may he bring your house glory by his exploits. You have a daughter by your first wife as well, a bit older, I believe, than the boy and sadly enough, unwed, is she not?”

  This time he went gray. “Yes,” he said stiffly. A certain fire sparked in his eyes. The daughter was as old as his second wife, and while not a beauty, neither was she a horror; perhaps sentiment had kept her by her father’s side all these years.

  “There are few families, Baron, who will have the opportunity of marrying into the princely houses of the jaran. I know you will welcome this chance to marry her to a jaran prince. Certainly, from all I have heard, she is worthy of the honor.” She rolled up the map and tied it closed with a thin strip of leather. She did not sit down. “It will mean she must travel north. I will take her with me when I return to the plains.”

  For a long moment, he said nothing. Juli watched in the background. The windows here looked down on the prince’s private garden, a riot of buds and blossoms during the day, now that it was spring. A sliver of moon shone through the windows, and the garden lay dense and shadowed beneath, the gray walls of the farther apartments rising on the other side, locking her in. A sudden pang struck Tess. Gods, how she missed the plains. How she missed Ilya. And Sonia, and the children. The jaran.

  “What if I refuse?” asked the baron softly.

  “Baron, your daughter will be safe with me as long as you administer Jeds wisely in my name. Your mother was old Prince Casimund’s only niece, and by such lineage you were granted the regency. And you have proven your worth to me. I would prefer to keep you as regent. That way your daughter’s children may come to govern Jeds in time.”

  “My daughter’s children!”

  Even in the coldest fish there lurked surprising heat. She could see that the idea, shocking as it might seem, attracted him. “Your daughter’s children, sired by a jaran prince.”

  He hesitated. But she already had him. “Do you have a prince in mind, your highness?”

  “Why, yes,” said the Prince of Jeds. “I do. His first wife, ah, died recently. He comes from the eldest house of the jaran.”

  There was a long silence. It was very quiet here, muted by walls. The wind could not move freely within the palace, and in some ways, that was what she missed the most.

  “Even before you arrived,” said Baron Santer suddenly, “we he
ard reports of a great general in the north, leading his hordes against ancient and civilized lands. It seems that every kingdom he has met has fallen before him.” He paused and touched the end of the map. “But you and I both know how far away that is.”

  “Do not forget, Baron,” she replied softly, “that a part of that army has already come to Jeds.” In deference to the customs of Jeds, she wore now, as she always did in public, a gown, but in the four months since she had arrived, black and red had quickly become the most fashionable colors and the cut of the gowns had altered from a high, loose waist to a lower, more fitted one. Because she also wore her saber. “You are wise enough to make your own judgment.”

  He bowed. “You flatter me, your highness.”

  “I don’t think so,” said the Prince of Jeds. “I feel sure that you understand where your advantage lies.” She did not add, as an important and well connected governor in a growing empire or as a minor, and threatened, prince of a small trading city. If he could even usurp the throne. He could bide his time and wait to see what happened. Doubtless he would. But meanwhile, Jeds would remain stable under his—and Niko and Juli’s—guiding hands.

  “I understand,” he said, and bowed in the florid style that was usually reserved for the audience hall.

  “Thank you, Baron. You may go. Have your daughter call on me tomorrow.”

  He met her eyes one last time. He had banked it all down again, concealing himself. “As you command,” he replied. Juli showed him out.

  “How in hell,” said Tess to the air, “did Marco ever make a friend of that?”

  “Not bad,” said Cara from the balcony, drawing the curtain aside, “though perhaps a little overplayed. Baron Santer was a notorious ladies man when he was young. He and Marco got along famously. You’d never guess it now, but when Marco as the first Prince Charles instituted those odd sumptuary laws that helped reform the horrible brothels, the baron was one of his great supporters. There was even a rumor that his first wife was barren, and that the two children were actually the children of a girl off the streets, a courtesan he fell in love with who was later murdered by his wife.”