by Megan Derr
"She won't," Demir said. "She retired early because she could not take what court has become. She did not want me to linger either. If she there is something she can do to help, she will do it gladly. This way will take us—"
"I will lead the way, and you will stay close to Emre," Haluk said, dragging him back, hand large and warm around Demir's wrist, even through the sleeves of his jacket. Demir was taller than Haluk, and they were equally broad, but he still managed to make Demir feel small when the soldier in him came fully to the fore. "I still wish you would remain behind. As much damage as we have done to the slave trading plans, they will be getting desperate to seize what they can, make as much money as quickly as possible, then cut their losses and run. Selling you would erase a lot of the debts incurred by this venture. Please, Demir, have a care until we know this matter is ended."
Demir nodded, not certain what to do with the sudden knot in his chest, the hitch in his breath. He was the one who protected and cared for others. He was not used to anyone looking after him.
Slowly releasing his wrist, admonishing look lingering a beat more, Haluk finally turned away and led the way through the busy streets until they reached the brown and purple building featuring a sign painted with a gold spider and ornate script. The window that fronted it was made of dark purple glass painted with more gold spiders.
Inside, the place was dimly lit, tables spread out enough to give patrons privacy. The smell of wine, perfume, and rich foods filled the air, making Demir's stomach growl for the meal he'd not gotten a chance to eat.
"I don't see them yet," Emre murmured. "Hopefully they'll be here soon."
"I have no doubt," Demir said. "It would take time to get them packed and out of the palace to a safe location. Steward Bulut was promoted from being a clerk, rather than chosen from the nobility. He has no private holdings, even fewer options than me about where to go and what to do now."
Haluk ushered them to a table by the window. "Let's eat something, then, because I am starving."
A server ghosted up to their table a few seconds later holding a dark wood tray and dressed in dark purple. "An easy wine and a platter of food to match, enough for three," Demir said. Haluk handed over the requisite coin, and the server slipped away again.
They had gotten about halfway through the food and well into the wine when the door opened and Melmet stepped in, followed by a slighter figure in a hood and three Cobra. Demir rose immediately, then to Irmak, whose eyes widened when she saw him. "Lord Demir!"
Demir did not bother correcting her, simply stepped in close and hugged her. "My lady, I am sorry for your troubles. If you are amenable, we are going to take you to my mother's home. You will be safe and comfortable there."
Tears started streaming down her face, and she managed a nod before burrowing against Demir's chest. "Th-thank you, Harem Master."
"You do not owe anyone thanks," Demir said softly. "What you did was very brave, and something you should never have had to do. You've made a very big difference against a very big problem, and Tavamara owes you a debt for it."
She drew back, accepting the handkerchief that one of the Cobra offered. "What do you mean?"
"Explain once we're well on our way out of the city," Haluk interjected. "We should go. Where is Bulut? What has become of him?"
Melmet gave a cold smile. "He will be sleeping for some time—and recovering for even longer. I gave him enough valtyanar to ensure he will not be a problem for us."
Emre laughed, kissed her cheek, then led the way out of the café. Demir took Irmak's hand and held fast, Haluk on his left, Melmet on the right, the rest of the Cobra split to walk in front of and behind them as they threaded their way through the city, wrapping around the market and slowly making their way to the city gates.
Dusk was falling as they reached it and found the remaining Cobra waiting with a cart and several horses. They traveled through the night, pushing on even in the moonlight, not stopping until they reached a small, mostly deserted travel pavilion.
The hard pace continued through the next few days, until Demir was so drained and exhausted he almost wished he had chosen to remain in the city. Throughout, Irmak and Haluk were with him at all times. Irmak because he made her feel safe, and Demir would never begrudge her that. Haluk because he was a stubborn fool, and Demir was grateful they were never alone because if they were, he might very well succumb to the temptation to do something stupid.
When he finally spied his parents' home, he nearly cried out in triumph. Afternoon sunshine reflected off the ocean, and the air was filled with the clean, salty scent of it. Demir urged his horse to a faster pace, uncaring he left the others behind. After days and days of barely being able to think about all that had happened, it was a relief to reach a place where he could simply be, safe and comfortable and far from the place where his world had fallen apart.
Dismounting, leaving the horse in the yard, he strode through the open front doors and headed straight for the back of the house where he knew his parents would likely be enjoying a cold lunch and sweet, cool wine. But when he saw them, it was not welcome on their face, only surprise and dismay.
Demir supposed he could not blame them, given the man who was sitting at their table enjoying lunch. The man who looked so much like Ihsan they could almost be mistaken for each other, save for Ihsan's scars. The man who legally was not allowed to be in Tavamara, let alone only a week's journey from Tavala. His mouth quirked in a wry smile, and he abandoned his lunch to stand. "Lord Demir."
"Prince Altan," Demir replied. He tore his eyes away to look at his parents, just as the others joined him.
His mother rose, smelling of wine and perfume and the sea, a much more beautiful, elegant version of himself, though Demir had some of his father's features as well. She kissed his cheek then looked over the others. "Demir, what in the world is going on?"
Demir glanced at Altan, then his companions, and final back at his mother. "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."
Turning to the servant, his mother said, "Bring plenty of wine and food."
Sitting down on the nearest cushion, Demir began to explain everything that had happened in the past few weeks, beginning with Ihsan's unexpected return.
Fourteen
Ihsan jerked awake, soaked in sweat, throat hoarse from screaming.
He didn't notice the guard who'd entered his room and drawn close until the man spoke. "Highness, are you all right?"
"Fine," Ihsan replied. "Thank you. Leave me, please."
The guard bowed and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Ihsan threw aside his sweat-soaked blankets and rolled out of bed to stride across the room to his bath and slide into it. The hot water was not nearly as soothing as he needed, but it was better than staying in his damned bed.
His enormous, empty, lonely bed. Kitt and Sabah snuck through the passages to see him as often as possible, but between Sabah trying to keep the harem under control and Kitt trying to untangle the nasty web of slave traders, never mind Kagan and the frequent demands for Ihsan's presence he made just to keep Ihsan busy and on edge, there was very little time for the three of them to see each other.
Ihsan had thought his nightmares might finally start to recede, that he'd stop being plagued by memories of five years of misery, two of them a living nightmare. He lifted a hand to touch his scars, slid his fingers down over all the other marks that left his body ugly: slashes from knives and sword, the lash used on him five different times over his two year stay, the chains and rope that had etched into his skin after days of bearing them. The damned shrapnel that had allowed Lavarre soldiers to imprison him in the first place.
At least he had listened to Haluk right from the start and never made it known he was a prince, instead played the role of mercenary for hire, selling himself and his men to the army and doing all the nasty, tricky missions the army preferred to avoid.
He let his hand fall. It slapped the water before slipping beneath to rest on
his thigh. The steaming water did nothing to mitigate his trembling, could not entirely drive away the memories just waiting to pounce and strike again.
Climbing out of the bath, he went to his trunks and pulled out clothes—dark blue pants and shirt, gray sleeves and sash decorated with slightly paler gray flowers and birds. Ihsan ran a thumb over the flowers, gut twisting and roiling as he remembered Demir's face, his voice, when he resigned as Harem Master.
He hoped Demir was doing well at his parents' home, found someone that was worthy of him. Ihsan closed his eyes. Or maybe Demir and Haluk were growing closer. They would do well together. If that was the path they took, he wished them every happiness, even if it felt like someone was shoving a serrated knife into his gut and twisting it.
Merciful Divine, his thoughts were determined to remain gloomy. He was far too accustomed to having Kitt, Sabah, and Haluk to help keep his memories and nightmares at bay. Too used to them all being there for each other. He hoped they were all sleeping better than him.
Were they well? He wondered that constantly. Sabah and Kitt seemed to be doing well enough, but he never saw them long enough to know for certain.
Nor did he ever get to see Euren. Whatever his father was up to, it was not going to end well for any of them. Trapped in his damned room, he could do nothing to counter the ambassadors or councilors either. He was sitting in the middle of a pit of vipers and could do nothing about it.
Except unleash his own viper and sort out the mess later, but that would make him little better than his father.
Pulling the sleeves up his arm and buttoning them in place, Ihsan then strode across the room to his door and yanked it open. The guards in the hall startled and stood at attention. "Highness, is something wrong?"
"I would like food and wine brought, please. Thank you." He closed the door and went to sit at his table, staring at the discarded paperwork he had been looking over to sort out the strange state of the royal finances. Sabah's father was the Councilor of Finance, but it was unlikely he had anything to do with the disarray, save he had not noticed it.
Not that any of them had time to notice anything when most of the council was corrupt or blackmailed into compliance, and the ambassadors had more control of court than even Kagan. The whole council needed to be removed, but Ihsan could not do a damn thing as long as his father held power.
The only way to remove his father was to declare him unfit and prove it—but the council was much, much happier having Kagan to manipulate. Nevermind the ambassadors pulling all the strings.
Perhaps he should send Kitt to kill the bastard in his sleep. But as much as he hated Kagan, he could not stomach ordering the assassination of his own father. Kagan felt more like a stranger than a parent, but still… Why did good memories always rise up to prevent him from doing something that probably needed to be done?
More importantly, though, he was not going to reduce Kitt to being a tool once more. Ihsan had promised Kitt he could stop being a killer, and even if Kitt claimed not to care, Ihsan intended to keep it. Bad enough he'd killed the Rittuen managing bribes and blackmail for Jove. Kitt wouldn't be killing anyone else if Ihsan could help it.
A soft knock came at the door, and Ihsan called for the knocker to enter. A servant slipped into the room and padded over to him, sinking to his knees and bowing low while carefully holding the tray he still head. Rising at Ihsan's bidding, he carried the tray to the table, then drew back and bowed again, rising and leaving when Ihsan thanked him.
Pouring wine into a white, gold-flecked dish, Ihsan resumed looking over the papers. Something was definitely amiss with the royal finances. A lot of money was missing, for starters. Numbers had been shuffled and scattered to hide it, but once Sabah had started looking at them it hadn't taken long for problems to appear. Strange, because Cenk was in charge and he was not the type to let such errors go unchecked. Unless he was so busy with other matters he had not minded the numbers as closely as he should have and instead had left the work to those he trusted. A problem that could have carried on down the line, until no one was properly minding anything but no one knew and the wrong people had control of things they never should have had access to in the first place.
People who could be bought or threatened into betraying Cenk, going behind his back. Hmm… Ihsan rifled through his papers until he found the note sheets Sabah had made for him detailing information, personal and professional, on the key members of the court and palace staff.
Lord Riak was the Master of the Treasury. Lady Meria was the Master of Collections, responsible for overseeing the collection of taxes. No small duty, either of those, especially taxes. They who controlled the taxes controlled Tavamara. But the Master of Collections still reported to the Councilor of Finance. Were they the ones manipulating the numbers, or had they too been deceived?
No, there was no way so much missing money would have gotten past three of the best heads in the palace. So either Riak or Meria was responsible, if not both, and given all the disparities Ihsan and Sabah had located, both seemed far likelier.
What he needed was untainted data to compare to what he already had. Where could he get that?
The harem. If there was one place in the whole of the palace that wouldn't lie about its numbers, it was the harem. Demir was far too honorable to lie about his budget, even something as minor as how much ink he ordered every month.
And that Ihsan could get now, especially since Sabah was as likely to be asleep in the dead of night as he. Ihsan drained a second dish of wine, then rose and pulled on slippers before heading for the secret passage. A short time later he stepped out into Demir's—Sabah's—bedroom.
Exactly as he'd expected, the bed was empty. Sabah hadn't even wanted to use the room, but the secret passage entrance made it far too useful a place for them to be together on the few occasions they were able.
Leaving the bedroom, he wandered into the sitting area, stomach clenching as he saw the table where he'd been sitting when Demir had kissed Kitt as if it was his sole purpose in life. Ihsan still could not get that kiss out of his mind; he was fairly certain Kitt, Haluk, and Sabah couldn't either, though they'd never discussed it. There were enough problems; their personal ones would have to wait.
Sabah, unfortunately, did not seem to be there. Damn. Ihsan could not go get the files himself, so there was nothing for it but to wait. Maybe he should return later. There was no telling when his father would next summon him, even at that wretched hour.
He sat and lingered anyway, fiddling with the taaki set left lying on the table, head spinning with thoughts but unable to settle on any of them. When he heard the distant call of the guards announcing the third hour of the morning, however, he gave up. Whatever Sabah was doing, it was keeping him busy. Ihsan could certainly wait another day or so—it wasn't like he had anything else to do.
Returning to the secret passage, he retrieved the lantern he'd left waiting just inside it and slowly headed back toward his own room, exhaustion picking away at the edge of his thoughts.
The sound of voices sent the exhaustion and thoughts scattering away. Ihsan doused his lantern and crouched low, but by the abrupt silence from the other voices—at least two—they'd noticed him.
Ihsan crept forward a few steps, until he could feel the edge of the wall where it turned at the intersection from which he could head on to the king's chambers or his own. Reaching out, slowly, carefully, hardly daring to breathe, Ihsan set the lantern in the middle of the intersection, then drew back and waited.
It didn't take long. The men muttered, too low for him to catch the words, definitely not familiar voices. If they'd had a lantern, they'd doused theirs as well, which spoke of a familiarity they shouldn't have.
But no, as they drew closer, he saw that they did have light, just smaller, little lanterns that they'd banked—enough that they didn't see the lantern booby trap until one of them tripped over it. Ihsan surged forward and up, grabbed the second one from behind, and snapped his neck
.
Rounding on the second, Ihsan drew a dagger from his sash and lunged forward, taking him right in the gut. Yanking the knife, shoving the bastard into the wall, he lifted the dagger again and held it to his throat. "The dagger is poisoned, but you'll still die slowly and painfully. Tell me what you're doing here and I'll let you die quickly."
The man opened his mouth, closed it, then said, "Paid to kill the king, the prince, and the princess."
Euren. Panic raced through him like fire and ice all at once. Ihsan tamped it down; Euren was hardly helpless. "Who have you killed so far?"
"Just the king," the man replied.
Ihsan drove his dagger into the man's throat, then yanked it out again and let the man fall to the ground. He wiped the blood on his face away with his sleeve, snatched up one of the small lanterns that had not gone out, then bolted through the tunnels to Euren's rooms.
The secret passage door gaped open when he reached it. He ran faster when he heard someone shout. "Euren!"
He threw himself into her room, looked around—and dropped his dagger in relief when he saw her standing by the side of her bed, over the body of her would-be assassin, daggers in his throat and his stomach. There was blood on the floor, the bed, and Euren. Ihsan ran across the room to her and caught her up, not letting go until his trembling had stopped. "Merciful Divine, I'm glad no one is very good at sneaking up on you."
She cupped his face, drew him down into a brief, hard kiss. "It's all right, Ihsan. I'm fine."
He nodded but still captured her hand and pressed kisses to the palm. When he felt like he would not fall apart with the next breath, he said, "What happened?"
"I heard the door open. That sound is so familiar, I heard it a thousand times at the temple when we snuck in or out of the passages there. Men can muffle footsteps, but that scrape of stone… I waited for him to get close, then gutted him." She drew back, pushed away her hair. "I'm glad the others weren't here. I don't know if I would have been able to move in time. This is eerily similar to the attack on the road."
