by J. C. Owens
Taldan thought he would be ill. He had taken Hredeen, never seeing, never understanding that it might be anything but consensual.
Sarnwa leaned over the desk and took his shoulder, breaking tradition by touching the emperor. He shook Taldan lightly, his eyes kind and holding nothing of condemnation.
“It might have been one-sided at the beginning, Taldan—something that there was no possible way you could have detected. But you forget, I understood him, and I saw him blossom, heal, and eventually step into who he always had the potential of being. Between you, you both managed to create something deeper, something good and different from years of conditioning, years of abuse.” His touch gentled. “He loved you, Taldan, with a fierce fire that came from the tiny piece of his soul that was still whole. It was real, not a construct, not a lie. Real. As is what I feel for your father. We healed each other, quietly, behind the scenes. No one ever knew. It was only I who saw the man behind the mask, felt the caress of fingers that were denied every other touch.”
His eyes teared up, and he sucked in a deep breath, capturing Taldan’s gaze and holding it as easily as he had done when Taldan was a child.
“I am supposed to return to my masters upon your ascension,” Sarnwa said.
Taldan’s eyes widened. He found himself reaching out to grasp the older man’s forearm as though to hold him close and forbid his leaving.
“I’ll order them to leave you here. Tell them that you are invaluable to my reign—”
Sarnwa gave a small chuff of laughter, blinking away tears, reaching out to gently slide his broad fingers through Taldan’s hair. He teased it free of the straps of the mask, a comforting gesture that brought back memories of when Taldan was young and longing for the slightest bit of comfort.
“You have a huge heart, Taldan, much though you strive to deny it. You were the one who raised Zaran, who ensured that he was cared for. You might not have understood the meaning of it, the why or how, but within you, you knew what was right. That will serve you well as emperor. Make the throne your own, don’t look to the past to guide you. It has done enough damage to a great many of your bloodline.” He leaned in closer, his eyes so intense they seemed to burn with emotion. “You must change things. But remember you aren’t alone.”
Seeing this much emotion from Sarnwa had his head reeling. When Taldan thought of Hredeen alone, it caused him physical pain, his head throbbing, his breath short.
Taldan withdrew from the comforting touch, uncomfortable with the moment. The years of conditioning left him uneasy with contact, and in that moment, he understood Hredeen a little better. It was not easy to step out from the past, from all that had shaped you. Hredeen would be no different.
Every event, every word and gesture and thought were like tendrils twining tightly around him. They became such a part of him that it was difficult to distinguish behaviors and responses that were his own personality and which forced upon him by circumstance. Now it was even more difficult with all these memories inside his head…
But what truly cut into his heart were Sarnwa’s words about how the War Guild had trained him. Taldan, for all his learning, all his intellectual curiosity, knew little of the secretive War Guild. They were always seen as a tool of the empire, a weapon. The Shadows were dedicated to protecting the emperor and the important ambassadors and nobles of Anrodnes, while the assassins of the War Guild infiltrated other kingdoms, striking down enemy kings and nobles or cutting down rebellious lords within the empire. Their red fortress was a secretive, isolated place to the far north of the empire, a stronghold called Iskama Rael or “the place of blood.”
Would Hredeen truly have gone back to that distant fortress with the shadow of exile on him? He believed he had known the real Hredeen, the beautiful, graceful man who was the gem of the harem. But the man was also a mercilessly efficient killer. Which was the true Hredeen?
“Do you know where he is?” Taldan forced the question out.
Sarnwa tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, watching him in silence for long, painful moments.
“Are you sure you want to know? There are a great many things in your life at this time. Are you prepared to add another task to your list? Don’t begin this, Taldan, unless you mean to go through with it. It would destroy you. Destroy him.”
Taldan clenched his left hand tightly, feeing the bite of his fingernails into the skin of his palm with the intensity of the pressure.
He stared blindly as a small drop of blood trickled out from his grasp, a spot of red upon the pristine wood of his desk.
“No,” he whispered. “You are right. I don’t need to know.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Isnay
Isnay stared at the approaching harbor of Ferulum, capital of Bhantan, steeling himself for the task ahead. This would be a diplomatic task greater than any he had ever faced as an ambassador. A country had been attacked by a rogue territory of Anrodnes.
Even Bhantan, peaceful though it was, was going to rise up against an invasion.
Isnay grimaced, imagining the atrocities perpetrated by the Odenar military, if military they could even be called. A rabble more likely, with little of discipline, but greed in their hearts. Whatever lay in their path would be fair game.
It had been difficult to leave Persis after all that had happened. He had not wanted to leave Raine, who was in such a difficult position, newly bonded to Taldan, who had turned cold and withdrawn as Isnay had never seen before seen. To say nothing of the loss of Hredeen after the attack that had claimed Taldan’s first Chosen… Hredeen had saved the emperor himself. But gossip was rampant, speculating that the emperor had cast him out because of the lies and betrayal of trust, or how no man could be comfortable with a concubine that deadly.
Isnay shook his head. Raine had told him the truth of the matter. Isnay had known Hredeen too long to see him as a threat now. Still, he struggled with the knowledge that Hredeen was an assassin of the War Guild. No wonder Hredeen had always held an otherworldly grace. Isnay felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of the man somewhere out there, alone. Most probably believing that they all despised him for his deception. That would be a heavy burden to bear.
The sailors began to lower the sails. The sharp flapping of canvas drew Isnay away from his troubled thoughts. He stood safely out of the way, the two diplomats he had brought with him standing close but a respectful distance away.
The other five ships were staying back, anchoring just inside the bay, waiting for permission to dock. Isnay could only pray that the Bhantan monarch, an older, frail man, would not see this as a declaration of war, not believe that the Anrodnes ships had come to finish the job that the invasion had started.
He straightened his shoulders. It was up to him to see this matter resolved in the best possible way. Taldan, Zaran, and Naral were always praising his talents. He just hoped they were right in their assessment.
The harbormaster himself met them, several guards at his back. His weathered face was taut with suspicion—suspicion that did not lessen when he saw Isnay’s blue robes, the universal indication of a diplomat.
Isnay inclined his head to the old man. “I am here to see your king. We have brought supplies for your people.”
The old man watched him, then turned his head to spit on the ground, his expression hard.
“That so. Thought it was you lot that attacked us. Why would you bring us supplies?”
Isnay ignored the man’s hostile tone, keeping his voice even. “I come representing the Emperor of Anrodnes. Those who attacked Bhantan are part of Odenar, a territory that has risen in rebellion and attacked Bhantan without cause, against the wishes of the emperor. Our military is pursuing them, but we wish to bring supplies for the people most affected by this atrocity.”
Thick, busy eyebrows rose. “Atrocity is it then? I think it’s a mite more than that, lad.” He eyed Isnay in silence, as though weighing and judging. “The emperor himself is taking an interest? You must be somebody quite i
mportant then.” His tone said that he himself was not at all impressed.
Isnay stayed silent, patient, hands folded before him, his expression completely neutral.
At last the harbor master sighed, deep and long.
“You seem honest enough, though you work for that tyrant. Gods know we need the help to get these bastards out of our country.” He shielded his eyes to study the ships at the mouth of the bay. “I think the king will ask for a hell of a lot more than this.”
Isnay inclined his head regally. “That remains to be seen. I am sure His Majesty and I can come to some sort of understanding in this. Anrodnes will not let this rebellion stand.”
“Hmm. And our people caught in the middle. How wonderful.”
The old man turned and ordered a messenger to ride to the castle and let them know of Isnay’s arrival. Then the harbormaster looked back at Isnay with a frown and gestured him to follow, without the slightest hint that he honored Isnay’s position. Isnay obeyed without comment, leading his retinue through the docks and deeper into the city. In the situation they found themselves in, Isnay was not terribly surprised by the harbormaster’s suspicion or the hostile looks thrown their way.
The city of Ferulum, the capital of Bhantan, was beautiful, the houses brightly painted and well-kept along the shoreline, every dwelling neat and tidy. Isnay approved, his admiring gaze passing over the architecture and following the lines of the hill that the houses twined up. Upon the crest of the substantial rise, there was a fortress of great age, perhaps even matching the fortress of Persis for history. The lines were similar, the dark stone familiar. It was considerably smaller, without the sprawl of outbuildings and successive walls that marked Persis’s growth through time. It seemed this fortress, without need for protection, had remained in pure form, frozen in time.
Raine would be fascinated. Isnay gathered details to relate to his friend upon his return. Perhaps he could purchase a sketch or two from one of the shops along the waterfront before he left. It was doubtful that either Raine or the newly crowned emperor would ever have the chance to be here. So it would be up to him to bring a little bit of Bhantan back to the palace with him. Isnay felt saddened that this disaster should have fallen upon people who were renowned for their peaceful ways. If they could restore this for them, in any fashion at all…
The words rang hollow in his mind.
Some way up, a high wall segmented the hillside, and across the road was a massive gate, style forgone for stout strength. The huge gate was open, but the iron portcullis was down, allowing him to see past the heavy iron bars. There was nothing fancy about the entranceway, plain and solid. Isnay wondered if it denoted the people’s outlook within Bhantan. Plain, no-nonsense. Certainly the harbor master seemed to fit the theory. He needed to be right about how the rulers of Bhantan would think and act. So much depended on it, and his first major test lay ahead.
He refused to let nerves rule him. Instead, he needed to show no fear, no worry. To help himself hold that inner calmness, he turned his gaze from the dark looks of the men they approached to the incredible view from this high up the hill. Far below he could see the expanse of the harbor, the incoming Anrodnes ships, and the sparkle of the gentle waves. There was very little wind, and the ships’ approach was slow and ponderous, their sails flapping limply, hardly moving. The distant cry of the gulls brought back memories, and he smiled, closing his eyes. He had been born in a coastal town, had wanted to leave so badly, wanted to find a new life in the bustling hub of Persis. Yet now, these sights and sounds brought back warm remembrance of a very happy childhood. The heat of the sun upon his back, the slightest of breezes ruffling his hair. He was glad he had not worn his cloak. It was so much warmer here than back home. Very pleasant indeed.
If this was anything like the weather in Odenar, no wonder Raine always seemed to be cold in Persis.
He could have quite happily found himself a place in the grass and dozed in the unfamiliar heat, but his surroundings were anything but safe, and he had a difficult task ahead. Peaceful they might be, but those of Bhantan were not likely to see their coming as anything but a threat. At least at first. Anrodnes had a merciless reputation that was useful for curbing threats, but inhibiting when it came to negotiating for trade with far-flung countries.
Bhantan had been one of those who had refused, politely but firmly, to have any connection whatsoever, trade or otherwise with Anrodnes. They would not look kindly on Anrodnes in their territory, even if they were there to track down the Odenar rabble.
They reached the gate. From the other side, there came the sound of galloping horses. Isnay looked past the heavy bars, watching as five riders pulled to a halt inside the gate. The others stayed mounted, but one man leaped from his horse and strode to the gate guards, irritation in every line of his body.
Tall, powerful, with his long, dark-red hair pulled back in a severe braid, and a goatee framing a mouth that was drawn into a snarl. He was dressed entirely in richly appointed black clothing with knee-high black boots and seemed a creature of darkness and fire.
The man had a temper, that was for certain, and the guards cringed before him, desperately attempting to answer whatever he was asking.
Finally, the tall stranger threw his hands in the air with a loud curse, gesturing for the portcullis to be opened. He strode through them, blazing green eyes fixed upon Isnay.
“How dare you show up here, spinning a tale of relief supplies, when you have attacked my country, murdered my people without provocation! This is simply another example of Anrodnes pushing out their borders! We will resist you, mark my words.” He stood before Isnay, towering over him, eyes fixed upon him with deadly intensity.
“If you will let me speak, my lord, I can explain the entirety of what has happened and why. My emperor has sent me to explain the circumstances—”
“You think explanations will ease your way into my graces? I think not.” The man’s nostrils were flaring, his fists clenched as though violence were only a whisper away.
“If I may speak to your king, I can—”
The man leaned close, eyes narrowed as he cut Isnay off. “You’re speaking to him,” he snarled.
Isnay blinked, confused, searching his memory. Yes, there was a son and a daughter. The son must have ascended to the throne, though no word had filtered through to Anrodnes. This might be a worrying complication…or a potential boon.
He went to one knee and bowed deeply. “I apologize, Your Majesty. We had not heard of your coronation.”
The king rose to his full height, looking down his nose at Isnay. “That comforts me and makes me believe it is possible that my country is not infected with your spies.”
Isnay met his furious gaze squarely. “There is much you do not know about what has occurred, Your Majesty. A rebellion within Odenar led to this invasion. We have come to suppress that rebellion and are pursuing the culprits. In no way did Anrodnes intend to invade your country.” He attempted to keep his tone even and non-confrontational. “That is why we have come with relief ships, with more aid possible if needed. Emperor Taldan is furious over this transgression, not avid to add you to our lands.”
This young king looked to have all the fire his father had lacked. He looked as if he would dearly love to run his sword through Isnay. His long fingers curled over the pommel and flexed restlessly.
Isnay met his furious gaze with calm respect, and eventually, the monarch growled, spinning on his heel. “Come then. I can’t wait to hear the fabrications you will weave for me.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Isnay followed at a brisk pace, but he was not going to run to keep pace with the man’s much longer stride. He knew he was treading on the edge with the king’s temper so high, but there was no point in letting the man, king or not, lead the Anrodnes delegation by the nose.
That would serve no one well. There must be respect between them, and that was going to be hard won with what was presently happening inside the borders of
Bhantan.
They passed through the gates, and the man’s mounted companions took up the reins of his horse. To Isnay’s surprise, the king walked ahead of them. It would have been completely within protocol for him to ride while Isnay and the others walked, yet he did not.
Interesting.
“I am most apologetic for my lack of courtesy, Your Majesty. My name is Isnay Mretom, head diplomat of Anrodnes.” Isnay kept his eyes lowered, his posture unthreatening. He walked beside the king, far enough away from his own delegation and the king’s retinue that he took a chance on learning more of the man. “We had no word on your ascension. We still believed that your father, King Frandil, ruled.”
“I am King Dransin the Fourth. My ascension was eight months ago, so it is not surprising that you knew nothing. We are not open in sending word of such things beyond our own borders.”
There was a certain bitterness in the words, and Isnay had a moment of insight. It had been known that the old king had no interest in anything but his own country, a shortsighted view that had perhaps brought about the very conditions that had led to Odenar believing that they could simply take over the country without repercussions. He had the strong impression that this young king had very different ideas.
“Let me offer the congratulations and goodwill of Anrodnes on your ascension to the throne,” Isnay said carefully.
King Dransin glanced at him and snorted. “It will take more than fancy words to set this right.”
“We must start somewhere, Your Majesty.”
They continued toward the main keep.
The area within the outer fortifications was lined with older buildings, magnificent with age. Once more, the cleanliness and obvious upkeep of everything stood out. It seemed clear that order was an important part of Bhantan. Isnay appreciated the sidewalks that bordered the cobbled street with laneways for cartwheels. Every so often, there were bricks laid for people to cross, but still allow the carts to pass onwards.
