Fractured (Lisen of Solsta Book 1)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  The captain had pounded away at her, and she’d kept retreating backwards, ever backwards, unable to find a space between his blows through which to retaliate in any way whatsoever. Eventually she’d lost her footing altogether and had fallen back, at which point the captain had leaned down over her and brought the edge of his sword to rest at her throat.

  “Were I the enemy, you’d already be dead,” he’d said flatly, and then had turned and walked away, muttering something as he went about her lacking the ability to strike for herself. She’d lain there, shamed and hurting, unable to move, the joke that was her life inescapable. Ripped from a first and then from a second life, Lisen focused on her failures in her third incarnation. Might as well abandon this stupid pursuit and hide where no one can find me, she thought. Start a fourth life. Tears stung her eyes as she lay there, praying that somehow she’d find her way to accepting the unacceptable.

  “Lisen?” Jozan had said as she stood over Lisen, offering a hand to help her up. Lisen had attempted to see Jozan through the tears that blurred her vision. She felt her nose begin to run. “Come on, Lisen.”

  “How far away is Erinina Haven?” Lisen had asked, wiping her runny nose, and Jozan had thrown her head back and laughed. At first her laughter had offended Lisen. What was so funny about a question regarding the location of the closest haven? But then Lisen had found herself laughing as well, but not for the same reason as Jozan. Even as she lay there on the ground, the sword still in her hand, she saw for the first time the absurdity of trying to train a bona fide peacenik to kill.

  Lisen smiled now in her stupor. She still hadn’t forgiven the captain, but in making light of Lisen’s question, Jozan had done what Betsy used to do all the time—she’d given Lisen a reason to laugh at her self-pity. Jozan had restored warmth to Lisen’s resolve, and they’d broken camp with Lisen humming to herself although she refused to speak to the captain all day. No loss to him, of course; he wasn’t one for small talk anyway.

  “My Liege?”

  She started, her daydreaming shattered by the intrusion of the captain’s voice. “Huh?” she said, coming to and discovering the pony had obligingly pulled to a stop with its companions. They stood on a hill looking down upon the Milara Sea. Between them and the water lay a town defined by the shoreline on the west and a decreasing density of buildings spreading out until only trees and grasslands filled the landscape.

  “Halorin, my Liege,” the captain announced, and Lisen nodded. This was less than a village by Earthly standards, a tiny town where one would expect everyone to know everyone else. And this was where the captain thought they could hide? He’s not stupid, Lisen reminded herself, and, after the mudslide, she knew she could trust his loyalty. So, if he said they would be safe here, she believed they would be safe.

  “I should tell you, Captain, that I have a bit of a reputation here,” Jozan confessed.

  “A reputation, my lord?” the captain asked. “What kind of reputation? Good? Bad? Somewhere in between?”

  “I was a bit of a rebel in my younger years, you know? I’d ride down here from my home in Seffa and get into harmless trouble. The occasional barroom brawl, that sort of thing. I doubt they’d question my bringing two ‘friends’ into town for a little fun.”

  Lisen listened but didn’t hear. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the vista below—wooden buildings in various stages of disrepair, a dock with several sailing ships in port. It seemed like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean.

  “Might work,” the captain said.

  “Lisen?”

  “What?” She turned, trying to bring up to consciousness what she could have sworn she’d heard Jozan say.

  “You and the captain as my lovers?” Jozan asked. “For appearance sake only, of course.”

  “Of course,” Lisen replied, not adding that a little of the real thing wouldn’t compromise her principles, but they’d never get the joke. They both still thought she was an innocent novice, cloistered at Solsta her entire lifetime. Not that she wasn’t still a virgin. She’d promised herself she’d wait until she turned eighteen. When she’d left Earth she’d had nine months to go, but here, her eighteenth birthday—outcoming day, she reminded herself—was a little over a month away. Hooray for the quirks of time in interdimensional travel.

  “Good,” the captain said. “If I recall, there’s a large room at the Riverside Inn. Let’s hope it’s available.”

  “That should work,” Jozan agreed.

  “We should arrive separately. My Liege, you and I first with Heir Tuane coming in after dark.”

  “Why separately?” Jozan asked.

  “Heir Ariel knows you went to Solsta,” the captain explained. “If we all arrive together, they’ll know we traveled together—”

  “And they’ll assume we all came together from Solsta,” Jozan deduced.

  “Which would be bad,” the captain added.

  “Which would be bad,” Jozan agreed.

  “You know the Riverside?” the captain asked.

  “Yes,” Jozan responded.

  “Will the innkeeper know you?” the captain continued his questioning.

  “No, I never stayed there.”

  “Good,” the captain said. “It’ll slow down anyone sent to find you.”

  “Do you really think they’re looking for me?” Jozan asked.

  “You didn’t return with Holder Corday and the late Empir. At the very least, Holder Zanlot has either already begun or will soon begin to wonder why.”

  “True,” Jozan replied.

  “So we’re decided?” the captain asked.

  “Yes, Captain, we’re decided,” Jozan agreed.

  “My Liege?”

  “Yes, we’re decided,” Lisen replied, her eyes still drawn to the village below which everyone else called a city.

  “Then, we shall leave you here, my lord,” the captain said. “My Liege?”

  “Stop calling me that,” Lisen said with a snort.

  “Forgive me. Lisen?” He nodded towards their destination, and with a nod back, Lisen kicked her little pony into line behind him as they headed down the hill to the road which would take them to the seaport. They said nothing as they rode although Lisen could sense the captain thinking, plotting, planning. He’d accepted the responsibility, and he would not allow failure, neither his own nor hers. This had probably fueled his frustration this morning, and she shared the sense of urgency he felt. It was a thing acutely palpable in the fabric of their being, a thing not put off or avoided, no matter what offhand comments might be tossed about.

  “I’m sorry,” Lisen said, shifting in her saddle.

  “For what?” he asked, although he didn’t turn to look at her.

  “I’m sorry I’m not learning fast enough,” she said, feeling inadequate and pretty much useless.

  He stopped and turned in his saddle, and she pulled up behind him. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. I treated you like a new recruit which you are not.”

  “You feel it, don’t you?” she asked. “The pressure of too little time?”

  “I feel something. I suppose ‘too little time’ is as good an explanation as any.”

  “I wanted to give up this morning,” Lisen admitted, the words difficult to say.

  “I know.”

  Lisen shook her head. “I don’t want to give up anymore.”

  “Good,” he replied, his expression stoic. “You’ve passed the first test.”

  “That was a test?” Anger rose like bile into her throat.

  “You gave me the opportunity and I took it. This work is deadly serious. You must always remember that.”

  “I will. Believe me, I will.”

  He smiled at her, a smile all the more rewarding given the day’s events. Then he turned forward again and moved out. Lisen took up her place behind him. “I have only one rule for you during our stay,” he said.

  “Only one?” she said, attempting to lighten the conversation.


  But the captain would not be lightened. “You go nowhere without a companion.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a big city with lots of little alleys, and it’s filled with the ruffians and outlaws Holder Corday objected to. We wouldn’t want you getting lost.”

  “I hardly think I’ll get lost.”

  He stopped, and she stopped behind him. He turned. “Regardless, you will have to suffer the company of a companion whenever you go out, either Heir Tuane or myself. Understood?”

  I’m just a little hermit, remember? I know nothing about ‘big cities’ even if this one really isn’t much larger than Topanga Plaza. “Understood,” she relented.

  “And let’s see if we can find you a real horse,” he added. “You deserve an appropriate mount.” Then he set out again, and down they rode into the seaport known as Halorin.

  When necessary, Lorain Zanlot could maintain absolute secrecy, thanks to a father who had taught her the importance of remaining calm for the sake of the greater goal. However, in the week or so since Nalin’s return with the news of Empir Flandari’s death, Lorain had found it uncharacteristically difficult to keep her thoughts and, especially, her observations to herself. Ariel’s self-indulgence cried out for containment, but first she must secure her place in his future. He kept her at his side always but never uttered a word about making the partnership permanent. Had it been anyone other than an Empir, she would have proposed union to him herself and been done with it, but protocol dictated that she await his favor. As well as remaining interminably on call at his whim, she resented her powerlessness in this. Still, she managed to keep her own pieces in the grand game of the court in motion during stolen moments, and her skill and mastery at this provided some satisfaction.

  At the moment, the valuable and ever-steady Stellet Arspas stood before her. She’d summoned this specialist at ferreting out information to her office here in the old palace because Nalin’s all-too-easy acceptance of the inevitability of Ariel’s reign was highly suspect. Something about Nalin’s willingness to surrender bothered her beyond measure, and if anyone could delve into the details of Nalin’s activities over the last few weeks, it was Arspas.

  “So you think Holder Corday has something to hide?” Stellet asked.

  Lorain nodded. “Yes, and I’m leaving it up to you to determine what.”

  “I could use some help. Would you object to Edres Lazlin?”

  “No. Actually she’s a good choice. Observant,” Lorain replied, musing. “A little slow on analysis, but you’ll make up for that, now, won’t you.”

  “Aye, my lord. Her eyes, my brain? As good as done.”

  “You should know that the investigators the Empir sent to Solsta returned with information regarding Heir Tuane as well as one of the Guard’s captains. Although they traveled to Solsta with Flandari, they did not return with her. Apparently they left the haven via another route, the ferry to the east, and took with them the necropath who guided the late Empir through her passing.”

  “You think they hold the key?”

  “I do.” Lorain studied him with his smooth, black hair falling in one length to just above his shoulders. A handsome man with deep brown eyes who harbored a mentality that would take trust and turn it on its end. But she knew how to keep him hers. “As usual,” she said, “a fee up front?” She pulled a small bag of coins from the trunk beside her, knowing the answer to her question. Another lesson from her father—pay well, profit well. And she suspected any information gleaned from Stellet Arspas’ investigation would be profitable indeed.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Stellet said as he took the pouch from her.

  “Keep our contact minimal, Stellet.”

  “You wish to distance yourself from direct involvement.”

  “And thus remove the Empir from direct involvement,” she replied smoothly.

  He nodded. “I’ll report in writing.”

  “Keep it brief and ambiguously vague.”

  “So you can read between the lines?”

  She nodded. “And if I need you, I will send for you.”

  “I’ll not fail you, my lord,” he said deferentially and rose.

  “Of course you won’t.” Lorain smiled. “Now, go. Before you’re seen.” She gestured him out with a wave of her hand and then sat back in her chair.

  It was still early morning. Soon she’d make her way to the Keep and Ariel. For the moment, only she and Nalin occupied the old drafty palace, but in two or three days, the place would teem with holders and councilors, all buzzing with the numerous rumors surrounding Flandari’s mysterious death. It was time to confront Ariel and present him with her assessment of how the news of his mother’s murder had likely already been embellished beyond recognition by the overactive minds of those soon to converge upon Avaret. The greatest problem lay in the truth. Let Ariel deny all he wanted; Lorain still knew the truth. And if proof of that truth existed, it would strip him bare for all to see and then tear the flesh from his bones. Lorain had to be sure that all proof had died with the assassin, or, if it hadn’t, she must destroy it—personally, if necessary. And she must do so without arousing Ariel’s suspicion. Because if he knew that she knew, she, too, would become a liability.

  With a sigh, she locked the trunk on the floor beside her and rose from her chair. She stepped into her bedchamber, the bed unslept in for days. She smiled. Such was the lust of the new Empir, robbing her of a decent night’s sleep in her own bed. On the bed, Lorain found an ensemble, laid out by her servant, of light grey and gold, grey being the traditional color of bereavement. Grey was not Lorain’s most flattering hue, but it flattered the new Empir that she wore it, and thus she would. Her own dressmaker had been summoned from Tonkin and should arrive soon, no doubt bringing with him several new tunics in various shades of grieving grey.

  She slipped out of yesterday’s tunic. She’d bathed late last night and hence only sprinkled herself with perfumed oils now and studied her supple body and its welcoming pouch in the looking glass. She smiled. The new Empir would do well to choose her. She would incubate heirs—for the Emperi and for Bedel—and then she would close the pouch in favor of pursuits more suited to her sensibilities, starting with the reacquisition of the Isle of Solsta. Slowly, Lorain. Slowly.

  She pulled on the clean tunic and left her quarters in the old palace. Soon she could be quit of her rooms there for good, but for now they would serve as the hub of activities best kept from the eyes of the new Empir.

  She was granted unquestioned access to the Keep. stepped through the great doors unchallenged, and entered the Empir’s office without even having to knock. She met him here every morning, pretending she’d not spent the night here. She would slip out of the Keep before dawn, see to her own affairs—which were more Ariel’s affairs—and then return. The guards played ignorant, but they knew everything, just like the servants knew everything. The rules of the Guard and the ethics of the servants prohibited gossip, but she knew it went on regardless, hidden from all but themselves.

  When she arrived in Ariel’s office, she found him settled in behind the finely carved table which served as his desk. She noticed that the plans for the funeral rites remained spread out all over the large circular conference table to her left, but she knew that on Ariel’s desk lay the proposed arrangements for the ascension ceremony which by law must wait until the next scheduled gathering of the Council in May, nearly three months away. These plans captivated him, unlike those for a funeral for a mother who’d never loved him. Lorain agreed. Better to look to the future; the past no longer possessed anything worthy of note except for the lessons it offered the future.

  “My Liege,” she said with a nod as she stepped forward.

  “Lorain,” he replied, looking up. He looked tired, and no wonder. Often, while he thought she slept following their love-making, he’d leave their bed and come down here to squint over documents in the light of a single candle.

  “What can I do for you today?” she
asked.

  “Finalize the plans for the rites with the commander.”

  “Good idea.” She turned towards the conference table, determined to be done with this mess of old business before day’s end. It had sat too long undone. Only three days remained until the rites, and someone had to complete the arrangements. Why not her? Once she had organized all that paper, she and Commander Tanres could cover security and then it would be done.

  “And Lorain?”

  She halted in the midst of her descent into the chair she’d pulled out for herself, rose up again and turned back to look at him, accepting his petulance. “Yes?”

  “What am I going to do about Solsta?”

  “My Liege?”

  He rose from his chair. “Those damnable hermits denied knowing anything. No one knew why my mother journeyed there. No one knew what happened. No one saw a thing except for her swift deposit in the infirmary in the arms of our illusive Captain Rosarel.” He held out a sheet of parchment, presumably the written version of what had been delivered to him verbally by the investigating guards yesterday morning. He shook it at her a few times, and, believing he wanted her to take it from him, she stepped towards him. But as swiftly as he’d offered, he withdrew, and she halted midway between the table and his desk. “And where in the name of the Destroyer are Jozan, Captain Rosarel and the necropath?” He slammed his free hand on the desk.

  “I’m working on that, my Liege.”

  His dark eyes brightened. “What have you learned?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ve only just begun, but I’ll have answers for you soon. My best people are on it.” She exuded confidence. She needed to keep him calm.

  “How do you do it?”

  “Do what, my Liege?” She feigned ignorance, veiling her delight at his recognition of her service.