"Very well," Razem said finally. "Kho! Let's make camp at the next likely spot!"
General Kho rode up alongside them, not acknowledging Arisanat. "Very good, highness. The scouts say there's a small spring up ahead, perhaps another half mile. It's little more than a trickle that's been bricked around to protect it from the sand, but it'll do enough to water the animals."
"And tell the cooks they'll have time for a hearty meal."
"Yes, your highness."
Razem grunted again and waved Kho away. He and Arisanat rode in silence until they reached the campsite.
As always, the prince's tent was the first to be raised. As soon as it was ready, Razem waved Arisanat inside. Arisanat signaled Kho, who gave a discreet nod. Razem collapsed on a pile of cushions and let his head tip back until he was staring at the cloth ceiling. Arisanat swallowed. If not for the soldiers outside, he could slit Razem's throat right now.
Outside the tent, someone cleared her throat. Arisanat tried not to acknowledge the relief he felt. Of course he couldn't. He would never get away with it, not out here. "Come!" he called.
Razem lifted his head enough to give Arisanat a funny look, but Arisanat just shook his head. The tent flap pushed aside and a soldier brought in a pitcher of beer and two tankards. She managed to salute despite her full hands. "Sir. General Kho sent this with his compliments, sir."
"Very good, soldier. Thank you." Arisanat relieved her of her burden and filled the two tankards. "Have someone bring us some bread at some point." Wordlessly, she offered a cloth-wrapped half loaf, and Arisanat laughed. "I see General Kho has anticipated our drinking habits," he remarked. "My thanks again."
The soldier saluted again and left, and Arisanat handed one of the tankards over to Razem.
"You might want to sit up before you drink that," he remarked.
"You and Kho are in cahoots," Razem grumbled. "I might have known."
"Someone needed to be." Arisanat took a long sip. The beer was rich and slid smoothly down his throat. "You forget how well I know you, cousin."
Razem chuckled weakly. "I suppose I do. You always knew me better than I knew myself, Aris." The gaze he turned on Arisanat was warm over the lip of his tankard. Arisanat nearly choked on his next sip. Did the prince truly still love him, despite the coolness between them these past three years?
Arisanat was four years the prince's elder, and he had grown used to being separate from the deep friendship among Azmei, Razem, and Venra. Rija had been on the fringe of that threesome as well, but she had been viewed more as a pest than anything. Arisanat's role had been more complicated. He had been, by turns, an accomplice, an informer, an enabler, and a disciplinarian. The youngers had nearly always trusted him, but there had been once or twice, when they'd been up to one of their more dangerous stunts, that Arisanat had pulled rank and gotten them in trouble.
Could it be possible that, despite Venra and Azmei being lost to them forever, Razem still viewed Arisanat that way?
"I'll never forget when you told me I wasn't allowed to marry Rija," Razem said idly. "Do you remember that? I hadn't had the first thought about marrying her until you mentioned it. Didn't want to marry anyone, for that matter. But the moment you said I couldn't—"
"You decided I needed a black eye, and you were the one to give it me," Arisanat finished dryly. He lifted his tankard in a mock salute. "I honor your courage, if not your follow-through."
Razem laughed. "To be fair, I was only twelve, and you were nearly a man."
"You were eleven," Arisanat said. "That was the time Azmei didn't come with you. In fact, it was partly because of that I thought you needed to be forbidden my sister's hand."
"Because you wanted Azmei to marry her?" Razem joked. Then he blinked and looked sadly at his tankard.
"It was just that having Azmei left behind made me realize what Father was up to," Arisanat said. He spit out his cinnamon sliver and got a fresh one to chew on. "We had such fun when she was visiting with you, but having you come alone felt more like trouble."
"Mm." Razem took a long sip of his beer. "Do you remember that time we climbed up into the foothills above the quarries and camped out?" He smiled. "We watched the falling stars all night, reflecting in that old water-filled quarry."
"First Pond," Arisanat said. "I remember." Venra and Azmei had been so excited they'd called out a wish for each star that fell, forgetting that the superstition was you couldn't tell your wish, or it wouldn't come true.
"Azmei wished for a real horse instead of a pony," Razem said. "A stallion. She wanted to train it from a colt."
Venra had wished nothing would ever change. Arisanat looked down at his tankard for a moment and tilted his head back to drain it. When he lowered his head, he saw that Razem had done the same.
"Fill up?" Razem asked, holding out his tankard.
Arisanat obliged. He hadn't realized until tonight how lonely he had been lately. He loved his sister, but she didn't share these memories the way Razem did. She was sorry for his pain, but she didn't understand it.
"Azmei always loved the old quarries," Arisanat said. "Do you remember how we taught her to swim up at First Pond?" He smiled. "She was convinced you would actually let her drown. Hadn't she just broken something of yours? She hung around my neck so tight I thought I was going to choke."
Razem laughed. "Gods, yes, she'd snapped my bow because she left it on the ground and it got trod on. Ah, I was so furious with her. We'd been planning to hunt for our supper, do you remember? Ven said the huntmaster'd taught him to build a rabbit snare, but—"
He broke off, and only then did Arisanat realize he had dropped his tankard. He scrabbled at it, but the liquid was already soaking through his trousers. He stared down at the spreading stain for a moment. Then he put the tankard to his lips and drained it.
"Well. Get some rest, Raz. We should stay camped here until the afternoon heat is past tomorrow. Rest the horses and men."
Razem sat up, looking unhappily at Arisanat. "We'll have to ride later into the evening that way."
"They'll be up for it then." Arisanat poured himself another tankard and set the pitcher on the ground. He stood carefully. "Get some rest," he repeated.
***
Razem spent the entire journey back to Tamnen City agonizing over the words he had exchanged with his father before they parted. He should have learned from his experience with Azmei. He should have held his tongue, kept his temper in check. He should have thought first of his father and only second of himself. What must Marsede be feeling as he lay injured and in pain, without his son near? Who would sit with him and watch over him and keep him company? What if Marsede died before Razem got home?
It was probably a good thing Razem had Kho's company of soldiers with him; they forced him to stop when he would have pressed on, insisting that rest was necessary for the horses as well as the men. When Razem was particularly impatient, Arisanat had reminded him that riding a horse to death would not get him to the capital any sooner, and might delay them needlessly.
Razem found himself missing Hawk's strange introspection and odd pauses before speaking. He hadn't realized before how he had grown used to the man, despite the fact Hawk had not turned out to be quite the war hero Razem had been hoping for.
No, that wasn't right. Hawk was a war hero. But he wasn't...well, a hawk. He didn't seem to glory in past victories or relish the thought of new ones. He seemed to yearn more for a life of peace in Rivarden than any continued involvement with the war against the Strid. What was more, it didn't seem rooted in any love of Strid that he had acquired during his time there. Razem knew there would be some who argued Hawk had been subverted during his captivity, but that was not the impression Razem had. It was just that Hawk knew the true cost of war, and deemed it too high a price to pay.
This knowledge, combined with Razem's guilt and worry over his father's health, made the ride back to Tamnen City very uncomfortable.
What would happen when he got to the
palace? Would there be people in the streets, calling for justice for their king? Would everyone blame the assassination attempt on the Strid? Razem would be inclined to, except that Strid had never claimed credit for Azmei's assassination. At first he had taken that for a realization that they had crossed a line. But as the war continued, he had realized the Strid felt no shame for Azmei's death. It had not been until recently, since meeting that Strid Commander, Elin Ayowir, and spending time with Hawk, that Razem had begun to wonder if that meant, actually, that they had not had anything to do with it.
Marsede had suggested it more than once, saying there were too many things they did not know, and too many things they might never know. But Razem had never been willing to listen. And now, he thought, gulping against a sudden wash of grief, now he might never have the chance to repent and listen to his father's opinions.
The day they reached the capital, Razem had a raging headache. He had thrashed and tossed on his cushions all night, hours of sleeplessness interspersed with snatches of sleep plagued by nightmares. After the last of these nightmares, he'd got up and paced around the inside of the tent until he heard someone calling the morning waking. He'd managed to eat half a bowl of corn porridge for breakfast, but the taste of the pork diced into it had turned his stomach.
So he rode into Tamnen City with the cowl of his robe pulled low over his eyes to shield them from the sun, his memories wandering back to the debilitating headaches Azmei had had from time to time. He missed his sister desperately.
Captain Ysdra met Razem's party before they were halfway to the palace. He saluted the prince and fell in beside him, rightly assuming the prince's bearing meant he was less interested in ceremony than in reaching the palace quietly and quickly.
"Your Highness, I am very glad to see you," the man said. "Your father's condition is unchanged, and the healers have hope that he may improve once he hears of your arrival, but..."
Razem let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He had assumed his father still lived, since the city wasn't draped in black. But that was a very low threshold. If his father had slipped into that permanent unconsciousness that usually ended in death, that would have been kept quiet until he drew his last breath. Then again...
"That is assuming my father is no longer angry with me," Razem murmured.
"No, my lord, he has been asking for you. He says there are things he must tell you, things he cannot tell anyone but you. Your man has been sitting by him, night and day, serving the king in your absence."
"Gendo. Bless him." Razem swallowed hard. "I wish I had been here with him. It seems every choice I make lately is the wrong one." He sighed.
"Were you successful in exchanging the prisoners, your highness?"
Razem grunted. "I did manage that much. I even threw celebrations at every step of the journey between Salishok and Rivarden, though goodness knows some of the villages had little enough to celebrate with. Not to mention it slowed your people finding me." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wishing the throbbing would subside. "Lord-General Kho has been invaluable to me. I shall require you to continue on in the capacity you have been serving here. I need Kho with me at all times. You'll brief him when we reach the palace, and then he will report back to me."
"Very good, Your Highness."
They had reached the palace grounds. As they passed inside the palace walls, the clatter of horses' hooves on flagstones echoed off the stone walls, making Razem wince. "Gods above and below, this head will overmaster me," he grumbled.
"I'll have one of the healers prepare a tisane to ease your pain, highness," Ysdra said. "Your father is resting in his bedchamber. Shall I send the tisane to you there?"
"Yes, I'll go straight to my father. I cannot rest until I see him." Razem dismounted and threw the reins to the stable boy who was waiting. "Thank you, Ysdra. I see why Kho calls you indispensable."
Ysdra flushed with pleasure and saluted.
Razem kept his cowl pulled low as he made his way through the palace to his father's bedchamber. He was grateful for the soft soles of his boots; they let him walk softly, loosening his hips and rolling his feet to keep his brain from jarring inside his skull. As soon as he had seen his father, he promised himself, he would have a hot bath.
It was a promise that would take a long time to keep.
"The king has been asking for you, highness." Gendo's eyes had dark swathes under them, and his stubbled cheeks seemed hollower than they had a few weeks ago.
Razem abandoned propriety and embraced his manservant. Gendo, a handful of years older than Razem, froze for several heartbeats before one hand tentatively came up to touch Razem's back. With a shaky breath, Razem squeezed him more tightly and then released him, straightening. He blinked fiercely, trying to keep from falling to pieces now.
"Thank you, Gen," he whispered, and brushed past him to enter his father's bedchamber.
"His highness Prince Razem, my lord," murmured a soft-voiced healer who rose from the chair by Marsede's bed. Razem's stomach flipped at the tone. He remembered that tone from his childhood. It was a soothing voice, a voice that urged you not to excite or upset the patient. It was a voice that meant your mother was going to die. Or your father?
He swallowed and threw himself into the chair the healer had vacated. His headache was forgotten as he took in the bandages wrapped around Marsede's head and the one hand that rested atop the coverlet. He barely noticed the healer slipping out of the room.
"Father. I am so sorry. I came as quickly as I could."
Marsede opened his remaining eye and looked at him. As soon as his gaze found Razem's, his lips parted in a beatific smile.
"There you are," he said. "I have been waiting for you. There is so much I must tell you."
"Father, I love you," Razem blurted. "I'm sorry I argued with you. I've been so ungrateful—"
"No, no, never mind that." Marsede's voice strengthened. His bandage-clad hand lifted and touched Razem's clumsily. "You're here now. And I love you, son. More than you will ever know." He took a series of shallow breaths.
"What can I do, father?"
"The pain will pass. The problem is with the drugs they give me to ease it." Marsede rolled his head so he could look more directly at Razem. "I fade in and out after my dose, and I cannot afford that now that you are here."
Razem tried to smile. "What do you have to tell me that can't wait?" Sleeping gods, was his father dying? Ysdra had said the healers thought he would recover. Hadn't he?
"Much of plots, and plots upon plots." Marsede closed his eye, lines marring his forehead. "And I must ask you to forgive me, Razem, for I have done you a great wrong."
"Never—" Razem began, but Marsede opened his eye and fixed him with so stern a look that he subsided.
"Do me the courtesy of believing that I understand the magnitude of my sin, Razem," he said. "I have lied to you. To all of our people. Your sister is alive."
The wind whooshed out of Razem's lungs. If he hadn't already been sitting, he would have fallen. His jaw dropped open and he stared at his father, his brain scrabbling for words but unable to grasp any. Azmei— But— "Wha— But—" he stuttered, staring.
"You must tell no one!" Marsede's grip tightened on Razem's and he pulled his torso up from the bed. "No one, Razem! Promise me!"
"Promise," Razem repeated, more because he feared his father would hurt himself than out of any agreement. But— "I don't understand."
Marsede subsided back against the bed. "It was for her safety as well as for ours. She did nearly die. Feigning her death seemed plausible. But the Ranarri Diplomat who told me about the assassination attempt also told me that she intended to go into hiding until those behind the attempt could be uncovered."
"The Strid—"
"No," Marsede's voice was heavy. "Almost certainly not. Someone here. Someone within Tamnen." His lips curved in a smile that spoke of weary exhaustion. "You see now why I could offer you no proof, but why I was so adamant."
"Don't pity me. I saw how it destroyed you, and I still kept it from you." Marsede's voice was even. "I knew what I was doing, Razem. I am sorry."
"I forgive you." It was easy, he found. Not only because his father might be dying, but because Azmei was alive. Because Razem had done what his father had ordered and shown Hawk honor. Because his sister had done as she promised, and protected and served her father and brother.
"There is more. The man who—protected her. Tanvel of Ranarr. He is the reason I still live." Marsede panted for a moment, his face twisted into a grimace.
"Father, can't you rest—"
"No!" Marsede's voice was a hoarse gasp. "I don't know how long I will have to tell you all this, Razem," he whispered. "And you must know it all."
Razem nodded. "Very well, then, Father. Tell me it all."
Marsede was silent for several long breaths. Razem almost wondered if his father had lapsed into sleep before he spoke. "You know I was in the Hallowed City when they attacked?" He opened his eye and looked at Razem, who nodded. "I had only Tzen with me. The others were at the entrance to the Hallowed City. Tzen..." He trailed off. The old manservant had been with Marsede nearly forty years. Razem had grown up loving Tzen like an uncle. He realized suddenly that the man must be dead.
"Go on," he whispered.
"Four attackers. Two were Tamnese, two from the Long Coast. I had my blade, but...When they got Tzen, I...I dropped my guard. They would have killed me outright if it hadn't been for Tanvel."
"Who was Tanvel? The Ranarri?"
"Yes. The man who trained Azmei." Marsede's smile was grim. "He is a Ranarri Diplomat, but not the sort we are used to."
"There's another sort?"
"The Shadow Diplomats. Skilled assassins." Pain lanced across Marsede's face and he lifted his bandaged hand for a cup of water.
Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3) Page 23
