Did they suspect that the Kings could not all be trusted? Were they trying to sway the King of Swords to their side? Ihsan had hoped he might still sway Husamettín to his side, but the man had always been as unyielding as the swords he wielded.
“Little matter,” Ihsan said to Tolovan.
“Yes, my King.”
As Tolovan broke away and went to speak with the other vizirs, Ihsan joined the Kings. He spoke with Zeheb and Azad first, but only long enough to ascertain if they knew what was happening. They did not. Beşir, the King of Coins, whose long, crag-lined face seemed especially severe, seemed to know little more. “I’ve enough troubles of my own,” Beşir mumbled when Ihsan pressed, “without worrying about what the rest of you are doing.”
“Of course,” Ihsan replied, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. The handling of Sharakhai’s finances was no easy task, he readily admitted, but why did the man have to act as if it were the most burdensome thing in all the desert?
Külaşan’s son, Alaşan, strode about in clothes that looked as ridiculous as they were expensive. Bright colors and piping and long sleeves. Bejeweled with garnets and citrine. He looked for all the world like a cock strutting among wolves, the false pride on his face trying to mask the nervousness within. Had this been Alaşan’s first assembly, Ihsan might have attributed it to the pressure he was putting on himself to fill the shoes of his dead father. But Alaşan’s callow unease had dwindled over the months since he’d taken up Külaşan’s black morningstar. So what was he nervous about now?
The urge to speak with Alaşan was strong, but by this point it had become clear that Yusam was avoiding Ihsan. So instead of speaking with the youngling King, he made straight for Yusam, stared into his piercing green eyes, and said, “Good day, my Lord King.”
“Good day,” Yusam replied with a cursory glance about the room.
“We seem to be rather light on Kings this morning.”
“We do.”
“Do you know why?”
He shook his head, and yet said, “There was some news.”
“News?”
“It would be more proper if Kiral told you himself.”
Ihsan made a show of looking around. “Were he here, I would most readily agree. But seeing that he isn’t . . .”
Yusam blinked, then pulled himself taller. He said again, with more force this time, “It would be more proper if Kiral told you himself.”
“Meaning that you, or more importantly, he, think it a matter for the King of Kings to decide.”
“Meaning that it is sensitive.”
“So much so that the other Kings are not to be granted counsel?”
Yusam stared Ihsan in the eyes, something he rarely did these days despite his occasionally biting tongue. “Such is the way in times of war, Ihsan.”
“War?” Ihsan laughed, drawing the attention of the other Kings. “Are we at war?”
“If you don’t know the answer to that question, then perhaps Kiral was right not to seek your counsel.”
Well, well, Ihsan thought. An interesting turn of events. Yusam, truculent. Ihsan felt Zeheb and Azad watching. Zeheb even took a step toward them, perhaps to break the tension, but Ihsan waved him away. “I’m aware of our situation, my good King. My point is that we are at our best when we work together. Wouldn’t you agree?”
At this, a bit of the old Yusam returned. The certainty in his eyes dwindled. He seemed to shrink before Ihsan’s very eyes. “Yes, I would agree.”
“Have you seen something?”
“I—” Yusam began, but he was interrupted by a number of figures entering the room from the far side.
“My apologies,” came Kiral’s booming voice. He made immediately for the thrones on the stone dais to one side of the room. “Please, let us begin. There is much to discuss.”
Behind Kiral came Husamettín, Sukru, Mesut, and Cahil. Onur was not among them, but Layth, the burly Lord Commander of the Silver Spears, was. Ihsan had long wondered if he was ignoring an asset in that foul beast of a King, Onur. The man was not only distasteful to be in the same room with; he reminded Ihsan of everything he hated in himself. But he saw now the full extent of his folly. He should have brought Onur into the fold long ago, at least insomuch that he could control a man like Layth. Ihsan might be losing enough leverage with the other Kings that it could pay to have Onur by his side. He needn’t call upon him often—neither Zeheb nor Azad could stomach his presence in any case—but there might come a day when he would need to rely not only on his ruthless nature, but his command of Sharakhai’s only army, the Silver Spears, as well.
Ihsan had calmed his nerves by the time they were seated. Each King raised the glass of araq set before him and took a healthy swallow, though Ihsan noted the perfunctory manner in which Kiral did so, as if observances were the last thing he wished to deal with. “News has come of the Moonless Host and their plans. They have targeted the city’s aqueduct, presumably to force a water shortage over winter and into spring. I’ve spoken with King Yusam, who has made great efforts trying to ascertain whether the coming spring will lead to a dry summer.”
Yusam nodded. “Signs seem to point to a dry year, perhaps disastrously so.”
“There are enough with the gift of sight in the Host,” Kiral continued, “including Hamzakiir himself, that I believe they may have seen the same. Which makes targeting the aqueduct sensible from their point of view. It puts pressure on us all to show that we can withstand anything the Al’afwa Khadar choose to throw against our walls. If we fail, the scarabs will lift from the sands in droves to join their cause. If we succeed, we will still be portrayed as weak.”
“So we stop the attack,” Alaşan said.
The muscles beneath Kiral’s pockmarked face worked. “When the time has come to offer your input, you will be informed, Külaşan’ava.”
Face reddening, Alaşan stared at the King of Kings, then searched in vain for support from the others in the room.
Kiral ignored him entirely. “Sukru received word only hours ago of five locations where the Host would be gathering before the attack launches after moonrise tonight.”
It had been a long while since Ihsan had felt his heart skip a beat. But it did now. Years, decades of planning had been leading up to this attack. If it failed—set aside the danger of it coming back to haunt him—it could take decades to align the stars properly once again. He needed the attack on the caches of the elixir to succeed. If Kiral made a move against the Host too early, it could ruin everything. “Are you quite sure the information is reliable?” he asked. “Has Yusam or Zeheb corroborated it?”
Sukru twisted his crooked body toward Ihsan. “It comes from a most reputable source.”
Ihsan kept his focus squarely on Kiral. “Forgive me, my Kings, but we have been tricked before. Many times, in fact. It is why we agreed to speak to the full assemblage before taking any steps that would put us or our collective resources at risk.”
Kiral took in his words with an ease that made Ihsan acutely uncomfortable. “There are times, as I’m sure you’ll recall, when waiting became our worst enemy. The Host have become too adept at moving like water, slipping like snakes into the desert when we delay.”
“And there are times when we have spilled our own blood by overextending. Need I remind you how closely our neighbors are watching Sharakhai? Zeheb told us only weeks ago how his spies in Malasan have reported an increase in their army’s ranks. Why would that be when there is a long-standing peace accord to Malasan’s east and impassable mountains to the north and south? They are staring west, and slavering at the thought of a weakened Sharakhai.”
“The best way to deal with such a threat,” Kiral countered, “is to show them that the swords in the desert are poised to strike.”
“No doubt. And I agree in principle. I’m merely asking for a bit of prudence before we strik
e.” What he was really asking for was a delay. He needed time to get word to the Host so they would be prepared.
But the look on Kiral’s face, one of calm self-assurance, made the floor beneath Ihsan’s feet feel like slip-sand. “You misunderstand me,” he said with a smile. “I did not come here today to ask your permission. I have come to tell you what’s already taken place. With the help of our Lord Commander of the Guard and twenty hands of Maidens, all five locations were attacked, and hundreds of the Host were found and put to the sword. Others were taken hostage for our good Cahil to attend to.”
Ihsan felt the blood drain from his face. He wanted to scream. He wanted to strike that look of smugness from Kiral’s face. But instead he calmed himself, sat deeper in his chair, as if he were relieved. “Praise be to the gods,” he said. “Do we think, then, that disaster has been averted? Will there be no attack on the aqueduct?”
“It’s too soon to tell,” Kiral replied, easing back into his own chair and savoring a fresh pour from his glass that was very unlike the ritualistic sip of his drink earlier.
Does he know? Ihsan thought.
Doubtful. If he did, Ihsan would already be headed for Cahil’s palace in chains. Kiral wasn’t one for theater, but he did enjoy cowing the rest of them into submission, especially if he thought they were getting out of line, and he’d been hoping to force Ihsan back into line for some time now.
“With luck,” Kiral went on, “they’ll become desperate and attack as planned. If that is the case, we’ll be waiting for them.”
Ihsan lifted his glass to Kiral and drank as well, if only to avoid looking as furious and worried as he felt. “It seems brashness has paid dividends this time.”
Kiral’s smile widened. It was the sort a child gave when he knew he had the upper hand against his younger sibling. “My heart rejoices that these actions have met with your approval.”
The rest of the meeting went about as expected. The four Kings who’d arranged for the attacks on the Host were lording it over the rest, Kiral giving orders for the night’s preparations that Husamettín then expanded on. When it was done, Ihsan left without speaking to Zeheb or Azad. He was careful to avoid being seen with them too often, and today was a day for taking more care than usual.
“Is there anything I can do for you, my Lord King?” Tolovan asked as he joined Ihsan.
“There is,” Ihsan said sharply. “Arrange a meeting with Juvaan Xin-Lei.”
“My Lord, I know things seem dire, but be prudent. You’ve never met with him directly. Not about your plans.”
“Prudence can fuck a goat and die in the desert for all I care. I need to speak with Juvaan now.”
“Of course, my Lord.” The look of worry on Tolovan’s face withered and was replaced by one of cold purpose. It was the thing he liked most about his vizir. When the time for subtleties had ended, he was as ready to pick up a hammer as anyone.
Chapter 58
BY THE MORNING OF BEHT ZHA’IR, word had flooded the city. In the night, the King of Swords himself had led twenty hands of Maidens and several hundred Silver Spears in attacks on the safe houses where the Moonless Host had gathered for a massive assault against the Kings. So quick and violent was the attack that they’d slaughtered hundreds of soldiers, effectively foiling, or at the very least blunting, any attack that might be unleashed against the aqueducts.
After a debriefing from King Husamettín in the courtyard, a speech in which he addressed the full ranks of the Blade Maidens, they were dismissed to eat, to bathe, to pray to the gods before preparing for their mission that night. With Sümeya and Kameyl busy planning the disposition of forces, and Melis and Yndris called away on other duties, Çeda had a few hours to herself. She returned to the barracks and filled her mother’s locket with freshly dried petals, she took out her book of poems and leafed through it. She wanted some perspective today—that there were bigger things at stake than her and her friends. She was terrified that Emre had been among the fallen, but there would be no knowing until the night had played itself out for better or worse.
She’d not been paging through the book for long when she noticed something flickering in the corner. On her desk. The stack of papers from Juvaan. One of them, improbably, had begun to burn a low blue color, hardly noticeable in the daylight. It had happened so quickly after she’d sat down she immediately looked out the window, wondering if someone had been watching, waiting for her. She saw only the courtyard, however. The stables beyond, the corner of the infirmary.
After glancing down the hall to make sure none of her sister Maidens were in sight, she moved to the stack of papers and pulled out the one that burned. It was charcoal gray, the flames licking the edges. It looked as if it would crumble at her touch, it felt that way too, but when she picked it up carefully by the edges, it held. On it, words were written in aquamarine flames.
If you would have news of your friend, meet me now on the roof of the Matron’s building. Make sure you’re not seen.
Juvaan. He wished to meet, and by Nalamae’s grace he had news of Emre. She took up her pen, spilling ink in her haste, and wrote on the ashy surface.
I’ll be there soon.
She waited, eyes flicking to her doorway, where sounds of a heated conversation were filtering in from the barracks courtyard. She didn’t know what to do. Light it afire again? When she made to strike a flame to a candle, though, the paper flashed brighter and burned itself to nothing. The moment it was gone, she left her room.
She took the stairs down, headed out to the courtyard, and made her way steadily toward the Matron’s building. She moved quickly and purposefully, head down, as if she were on an important errand. And I am. Just not one the Maidens would approve of. She reached an odd recess built into the northern face of the building. A fist of a rock stood there, a thing the builders clearly could have moved before setting the foundations of the building, but for some reason hadn’t. With no windows facing the rock itself, it made for a blessedly easy, and more importantly hidden, climb. She gained the roof, a complicated landscape of peaks and jutting stone, but saw no one, so she took the time to explore it, crouched low. She stared out past the wall of Tauriyat, beyond the Wheel to the west end. She could see the tents of the bazaar. The buildings of Roseridge. The tenements of the Shallows. The curve of the Red Crescent. Places she’d run so often with Emre and Tariq and Hamid. All divided from me by a wall of my own making.
“One of the best views in the city, is it not?”
Çeda spun and found Juvaan Xin-Lei standing in the shadows of a stairwell, his alabaster hair pulled back into a tail. He strode toward her like a mountain puma, powerful but aloof. She looked for others—his guards, a Matron who’d led him here, but saw no one. “How did you get here?”
He shrugged. “The ambassador of Mirea might have reason to speak to the Matrons, even on a day like this. Perhaps especially on a day like this.” He came to her side and stared out over Sharakhai. “I’ve come to cherish this city.”
A curious way to begin the conversation. “Cherish or covet?”
With his cold ivory eyes, he stared at her in mild surprise. “I’ve done much to help the citizens of the desert in my time, accords and business arrangements that number in the hundreds, all of which helped to build the wealth of those who live here.”
“As well as your queen’s.”
“What is a business arrangement if not mutually beneficial?” He turned to face her. “Speaking of arrangements, you once offered to help if ever I had need.”
“I did.”
“As you no doubt know by now, the Host lost a terrible number last night. Hundreds were slaughtered, crippling their position in the city. But I wonder, do you know how they were compromised?”
“King Yusam. King Zeheb. An informant. Who knows?”
Juvaan shook his head. “It was a betrayal from within the Host’s ranks.”
Juvaan nodded. “I suspected he would do something like this in time, but when his ally, Lord Aziz, was assassinated in Ishmantep, he apparently decided sooner was preferable to later. It was a strategic mistake of grand proportions on Ishaq’s part. Hamzakiir has used that show of strength as evidence that Ishaq cannot be trusted. He’s won more to his side because of it.” Juvaan paused and considered Çeda. “Now let’s go a step further. Do you know why this attack is being waged?”
“To put pressure on the Kings.”
“There is that, but their purpose goes much deeper. What I am about to tell you only a handful know outside the palaces of the Kings. The Host plan to use the coming battle as a diversion while other, separate attacks are launched. Those attacks will be to find caches of elixirs, draughts that grant the Kings their long life, the remains of what was created by King Azad before he was killed.”
Çeda began to pace. “Elixirs?” She could hardly speak. “Draughts that grant them long life?”
“That was Azad’s gift.”
Goezhen’s sweet kiss, that’s why she did it. That’s why mother targeted Azad. Much of the mystery remained, like what Ahya had found and what role Ihsan had played in it, but this felt so very true. If Ihsan wanted to kill the other Kings, wouldn’t a necessary first step be the death of Azad, thereby cutting off their tie to immortality?
“You look as if you’re about to dig your own grave,” Juvaan said.
“Forgive me, but much is starting to come clear.” She continued to pace, working more of it through. “There are three of these caches, are there not?”
With Blood Upon the Sand Page 66
