The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection

by Tom Lloyd

  She had a few minutes yet before Panro would come to wake her, and Zhia felt a comforted smile creep onto her lips as she recalled the brush of Aryn Bwr’s lips on her belly. Despite the intervening years, her mortal life remained bright and clear in her memory and she had no problem remembering that. She slid her palms between the cool linen sheets until her arms were stretched out and her body was spread like a virgin sacrifice.

  The room was almost completely dark, the shutters on the windows screwed shut each morning before dawn. It made the room stuffy in the relentless afternoon sun, but Panro aired it well each morning before she went to sleep. It was a small enough inconvenience when compared to the alternative.

  A discreet rap on the door heralded Panro’s arrival. The tall man entered and walked to the side of the bed. Zhia hadn’t bothered to move; he was alone. She listened to his footsteps, trying to detect his mood. Her powerfully built manservant had a peculiarly dainty manner of walking, treading softly, taking great care over each step. Today, detecting nothing unusual in the neat patter, she assumed his mood was as placid as usual.

  ‘Coffins,’ she declared, rolling over in bed as he placed her chilled tea on the bedside table. In his hand was a candlestick that he used to light the lamp beside her bed. Her smile widened.

  ‘Coffins, Mistress?’

  ‘Coffins,’ she confirmed, nodding with mock emphasis. A long curl of hair fell over her face. ‘Why do people think we sleep in them? They’re small, and hardly comfortable.’

  ‘You told me your spirit would return to your tomb when your body died, that only there would you regenerate,’ Panro reminded her as he swept the curl away with one deft finger.

  Zhia ignored what might be considered impertinence in a servant; her hold over him was magical, so he couldn’t be blamed for the love he held for her - and a man’s touch, however slight, was delightful, particularly after her dreams of Aryn Bwr. She stretched again, and said, ‘But that’s when I die. Why would I want to spend every damn day in a coffin when this bed is just so deliciously comfortable? Waking up like this is one of the few pleasures I have left.’ She grimaced and added, ‘It takes a few foggy moments before the years catch up with me, and for that I am inordinately grateful. I would be utterly miserable if I had to wake in a coffin instead.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress.’

  Zhia gave him a coquettish smile. When one awoke in a mood this good, there really was only one thing to do - but first, she should check on who was waiting downstairs. ‘Who have we for this evening, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Mistress Legana and Mis-the woman Haipar have come, with a nobleman they called Aras.’ Haipar had made it plain she didn’t want the usual honorific, and Panro, a stickler for the correct forms, heartily disapproved.

  Zhia gave a groan. ‘Ah, Count Lurip Aras. A pretty little man, but dear me, he is dull. Unfortunately, he is also rather useful to me, and one of the few decent soldiers this city has, so an enchantment of bonding was well worth the effort. I assigned Teviaq to his command staff, thinking any daughter of that morose bitch Amavoq might teach him the value of silence, but I think it’s only encouraged him.’ She brought her hands up behind her head and looked Panro up and down. Her manservant had an athletic frame and towered over her, but she had always preferred men far larger than herself. It’s probably Aryn Bwr’s fault, she thought with a grin. After all, most things were.

  She pursed her lips and blew softly at the sheet covering her. Only a shred of magic was needed to make it slither over her body to the foot of the bed, leaving her naked, exposed to the lamplight. She glanced down, admiring her smoothly tinted flesh; the previous night she had succumbed to the latest fashion; bathing in rustroot-infused water had stained her skin the colour of a true Fysthrail woman (though there were few enough of those about in Scree), instead of her normal deathly pallor. The effect greatly amused her.

  It obviously had an effect on Panro too, for his rapt gaze was sending a tickle of delight down her spine. He appeared particularly entranced by the curve of her buttocks, so she shifted position a little, the better to enhance his view, and smoothed a slender hand up her thigh. A pert rosy nipple was just visible as she turned towards him.

  As a slight gasp escaped his lips, she reached up to take his hand and pull him towards her, whispering, ‘Well then? I wouldn’t want to keep my guests waiting long.’

  ‘Ladies, my dear Aras, I do apologise,’ Zhia called as she swept down the broad staircase that faced the open entrance to her reception room. She was clad in a flowing white dress, with elbow-length gloves, and an evening stole draped over one arm. The house was of the classical design - wide, open rooms, narrow windows running from floor to ceiling - and Zhia thought it suited her perfectly, for she too was ‘classical’: ancient, yet still beautiful, and very desirable.

  Her guests rose to their feet as she swept in. She took note of the contrast in clothing: the count was immaculately turned out, his ash-blond hair fashionably loose about his shoulders, while Haipar, her usual linen shirt dirtier than usual, had clearly spent the day in the field. Legana trod the middle ground, for her tunic, though finely tailored, was also stained. She had heeded some of Zhia’s advice, for she had obviously attended to her hair and make-up before returning to the city. Honestly, Zhia thought, Lesarl is a fool at times. He sees a beautiful woman and simply assumes she’s capable of infiltrating any organisation by blinding them with her looks.

  ‘Mistress Ostia, you look ravishing as always,’ Aras oozed, earning a blushing smile from the vampire. Her bonding enchantment ensured slavish devotion, but not mindless thrall, which would have rendered him useless to her.

  ‘You look a different colour, at any rate,’ Legana commented, trying to stifle a smirk. Zhia had promised to teach her to blush or cry on demand; she claimed few things turned a man’s mind like the blush of a beautiful woman.

  ‘I know. I thought I would give the gossips something to wonder about,’ Zhia said as she held out her hand for Aras to kiss. ‘I’m hoping Siala will take this as a reminder of the Circle’s earliest traditions; she’s foolish enough to be distracted by such matters.’

  ‘I thought you’d been impressed by her,’ Legana said. ‘She appears competent enough whenever I’ve spoken to her.’

  ‘My dear, your benchmark has been set by Farlan spies - perfectly competent at whatever Chief Steward Lesarl sends them off to do, I have no doubt, but you must agree that they lack sophistication.’

  Legana scowled. Zhia had several times chastised her lack of education and her quickness to violence.

  ‘Siala differs from you, Legana,’ Zhia continued, ignoring the girl’s colouring cheeks, ‘because she is intelligent and educated, but she is unable to use that properly. You have not had the correct instruction, but since you’ve come under my wing you’ve responded admirably. By the time you reach Siala’s age, I will have made a queen of you. Siala is what one hopes for in an opponent, intellect without imagination, but I will not accept that from my allies.’

  She bade her visitors be seated again, and settled herself on a chaise longue, arranging her skirts decorously around her. She nodded for Haipar to begin her evening report.

  The shapeshifter wiped the smile from her face and cleared her throat. ‘We have received the weekly reports from the legions, but there’s nothing of particular interest. The training programmes are running well, but they’re far from battle-ready. One colonel has admitted seeing the benefits of merging mercenary companies with our recruits.’

  ‘And the others?’

  Haipar grinned. ‘The others are still bitching about it, of course - I believe the words “affront to our honour” have been mentioned several times.’

  ‘Madam,’ Aras interrupted, almost spluttering in indignation, ‘your orders are gravely insulting to a military man - you force the city’s finest to stand alongside common mercenaries, men who will hire their swords to the highest paymaster without considering the wrong or right of it, and you p
lace savages on the command staff, where they give orders to noblemen!’

  Ah yes, how are the Raylin settling in to their new roles?’ As she spoke, Zhia allowed a trickle of magic to slide over her fingers to him-certain the enchantment on the count still held. There were so many mages and spies around that she would have been foolish to simply assume he was still hers - and Zhia Vukotic was not a fool.

  Haipar chuckled. ‘It rather depends on who you’re talking about. My companions are greatly enjoying themselves - Tachos Ironskin was a ranking soldier in the Chetse army anyway, and my friend Matak Snakefang has thrown off his usual surliness to become the consummate general. As for the others, some are less encouraging. Veren’s Staff is causing chaos by forcing every religious observance he can think of onto the men. Apparently he called a halt to manoeuvres yesterday and made four thousand men perform the devotionals!’

  Haipar couldn’t stop laughing when she saw Zhia’s expression.

  Exasperated, Legana broke in, saying, ‘Bane hasn’t yet grasped your orders. He’s with the Second Army, but he spends his days wandering the camp in a daze. His single accomplishment has been to execute a soldier he believed to be a vampire. On the training ground. At midday. Under the sun.’

  ‘Don’t underestimate either of them,’ said Zhia softly. ‘They’re both quite mad, but their value on the field will be great. Ironskin is happy with the training, I trust?’

  ‘Hah, Ironskin is,’ Legana scoffed. ‘The colonel commanding him is less so. Apparently he has restructured the entire army into Chetse battle-order … without actually mentioning that fact to his commander. There has been no talk of duels yet, but I have no doubt they’re trying to find a way to murder him. Do you want me to step in?’ Legana’s position in the army structure was indeterminate, but she was a potential Circle member, and Ostia’s aide, so the officers assumed she was in effect Siala’s voice, and thus obeyed her orders without question.

  ‘No, Tachos Ironskin knows war better than most, in this city or elsewhere, so he can do as he sees fit. A phalanx requires intense training, and if he can provide it in a matter of weeks, I will be delighted.’ Zhia smiled. ‘I can’t believe they’ll manage to kill him, and it does a Raylin good to be kept on his toes; they’re a quarrelsome breed and a good conspiracy will stop him starting any other trouble. If you find anyone running a book on the matter, do back him on my behalf.’

  ‘The others are happy enough by Raylin standards and causing no real trouble yet. As for the Third Army,’ Legana said, ‘I really can’t say. We’re kept well away from them. Siala has the Fysthrall troops under total control, though she’s brought more into the city these past few days.’

  Zhia was far from surprised. ‘She knows I have control over the city guards now. I was expecting her to boost her strength within the city. She will want to test her authority, so make sure the guards do nothing to antagonise the Fysthrall - they must back away from any conflict. Have any that don’t obey flogged.’

  ‘She is paranoid about assassins,’ Legana added. ‘For some reason she suspects the city has been overrun with foreign agents, all looking to kill her.’

  Zhia gave the Farlan assassin a stern look. ‘In that case we should keep an eye open.’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘But this might be a useful distraction. I shall get one of the Jester acolytes to make the threat appear real. They are skilled enough to narrowly fail, and playing the assailed sovereign will keep Siala busy.’

  The Jesters, the sons of Death, made their home in the deepest part of the Elven Waste where they were worshipped as Gods by the local tribes. They demanded martial excellence from their followers, very like the original Raylin. Zhia had secured the services of six of their acolytes, half-brothers, sons of some chieftain. She spent most evenings walking the night streets with them. They were skilled and loyal warriors, and perfect for the more delicate spying missions.

  ‘Which reminds me,’ Zhia continued after a pause, ‘one of our acolytes - I forget which one; it is starting to annoy me that they refuse to give their names, and the white masks make them all look alike - but whichever it was, he said last night that they are noting a number of illegal entries into the city. Since this is not their city, they do not care, but they felt they should inform me.’

  ‘So there really are assassins in the city?’ Aras asked.

  ‘One would presume so. The interested parties will be augmenting their own households. King Emin won’t be able to keep his sticky little paws out, and the Farlan consider this their territory. The only questions are whether the Devoted are going to bring a significant presence to the table, and who else might get involved. Are the Menin also gathering intelligence this far north? If I were in charge in Circle City or Raland I would certainly have put some agents in play.’

  ‘Yet with all this going on, still you find time for your little project, this theatre in Six Temples?’ Haipar didn’t try to hide the snap in her voice.

  ‘Which remains as mysterious as ever,’ Zhia said pointedly. ‘There have been rumours of hauntings throughout that district, a number of out-of-the-ordinary murders-‘

  Does that mean out-of-the-ordinary by the standards of your own daily routine?’ Haipar continued.

  Zhia raised an eyebrow and Aras half rose from his seat, hand on his rapier’s hilt. ‘Haipar, do I detect a note of displeasure in your voice?’ Zhia asked smoothly, motioning for Aras to sit back down.

  He glared at Haipar, but they all knew the threat was empty; though he could best Haipar with a blade, she wouldn’t bother with a sword; her own claws would have split him groin to gizzard almost before he’d drawn his weapon. His magic-imposed loyalty to Zhia was not so great that he would test Haipar in her lioness form. He had no false illusions there.

  ‘Well, you did turn the head of the Prefecture - I wouldn’t think we have to look too far to explain unusual deaths.’

  ‘He is under control, I assure you. As for your personal feelings about vampires-‘ Zhia started.

  ‘You know I don’t give a damn about them - except when they couId cause us difficulties,’ Haipar replied hotly. ‘You know better than anyone how they can suddenly snap - if they can’t withstand the pressure of the change, they explode into murder.’

  ‘And I repeat: it is under control,’ said Zhia, very quietly.

  Legana sighed; she couldn’t understand why Haipar kept prodding; Zhia’s anger was not to be taken lightly but the Raylin was constantly argumentative whenever the subject of the theatre came up.

  Zhia rose gracefully and walked to the windows. ‘These deaths have nothing to do with me or my breed. There is something else afoot. The acolytes have been watching the theatre. This company doesn’t spend much time rehearsing, but the players have made some interesting contacts amongst Scree’s criminal element. And surely you have heard the tales of the Dark Man who walks the streets, snatching children - in the slums, of course, but nonetheless, the result is a state of panic in four districts of this city.’

  ‘And you should attend to this personally?’ Haipar muttered.

  Zhia leaned forward in her seat. ‘This is a situation I do not understand. I have lived for millennia; I have founded half a dozen cities, and I’ve lost count of those I have ruled. Believe me when I say it is rare that I do not understand something.’

  Her companions all subconsciously moved back at the frosty tone of her voice.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Aras asked, hoarsely.

  Zhia turned suddenly and beamed. ‘To do? I want us to go to dinner now, and afterwards, you may accompany me to the theatre’s first night for a little culture - I suspect the experience will be illuminating.’

  ‘What meat is this, Mayel?’ The abbot was looking quizzically at the lump of indeterminate meat in his spoon.

  The young man grimaced, his own spoon halfway to his mouth, and tried to avoid the abbot’s gaze. ‘Rabbit, Father. Good rabbit stew.’

  The abbot took another tentative mouthful. �
�Are you sure?’

  Of course I’m sure it’s not rabbit, you stupid old bastard. You should be glad it’s actually dog, considering what some folk are eating these days. He shrugged. ‘The butcher told me it was rabbit, Father, but folk are saying that food’s getting scarce. If this heat continues, who knows what we’ll be dining on soon.’

  The abbot didn’t press the point. He was too tired. This summer was the hottest anyone could remember, and every day the heat sapped more strength from the abbot’s frail body. Whatever magic he was doing in the cellar of their tumbledown house, it was compounding the problem, and if he were not careful, he would run himself into the grave. It was always the old ones who went first, collapsing in the street, never to get up again.

  These days they ventured outside only after the sun had gone down, and even so, it was still humid enough to bring on a sweat. Mayel wiped his face on his sleeve again, but it didn’t have much effect, for his clothes were sodden with perspiration. That was about the only thing about the monastery he did miss, fresh habits to wear - even if it was the novices who did the cleaning. He took another mouthful of dog stew. Suddenly life in the monastery didn’t seem all that awful.

  ‘I did hear some interesting gossip from the butcher though,’ he piped up, hoping conversation would stop them focusing on the grim stew. ‘Some madman is saying the prophecy of the Flower of the Waste has been fulfilled; that the tribesmen in the Elven Waste have joined under a king and have marched on the Elves - or the Siblis, the butcher wasn’t sure which. Not that he thought it was really true - but he did swear that he’d had it on good authority that the Devoted have started fighting amongst themselves. The Knight-Cardinal ordered troops from Embere to attack their forces in Raland, and Telith Vener was waiting for them. Word is that Vener would have wiped them out if it hadn’t been for a third Devoted army that stopped it all and forced the Knight-Cardinal’s troops to return to Embere.’