“I am tired of your foolishness, Darya. Tell her,” he snapped at Arsalan. “As she challenges the word of a prince.”
He was very much on his dignity, no lenience to be glimpsed from the arrogant set of his head or from his vivid, dark face.
Arsalan spoke in quick, clipped sentences, his gaze scanning Darya’s innocent face. “It is true, Princess. Let us speak of it no further.”
“But how did I not hear them in my room?”
Rukh slammed his chalice down on the table, causing the courtiers to jump. “Because Arsalan anticipated their malice. He slit their throats with his own quick blade. Ten men dead for your sake, Darya.” He shook his head in disgust. “Just one of the trials you force upon the Commander of the Zhayedan.” His lips tightened in distaste. “As if Arsalan has nothing more pressing on his mind.”
Darya risked a glance at Arsalan. She read the truth in his eyes with a growing sense of horror. Her skin felt sickly and pale; her eyes became huge and haunted.
Rukh snapped his fingers. Two of his guards materialized at Darya’s chair.
“Take her where she most longs to be. Take her to Qaysarieh.”
“My lord, please.”
Yet Arsalan’s intervention went unheeded. Sounding tired, the Black Khan said, “With enemies at the gate, I’ve no need of enemies within.” He looked at his sister, small and trembling in the grip of his men. A wave of his hand indicated another command. Carefully, one of the guards raised a hand to Darya’s headdress.
“No.” The sharp countermand came from Arsalan. With a speaking glance at Rukh, he strode to Darya’s side, observing the malicious glances exchanged around the table. Darya had never been a favorite of the court, and there were many who resented Arsalan’s influence over the Khan. They waited to see how the Black Khan would respond.
Brushing the guards aside, Arsalan removed Darya’s headdress and her cuffs, his hands gentle on her arms. Darya closed her eyes. It was her only defense against his pity.
“Do not cry, Princess,” he murmured for her ears alone. “They imagine he does it to debase you; I know it for a kindness. If he didn’t punish you for your careless words, the court would think him weak. Some would seek to exploit that weakness at a time when he must demonstrate strength.” His hands reached for the fastening of her pearl diadem. “This never suited you,” he told her. “And now at last you are free of it.”
To the astonishment of the court, he knelt at her feet, reaching for the bells at her ankles.
Humbled beyond bearing, Darya’s hand moved to caress the dark waves of his hair. He looked up at her with a curious mixture of sympathy and regret.
“Darya! How you dare!”
But this time Darya didn’t listen to the Begum, standing breathless and grateful under Arsalan’s ministrations, her eyes open to what her recklessness had cost her. Sighing a little, she raised her chin, taking the measure of the court—taking the measure of herself.
Ashfall was on the brink of disaster. In the span of a few short minutes, she had insulted its likeliest allies: the Silver Mage and the First Oralist. She had offended the sensibilities of her aunt. And she’d shown her brother defiance at a time when he most needed obedience, interfering where she had no place to speak. She had placed the Commander of the Zhayedan in an untenable position, compelled to rescue her pride by kneeling at her feet.
Her childish daydreams fell away, collapsing into dust. Apprenticeship at Hira entailed the selection of novices whose judgment was measured and wise. The court required a princess whose wayward, chattering tongue didn’t dishonor its prince. And Arsalan needed a woman who was worthy of standing at his side.
There is nothing about Darya that attracts me.
And still he knelt at her feet.
She urged him up with a gentle pressure on his shoulders.
“Leave the bells,” she said for the courtiers to hear. “My brother likes to know where I am.” And then to Arsalan alone, “I won’t forget your kindness to me, Commander.”
“Darya,” her aunt snapped, “you are not being sent to Qaysarieh to die, but to answer for your disobedience. There is no need for these dramatics.”
Darya gave her aunt a crooked smile, straightening her shoulders, her neck blissfully free of the weight of the ponderous headdress. “Perhaps you will assume my duties now. It’s what you have always wanted.”
And then she let herself be led away.
Arsalan passed her regalia to one of the Begum’s attendants. He caught the flicker of a smile on the Begum’s lips. He took his seat beside Rukh with carefully controlled anger, offering an apology to the Companions of Hira for the disruption of their dinner. Sinnia’s black eyes were wide and intrigued. Beside her, Wafa balled his hands into impotent fists. He shot the Black Khan a look of loathing, knowing he wasn’t brave enough to challenge the Khan on Darya’s behalf, as she’d done for his sake during his questioning in the throne room.
Rukh leaned forward in his seat to murmur into Arsalan’s ear. An unexpected tension appeared in the strong lines of Arsalan’s jaw. He moved a little away from the Khan, as if discomfited by the close contact.
“Don’t let her anywhere near Darius,” Rukh said.
“I had no intention of doing so.”
“Or the prison quarters.”
“What do you take me for?”
“I want her to be guarded by women.”
In a dry voice, Arsalan said, “I wonder you sent her to Qaysarieh at all.”
Arian listened to this exchange, surprised by the lack of deference in Arsalan’s tone, expecting Rukh to take offense.
Instead, he shot Arsalan a level look from beneath the fringe of his lashes. Arsalan faced him, unperturbed. He drank from his cup, the first chance he’d had to do so all night. Watching him, a smile of some charm lightened the Black Khan’s face. “I trust you’ll sort out this mess.”
Arsalan frowned into the depths of his cup, swearing beneath his breath. “I’d rather you didn’t create these impossible situations to begin with.”
“What need would I have of you, then?”
Arsalan raised his head, as if he’d thought of an answer he’d chosen to withhold. He held Rukh’s gaze for a long and weighted moment. Rukh was the first to look away.
Arian considered them in silence. The two men were intimate friends. It was the Nizam who should have been at the Khan’s right hand, as governor of his empire, but Rukh had chosen to seat Arsalan beside him. It spoke to the bond between the two men.
Just as Rukh would have returned his attention to Arian, he was disturbed by the approach of a man in a black cloak. Immediately Arsalan was on his feet, his sword in his hand, preventing the man from reaching the Khan.
The strangely lithe figure held up his arms in a gesture of peace, disclosing the sight of an unusual pair of elbow-length gloves threaded through with laces fashioned of a silken silver thread. He was tall and slim, with leanly powerful shoulders. When he removed his hood, his face was concealed behind a steel mask patterned with an arcane script. His eyes glowed through a pair of elongated slits. He was accompanied by a page dressed in black, a long, narrow box in his hands.
“How did you achieve access to this chamber?”
Arsalan’s eyes sought out members of the Khorasan Guard. No one appeared in the shadows. The stranger ignored Arsalan. He spoke in a voice that sounded oddly hollow, as if he distorted it by some means. Arian felt a chill move over her skin. Why did he disguise his voice? Why did he disguise his face? She nodded to Sinnia, warning her to ready the Claim, seeing the solemn strength in Sinnia’s proud face. Daniyar was alert as well, distrusting the intruder’s proximity to Arian. He came to his feet, the stranger’s appearance striking a chord of memory. The stranger dipped his head at Daniyar, then returned his attention to the Khan.
“I have come, Shahenshah.” He tapped the narrow box. “I’ve brought you something of value, something the Silver Mage can use.”
Recognizing the box,
the Black Khan grasped its relevance at once. The Assassin had brought him an unlooked-for gift, an unexpected advantage. His eyes found Daniyar farther along the table. He made a quick bow to the Companions.
“Forgive me, Arian,” he said. “I have need of the Silver Mage. Nizam al-Mulk, will you take my seat?”
“I should be at your side.”
“Not this time. Nor you, Arsalan.” He dismissed his commander’s objections. “Go to the walls where you are needed.”
He made his apologies to the Begum and asked her to entertain his guests.
Before he swept from the room, Arian detained him by touching his hand. “My lord Rukh,” she said. “Might I advise you as well? Whatever gifts I have, I place at your disposal.”
Rukh looked at her without that edge of seduction. His refusal was courteous but firm. “Forgive me, First Oralist. What I would ask of the Silver Mage requires him to think of Ashfall. To that end, your presence will not help.”
So he’d seen through to the heart of it. Whatever he had hoped for from Arian wasn’t hers to give. He knew that she and Daniyar were inevitably bound.
“Do not endanger him,” she said.
For a moment, his face was drawn. Then with a frown he repeated, “I must think of the fate of Ashfall.”
48
THE BLACK KHAN AND THE SILVER MAGE FACED EACH OTHER DOWN the length of the cartographer’s table, hostility rippling between them like a wave. They were evenly matched in presence, tall and hardened to an edge, with a dark vitality pulsing through the room as each man took the measure of the other. The Silver Mage transmitted a grimly heightened power that was reflected in the sharply honed bones of his skull and the latent fury of his eyes. He had the air of a man whose self-discipline would welcome the chance to break. The Black Khan was more restrained in his animus, though no less prepared to take up the Silver Mage’s challenge. He appraised his rival, seeking a means to gain the upper hand.
“Why would you endanger Arian’s safety by bringing her through Talisman lines?”
A muscle worked beside Daniyar’s mouth at this insolent use of Arian’s name. And at the accusation. “She faced far greater danger in Black Aura.”
The warning in his voice was unmistakable. There was a debt to be collected from the Black Khan, and he had resolved to collect it. The entirety of Arian’s suffering at the Ark could be attributed to the Black Khan’s treachery—the humiliation of the slave collar, the tortures of the Authoritan … the vicious transgressions of Nevus. The memory of Arian’s agony caused rage to rise behind his eyes. But indifferent to his anger, the Khan ignored the warning, spinning the armillary sphere between his elegant hands.
Sounding bored, he said, “The First Oralist has a mastery none can overcome—what harm could she possibly have suffered?”
“What harm? She was collared.” Daniyar bit out each word. “She was stripped of dignity. Then she was given as a gift to a captain of the Ahdath.” He brushed his own cheek. “Nevus, his chief torturer. He assaulted her. He stabbed her with a treacherous blade; her injuries have yet to heal. She is just beginning to recover the instrument of her voice.”
“And what of you?” There was a hard recklessness upon Rukh that tested Daniyar’s self-restraint. “As Arian suffered these indignities, were you not preoccupied with the attentions of the Khanum?” The Assassin crept closer from the shadows as Rukh’s fingers traced a desultory path over the sphere.
Lines of tension bracketed Daniyar’s firm mouth. A freezing contempt in his voice, he replied, “I was bled in the bloodrites and whipped for the court’s entertainment, if those are the attentions you mean.”
The armillary sphere went still. The Khan’s unnervingly black eyes cut to his. “Yet you survived.”
Daniyar shrugged this off, a masculine impatience on his face. Until this war was won, he could not spare a moment to think of the toll wrested from him in blood. Or of the many men he had sent to their deaths for sport. He knew their faces would haunt him, but there was nothing in what he’d done that would serve to absolve the Khan.
Rukh repeated himself with greater emphasis. “You survived. No one survives the bloodrites.”
Daniyar’s head came up. It was his turn to smile. “No one else is the Silver Mage.”
Rukh dipped his head in a momentary acknowledgment of this—his gaze fastened to Daniyar’s, mesmerized by two flashing points of light. He felt that strange quickening of his blood again. And welcomed the flare of raw power. The Silver Mage was perhaps physically stronger than he, but Rukh had depths of cunning that no one else could equal.
“It would seem that my plan served you ill, though I cannot regret your trials at the Ark. They brought the Bloodprint to Ashfall.”
Daniyar’s response was offered with a dangerous and explosive certainty. “I would suffer the bloodrites again to prevent Arian from enduring an instant’s pain.”
Stepping closer to the outer balcony, the Black Khan considered this vow. A sliver of moonlight outlined the elegant cast of his features. In the wintry light that sheened his skin, he had the dispassionate perfection of a statue. With a sleek and supple grace, he turned to the map on the table, his movements echoed by the Assassin.
“Then she is your consort,” he said. “If you would venture the bloodrites for her. So I ask you again: Why did you risk Arian’s safety by bringing her here to Ashfall?”
Daniyar flashed him a look of scorn. “If you suppose any man bends the First Oralist to his will, you do not know her at all. I offer her my allegiance, but I do not command her course.” He offered the words without embarrassment, ceding nothing of his authority or of the undisclosed power he had no need to proclaim.
Rukh’s lip curled. “You are hardly any man. As you said, you are the Silver Mage, and possibly her lover, as well.”
“You are the Dark Mage now,” Daniyar returned, his anger now unleashed. He rocked back on his heels, his hand resting on his sword, lethal power etched in the tense lines of his body. “How can you not know the vows the Companions of Hira swear?”
The Assassin stirred at Rukh’s side, his hand moving to the hilt of his own sword. Rukh quelled the movement with a sidelong glance. “I regret what transpired with the First Oralist, but I would make the same bargain again to ensure the safety of my city.”
Daniyar scoffed at this. “You left your outer walls undefended. The Talisman are nearly at your gates.”
“The Khan need not account for his decisions to you.” The Assassin’s voice was shivery with menace. He stepped forward and placed the long, narrow box on the table between the two men.
“Stand down, Hasbah.” Rukh nodded at Daniyar. “Your reproaches serve no purpose. I must focus on what can be achieved to deliver my city now.”
“What of the outlying villages?”
“Messages have been sent. You reinforced them yourself.”
Daniyar turned to the window. By his assessment, the full strength of the Talisman’s forces was still a day and night from the city walls. Preparations for the city’s defense were half-complete. It was possible the Zhayedan would be able to open the city gates to allow for an influx of refugees, but he didn’t think it was likely.
He suspected treachery at the court of Ashfall. He wondered if it came from this stranger who appeared to have the Black Khan’s ear. He wondered also why something about the man in the mask seemed familiar to him.
“I presume you called me here to discuss the Conference of the Mages.”
“How could I have? The Golden Mage is on her way to Hira. The Mage of the Blue Eye is a recluse. What conference could we hold on our own?”
Daniyar edged the map on the table closer to his chair. He pointed to a spot on the map between Ashfall and the Citadel of Hira. “Captain Cassandane shared word of the Golden Mage. Ilea could be brought back to Ashfall, perhaps in time to aid us. Your brother was Dark Mage before you—did he teach you nothing of our rites?”
Perhaps this was the reason th
e Black Khan had grown careless—he might have become confident of victory if he knew the extent of his power.
Members of the Khorasan Guard came to the door, seeking permission to interrupt.
“Report,” the Black Khan commanded.
“Excellency, scouts approach the western gate. They do not wear Talisman insignia.” He indicated the crest at the Silver Mage’s throat with a doubtful jerk of his head. “Commander Arsalan sent us to report.”
“The Nineteen,” Daniyar said. “You face the Nineteen on your western flank.”
The Black Khan nodded at his guards. “Find out. Report back to me.”
When they’d gone, Daniyar returned to his theme. “I’ve been in conference with the Mage of the Blue Eye. He wields more power alone than the other Mages together. If he could be persuaded to act as an ally, he could bring his army to the west.”
Rukh considered the map. “He wouldn’t reach Ashfall in time. He’d have to cross the Empty Quarter, the stronghold of the Nineteen.”
“Then seeing your need is dire, why do you detain your brother at Qaysarieh?”
Rukh’s tapping fingers froze on a corner of the map. “What concern is that of yours?”
“When Darius was Dark Mage, he amplified the use of my abilities. Even without Ilea, your brother and I could defend the eastern gate from the Talisman assault.”
But Rukh was already shaking his head. “You know nothing of what transpired here, nothing of what this court was like under my brother’s rule. Without the Nizam to steer its course, Ashfall would have been lost.”
“I attended a Conference of the Mages at Ashfall when you were the one imprisoned at Qaysarieh.”
“So your loyalty is to the would-be prince.”
“No.” Daniyar’s hand came down on the table, giving vent to his rage. “It is to the people of your city. To all the free people of Khorasan.”
“No wonder Arian chose you as her consort,” Rukh said, unable to hide his envy. “You think like her; you even speak like her. But I cannot consider a course that would permit my brother his freedom. It would precipitate catastrophe when Ashfall can least afford it.”
The Black Khan Page 30
