Tainted (Lisen of Solsta Book 2)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  She kept running through it all in her mind to take the raw edge from the fear. Because for the first time in her life, she was afraid, and it was not a feeling she wished to ever experience again. She kept listing the logical steps the Council would take—must take—in their investigation of this matter. At best, they would discount the necropath’s story and perhaps even imprison her for perjury, but at worst…well, at worst, Ariel would go into exile. But she herself would remain free regardless.

  She breathed deeply a couple of times. Tonight would be hers, hers in which to glory. First, Ariel would lift his goblet to invite all to their joining in three days, and then he would raise a toast to announce the advent of his Heir. Tomorrow, Nalin could produce his necropath, and Lorain would deal with that complication then. For now, she would dress as though they’d all be looking at her because, of course, they would.

  The door from Ariel’s antechamber opened, and he stepped through, looking more resplendent than she had ever seen him before in a tunic of grey fabric which reflected the light with a hint of purple, infused with golden thread. His hair glowed like auburn fire, and he nearly stole the breath from her.

  “You’re not dressed yet?” he asked, his tone only vaguely impatient.

  “I’ve been seeing to last-minute details.”

  He kissed her on the neck. “If you planned it, then how can it not be perfect?“

  “I want it to be right, for your sake, my love. Now, go, and leave me to dress.” She pecked him on the cheek, and with a soft shove, she urged him out the door. She needed this time alone for more than merely dressing. She needed to purge herself of the bittersweet sense of this moment, for she must make an entrance worthy of the royalty she had become, an entrance which must not be marred by any negativity whatsoever. It was to be a lovely dinner, and she would allow nothing to intercede to change that. A lovely dinner. Yes, she told herself. Hold on to that thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE HERMIT’S CHALLENGE

  Korin watched as day slipped into evening. Soon he and the Heir would move from this quiet room in a noisy inn to a world filled with sparkle and bang, a world of the unforgiving and the unforgivable. He’d dreaded this night, dreaded it more than he should, and he wished he didn’t know why.

  He sat on his cot, working his knife over the whetstone, wondering if it were possible to over-sharpen a blade since he’d been at it for more than an hour. All the while Lisen, the Heir-Empir, Ariannas—he no longer knew what to call her—sat quietly on the floor, legs crossed, eyes closed, breathing deeply, preparing in her own way, perhaps sharpening her best weapon as well. But he could tell her concentration was a ruse. He watched her working hard at setting everything but the immediate moment aside, yet little things betrayed her—a shift in posture, the occasional heavy sigh, the fingers fiddling at her ring. She wasn’t quite as focused as she wanted to believe.

  “It’s getting late,” he said.

  She took some deep breaths before opening her eyes. She blinked a couple of times in the deep grey of twilight and finally looked directly at him. “Then, let’s go.” He winced at the note of finality in her tone.

  “Here,” he said, offering her the livery Holder Corday had brought, but she shook her head and stood up.

  “No. I have a better idea.”

  “Oh, yeah?” His gut told him to insist she go with the plan, but he said nothing, just set the livery down on the cot and watched as she began braiding her hair into the two plaits of a hermit, a style she had avoided ever since he’d taken her from Solsta.

  “My brother expects a hermit, so I’ll give him one.” She smiled smugly.

  “He’s likely to lash out.”

  “He will anyway, and all I need is an excuse.”

  An excuse for what? he wondered. His stomach twisted, and the suckling one squirmed. That wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d warned the holder that she’d changed; perhaps he needed to listen to himself sometimes. “So you’ll wear your hermit robe?”

  “Good thing I kept it.”

  “Yes, good thing,” he agreed with only half a heart.

  She finished her braiding quickly and neatly, as one would expect from someone who had done it since early childhood, and then pulled the robe on over her tunic. “How long will it take us to get to the Keep?”

  “Not long. It’s only a couple of miles from here.” He rose and began arming himself. The babe shifted on his left teat in the pouch. It was a magical sensation, highly distracting if one failed to remain mindful, and right now mindfulness seemed to be all he had left.

  “Here,” she said, and he turned to her. She held out her knife and sword to him.

  “What’s this for?” he asked, not immediately taking the offered weapons.

  “Carry them for me. If I’m arrested and they’re in my possession, I’ll lose them and I might never get them back. But if you have them, I can get them back from you when I need them.”

  “So you’ve thought this through, have you?” He finally accepted the weapons from her, slipped her knife into his boot top, then strapped the sword in its sheath around his waist, allowing it to hang at his right hip.

  “There are bound to be variables, but yes, I’ve thought it through.”

  “Care to share any of it with me?”

  “It’s basically Holder Corday’s plan, not much changed. Just a few adjustments to the later parts. Let’s see how it goes.”

  Nothing she’d said encouraged him. In fact, his sense of dread only increased at her insistence on modifying the plan without informing the holder. He suspected, however, that she would meet any reluctance on his part with an even more obstinate resolve, and so he pulled on his cape and opened the door. He turned back to her, and she smiled at him. Too eager, he thought, but then again he would be, too, if the opportunity to change the world lay but a half hour’s walk away. Did she really understand the variables she’d alluded to? Because for his part, he simply hoped she’d survive until tomorrow.

  They crossed the foot bridge to Avaret, made their way up the great hill and reached the plaza just as the councilors wended their way to the Keep for the dinner. The two of them held back, well into the shadows, and waited until everyone had passed by, until the plaza was empty once again. In the quiet of this last moment, he found himself wondering how this center of Garlan government with its grand marble buildings might appear to the eyes of one newly confronted with its magnificence. He knew how he’d felt—overwhelmed, filled with awe—when he’d first arrived here. But to come from the simple safety of a haven…. Of course, given all she’d seen since, there was probably little left that could surprise her. He could ask, but not now, perhaps never.

  Instead, he whispered, “How do you propose to get through the guards up there without Corday’s livery?” He nodded towards the contingent of four of his former colleagues stationed at the top of the stairs.

  “Don’t worry about them,” she whispered back. “They’re part of my new plan.”

  Her words sent a shiver down his back, but, again, he said nothing. Perhaps it was time she relied on her own strengths.

  “Let’s go,” she said once the last of the dinner attendees disappeared through the great doors, and they stepped out into the plaza, made their way to the Keep and started up the steps. The child within him seemed to react to the proximity of threat, shifting, though thankfully imperceptibly to anyone other than himself. At the top of the stairs, she stopped. The guards barred their way, and Korin considered trying to bluff his way through. He knew two of the four, though not well, and likely they’d never recognize him with his eye patch. But she had a plan, or so she’d claimed.

  “I wish to pass,” she said.

  “What business do you have?” It was the sergeant, one of the two whom Korin didn’t know, who asked this.

  “My business is my own. I wish to pass,” she declared with authority.

  “Entry is barred to anyone not on the invitation list. Ar
e you on the list?” the sergeant asked though he clearly knew she wasn’t.

  “No, I’m not on your freakin’ list, but you will grant me entry anyway.”

  The sergeant began to laugh and turned to his companions. “Hear that? The woman….” His voice trailed off, and all the laughter stopped. The four soldiers stood, immobile, staring at this woman beside Korin. He stared as well, though not under her enchantment like the rest of them.

  “Thank you.” She turned back to Korin. “Captain?” Then she walked right past them where they stood transfixed, and Korin followed her, taking one last look at the frozen four before continuing inside.

  “What was that?” he whispered in her ear.

  “A momentary lapse in judgment on their part. They’ll be fine. Now where is it I need to go?”

  The feeling blew over Opseth like a cold wind, and she knew that it was time. The necropath had arrived in Avaret, and Opseth must be there when the girl manifested her magnificent strength. She rose from her desk and slipped out her side door. She had left her spouse and their children earlier in the evening, warning them that she might have to leave suddenly—a business matter, she’d claimed. They’d wished her well and returned to the game they’d been playing. After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d been called away in the night; nor was it the first time she’d known in advance it would happen.

  She mounted her horse in the dark, and, leaving the safety of sleepy Saktoff, she set out for the city and for the fulfillment growing closer and closer now, for that moment when mere proximity to the wielding of great power would quench the thirst deep within her for the breathtaking rush. Soon she would meet the girl face to face, and nothing—not Garla, not Empir Ariel, not the Council—not herself, not the necropath, nor anything else—would remain the same.

  Nalin, Elsba and Bala had left the confines of the old palace in the midst of the main crowd of nobles heading for the Keep and the traditional opening dinner. He had wanted to arrive not too soon, yet not too late, and avoid the discomfort of being singled out by anyone to talk. Not one to slip comfortably into light social conversation under the best of circumstances, Nalin knew he couldn’t muster up the pointless chatter that he’d mastered over the years for those occasions when he felt out of place. Anxiety drove him and would keep him from thinking clearly enough to pretend to care about what anyone else might say.

  At the moment, he and the Tuanes were doing all they could to remain separate from the others milling about the hall, and in the main, they had succeeded. He suspected most here had already heard the rumors of Lorain’s pouching, but the fact that no one felt obliged to run this rumor past himself or Elsba or Bala surprised Nalin. After all, who else had spent more time here in Avaret than in their own holdings since Flandari’s funeral?

  With no one wasting their attention on the three of them, Nalin’s nervousness about what loomed but the opening of a door away could remain an undetected stranger in their midst. For now, all was calm, but soon the three of them would be surrounded by holders and councilors seeking answers. Nalin welcomed this lull before the advent of calamity.

  He looked around the huge two-story room, always overwhelming, always intimidating, and pronounced Lorain’s handiwork a success. She’d made no major changes; no doubt, those would come later, if tonight’s events didn’t end it all for her. The high table with its smaller version of the throne in the Council Chamber, accompanying Empir-spouse chair and several additional chairs for a chosen few ran perpendicular to the rows of tables and benches below it, just as it had always had. Nalin knew Ariel had left it to her to plan this affair; the presumed Empir lacked organizational expertise. Besides, Ariel had never been one to sully his peerless position by taking on work he deemed beneath him.

  “I wonder how soon before they make their move,” he whispered to Elsba as they found their seats. Nalin had specifically requested that Lorain seat him with the Tuanes, and she had agreed to do so without a hint of opposition. Lorain knew how to pick her battles, and a seating chart was not one of them.

  “I imagine the captain will give us time to settle in first,” Elsba replied. “He’s been stationed in Avaret long enough to know the rhythm of these dinners.”

  “Shh,” Bala hushed them and pointed out the guards positioning themselves about the room in preparation for the grand entrance of the new Empir.

  The double doorway to the portico behind the high table flew open, and the entire room settled into formal silence. Then, with none of the fanfare Nalin had expected, the Empir and his Heir’s pouching parent stepped from the dark of the portico into the light, both dressed in tunics of rich grey fabric that glowed with golden hues—Ariel’s suggesting purple and Lorain’s, deep green—and the assembly rose as one. It was a moment staged to intimidate, and it worked on Nalin. His second thoughts and fears coalesced, and he began to wonder if this were the right time, the right place. Ariel and Lorain stepped up to the high table arm in arm and went to their respective places, standing there as Ariel spoke.

  “Welcome, my friends,” he said warmly, and Nalin realized that Flandari’s lessons in social graces had not been completely wasted on him. “We ask your indulgence for a moment more before we sit.”

  Nalin grimaced as time shortened before his eyes. Let us at least be seated when she steps in, he prayed.

  “I am happy to announce that my beloved Lorain, Holder of Bedel, has agreed to join with me.” A huge cheer rose from the crowd, a cheer more of obligation than of joy. “You are all invited for a small ceremony in the park we’ve scheduled for the day after my throning.” Cheers broke out again, but Ariel raised his hand to silence them, as any magnanimous ruler would do. “No, no. I have saved the very best news for last. This woman I’ve chosen to be my spouse carries in her pouch the Heir of Garla!”

  This time the noise of shouting and applause from the assembled nobles was close to deafening. Don’t they know what the boy is? Nalin asked himself. Can’t they see it? No, he realized, they see it but know that their survival depends on their support of him. Nalin shook his head. What did this mean for Lisen?

  Ariel allowed the raucous behavior to continue long enough to feed his ego; then finally he put up his hands to silence them. “So, my friends, sit, eat, and be happy for us!” Another cheer went up, and Nalin cringed.

  The Empir and his spouse-to-be took their seats, and the guests all followed suit. The servers arrived, laden with tray upon tray of food, and the festivities began in earnest. Nalin looked to the north door of the hall more times than he was willing to count and essentially ignored his meal. Bala, too, seemed to find it difficult to eat, but Elsba managed somehow.

  Then, at last, a voice rang out over the din of feasting, a voice that stole all breath from his lungs.

  “Ariel Ilazer! I hear you’ve been looking for me!”

  All eyes turned to that same north door which Nalin had been watching, and there stood Captain Rosarel. Beside him, a figure in a hermit robe seemed to hover in a cloud of light, the hood up to hide her face. Lisen. But not in his livery as they’d agreed. His stomach turned. Why had she changed the plan? And how had a hermit managed to get past the guards at the great doors?

  “Guards!” Ariel yelled out, and immediately several of his Emperi guards rushed towards the two intruders. Rosarel drew his sword to keep them back.

  “Let her speak,” he said softly. No need for shouting; everyone in the room had hushed to silence. The guards stopped where they were.

  Ariel rose slowly from his place. “All right then, speak. Who are you?”

  Lisen appeared to stand up just a little straighter, reached up with her left hand, the one, Nalin noticed, which bore her hermit ring again, and pulled her hood back, revealing her face and glowing hermit braids.

  “I am the hermit you’ve been seeking. I’m the necropath who guided your mother.”

  “Arrest her!” Ariel ordered. The guards tried to move in closer to Lisen, but Rosarel stood firm.
r />   “Hear her out, my Liege,” the captain insisted.

  “She’s speaking nonsense,” Ariel replied and looked to Lorain who nodded firmly.

  “Well, then, how about this?” Lisen said. “There’s a reason why he fears me, my lords. I am the only witness to his crime. Only I can testify that Flandari’s assassin didn’t act alone, that she was pushed by a watcher hired by your new Empir.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Ariel replied to the assembled lords. “How could she possibly know such a thing?”

  “I’m a necropath, my lords. Before I sat with Empir Flandari, I met the watcher, the one who’d pushed the assassin, in the assassin’s mind.” Many in the room gasped before they could stop themselves.

  “Do you hear that, my lords?” Ariel asked. “A necropath who speaks of pushing. Aren’t all necropaths allegedly capable of such an act? If indeed such an act is possible, which I personally doubt.”

  “Ah, but here is what you don’t know,” Lisen responded. “You think I ran from Solsta because of what I saw in your assassin, because of what I met there in her mind, but you think wrong.” She slipped her hand into her cloak and pulled out what Nalin guessed was Flandari’s Decree. She held it up, letting it unroll. “This, my lords, is an Order of Ascension Decree.”

  Ariel’s eyes widened slightly, but he held firm, stepping from behind the high table and around it to approach her. “And who does it name, Hermit? Oh, let me think. Could it perhaps be Holder Corday, my mother’s favorite?” He looked across the tables to where Nalin sat. Nalin, impressed with the true Heir’s tactics, chose to simply shrug at him, and Ariel turned back to Lisen. “My mother had but one Heir, Hermit. Me.”