The Lyre Thief

by Jennifer Fallon

“He can honor the goddess with whomever he damn well pleases,” Master Myni said, obviously annoyed there were no seats in Naveen’s office for guests, forcing him to remain standing like a common petitioner. “We just want an assurance the palace will fund the celebrations. Fireworks are expensive, you know.”

  “And dangerous,” the third councilor, Master Rifky, said, clearly in disagreement with his fellow councilors. “I’m still cleaning up the mess from last year when the wind took the sparks and landed them in the middle of my setting tanks.”

  Rifky was probably the richest merchant in the room. He had a virtual monopoly on the city’s olive oil trade. The fire last year, caused by a stray firework landing in his compound, had taken days to extinguish and risked a large portion of the city until it was brought under control.

  “I hear your concerns, gentlemen, and I can assure you, the king appreciates both the expense and the danger.”

  “What is he planning to do about it then?” Gabynix asked.

  Not a damned thing, Naveen was tempted to reply, but this was no time for the truth. Fireworks were a risk. Fires were always a risk in a large city where everyone cooked over open flames. If they weren’t prepared to accept that, then they shouldn’t—

  Fire.

  Of course. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

  Naveen smiled, but not for the reason his visitors thought. “The king is a devout man, as well you know,” he said, bowing to the priestess again, who nodded in acknowledgment of his claim. And so she should. The king had spent a fortune on her damned temple over the years while he sired daughter after daughter, until he finally got a son—thanks not to his generosity to her order but to the direct intervention of the demon child. “He does not spare any expense demonstrating to the goddess how much he appreciates her largesse.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Myni cut in, “but—”

  “But King Hablet also acknowledges the danger to your enterprises, gentlemen, and would not dream of risking your livelihoods, or those of the thousands of his subjects who depend on you for employment, by allowing the unsafe handling of such explosive substances as fireworks.”

  “Nice speech, Naveen,” Rifky said. “What’s he planning to do about it?”

  “I am authorized to tell you that the king will bear the entire cost of the fireworks display this year,” Naveen announced, wondering what Hablet would do when he heard about this. “Furthermore, our most generous and devout king, in order to protect your businesses, has agreed to allow the main display to be launched from the palace grounds, far away from the industrial areas of the city, rather than the docks, which I believe led to the problem last year.”

  That announcement left them speechless. It was the priestess who answered for the councilors after a moment of stunned silence. “The king is indeed a true and devout follower of the goddess.”

  “He lives only to serve Jelanna, my lady. Will that be all, gentlemen?”

  They nodded, having nothing else to complain about—at least for the time being. Naveen rose to his feet and walked to the door, opening it for them himself. “I shall communicate your gratitude to the king,” he assured them.

  The councilors filed out of the room, with the priestess coming up last. She glared at Naveen—his status as a sterilized court’esa made him defective in her eyes—but she said nothing as she walked past him, satisfied her petition had been heard.

  Naveen closed the door and leaned on it thoughtfully.

  Fire. Tragic. Accidental. And very, very effective.

  He had found his way to tie up those loose ends.

  Now he just had to ensure that whatever stray fireworks “accidentally” landed in the harem on the night of the Festival of Jelanna hit something flammable enough to engulf the place.

  All he needed to do before then was find a way to ensure that the well-trained palace fire crews couldn’t get inside the harem in time to prevent any of those loose ends surviving the conflagration.

  Chapter

  65

  THE LOOK ON Princess Marla’s face when she first saw the Citadel amused Caden Fletcher. He’d forgotten she had never traveled this far north into Medalon before. The princess was one of those people who seemed to know everything, have done everything, and been everywhere. It was strange to catch her in a moment where she appeared as dumbstruck at the sight of it as any young farm girl come to the big city for the first time.

  The Citadel was probably the oldest city in the whole world, certainly the oldest on this continent. It was built by the Harshini when the gods first brought them into being, back in a time so long ago that most mortals still lived in tribal caves and eked out a living hunting and foraging on the vast plains that made up central Medalon. It had grown over the years, both in size and in the magnificence of its architecture, its magically infused walls dimming and brightening with each day and night for as long as anyone could remember.

  According to the Harshini, the Citadel was an entity in his own right, a vast sentience that protected the Harshini from harm. Although every other city they had a hand in creating was just as white, just as elegant, and just as impressive, only the Citadel and Sanctuary—so the rumor went—had ever developed minds of their own.

  Cade found himself explaining this to Marla and Rorin as they approached the city. She seemed quite taken with the notion of an aware city, although Rorin was less impressed. He’d been to the Citadel before.

  The Lower Arrion of the Sorcerers’ Collective was an innate sorcerer—a human with enough Harshini blood in him to wield true magic. He’d visited Medalon a number of times over the past decade or so, to meet with the Harshini in his official capacity as Kalan Hawksword’s envoy, or to receive training in the arcane arts from the Harshini teachers who lived here.

  Cade had just begun to tell them about the frequent entertainment on offer in the amphitheater when a rider galloped up from behind, his horse foaming at the withers.

  The rider wheeled his horse around until he was in front of their column and stopped to face them, effectively blocking the road.

  Cade held up his hand to halt the Raiders and reined in his own horse. With his hand resting on the hilt of his sword he stared at the young rider, who, on closer inspection, was wearing the livery of the royal house of Fardohnya.

  “You’re blocking our way, my friend,” he said, wary of inciting some sort of diplomatic incident with the Citadel walls in sight.

  “On the contrary,” the rider replied in heavily accented Medalonian. “You are blocking ours. On behalf of his Royal and Most August Highness, Hablet, King of Fardohnya, Beloved of the Realm, Father of his People, Favored of the Goddess Jelanna, I demand you move aside to allow us clear passage to the Citadel.”

  Cade had no idea how to answer a challenge like that. He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no sign of the party in question yet. Cade had heard Hablet was sailing up the Glass River in his own ship to reach the Citadel. If he was on his way now, then he’d probably landed in Reddingdale overnight and was proceeding overland to the Citadel, sending this poor lad on ahead to clear the way.

  He didn’t need to answer the challenge, as it turned out. Marla answered for him. She laughed out loud at the very idea.

  “Are you joking, young man?” she asked with an awe-inspiring display of regal disdain. “Do you really believe her Royal Highness, Princess Marla, Mother of Hythria, Mother of the High Prince, Beloved of Her People, Favored of All the Gods, not just one of them, and Mistress of a Loyal Sorcerer Ready to Smite on Her Command, is going to interrupt her journey to accommodate a minor monarch who sits a horse so poorly he doesn’t know how to make it wait?”

  The messenger stared at Marla in shock. “But . . . His Highness said . . .”

  Poor kid, Cade thought. His orders don’t include any contingency for someone telling him to get lost.

  “You may deliver a message to his highness for me,” Marla told him. “You may tell him Her Royal Highness, Princess Marla
, Mother of Hythria, Mother of the High Prince, Beloved of Her People, Favored of All the Gods, not just one of them, and Mistress of a Loyal Sorcerer Ready to Smite on Her Command, will generously permit him to travel in her wake, so that he may eat her dust and reflect on the privilege he is being afforded by being allowed to follow in her footsteps.”

  The young Fardohnyan stared at her in shock.

  “Off you go, lad. I’m sure your king is anxious to get the message.”

  Without another word, the young man wheeled his horse around and galloped back the way he’d come.

  Rorin turned to Marla, shaking his head. “Seriously, your highness? We’ve come all this way to discuss peace and that’s how you’re planning to deal with Hablet? Eat my dust?”

  “Diplomacy is like a dogfight, Rorin,” she informed him, gathering up her reins. “If you want to win, you have to show the other dogs in the fight which bitch is in charge.”

  “I fear the Lower Arrion has a point,” Cade felt compelled to say. “Your message was somewhat . . . inflammatory, your highness.”

  “Only if Hablet runs into the back of our entourage,” Marla said. “How far are we from the Citadel?”

  “About four miles.”

  Marla turned in her saddle. “Yananara, may I speak with you a moment?”

  The Harshini horse master trotted forward. Cade moved aside a little to let her ride beside Marla.

  “Are the horses well rested, Yannie?”

  The Harshini smiled. They always smiled. “These last few days of normally paced travel have been good for them, your highness. It was considerate of Captain Fletcher to suggest it.”

  Captain Fletcher wasn’t being considerate at all, Cade was tempted to tell her. He just thinks riding a magical horse that can go for days without a break at a speed likely to kill an unwary rider is an insane way to travel, and any chance he gets not to travel like that, he’s going to jump at it. But he said nothing, just nodded in acknowledgment of the compliment.

  “Do they have a short burst left in them?” Marla asked.

  “I can ask them, your highness. But I’m not sure they’ll see the point. The Citadel is in sight, it is almost sundown . . .”

  “And the king of Fardohnya is about to catch up with us,” she explained. “If they would consider taking us forward at speed, they will be released from their duty—which they have performed flawlessly—that much sooner. I’m sure they are looking forward to a warm bed and a hearty meal as much as the rest of us.”

  Yananara wasn’t stupid. “And we will reach the Citadel before King Hablet reaches us.”

  “You have a keen political eye, Yannie,” Marla told her. “I should bring you to the negotiating table with me.”

  “I believe, your highness, that role has already been reserved for your Loyal Sorcerer Ready to Smite on Your Command.”

  Founders, Cade thought. Did she just crack a joke?

  “Ah,” Marla said. “You heard that.”

  “Yes, your highness. I did.”

  “You do realize her highness was just posturing for the sake of appearances, don’t you, Yannie?” Rorin seemed worried the Harshini had taken Marla literally.

  “I do, Rorin,” she said, smiling at him. “I am not sure King Hablet will see the funny side of her suggestion, however. So I will speak to the horses and explain to them the wisdom of arriving at the Citadel before you are placed in the awkward position of having to live up to your new title.”

  Without waiting for an answer from Rorin or Marla, Yananara dropped back and leaned forward to whisper something to her mount. The horse shook his head and whinnied and then the other horses started doing the same thing, all along the column of riders, as they spoke to each other and discussed—Cade supposed—whether or not they wished to grant Marla’s request.

  After a short time, Yananara’s mount began nodding his head, followed by the other horses. Cade had been through this often enough now to know what those nodding heads meant. He quickly gathered up his reins and tied them to the pommel of his saddle and then glanced over his shoulder to see Marla’s escort doing the same.

  Cade turned and faced forward, gripping the front edge of his saddle. The horses would be controlled by Yananara while at speed, and any attempt by a mortal rider to interfere by trying to guide his mount with a bit invariably resulted in the offending rider being tossed to the ground for his temerity. A fall from a horse at the speed a sorcerer-bred mount could travel would be fatal, he didn’t doubt, so, much as it unsettled him to give up control, Cade surrendered to the beast and closed his eyes. Painful experience the first time this happened had taught him that trying to watch the scenery speed past while the horses ran a such at blinding pace was enough to unsettle his stomach to the point of vomiting.

  He felt his mount move off, and then almost immediately after she started, the mare skidded to a halt. He opened his eyes to find out why they’d stopped, only to find himself looking up at the glowing white walls of the Citadel. The sorcerer-bred mounts had traveled the four miles to the Citadel in a matter of seconds.

  Marla was untying her reins from her saddle, quite unperturbed by the experience. The princess glanced over her shoulder at the horse master and smiled. “Thank you, Yannie. And please, thank the horses for bringing us here safely, and for this last favor, too. It is much appreciated.”

  “I will pass on your thanks, your highness, but it really isn’t necessary. They could feel the Citadel calling to them. I think they were glad of the excuse to get here a little quicker.”

  “Thank them anyway,” she said, and then turned to look at the gates of the Citadel that stood open and waiting to receive them.

  Almost as if they were expected, a troop of smartly dressed red-coated Defenders was riding through the gates as Marla spoke, forming an honor guard for the princess. A moment later, a tall, dark-haired Defender rode out of the city on a handsome gray gelding, his uniform adorned at the shoulders with the gold epaulettes denoting his rank.

  As the Lord Defender rode forward to greet Princess Marla, Cade was struck by how tired he looked.

  Lord Tenragan bowed to the princess. “Welcome to the Citadel, your highness.”

  “Thank you, Tarja,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been hanging about the gate all day in that ridiculous dress uniform, waiting for me to appear.”

  “Would you be impressed if I said yes?”

  “I’d think you were a prize fool.”

  He treated her to a weary smile. “Then you’ll be relieved to know your horse master informed our horse master you were on your way almost as soon as you were within sight of our walls.”

  Cade turned and glanced at Yananara curiously, wondering at the range of Harshini mental communications. The Harshini used the Seeing Stones to talk across vast distances. He didn’t realize they could talk to one another across miles, too. Although he couldn’t say why, he’d always assumed Harshini telepathy was a line-of-sight ability. He filed away the knowledge that it wasn’t and turned his attention back to the Lord Defender and Princess Marla.

  “Then allow me to be the bearer of similar news,” Marla was saying. “Hablet is right behind us, I believe.”

  Tarja nodded. “We received word when he docked in Reddingdale last night.”

  “You’ve had time to lock up the silverware, then?”

  “It’s going to be a long negotiation, isn’t it, your highness?” Tarja said with a sigh, turning his horse as Marla trotted up beside him so they entered the gates of the Citadel side by side.

  Cade fell in beside Rorin, right behind them, interested in the obvious friendship between Marla and Tarja. As far as he knew, she’d only met him once before, when Tarja visited Greenharbour some years ago, but they were chatting like old friends. He glanced at Rorin, who shrugged, as if he understood what Cade was asking without having to explain it.

  “This negotiation won’t be nearly as long as it would be if Damin were here,” the princess suggested with a laugh. “
At least with me across the table there will be more negotiation, less drinking, gambling, wildly exaggerated war stories, and reminiscing about the good old days.”

  At the mention of Damin, Tarja lowered his voice to the point that Cade could barely hear him. “Has there been any improvement in his condition, your highness?”

  Rorin leaned forward and answered for the princess. “We’ve not had any news to that effect.”

  “I feared as much,” Tarja said, glancing back at the sorcerer. “I suppose I was hoping . . .”

  “Is something wrong, Tarja?” Marla asked.

  The Lord Defender hesitated and then he nodded, still turned to include Rorin in the conversation. “My wife, Mandah, was struck down with a similar affliction only days after Damin was attacked.”

  Cade was astonished. “Excuse me, sir, but are you saying someone tried to kill Lady Tenragan?”

  Tarja shook his head. “She went to bed feeling poorly one night and never woke up. The Harshini cannot revive her, although she lives and seems to be merely sleeping. Queen Shananara says it has something to do with Death. And R’shiel.”

  “You don’t happen to know where the demon child is, do you, Tarja?”

  Only Marla, Cade realized, would be brave enough to pose that question to the Lord Defender in such as tactless manner.

  He shook his head. “I would have her here now, your highness, if I knew where to find her,” Tarja said. “And I would have sent word to the High Arrion the moment I located her.”

  Then Marla asked another question few people were bold enough to venture. “You know her better than any man alive, Tarja. What do you suppose she’s up to?”

  The Lord Defender barely hesitated before he answered. Even if nobody had asked him outright, it was obviously a puzzle to which he had given a great deal of thought. “I think she’s looking for Brak.”

  “The Halfbreed is dead,” Rorin reminded him.

  Tarja frowned, his expression dark as he turned to the sorcerer. “If you knew her like I do, Lord Mariner, you’d know R’shiel would not let a minor inconvenience like death get in the way of something she wants.”