Tainted (Lisen of Solsta Book 2)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  “No, Brother. She had two, and this,” she said, pointing at the Decree, “names me.”

  Ariel stopped within a few feet of her, studied her a moment, then finally spoke. “What did you say?”

  “This Order of Ascension Decree names Ariannas Ilazer as Flandari’s Heir, all duly signed and witnessed. I am Ariannas Ilazer, Ariel. I am your sister.”

  Nalin listened to everyone in the room gasp again as this proclamation reached them, and he and Elsba exchanged quick grins. Far more work remained before them than behind, but they had waited a long time for this moment and would savor it, if only briefly.

  “My mother pouched one child,” Ariel responded. “Everyone here knows that. You, Little Hermit, are a fraud.”

  “No, she pouched twins. You and I? We shared her pouch once.”

  “Preposterous!” he shouted and walked away from her, his hand twirling in the air. “Arrest her!”

  Nalin, who’d been watching Ariel’s reactions to all of this and mentally applauding Lisen’s control of the situation, now turned to look at her. She stood proud as Rosarel stepped between her and the guards who would take her away, his sword drawn. These guards may have been Rosarel’s comrades, but Ariannas was his Empir, and Nalin finally set aside his reservations about the man.

  Ariannas took one step forward to stand immediately behind her captain and to his left and leaned in to whisper something in his left ear. He considered what she’d said for a moment, then sheathed his sword and stepped aside. She handed him the documents she’d brought in with her, and with a nod he backed away. She held her hands up, and the three closest guards surrounded her, one at each arm as the third bound her wrists with rope.

  “We still have the matter of assassination to discuss!” Lisen shouted as they started to lead her away. “I will be heard!”

  “You will be heard when I say you will be heard, Hermit.” And with a dismissing wave of his hand, Ariel set out to return to his place at the head table, as the guards took Lisen away.

  The room erupted into chaos. Ariel attempted to restore order, but the Council and other noble guests would not be mollified. Nalin stood, but Elsba grabbed his hand. He looked down and found the old man shaking his head solemnly.

  “But….” He wanted to go to Lisen, help her through this, yet the words died in his mouth. Elsba knew it all and still counseled caution. He sat back down reluctantly, and Elsba leaned into his ear.

  “Captain Palla will be with her,” Elsba whispered. “If you go now, you’ll only be giving Ariel an excuse to arrest you as well, and she and I both need you here.”

  He nodded.

  No one ate much, the dinner ending long before intended. Elsba and Nalin returned to Elsba’s suite while Bala stayed to gauge the Council’s mood. When they reached the Tuane quarters, Korin Rosarel was already there, and he rose from the couch as they entered.

  “What now?” Nalin asked.

  “We wait,” Rosarel replied.

  “What?” Nalin asked in shock. “We wait?”

  Rosarel nodded. “Yes, my lord, we wait. Until we hear otherwise from Palla, we wait.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  SHE LOVED NO ONE

  As the guards dragged her down the stairs into the dungeon, Lisen kept reminding herself of four things. First, she’d planned it this way. Second, Captain Palla would be watching out for her. Third, she might actually find herself near Hermit Eloise. And finally, and certainly most importantly, goading her brother, who resembled her less than she’d expected, would facilitate the confrontation she desired. This was not as bad as it felt, and only a few hours stood between her and victory.

  It didn’t work. It didn’t work because she was pissed. The dungeon, a word that had been but a word until now, turned out to be this dank hole in the ground with small, low-ceilinged, windowless cells and no place for any sort of hygiene that she could see. The guards pushed her into one of these filthy little rooms and untied her hands, but before she could appreciate this miniscule taste of freedom, they forced her up against the back wall and locked her wrists and ankles in the manacles set into the stone there. Then the three guards left her, slamming the door and locking it behind them with a loud jangle of keys. She stood there for a moment contemplating her situation, breathing deeply to calm her racing heart, and then she called out.

  “Eloise!” No answer. She must be too far away to hear me. But then a voice she hadn’t heard in months responded.

  “Lisen?” Tentative, fraught with the unknown, the unseen, but Lisen recognized it. Eloise.

  “Yes.”

  “Where are you?” the hermit asked.

  “I think I’m in the cell next to yours.”

  “That can’t be good.”

  “You should know,” Lisen said wryly.

  “Quiet!” someone cautioned from the hall.

  Lisen risked one more shout. “It’s good. I’m fine. I planned this.”

  “Hush!” the same voice ordered.

  Lisen leaned back against the wall. No point in wasting energy on something she couldn’t change.

  Ariel sat in his office fiddling with the malla jar, lifting the lid off, then setting it back in place. How its forgetfulness called to him, but he dared not indulge quite yet. He would require all his wits about him if he were to triumph. Beside the malla on the desk, he had set his vial of anaca. He kept this around if he experienced too many sleepless nights in a row or in case the need to drug someone past the point of caring became a critical requirement.

  He picked the vial up and rolled it around in his fingers. A small container, only a drop or two of its contents required to commit the deed, pearlescent pink in the light of the flickering candle on his desk. So beatific in its perfection. So perfect in its ability to create compliance in the unwilling and a peaceful death when administered too liberally. Untraceable as well. He smiled. It would do nicely.

  Wretched hermit, he thought, knowing his face had settled into a pout. It wasn’t entirely the hermit’s fault, however, though she would pay for her part in it. It wasn’t even Nalin’s fault, not really. No, the blame lay elsewhere—in his dead mother’s hands. Had she truly hidden this supposed sister from them all? The idea was suspect, but he would never truly know.

  The coincidences piled up to the point of being nothing more than absurd. The necropath his sister? He doubted that. Just some tale concocted by Nalin and his little band of cohorts, but true or not, he would see to it the stupid little hermit never saw daylight again. Eliminate the necropath and he’d be rid of the alleged sister as well. Too much hope poured into one small, fragile vessel, into the poor and powerless girl. He stroked the vial of anaca and smiled contentedly. All over by the morning, little sister. And he sneered.

  “My Liege?”

  He turned to his right, to the small closet which hid the secret door, and there he saw his watcher, standing just inside the closet with the door open barely more than a crack. He never should have shown her the secrets behind the walls of the Keep, but truthfully, if she’d wanted to cause him harm, she didn’t need to rely on hidden passageways and mysterious doors and such.

  “Opseth. Come in. You’ve saved me summoning you.”

  The woman stepped fully into the room and came to stand beside the desk. “I sensed the necropath. She’s here, isn’t she.”

  Ariel looked into her face, saw the woman’s yellow-green eyes burning with inner fire. “Yes, she’s here,” he answered. “In the dungeon, and I need your help. You’re connected to her?”

  “Indeed, my Liege. In some ways, we are one.”

  “She must not survive the night.”

  “My Liege?”

  Did he hear concern in his watcher’s voice? For an enemy? No, he must have heard her wrong. “She interrupted the Council dinner tonight and made horrific accusations and baseless claims.”

  “What claims?”

  “How could you not know what she was going to do? You assured me you’d been in c
ontact with her all this time.”

  “She accused you of your mother’s murder, certainly,” Opseth replied, unaccustomed confusion worrying her face. “But claims? I don’t understand, my Liege.”

  “My sister,” Ariel spat out in his frustration. “She claims she is my sister. She’s brought with her an Order of Ascension Decree to prove it, but it can’t be true. Surely you would have known by now.”

  “Forgive me, my Liege. If I’d known to look for it, I might have found it, but—”

  “But that’s the point, isn’t it,” Ariel continued. “You didn’t know, and now here I am with claims and accusations in need of answering. That’s why I need you. She’s the only one who can prove any of it, and remember, you’re just as vulnerable as I am.”

  “Aye, my Liege. What do you propose?”

  “Must I explain everything? She cannot survive to testify tomorrow to the Council.” How could the woman be so obtuse?

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I need….” He threw his arms up in the air, then placed the palms of his hands firmly on his desk and looked up at Opseth. “I need for you to kill her,” he enunciated clearly.

  “She’s very strong. Much stronger than before.”

  “I have a way to weaken her.” He held up the vial.

  “Ah, anaca,” Opseth said and nodded. “It worked well on the servant. It might help here. How do you propose to get it to her?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll see to it personally.”

  “And I’ll need a private place.”

  “I assumed as much.” He rose and reached out a hand of invitation. “My clerk’s office is empty now. This way.” And she followed him to the door which led into Jazel’s office. “I’ll see to the anaca and let you know when it’s been administered.”

  “Good, my Liege,” Opseth said, sat down at the desk in the tiny office, and made herself comfortable as Ariel closed the door on her.

  He returned to his desk and picked up the anaca, ready to leave for the dungeon, when the door from the hall burst open. Lorain entered like a great hot wind from the east, slamming the door shut behind her. He pulled the malla jar from the top of the desk and set it and the anaca vial into a drawer underneath.

  “What did you know about this?” she demanded as she reached the front of his desk.

  “What did I know about what? You already know everything I know about the necropath’s role. Other than that….”

  “Then apparently you know nothing.” Her cold tone cut through him, the accusation hanging in the air between them.

  “What? Do you think I remember all the way back to the pouch? Do you think our child will recall this moment?”

  “Of course not. It’s just that….” Lorain sighed. “It’s just that there’s so much you know that you haven’t told me. I had to ask.”

  “I didn’t know. How could I? It’s not even true.”

  “We need those documents from Rosarel. We need to know precisely what they say.”

  “Documents?” he asked, his thoughts so jumbled he couldn’t follow hers.

  “She passed more than one sheet of parchment to that half-blind captain of hers. I’m assuming the others are corroborative, but there’s no way to know that until we’ve had a chance to look at them, now, is there. And another thing. The prevailing sentiment out there…” she pointed in the great hall’s direction “…does not run in your favor.”

  “Lorain, calm down. It’s a long time until morning, and a great deal can happen in a night.”

  “What are you going to do?” She spoke slowly, each word said with care.

  “Nothing. I’m not going to do anything.”

  “Don’t. If you value this…” she encompassed the room—in essence, the Keep itself—with a sweep of her arm “…you’ll do nothing. And don’t even think about contacting that watcher of yours.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Then I’m going to bed. But only if you promise.”

  “I promise,” he repeated impatiently.

  “It’s been a long day,” she continued, “and I’m tired.”

  “I imagine you are.”

  She had started to leave, but she whirled on him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He rose and stepped over to her, reaching out to touch her cheek. “Nothing,” he replied sweetly. “I only meant that you’ve worked long and hard on the dinner and my throning and our joining. Then to have the dinner interrupted as it was, and on top of all of that, you’re carrying our child….” He risked everything and leaned in to kiss her. “I’m sorry is all.” He sensed her soften, though only slightly.

  “You must know I’d do anything for you,” she begged. “You need to trust me.” He’d never seen her sapphire-blue eyes plead before.

  “I do. I do. Now go to bed. I’m going to need you at your best come morning. All right?” He ventured another kiss, and this time she responded fully. When they parted, she was smiling, and he knew he’d won her back. “I’ll be up shortly.” She nodded her assent, then left him.

  He rushed back to his desk and pulled out the anaca again. How much would it take? The necropath was about his size. Yes, a few drops, five or six perhaps, would be sufficient although he would probably try for more since she was likely to resist and spit some out. If only he could get someone else to do this for him. He was sure there were those who would, but he didn’t need those loyal to him now to bolt for the other side at the first attack of conscience. No, this was a thing best done singly and in person.

  He ran through it once more in his mind. He had given orders for the door to the necropath’s cell to be left unlocked. He had advised the commander to vacate her office temporarily. Opseth was preparing. And, he had the anaca. Yes, everything was in place. It was time to rid himself of the impediment his mother had so cleverly left in his path to greatness. Not so clever as you thought, Mother.

  He went to the hall door, opened it a crack, informed the guards there that he was not to be disturbed, and then headed for the closet and its access to the secret passageway. In a little while, he would make a show of leaving this room via that hall door he’d effectively just barred and head upstairs to bed, and no one would ever know what he’d done in the meantime.

  It seemed like at least an hour before anything happened. She stood, secured tightly to the wall, her wrists beginning to ache, her back telling her it wanted her to sit down, and she wanted to spit and say nasty words. But the only nasty words she knew were in English, and her parents had taught her to be creative when she was angry and not rely on the words everyone else used. Hence, her mother’s “piss and vinegar” when anyone else would have spoken less eloquently.

  “Ah, to hell with eloquence,” she muttered to herself.

  She forced herself to concentrate on her mission, the rest of her plan. Anger was fine in its place, but right now she must focus on what came next.

  She’d reached into her brother’s mind easily as they’d squared off in that huge hall. He’d made it all the easier by moving so close to her—proximity always helped—and she had encouraged what she already sensed there. He believed that if he rid himself of her, all his problems would be solved, and she’d played with that a bit, molding it until it became the only solution of which he could conceive.

  Then finally, after waiting that at-least-an-hour time while manacled to the wall, she heard a key slide into the lock in the door. She straightened, but the door remained shut. He was close, or at least the distance between his intentions and herself had diminished, and he would be here soon. Very soon.

  It all began to unfold as she’d encouraged it. The details she left to the fates; if you forced the details, you might end up with something far removed from your desire. She’d set out to lure him here, ready to make her disappear, and that choice would open him up even further to her. Step by step, she would make him her own.

  Within a few moments, the unlocked door opened, and he blew in,
slamming the door shut behind him. Then he stood there and glared at her, breathing heavily as though he’d run all the way from somewhere. She couldn’t help but wonder what their lives might have been like together had Eloise never interfered. Would they have loved one another? Would he have turned out different from the spoiled child who stood before her? She certainly wouldn’t have ended up who she was now. No Solsta. No Earth. Unimaginable at this point.

  “Well, here we are, alone at last, Hermit,” he said and stepped towards her. He fingered something, but she couldn’t see what he held in his hand.

  “Call me Lisen. It’s what I go by.”

  “I’ll call you what I please.” He continued easing up to her.

  “Is there no hope for us, Ariel?” She knew the answer, but she asked anyway in a moment—a brief one—of hope.

  He stopped a few feet short of her. “I am ‘my Liege’ to you.”

  “I’ll call you what I please,” she shot back. “Be grateful it’s nothing worse than ‘Ariel.’”

  “So even now that we’re here alone, you persist in your story,” he sneered. His hair was the deep red she remembered from their mother, and his eyes were dark, although in this light she couldn’t be sure if they were actually brown or a very deep blue or green.

  “It’s not a story. I’m your sister. I’m Ariannas.”

  “It doesn’t matter who you are. You’re already dead.”

  “How convenient for you.” It was her turn to sneer.

  “How’s that?”

  “That you only have to kill one person to rid yourself of two problems.”

  “And how inconvenient for you,” this brother Lisen wished she could have loved replied with a snarl. “Was this Nalin’s idea, this pretense of relativity?”

  “Actually it was our mother’s idea. Or her burden.”

  “Well, we could go on all night, I suppose, and never solve a thing. And I have a country to run and a spouse-to-be to please. You know, she’s more than a little perturbed at your intrusion into her first Council dinner, and so the sooner I go up to her, the sooner she’ll calm down.”