Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  And where in all this house was Yarro?

  She smiled. Tomorrow, she would find out.

  ***

  The next day, Azmei dressed carefully in clothes that would blend in while she was on the streets as well as when she took to the rooftops. Since she learned the tricks to climbing walls and leaping from building to building, rooftops had become her favorite place. Humans weren't made to fly, but running across the rooftops was the next best thing. Few people thought to look up, so traveling that way was good for avoiding notice. And on the rooftops, nothing kept you from basking in the sun.

  She traveled using more conventional methods until she reached an area of the private quarter away from the Perslyn house. She had noted when she was here last night that the houses were built close together, many of them with walls surrounding them to form courtyards and family complexes. She would be able to travel via rooftop most of the way to the Perslyn house.

  Azmei had a small pack holding enough food for her to spend the day watching the house, as well as various supplies she might need, like a small grappling hook, a lightweight rope, and a small bag of pekur, a gel that could be spread on the fingertips to help grip small projections or crevices in stone. She preferred to climb without it, but it was never smart to leave it at home. She found a spot where two walls met at an angle that hid her from the street and quickly unfastened the front of her robe. She needed her legs free, but wanted to keep the robe on to disguise her shape. Then she launched herself up the wall, fingers and toes catching at the smallest handholds. Within the space of a few moments, she was twenty feet up on the roof, crouched and looking down to make certain she hadn't been spotted.

  No one raised an alarm and she didn't see anyone staring up at her hiding place. She settled in to wait for a few minutes to be sure. When she was satisfied she hadn't been seen, she set out across the rooftops towards the Perslyn house complex.

  Five minutes later, she was studying the house and wondering where she might be most likely to find Yarro. Orya had talked about him as if he were a small boy, though she had said he was fourteen. Orya had said the boy was not to be trained as an assassin because he was different. She had described him as delicate, with poor eyesight and almost entirely deaf. Azmei had no idea if this were true or a carefully crafted lie to win sympathy, but she had judged Orya's affection for her brother to be real enough. Orya's last word as she died had been her brother's name.

  She settled in on the rooftop of the neighboring house, tucked in against a chimney and wrapped loosely with her robe, cowl pulled up so she would blend in with the stone. From here she had a good view of the smaller of the two courtyards. This courtyard had a fountain and several small trees. A table and chairs sat in the middle of the courtyard. It was unoccupied, but Azmei thought there was a good chance someone would come out and she could learn more about the inhabitants of the house.

  ***

  Waiting was Azmei's least favorite part of her new life. While she enjoyed time spent alone, she preferred to have a book to read or sword exercises to practice. She shoved the day's food into her pack and slipped it onto her belt. She had expected to have to watch the Perslyn house for a day or two after her arrival in Meekin. She had not anticipated it taking nearly a week for her to get her first glimpse of Yarro Perslyn.

  Yesterday she had finally seen the boy. Boy! She laughed grimly and shook her head. Orya hadn't lied about his age, at least. He was old enough to shave, though he was also apparently "special" enough that he forgot to do so. Yarro had wandered into the area of the house she was watching—the bigger courtyard, yesterday, where Rith and Kesh had hosted their friends the first night she had watched them. He had been barefoot, his jaw a mess of three-day whiskers. He had come into the sunlight and sat on the edge of a shallow pool filled with golden fish. He paddled his fingers in the water and appeared to be having a conversation with the fish.

  Trying to figure out what Yarro was about made Azmei think about her own observer. Several times over the course of the past week, she had wondered what he or she thought of her. The Shadow Council's observer must know she had arrived. Did they see her doing surveillance on the house? Would they be impressed or disappointed with the pace of her work?

  And the question that weighed most heavily on her mind: were they responsible for whatever made the Perslyn family think Orya might be back from the dead?

  Orya's body had not been returned to her family. She had been placed, along with her cousin and colleague Wenda, in a catacomb owned by the Shadow Council in Ranarr. Azmei had not mourned for her, though her feelings were still, three years later, in a muddle. She had genuinely liked Orya, though she had been cognizant of the woman's faults. And knowing how Orya worried for her brother, she had even been able to understand why Orya would do anything—even kill a princess—to take care of him. But she had not been able to forgive her for that, either, brother or no. Azmei would do anything for her own brother, but there were some things she probably should not be forgiven for, either.

  She went through her morning routine quickly, her series of stretches, washing, dressing, and eating. Today, provided nothing went wrong, she would enter the Perslyn house and finalize her plans. Once she had seen the inside, she would know how to proceed.

  The Patriarch must die, of course. Rith, the eldest grandson, would also need to be removed. He was cruel, and Azmei had seen in Tish's reactions yesterday that she was afraid of him. Kesh, Azmei wasn't certain about. She had already decided it might be possible to reason with him, if he were placed at the head of the entire family. Azmei had overheard someone say he tried to shield Yarro from their elder brother; it had convinced Azmei that Kesh was at heart a decent human being.

  As much as anyone who spent their lives killing other people for pay could be a decent human being. But then again, Azmei had precious little room to judge on that point.

  She stood. She had circled around this very idea for the past three years. The Shadow Council only accepted contracts that were in the interest of peace. If removing a single person was a more peaceful solution than a war, the Shadow Council approved it. In Azmei's case, her guardian Destar Thorne had hired the Shadow Council to protect her from assassins. Because the Ranarri Diplomats had brokered the marriage treaty, the Shadow Council agreed the marriage was in the best interest of peace, and they had protected Azmei from other assassins. Azmei had occasionally wondered if Tanvel had agreed to take her on as a student because he felt guilty for almost failing. It was good to know he was proud of her.

  She hoped he survived protecting her father.

  She pushed the thought resolutely from her mind. She had work to do. She strapped all of her daggers in place and took up her pack.

  It was time to enter the Perslyn house. There were plenty of ways to gain access to a closed house. She could pretend to be a messenger. If she had more time, she could infiltrate the household. She could hire on with one of the groups who provided a service, whether it was ice delivery or repair work. But Azmei was tired of wasting time. She had decided to do this hard and fast.

  She would go over the wall and sneak.

  As she picked her way across the roof of Perslyn House, she wondered if her chosen method of ingress would gain her points for bravery with the Shadow Council's observer, or if she would be docked points for her reckless impatience. Either way, she told herself, it didn't matter. Tanvel had put his life on the line over this conflict. She could do no less.

  There must be something here that would identify the person who had hired the Perslyns to kill Azmei. She and Tanvel had searched Perslyn offices in other cities, or had them searched, and they had found precious little of any value. It was why Tanvel had determined they must travel to Tamnen City at last. Azmei hoped he had found the proof he needed there, but she would search here anyway.

  They knew the contract had originated in Tamnen. They knew the Perslyns had not acted on behalf of the Strid. They knew the assassins had no clue their attemp
t had failed.

  Azmei eased up to a corner sheltered from anyone in the rooms above or the courtyard below and shrugged out of her robed camouflage. She would have to take care that the fountain didn't mask anyone's footsteps but her own. She swept her gaze across her surroundings once more, then eased over the edge of the roof.

  Her feet whispered against the sandstone of the courtyard floor. She retreated to one wall and listened. In the distance, she heard the quiet murmur of voices. Nothing inside the rooms she meant to enter. She drew a slender lockpick from a pocket and let herself into the first room.

  It had the look of a leisure space, with a cushioned reclining platform and a low table that held a stack of books. A taller table was placed next to the reclining platform—probably to hold trays of delicacies and beverages. Azmei slipped her fingers under the cushion, but found nothing. Neither table had a drawer, but she knelt to look at the underside of each. Still nothing. Perhaps this room was just as it appeared.

  She had chosen her entry point to the house carefully. This room was outside the Patriarch's study. It was the room where he entertained the majority of his visitors. Azmei drew her lockpicks and let herself into the Patriarch's study.

  She had waited until she saw the Patriarch and his grandson Rith leave the house, but there was no guarantee how long they would be gone, and it was possible someone else could discover her here. She doubted Kesh was allowed in the Patriarch's study unless his grandfather was present, but she could be wrong. In addition, she would have to be careful not to leave anything out of place after she was finished. The Patriarch would surely notice.

  Her first task was to find a ledger. Any good businessman had to track his income and expenses, and the Patriarch was, by all accounts, a very good businessman. The ledgers of the cloth business were in the shop; Azmei had already ascertained that. But the assassination ledgers, those would have to be somewhere here in the house. The Patriarch's study was the most likely of places, though she wouldn't rule out the Patriarch's bedchambers.

  A quick search of the desk turned up nothing. Azmei turned her attention to a cabinet under a painting of a pastoral scene populated only by grass, rolling hills, and sheep. She smirked at the painting. Trust a cloth merchant to think sheep were nice to look at. Kneeling in front of the cabinet, she made short work of the lock. Inside were records of a more incriminating sort. Apparently Orya had spent some time in the unified cities of the Long Coast before she returned to Tamnen in time to try to murder the princess.

  Azmei noted down several of the names, wondering if any of the assassinations there would have ramifications in Tamnen. There was trade between Tamnen and the Long Coast, but the unified cities had never been a political threat. They were interested mainly in being left alone, and Tamnen—on the other side of a rugged mountain range from them—had been more than happy to oblige.

  Azmei dug through the rest of the papers in the cabinet without finding much of interest. She replaced them all carefully as she had found them and relocked the cabinet. A quick glance at the lattice at the top of the room told her the sun's angle had shifted. She must have been in here nearly an hour. She couldn't afford much more time.

  Was what she'd found proof enough that the Patriarch and his grandchildren were involved in Orya's attack on her? Azmei scowled at the papers she had scribbled her notes on. Yes. It was enough. But it got her no closer to knowing which of the Nine Families was plotting against the throne. She went back to the desk and performed a more thorough search, and this time she found what she'd missed the first time.

  The middle drawer of the desk was too short. Azmei removed it entirely and set it aside, then ducked under the desk. There, looking secure, was the second, secret drawer the desk had been hiding. Azmei smiled grimly and tugged it open. There. Folded packets, encased in parchment and tied with black string. She started to open it, then jerked. Were those footsteps?

  She settled the secret drawer carefully back and replaced the middle drawer. Tucking the packets into her shirt, she eased away from the desk, straining her ears. He would miss the papers, she knew that. But whatever information was in these packets, she needed it.

  Rith Perslyn had a party scheduled tomorrow. There would be plenty of comings and goings in the house, and presumably the Patriarch would make an appearance. There would be enough alcohol consumed that no one would notice her slipping into the house and doing away with the Patriarch, hopefully before the man had a chance to miss his stolen papers. If that went smoothly, she could take out Rith as well.

  Azmei listened at the door for a moment, then let herself out of the Patriarch's study. Tomorrow would end it.

  Chapter 9

  The hot sun felt good on Yar's shoulders. The Voices had been arguing amongst themselves today, barely sparing him any notice. It was a nice change. He had wandered out to the bigger courtyard, where Rith and Kesh usually hosted their parties. The warm stones were pleasantly rough under his feet. The courtyard was filled with the fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine mixed with the slightly fishy smell of the fountain.

  Yar scratched his jaw and wondered when he'd last remembered to shave. Shaving always made him feel fond of Kesh. Maybe he ought to do it more often. Yar sat on the edge of the shallow pool filled with golden fish, enjoying the tinkle and splash of the fountain. He paddled his fingers in the water and remembered Kesh teaching him how to shave.

  "You'll have to be careful not to cut yourself." Kesh's hand grasped Yar's, both of them wrapped around the razor's handle. "You don't want the smell to make you sick."

  Yar would have nodded, but the razor was pressed to his cheek as Kesh showed him how to stroke it up his skin. He liked the scraping noise of the blade. It made him think of the lizards that lived in the courtyard, their scales rasping against the stone. A flash of light from the razor blade caught his eye and Yar blinked and stared.

  A big, golden eye stared back at him, the scrape of the razor becoming the rasps of scales. Yar jerked.

  "Careful, Yar!" Kesh tightened his grip on the razor and held it away from his skin. He turned to face Yar, ducking his head until Yar couldn't avoid his gaze. To Yar's surprise, Kesh's gaze didn't burn him or make his skin prickle. It was warm and worried.

  Kesh licked his own thumb and pressed it against Yar's jaw, and only then did Yar smell the blood. "I know you don't like being touched," Kesh murmured, "but once you learn to do this yourself, I won't have to help you. Won't that be better?"

  Yar lowered his gaze. He didn't know what to say to make Kesh stay like this. His brother seemed gentle when they were alone, but Yar knew that gentleness could change to impatience if he said the wrong thing. Or if he didn't say anything soon enough.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'll learn soon."

  Kesh sighed. "I don't mind, Yar. It isn't like Orya could have taught you this, anyway. Girls don't have to do this."

  A hand tugged at Yar's sleeve, jolting him from his memories. He didn't have to look to know it was Tish. She was good about not touching his skin unless she had to.

  "Yarro! I've been looking all over for you. Your brother doesn't want you wandering around today."

  Yar kept patting the water, but he lifted his head to look at Tish. "He just doesn't like me having a good day."

  "Be charitable. He is looking out for you in his way. It is hard for him to stand between you and the others. Your sister did it better."

  "I miss Orya," Yar said. "Do you miss Orya?"

  "Of course I do. I miss her every day." Tish's voice caught. Yar felt bad for asking. He knew she missed Orya. Yar had never seen Orya hug anyone except him and Tish.

  "Do you think she will come back?"

  Tish sat down facing him on the edge of the pool. "Yar, we talked about this. Orya is dead. She was killed three years ago." She lifted a hand as if she would touch him, but hesitated and pulled away at the last moment. "Don't you remember?"

  He straightened up and glared at her. "I'm not stupid, Tish. I remember.
You were the one who told me. But Rith and Grandfather said—"

  "You shouldn't talk about this to me," she interrupted hastily.

  He ignored her. "Someone is hurting people in our family." His smile felt vicious. He wondered if that was because the Hungry Voice had heard him say that.

  "And they think it's Orya?" Tish leaned in, her gaze intent on Yar's, but he couldn't meet her gaze long. What if she could tell how pretty he thought her? He shrugged and turned away from her.

  SHE WANTS IT TO BE ORYA, said the Hungry Voice. SHE WANTS ORYA BACK.

  So she doesn't have to take care of me anymore, Yar thought bitterly.

  SHE'S LONELY.

  Yar began rocking in place. Finally Tish sighed and took him by both hands. She tugged him to his feet and led him inside. Yar didn't bother struggling. He didn't want to leave the sunlight, but if Kesh said not to wander, he might have a party planned. He didn't like showing Yar to his friends, but Yar didn't care. He didn't like seeing Kesh's friends. He just wanted Tish and Orya. He wanted to go back in time.

  I'm lonely too.

  ***

  Usually Yar's sleep was peaceful, the only time he could be free of the Voices and their visions. He dreamed so much in his waking life that he never dreamed when asleep. At least he never remembered them. But that night, he woke repeatedly with the echoes of the word FOLLOW in his mind.

  Finally he threw aside his blankets and rolled out of bed. It was dark in his room, but here on the western side of the house, he had no way of knowing if there were any edge of dawn to the eastern sky. It could be anywhere from midnight to dawn without his knowing it.

  Yar fumbled a candle alight and padded barefoot to the door of his quarters. When he peered out at the main residence hall, he saw no one. It must be very early still. He had slept for at least a few hours, he thought, unless the Voices were waking him after shorter intervals than he thought. But it must still be closer to midnight than dawn, or the corridors would be awake with servants preparing for breakfast.