Fractured (Lisen of Solsta Book 1)

by D. Hart St. Martin

Elsba shrugged. “I don’t know. Looks like a healing stone. Eloise carries a few, but it doesn’t look like one of hers.”

  “Well, perhaps you should have it.” Nalin reached out to hand it over, but Elsba declined it.

  “Whoever gave it to her meant for her to have it,” Elsba said, reaching out and closing Nalin’s hand around the stone. “It should stay with her.”

  Nalin nodded, slipped the stone into his own belt pouch and then pulled out a folded piece of parchment.

  “Could you get this off to Captain Rosarel at Erinina?” He handed Elsba the note.

  “As soon as you’re gone, I promise.”

  “I wish I could stay. For the funeral, I mean.”

  “I know, but she needs you more than Jozan now.” Elsba nodded towards the carriage.

  Nalin slapped his leather gloves against his other hand. He seemed nervous. “I’m sorry, Elsba. I never meant….”

  “No, of course you didn’t.”

  “If I’d known—”

  “But you didn’t know. You couldn’t. Now go.” Elsba gave Nalin a little push towards the carriage. “You couldn’t save Jo,” he said so softly that only Nalin could hear, “but with luck you may be able to save Flandari’s Heir.” Nalin nodded, sighed, and then stepped up into the carriage. Elsba put his arm around Bala’s shoulders as they watched the carriage drive away. The wagon Nalin had brought with him still stood there, beckoning, reminding, and finally Elsba opened up to grief.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  …DOESN’T MEAN YOU SHOULD

  Ariel had settled into the Empir’s suite without a rustle of the fabric of his life. Now, he looked around the antechamber from which he’d eliminated all reminders of its prior occupant and into which he’d placed all those items which he valued, and he smiled. Some of the greatest works of Garlan sculpture, many of which he had purloined from the more public rooms downstairs, adorned this large private sitting room, intended now for his eyes only. Missing was the bust fashioned three years ago by Plinu of his mother. That, which had stood at the entry to the Council chamber ever since, now resided in storage in the basement.

  There you have it, Mother, he thought. How easily he had relegated an unloving and unloved parent to oblivion.

  He examined his reflection in the full-length mirror one last time before leaving to head downstairs. His red-gilded hair glowed, and he brushed his fingers over the silk of his grey tunic, delighting in the luxury of a material so easily ruined by the slightest of snags, by the tiniest of stains. You never loved me, Mother, and you paid the price.

  An intimate dinner with Lorain awaited, and he loved any form of intimacy with that bountiful creature. She satisfied him in every way, to the point of modifying her life to accommodate his. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that love motivated her; unquenchable ambition guided her every move. But he understood ambition and thought it a far more honest emotion than love. Love was stupid. Ambition, on the other hand, filled a person with clarity, furthering its own needs while serving the object of its intentions. As long as he never lost sight of Lorain’s true purpose, she could never hurt him. Not the way his mother had. He’d wasted years seeking her love. Never again. She had received the punishment befitting her crimes, and he was freed of her.

  He left the antechamber, and two guards saluted as he stepped past them. He promenaded down the curvilinear stairway, mindful of the multitude of servants and guards who lowered their gaze in his presence but who passed judgment on him once he was gone. At the foot of the stairs, he turned back to his left and then stepped through the passageway. This took him outside briefly as he crossed the covered portico at the rear of the Keep proper, its massive park stretching to his left out from the Keep, and then brought him back inside to the small private dining hall. Punctual as always, Lorain awaited him there, and she rose as he entered. The servant stationed there exited to the kitchen with a nod, and Ariel took his place at the head of the table. Lorain then sat down opposite him and spoke.

  “Grey shows off your hair, my Liege. I wish I looked as good in it.”

  “You look good in any color, Lorain, and you know it.”

  Did she blush? He thought her cheeks appeared a little rosier than usual, her eyes brighter.

  “So tell me,” he said, attempting to change the subject, but two servants entered and interrupted him. He waited impatiently as one of the servants set the first course down in front of him and then the other did the same for Lorain. Once the two had departed, he tried again. “So tell me. Have you heard anything from your friend in Halorin?”

  “A brief report arrived just this morning,” Lorain said, delicately chewed a small bite of pheasant and then continued. “My agents have had an inn under surveillance and are waiting for the appropriate moment to act. Stellet is sure the young hermit from Solsta is with them, and he’ll take her into custody—”

  “My Liege.” They both looked up as Jazel Iscador entered the room, interrupting Lorain. Ariel had kept his mother’s head clerk on only because he lacked the inclination at the moment to groom someone new for the job. She hadn’t knocked or requested permission to enter, and given her obsession with protocol, Ariel believed she saw her business with her Empir to be very important indeed. “Forgive me, my Liege, but this message just arrived,” Jazel continued before Ariel had to ask. “It’s from the mayor of Halorin. My Liege, Jozan Tuane is dead.”

  Ariel’s head spun as he took the parchment from the clerk’s hand. He tried to focus on what was written there, but he couldn’t make out a thing.

  “What happened?” Lorain asked.

  He shook his head and turned to Jazel. “See to the messenger’s needs.”

  “Yes, my Liege.” And with a nod, Jazel left. Once she was gone, Lorain rose and came to him.

  “What is it? What happened?”

  He still couldn’t focus, so when Lorain reached him, he handed the letter up to her. “Read it to me,” he ordered. Jozan Tuane had served as an early seductive promise unfulfilled. He could not imagine her…dead.

  “My Liege,” Lorain began to read.

  “It is with extreme grief that I write to advise you that the Heir of Minol, Jozan Tuane, was discovered murdered here in Halorin early the morning of February eighteenth. I have launched an investigation and hope to be able to bring this matter to a satisfactory resolution soon. In the meantime, I do not yet have the details for the funeral rites, but I have promised Holder Tuane to keep you advised.

  “Your servant, I remain,

  “Mozor Kardel”

  “Creators,” Ariel said and dropped his head into his hands. Suddenly he looked up at Lorain. “If this is your spies’ doing….”

  “My Liege,” she protested, and Ariel saw the hint of hurt in her eyes. She knew all about his feelings for Jozan. “I told them not to take action until I sent word. Stellet Arspas is no fool. He wouldn’t—”

  “I want you to investigate this, Lorain,” he said, interrupting her.

  “But Kardel is already on it.”

  “No, I want you to investigate this. You and no one else. Rein those spies of yours in and find out what happened.” He stood up. He needed to be alone.

  “Yes, my Liege,” she replied with a nod, and then he left her, retreating through the portico’s passage and heading into his office. As the guard closed the door behind him, he dropped onto the couch, hardly able to breathe. Jozan Tuane. How? Why?

  Malla. I want malla. He got up from the couch and went to his desk. He pulled the middle drawer open, drew out the small alabaster jar and set it on the desk. He opened it and studied the grey paste within. Malla would calm his nerves, erase his pain. Just a little, I promise.

  Ariel jumped up at a noise, set the jar carefully back into the drawer, closed the drawer quickly and then remained statue still until he determined the source of the sound. It turned out to be the door to the closet to his right. Its handle jiggled a bit, and then the door creaked open. He rose with caution. Who was using
his secret passageway?

  I’ll run for the door, yelling for the guards, he thought. But he hesitated. He’d told only one person about the secret passageway, and when Opseth Geranda stepped through the door, Ariel dropped with a sigh into the chair behind the desk.

  “Oh, my Liege, forgive me,” she said. She paused at the closet door and held a folded sheet of parchment up. “I hadn’t expected to find you here. I was going to leave you this.”

  He stood up again and stepped towards her. He hadn’t seen her since the night of his mother’s death.

  “What is it?” he asked as he reached her, holding out his hand for her note, but she withheld it. “What? Don’t waste my time, Opseth.”

  “As promised, my Liege, I managed to establish a connection with the necropath.”

  “You what?” He flounced over to the desk, sat down and looked up at her. Jozan Tuane was dead. What was she talking about?

  “My Liege, we agreed, remember? I’d keep watch. For your protection.”

  “Yes, yes. I remember now. Go on.”

  “Three nights ago I was awakened out of a sound sleep by a sense of someone with power pushing someone without power. I’m sure it was the necropath.”

  “Pushing someone?” he asked. “Like you pushed….”

  “Yes.”

  “Three nights ago? Are you sure?” “…discovered murdered…early the morning of February eighteenth.” Ariel had no difficulty fitting Opseth’s revelation into the time line, but whether the necropath had pushed Jozan or had pushed whoever had attacked Jozan—well, that remained unclear.

  “Three nights ago, yes,” Opseth replied. “Is it significant?”

  “Just continue,” he ordered, rushing her with a toss of his hand.

  “You should also know that the necropath is growing stronger.”

  “And?” The woman was drawing this out, and Ariel was in no mood to be toyed with.

  “You need to find this person,” Opseth replied.

  “She’s already under surveillance.” At Opseth’s stunned look, he smiled. How easily he’d switched roles with this one who watched. She didn’t know everything, it seemed. “Yes, we know it’s a young woman.”

  “She will be the key to your undoing, my Liege.”

  “Not if I can help it,” Ariel said, and Opseth nodded. “Continue your observations,” he commanded.

  “Aye, my Liege.”

  “And I have another assignment for you, Opseth.”

  “My Liege?”

  Ariel reveled in the joy of sudden revelation. “I want you to work your magic on a prisoner of mine. You will, of course, be well compensated.”

  “I am at your service, my Liege,” Opseth responded, the greed sparkling in her eyes.

  “She’s a Hermit Eloise, of Solsta,” Ariel explained. “She’s also a sooth. I want to know how much she knows about my mother’s death. I also think she can help us find the necropath.”

  “Yes,” Opseth responded. “I understand.” Her eyes shone even brighter than before, and Ariel wondered if money were her only motivation.

  “You can begin tonight by delivering a piece of what is likely to be very disturbing news to her. Jozan Tuane is dead. The details will come later.”

  “How is that important to this hermit?” Opseth asked.

  “Because she is Eloise Tuane, and Jozan was her niece.”

  Opseth smiled. “Yes. Observing her in pain could be enlightening.”

  “Indeed.” Ariel rose from his desk. “Guard!” He smiled at Opseth as the guard outside his door came in.

  “My Liege?” the guard asked.

  “Escort this woman to the hermit’s cell. Then leave her,” Ariel ordered.

  “Aye, my Liege. My lord?” the guard said to Opseth, nodding towards the door, and she followed the man out.

  Ariel plopped back into his chair. “Beware the one who comes for you.” “Ha!” He’d make a liar of that damn sooth. With Lorain and Opseth on his side, the necropath could not survive, and there’d be no one left to come for him.

  I’ve seen worse, Eloise thought, then she paused, considering. No, I haven’t. She smiled. She sat on a bench, the only piece of furniture in the miserable, dark cell, and she smiled. Lisen was safe.

  No, Eloise reminded herself. Not safe but well away from Halorin and not in physical jeopardy. Eloise could see little else. That she could see anything at all meant that the girl’s proximity to Jozan had diminished, but the vagueness of Eloise’s vision troubled her. She should be able to see more, but no opening had emerged yet. Eloise saw dimly into the future, perceived Lisen heading towards a hot and arid climate, but her current situation was, quite simply, blurred.

  “Hello?”

  Ah, the watcher. Eloise had been expecting her. “Yes?” she said as she rose from the bench, every joint creaking in protest, and shuffled to the door. She gazed out the small, barred window at a face she knew she’d come to know in the next weeks. Mid-thirties, well fed though anything but soft, this woman masked her power well.

  “You are Hermit Eloise,” the woman stated.

  “You were expecting someone else? And who are you?”

  “Irrelevant,” the woman answered.

  “Then allow me. You’re a watcher, a rogue. The truth oozes from you despite your attempts to hide it.”

  “Only in the presence of someone who also wields the power, Sooth,” the woman replied, her tone frigid.

  “Ah, yes. Now we come to it.” The torture would begin very soon now, but Eloise couldn’t see how or precisely when the watcher would act.

  “You see better than you claim,” the woman said. “But not those closest to you, correct? Family, in particular, is hidden.”

  “Family?” Eloise felt lightheaded, fearful. It was as though this woman had reached into Eloise’s chest and now held her heart in her evil hand. “What has happened?” Eloise managed.

  “Ah, I was right. Family is hidden.”

  “Tell me what has happened,” Eloise said, enunciating each word with care.

  “Your niece, your beloved niece, your brother’s heir, is dead, Eloise Tuane.”

  Eloise’s stomach lurched, her knees went soft, and her lungs forgot to breathe, but she forced herself to remain erect. “What…what happened?” she croaked.

  “You heard me. Jozan Tuane is dead. That’s all I know. But I’ll be back, and perhaps then I’ll have more to tell you. Till then, sleep well, Sooth.”

  Eloise watched as the woman turned and walked away, disappearing around a corner, her footfalls retreating and finally slipping into silence. Only then did Eloise turn her back to the door, lean up against it and allow her knees to fail. She slid down the door until she finally reached the filthy floor and sat.

  “Jozan? Dead?” she whimpered softly.

  She hadn’t even seen it coming.

  Six days after she and Ariel had learned of Tuane’s murder, Lorain waited inside the carriage for the servant to open the door. Ariel had loaned her the use of his best coach to inform all attending the rites up the river in Seffa later this day that he’d sent her to represent him.

  But first she must complete her mission here. The carriage in which she sat stood in front of the Riverside Inn in Halorin. Staring out the window at the place, Lorain couldn’t believe that Jozan had ended up here, but Lorain had been told that the heir, the captain and the little necropath had stayed here and here Jozan had died. Lorain felt no grief for Jozan’s loss or for the Tuanes. She’d already learned that Arspas was dead, but she’d been unable to find any hint of Lazlin’s fate. Fortunately, the murder of Jozan Tuane offered her the opportunity to ask, in the guise of investigation, all those bothersome questions the two spies had been unable to answer before they’d become permanently inaccessible.

  Lorain stepped out of the carriage and immediately put a scarf to her nose to block out the stench of the place—the inescapable odor of fish decay and the stink that built up when no one cleared the streets of garbage a
nd waste. The scarf failed to protect her. The smell slipped right through, nearly gagging her. Of course, it wasn’t the smell alone that sickened her. In the last couple of days, she’d experienced queasiness and an intermittent inability to keep food down, and she’d known. She was pregnant. Over three weeks ago, in the midst of her cycle, a euphoric Ariel had invited her into his bed, and, her ambition insistent and inescapable, she had accepted the risk. Not foolishly though. She knew that producing an Heir for him would solidify her status in his life although she would have preferred later rather than now.

  She ordered her driver to wait where he’d stopped no matter who asked him to move, and then she ascended the old, worn, wooden steps, entered the shack of an inn and found herself inside its downstairs tavern. Occupied by only two others besides herself, the room provided little relief from the stench outside, as it exuded what could only euphemistically be termed atmosphere. Still smoky from last night’s fire, well overdue for a cleaning, the place reeked of the bodies and liquor which had filled it doubtless until dawn. One of its current inhabitants raised his head from a table, took one look at Lorain and slipped back into unconsciousness. The other one rose from her stool at the bar and stepped to the holder.

  “How can I help you, my lord?” the old woman asked with a smile, showing off the best set of gums Lorain had ever encountered. “A mug of ale perhaps, to wet your parched throat?”

  Lorain shook her head, clenching her teeth to subdue the bile that threatened at her throat. “No, thank you.”

  “Saw you drive up, I did, in that fine coach of yours and asked myself what you’d be doing here. Have a seat, my lord.”

  At the barkeep’s insistence, Lorain sat down at the table closest to the door. The woman joined her there but not before grabbing her mug from the bar and bringing it back with her.

  “You don’t mind, now, do you?” she asked as she sat down and held up the mug. “It’s been busy since the heir passed on, Creators bless her. Such a sad thing.”

  “And that is exactly why I’m here.” Lorain cleared her throat and tried to breathe despite the smoke which had quickly become nearly as oppressive as the smell of fish outside. “I’m Holder Zanlot.”