Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  I don't know why they attacked. They didn't attack us, they attacked that man. The one you told me to save. Why did you tell me to save him?

  The darkness clouding his vision cleared slowly, as if he were coming through a dense fog. He saw storm clouds building, so dark they were purple-black at the center. Vast wings flapped overhead, the sound buffeting his ears. Yarro felt like he blinked tears from his eyes, and in that blink, he was standing high over a city, watching people fighting in the streets, breaking a heavy wooden door to get into a huge building. A palace? There were dead bodies on the street. Angry shouts filled his head.

  He was watching the fighting, but he could hear something building, some deep noise building, groaning. The sound of sand and stone shifting against itself. Something immense and old turning in its sleep. The world shuddered.

  A hawk stooped from the middle of the storm clouds. Its talons were wet with blood. Yarro watched its descent until it came to circle his head. It screamed and landed on Aevver's outstretched hand. She smiled at the hawk.

  WE KNOW HER NOW. YOU MUST BRING THEM BOTH.

  He woke from his vision and found himself staring at the man. They were inspecting the bodies, he and Aevver both. Neither of them looked happy, but the man looked tentative, while Aevver looked accusing. She was trying to protect Yarro, he realized in a rush of love. She didn't know he didn't need to be protected from this man.

  "Hawk," he said.

  The man turned, his mouth dropping open when he saw Yar looking at him. Yar smiled.

  "Come with us."

  ***

  Azmei jerked her head up at hearing Yar speak. He called the man Hawk? And Jacin responded. Why did that tickle at her memory? It seemed... She had heard it, long ago.

  Then she realized what Yar had just done.

  "No! He can't!" She didn't trust any man with a thousand gold riding on his death. Especially when she didn't know why, or who it was that wanted him dead. He'd gone very quiet when she confronted him about it. He seemed sad, but he didn't answer her questions, either. He had too many secrets.

  There was a certain irony in that, she knew. After all, she had her own secrets, and plenty of them, yet she'd convinced Yar to take her with him. Then again, he had those Voices. Had they told him her secrets? Perhaps she only thought she had secrets from him. Perhaps he was just kind enough to let her pretend.

  "I appreciate the offer," Jacin was saying, "but I cannot. I gave my word I would investigate what happened in Meekin."

  Azmei stiffened. What happened in Meekin? Did that mean what she had done? How had word of that traveled so far and so quickly? No messages from Meekin had overtaken them, she was sure of it. The canal boats were too slow, and she and Yarro were on the most direct path to the city that she knew of.

  "We came from there," Yarro said. "What do you mean, what happened in Meekin?"

  She saw the hesitation before Jacin answered. He didn't quite glance over his shoulder at her, but she realized suddenly that he was caught between her and Yarro, and it was making him uncomfortable. Good. Perhaps he would tell the truth, then.

  "There was an attack," Jacin said finally. "My...my commander learned that a family in Meekin was responsible." He turned, trying to see both of them. "I am to learn the details."

  "What?" Yarro had gone still. It was frightening how present he could be. It was just as powerful in its way as the times when he was so completely gone. He looked at Azmei, meeting her gaze without flinching. "It was my family, wasn't it?"

  She couldn't lie to him. She held his gaze, letting him read the truth there. Tanvel must have interfered in the attack he said was coming, the attack on her father. He was going to give her father all the information they had gathered over the past three years, but he had been waiting for the attack. She felt a pang in her stomach. Was Tanvel dead, then?

  She looked from Yarro to Jacin. "The Perslyn Family?"

  Jacin was silent. He had turned to look at her, so he couldn't see the distress creeping across Yarro's expression. The boy's normally pleasant face became distraught as he realized they were talking about his family.

  "Aevver, what did Grandfather do?" His expression twisted through apprehension into rage, his lips drawing back. Aevver felt a chill run down her arms. "We should have eaten him!" he hissed. "We should have swallowed him whole!"

  She realized now that it was the Voices speaking through him when this happened. That made it no less unsettling. Who were these Voices they were going to find? Or more to the point, what were they? She licked her lips and held Yarro's gaze. "Your grandfather tried to kill the king." She glanced at Jacin. "Am I right?"

  Jacin stared at her, but he kept twitching a look back at Yarro. Azmei moved to her left, letting him shift his angle so he could see them both. It would be more than unsettling to have Yarro at your back, after what he'd just said.

  "And you were sent," Azmei went on, "because someone caught the Perslyns finally."

  "My lady." Jacin looked unhappy, though whether he was unhappy about being caught out or unhappy about how much she knew, Azmei couldn't tell. He was working very hard not to reach for his sword hilt. After a moment, Azmei deliberately dropped her hand to her side. It worked to relax him somewhat. "I was not—I may not speak of it." He paused again.

  Azmei fought her rising impatience. Why was he lying to her? Who was this man, who had been sent to investigate Meekin? She tried not to show her impatience, but she must have twitched. Jacin bowed his head.

  "I am on an errand for the Crown, Aevver. I cannot say more than that."

  The last piece clicked into place. "Oh gods, I'm an idiot!" Azmei exclaimed. She looked at Yarro's confused face and realized the Voices must not have told him everything. She looked back at Jacin. "Prince Razem must have sent you. You're Jacin Hawk—the Hawk. Commander Hawk." He had been with her brother. How long ago? Would he be able to tell her about Razem? But how could she ask? "And this is the welcome you get?" Her lips twisted wryly. Poor man. "Welcome to the peace process."

  Hawk grew more tense the longer she spoke. Yes, she could see the warrior commander in him now that she knew. She'd not seen him more than a few times, and it had been another lifetime—for both of them, it seemed. She had been a spoiled princess of sixteen or seventeen, and he had been the Kreyden Commander, resplendent in armor and a scarlet cape, his stride confident, his stature strong, muscular, and authoritative. His years in captivity had changed him. As my years in the peace god's service have changed me.

  "I don't know how you know all this," he began, "but you know I cannot—"

  Azmei smiled. How fate must laugh at them as they scrambled to make their own way. "Will it help if I tell you I have already dealt with the Perslyns? Yar's grandfather is dead." She flicked a glance at Yarro as she said it. He flinched, but then a reptilian smile flickered across his face. He licked his lips and ducked his head, not meeting her gaze.

  Hawk stared at her, then turned to stare at the boy who was staring at the ground. "Yar's—"

  "Yarro Perslyn," Azmei said. "He is the last worthy scion of that family." Yarro's head jerked up and he stared at her, his smile growing more human, more vulnerable. "His sister died a few years ago, and he finally got away from them after that." She sighed. "I promise, Hawk, your time would be better spent with us than in Meekin."

  Yar's face was a joy to behold. It was as if no one had ever said nice things about him before. She couldn't understand—Orya had clearly been devoted to him, and he to Orya. She must have said nice things to him all the time. Then again, Orya had been gone more than three years. What kindness had he heard since then? Only the distant kindness of Tish and the intermittent kindness of Kesh. Neither of them had the strength that Orya had, and neither of them stood up to the Patriarch as Orya apparently had.

  Hawk was shaking his head. "I cannot countermand the prince," he said quietly. He was looking at Azmei intently. She almost thought he was waiting for something from her. She knew what it was he wa
nted, and she knew what it would mean. If she did this, her life as Aevver Balearic was as good as over. But Yarro had told her to save Hawk, and Yarro had invited Hawk to join them, and Hawk had been with Razem. There was nothing for it.

  "I can," she said quietly.

  His gaze sharpened as he held hers. She let him hold her gaze, let him search it as Yarro had searched it only minutes before. But Hawk was seeking some other truth, and she knew he would find it. She hadn't changed so much that someone who had met her in that other life would fail to recognize her. Not when he had reason to suspect her true identity. She had recognized him, she had named him, and she had claimed the authority to alter the prince's orders. There could be only one woman in the world who had that authority.

  She saw him understand. She saw the shock in his eyes as his mouth dropped open, the sudden shift in his stance as he prepared to bow. His gaze flickered down to the blade at her hip. She could tell he was registering the way she had fought, the fact that the princess of Tamnen had sewed his wound for him, had seen him shirtless, had touched his bare skin. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed. He began to bow.

  "Princess Azmei—"

  "Was killed by Orya Perslyn three years ago and more," she broke in, hoping her voice didn't sound as desperate as she felt. Couldn't it stay unspoken between them? Couldn't they just ignore this truth for now? She didn't want to go back to being the princess. She liked Aevver. She was a real person when she was Aevver. "Do you understand, Hawk?"

  Hawk was silent, watching her. She wasn't certain if he did understand, but she could see he was trying to. He tipped his head to one side, almost looking like his namesake for a moment, an ember flaring in his charcoal eyes. His mouth was a straight line, giving her no hints as to his thoughts. After a long moment, he dropped his gaze, his lips turning down. What was he thinking?

  "Princess Azmei?" Yarro's voice was small. When she looked at him, the boy was tapping his fingers against his thumb as he stared at her. His expression was as open as Hawk's was closed. He was shocked, he was hurt... He was angry.

  Azmei held very still. She didn't want this. She had come to care for Yarro over the course of their travels. She knew she couldn't take his sister's place, but she had hoped she could be like a sister to him. She had wanted to believe in him, to show him that life didn't have to be like it had been in the Perslyn House. He had just begun to trust her, to smile at her and meet her gaze and tell her things. And now—

  "You're Princess Azmei!" He was standing with fists clenched in front of his stomach. She couldn't tell whether he wanted to hit her or be sick. "You told me your name is Aevver! You lied to me! You were the reason my sister died!"

  His face twisted with rage and his eyes glinted orange. Azmei's throat tightened. She had never tested the extent of what he could do. What powers did those visions give him? What if those Voices were demons, slowly taking control of his mind? Could they take control of his body as well?

  You know they can, whispered a voice in the back of her mind. Remember the bodies of those two thieves in Meekin.

  She tensed, hoping she wouldn't have to run from him.

  "You killed my sister! You—You—" He threw his head back and screamed. "I'll kill you!" Then he dropped to his knees, staring at her, tears running openly down his face. The orange glint had faded from his eyes, the rage twisted into fright and fear.

  Azmei looked sadly back at him. "Darling, I'm already dead."

  Chapter 23

  Razem rubbed his eyes. It had been a long night, and the coming of dawn had made him no happier. He poured himself another cup of coffee and watched dully as the stream dried up before the cup was full. Damn.

  "We're out of coffee," he told Kho.

  The lord-general looked up. There were dark smudges under his eyes, but he looked alert. Two hours ago, he'd left and returned with a tray of meat pies and pastries, along with a fresh-brewed pot of coffee. They'd brewed another pot of it since.

  After a moment, Kho sighed. "Majesty, I know you don't want to hear this—"

  "Then don't say it!" Razem snapped. The general's expression didn't change, but shame washed over Razem. "No, I'm sorry, Emran. Go on."

  Kho nodded. "The more we learn about the assassinations, the clearer this becomes." He sat forward in his chair, setting aside the documents in his lap. "I know the Nine are your cousins, but I cannot overlook this if I am to protect you."

  Razem rubbed his face again. "Not Ilzi," he murmured.

  "No." The quiet, certain dismissal comforted Razem. Kho wouldn't deny her involvement unless he were sure. He was more a strategist than Razem, and he wouldn't be blinded by love.

  "You think you know who it is," Razem said. It wasn't a question.

  Kho was silent. His brows were drawn together as he looked at Razem, but his lips were pressed together as if he were judging what to say.

  "Emran, you've earned the right to speak freely to me. I promise not to snap at you again."

  Kho shook his head. "Majesty. You know it must be Burojan." His voice was quiet.

  Razem wasn't ready to hear it. But then, when would anyone be ready to hear that a man he grew up with was prepared to kill him—had already killed his father and tried to kill his sister? How could any man prepare for such news?

  He dropped his head into his hands. Kho didn't speak. Razem thought of the way Venra had always looked at his brother, like Arisanat had all the answers, like he could do anything. It was the way Azmei had looked at Razem for so many years. Arisanat had changed after losing Venra, there was no denying that. Had he changed enough to try to kill people? Who could say?

  I've changed since losing Azmei, he admitted to himself. What would I be capable of, if I had the person I blamed in front of me?

  But no, Razem had never resorted to assassination. It was not the way things were done. War was terrible, but it was the proper way of settling things, once diplomacy had failed. And diplomacy failed us the moment Azmei pretended to die.

  Finally, Razem lifted his head. "You know we need proof, Emran."

  Kho hummed an agreement. "Captain Ysdra has been investigating the attack on Lord Burojan."

  "That wasn't someone trying to get to me," Razem said. "It was a decoy. Aris and I look enough alike that no one would question it, and it gave him the perfect alibi."

  Kho nodded. "While Ysdra's investigation has probably been in vain, he has made some interesting observations. I confess that, in the absence of other instructions, he has been artificially prolonging his investigation to give him reason to revisit Burojan's home."

  Razem nodded. "Bring him to me. I'll want to hear everything. And commend him for his initiative, I suppose." He paused, looking around the dusty office. He couldn't even remember whose office this had been. Perhaps Emran had been friends with the person who used it. The figurines of the desert foxes wouldn't have been left behind if the person had lived. Not unless... Hawk, he realized. They were meeting in Hawk's office, kept ready for him in case he ever returned from captivity. "I don't suppose there's been any word from Hawk."

  "It's too early, Majesty." His gaze, too, was on the desert foxes.

  "This was his office," Razem said.

  Kho nodded.

  "Of course." He stood. "Well. We'd better make this official. I'll go back to my apartments for the midday meal. You and Ysdra will join me. No one else."

  Kho saluted and left.

  Razem stared down at the figurines. They were carved stone, their faces rendered in loving detail, the tails and ears disproportionately large. It seemed odd that the man wouldn't have hawks. But perhaps these had been a gift from someone.

  He sighed and turned away from the desk. He knew so little about Hawk, and instead of bringing him to the capital with him, he had sent him away. He had put him to use when he should have known the man needed more time to adjust to his freedom. What was he becoming? Was this how kings acted, or despots?

  He rubbed his face and left the office, lock
ing it carefully behind him. He encountered a few servants and minor courtiers in the passageways, but no one did more than bow and leave him alone. Thank the gods for that. He couldn't handle having to make small talk with anyone right now. The kingdom would run itself for a day.

  Gendo was inclined to fuss when he reached his rooms. His manservant was neatly dressed but still managed to appear harried.

  "My lo—majesty, you weren't here when they brought breakfast. I—"

  "Don't worry, Gen. I ate breakfast with Lord-General Kho. In fact, I'll be eating lunch with him, as well. He and Captain Ysdra will be joining us here. I would like a full meal brought."

  Gendo bowed, but before he could leave, Razem put a hand on his arm.

  "Gen, I don't know if I've properly thanked you for all that you have done." He held Gendo's gaze, hoping his sincerity was obvious. "Your service to me, sitting with my father, saving Master Tanvel's work..." He shook his head. "There is no way I could ever repay you for that."

  Gendo's gaze dropped to the floor. "My lord. I'm happy to serve."

  Razem squeezed his arm and let go. "And I am grateful."

  Gendo bowed again and left, his rapid steps cut off by the closing of the door to the main passage. Razem sighed and looked around his rooms. They had been his rooms since he left the children's nursery at eight, but they felt alien all of a sudden. He went to a cabinet and poured himself a generous glass of wine. He carried it out to his private balcony and stopped, gazing out across the city.

  Tamnen City had dressed herself in mourning. Deep purple banners flew from the palace and all the royal buildings. The harbor was draped in mourning purple. The gates were hung in purple. The city would wear mourning clothes for a month, when Razem ascended to the throne.

  He took a mouthful of wine and swished it around, relishing the bitter edge of it. He had planned to be a good king. In his childhood, whenever he thought of kingship, it had been a glory of wealth and valor. His childish mind had somehow ignored the notion that his father would have to die, so he had imagined himself as a glorious young king. His reign would be a prosperous time when young King Razem performed feats of strength and won renown.