She tore into my flesh like a deranged dog. Blood and saliva dripped down my skin. I forced my thoughts away from the pain, dulling it as I focused on slamming her blade into her own thigh.
She let go of my shoulder. I kicked myself off her and started down the tunnel again. I could see the light, and if I was going to die fighting, I wanted to do it out in the open.
I reached a field fringed with dead trees and low, grass-covered hills. I picked up a rock just as the assassin reached me, turned around, and smashed it into her head. Hard as it had been, the rock was whole deal harder. She collapsed on the ground, reeling from the blow. I picked up her dagger and sank it into her throat.
I watched her blood throb over the golden grass as I slumped to the ground. My whole body was shaking now, not just my fingers. With rattling teeth, I turned the assassin’s body over and ripped out her mask.
An unfamiliar face greeted me. I tugged her belt loose. There was a purse. I opened it, saw coin, and figured my assassin was not the professional as I thought she had been. What assassin would risk having coin clinking around in her possession? She had certainly been clumsier than the ones who had attacked me in Anzhao City.
I saw a small piece of paper with the coin and unrolled it. It was a message, likely sent by bird from the shape of the roll. The message said:
You will find it most profitable if you can take care of the target as soon as possible. She must not be allowed to return to Jin-Sayeng. We are generous, and a clean job will be amply rewarded.
There was no signature, nothing to indicate the source of the message to the untrained eye. But I didn’t need clues. The blood drained from my face as my eyes skipped over the words again, the crisp, clean handwriting I had known for far too long. It was Rayyel’s handwriting. Rayyel. Rayyel had sent the assassin.
I shoved the letter back into the purse and into my pocket. I closed my eyes. I thought of my phantom-father’s words. You fell in love with the brat. My downfall, so it seemed.
I didn’t wait there for very long. The smell of the blood was starting to attract a frightening number of crows. I could see them watching me from the branches of the leafless trees with their beady black eyes. “All right,” I said out loud, getting to my feet. “Greedy bastards. You can have her.” I had to get out of there, anyway. For all I knew, she was not the only one.
I left the field, and the cloud of dark wings descending over it, and found a path that led to a low hill, from where I saw Zorheng City in the distance. I thought of Zhu and the knife in her gut, and said a prayer, Akaterru’s Blessing for the Departed. And then, remembering Yeshin’s words about duty, I repeated it for Magister Arro.
I could only hope another might do the same for me.
Chapter Eighteen
The Return to Anzhao City
I wrestled with two more assassins on the road.
One had been too obvious, a bumbling idiot who swiped at me with a curved dagger in the middle of a crowded inn in Nam Ghun. I didn’t even have to do anything to save myself. The other patrons intervened on my behalf, calling him a drunken fool, a robber, a brigand. They beat him to the ground while he pointed a finger at me and called me a shameless slut, a whore who should’ve known better. I stepped on his outstretched hand and kicked him in the jaw before somebody finally dragged him to the guards.
The other one had been as subtle as the first. He arrived at the first inn near the Blue Rok Haize’s territory, and waited just as I separated from the merchants I had travelled with from Nam Ghun. He thought he could surprise me on my way back to the inn from the outhouse, but a barking dog gave him away. Torn between carrying out his task and fleeing to try another time, I had a dagger in his back before he could decide. I hid his body in the outhouse, arranging it so it looked like he got stabbed while taking a shit.
The attempts had left me in a sour mood.
I stayed several days in the last inn before Anzhao City. I wanted to rest and heal. I think I also wanted to see if more assassins would come, and I didn’t feel like having to deal with them on the road. But the money I had pilfered from the assassins was running out. And as much as I relished the thought of spending my own bounty on myself, I still needed to get myself home so I could finally deal with this whole situation the way an Oren-yaro was supposed to: with swords and armies and bloodshed.
I didn’t think at all of Rayyel. I couldn’t deal with it. What he had done before our marriage was one thing, but the idea that he would ever call for my death was another. I had thought we had left such things in the past, in the days of my father and his mother’s war. We were supposed to be symbols of a brighter tomorrow, wiser than our ancestors, enlightened. Why kill the first Oren-yaro who had studied in Shirrokaru’s halls, who had offered the Ikessars more respect than they could have ever dreamed of? And this, coming from the boy for whom so many had died for, the last, shining star of the Ikessars?
No—I didn’t think about Rayyel, because the anger would be too distracting and I needed to keep my wits to stay alive. Cold rage, though, I could still do. Cold rage was useful. And it was the only thing running through my veins when I finally walked back into Anzhao City on a clear morning.
I went straight to the docks, where fishing vessels were making their way back in time for the market after days at sea. I could see barrels of small, steel-grey fish being hauled from gangways for salting, and red spotted groupers the size of my arm laid out right on the shore for picky buyers to peruse. Others had tables with shiny octopuses, squid, prawns, and blue crabs piled on top of each other. Some of the vendors were cooking their wares right on the street. The sharp tang of the fresh seafood in the air made my stomach grumble.
After a meal of rice and fish in black bean sauce from an open stall—delicious, if overly salted—I eventually found the courage to ask around for the harbourmaster’s office and make my way to the street. But here, after days of near-death bravado, I faltered. I’m sure I would not be the first Jinsein trapped on these shores looking for a way home, and after the Ikessars’ lax policies, it was actually fairly common for the Zarojo to skip across the sea and settle in Jin-Sayeng, but I couldn’t help but suspect Yuebek would’ve already sent word of my escape.
I glanced at the people around me. The woman strolling with her children under that paper parasol, those fishermen, that man pulling a cart of pickled turnips and mangoes—were any of them paid to keep an eye out for a bedraggled, Jinsein woman seeking passage to Jin-Sayeng waters? Were any of them assassins? I saw a grey-haired crone eating grilled chicken feet on a stick stare at me a little too long, and fought the urge to run her through with my knife.
Belatedly, I regretted going back to Anzhao. Surely there were other smaller towns along the coast, towns where Yuebek’s influence might hold lesser meaning. But as I glanced on the road, the weariness bore down on me like a hangman’s noose. I wanted nothing else except to wrap my arms around my son and cry into his hair. My feet wouldn’t let me go any further.
Cold rage became dejection, became desperation.
Betrayal has a funny way of turning your world upside-down. As familiar as I had already been with it by that point, it still amazed me how far I could stretch that moment of denial. The thought of what had been—of what could yet be—persisted. Perhaps it is not the same for most people. Perhaps, when you love less, it is easier not to let the emptiness become a cavern from which you could no longer see the sun.
Before I could realize what was happening, I found myself walking behind a pack of mangy dogs towards the dirty streets of Shang Azi.
Upside-down, like I said. I could hear my father’s phantom voice screaming at me for returning to the filthy streets I had worked so hard to escape from. But there is no possible panacea for betrayal except to turn back time, and so you go to the next best thing: the solace of the familiar. And Shang Azi—dangerous, crowded, run-down, Shang Azi—was the closest thing I could call home in those parts.
The roof of the covered
marketplace dominated the skyline, marking my destination, and it was easy enough to find my way through the alleys towards it. If there was one good thing about my encounter with Prince Yuebek, it was that it had all but erased my fear of Lo Bahn.
Or perhaps I could not afford to be afraid. I still wasn’t entirely sure what possessed me to stand at the edge of the street, watching the flurry of market-goers and vendors like a lost child seeking her parents. I only knew when I saw him appear, just as I thought he would, and how at the sight of me his face broke into a smile.
I came up to Khine, all words dying in my throat as I pressed my forehead against his chest. I felt his arms around me. It was the warmth of an embrace that held no expectations, my one shelter in the midst of the buzzing voices of people free to live their lives as they saw fit. Time seemed to stop. I felt myself pulling him closer, drinking in that same comfort I had first felt in that dark shed under the falling rain. I didn’t want it to end.
“At least this time, you can’t accuse me of following you,” he murmured over my ear.
“Was that what you were doing all those other times?”
“Maybe.” He drew me aside, looking into my face. I think he saw how thin I had become, the bruises, and the shadowed expression of someone who had been fighting for her life for weeks. The smile died on his. “Zorheng was…not what you expected.”
I couldn’t even joke about it. I shook my head. “How long was I gone?”
“A little over three months,” he said. “You never sent word, so I thought you’ve found yourself in the company of friends at last. I didn’t think you’d ever return. I thought for sure…” He trailed off, pressing his thumb over my chin thoughtfully before sliding it up to tuck a strand of hair over my ear. “There is something you should know,” he whispered, at length.
I narrowed my eyes. “What did you do this time?”
He gave a quick grin. “Nothing yet.”
“Does it have anything to do with Inzali? How is she?”
“Better than I had hoped,” Khine said. “But no, this isn’t about her. A few days ago, there was news from Jin-Sayeng. They are saying that there is unrest—that the warlords are riding for Oren-yaro to confront your advisers and decide who the next ruler of Jin-Sayeng should be.”
“The hellspawn,” I said through gritted teeth. “Useless, all of them.” I took a deep breath. “Gossip. It must just be gossip. The warlords wouldn’t ride to Oren-yaro like that. They’d risk the wrath of the lords of the foothills, of all the Orenar bannermen.”
“Perhaps,” Khine murmured. “But from the sound of it, the Oren-yaro aren’t doing a single thing to defend or assist you. It is said that Jin-Sayeng believes you’ve abandoned your duties and there are talks of having you deposed.”
“Just like those bastards to squabble over my remains. They’re not even sure I’m dead yet.” The words rang in my ears. “What do you mean by deposed?”
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he grumbled. “The news spoke of how you just disappeared from Oren-yaro. Didn’t anyone know where you were going?”
I took a deep breath. “Not officially,” I said. “The council wouldn’t have allowed it. My advisers were vehemently opposed to the idea. You can only imagine how the Oren-yaro lords would’ve reacted. We left in secret before there could ever really be a decision, and we didn’t exactly give out details. They didn’t know I was meeting Rayyel, only that it had something to do with people he was involved with. I thought if I went quickly and then brought him back without a fuss, everything would work out.”
He pressed his lips together.
“Clearly I was wrong,” I quickly added, before he could say anything else. “I didn’t think this would happen. I had no reason to doubt Rayyel, and my son…” My voice choked.
“It’s all right,” Khine said. “You had good intentions.”
“They want me deposed?”
He craned his head back. “Come. I’ll buy you a drink and you can learn all of this for yourself.”
Numbly, I nodded.
~~~
I shouldn’t have been so surprised.
I have heard someone once liken the balance of power in Jin-Sayeng to an egg on swordpoint. A single whisper could topple it, yet even absolutely nothing could still cause it to crack. Even the Ikessars’ reign had been tumultuous, and it was the one time in Jin-Sayeng history where long years of peace was common. I had been hoping to beat the longest, which had lasted thirty years.
Such a thing seemed unlikely now. I sat with Khine in a tavern in the neighbourhood of Dar Aso in the immigrants’ quarter, listening to conversations from Jinsein natives while nursing a cold mug of what may have been the palest, weakest beer I’ve ever had in my life. A fishing vessel from Akki had brought the news, and what had started as a private discussion between friends had exploded overnight.
“I have family in Bara,” a man was saying, slamming his drink on the table. “How am I supposed to get them out of there? If war breaks out, Lushai will lock the city, everyone in it honour-bound to serve his cause. When did the royals ever think about the common people? I’m not rich. I can’t afford to hire a ship.”
“You won’t have to because there won’t be a war,” another said. “You’re overreacting.”
“The Queen—why would she disappear? Just like her husband before her…”
“I bet she’s off somewhere, getting her cunt pounded by some rich fucker.”
“Or a guardsman.”
“For all their talk, those royals wouldn’t know duty if it bit them in the ass.”
There was more beer-sloshing and sounds of agreement. I saw Khine give me a look before he turned to the table behind him. “How sure are you folk of these tidings?” he asked. I was surprised to hear how well he spoke Jinan, though the accent was plain. “I can understand the warlords becoming concerned if the queen hasn’t returned, but overthrowing her sounds pretty harsh.”
“Concerned?” a man asked, snorting. “You may have been drinking the swill here for years, Lamang, but that doesn’t make you Jinsein. Get this into your thick skull: the warlords don’t get concerned about one of their own. The warlords are only concerned with their cities and their bannermen.”
“Queen Talyien’s claim has been shaky for years,” another from the same table offered. “Dragonlord Rayyel’s disappearance only cemented that. It’s not a secret that the warlords think that the Oren-yaro had something to do with that—that they pulled a trick on all of Jin-Sayeng to put one of their own on the Dragonthrone.”
I felt my fingers curl against the table. In the past, I had the luxury of soldiers who would knock the teeth out of any who would dare speak such words in my presence. Now, I could do nothing, and admitting who I was in front of all these people—these people who were supposedly my subjects—didn’t seem like the wisest choice.
“She has a son…” Khine began.
“A boy of seven,” the man huffed. “Can he rally his mother’s army to his cause? His father was an Ikessar.”
“There is talk that even that isn’t true,” his friend added.
“Hearsay,” Khine said.
“Who knows? Warlord Lushai will say anything. He’s been eyeing the Dragonthrone for decades. If he manages to plant his plump rump on it right before he dies with an arrow in his heart, I think he’ll consider it a life well-lived. Doesn’t stop people from believing it, though. Anything happens, that kid’ll be dead before sundown.”
“I think the Oren-yaro army will hold out for the queen’s sake,” someone from the table next to us called out. “But without a true leader, the others will tear them apart. Who are their generals now? Untried youngsters from the major clans? The Nee family can’t even decide which of the old Lord Hega’s daughters should lead their soldiers. The sons are all useless.”
“They have Lord Tasho still. Lord General Ozo aren dar Tasho, the old wolf of the southwestern mountains. Forget the queen—everyone knows he’s been the true l
eader of the Oren-yaro since Warlord Yeshin’s death. He…”
The talk turned to nonsense. I continued drinking.
“Who’s your friend, Khine?” I heard someone call out. “We’ve never seen her here before.”
“Right,” Khine said, smiling at no one in particular. “I think we should go.”
“Hold on a second, you Xiaran dog.” This, coming from the table next to us. “It’s been years since I’ve seen you with a woman. The baker’s daughter—what was her name? Have you finally forgotten her?”
“Not likely. That’s why he’s been coming here all this time,” the man nearest to me said, cranking out a grin that smelled of wine and gin. “Memories. Who are you and where are you from, girl?” It was a common Jinsein greeting, along with, Who is your family and who do you worship?
“Kora, from Akki,” I said quickly.
“You don’t sound Akkian,” the man said. He frowned.
“I grew up in Sutan.”
“You sound Oren-yaro. I can tell that accent from a mile away.”
“You’re mistaken.”
There was a tense moment. And then the man started laughing. Half the tavern followed suit.
Khine gave a painful smile. “And that’s our cue to leave. Thank you as always for the hospitality, my dear friends.” He pushed himself away from the table, grabbed my wrist, and all but dragged me out of there.
He only released his grip when we were out on the path outside the tavern. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize they would be so uncivilized.”
“I’m not really concerned about that,” I replied. I took a deep breath. “You were right about the rumours, at least. I didn’t think…” I paused, struggling to find the right words. I had always known that the people doubted me, that they bore no love for my father, who they believed wrestled his way into their beloved Ikessars’ throne. None seem to care that without my father’s war, Rayyel would have never even been acknowledged as the Ikessar heir in the first place—with an heirless aron dar, Ryabei, ruling as regent, chaos had been inevitable.
The Wolf of Oren-yaro (Annals of the Bitch Queen Book 1) Page 27
