Night Angel Complete Trilogy Part 121

35

Followed by generals, bodyguards, Lord Agon, and a bluff Ceuran named Otaru Tomaki, Logan and Lantano Garuwashi strode into the throne room. Logan knelt before the throne, as did the other Cenarians; the Ceurans bowed low; Lantano Garuwashi inclined his head, rings clacking in his long red hair.

"Arise," Queen Graesin said. She was warmly regal in a soft red gown with emerald piping, and matching jewels at her ears and throat. She descended the seven steps to where Garuwashi and Logan stood. "Duke Gyre," she said, smiling, "you have served us excellently. We shall reward you as richly as you deserve." She turned to Lantano Garuwashi. "Your Highness, it is an honor. Be welcome in our court." with emerald piping, and matching jewels at her ears and throat. She descended the seven steps to where Garuwashi and Logan stood. "Duke Gyre," she said, smiling, "you have served us excellently. We shall reward you as richly as you deserve." She turned to Lantano Garuwashi. "Your Highness, it is an honor. Be welcome in our court."

Logan barely kept from breathing a sigh of relief. So she had gotten his letters after all. There had been something odd in her replies, a lack of the expected sneer. Perhaps she had decided that with her rule secure, she should start acting more like a queen.

"Please, call me Garuwashi. I am no king, yet," Lantano Garuwashi said, with a little smirk and something more besides. The traditional Ceuran doubled silk half robes over loose trousers tended to hide a man's build, but Garuwashi could have dressed in a pile of old sheets and still oozed masculinity. His hair shone like red gold, pulled back in a pony tail and interwoven with dozens of other strands, like a tiger's stripes. His jaw was p.r.o.nounced, his face lean and clean shaven, shoulders broad, waist small, sleeves cut shorter than usual either for freedom of movement or to show thickly muscled arms. Terah Graesin, Logan saw, appreciated them; Garuwashi returned her glances boldly.

"Nor am I a queen, yet," she said. "Though it would please me greatly if you would be my guest at my coronation."

"I would be honored. And perhaps by this time next year, you can be my guest at mine."

"May I show you around my castle?" Terah asked, extending her hand to Garuwashi and dismissing the rest of them.

From the looks in their eyes, Logan expected Lantano Garuwashi would be mounting the ramparts in no time.

36

Her name was Pricia. She was the fourteen-year-old concubine who had wept for her friends and not for herself when Garoth died. She'd hanged herself with a silk belt. She was naked, her clothing folded neatly in a pile to one side, all her beauty gone. Her face was discolored, eyes open and bulging, tongue protruding, s.h.i.t running down her fair legs. Dorian touched her and found her body only slightly cooled. From his touch, her body swung slightly. It was obscene. Dorian rubbed his face. bulging, tongue protruding, s.h.i.t running down her fair legs. Dorian touched her and found her body only slightly cooled. From his touch, her body swung slightly. It was obscene. Dorian rubbed his face.

He should have known. The concubines had probably learned that Garoth's body had been recovered even before Dorian had. For the G.o.dking's bodyguards, the recovery meant a small reclamation of honor. To the concubines, it meant death.

The former G.o.dking's wives would be expected to join him on his pyre. Only the virgins and the concubines the next G.o.dking desired would be spared. Dorian had said he was claiming no one. The women thought they would all be burned.

"When did you figure it out, Hopper?"

"Your Holiness?" Hopper asked. "I'm not sure I understand the question."

"Try again."

Hopper cleared his throat, fearful. "I was with the rest of the concubines. Pricia came into this room to fetch something. I had no idea-"

"Try. Again," Dorian said coldly.

Hopper searched Dorian's face, his eyes wide, panicky. He must have seen something that satisfied him, because he said, "Ah." The mask of fear dissolved and he bowed. "I knew you were an Ursuul after I told you that you seemed different. An eccentric slave would continue as before. A pretender would redouble his efforts to appear servile."

"What is your position within the G.o.dking's Hands?" Dorian asked.

"I am their chief," Hopper said, inclining his head.

So it was as Jenine had suspected. Who better to keep an eye on the G.o.dking's people and secrets than a eunuch whose awkward gait made him seem a buffoon? Hopper was at the confluence of the G.o.dking's eunuchs, concubines and wives, and servants. Through them, he had eyes on every important Vurdmeister, aetheling, and general in the realm. "How did you really lose your toes?" Dorian asked.

"When His Holiness your father offered me the position, he said that would be part of the price. I welcomed the chance to make such a sacrifice." He smiled ruefully. "Being gelded, on the other hand, wasn't so welcome."

"He offered? Did you have the option to refuse?"

"Yes. His Holiness was always fair with us."

It was a new side to Garoth Ursuul, a kinder side than Dorian had known. It was unsettling. "Why didn't you expose me?"

"Because I didn't have anyone to report to, and I didn't know what you were trying to accomplish. By the time I did, you had accomplished it. It was, if you will pardon my presumption, one of my few failures as Chief of the Hands." was, if you will pardon my presumption, one of my few failures as Chief of the Hands."

No wonder he didn't know what I intended. I didn't intend it.

Hopper swallowed. "Your Holiness, I suspect some of the aethelings and Vurdmeisters know what I am. I guard against mundane spying, but I have not the means to stop their vir."

It was astonishing how Dorian had blundered into success. He'd kept Hopper in the throne room the day he had seized power. The Vurdmeisters had come into the room and had seen not only a fearless Dorian, but Hopper off to one side, tacitly endorsing him. How much weight had that carried?

Dorian suddenly felt sick to his stomach. He suspected it was a lot.

He looked again at Pricia's body dangling in the room. Death was so common here that life wasn't considered sacred. Or did the cause and effect run the other way?

"What is your name, Hopper? Your real name."

"I was ordered to forget-I'm sorry, sire, my name was Vondeas Hil."

"I thought Clan Hil was annihilated." Garoth had used the krul to wipe them out.

"The G.o.dking saved me from..." he hesitated. "From the fleshpots. He thought I had potential. I did my best to prove him right."

The fleshpots. So the krul and their feeding habits were no great secret.

"Vondeas Hil, I will remember your name and the sacrifices you have made. Will you serve me as the Chief of my Hands?"

Vondeas bowed low.

"I have questions for you. Where are my two hundred missing Vurdmeisters?"

"Vurdmeister Neph Dada sounded a religious summons when His Holiness your father died. He called all Vurdmeisters to help him bring Khali home. Currently, your Hands believe them to be in your eastern lands."

Eastern Khalidor was spa.r.s.ely populated. There were no major cities there, and hadn't been since Jorsin Alkestes had turned Trayeth.e.l.l into Black Barrow. "They're at Black Barrow?" Dorian asked.

"In its vicinity, at least. We don't know the exact location. Spies who've attempted to infiltrate the camp haven't returned."

Well, that at least was one problem that could wait. Meisters and magi, Vurdmeisters and archmagi had been smashing themselves against Black Barrow for centuries. Neph Dada at the head of two hundred Vurdmeisters was a serious problem, but at least Dorian would have until spring to consolidate his forces-and Neph wouldn't bother putting together an army. All Dorian's former tutor cared about was magic. Still, it was a problem that bore looking into. All Dorian's former tutor cared about was magic. Still, it was a problem that bore looking into.

"Redouble your efforts. I want to know what they're trying, and what-if anything-they've accomplished."

"Yes, Your Holiness."

"How many aethelings are completing their uurdthans?"

"Seventeen that I know of."

"How many of those are in a position to form a credible threat to me in the next six months?" Dorian asked.

"You must understand, Your Holiness, your father kept secrets even from me, so anything I tell you is complete to the best of my knowledge, and I did know more than he knew I did, but I cannot have full confidence that I knew all of his aethelings. I know that Moburu Ander lives and is attempting to subvert the wild men. I have reports that he believes himself to be some kind of prophesied High King. Your father cared little about that. He cared more that there appeared to be some evidence of collusion between Neph Dada and Moburu, though he and I believed any a.s.sociation between the two to be tenuous at best."

"Yes, I can't imagine Neph letting anyone live after they'd served his purpose. Nor would one of my brothers."

"The only other aetheling I know about was one I was not supposed to know, and I never learned his name. He was part of a delegation of war magi that Sho'cendi sent to recover Curoch. The magi made it as far as Cenaria, and witnessed the Battle of Pavvil's Grove, then returned to Sho'cendi, satisfied that Curoch was not present."

Dorian scowled. He had been certain that some of his brothers must be attempting to infiltrate the school of fire as he had been sent to the school of healing, but learning that one had been successful left the sick taste of betrayal in his mouth. He knew most of the magi that might have been sent on such a mission. Had he been friends with one of his own traitorous brothers? He shook his head. That was a distraction. Moburu and Neph were the real problem, and surviving until he could consolidate his men against them.

"Very well, Hopper. Thank you."

Hopper bowed once more, and when he straightened, he wore the slightly befuddled expression of Hopper once more.

"Dorian? Dorian, I've been looking all over for you," Jenine said, coming into the room.

Dorian was shocked to realize that he was still standing in a room with a hanged child. For all the good things he'd gained from learning to focus, he didn't think being able to ignore the ruin of a young girl was among them. By the G.o.d, it was a travesty, and he'd sat here, blithely contemplating politics. What was he becoming? His stomach threatened to rebel. didn't think being able to ignore the ruin of a young girl was among them. By the G.o.d, it was a travesty, and he'd sat here, blithely contemplating politics. What was he becoming? His stomach threatened to rebel.

Jenine wore a shy smile. From where she stood, she couldn't see Pricia's hanged body. She was dressed in a simple gown of green silk that was gathered under her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I've made my decision," she said, walking forward. "I will marry you, Dorian, and I will learn to love you as you love me."

"Jenine, you shouldn't-" But he was too late. Jenine saw the hanged naked body and the first expression on the face of the woman he loved upon their betrothal was horror.

"Oh G.o.ds!" Jenine said, putting a hand to her mouth.

"I killed her," Dorian said and threw up.

"What?" Jenine asked. She didn't come to him.

"She killed herself rather than be forced to burn on Garoth's pyre," Hopper said quietly.

Dorian was on his knees. He blinked his eyes and grabbed a rag off the floor to wipe the vomit from his mouth. It was only after he wiped his beard clean that he looked at the cloth in his hand. It was Pricia's underclothes. They still smelled of her perfume.

He vomited again and staggered to his feet. This time he wiped his mouth on his cloak and turned so he couldn't see Pricia's body. "Hopper," he said. "Please take care of her. And double the watches on the concubines. Jenine, I need you to help me make a hard decision. It may have... consequences for our engagement."

37

Vi poured cold water into the basin from a copper pitcher and splashed her face. On the narrow desk by the door, she saw a note addressed to "Viridiana." Vi didn't touch it. She'd get ready when she was good and ready. The room was terrible. More like a broom closet. The unfinished stone walls were barely far apart enough to fit the narrow bed with its thin straw mattress. At the foot of the bed was a chest for her belongings and the washbasin. The chest was empty. They'd even taken Vi's hair ties. Tyros possessed only what the Chantry gave them. In Vi's case, that meant one ill-fitting white tyro's dress. The infuriating thing was that she knew that they had a dress that fit perfectly, as if Master Piccun had a fit of genius as he worked with what should have been terminally uninspiring wool and had somehow conquered the cloth to make Vi look beautiful. washbasin. The chest was empty. They'd even taken Vi's hair ties. Tyros possessed only what the Chantry gave them. In Vi's case, that meant one ill-fitting white tyro's dress. The infuriating thing was that she knew that they had a dress that fit perfectly, as if Master Piccun had a fit of genius as he worked with what should have been terminally uninspiring wool and had somehow conquered the cloth to make Vi look beautiful.

That, obviously, was not the intended effect. That dress had been spirited away, and this white sack put in its place. They hadn't bothered tailoring a shift for her. The one she'd woken in was obviously used, if-she hoped-clean, and the previous owner had been fatter than she was tall. The shift didn't even come down to Vi's knees.

Vi brushed her hair back irritably. They'd taken her d.a.m.n hair ties. She wasn't going to her lectures. She wasn't leaving the room. They'd taken enough. She looked around the room for something she could use. Her eyes fell on the copper pitcher. "To h.e.l.l with them," she said to activate her Talent as she ripped off the handle. In a minute, her hair was pulled back into a fiercely tight braid. "To h.e.l.l with them," she said again, and squeezed the copper into a tight circle binding her hair.

She picked up the note and unfolded it. "Viridiana, after your cla.s.ses this morning, please come to the private dining hall. Elene wishes to meet you. Sister Ariel"

Vi couldn't breathe. Elene? Oh, f.u.c.k. She'd known Elene would show up eventually, but so soon?

The door burst open and a wild-eyed, frumpy teenager stared around the room suspiciously, her arms raised as if she were summoning vast powers. "What's going on here?" the girl demanded. "You were using magic! Twice! Don't deny it."

Vi laughed, first nervously, then openly, glad for the distraction. The girl was practically wheezing from running. Her cheeks were flushed, sweat beading on her pale forehead under dark hair. She was fat enough and short enough that Vi wondered if this lard barrel had been the prior owner of her shift. She was perhaps fifteen, her white cotton dress edged with blue, and a brooch of gold scales prominent on her chest. "You got me," Vi said.

"You admit it!"

Vi raised an eyebrow. "Of course. Now get out. And knock next time."

"It's forbidden!"

"Knocking's forbidden?" Vi asked.

"No."

"Then try it next time, Chunky."

"My name is Xandra, and I'm the Floor Monitor. You used magic, twice. That's two days in the scullery for your first offense. And you disrespected me. That's a week!"

"You little s.h.i.t."

"Swearing! Another day! They told me you'd be trouble." Xandra was shaking. It made her fat jiggle.

"You've got to be f.u.c.king joking," Vi said.

"Disrespect, swearing again! That's it! You'll report to the Mistress Jonisseh for a switching immediately."

"You call that disrespect, you squealing sow?" Vi stepped forward. Xandra opened her mouth and raised her arms. Vi said, "Graakos."

The shield snapped in place instantly, and whatever Xandra threw at her grazed right off it. Vi grabbed the girl's arm, twisted and heaved her out of the room. Xandra slid a good ten paces across the hallway's polished floor. As Vi stepped into the hall, she saw at least thirty little girls staring at her, wide-eyed, most of them under twelve.

"Please knock next time," Vi said. She turned on her heel and slammed the door.

From the hall, she heard Xandra quaver, "Slamming a door, that's-"