“Then who holds your loyalty?” said Caina.
“You do,” said Corvalis. “I serve the Ghosts as long as you do, Caina, because…well, because I suppose you own my heart now. If you want a man’s head on a platter tomorrow, I’ll bring it to you with an apple stuffed in his mouth.”
Caina felt herself smile. “Don’t do that. It would be a waste of a good apple.”
They looked at each other in silence for a moment, and Caina squeezed his fingers.
“We should stop talking about this,” said Corvalis. “You’re weeping, and you’ll lose too much water and pass out again.”
“I am not weeping,” said Caina, and she rubbed at her eyes. “How is the House of Kularus?”
“Almost repaired,” said Corvalis. “Shaizid hired men from the carpenters’ collegium to rebuild the doors. He’ll get a good price out of them. Gods, but that mouse has some acid on his tongue when he thinks someone is trying to cheat you.” He grinned. “I told everyone that Sonya Tornesti was so overwhelmed by the vandalism that she took to her bed and has not stirred from it in days.”
“Good,” said Caina. “Where is Tanzir staying? I suppose the mansion was wrecked?”
“It was,” said Corvalis, “and half of it burned down anyway. Tanzir’s staying at the Black Cuirass Inn, with some of Tylas’s men keeping watch over him.” Caina nodded. The Ghosts secretly owned the Black Cuirass Inn, and Tanzir would be safe there. “The negotiations are finished, and Tanzir and the Emperor will formally declare peace tomorrow at the Praetorian Basilica.”
Caina nodded. “And Mahdriva. She…”
She frowned, working through some of the things that Corvalis had already said.
“Gods!” said Caina. “Mahdriva had her baby, didn’t she? A son! And you didn’t tell me?”
Corvalis grinned. “Why? I don’t need to tell you anything. You figure it out on your own, don’t you? But, yes, Mahdriva had a son. She’s staying with Ark and Tanya at the foundry. Feels safer there. Both Mahdriva and the child are healthy.” He shook his head. “The boy can scream, though…I didn’t think anything that small could be that loud.”
“I’m glad,” said Caina.
And she was. Sinan might have claimed Ardaiza’s and Ranai’s children…but he would never touch Mahdriva’s son.
###
The next day the House of Kularus reopened, having repaired the damage from the peculiar burglary attempt. The tribune Tomard of the civic militia had inspected the damage and the corpses, and declared that two rival gangs of thieves had tried to break into the House. Anton Kularus and his workers were clear of all wrongdoing.
Merchants and lords packed the tables and booths, all of them scheming. Now that peace with Istarinmul had come, the trade routes to Anshan, Alqaarin, and Istarinmul itself were open once more, and a bold man might reap a fortune.
Caina watched the crowds, wearing again the rich gowns and jewels of Sonya Tornesti. She stood at Corvalis’s side as he spoke with Shaizid.
A short time later their guest arrived.
“Master Anton,” said Tanzir Shahan, Halfdan and a trio of Imperial Guards trailing after him. “It is good to see you again.”
“And it is good to see you healthy and well, my lord emir,” said Corvalis. “I heard you suffered some most…vigorous attempts on your life.”
“I did,” said Tanzir. “But I had the help of some capable benefactors.” He looked at Caina and smiled. “Without them I would be dead. Or I would have given up and waited for my foes to slay me.”
Caina smiled back. “Your benefactors, I am sure they were only doing their duty, yes?”
“Indeed,” said Halfdan. “Shall we sit?”
They took their table, the Imperial Guards watching for attackers, and Shaizid’s maids hurried forward with a tray of coffee.
“I confess I shall miss this place,” said Tanzir, sipping from his cup. He sighed. “It is certainly more pleasant than most of Istarinmul. And Mother and Morazir will be disappointed I survived.” He grinned. “I look forward to seeing the expressions on their faces.” His smile faded. “Though I suppose they will simply try to kill me again.”
“You should do something about that,” said Halfdan.
Tanzir shook his head. “I don’t know what I can do.”
“You could have them killed,” said Caina.
Tanzir looked at her, shocked. “My mother?”
“You are the emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars,” said Caina. “You know they tried to have you killed. You would be well within your rights to execute them. And if you do not want that…well, you have done a great service for your Padishah, have you not? I think he would be inclined to do you a favor.”
Tanzir opened his mouth to argue…but Caina saw something harden behind his black eyes. He nodded, stroked his beard for a moment, and then nodded again. “I believe, Sonya Tornesti…I believe you are right. As you have been right about many other things.”
“Perhaps,” said Caina. “Living is fighting. And I do not think you are ready to die just quite yet, my lord emir.”
“No,” said Tanzir. “No, I am not.” He smiled at Caina, and then looked at Halfdan. “Master Basil, you should know that I am grateful for my life. Know that the Ghosts have a friend in Istarinmul. I will not betray my nation, of course…”
“Nor would I ask it of you,” said Halfdan.
“But you now number an emir of Istarinmul among your friends,” said Tanzir. “And there are many men like Rezir Shahan and Ibrahmus Sinan in the Padishah’s lands. Should you need my help against them, you need only ask.”
“There is,” said Caina, “one favor you could do us.”
“Of course,” said Tanzir.
“I understand that there are many coffee plantations in the Vale of Fallen Stars?” said Caina.
Tanzir nodded. “For centuries. Do not let the Anshani fool you. Istarish coffee is the finest in the world.”
“The Empire has never shown much interest in coffee before,” said Caina, “but you have seen the House of Kularus, and now that there is peace with Istarinmul…well, there is an opportunity here. I think you might sell your coffee to the House of Kularus, and we both shall profit.”
And the Ghosts would gain that many more eyes and ears in Istarinmul.
“Of course,” said Tanzir, “but…should I not be speaking to Master Anton of this?”
Corvalis laughed. “You might be an emir, my lord, but you’re not terribly observant.”
Tanzir frowned, looked at Caina…and then comprehension spread over his face.
“Ah,” he said. “Well. Shall we haggle, then?”
###
Later that afternoon Caina walked into Tanya and Ark’s guest room.
Mahdriva lay propped up by pillows, face tired and wan but…satisfied. Content, even. Muravin stood near the window, and he, too, looked as close to happy as Caina had ever seen him. Tanya sat next to the bed, talking with Mahdriva.
Mahdriva’s son lay in her arms, black eyes darting back and forth.
“Mistress Sonya!” said Mahdriva with a smile. “You came. Are you well? After the…the fighting at the emir’s mansion, I feared you would not recover.”
“Just in need of some rest, that’s all,” said Caina. “How are you?”
“Tired. But well,” said Mahdriva. “My son, he does not like to sleep through the night.”
Tanya laughed. “They never do.”
“The birth was very hard,” said Mahdriva. “I thought he would rip me in half…”
“I heard,” said Muravin. “There were men in the fighting pits who did not scream so loud.”
“But then I heard him crying, and it was over,” said Mahdriva. “Or it was just beginning.” She raised the baby. “Would you like to hold him?”
Caina smiled. “I would.”
She took the child in her arms, cradling his head in the crook of her left elbow. He looked at her solemnly, reaching for her with his stubby arms. Caina hel
d out her right hand, and his small hand wrapped around her fingers.
“He has a strong grip,” she murmured.
Muravin laughed. “He is my grandson.”
“I named him in your honor,” said Mahdriva, voice quiet. “Sonyar.”
Caina looked at Mahdriva in surprise.
“For Sonyar would not be here, if not for your help,” said Mahdriva. “None of us would. Thank you.”
Caina nodded and looked away, blinking. Gods, but she had become as weepy as a child lately.
“I shall have to find work,” said Muravin. “I have a daughter and a grandson to support properly.”
“Fear not,” said Caina. “The Ghosts will find a place for you. We have many friends in the city…and we could always use a few more. You will help us as we move against men like Sinan.”
“An easy enough price to pay,” said Muravin.
Sonyar tugged on Caina’s hand and stuck her finger into his mouth.
“Ah,” said Tanya with a laugh. “I think he’s hungry.”
“Here,” said Caina, handing the boy back to Mahdriva. “He is a beautiful child.”
Mahdriva smiled. “He looks like his father. Oh, but I wish he could have been here for this.”
“As do I,” said Muravin. “Still, his son shall carry on his memory.”
Caina nodded, spoke with them for a few moments longer, and then left.
Corvalis awaited her in the sitting room, sharpening one of his daggers.
“Ah,” he said, looking up. “You’re smiling. The baby is well, then?”
“He is,” said Caina. “They named him for me.”
Corvalis grinned. “I know.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought you would enjoy the surprise,” said Corvalis.
Caina laughed, kissed him, and threaded her arm through his as they left the foundry.
Her thoughts turned to the future as they walked through Malarae’s streets. She need not become the Moroaica’s ally or the sorceress she had seen in the netherworld. There was another path open before her, that of the Ghost circlemaster. Of a woman who used her influence and knowledge to save others, to help those like Muravin and Mahdriva and Tanzir.
Mahdriva’s son was alive because of her, and that knowledge made Caina’s heart feel lighter than it had been in a long time.
Someday, she knew, she would stop being a Ghost nightfighter.
But not quite yet.
Epilogue
Tanzir Shahan, emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars, strode into the solar of his family’s mansion in the heart of Istarinmul.
His mother reclined on pillows, attended by a pair of slaves. Even in her late forties, the amirja Ashria was still beautiful, with skin the color of bronze and long, glossy black hair. But the black eyes that turned towards him were cold and hard as obsidian knives.
“So,” she said, voice dripping with disdain, “you have returned from groveling before the Emperor’s throne? Pitiful. Send Sinan to me. I would have words with him.”
Tanzir quailed before the scorn in her voice, and wanted to leave the solar and hide in the library.
He started to turn, but then he remembered the words of the blue-eyed Ghost, and nodded to himself.
“Angry that he failed to kill me, I suppose?” said Tanzir.
Ashria’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what you mean. Cease this foolishness and tell Sinan to attend me.”
“He is dead,” said Tanzir.
For the first time, a hint of surprise went over her face. “What? How did he die?”
“Of his own folly, as it happens,” said Tanzir. He took a deep breath. “Mother, you are under arrest for plotting the assassination of the emir of the Vale of Fallen Stars. Namely, myself.”
Ashria laughed with disdain. “How amusing! Do you think to threaten me, boy? You cannot lay a hand on me.”
“I cannot,” said Tanzir, “but the Immortals the Padishah loaned me think otherwise.”
He clapped his hands, and a half-dozen of the Padishah’s personal Immortals strode into the solar.
“What is this?” said Ashria, her voice rising to a screech as the Immortals hauled her to her feet. “Do you think this is a joke? Morazir will never stand for this!”
“They arrested Morazir on our way here,” said Tanzir.
“Unhand me!” shrieked Ashria, clawing at the Immortals. “I command you to unhand me at once!”
“The penalty for hiring assassins is traditionally death,” said Tanzir, “but I persuaded the Padishah to show leniency. You are being exiled to the monastery on the Isle of Seven Stairs. I understand the monks consider physical labor to be cleansing for the soul. I do hope you enjoy tending gardens, Mother.”
She screamed curses at him, threatened him with death and mutilation and worse, but the Immortals dragged her from the room, and her threats faded away.
Tanzir let out a long breath, his heart racing, sweat dripping down his face.
He saw his mother’s slaves staring at him in shock.
“Ah,” he said. “Yes. Um.” He thought for a moment. “That silk hanging there, by the window. Could you take it down? I really never cared for it.”
The slaves leapt to do his bidding.
It really did improve the look of the rom.
Tanzir had never asserted himself before…but he thought he might come to enjoy it.
###
Darkness fell over the Imperial capital of Malarae. The burned-out ruins of the Lord Ambassador’s residence jutted against the night sky, like blackened bones rising from the earth.
It reminded the Moroaica of the pharaohs’ pyramids rising from the sands of the Maatish desert.
She stood outside the mansion, gazing at the ruins. Her spirit still wore the flesh of Mihaela the Seeker, and she had kept Mihaela’s preferred costume of leather vest, trousers, and heavy boots. Much as the Moroaica preferred skirts, she had come to appreciate the trousers’ freedom of movement.
She had grown Mihaela’s black hair out, though.
The pharaoh’s priests had shaved her head, long ago. They had embalmed her, bound her spirit to her undead flesh, and sealed her within a tomb, condemning her to serve the pharaoh as a drudge for all eternity.
Jadriga felt her lips curl into a smile.
The priests were all dead, and the souls of the pharaohs had been bound upon the desert wind to burn screaming for all eternity.
How they had begged for mercy!
They were all dead…and she was not. They had paid for the pain they had inflicted upon her.
But there were more to repay.
The gods themselves would pay for what they had done.
Caina Amalas would have said that was madness, but she did not understand. Some of Caina’s memories flooded through the Moroaica’s mind, and she remembered lying in Corvalis’s arms, his mouth against hers, their bodies pressed together…
A wave of longing went through the Moroaica, sharper than anything she had felt in centuries.
She pushed it aside with annoyance. The memories were not hers.
Jadriga looked against at the mansion, focusing upon the reason she had come to Malarae.
“Well,” said the Moroaica to the woman standing next to her. “What do you think?”
The woman was eighteen years old and beautiful, with long red hair, bright green eyes, and curves of hip and bosom accentuated by her close-fitting green gown. Her eyes were full of hatred as they stared at Jadriga.
“It seems,” said the young woman, “that your guess was correct, mistress.” Her voice was hard and confident beyond her years. “The Alchemist failed utterly.”
“Indeed,” said the Moroaica, examining the emanations of spent sorcery that echoed around the ruined mansion. “He underestimated the child of the Ghosts. He should not have done that.”
The young woman scowled. “You should kill her immediately. That wretched…”
Jadriga looked at the other woman.
The woman lowered her eyes at once. “Forgive me, mistress. I spoke out of turn.”
The Moroaica nodded.
“But you can see,” whispered the red-haired woman, her voice filled with loathing, “why I wish her dead.”
“I can,” said Jadriga. The woman standing at her side – or at least the spirit wearing the woman’s body – had betrayed her. But Jadriga never cast aside a useful tool, and the woman would be useful to her yet.
There had been no particular reason to bind the spirit of Ranarius, once the preceptor of Cyrioch, to the body of a woman.
But even with all the centuries Jadriga had seen, watching Ranarius’s discomfort at his new form was still amusing.
A dark shadow emerged from the mansion’s broken doors, and Jadriga walked forward, Ranarius trailing after her. A short man in a black cloak walked from the ruins. A hint of moonlight touched the face beneath the cowl, revealing a ghastly patchwork of scars. One eye was a sulfurous orange-yellow, while the other was a pale blue.
He must have replaced it recently.
“Mistress,” said Sicarion with a deep bow. He looked at Ranarius and grinned. “And you, my lovely lady.”
“Be silent,” hissed Ranarius.
“The Ghost killed you the first time,” said Sicarion, his rusty voice dripping with mockery, “but perhaps I’ll get do it the second time.”
“Enough,” said Jadriga, voice calm. “Did you find it?”
Sicarion bowed again. “Indeed I did, mistress.”
He handed her a metal flask carved with blue-glowing sigils. At once she felt the tremendous power within the flask, the latent energy in the gathered phoenix ashes.
“Good,” said Jadriga. “Very good. The fool Alchemist used only the smallest part of the ashes. Prudent, if futile. But all the more convenient for us…and for the great work.”
She had the Staff of the Elements. She had the phoenix ashes.
And now she needed one more thing, just one more, and she would remake the world.
Jonathan Moeller - The Ghosts 07 - Ghost in the Ashes Page 29
