Tainted (Lisen of Solsta Book 2)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “Father, here,” Bala said as she dismounted and reached up to him. “Let me get you inside. You need to rest.”

  “I need,” he managed between the hacking, “to see to your aunt.”

  “No. You’ve pushed yourself too hard. You need to get some sleep before confronting the Empir.”

  “I must put him on notice, now. Then I’ll rest.” Bala looked up at him, and his heart ached. How like yet so very unlike Jozan she was. Stubborn—seemingly a Tuane trait—but more centered, more serene than her sister. “This is not your decision, Bala.” He took a breath, careful not to bring the air in too deep, stood up in the stirrups, threw his leg over the horse’s hindquarters and dismounted. From beside him, she placed a hand at his back. He appreciated the steadying gesture, but he did not require it; outrage had reenergized him.

  “Then let me go with you.”

  He turned to her and touched her cheek with his fingertips. “No. I’ll need you here in case he decides to lock me up, too.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “He wouldn’t dare.”

  “If he were sane, he wouldn’t, but he’s mad with power at this point. Don’t you feel it?”

  “No,” she replied with a slow shake of her head.

  “The air here is heavy with it.” He looked across the square to the Keep, to the guards there at the great doors—four of them if his eyes did not betray him. Other than Flandari’s funeral, where he’d played the old man and not the holder of Minol, he hadn’t set foot in Avaret in years. As soon as Jozan had reached an age when she possessed some reason, he’d sent her to represent him, but now he must set things right, somehow. This child who reigned in Flandari’s place must be stopped or, at the least, brought into check.

  “Father?”

  “Yes?” he responded, eyes still drawn to the great white Keep.

  “Take care. Put him on notice, but make it short. You need to regain your strength.”

  This child of his was wise for her years. “As you wish,” he replied with a smile, then handed her his horse’s reins and left her behind to make his slow and painful way across the plaza. The two-and-a-half day ride had not been kind to him, nor had it done his muscles and joints or his back any good.

  The stairs up to the entry of the Keep challenged his stamina, but he prevailed. When he reached the top, one of the guards, a captain by his insignia, stepped up to block his way.

  “State your business,” the man demanded.

  “I am Holder Elsba Tuane, and I have urgent business with the Empir.”

  “My lord,” the guard said with a nod and an odd look in his brown eyes that hinted at a bond Elsba failed to understand, “I wish that I could grant you access, but our orders are clear.”

  “And my sister is in custody in your dungeon. I demand to see the Empir.”

  “Let me see what I can do.” The captain turned smartly and stepped inside the Keep, leaving Elsba with the other three guards.

  Things had certainly deteriorated here in Avaret. In Flandari’s day, the two guards at the doors to the Keep served a ceremonial function and barred entrance to no one with the possible exception of obvious beggars. Back then, Flandari’s old friend, Elsba Tuane, could count on a quick, if not immediate, audience. Flandari’s son, on the other hand, clearly feared open access, and Elsba could not help but wonder why. What was he doing that couldn’t bear scrutiny behind those doors?

  Well, for one thing, Elsba thought, he’s holding in custody the sister of one of his noble peers, a noble peer herself, and siccing his rogue watcher on her. He snorted. Eloise and her manipulations could anger the most patient of souls and had on many an occasion when she was young, before she’d headed off to Solsta. She could be irritating at times, but Elsba had always loved her and always would. Her pronouncements regarding the future—the success or failure of crops, the pending announcement of a union between two holders’ children, a small accident that would befall a servant in a few days—all this proof of her special sight unnerved some. He, on the other hand, had found it useful, especially when he was still young enough to profit from her predictions of which fighters to bet on in the Arena or how best to woo his beloved Firjo.

  And yet, what he’d heard her say nearly a month ago on these very steps would anger any Empir. Why had she done it? He shook his head. If only he knew.

  Where is that damnable captain? he wondered. How long is this going to take?

  The doors to the Keep opened, and the captain emerged. “My lord,” he said as he approached Elsba. “The Empir is indisposed, but Holder Zanlot has offered to see you.”

  “Then I suppose Holder Zanlot it is.” He couldn’t keep the anger out of his tone, but he tried his best to soften it a bit. It wasn’t the captain’s fault, after all.

  “This way, then,” the captain said and gestured Elsba inside. Once they’d left the other guards behind them, the captain moved in very close and spoke softly, his lips but a few inches from Elsba’s ear. “My lord, you should know that I was in Halorin with Holder Corday and Captain Rosarel. My condolences.”

  Elsba pulled up, a bolt of lightning striking his soul, and the captain stopped just in front of him and turned back. “You were there?” Elsba asked in a whisper. “With Jozan?”

  “Aye, my lord. I wish there’d been something we could have done.”

  Elsba nodded. “Thank you.”

  “This way, my lord,” the captain resumed in a normal voice and led Elsba past the Council chamber entrance and around the corner to the Empir’s office. The two guards at the door stepped aside. The captain opened the door, and Elsba followed him in.

  The room was little changed since the last time Elsba had seen it. Ariel had not yet rearranged the furniture nor introduced the small touches which would identify this place as his. There were, however, subtle differences although Elsba could not define what left him thinking something had been altered. Doubtless it would hit him at some point of sleeplessness in the middle of the night. He shook his head, and a spasm of coughing racked him.

  “My lord?” the captain said, coming to him.

  “It’s…all right,” he managed between coughs.

  “Are you sure?”

  Elsba held up a hand. “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Can I get you some water?”

  “No, no,” Elsba said, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then I’ll leave you here. The holder should be in shortly.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Captain.” He continued to cough, but it came from higher up in his lungs now. He breathed with care and sat down on the couch to await Zanlot. So Lorain has become Ariel’s lackey. And quickly, too. Elsba knew the woman had been planning for ages for this. And more than this, certainly. The woman was a deft manipulator, and Ariel had no hope of surviving without someone guiding his movements.

  Question was, had Lorain devised the assassination plot? Elsba wondered but thought not. Despite the fact that Elsba had only seen Lorain once since she was little more than a child, Jozan had brought home many a story over the last few years, and Zanlot did not seem the sort to act that overtly. Subtlety was her game. Subtlety and subterfuge. But Elsba had no subtlety left in him at this point and wasn’t about to allow this young thing who thought herself so smart to get the better of him. Ariel indisposed? Clearly, the Empir put more faith in his second-in-command’s ability to manage an irate brother than he put in his own.

  Zanlot entered from the clerk’s office, unannounced, and moved without hesitation directly to Elsba. Such arrogance, Elsba concluded. She’d pulled her dark hair up off her neck, catching it casually in a comb, and her blue eyes sparkled. The woman’s looks were impressive, but there was a hardness about her that Elsba found inhospitable.

  “Holder Tuane, good to see you again.” She reached out a hand to Elsba, a hand which Elsba pointedly did not take. Lorain sat down beside him, and after caring for the lie of the fabric of her bluish-grey tunic, she spoke again. “I hear you’ve asked to see th
e Empir.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m afraid he’s quite indisposed,” Lorain said in a tone so condescending it grated on Elsba’s frayed nerves. “Grief, you know.”

  “Do not presume to lecture me on grief, Lorain. Grief and I are intimately acquainted.”

  “Of course you are. Perhaps I can help you.” She meant to soothe Elsba, but he was having none of it.

  “I’ve just received word that my sister is in custody.” It wasn’t a lie. He had just received word. The fact that he’d watched as the guards had arrested her needn’t enter into the current conversation.

  “Your sister, Elsba? I….” She hesitated.

  “My sister, Lorain. She’s a hermit at Solsta, and I received word that she was arrested recently. I want her released, now!”

  “Word, Elsba? From whom? Because I’m afraid—”

  “Stop it,” Elsba interrupted her. “Give up your evasions. I know for a fact. Hermit Eloise of Solsta Haven. She’s a sooth.”

  “Oh, the sooth,” Lorain said and raised one eyebrow. “She’s your sister?”

  “Don’t play ignorant with me, Lorain. You know full well she’s my sister.” Elsba wanted to strangle the woman. Oh, for a little more energy.

  Lorain’s pool-blue eyes grew wide. “I assure you, Elsba, we had no idea.”

  Elsba wanted to spit, but with calm authority he moved forward rather than argue with the woman. “Regardless, I want her released.”

  “She spoke out against the Empir after Flandari’s rites. I’m surprised you didn’t see her. Or hear her, for that matter. Maybe she’d already been arrested by the time you arrived at the Keep.”

  “People speak out against their leaders for both wise and stupid reasons. The timing was poor, that was all. Let her go.”

  Lorain cleared her throat, straightened herself on the couch. “We believe she has information relative to Flandari’s death, and until she divulges that information, my hands are, as they say, tied.” Lorain raised those hands up, shrugging her shoulders at the same time.

  “Then let me assure you, Lorain, that if she knows anything, she will be more likely to divulge it when she feels secure in her freedom.”

  “I’m sorry, Elsba, but freeing her is impossible. Let me state it more clearly. She is a witness in the investigation of an Empir’s assassination who has thus far refused to cooperate.”

  Elsba stood up. It took everything he had to do so without revealing how fatigued he was. He had to appear strong, or Lorain—or, rather, Ariel—would never grant him a thing. “Then I wish to see her. Now.”

  Lorain rose as well, shaking her head. “Again, not possible. But let me talk to the Empir. Perhaps I can convince him to make an exception. You are her brother, after all.”

  “Tell him, when you talk to him, that even a hermit has rights and that I am very close to calling him up on charges of false imprisonment. And don’t think I won’t. I’m not afraid to issue a call to the Council to hold him accountable for his actions.”

  Lorain put an arm around Elsba’s shoulder, and he fought the urge to shrink from her touch. It was meant to resemble a gesture of kindness, but it felt more like a vise. “I believe I can convince him.”

  “Let us hope you can.” He pulled from her hold and marched from the office and out of the Keep, never looking back. It wasn’t until he reached his quarters where Bala awaited him that the coughing overtook him and would not relent. Bala gave him a draught of the cough calmer, and soon he settled into his bed, drowsy and no longer coughing. Damnable business, growing old.

  It was their second night in Avaret when Bala decided she’d had enough. Her father had failed miserably. He’d spoken to Holder Zanlot two days ago, and not a word since. This morning, he’d written a formal request to the Empir and had been assured by a sympathetic captain in the Guard that the letter would reach its intended recipient. But tonight, when her father had believed her asleep, Bala had overheard him talking to someone—perhaps himself, perhaps someone from his expanding entourage of ghosts—and then she’d heard him sob. That had sealed her decision.

  So, when she woke up the next morning, she ignored her father’s edict that she not get involved and resolved to make her aunt’s incarceration her problem. Ariel Ilazer would see her, damn it; she would not be ignored.

  She rose quietly from the couch, checked on her father asleep in his bed, then listened anxiously as he coughed. Once assured that he hadn’t awakened, she dressed as provocatively as possible, leaving her midriff bare so the rim of her pouch would beg for attention, and headed out for the Keep. Someone inside that edifice had meddled in Tuane affairs once too often, and that someone must pay.

  She reached the great doors, and before the guard who stepped out to stop her could speak, she planted herself firmly in the woman’s way and pronounced, “I am Bala Tuane, the heir of Minol, and I demand to see the Empir.”

  “Not possible, my lord,” the woman said. “The Empir is indisposed.”

  “He’s been indisposed for days, and all the while my aunt remains locked up in his dungeon. I will see him now please.” She smiled sweetly.

  “He’s grieving, my lord. Surely—”

  Bala burst out laughing, which silenced the guard cold. Then, as quickly as she had begun, she sobered. “In case it’s missed your notice,” she said, her eyes narrow, her rage barely controlled, “my father and I are grieving, too. Over someone we actually loved. I’ll be happy to commiserate with the Empir. After I’ve spoken to him regarding my aunt.”

  “It is not possible.” The guard’s three other companions, all male, had begun to approach.

  “Then I shall remain here until it is possible.” She traced the line of her pouch with one finger, then plopped down on the top step. She could hear the breathing of at least two of the three men quicken ever so slightly. She was nowhere near cycle, but let them believe what they wished to believe.

  She leaned back in the early morning sun and allowed it to wash over her as the four debated amongst themselves. She didn’t listen. She didn’t need to. Eventually one of them would be dispatched to inform someone with more authority that a noble had chosen to wait out the Empir on the Keep’s steps, and that someone with more authority would make a decision as to how to proceed. It made no difference to her what that decision turned out to be or how far up the line of authority that decision was passed before it was made; she’d wait until Ariel granted her an audience.

  Bala knew it wouldn’t take long. Ariel had once fostered a fascination for Jozan; perhaps he also possessed at least a little curiosity with regards to Jozan’s younger sister.

  Soon, as expected, the female guard returned to her. “My lord, your presence in the Empir’s office is requested.”

  Well, finally. Bala rose, a smile of self-satisfaction brightening her face, and passed through the great doors and into the Keep. The guard led her to the Empir’s office. At the door she was asked to wait, so there she stood for another few moments until at last the door opened, revealing Lorain Zanlot.

  “Bala, come, come.”

  Bala managed a smile for Lorain’s benefit, but inside she mentally kicked herself for believing she’d somehow managed to seduce Ariel into seeing her. Damn. She’d gotten only as far as her father had two days earlier.

  She stepped in, and Lorain gestured to the couch, then sat there herself. Bala joined her there, allowing Lorain to believe she’d taken control.

  “The Empir will be with us shortly.”

  Bala nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.” Well, that’s a surprise. But Bala held her shock in check.

  “I was already dressed,” Lorain continued, “so I volunteered to come down and keep you company until he gets here.”

  “Well, thank you, Lorain. That’s very generous.”

  “I assume you’re here about the hermit we have in custody.”

  “The hermit you have in custody is my aunt, and I’d prefer to discuss my reasons for being here with the Emp
ir himself.”

  “Of course, you would.” Lorain patted Bala on the leg, and Bala barely succeeded at fighting off the urge to recoil from her touch. “I can assure you, as I assured your father, that we’re taking very good care of her. I tried to convince the Empir to allow your father to see her, but I failed. He won’t hear of it. But perhaps you’ll have more luck.”

  “Perhaps.” Bala harbored no illusions, however, where luck was concerned. And with Lorain in attendance, she wouldn’t be able to work her way with Ariel as she’d planned. Oh, well, she’d gotten this far, and once Ariel arrived, she’d have made it one step further than her father had. Perhaps an emotional approach with a few well-timed tears might help. She could dredge up some tears. Tears were never far from the surface these days.

  “I suppose your father brought you to Avaret to acquaint you with your duties now that you’re the heir.”

  “No, Lorain,” Bala replied with a cold smile, “he brought me because I made him bring me. He’s not well, and between the stress of my sister’s murder and now his sister’s incarceration, I must see to it he doesn’t overtax himself.”

  Lorain squirmed a little, and Bala took pleasure in that. “Yes, well, that does seem like a very good reason for you to accompany him. I wouldn’t know he was ill. I mean, he didn’t look ill when I saw him.”

  “He coughs all the time.”

  “It must be very worrisome,” Lorain said, feigning concern better than anyone Bala had ever seen. It didn’t mean anything, but she made it look good.

  “Thank you,” Bala replied. “There’s nothing I can do about Jozan, but if I could get my aunt released…well, it might help.”

  “She spoke out against the throne on the steps of the Keep, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t,” Bala lied.

  “Some might call her a traitor,” Lorain continued.