Well, Shinri thought, at least it will be a relatively quick coup. Vedenel has to stand here—the city is by far its most secure refuge. Those who wish to fight will die quickly, and those with less honor will bow to the new king.
The nobility were not ignorant of this choice. The Veden noblemen stood stiffly, speaking in the quiet tones of nervous men. Those with enough influence, or who were not too closely related to the royal line, had already fled the capital to ‘seek respite’ on their own lands. Those who remained would either have to risk standing with the king—fighting a battle that they were unlikely to win—or they would have to side with Talshekh and hope that the new king didn’t decide they had been too closely connected to the king to be left alive.
Most probably wouldn’t make that final decision for several days yet. They were waiting to see if the Lord Puppeteer managed to gather a suitable resistance or not. The Vedens were a martial people, but they didn’t hold strictly to Aleth ideals of honor. Few battlefield warriors saw any good in fighting a far superior foe, and the Veden men would react similarly when the time came. The only ones whose doom was absolutely certain were those whose power was directly related to that of the king.
The Lord Puppeteer, notably, was absent from the ball.
Shinri smiled, waving a servant to refill her wine. The Puppeteer was undoubtedly very busy seeking allies and planning for the battle. He had no wife or daughter, and was even reported to distrust women politicians—a sentiment that would hurt him severely. But his misfortune was hardly a reason for grief. Shinri had never much cared for Karathach or the king he controlled. Of course, her impressions had been formed during her childhood, when she had not been known for her rational assessment of personalities. Still, it struck her as poetic that the Puppeteer should fall with barely a whimper after flaunting his power so blatantly. She did feel a measure of sympathy for her poor, mindless king. Inside Shinri’s mind, however, Jasnah’s imposed rationality whispered that the kingdom would prosper far more under Talshekh’s reign.
She strolled across the feast chamber. She was surprised at how refreshing she found it to return to Veden courtly ideals—or perhaps the refreshment simply came from escaping Aleth austerity. Either way, the Vedens were far more lax than their northern cousins. Instead of sitting primly at tables, the women stood near grand serving tables, mingling and holding small bowls of food. They discussed politics openly, rather than sending clandestine missives to dart between tables, and did so unabashedly within the hearing of men. Some of the groups even intermixed as they ate, speaking openly together. Even with the extreme tension of an approaching army, their interactions were far more relaxed than what Shinri had grown accustomed to.
She chose a group of women sprinkled with ladies of power, yet not too closely kinned to the royal line, and approached with a slow gait, selecting small pieces of sliced fruit from the dining table and placing them in her bowl. She wasn’t really very hungry, but the fruit plates had been arranged so precisely and carefully that it was difficult to resist plucking slices from their patterns, if only to break them up a bit.
The small group of women noticed her approach, and immediately made room for her. Shinri held in her smile of pleasure. Her surname did not go unnoticed in Vedenar these days. Though her relationship to Talshekh Davar was relatively distant, she was still of his line. Too far removed to make a good hostage, but not so far removed that she wouldn’t make a decent ally in the impending months. The power gave her an unexpected edge, one she hadn’t enjoyed since the height of Jasnah’s courtly influence back in Alethkar. Yet this power was far superior, for it was actually Shinri’s, and not just another facet of Jasnah’s competence.
“Lady Shinri Davar,” said one of the women, bowing her head. She was Lady Khalsah Iahven, a Fourth Lady and far too important to normally have bothered with a simple ward such as Shinri.
Yes, Shinri thought, bowing back, but not showing as much deference as she should have. I could grow accustomed to influence like this. Perhaps that is what draws Jasnah to politics.
“We are graced by your unexpected visit, Lady Davar,” Khalsah continued.
Yes, Khalsah, we all heard my surname the first time. Thank you. “It is I who am graced, Lady Khalsah,” Shinri replied. “I have been away from the Veden court for such a long time that I feared a cold reception.”
“Never for you, Lady Shinri,” said another lady—Temanan Iaven, Khalsah’s distant cousin.
Shinri smiled with closed lips. “Thank you for the welcome. Though, I must admit surprise at finding the city so fortified with soldiers.”
“Oh, it is not so defensible as one might think,” Temanan said quickly, obviously hoping Shinri would somehow relay the information—and its source—back to Talshekh. “Loyal allies to the king are strangely difficult to find. A most unpleasant state, I must say.”
“Loyalty is always most strongly tested during times of strife,” Shinri said. “I’m sure the king’s supporters will prove sufficient from their strength of heart, if nothing else.”
“Indeed,” Khalsah said. She was obviously the craftier of the two. Perhaps fifty years in age, her feminine braids were subdued and streaked with grey. Though the men preferred costumes far more simply cut than their Aleth counterparts, the women’s dresses were virtually indistinguishable from northern designs.
“Of course,” Shinri noted idly, “the king’s obvious success does not preclude us from discussing other outcomes for reasons of entertainment.”
“Purely for logical enjoyment,” Khalsah agreed.
It was a flimsy excuse. However, Shinri suspected that it would compare rather soundly to the tensets of similar excuses being given by other ball-goers. Few of the king’s more vital supporters had chosen to attend this particular function, and the Puppeteer was in no position to begin alienating the numerous fence-sitters by striking against those who discussed his fall. Ironically, treason was about as easy to discuss as the next highstorm.
“I wonder,” Shinri said, popping a roshfruit slice in her mouth, “what do you think of my cousin’s ridiculous aspirations. If he is temeritous enough to march against the king, might he be foolish enough to move on to . . . other interests as well?”
Khalsah’s eyes narrowed. Shinri placed her in a difficult position—the woman had to decide if she were speaking to Jasnah’s ward or Talshekh’s cousin.
“I doubt he will look northward,” Khalsah finally said. “Your cousin is an ambitious man—not an undesirable trait in a leader. However, the Aleth border is too strong to penetrate, and King Elhokar’s armies are still gathered from his campaign in Prallah, are they not?”
“Indeed,” Shinri agreed.
“The treaty with Alethkar has been very favorable,” said the final woman, Vedmaken Jentil. Short, with blondish southern hair, the woman was the least powerful in the group. She would hold her tongue for most of the conversation.
Khalsah nodded. “I doubt Talshekh would risk endangering trade with the north to start a war that he would be unlikely to win. I have this information from . . . reliable sources. You may relate it with confidence.”
Ah, so you choose Shinri the Ward after all, Shinri noted. Well played. Not that Khalsah didn’t hope to gain influence from the conversation—she had given Shinri a potential gem of information, and would expect a well-spoken word or two in return.
Most of the evening’s conversation had been along similar lines. Kemnar’s worry about Vedenar was unfounded—there was unrest, true, but the Idiot King would fall quickly. Talshekh’s ambition would stop there—he couldn’t begin a march northward, not with the Searing coming and the Aleth borders so well-patrolled. Once he took the throne, he would have to expend effort to secure his reign, not to mention be wary of yet another Lakhenran revolt. Alethkar was safe for at least a few years.
And that meant that Shinri had time to probe a few other questions.
“I appreciate your candor, Lady Khalsah,” Shinri said. “You
appear to have enviable contacts.”
Khalsah smiled. “Some prepare better than others.”
“Indeed. My contacts in Vedenar are unenviable these days, especially considering recent losses.”
“Prince Tethren’s death was a tragedy for the entire kingdom,” Khalsah said smoothly. The smile in her eye was almost gleeful. She knew something, but she wasn’t about to share it.
So, Shinri thought with dissatisfaction, the coin of my surname is that easily expended? There was something else in Khalsah’s face. Vengefulness? Shinri frowned, trying to remember if, as a child, she’d ever thrown anything at the woman. Unfortunately, by pure odds of probably, the chances were not in Shinri’s favor. . . .
Lady Temanan frowned slightly. “Prince Tethren?” she asked. “Indeed. To lose him, and in such a way . . .”
Khalsah paled almost imperceptibly as Temanan spoke, and Shinri sprang before the senior woman could deflect the conversation.
“In which way is that?” Shinri asked.
“Why,” Temanan said, flushing slightly. “You know . . . that way. To one of them. I would never travel with one myself, and all the way to Thalenah . . .”
“Ah yes,” Shinri said quickly. There was only one them in Veden society. “I warned him not to take an Awakener with him on the ship.”
Khalsah frowned in dissatisfaction, studying Shinri’s face, obviously trying to determine the extent of Shinri’s bluff. In this area, however, she was outmatched—one of them had been trained by Lady Jasnah Kholin, and the other had not.
“Terrible indeed,” Shinri said to prompt Temanan. Her mind, however, buzzed. An Awakener? On the ship? It was unlikely. Tethren had been a pious Vorin, but—like most Vedens—he had been deeply superstitious. He would never have traveled on the same ship as an Awakener.
Temanan leaned closer. “I heard the creature went completely mad,” she whispered. “As they often do, you know. It made the waters around its own ship burn, and the vessel was immolated completely. That’s why all hands were lost. They say the things can’t hurt a person directly, but if they turn the boat around you into stone, your own immunity won’t do much good, eh?”
“Cousin,” Khalsah said. “This is her former betrothed you speak of. Mind your tongue.”
Temanan flushed, but the damage had been done. Perhaps it is you who should mind your tongue, Khalsah, Shinri noted. If you want to keep a secret, you probably shouldn’t tell it to your weak-minded cousin.
“I . . . think I will withdraw, ladies,” Shinri said, bowing slightly and adopting a slightly ill look. Let them think that talk of Tethren had left her morose—perhaps they would be afraid enough of losing favor with her that they would volunteer more information at another date.
She bid her other farewells as quickly as propriety allowed. She made a few subtle inquiries as she did so—now that she had some information she could tease, getting others to volunteer what they knew in the hopes that she would be able to add something more was easier. She spent little time at it, but that little was enough. Those who had decent connections knew the same story. Tethren had been transporting an Awakener to Thalenah—the Thalen king’s fascination with Awakeners and their arts was well known. The sale of a kingdom’s Awakener was strictly forbidden by The Way of Kings, as was the treatment of any person like a commodity, but it often happened anyway.
King Amelin of Thalenah would have paid richly indeed for an Awakener. He probably would have even given Tethren a sizable amount of the creature’s Awakening profits—Shinri knew Amelin, and the stories were true. He kept Awakeners because of the novelty of their power as much as for the wealth they could bring. Trading him one would have been a masterful deal.
However, Shinri knew it never could have happened. Tethren believed too strongly in Sheneres to do such a thing. Beyond that, he loathed Awakeners—he had always cringed when someone told him a material had been Awakened, and never even wanted to discuss the topic of Awakeners. He would not have brought one on his ship—he wouldn’t have even brought one in the same convoy. No matter what his father or brothers demanded, Tethren would have had nothing to do with such a deal.
Suddenly, Shinri felt a sharp blush of embarrassment. She was not so clever as she had thought. She had assumed that lady Shendaran, Tethren’s sister, was simply her political inferior. Shinri had seen through the letter so easily, noticing its flaws and hidden content, all the while congratulating herself on her superior political savvy—and all the while being manipulated to do just that.
Shendaran had expected her to dig. She had prepared for Shinri’s suspicion, and had known that Shinri was unlikely to accept any explanation from House Rienar. This, the story about the Awakener—this was the true feint. This was the story spread unofficially, the patch used to underlay an obviously suspicious event. It was a very Veden scandal—Shinri’s people loved stories of poetic destruction via Awakening or Stormshade. They would quickly accept the second lie for its shameful and supernatural implications, especially if House Rienar was smart enough to deny it as much as possible.
But it was a lie. Shendaran didn’t know two things. Shinri had known Tethren a relatively short time, but she had studied him with the obsessive eyes of a lovestruck girl. She knew far more of him than she was expected to.
Secondly, Shinri was no longer really a Veden. She had spent too much time in Alethkar—and with the supremely Aleth Jasnah—to retain many of her superstitions. She didn’t accept the Awakener story because of its illogic.
And that, unfortunately, left her where she had begun—save for one bit of information. She now understood that she wouldn’t find her answers in Jah Keved. The Veden people couldn’t be honest with her even if they wished to—the lies had grown too convoluted.
But what else is there? She thought. If I can’t get the truth from them, then how do I discover it?
What would Jasnah do? The answer came to her immediately. Since Shinri couldn’t find the answer at the source of Tethren’s voyage, she would have to go to his destination. King Amelin probably didn’t remember Shinri—and she doubted she wanted him to, for she hadn’t exactly treated him with the dignity deserving of his station. However, Thalenah had dock registers and cargomasters. Perhaps she could borrow Kemnar for a short time and have him seek out the truth behind that convoy’s cargo.
Determined, Shinri left the mansion and ordered her litter bearers to carry her to Veden City’s Oathgate Dome. Like the others, it was structured like a reverse fortress, designed to protect against the unlikely event of unwanted travelers coming through.
There was no line—it was late in the day, and the Oathgates were closed to all but the most important of travelers. Her bearers put down the litter, and she swept into the building, intent on returning to Jasnah with her news of Veden politics. The guards waved her inside, into the circular room lined with glistening quartz and bright diamonds. The Oathgate itself was a twisting structure of pure quartz, designed like a natural arch of stone blown into formation by the winds.
And it was already open. Shinri paused—she had expected that she would need to demand the services of the young Awakener kept on premises to open their side and send a message through the opal requesting that the other side be opened as well. However, it appeared as if another traveler had already demanded its opening. As she watched, the white-smoke veil in the arch’s center broke, and a man stepped through.
Round-faced, with the large, almost child-like eyes of his kind, the Shin man moved with more grace than the smoke itself. He crept more than walked, his step almost a glide. Shinri stepped back, staring despite herself as the man strode by. He glanced at Shinri with eyes that read her as easily as they read a common glyph, and understood her with an ease that would have shamed even Jasnah’s skill.
He was out the door seconds later, passing her without acknowledgement or respect for her station, leaving her to wonder how a foreign man could demand such free use of the Oathgates.
chapter 20
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Jek 4
Jeksonsonvallano, Truthless of Shinavar, occasionally found some things challenging about living among the eastern heathens. Their warriors were incompetent, true, but the Kanaran people had advantages that were not related to their skill. Jek was undeniably Shin—his skin was lighter and smoother than that of a Kanaran, his features more rounded, his nose far less predominant. Many Kanarans claimed that the Shin looked like children to their eyes—an irony, since the easterners themselves were considered children by the Truth.
Regardless, Jek could not easily hide among them. Even with skin darkened by makeup, his features would mark him as a outsider—a Riemak mixedbreed, if not a full Shin. Moving among the Kanarans unnoticed required skill and care. Fortunately, such was included in his training—his clan might not have been one of the most overtly powerful, but no Shin would dare question their effectiveness.
Karathach the Lord Puppeteer did not ‘hold court,’ for technically he was not king. Gaining private audiences with him was surprisingly difficult. He considered himself careful, but in truth he was simply pompous. He did not wish to be bothered by those he considered his inferiors.
Fortunately, he was growing desperate.
Jek stood quietly at the back of the small stone room, trying to ignore the sense of the stone pressing in on him. The Puppeteer’s audience chamber was lavish with the goods of his plunder—seasilk, woven rugs, and woods of all variety crowded the room’s occupants. Of men, there were about ten, including the Puppeteer himself.
The Puppeteer’s eye sockets seemed to droop in his head, his entire face gaunt and worried as he paced. “Naden!” he snapped. “What of your contacts to the south? Surely Lord Reinar realizes the danger of one House rising against another?”
The Way of Kings Prime Page 24
