Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

“He’s astounding, Pez. He can do it. But can you do it to him?”

  “There are bigger things at stake than individual lives, Zafira.”

  “Except, if you lose enough lives individually, you can lose a nation,” she counseled softly.

  “Don’t preach at me,” Pez said mildly.

  “I just need to be sure that you understand the stakes. You’re gambling with his life, not yours.”

  “I’m aware of that, Priestess, no need to remind me,” Pez replied, a spike of irritation in his voice.

  Zafira responded in kind, angry that Pez wasn’t helping to diminish her own guilt, and if she was honest, angry at herself for agreeing to this madness. “And I suppose I don’t need to remind you that he doesn’t want your money either?”

  “Pardon?” Pez said, swinging around to face her. “What does he want?”

  “Nothing we can give. He told me he’s doing it because he serves Lyana.”

  Pez’s expression changed from confusion to incredulity. “And you accept this?”

  Zafira shrugged helplessly. “He made it clear that she had called upon him.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I believe he’s true, yes. He told me she first spoke to him in a dream when he was very small. She has come to him frequently since, he says. He mentioned the name Iridor but didn’t seem to know what it signifies.”

  Pez looked deeply troubled. “I’d prefer him to accept the money,” he admitted.

  “I imagine it would ease your conscience.”

  “Zafira—” Pez began, his tone exasperated.

  She interrupted him, equally frustrated. “I’m sorry, Pez, but I am fearful for this boy. What he is prepared to shoulder is frightening. We both know that should our clever plan be discovered, he will not be given an easy death.”

  The dwarf ’s irritation dissipated. His head dropped in resignation. “I know it.”

  The priestess heard such a depth of emotion in those three words that she hurried to soothe her friend’s troubled soul. “You have equipped him well, Pez. I would be lying if I told you that he’s not ready.”

  “I hope so.” He found a sad smile. “Tell Lazar I shall visit later today. We have things to discuss. How is he?”

  “Oh, angry, distant, scowling, handsome, exasperating. Need I go on?”

  Pez smiled genuinely for the first time during their meeting. “That sounds promising.”

  She nodded, reflecting his smile. “I think he is recovered physically, yes.”

  “Not emotionally, though.”

  “Ana has scarred his heart. There are times I wish the two had never met.”

  “Then none of this would have happened. No, Zafira. This is Lyana’s work. She is manipulating all of us. Lazar and Ana were meant to meet, though I don’t understand why. What’s the purpose of such a brief meeting—and one marked by such pain and suffering on both sides?”

  “The Goddess works in mysterious ways, Pez. Let that be a comfort.” Zafira thought briefly of the mysterious stranger Ellyana, still found it unsettling that the woman had come into their lives at a time of such high drama and then left so soon, with no warning, no farewell, and no further instructions…except for a caution; she had told Zafira that Iridor, the demigod in his owl form, would rise, and once that occurred, then the battle of the gods, which she had spoken about, would have begun. She had counseled that Lazar was integral to the success of the Goddess but wouldn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, explain why.

  Zafira hadn’t really understood much of it at all, but Ellyana was not one to be pressed, and then she had disappeared. They hadn’t seen or heard from her in almost a year. And though Zafira had suspected who Iridor might be, she had had no idea of what his rising meant for her, or any of those who served Lyana. She was none the wiser now, although her suspicions of who the Messenger of Lyana the Goddess was had been confirmed on the night after Horz of the Elim had died. It had come as no surprise in truth, but despite her easy acceptance, she nevertheless experienced an intense feeling of awe every time she saw the beautiful snowy owl.

  Pez broke into her thoughts. “It’s a cold comfort but I’m glad our man is back. Now we have to discover his purpose.”

  “He may have already served it. He nearly died, after all.”

  Pez shook his head. “No. Lyana has more in store for the former Spur. We just have to be patient.”

  2

  Maliz, the demon, comfortable in the body of the newly promoted Grand Vizier, approached the Zar confidently. The young ruler was in his private courtyard with its wide verandah overlooking the Faranel. Alongside the slim Zar stood the monstrously large form of Salmeo, Grand Master Eunuch of the harem.

  Maliz smiled. Tariq, the man whose body he had stolen, had hated the black castrate and the feeling had been so intensely mutual that none of Maliz’s genuine attempts at repairing past damage were welcomed with any warmth by the suspicious head of the harem. History prevailed, hate reigned. Maliz found it amusing, as much as wise, to keep trying, though.

  He bowed—“Zar Boaz”—before nodding toward Salmeo in a far more polite gesture than Tariq could ever have mustered. “Grand Master Eunuch. Please forgive my interruption.”

  The Zar nodded. “We were just finishing, Tariq. Salmeo has agreed to organize the boating picnic I promised the women many moons ago.”

  “Oh, how charming,” Maliz replied, and meant it. It was obvious, however, that Salmeo thought he was being sarcastic.

  “It is the Zar’s desire,” the black eunuch reminded him softly, the firmness of his voice a warning that he did not like to be challenged in front of the Zar.

  “And it is you the women will remember for this idea, Salmeo,” Maliz said in a conciliatory tone.

  Salmeo blinked, slow as a lizard, as if weighing up carefully what the Vizier was saying, testing it for guile. “I shall take my leave, Majesty,” he said finally without another glance to the Vizier. “I have many arrangements to make. Would you like me to inform the women of the upcoming treat, Highness?”

  Maliz heard the soft lisp in the black eunuch’s speech and wondered how many had assumed incorrectly that such an affectation meant the man was in some way gentle.

  “By all means,” Boaz said, “although I would appreciate it if you would advise the Valide first and seek her participation.” He smiled hesitantly, and again Maliz noted how uncomfortable the Zar was around the massive eunuch. The royal worked hard to hide how much he disliked Salmeo, but Maliz was too sharp not to notice all the silent signs Boaz’s body gave of not wanting to spend a moment more than he had to in the private company of the man.

  “Thank you, my Zar,” Salmeo lisped, bowing before he glided away, curiously light on his feet.

  Boaz sighed. “How does such a huge man tread so softly,” he mused, turning to his Vizier. “It would be so much easier if you two liked each other,” he complained with irritation, returning his gaze to the glinting sea.

  Maliz, unfazed by the power of the man who stood before him, gave a wry smile to the Zar’s back. “I could say the same to you, Majesty.”

  Boaz swung around abruptly, clearly surprised by the bold comment, but Maliz remained relaxed, allowing the hint of a mischievous grin to crease the corners of Tariq’s mouth. Boaz looked at his Vizier intently for a moment. “I wish my father had known the new Tariq who stands so brazenly before me. I believe he would have liked you, Vizier.”

  “No, Highness,” Maliz continued smoothly, “I think even I might have disliked me in your father’s day. It is only since you have come to power that I’ve realized how important my role can be. Previously I searched for gratification, reward, power…oh dear, the list of cringing need feels endless sometimes.” He shrugged in a self-deprecating manner.

  “And now?”

  “A change did come over me at your father’s death, Majesty. There’s no denying it. I realized that as soon as you took the Crown of Percheron, you could have had me executed, Majesty. You and I were ne
ver what could have been termed friends.”

  “I hated you,” Boaz replied candidly.

  Maliz nodded. The Zar had matured much in these past few moons, growing into his role, accepting its burden. His directness was refreshing compared with the usual politicking that took place in the palace. “And I understand why. I had so little autonomy, my Zar. I could have been a good Vizier to your father—may Zarab keep him—but he was headstrong and fiercely independent. He didn’t want advisers and he did not like me from the outset.”

  “Neither did I. I’m still not sure I do.”

  This surprised but privately amused the demon, who had no real interest in the Zar’s success. This relationship with Boaz was simply convenient and mildly entertaining. His own agenda concerned much more than the simple politics of Percheron. If anyone knew or understood what was truly at stake…

  Of course someone else did know. But that person remained elusive. Maliz was sure that Iridor had not only risen but was roaming these very corridors. He could feel that his ancient enemy was near—and that meant Lyana, too, was close. He must exercise patience. He would find and destroy them both. He had before in every battle, over millennia.

  “I appreciate your candor, my Zar, and hope I never offend you.”

  “I hope so, too, Tariq,” Boaz said softly, but there was a threat in his tone and Maliz realized that, for all his careful work, the Zar remained suspicious and hesitant to give his trust. Despite himself, the demon admired Boaz for his reluctance. Percheron was fortunate to have two Zars in a row who were worthy of their status.

  Boaz interrupted his thoughts. “You wanted to talk with me?”

  “Yes, Zar Boaz, I do.”

  “Walk with me, then. I was going to take some sea air on the high balcony.”

  “It would be a pleasure,” Maliz replied, knowing that walk would take Boaz past the Sherbet Rooms, where many of the members from the harem liked to relax. It wouldn’t be long now, Maliz thought, before those girls, quickly turning into young women, would be called upon to no longer just look pretty, dance sweetly, giggle coquettishly, but to offer a new, much more grown-up homage to their Zar. It was going to be fun to observe these delicious girls as they set about their single-minded business of attracting the Zar’s eye. If they knew what it was like to be a young man, his wits challenged by the fierce new drive of sexuality, they would understand that they would have to do very little to win his attention. The mere suggestion of the rise of breast behind their robes, the glimpse of a nipple beneath a silken sheath, the very outline of a nubile body moving gracefully—any hint of sensuality was enough to send a hot-blooded youngster into a frenzy of desire.

  He smiled slyly. “Perhaps we should send a runner ahead to let others know I accompany you, Zar Boaz.”

  “No need,” Boaz replied nonchalantly. “That’s what I was talking to Salmeo about. I’m relaxing some of the rules attached to the harem. I see no reason why the Zar—and whomever he chooses to enjoy the palace surrounds with him—should not be permitted to walk alongside certain buildings without permission.”

  “Indeed, Highness,” Maliz said, surprised and delighted. “Is the Grand Master Eunuch comfortable with this…relaxing of the old rules?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I imagine he believes it’s an encroachment,” Maliz answered truthfully.

  “Yes, that’s precisely what he believes. But I know Salmeo considers it an encroachment on his personal status rather than on tradition. He cares not for the old ways so much as for his territory. I don’t intend to stare into windows or hunt down the women. I just don’t see that I must avoid them.”

  “It’s part of your role as a ruler to modernize life,” Maliz encouraged.

  “Salmeo believes I’m stomping on tradition.”

  “That’s what I’d expect him to say.”

  “You think it’s appropriate, then.” Boaz did not make it a question.

  Maliz was sharp enough to realize that though the Zar was not asking his permission, the young ruler was gently searching for approval. “I think it’s wise, Majesty. Each Zar will surely introduce his own modern thinking to his reign. Your father made many changes. Some were fought by the traditionalists, but had he backed down, good things such as your great education might never have happened. Your grandfather did not believe in his heirs being educated as broadly. Your father learned the art of warfare and diplomacy, for example, but taught himself how to read and write as well as he did.”

  “I never knew that,” Boaz commented with surprise. “He was so creative, too.”

  “This is true, but that was your father’s inherent talent. He had the soul of an artist. We can see his influence all over the city, and certainly in the palace. Just think of how much poorer the citizens would be had he not exercised his right to change things. You are not doing anything that Zars before you have not already done. It is fitting that you make subtle improvements wherever you see the need.”

  “It seems so archaic to separate the women to the point of imprisonment.”

  “Ah, now we touch on something else,” Maliz warned.

  “Not really. I don’t see it that way.”

  “Others will. If you don’t mind me offering humble advice, may I suggest you move slowly, my Zar. Don’t try to change too much at once. Small leaps will still cover the same distance as big ones…it takes longer, but it makes it easier on those who feel the effects of change.”

  “Salmeo, you mean,” Boaz qualified.

  Maliz’s flick of his hand was a gesture that told Boaz the Vizier could likely reel off a dozen names. “Salmeo included, definitely. The Valide might also feel that you are undermining her status if you grant too much freedom to the women. You must remember, my Zar, if I dare be so bold as to guide you here, that the harem is your mother’s power base. If you implement too much change in a short time, the other women will soon be looking to you to override not only Salmeo but also the most powerful woman in the realm. Your mother sits atop a throne in the harem; I know you understand this because you were raised in it, so I don’t mean to give you a lecture.” The older man bowed slightly in deference.

  “I understand. Please continue,” Boaz commanded.

  “You don’t want your mother as an enemy,” the Vizier said directly.

  Boaz paused and Maliz wondered if he’d made an error in judgment. “What is that supposed to mean?” the Zar asked.

  Maliz had said too much to pull out now. “The relationship I’ve noticed between you two is strained. It is none of my business, of course, and I realize it is neither the fault of your mother nor yourself. Circumstances of the harem will almost always put this sort of pressure on any slave mother who rises to this position and her precious son that claims the throne.” He paused, ensuring that Boaz was not taking offense. Boaz said nothing but his stare was intense. Maliz continued: “Her future is in your hands. Whatever power you grant her is all she gets and she must feed off your status at all times. She is nothing without you.”

  “I have heard such advice before,” Boaz replied steadily.

  “Then forgive me for being repetitive. The Valide is a weapon that you can use, my Zar. I would caution against alienating her by undermining her authority over the other women. The more freedom you give them, the less mystery to her role and her access to you.”

  Boaz remained silent for a long moment; then, “I shall consider your advice, Vizier,” was all Maliz got for his careful guidance. “As you can see,” the Zar continued, waving in the direction of the pale, ornate building known as the Sherbet Rooms that they were now approaching, “Salmeo seems to have my measure anyway.” He was referring to the ring of red-robed Elim guards who stood against each tall window that might give the women a chance to eye their Zar at too close range for Salmeo’s comfort…and vice versa, of course.

  Maliz permitted himself a smile. “It seems he does.” It was the right thing to say. Boaz gave a grudging grin, as if acknowledging that
they both shared a common dislike for the man. Maliz considered that it might be easier to maintain the mutual hatred that Tariq had begun. It seemed more useful in terms of remaining closer to the Zar, anyway.

  Boaz inhaled the sudden fresh breeze blowing off the Faranel that rolled like a restless animal before them. He placed his hands on the stone balcony and raised his face to the sun to accept some of her early-season warmth. Anyone looking at the Zar could be forgiven for thinking all traces of childhood had disappeared this past year, but Maliz, now well attuned to Boaz, could still sense faint echoes of the boy.

  “What did you want to speak to me about, Tariq?” Boaz asked, not opening his eyes.

  “About your security, my Zar,” Maliz replied, without missing a beat.

  Now the Zar did open his eyes. Turning, he faced the Vizier. “That’s a regular haunt for you, isn’t it?”

  “It is part of my greater responsibility, Zar Boaz. Did you know that less than a century ago we did not even have a Spur? The Grand Vizier was responsible for the entire realm’s security.”

  Maliz had deliberately mentioned the Spur, knowing that his words, though softly spoken, would reopen the wound of loss that the young Zar tried to ignore. The Vizier knew this was impossible. Boaz had clearly admired Lazar, probably loved him; those wounds would never heal, especially since the Spur’s death was shrouded in such mystery.

  “Yes, I know that from my history lessons,” Boaz said evenly, though not without a hint of sorrow.

  “I just think these are more dangerous times, my Zar. The fact is if Percheron’s head of security can disappear without a trace, we have a problem in our city. I accept that Lazar invoked the law of Protectorship and was punished on behalf of Odalisque Ana. It is also clear that his flogging was savage, mis-handled badly enough to speed him to an early death.” Maliz watched with satisfaction the Zar’s jaw silently working with tightly held emotion. He continued: “But to have to trust the word of an old woman that the corpse was properly dealt with according to the Spur’s wishes, and so on…” He added a note of weariness to his tone, suggesting it sounded too far-fetched for his liking. “Well, it doesn’t sit comfortably with me, Highness. You are my responsibility, after all, and in the absence of our Spur, I feel moved to make suggestions to improve your safety. One tragedy in our palace is one too many; you must not allow our people to suffer another loss of even greater magnitude.”