How indeed? Jocelyn kept her expression calm, but her thoughts were churning. It was possible, of course, that the Sherbas had some secret place known only to them, which was what Daken suggested in response to Endrok’s comment. But she was thinking about all the herbs grown in the Kas- sid winter garden, and presumably outside in the summer. At least some of the herbal potions used by the Kassid were the same as those traded by the Sherbas.
That alone proved nothing, she told herself. They might even be growing them on the edges of Kassid land, a wild, uninhabited region.
But when she put that together with their behavior toward Daken, her suspicions grew.
And still later, as she recalled her questions to Daken about where he was getting his information
about life beyond the Dark Mountains, she was nearly certain that she had her answer—the Sher- bas traded information with the Kassid for the herbs.
They were the perfect spies, she thought. They traveled all over Ertria, Balek, and even Menoa and Turvea. No one paid them any attention or considered them to be anything more than a group of harmless eccentrics.
She understood why Daken would not be willing to admit this in the presence of the Baleks, but when she raised the matter again that night in the privacy of their bedchamber and he merely shrugged it off, those small doubts that had lain dormant in her came together in an icy knot that lay cold and heavy inside her.
Why did he find it necessary to keep such a thing from her? Surely it shouldn’t matter now.
“My Guards!” Jocelyn pointed excitedly to the white-uniformed riders astride their equally white horses bearing down on them in a cloud of dust along the Western Road.
They were about a half-day’s ride from the city, passing through fertile fields where peasants were busy tilling the soil. The closer they came to the city, the more intense became Jocelyn’s longing to be home, to be back in a familiar place where the dark questions that continued to haunt her would seem less threatening.
But even as she spoke, she remembered that the men she referred to were well and truly her guards now, and that brought back the grief over the loss
of her father that she hadn't felt in months. As long as she was in the Dark Mountains, a part of her had continued against all reason to believe she would find him here when she returned. These men would soon swear their fealty to her alone, as their ruler. Hammad controlled the army, but the Royal Guards were under the direct control of the emperor—and now, the empress, for the first time in the history of the empire.
Sadness and responsibility fell heavily over her as the gap between the groups closed. She sent a sidelong glance to Daken and felt yet another wrenching pain. He was her husband and she loved him—but she was no longer sure that she trusted him. That too contributed to her eagerness to be home.
As the Guards drew close, Daken called a halt to his army and they waited for the others to arrive. Then Jocelyn recognized Hammad riding with the commander of the Guards. Her heart swelled with love for this man who’d been like a second father to her.
Daken dismounted, then lifted her from the saddle. With his arm encircling her waist, they waited for the others to dismount. When Hammad lept from his horse with the agility of a much younger man, Jocelyn temporarily forgot her exalted rank and broke away from Daken to run into Hammad’s arms.
“Ahh, Jocey. Little one, I have worried so much about you.” If Hammad found her behavior less than seemly, he gave no hint as he kissed her brow, then held her away from him to look at her fondly.
"It appears that I worried in vain.”
Jocelyn quickly led him to Daken and introduced the two men. They shook hands, and Jocelyn couldn't help smiling at the way they discreetly sized each other up. Then Hammad stared beyond them to the huge army that had halted just a short distance away, stretching far back along the road.
"You are more welcome than I can say, Daken. I thank you for rescuing the garrison, and I am eager to hear the details."
“The Menoans killed all but Revi, Hammad,” Jocelyn said sadly. “He was badly beaten, but will recover. The garrison has been left in the hands of the Baleks, with a few Kassid troops as well.”
Hammad exchanged a long look with Daken, then nodded. "For the time being, we will leave it that way."
"What is the word from Menoa?” Daken asked.
Hammad shook his gray head. “Mixed reports. Arrat’s army continues to gather near the border, but our spies say there appears to be some dissension in the ranks." He paused and gave Daken another long, considering look.
"It seems that some of Arrat's commanders are not eager to face men who can walk through walls."
Daken merely nodded, and when Jocelyn was about to protest that the story wasn’t true, he signaled her to be silent. Realizing that he might believe there to be enemy spies even here, she subsided. The Guards were certainly loyal, but they could tell Hammad the truth later.
Then she saw Hammad looking from Daken to her with a slightly puzzled look and realized only then that she hadn't yet told him of her marriage.
"Daken and I are married, Hammad. We will have another ceremony here, of course.”
Hammad smiled and nodded. "You have just confirmed another strange tale brought to me by our
spies."
Then he turned to Daken apologetically. "Forgive me, Daken. I meant no offense, but I have known her since birth and I quite frankly never thought to see her married.”
He looked from one to the other of them again as Daken once more encircled her waist. "I take it that this is no mere marriage of convenience, to seal the alliance.”
"No,” Daken said, "Although we hoped it might impress Arrat.”
"And so it might,” Hammad nodded, "Though if he isn’t impressed by the other tales, a marriage isn’t likely to dissuade him."
He took Jocelyn’s hands in his. "Your father would have been very pleased, Jocey. He thought very highly of Daken. In fact, although he never confided this to me, I think he hoped this might happen when he sent you to the Dark Mountains.”
"I suspect he did indeed hope that," Daken put in with a chuckle. “When I met him that time, he spent considerable time talking about his daughter to me."
"You never told me that," Jocelyn said in astonishment.
“For a very good reason, given your well-known disdain for marriage,” Daken replied evenly.
Seeing the rebellious look he knew all too well,
Hammad quickly suggested that they be on their way. He told Daken that his men were busy preparing a camp for the Kassid army just outside the city, while the officers could be quartered within the palace itself.
They mounted again and set off. Hammad rode with them, and he and Daken were soon engaged in a discussion of the battle at the garrison. Jocelyn remained silent, thinking about their revelation. She could not believe that her father had seen Daken as a possible husband for her. Not once had he ever hinted at such a thing; in fact, she hadn’t known of Daken’s existence until she was sent to meet with him.
Was that the reason he’d never urged her to marry someone else? If the Menoans and Turveans hadn’t joined forces to make war on them, would he have found some other excuse to send her to the Dark Mountains?
There remained in her just enough of that rebellious child to resent her father’s scheming. But there was also a deep pleasure in the certainty that he would have approved.
When Jocelyn got her first view of the palace atop its hill, she cried out in delight to Daken, who had already spotted it. But the moment their eyes met, she saw—almost as though she were seeing into his mind through those pale eyes—the great black fortress. And when she turned again to the palace, it seemed diminished—and frighteningly vulnerable.
But as they rode into the city, her spirits rose. The wide main thoroughfare was lined many-deep with Ertrians waiting to welcome their empress home.
Jocelyn had always been popular with the people. As a child, she’d been permitted to go ab
out the city with her nurses, and then, as she grew older, she was often seen riding through the streets and walking regularly on the outer wall of the palace grounds. Her beauty alone would have made her popular, but Ertrians also saw her as being far more accessible than her father had been.
Then, too, palace servants had long carried gossip about her into the city, and in the taverns and markets, her spirit and her many kindnesses to servants were the subject of many tales.
But on this day, the people’s attention was quickly diverted from their empress to the big, grayhaired man who rode beside her on a strange, ugly horse, followed by others dressed in black like him. The Kassid army had taken another route to their camp.
People stared and whispered and the word "Kassid” seemed to be on all lips. Jocelyn saw the same mixture of fear and awe that she’d seen before and guessed that the spies’ tales had already circulated in the city—tales of men who walked through walls, men with great magic.
Daken accepted all this scrutiny without any outward sign that he even noticed it, and when she turned to look at him, she found his gaze always on the palace ahead of them.
When they reached the inner courtyard, Jocelyn found her uncle, the regent, awaiting her with her senior advisors. They embraced, and she saw that he didn’t even try to hide his relief that his onerous burden was now taken from him.
Her advisors, unfortunately, wore the same ingratiating smiles as always—hiding, she was sure, their nervousness about her plans for their future.
Then they were in the Great Hall. Jocelyn paused as she saw the golden throne on its dais, and for a moment, wanted to go to her suite instead. But she knew she must show no hesitation, so she walked in a measured pace, greeting people as she went, then took her seat, with Daken to one side and Hammad to the other.
As she faced her court, they fell gradually silent. But she saw that most eyes were on Daken. These were people who carefully masked their true feelings most of the time, but she could still see glimpses of that same fear and awe behind their polite smiles.
“My father sent me to enlist the aid of the Kas- sid,” she said into the silence. “The alliance has been made."
Then she reached up to take Daken’s hand. "This is Daken, the leader of the Kassid—and my husband.”
The dozens of indrawn breaths told her that although they must have heard the rumor, they hadn’t believed it. She wondered what they were thinking now. Probably they were already scheming to ingratiate themselves with him, believing him to be emperor in fact, if not in name.
* * *
Jocelyn watched Daken prowl about her luxurious suite. “Prowl” seemed an appropriate description, she thought. He looked like a dark, caged animal, trapped in unfamiliar and incongruous surroundings—like a wolf, forced from its harsh mountain lair into a world of soft pastels.
Standing here in her own world, Jocelyn began to question her acceptance of his magic. And the doubts were even stronger here in this suite, the emperor's suite—redecorated in the shades the servants knew she preferred. After all, it was here that she’d first heard the legends of the Kassid, told as children’s stories.
But it was also here that her father had explained that the Kassid were real.
Then he stopped his pacing and turned to her with a trace of a smile. "I find your courtiers ... interesting.”
He did not mean it as a compliment, and she knew that. Her first instinct was to defend them. However despicable they might be, they were still her court, and her father’s before her. But she could scarcely do that, when she’d complained loud and long about them herself. Instead, she thought about their reaction to him.
"They find you very ‘interesting’ as well."
He nodded, then leveled his pale gaze on her. "This seems a good time to repeat my promise, Jocelyn. I have no designs on your empire. I cannot help the behavior of your courtiers, but I can assure you that it will have no effect upon me.”
She nodded, but she felt a wrenching pain inside. Had it come to this – that he should feel compelled to state his intentions and that she should need to hear them?
He held out a hand to her. “In the mountains, I made love to a woman. Now I would like to make love to the empress.”
When she walked across the room to him, he lifted her hand to his lips. When her eyes met his again, she saw sadness there.
“I confess that I need to know that the empress also loves me.”
* * *
Jocelyn had already reached the limits of her patience, even though she’d been holding court for less than two hours. She thought with longing of the sessions at the fortress with their free and open exchanges. She doubted that she’d heard one honest word from any of the two dozen people gathered about her. Even her new advisors, the ones for whom she’d had such high hopes, seemed less open, though perhaps it was only because of the presence of their elders.
I dealt with these people for a year, she thought. They are no different. What is different is me.
She had trouble maintaining the formality required of these occasions. Her elaborate gown and hairstyle felt uncomfortable. She found it difficult, sometimes impossible, to hold her tongue. She wanted to banish the lot of them.
Daken had gone to the camp, and since Hammad was not at court, she assumed that he too had gone there. But then Hammad appeared, and she sized upon his arrival to end the tedious session. As soon as the current speaker had finished his long-winded recanting of unimportant events, she raised a be- jeweled hand.
"I wish to speak with Hammad privately."
It gave her considerable pleasure to see them all troop out unhappily, but that pleasure was very short-lived. She did in fact need desperately to speak with Hammad. Long into the night, while Daken slept beside her, Jocelyn had thought about those doubts that continued to plague her. In fact, she’d been able to set them aside only when they’d made love. In the cries and whispers of passion, she loved him more than ever—but in the sated aftermath, she worried about who and what he really was.
When the others had finally departed, she left the throne and gestured to Hammad to join her in a small alcove, at a table and chairs used by the court scribes. As they walked across the Great Hall, Hammad paused and took her hands in his.
"Daken is a fine man, Jocelyn. If you were truly my daughter, instead of the daughter of my heart, I could not wish a better husband for you.”
“Thank you, Hammad," she said sincerely, then impulsively stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. They sat down and she sighed.
"I love him, Hammad, but I fear that I may love a stranger—or at least a man who has kept secrets from me.”
Hammad appeared unperturbed. “Men and women have always kept secrets from each other, Jocey."
"Not like this,” she insisted. "Hammad, I know
that Daken told you the truth about how they got into the garrison, so you know that no magic was employed."
He nodded. "I was very surprised to learn of that tunnel—and that the Kassid built the garrison. I’d always assumed it was built by Ertrians.”
Jocelyn reminded herself that she must speak to him about Revi, the unfortunate garrison commander, though she knew that Daken had already put in a good word for him. But the garrison's origins didn’t concern her at the moment.
"And has he told you about their magic—the magic they employ in battle?"
Hammad nodded. “I’ve never doubted it. There were old stories passed down through the generations in my family, going all the way back to an ancestor who fought alongside the Kassid centuries ago."
“Then you know about their ancestors—the ghosts who fight alongside them—and also about the . . . wolves."
Hammad nodded again, but his dark eyes were solemn. “This is difficult for you, Jocey—to love a man who is so different."
“Yes, but that is not what troubles me at the moment."
She then went on to tell him about the Sherbas and their strange behavior toward Daken, and abo
ut her own thoughts on the matter.
"They’re the perfect spies—nearly invisible, traveling all over, regarded as harmless eccentrics by everyone."
Rather to her surprise, Hammad chuckled. "So
they are. Would that we had such perfect spies. But it is not their spying that troubles you.”
She shook her head. “It’s the way they prostrated themselves to him. They behaved as though they thought he was one of the Old Gods, Hammad. Do you know that the Kassid claim to be the direct descendants of the Old Gods—a warrior race created by them to protect their sacred mountains?"
“Yes, I know that is the story, and perhaps the Kassid have good reason to believe that, since they have been gifted with magic that the rest of us lack.”
He sat there drumming his thick fingers restlessly on the tabletop. “We’ve never really known anything about the beliefs of the Sherbas. It always seemed enough that they were peaceable. But this conversation has reminded me of a story I heard many years ago.
"Someone once claimed to have seen one of them wearing a very fine and heavy gold chain—the finest he’d seen. And suspended from that fine chain was something he described as being nothing more than a piece of black rock."
"Like the black stone of the Dark Mountains,” she said. And like the black stone in the secret room. But she would get to that.
“Perhaps they worship the Kassid as the embodiment of the Old Gods,” he suggested. "But even if they do, I see no real cause for alarm, Jocelyn."
"Then why didn’t Daken admit it?” she challenged him.
"That is a question only he can answer, Jocey. I suggest that you ask him.”
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