Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3)

by Lindsay Buroker

  “It’s not your texts that are in danger of making you enemies,” Silver Wolf said, a little sourly, but he smiled too.

  Tynlee shooed him away.

  Assuming she was done with him, Yanko stood up. For a moment, as Jhali came in and he headed for the door, they came face to face.

  He paused, feeling he should thank her for her help, but he was hesitant to do so. She would probably reject the gratitude and tell him she hadn’t done it for his sake.

  “There are no ships heading to the Great Land,” she told him, surprising him by speaking first. “They say it’s a war zone all up and down our eastern coast, and Turgonian trade ships have no interest in risking the waters right now.” Her mouth twisted in distaste.

  She must have already gone down to the docks and tried to find passage.

  “So, we would need someone with influence and power to have a vessel sent home,” Yanko said, looking toward the hallway where Silver Wolf had stood.

  “We.” Jhali snorted. “You and I are not a we, White Fox.”

  “Nonetheless, I thank you for your assistance in escaping the Turgonians.” Yanko bowed to her.

  Jhali seemed flustered by the gesture, glancing at Tynlee as if she could explain Yanko.

  Tynlee merely watched them, a thoughtful finger to her lips.

  “I doubt you escaped them,” Jhali said. “Your hulking one-eyed spy is waiting in the room with all the sofas.”

  “I am certain he is sitting in a gentlemanly manner,” Tynlee said. “Not hulking.”

  Yanko thought of her earlier words. Just ask your Daksaron. “You know him well?”

  “Not as well as I’d like. As I mentioned, we met a few times for official business. Once, I tried to lure him out to tea so I could interview him for a book. He seemed horrified at the notion of being the center of attention or a reference.”

  “A book on… sociology?” Yanko couldn’t imagine Dak as a reference for such a text. Mathematics, certainly. Engineering, yes. But sociology or culture?

  “Mm, not exactly.” Tynlee smiled cryptically, but as Yanko was heading out the door, added telepathically, I have been working on a spy novel for years. Superb non-fiction is important for sculpting the minds of young students, of course, but making up stories is much more fun. I should like to write a whole series after I retire.

  Oh, Yanko thought back, not sure what else to say. He could imagine the woman writing stories, but he had a harder time imagining Dak as a resource of any kind. He was so tight-mouthed about his work—and who he was related to. How long had it taken Yanko to ferret out his full name? If Tynlee had been Turgonian, maybe Dak would have shared some stories, but he had a notable distrust of Nurians.

  Don’t underestimate the wiles of a woman, Yanko White Fox, Tynlee thought, smiling as he walked out of the room.

  There wasn’t anyone waiting in the hallway to escort him back to the receiving room—or to a jail cell—so he headed in that direction on his own. He found a tired-looking Dak sitting on one of the sofas, with freshly poured tea steaming in a cup in his hand. A pack rested on the cushion next to him, with a sheathed sword sticking out from underneath it. Not just a sword, Yanko realized, feeling the presence of a Made artifact. Sun Dragon’s scimitar. And was that his mother’s robe he sensed in the pack too?

  When Yanko walked in hesitantly, Dak gave him a very frank eyebrow raise.

  “Are you in charge of taking me back?” Yanko asked.

  Dak did not have a rifle or a noticeable weapon of his own, but that did not make him any less dangerous. Yanko tried to reassure himself that there wouldn’t have been any reason for Dak to bring those items if he was on a simple retrieval mission.

  “I can’t as long as you’re within this compound.” Dak gestured at the adobe wall behind him.

  He didn’t mention whether Yanko might be a fair target if he left the compound to head to a ship. But it sounded like there wasn’t any point in going down to the docks right now. Would Yanko be stuck here in limbo indefinitely? He had no idea if the consulate had a ship at its disposal. Even if it did, would the ambassador grant its use to him? Not likely.

  “I am also not in charge of anything currently,” Dak added.

  Yanko lifted his own eyebrows, wondering about Dak’s status. He wasn’t in shackles, no guards were trailing him, and he appeared to have been given the leeway to walk about in the city.

  “I understand that Admiral Ravencrest has composed a report about everything, including my dubious actions on his ship, and a courier will be hand-carrying it on tomorrow morning’s train to our Intelligence Headquarters in the capital. I’m of equal rank to the man commanding the installation here, and we’ve worked together before, so he was disinclined to store me in a cell. He’s given me a desk so I can make myself useful by doing paperwork while I wait for orders to come back from the capital.” Dak grimaced.

  Yanko thought of the electrical wire signaling system Tynlee had described and wondered why the report hadn’t been sent that way. Perhaps the admiral had deemed the news about the continent too sensitive to risk it being seen by the eyes of lowly communications officers? It had to be carried by hand, with a trusted courier guarding it with his life. Which meant that the Turgonian president wouldn’t learn about all of this until that train arrived. In three days? Two? Yanko wasn’t positive how quickly Turgonian trains traveled, but he knew there were some mountain ranges between the coast and the capital. Maybe that would slow things down.

  Or, if he could somehow keep that message from being placed on that train, that would slow things down even more.

  Yanko noticed Dak watching him and fought the urge to squirm. Dak was no mind mage. He might be smart, but he couldn’t read thoughts.

  “So, you just came by to visit?” Yanko asked casually and nodded at the tea cup.

  Dak grunted.

  “And to bring my belongings?” Yanko pointed at the pack. The scimitar was hardly his, but his mother had more or less given him the robe. At the least, she had instructed him to wear it during their practice sessions.

  “Nobody at Turgonian Intelligence Headquarters wants a magical sword,” Dak said.

  “You could have chucked it in the harbor.”

  “I thought you might have use of it someday. I trust you won’t be returning to Nuria anytime soon—” something in the way he said the word made Yanko wonder if the ambassador had stated exactly that, “—but I’m sure you will one day make it back and find your family. Hopefully while avoiding politics and fighting between factions.” His eye narrowed, and Yanko sensed that the words were a firm suggestion, maybe even a warning.

  Yanko appreciated that Dak seemed to care that he made it home safely, but he didn’t appreciate that Dak was possibly part of the conspiracy to keep him from returning home promptly. What if he’d been the one to suggest a delay to the ambassador? Maybe he wanted to ensure that his people had time to debate—and explore and claim—the new continent before the Nurian leaders learned of its existence.

  That frustrated Yanko. Even though Prince Zirabo had originally requested nothing more than that he find that lodestone, and he had done that, he knew Zirabo hadn’t wanted the end result to be the Turgonians gaining a new continent. It was supposed to be for Nuria, damn it. Their people needed it. The well-fed Turgonians did not need more fertile land.

  Yanko took a deep breath and forced himself to sound grateful and appropriately respectful as he said, “I’m sure the weapon and the robe will be useful in finding my family. Thank you for bringing them.”

  Dak nodded, and with his pack delivered, Yanko thought he would leave. But he sipped from the tea cup and leaned back against the sofa. It was strange to see such a big man relaxing with a laughably small cup in his calloused hand.

  “Is there something you want from me in return?” Yanko asked.

  “No.”

  Was he lingering—or lurking—because he thought he could gather some intelligence while he was here in the consu
late?

  Yanko thought of Tynlee’s words, of wanting to interview—or was that Interview?—Dak for information on a spy novel. Maybe he should warn Dak that he should go before she made an appearance.

  “Did that soldier, the one by—under—the lorry make it back to your headquarters without…” Dying, Yanko thought, but struggled to be so blunt. The memory of the explosion echoed in his mind.

  “He’s alive,” Dak said. “Broken bones. He’ll be off duty for some time.”

  “Oh. And the explosion? Did it cause…?”

  “Injuries, yes. Nobody died.”

  That was a relief, but he’d still hurt people.

  “I just wanted to avoid being imprisoned,” Yanko said quietly. “Not to injure anyone.”

  “I imagine it’s hard to hurl hurricanes down streets without injuring people.”

  Yanko winced. Dak wasn’t glaring, not exactly, but he thought he read condemnation in those words. Dak hadn’t minded when Yanko used similar tactics against pirates, but they were on his turf now, and these were his people.

  “I’m sorry,” Yanko said quietly.

  Dak pushed the pack and scimitar scabbard toward him. “Maybe you can practice subtlety while you’re here.”

  Again, a reference to an extended stay here.

  “I’ll try,” Yanko said.

  Dak looked toward the doorway before Yanko noticed that someone was there.

  “Good evening, Colonel Starcrest,” Tynlee said, pressing her hands together and bowing. Interestingly, the gesture and her tone lacked the faint sarcasm it held when she addressed Silver Wolf—and everyone else.

  “Consul Blue Heron,” Dak said politely, lifting his cup in acknowledgment.

  Dak was always hard to read, but Yanko thought his eyes conveyed wariness. He probably knew that Tynlee was a mind mage, and if she’d asked him questions before, he might be mentally bracing himself for that. Would he have believed that she wanted information for a “spy novel”? Perhaps not. He might believe that was a ruse and that she had been given the task of extracting intelligence from him. In truth, Yanko didn’t know if the novel-writing story was a true one. It wasn’t as if he, with his meager mind-magic skills, could read her the way she read him.

  “Is Jhali all right?” Yanko asked, wondering how her interview had gone.

  “Indeed. She agreed with me that it’s important to keep one’s toes warm while working.”

  “Really?” Yanko could not imagine Jhali making—or acknowledging—a joke or commenting on something frivolous.

  “Well, she stared stonily at me when I said it. I took that as taciturn acquiescence.” Tynlee walked forward and poured herself a cup of tea from the tray on the low table in front of Dak. “Do the Turgonians not agree that stony silence equates to agreement, Colonel?”

  “No,” he said.

  She smiled at him, as if he had given the perfect answer. His brow wrinkled, and he appeared slightly flustered. If Yanko was reading him correctly, this was the first person who had succeeded in eliciting that emotion in Dak, at least while he’d been in Yanko’s company.

  “Miss Jhali has agreed to use the bathing and laundering facilities,” Tynlee said, sitting down across from Dak.

  “Yanko,” came a cheerful call from the doorway. Arayevo and Lakeo, their hair wet from the baths, waved to him. For once, Lakeo’s short hair wasn’t sticking out in a thousand directions as if she’d been hit by a lightning bolt. “This is the most wonderful prison so far,” Arayevo added. “Did you have lotions and soaps in the men’s bath?”

  “Yes,” Yanko said.

  “Arayevo says that if you smell her armpits, they’re fabulous,” Lakeo added.

  “That’s, ah… important.”

  Arayevo twitched an eyebrow at Lakeo, as if she hadn’t intended to share that particular piece of intel, but out loud, she offered an agreeable, “Yes, the lavender and tangerine wash was delightful.”

  Yanko didn’t want to smell a lavender and tangerine armpit, but he kept the thought to himself.

  The two women must have been told to sit down and wait because they took chairs near the door. Yanko was considering staying with Tynlee and Dak, in part to see if he could gain more information and in part because he wanted to witness Dak using his intelligence-gathering talents on a professor with mind-mage abilities.

  Lakeo waved for Yanko to come join them, and on the chance that they had something important to relay, he did so, taking one of the four cushy chairs surrounding a tea table. Or in Turgonia, it might be a cider table. That was the preferred drink here, wasn’t it?

  Lakeo leaned over her armrest toward him, and he waited, expecting her to initiate a tête–à–tête. Instead, she sniffed.

  “Much better, Yanko. You should bathe regularly.”

  “It is one of my aspirations in life.”

  “You’ve been failing at it lately.”

  “Thanks for noticing.”

  He placed his hands on the armrests, intending to rejoin Dak and Tynlee. But Arayevo lifted her palm toward him.

  “We heard there aren’t any ships leaving for Nuria,” she said quietly.

  “Because of the war back home,” Lakeo said.

  “That’s what I heard too,” Yanko said.

  “If we’re delayed… Do you think the Turgonians will take a fleet back to the new continent right away?” Arayevo said. “And plant their flag? Or giant sword or spear? Whatever Turgonians do.”

  “Possibly not,” Yanko said, thinking of Dak’s words. “Apparently, that Admiral Ravencrest wrote a report, and it’s being taken to their capital on a morning train. Dak said it had information about what he’s been up to in it, but I’m guessing there’s a lot of information about the continent too. It’s a shame…” Yanko leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin, a thought coming to mind.

  “That Dak is glowering at that pretty woman with his one eye all squinty like that?” Arayevo asked.

  “What? No.” Yanko turned to look. Dak wasn’t glowering, at least not any more than usual. “That’s his normal expression.”

  “Well, he should soften it. I think she’s attracted to him.”

  “She just wants to get information out of him. And vice versa.”

  “I don’t think so, Yanko,” Arayevo said, smiling. “At least, that’s not all she wants. A woman can tell these things.”

  Yanko almost said that was silly, but he remembered that Arayevo had known he was in love with her, years before he’d found the courage to say anything.

  “That’s not important now,” Yanko said. “Let’s talk about this train leaving in the morning. With news of our continent.”

  “Our?” Lakeo asked, though she was peering around Yanko’s chair, also looking toward Dak and Tynlee now. “You’re claiming it for yourself?”

  “A Nurian was responsible for bringing it to the surface,” Yanko said. “Even if it was the wrong Nurian.”

  “Yanko did find the lodestone that allowed that to happen,” Arayevo said.

  Yanko grimaced. That had been Dak. He never would have found it on his own. If he could get back to Prince Zirabo with the news and offer his assistance in claiming the land for Nuria, then he could say he’d done something. Then, perhaps, some honor would fall upon his family. More than that, Nuria might have a resource for the future. He would be happy to advise the prince or even the Great Chief on how to make that new land suitable for farming.

  Yanko peered around his chair toward Tynlee, wondering if she would mind if he interrupted her. Honored Consul? he asked silently during a lull in her conversation with Dak—if it could be called a conversation when she was doing all the talking, with Dak only nodding or grunting now and then.

  Yes, Yanko?

  Now that you know the truth, at least from my perspective, do you believe the ambassador will help us? Is there any possibility that he can convince a ship in the harbor to head to the Great City and take us as passengers?

  Honli believes your ac
tions mark you as a criminal and that you should be shipped to the authorities back home, but that there’s no hurry to do so. He was thinking of putting you to work sweeping floors and cleaning the baths while waiting for the chaos to clear up in Nuria.

  Waiting! Yanko leaned out of his seat and gaped at her. We can’t just wait. We have to go back and help. And I have to—

  I know, dear. I understand your plight.

  Can you help? Surely, you don’t want to see Nuria plunged into civil war.

  The war has already started, Yanko, and I suspect that there is little an eighteen-year-old boy can do to help.

  Yanko ground his teeth. When were people going to stop calling him a boy? He hadn’t done anything boyishly foolish for weeks. All right, days.

  I can help. By bringing word of the new continent. Maybe the announcement will make all the fighting stop. The knowledge that we must rally our forces to claim it before Turgonia does could cause our people to band together again.

  From what I saw in your mind, the new continent is underwhelming.

  The Turgonians will see the potential in it and will grab it if we don’t. Zirabo will see the potential too.

  “Consul Tynlee?” Dak prompted in Turgonian. “Are you deeply contemplating the question, busy trying to read my mind, or thinking of what you’ll have for breakfast?”

  Yanko hadn’t heard his question, but he hoped he wasn’t making Dak suspicious by distracting Tynlee.

  “Breakfast, now there’s a delightful notion,” Tynlee said smoothly. “Tonight’s activities are keeping me up far later than usual, you know.”

  “I should go then.” Dak set down the cup and leaned forward.

  “No, you shouldn’t,” Tynlee blurted. Less smoothly.

  Dak’s eyebrows rose.

  “I mean, you’re not the one keeping me up late.” She smiled at him.

  Yanko was watching them but saw Arayevo nudge Lakeo out of the corner of his eye.

  Tynlee and Dak looked over at Yanko as one. Yanko touched a finger to his chest and mouthed, “Me?”

  “Stay a little longer, Colonel,” Tynlee said. “We’ve barely begun to probe each other for information.”