The Queen's assassin

Chapter Twenty-Six

There was a discreet knock on the door of Rik’s chamber in the Palace at Halim. He lay still in the bed, luxuriating in its softness and comfort. It had been a week since they got back from Harven and he had started to recover from his ordeal. Sleep and food and some of the strange golden wine that Asea used to replenish her strength after magic had all helped. The voices were still in his head but they had sank back to a gentle murmur, omnipresent but almost unnoticeable except when he was tired or when he sought to work sorcery; then they would swell to a chorus that could almost swamp his sanity.

“Come in,” he said.

A servant in palace livery entered, bearing a silver platter on which lay a message. Just as quietly as he had entered, he withdrew to let Rik read it in privacy. The envelope was of thick expensive paper; the seal was one he did not recognise. Briefly he wondered about poison or letter curses or any of the other strange things he had heard of but decided that he most likely did not warrant such a thing. He broke the seal and studied the writing. The penmanship was lovely, the characters clearly formed in a precise hand. It said:

Lord Sardontine and his Lady wife request the pleasure your presence on the evening of the seventh day of the twelfth month. Our evening of music and conversation will begin at the eighth bell of evening.

It was signed by Lord Sardontine. Rik folded the letter up and placed it back in its envelope. He wondered why the old Terrarch wanted him at his dinner. Perhaps he was expected to sing for his supper with tales of his bravery. Or perhaps they were hoping for more gossip about their Queen or Rik’s recent trip to Harven. His instinctive response was to turn the invitation down. He had no place hobnobbing with Terrarch aristocrats. He was a former thief from the streets of Sorrow. For all the training Asea and her servants had given him, he remained so at heart. He doubted he could feel comfortable moving among such people.

When he visited Asea in her chambers, he mentioned it to her.

"You should go," she said. She was dressed once more in a gown. She still looked pale and more than a little gaunt. Their trip to Harven seemed to have been even more costly for her than it had been for him. He doubted she was getting much sleep. At night when he had passed her chambers, he had heard the sound of chanting, even through the sound deadening spells. She was preparing powerful magic. Doubtless she anticipated a struggle with Lord Malkior in the not too distant future.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because Lord Sardontine is one of those old aristocrats who likes to keep a foot in both camps. It would not hurt to get a feel for what he is saying."

"I seriously doubt that if he has any traitorous plans he is going to explain them to me over dinner."

"Sometimes you are surprisingly naive, Rik," she said and smiled. She obviously knew that would annoy him. The voices hissed disapproval in the back of his mind.

"In what way?"

"Lord Sardontine knows you are my protege. He is simply trying to establish a direct line of communication."

That made a certain amount of sense. The thought of being Asea's emissary did not make him any more comfortable with the idea of going to the dinner. His encounter with Malkior and the ease with which he had been taken had left him more than a little suspicious. “I don’t like hobnobbing with the upper crust,” he said, to hide his real reason.

"All the more reason for you to do it," she said. "The only way you will feel at ease with the Aristals is if you mingle with them. I assure you there is nothing to be intimidated about."

That was easy for her to say with her millennia old bloodline and her eternal presence among the high aristocracy. He wondered if she really had the slightest idea of what it was like to be him, and decided that she did not. Still she was right in one way. Putting himself into the situation was the only way he would ever become comfortable with it, and he needed to be so if he was ever going to fulfil his ambitions in this world.

"I believe I will take your advice."

"Good. Just one thing…"

"Yes."

"It would probably be for the best if you did not mention all the training you have undergone. Let them think you enjoy a life of ease. And try not to mention our recent hair-raising escapades in Harven.” Her smile showed him that she knew he could be trusted not to bring the matter up in conversation.

"I will do my best."

"I am sure that will be more than adequate. You will be a credit to everything I have taught you."

Her smile widened a fraction. What was she up to, Rik wondered?

Lord Sardontine's mansion was near the Palace. High white walls tipped with spikes surrounded it. Burly footmen waited by the gates. The coach rumbled up the long driveway, under arches of dragon-trees. More servants waited to greet him as he descended. He felt odd, almost as nervous as he had done before infiltrating the Serpent Tower. He told himself that this would be much less dangerous but could not quite bring himself to believe it. The voices whimpered nervously in the back of his mind.

From inside came the strains of complex chamber music. He paused for a moment, breathing in the scented air. There were many blooms here of a type he had never smelled before. Apparently Lord Sardontine or his wife was a keen gardener. He took a deep breath, composed his face into the cold mask he had seen Terrarch officers wear, and strode up the steps.

A human butler showed him through the corridors and he was ushered into a finely furnished chamber. Panels embossed with golden Elder Signs covered the white painted walls. A massive chandelier full of glowglobes descended from the ceiling. A small chamber orchestra played on a raised dais. Groups of people stood around chatting in the corners. As he entered, Lady Sardontine rose from her seat and moved to greet him.

"Ah, here is the hero of the Serpent Tower," she said. Her voice was low and breathy. Her hand lingered on his arm for longer than was strictly necessary. She met his gaze boldly and with a mischievous glitter in her eye. "Come, let me introduce you."

Rik looked around the chamber for her husband but the elderly Terrarch was nowhere visible. He was moved in a whirl from group to group, bowing to the ladies and gentlemen alike, speaking in the courtly formal way Asea had impressed on him. He did his best to memorise the names, a process that was not helped by the strong liquor in the goblet Lady Sardontine pressed into his hand from a tray carried by a liveried footman.

"You do look handsome tonight," she said as they moved between groups.

"And you look extraordinarily beautiful." It seemed like the easiest thing to say. Her face brightened at the simple praise. She tilted her head to one side as she studied him. “You have changed. You seem a little more seasoned.”

“That was an interesting choice of words.”

"I heard you have added a new skill to your repertoire — you are now an aeronaut." Here it comes, thought Rik, the first few questions of the Inquisition.

This was overheard by a tall, golden-haired Terrarch in the uniform of a Captain of one of the Kharadrean regiments. "It cannot possibly compare to dragon-riding," he said, butting into the conversation.

"I am surprised you are in a position to compare," said Rik lightly. "I had thought ballooning was still a novelty."

"One does not need to wield a club to know that it cannot compare to a rapier." The Terrarch's voice had a dangerous edge. Rik wondered at the way he had so smoothly manoeuvred the conversation into talk of weapons. Would there be talk of a duel next? He doubted it; he was not the sort of person a Terrarch noble would deign to fight with.

"You have a point," Rik said, gesturing to the captain's own sword. To his surprise the Terrarch laughed, as did Lady Sardontine.

"You did well at the Serpent Tower," said the Captain. "I have heard the Queen plans to reward you."

"No reward is necessary," said Rik. "It was a privilege to serve her majesty."

He found himself falling into his pre-ordained role of suitably humble hero a little too easily for his own liking, but it seemed the best way to be. He was out of his depth here amid these glitteringly beautiful people, and he reckoned it would be wise to present them with the front they expected to see. The voices whispered that it was always best for people to see what they expected. He kept the smile on his face with an effort.

"Nonetheless," said the Captain, "far as it is from my part to second guess our Queen, I suspect that she will show truly regal gratitude."

The officer and Lady Sardontine exchanged secretive smiles and he wondered if he was being mocked, or the Queen was.

"We have not been introduced, sir?" Rik said. Lady Sardontine touched his hand intimately again.

"I am remiss in my duties as hostess, Captain Talarion, this is Rik. Rik this is Captain Talarion." They bowed to each other and the Captain helped himself to another drink from a passing tray.

"I understand you used to serve in the same unit as Lieutenant Sardec?"

Rik sensed a trap here but was uncertain how he could avoid it. Surely they all knew he had been an enlisted man, and Sardec an officer. Was Talarion reminding him of that? "That is the case," Rik said.

"I hear he fought a duel over some wench," Talarion said. His smile widened a fraction. It was like watching a sword being slowly drawn from a sheath.

"That sounds very romantic," said Lady Sardontine.

"A human wench," said Talarion. There was silence for a moment and an exchange of smirks. Talarion waited for a heartbeat and finished his attack. Rik saw it coming. "It seems that taking human lovers is all the rage in Talorea these days."

Rik looked from him to Lady Sardontine and smiled back as coldly. He held the woman's gaze as he said; "Perhaps it will become fashionable here in Halim as well. You never know."

She smiled back at him. "You never know," she said.

Seeing something pass between them, Talarion raised his eyes to the ceiling. A small pulse of what might have been anger beat on his forehead. "If you will excuse us, Captain," said Lady Sardontine, "I must introduce our young hero to my other guests."

"By all means, my dear, I can see I have wasted enough of your time already."

"Ignore the good Captain," Lady Sardontine said, once he was safely in their wake. "He is of the old school and can be something of a boor. Do not judge us all by him. Some of us in Kharadrea understand that the world is changing."

There was a note of apology in her voice, and something else, perhaps it was fear. He realised that Lady Sardontine very much wanted to stay on his good side, or more likely that of Lady Asea. Or perhaps she is simply trying to be friendly, he thought, and discounted the possibility immediately.

The voices told him that was wise.

They entered the orbit of another group. This one consisted mostly of women surrounding a tall Terrarch male so slim that he looked positively sickly, an impression reinforced by his constant coughing into a handkerchief. He was unusual in that he was not wearing a military uniform but a dress coat of heavy purple velvet, and a number of silk scarves.

All of them gave him glances that were quite welcoming, even the male. Introductions were made. The usual questions asked. The sickly Terrarch, by name Petron, by profession an author, by blood Lady Sardontine's brother, spoke: "I, for one, will be glad to have Kathea seated properly on the throne, and the Taloreans here. For too long Kharadrea has languished in the shadow of the Dark Empire." He paused for a moment. Rik guessed that the word shadow had a resonance for Terrarchs that it simply did not have for him, something to do with the powers that had evicted them from Al'Terra. "Now we shall see some progress. Our backward land will wake up.”

The ladies emitted small shrieks of scandalised outrage, although Rik suspected they were really quite enjoying Petron's words.

"My brother is a radical," murmured Lady Sardontine in Rik's ear. "He is a great admirer of your patron. Our father disinherited him because of his Scarlet outlook."

"My sister is doubtless informing you of the skeleton in the family closet. My father is an old tyrant. He regrets the days of the Conquest ever ended and that he can't take the whip and lash our humans to death as he used to do in the old days."

Petron smiled at Rik warmly, a thing that made him as uncomfortable as the coldness of some of the other Terrarchs. Petron was trying too hard to be friendly, to show he had no prejudice. He was not seeing Rik as himself but as a human, any human. This conversation was not about Rik, did not include him and never would. It was all about Petron, and how radical he was. Rik smiled back. He was becoming quite expert at playing the hypocrite.

"I understand that still happens in Sardea — the beatings to death, I mean."

"My dear fellow it still happens here in Kharadrea. Not all of our landowners are enlightened. King Orodruine's edicts may have made it illegal to kill your humans for all but capital crimes, but somehow word of those laws never reached our larger estates. Khaldarus means to repeal the edicts anyway; he has said so publicly many times. That is why it is imperative — imperative! — that Kathea is our Queen."

Rik felt the old slow, smouldering anger start to build within him. The outrage he had felt even as a boy against the injustice of the world was still there despite his current hypocrisy. As the anger mounted the whisper of the voices in his head became louder. There were times when he thought he sensed even the presence of the Quan, swirling somewhere in the depth of his mind, lurking there like a shark below the surface of placid waters.

Petron's words reminded him that the order of the world was still wrong, that murder was still being done legally, that people were still being killed at the whim of the world's Terrarch masters, and that it would only get worse if the Dark Empire won. From what Malkior had told him, worse things than that were happening in Sardea, and for once Rik saw no reason to disbelieve his putative father.

He kept his face a mask, determined that these people would never see the way he really felt. Sometimes it was hard, he thought, caught up in the cynical politics of the Terrarch factions and his former comrades lust for plunder, to keep sight of the fact that, despite everything, the conflict they were engaged in really did have a meaning beyond the goals of the protagonists, that the world really could be a better place if one side won and another side lost.

He brought his attention back to Petron who was still enumerating a list of his father's crimes against his serfs. Another realisation hit him. Easy as it was to be cynical about Petron and his motives, the Terrarch probably was a real ally to the cause of humanity.

The night moved on in a whirl of drinking and music and conversation. Rik mostly listened, told tales of his life as a soldier, avoided all questions concerning what had happened in the Serpent Tower or in Harven. He drank far less than those around him, afraid that if he did the voices would become louder. His reticence seemed only to stand him in good stead, to add to the aura of mystery that surrounded him. He began to feel that things were different here, that these people knew nothing about his past, they seemed to take him more or less at face value, as part of the conquering army, as a hero who had saved their future Queen, as the mysterious putative lover of an Elder World sorceress. It was a seductive feeling. He had come a long way from the streets of Sorrow, from their soiled terrors and grubby triumphs.

All these people saw was his nice coat and his Terrarch features. They did not know and need never know about his thievish past. He grinned. They did not, but he always would. He was marked by more than being a Shadowblood. He was his past and it would set him aside from these folks for as long as he lived.

At some point during the night, he noticed that a few couples had discreetly vanished, unmissed amid all the drinking and music. He was not in least surprised when Lady Sardontine took his hand and led him from the chamber through a maze of passages into a dark cavernous room. Her breath was scented by alcohol. Her lips tasted of old Kharadrean wine.

The voices whispered beware, and he drew back. He sensed another presence in the room, and swung Lady Sardontine around so that she was between him and whoever it was. It was only a matter of moments before he noticed a figure standing in the shadows. He recognised her at once.

“Tamara,” he said. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

A blade glittered in her hand. He felt a small stab of fear. “I see you are armed with something more than a knitting needle this time.”

“Thank you for bringing this handsome young man here, Ilea,” Tamara said to Lady Sardontine. “I would be grateful if you could leave us for a while.”

“It was a pleasure, my dear,” said Lady Sardontine. “One I hope to have the chance to repeat soon.”

“So here we are again,” said Rik. The voices jabbered in his head. They were afraid of the sword, afraid that if he died they would lose their last toehold in life. He could not blame them for that.

“I would say the situations are reversed since last we talked,” she said.

“You surely don’t intend to kill me here,” he said. “Not with all these high ranking Terrarchs around. Or is the Kharadrean Liberation Army about to claim another victim.”

“One of the things I like about you, Rik, is your sense of humour.”

“That is reassuring.”

“There are times you remind me of my father.”

“Believe me, that is a path you don’t want this conversation to go down.”

“I hear you had a meeting with him and his interesting friends in Harven.”

“News does travel fast.”

“I believe you rather impressed him. He did not expect you to survive your last meeting. My father is usually right about such things.”

The chorus in his head swelled in anger. He tried to force them down, to make himself concentrate. How did Tamara know about what had happened in Harven? The voices refused to be silenced. They wanted Malkior dead. In truth, he wanted Malkior dead. It did not seem particularly diplomatic to point this out. “He very nearly was.”

“And yet here you still are, just like after the Serpent Tower. You have a talent for survival it seems.”

He looked at the sword in her hand. “Is it poisoned?” he asked. He felt sure that with the spells Asea had taught him he might be able to survive that but he was not sure he could survive the thrust of an ordinary blade, not with Tamara wielding it. He was going to do his best though. There was still a huge well of power within him from his encounter with the Quan and he still carried his concealed dagger and pistol loaded with a truesilver bullet. That would give him a chance, even against her.

“No,” she said. “But it is woven round with some particularly nasty spells. I would advise you to keep your distance.”

She seemed as wary of him, as he was of her. At least he had that small edge. “Why am I here?” he asked.

“I wanted to know if you had considered the offer I made you the last time we talked.”

He could not help but laugh. “I think your father’s behaviour puts that out of the question.”

“The offer does not come from my father. It comes from me.”

“I thought your interests were the same.”

“I once thought so too, but father had become rather erratic of late. I think the magic he uses to preserve himself has some strange side-effects that have finally caught up with him.”

I am in a position to testify to that, thought Rik. The voices whispered agreement. Tamara seemed completely serious. Of course, she would do. “I think Malkior would object to the way this conversation is going. And I think he wants me dead anyway.”

“Jaderac and I will soon be in a position to protect you from him.”

“I doubt that.”

“In the not too distant future Jaderac will be high in the favour of the Queen-Empress. Not even my father will go against her.”

“He had already killed one Queen Empress. I don’t see why he would stop at just the one. I don’t think he is entirely sane.” Rik did not think that he was entirely sane anymore himself, and if one exposure to thanatomancy could do this to him, what would it do to someone who had practised it over centuries, if not millennia. He noticed that Tamara did not seem particularly surprised by the news about the Old Queen’s assassination.

“I agree with you. That is why I am making this offer. You have survived an encounter with him when he wanted you dead. You are perhaps the only person in history to do that. You could be just as useful to us, as we could be to you.”

Rik inspected the proposition from all the angles he could see. Had Tamara really turned against her father and sided with his rival Jaderac? And what was the sorcerer up to that would soon return him to the favour of the Dark Empress? Rik was willing to bet it was nothing good or healthy to the cause of Talorea.

“The world is changing, Rik. The First are dying or going mad. The reins of power in the Terrarch lands will soon shift to younger hands. You could have your share of that power.”

“Or I could get a knife in the back as soon as I have done what you want.”

“Why would we do that? You are a useful Terrarch, Rik. More useful and more powerful than you seem to realise. Why do you think that Asea has cultivated you so assiduously?”

“For my startling good looks and rough charm obviously.”

“That might be part of it, but that’s not the way Asea thinks. You of all people should know that.”

“I am not going to kill her for you.”

“You are certain of that?”

“Yes. And if you don’t stop pointing that sword at me, I am going to take it away from you and beat you with it.”

“You really think you could?” Rik listened to the voices whisper within him. They wanted to kill. They wanted to feed. The slimy presence of the Quan Exarch moved to the forefront of his mind. By the way her eyes widened, he could see that Tamara could tell the difference in him.

“You have changed,” she said eventually. “I think you may be possessed.”

“Ask your father,” Rik said, deciding to add his own section to the vast labyrinth of lies and deceit in which they were all enmeshed. Why not? Everybody else was doing it. “He knows what happened.”

“So you have decided to side with him? He made you a better offer than we could.”

“Ask yourself this, Tamara — would you still be alive if that were the case? Given what you have just said to me.”

“Perhaps you simply want time to report me to him.”

“No, Tamara, when next I meet Malkior one of us is going to die, and if I have anything to do with it, it will be him. And you would be wise to stay out of my way while I am doing it.”

“You cannot kill him. No matter how strong you have become, he is still stronger.”

“We’ll see.” A look of sudden dread and realisation flickered across Tamara’s face.

“I know what has happened to you. You are just like he is, after he has fed.”

Rik smiled at her coldly. She did not know how useful this information was to him. Now all he had to do was get out of the Sardontine mansion with it.

“Why would he share that secret with you, of all people? Or did you find it out yourself, or from Asea? I am starting to wonder if you are really what you seem to be at all. Perhaps you are one of the new ones, from through the Gate.”

Rik had to fight to keep his features under control. Tamara could only mean one sort of Gate, and if people were coming through it, they were most likely only coming from one place. The Princes of Shadow really might have gained a foothold in this world. This was something that he needed to report to Asea. Tamara looked at him suspiciously as if her own words had just put a number of things into place for her. He did not want to disabuse her of any notions she might be forming. He wanted to get out of here with his skin intact if he could, and avoiding a battle with her seemed like the best way of doing that, despite his earlier bravado.

“I can’t persuade you to join us?” she said.

“I will make you a deal,” said Rik eventually.

“And what would that be?”

“I won’t try and kill you, if you won’t try and kill me. This is between you and me, and includes no one else. Not Jaderac. Not your father. Not Asea. Let us keep our options open. The situation is fluid and all our positions might be subject to change. You may need someone on my side soon, or I might need someone on yours. There is no need for violence between us. Not now, anyway.”

She stood silent for a while as she considered his words. Her shoulders slumped. The point of the blade lowered. The atmosphere in the room changed subtly. “You have a deal,” she said and appeared to mean it.

Don’t trust her, whispered voices. Don’t trust anyone. Right at that moment, Rik didn’t. He was starting to wonder whether he could even trust himself.