by Darian Smith
A noise out in the corridor made her jump. She lost balance and put out her hand to catch herself. It pushed into the silk and struck something else hidden in the fabric—something hard.
A deep voice said something just outside the door. Latricia fumbled the lid back onto the crate and pulled the floorboards back into place. She stood just in time to see the door handle turn and Duke Roydan stepped into his office. He saw her and stopped. “Latricia?”
Her breath seemed to be squeezed out of her by the tightness in her chest, but she forced herself to speak. “Roydan! You surprised me. Ella said you’d gone to see the king.”
His eyes narrowed. “Not yet. I’m about to leave.”
“Oh. I . . . I thought you’d already left.” She could feel her face flushing and prayed there was enough powder on her cheeks to cover it. She nudged the rug back into place with her foot, speaking very fast. “Do you think he will release Keldan’s body to us at last?”
He moved toward her. “I don’t know. Latricia, what are you doing in here? I usually keep this door locked.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Her heart was racing as she stepped out from behind the desk. “I was playing hide-and-seek with Tommy and I forgot to tell him your office was off limits. I thought I’d better check to see if he’s in here.”
Roydan looked her over, his face stern. “Hide-and-seek?”
Latricia nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. “Yes. Given that he’s lost his father so recently, I wanted to spend some time with him—let him have a little fun. You understand.”
“Hmm. Well, mind you don’t spoil the boy with too much attention. We don’t want him crying for his mama all the time when he gets back to Sandilar, do we?”
His words were like a cold shard in her stomach. “Why would that be an issue? Surely I’ll be there as well?”
“Will you?” Roydan’s voice was painted with consideration, but Latricia could hear the gray, flat words underneath. “I thought you’d like to stay here, in Alapra. You’ve friends here, after all.”
So it was beginning already, Latricia thought. She was being edged out of her son’s life so she could be abandoned without a fuss. Or was this merely a threat to let her know how things could go for her if she made her presence difficult?
“I think I’d rather stay with my son,” she said. “It would be hard on us both to split what’s left of our family.”
Roydan shrugged. “Well, there’s no need to decide right now, is there?” He reached out a hand to her shoulder and gently guided her toward the door. “Why don’t you go check in the drawing room? I suspect Tommy could still fit in the cupboard there if he was keen to hide.”
She forced a smile. “Good idea.”
When the door closed behind her, it was all Latricia could do not to pick up her skirts and run. She forced herself to walk at a proper pace, but her head was swirling with thoughts.
She now knew the silk was just a cover. Whatever Roydan was really up to had to do with whatever was hidden beneath the silk in that crate. Though she tried to deny it, Latricia felt the heavy sensation in her gut that told her she’d already figured out what had been hidden there. Thin and hard, she was almost certain that her hand had pressed against a sword. The crate was long enough for one.
Nilarian silk and Nilarian swords hidden in a Kalan nobleman’s office. It sounded like treachery. What possible legitimate reason could Duke Roydan have?
She could imagine Keldan’s response. “Go to the king,” he’d say. “Expose him for what he is!” Impatience had always been his flaw.
No, she thought, reaching the parlor at last. This would have to be thought through carefully. If she made an accusation without clear proof, the king would not believe her. He would listen to his cousin and, even if a search was conducted, Roydan would likely have time to move the evidence.
Worse, if there was a legitimate reason for what was going on, she would have made herself Roydan’s enemy for nothing.
“Ahpra’s Tears.” She sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. She could not afford to make Roydan an enemy. Her position was tenuous enough as it was. If she gave him any excuse to cut her off, she would be out on the streets and never see her son again.
She needed someone else to work with her. Someone who could find the evidence. Someone she could trust to keep her involvement secret and that the king would have to listen to. Someone Roydan had no hold over.
But who?
Chapter Twelve
Brannon expected that they would be shown to the throne room for a formal presentation of Ula Lanok to the king. He was surprised when, instead, the steward led the way along the east corridor to the private audience chamber. The king sat alone at the window table and gestured for them to join him. Extra chairs were quickly brought for Taran and Jessamine, who sat just behind Brannon, Draeson, and Ula.
“Welcome,” King Aldan said after Brannon introduced Ula. “Our thanks to you for your journey and your expertise. We are very grateful.”
Ula bowed her head. “You be right to send message. It be our duty to monitor the kaluki.”
“Kaluki?” Aldan looked to Brannon, who shrugged.
Ula’s nose wrinkled and her hands moved as she tried to find the words to explain. “Kaluki make Risen. Djin be to limit power of kaluki in this world.”
The king leaned forward in his chair. “And you think one of these kaluki is here in Alapra?”
Ula shrugged. “Probably no. Maybe.”
Brannon couldn’t help a chuckle at Aldan’s expression. It was so like the way he’d looked as a young man when Brannon had tried to explain to him a particularly complicated battle plan.
The king caught his eye. “Perhaps you could give me the summary of what you’ve discovered so far. I’ve asked Roydan to join us shortly, but I’d rather know what there is to tell before bringing him in. Some things are too upsetting for a father to hear.”
Delivering mission reports was something very familiar to Brannon, but this one was unusual. As he described the various facets of the case, he watched his old friend’s expression. Aldan listened intently, occasionally asking questions of Brannon or one of the others—he queried Taran about the drug used and whether he could be absolutely certain of the type. Taran assured him that he was. When Brannon mentioned the rumors of other killings of a similar nature, Aldan looked sheepish.
“Ah,” he said. “I should have known you’d learn about that on your own.”
“So it’s true.” Brannon leaned back in his chair and spread his hands wide. “Why didn’t you mention it?”
Aldan tightened his lips and looked around at the group. “I suppose there’s no harm in it now. You’re my eyes and hands in this matter. But keep what I tell you to yourselves. I don’t want any of what I’m about to say to be repeated to anyone else. Do I have your oaths?”
They all swore except Ula. “I must report to the Council of Priors,” she said. “But will not tell for any other if your wish it.”
“Fair enough,” the king said. “I couldn’t expect more than that. The priors never interfere with the politics of other countries anyway.”
Ula nodded. “Is correct policy.”
Brannon frowned. “So you think this is political?”
Aldan sighed. “I don’t know what to think, but I’m worried. The day after Keldan was killed, a report came from Sandilar describing two murders there with painted symbols on the body and surroundings. It’s hard to believe they’re not connected.”
Brannon swore. “Was there a connection between the victims? What did Roydan say?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“What?” Brannon sat forward. “It’s his territory. How can he not know?”
“When the report came in, he was in the first day of mourning and would see no one. The messenger brought it to me instead. I decided it was best to keep it quiet because I don’t want people panicking and I didn’t want to upset Roydan further. Grie
ving his son is burden enough for now.”
“He’ll hear about it eventually,” Draeson pointed out.
“Eventually,” Aldan agreed. “In the meantime, it seems that investigating all three murders is the best way for you to figure out what’s going on.”
“Agreed,” Brannon said. “Someone is playing a bigger game here. I just wish we could see what it is. The obvious notion is that someone is trying to start a war between us and the Djin. Deaths set up to look like Djin rituals would do the trick. But it’s a sloppy attempt at the ritual and the whole thing would be out of character for the Djin.”
“We wouldn’t have known how sloppy it was if Ula hadn’t come,” Jessamine pointed out. “Magus Draeson only knew enough to identify the symbols as being from Djinan. Perhaps that’s all they expected us to know.” She fell silent under their collected gazes.
“Good point,” Brannon said. “So who would benefit from a war with Djinan?”
“No one,” said Ula.
“Nilar,” said Draeson.
King Aldan sighed. “I’m afraid the magus is right. Our current peace with Nilar has lasted so well in part because our resources are balanced. We were both weakened by the war and both rebuilding. If Kalanon were to go to war with Djinan, our forces would soon be weakened enough for Nilar to invade again and win. I doubt they want our gold mines any less now than they did seven years ago.”
Brannon stroked his scar. “As plans go, it’s a bit of a long shot.”
“Maybe,” said Draeson, “but they don’t lose anything if it fails. Worst case scenario for them is they’ve killed a few Kalans. They probably think that’s a good day’s work.”
“They haven’t been afraid to play dirty in the past,” Aldan said.
Brannon let his hand slide up to rub his eyes. He suddenly felt very tired. “Let’s not let that idea get out to the public either. So far, it’s just speculation.”
A knock on the door preceded a page announcing the arrival of Duke Roydan. Brannon watched his old friend closely, trying to gauge how he was coping with the loss of his son. Roydan held himself tall and moved with a kind of challenging stiffness. He bowed to the king, then took his place beside him. “What can you tell me about who killed my boy?”
Brannon stayed quiet as Aldan spoke. The king relayed most of what he had just been told, but left out some of the conclusions and speculations. “Obviously there is more investigation to be done,” he finished. “Brannon and his team will keep digging until they find out who did this and why.”
“Thank you,” Roydan said. “I’ve been thinking about that myself. You know about the negotiations for a silk trade deal with the Nilarian ambassador. I suspect that whoever killed Keldan was one of my rivals for the deal. You say Keldan was after it as well, so that means they were able to remove him and throw me off my game in one move.”
“Someone would kill over that?” Jessamine asked.
“People have killed for less,” Draeson said.
Roydan nodded. “The deal will be worth a lot of money. I can’t think of any other reason someone would want to kill Keldan.”
Brannon met the king’s eye and tilted his head.
Aldan sighed, and nodded. “It’s not just Keldan, I’m afraid. There have been other murders that look similar. People who aren’t connected to the silk deal.”
Roydan frowned. “There have? Who?”
The king moved across to his desk, pulled a sheet of paper from one of the drawers and handed it to his cousin. “This came from Sandilar.”
Roydan looked over the report then closed his eyes.
“You knew them?” Brannon asked.
The duke nodded, then opened his eyes and shrugged. “Not well. It’s nobody important.”
Brannon scratched at the corner of his scar where it met his earlobe. “Well, just the same, we’ll go to Sandilar and see what we can find out. There has to be a link between them.”
Roydan shook his head. His voice was dull and flat. “No, stay here. Keldan is what’s important. I guarantee this was a trade rival. I’ll give you a list of names to investigate.”
Brannon opened his mouth to protest, but then thought better of it. “That’d be good. Thanks. In the meantime, you’ll be pleased to know you can have Keldan back for burying. Ula Lanok has seen him today and given us her insight.”
The tension visibly left Roydan’s shoulders. “Thank you. You said they were trying to perform some kind of ceremony?”
“A raising.”
Roydan went very still. “Raising?” He turned to Ula, a terrible intensity in his face. “You can raise him from the dead? You can bring back my son?”
Brannon felt a chill run through him. How had he not thought to ask that?
Ula tilted her head and the beads in her hair clacked together. “I can make him Risen. You want?”
“Yes!” Roydan leaped out of his chair. “Bring him back! Where’s his body now?”
“I had him moved to the crypt here in the palace,” Aldan said. “Are we sure this will work? Draeson?”
The mage shrugged. “I think . . . I don’t know.”
“Ula,” Brannon spoke carefully, wanting to be sure the Djin woman understood what he was asking. “If you make Keldan a Risen, will he still remember his life? Will he know his friends and family? I always thought the Risen were a mindless army.”
She shook her head vehemently. “They have mind. Big mind or little mind, depending. Have memory too and body will work. But will be . . . not like before.”
“Not like before—what does that mean?” Roydan asked.
“Oh,” Brannon grimaced. “There was a lot of damage done to parts of the body, Roydan. I don’t know if that will heal.”
“Kaluki heal some,” Ula said. “Not all.”
“I don’t care!” Roydan said. “Do it!”
Ula bent in a shallow bow, shadow falling across her face. “As you wish.”
Chapter Thirteen
The palace crypt was one of the oldest parts of Alapra. Built of granite and marble and lit with smoky torches, it had a stifling, claustrophobic feel, heavy with the lives of the dead. Carved wolf heads adorned the walls, watching over the fallen. Some were interred in the walls, with plaques to mark their places. Others were in freestanding sarcophagi with painted representations of themselves on the lids. Kings and queens slept peacefully in faded pigment as preparations began to raise one of their fellows back to life.
Keldan’s body had not yet been interred, but he had been cleaned and dressed and lain on a stone slab ready for his family to say their goodbyes. The inked marks had been scrubbed from his skin and the blood washed away. There was no sign of the mutilation that had been done by his killer. He wore a white linen shirt, and a teal coat embroidered with gold thread. Brannon thought he looked peaceful and very young.
Roydan stood and held his son’s cold hand, his face a curious mix of emotion. Brannon couldn’t help being glad his old friend had not seen Keldan the way he had been found. If Ula’s magic failed, then at least Roydan would remember his son like this: clean, calm, and with dignity.
The others stayed back to give the duke a moment. Brannon and Aldan stood together beside the sarcophagus of Aldan’s father. Brannon was still surprised to see how well the painter had represented the old king on the lid. Somehow it was always startling to see him there and remember he was gone.
Jessamine had stayed near the door, with Taran and Draeson on either side of her. Ula stood between the two groups, her bag at her feet and open curiosity on her face as she looked around the crypt. Brannon supposed Kalan ways of dealing with death must be as strange to her as the Risen were to them.
At last, Roydan stepped back from Keldan’s body and looked up. “Okay,” he said. “Do it.”
Ula carried her bag to the slab and began removing several small clay pots and setting them next to Keldan’s body.
Jessamine followed her. “Can I help?” she said quietly.
U
la handed her two of the clay pots. “One in every corner,” she said, gesturing around the crypt.
Roydan hovered, seemingly unwilling to be more than a few steps from his son. Brannon took a step forward, thinking to go and comfort his friend, but Aldan caught his elbow. “Let him be,” the king said. “He’ll be okay.”
“I hope so.”
They watched as Ula now took a bundle of chaff from her bag, separated it, and tucked the larger portion back in.
Aldan leaned closer to Brannon, and lowered his voice. “Did you know Ula was a shaman or kaluki or whatever it is that can do this?”
Brannon shook his head. “Like a prize idiot, I never thought to ask.”
Aldan chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s not a natural thing to think about. To be honest, it gives me the creeps.”
“Death magic,” muttered Draeson, joining them with an expressive shudder. “It gives anyone with sense the creeps.”
“I expected Brother Taran to object,” Brannon said as the young man helped Jessamine place clay pots around the crypt. “But he just seems fascinated by it all.”
“He has a very inquiring mind,” Aldan said.
Jessamine and Taran returned to the stone slab just as Ula opened another of the clay pots, this time dipping her fingers inside and bringing out a gob of reddish-brown which she used to trace symbols onto Keldan’s skin.
“What’s that?” Jessamine asked.
“Is earth from homeland,” Ula said. “Help guide kaluki to this body.”
Behind her, Roydan’s clasped hands were trembling.
Brannon looked to his king. “Do you think this will work?”
Aldan sighed. “No. But Roydan needs us to try it.” He met Brannon’s eyes and for the first time Brannon noticed his friend had aged. There was a fear in his eyes that hadn’t been there even in the depths of battle. “I hope I’m wrong though. If it does work, it will solve a lot of problems. A living Keldan could tell us who attacked him and we’ll have all our answers to what’s going on today. Better yet, we’ll be able to put a stop to whatever it is they’re planning before it affects the birthday celebrations.”
