The Dead of Winter Part 12

She thanked the G.o.ds for her foresight. But it was freezing! It might be a good touch, she decided, if she sank to her knees, so she did. "I had a dress, but he ripped it off. Tried to rape me, the drunken oaf!" She hoped she was whining convincingly. Was Daphne really worth this kind of humiliation?

The portal slid all the way open, and the watchman poked his face out, glanced from side to side as far as the opening allowed, and licked his lips. Decision gleamed in his eyes as he grinned at her. "Well, I've got a fire that'll warm you, sweet. Warm you through and through."

The portal sc.r.a.ped shut. Chenaya heard the heavy bar lift on the inside of the gate. It started to swing back.

She rose swiftly and grabbed her sword. She remembered that l.u.s.tful look on his face and how it repulsed her; she loathed the role she had a.s.sumed to trick him; on top of that she was chilled to the bone. For those reasons, she hit him a lot harder than was needed. Fortunately for Daxus she only used the pommel of her weapon.

Moving quickly, she dragged him back inside, then retrieved her garments. She pushed the gate closed, took a moment to throw the cloak around her shoulders, then bent over his unmoving form. The length of chain came free from her belt, and she fumbled for the wire-thin probe in her tunic sleeve.

She worked by the light of his fire. At one end of the chain two small, blunt p.r.o.ngs were clasped together with a piece of wrapped string as long as the chain itself. This she inserted in the watchman's right nostril. With the probe she guided the chain up his nose and into the nasal pa.s.sage that led deep into his throat. Chenaya knew when the p.r.o.ngs were positioned. Carefully, she separated the lengths of chain and string and began slowly to pull. The probe insured that the chain remained in place, but it twisted as she tugged on the string. Moments later, the wrapping came free, and the p.r.o.ngs snapped open. She gave a light tug on the chain. It was firmly anch.o.r.ed.

It was the method used to handle recalcitrant slaves and criminals in Ranke.

Awake, the process was quite painful. Daxus was lucky she'd hit him so hard. He wasn't, however, going to like it at all.

She didn't like the smell of the camels. It was time to go. All she had to do was sneak him back to Land's End. She wrapped the free end of the chain around her hand and started to heave him over her shoulder.

The gate pushed open. It was Day me.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered angrily, heart pounding. With her hands full of Daxus she hadn't been able to reach her sword.

"Watching your back," he answered calmly. "Pull on the rest of your clothes.

I'll carry him."

She blushed hotly. No doubt he'd seen a lot more than her back. And she'd been in such a rush to get away with Daxus she'd forgotten to pull on more than the cloak. She released the chain and hurriedly dressed. But it irritated her that she hadn't noticed Dayrne, and she mentioned it.

"Mistress," he grinned, "I was sneaking through streets and back alleys when you were still playing with dolls."

"But you got caught," she reminded haughtily.

He nodded. "Everyone gets caught sometime."

She stamped into her boots and pointed to Daxus who showed signs of stirring.

"Well, let's not get caught tonight. This package is for Daphne."

Dayrne's fist sent the watchman back to sleep.

"Lady Chenaya, daughter of Lowan Vigeles, cousin to His Highness Prince Kadakithis."

Lu-Broca, the Palace's major-domo, smiled graciously as he announced her arrival to the festival guests. He made a curt bow of personal greeting which she acknowledged with a nod.

Five steps descended from the entrance to the floor of the Grand Hall. She took them slowly, noting the tables piled with food and drink, the musicians and dancers, the faces that turned in her direction.

It was a good mix of the city's upper cla.s.s; Rankan rubbed shoulders with Ilsig and Beysib in stark contrast to the intense street rivalries. On the far side of the hall Hakiem the storyteller-turned-Beysib-advisor stood in conversation with several guests. Nearby, listening discreetly, was the man called Lastel; Chenaya knew little of him save that he was apparently quite rich. There were others: Gonfred the Goldsmith, Dr. Nadeesha, Master Melilot the Scribe. There were also lots of Beysibs she didn't recognize; they all looked alike to her.

Then she spied Kadakithis. Shupansea, the Beysib ruler, hung on his arm. It amused her to note that even the Beysa had adopted local fashion, covering her b.r.e.a.s.t.s instead of brazenly painting them. Of course, Molin Torchholder was with them.

The Prince hurried forward, all smiles and warmth, glad to see her. Neither Shupansea nor Molin appeared to share his enthusiasm.

"Cousin!" the Prince exclaimed over the noise of the celebration. "I'd heard you'd returned to us. Why didn't you come visit?" He wrapped his arms around her and gave his favorite relative a gentle hug.

"Business, my Little Prince," she answered, rumpling his hair in a manner that made Shupansea frown. "There were things 1 had to do." She glanced back at the entrance, then hugged her cousin again. "Can we speak alone?" she whispered in his ear.

Even as children they had shared confidences. The Prince didn't hesitate. He turned to Shupansea. "Excuse me a moment, my love, while I lead Chenaya to refreshment. I'm sure Molin will see to your entertainment." He gave the Beysa no chance to voice disapproval, but caught his cousin's arm and steered her into the crowd.

"Now, what's so important that it makes you wrinkle your face that way?" he said when they were safely on the far side of the hall.

Chenaya swallowed. Until last night she hadn't thought about her cousin, only about scoring another point on Shupansea-an important point. "You know I love you, Kadakithis," she started, searching for the right words. "But you know I love Ranke more." It didn't sound right; she was stalling and he could tell.

Lu-Broca's voice boomed from the entrance. She caught her breath.

"Lowan Vigeles and the Lady Rosanda," the major-domo announced to her relief.

There was still time before all h.e.l.l broke loose.

She squeezed her cousin's arm fiercely, not wanting to hurt him, knowing it was too late to avoid it. "Cousin, do you have it in mind to marry that Beysib b.i.t.c.h?"

Kadakithis pulled away in irritation. "Chenaya," he said, "I regret that the two of you have taken such a dislike to each other-"

She cut him off. "No games, Cousin. I've seen how you two look at each other, and I know how she feels. But I can't-"

It was his turn to interrupt. "Are you disappointed because I haven't ama.s.sed some kind of army and ridden north to reclaim the throne from Theron?" She had never heard him sneer before, and it startled her. "Do you think I'm a coward because I've sequestered myself here in Sanctuary-"

She put a hand over his mouth to stop the ugly accusations. "Of course not!" she snapped. "I know better than you the extent of Theron's power and the length of his reach. You'd be raw meat for Theron; he'd chew you up if you rode against him." She swallowed hard and cast another glance at the entrance. "But no matter who sits on the throne, Ranke must still be preserved. And Sanctuary is part of Ranke, no matter how many Beysib ships sit in the harbor or how many of Shupansea's fish-eyed relatives move into the Palace."

She pressed his face between her hands, hoping in her heart of hearts that he would someday forgive her. "But you can't marry her, Kadakithis. I can't let you marry her. Shupansea must never gain any legitimate claim to this city. A guest she may be, but never your wife, never a princess of Ranke."

Kadakithis bristled. "And how would you stop it, Cousin. // we had even talked marriage, how would you stop it?"

Anger made him a stranger to her. He pushed her hands away, and that hurt more than she could say. They had been playmates and friends, confidantes. Now she had driven in a wedge that might never be removed.

Still, it was for Ranke. Shupansea was an invader as evil as any of the forces seeking to fragment the Empire. The fish-faced temptress was more subtle, more patient, but it was still Rankan land she desired, even if it was only the slimepit called Sanctuary.

Chenaya drew a deep breath and ignored the stinging in her eyes. "I have stopped it, my Little Prince. I have stopped it."

Kadakithis backed a step. His gaze bored into her with a menace she had never seen in him. As if on cue, Lu-Broca's voice filled the Grand Hall announcing the newest arrivals. Chenaya spun around. The major-domo was pale, a frightened expression on his face. She located Shupansea and Molin Torchholder. She had wanted to be close, wanted to see their faces. Now it didn't seem so important.

"Her Royal Highness, Daphne, Princess of Ranke, wife to Kadakithis." Lu-Broca swallowed. "And escort."

All color fled from Kadakithis's face as he pushed through the suddenly silent throng. Chenaya followed him to the foot of the stair. The Beysa and Molin were quickly with them. The Beysib met her with a look of purest hatred. Chenaya had thought about how she would respond: smile, stick out her tongue, bat her eyelashes innocently, anything to mock the woman, to drive home another victory.

She found instead that she could do nothing but look away.

Daphne glided down the steps with supreme grace. Her right hand rested imperiously on Dayrne's ma.s.sive bare arm. Her left hand held the end of Daxus's chain, and she led him like an exotic pet.

Rosanda had done a wonderful job preparing the princess. Daphne was radiant.

Clouds of sky-blue silk swathed her form, hiding the bruises and scratches. Her hair was bound in curls about her head. Her eyes were lightly kohled and her cheeks rouged to perfection. Chenaya could smell the gentle perfumes. Most pleasing of all was the sun-burst circlet, one of her own, that gleamed on Daphne's brow.

"I promise you'll pay for this insult," Shupansea whispered tightly.

"Pay attention, fish-face," Chenaya suggested evenly. "You don't yet appreciate the full extent of my insult." She looked down on the shorter woman and forced a smile. "I do want you to appreciate it."

Daphne reached the bottom step. She and Kadakithis regarded each other for a long moment. The Prince reached out to take her hand. Daphne clung to Dayrne's arm instead, "h.e.l.lo, my husband." She spoke gently, yet loudly enough for all to hear. "Are you surprised?"

"Yes, yes!" Kadakithis stumbled on his words. "Very!"

"You should be." She didn't snap, but formed her remarks politely, coolly. "Did you even bother to conduct a search? Did you look for me or wonder about my fate?"

Chenaya, too, had been puzzled about her cousin's lack of concern for his wife's disappearance. How, she wondered, could Shupansea have so bewitched him? Still, she ached for her Little Prince when he hung his head in shame.

Daphne released Dayrne's arm, dismissed him with a nod. He moved a few steps back to stand beside Daxus. Daphne floated past her prince-husband. She stopped directly before Shupansea.

"You do look like a carp, as I've been told," Daphne said with some amus.e.m.e.nt.

Shupansea shot another hateful glance at Chenaya. "Perhaps you're descended from fishes." Daphne paused to survey the faces of those around her. n.o.body made a sound, but all pressed closer to hear the exchange. She turned back to the Beysa. "But whatever you are," she continued, "I'll tell you what you are not and never will be. You are not Kadakithis's wife. That t.i.tle will never be yours. Divorce is forbidden among the n.o.ble families of Ranke."

Shupansea regarded the younger woman coldly, un-moving, unspeaking.

Daphne went on mercilessly. "Oh, I don't plan to stay here, so I won't be in your way. I've made quarters at Land's End with Lowan Vigeles and the Lady Chenaya whom the G.o.ds allowed to find and rescue me." She put on a false smile and looked on Shupansea as she might have looked on a worm. "You can have Kadakithis if you want him. But you'll never be more than his concubine. Number eight if I recall, though the others are dead or wish they were." Daphne's smile vanished. "If you love him, though, the role of wh.o.r.e may be enough."

Kadakithis made a foolish attempt to change the subject. "Who is this poor fellow?" he said, indicating Daxus.

"Perhaps Uncle Molin knows him?" Chenaya interjected.

The priest glared at her from the corner of his eye and shook his head. He was uncharacteristically silent, watching, and, Chenaya knew, scheming how he might turn the situation to his advantage.

"My pretty-boy?" Daphne jiggled the chain, causing Daxus to wrinkle his face in pain. He couldn't catch the chain, for his hands were bound securely behind his back. When he tried to protest all that came out was a harsh, raspy sound that set him to gagging. Maliciously, Daphne shook the chain harder. Tears sprang from her prisoner's eyes, and he sank to his knees. So it had been for Daxus the past three days.

Daphne reeled in the length of chain, making Daxus crawl to her. "Haven't I done him up nicely?" She fingered the fine silk tunic she had put on him and ran her hand over his head. "Fine garments for a piece of dung. He arranged the attack on my caravan and hired the men that sold me into a year of h.e.l.l. He's only the first to be discovered. I a.s.sure you, there will be others." She ran her gaze meaningfully around the hall. "I promise." She jerked on the chain again, and a trickle of blood oozed from Daxus's nose. "And they'll all end up like this!"

With a flick of her wrist she looped the chain around Daxus's throat. Her hands clenched around the chain and she strained, forearms bulging. Her face turned into an insane mask of fury; her lips curled back in a snarl. Daxus emitted a sc.r.a.ping howl as the links bit sharply into his flesh. His cheeks purpled; a vein throbbed in his temple, and his eyes snapped wide with death-fear.

It was over with startling swiftness. Daxus slumped forward, his head making a loud crack as it hit the floor. "So they will all end," she promised again, recovering her composure, patting a loose curl back into place. She stepped away from the body. "But for the moment this business is done." She took Kadakithis's arm in a firm grip. "Many of you were my friends before I left, and I'm eager to speak and laugh with all of you. This is a celebration, so let's celebrate!"

Without giving Shupansea another look. Daphne led her husband into the thick of the crowd.

Chenaya motioned to Dayrne that he should take Daxus away. She didn't miss the shocked expression he wore. Neither of them had considered that Daphne would kill Daxus there. She had taken too much pleasure in tormenting her plaything.

Lowan Vigeles appeared at her elbow. His features were stony. "This was not well done. Daughter," was all he said before he left her to rejoin Rosanda.

Shupansea whirled on her. For an instant Chenaya thought the Beysa would spit.

The woman seemed barely in control of herself, unable to find words. Instead, she mounted the stairs and stormed from the hall.

Molin was next in line. "You foolish child!" he started. "You've made her a wh.o.r.e in the eyes of the entire city. Do you know what you've done?"

Chenaya glared at him, recalling with disgust how once she had trusted this man.

He alone knew of the gifts Savankala had granted her. With that knowledge, of course, he had made a small fortune by betting on her battles in the arena. She peered at her uncle and felt nothing but anger.

"If you want to talk, Old Weasel," she said low-voiced, "we'd better do it on the terrace away from other ears."

Molin looked as if he'd swallowed bitter wine, then he turned and shoved a path through the guests to the terrace. Chenaya leaned far over the balcony, tempting him to push her. On the docks in the distance she could see the glimmering fires of the poorer Beysib sailors. They, too, celebrated the Winter Bey in their own less lavish way.

"... Stupid, thoughtless action!" Molin Torchholder raged, shaking his fist. "If Shupansea is angry enough to take action where will we be? She has a thousand warriors!"

Chenaya's waist was encircled by numerous chains. She unfastened one of them and draped it around Molin's neck. One end was p.r.o.nged.

"You ordered the attack on Daphne's caravan. Uncle Molin." She held up a hand before he could protest. "Don't deny it. I know. I saw everything, including your face, in a scrying crystal."

Molin didn't bother to hide his laughter. "You accuse me because of something you saw in a fortune-teller's ball? You're as insane as Daphne!"

"No, Uncle," she answered. "What I saw was real. It was no mere fortune-teller.

I promised Daphne the names of her tormentors, and I did what I had to do to get those names. G.o.ds know every one of them deserves to die. Scavengers' Island is filthier and more vile even than Sanctuary." She clasped both ends of the chain around his neck, slid her hands toward his throat. "But when I left here over three months ago it was to find and save any remaining members of the Royal Family. And for better or worse, you're Family. I won't turn you over to Daphne.

If we ever do get the chance to strike back against Theron we may need someone with your ability to scheme and plot." She released the chain, smoothed a wrinkle from his tunic. "And if we never get the chance," she smiled darkly, "then, in time, I'll take care of you myself."

Molin drew himself proudly erect. "Don't threaten me, Niece. The G.o.ds have made you powerful, but you forget I know your secrets. I know how you can die!"

Chenaya grabbed Molin by the front of his robe, ripped the hem of her own gown as she lifted and bent him backward over the balcony, twisted him so he could see the ground far below.

"You know how," she growled, "but not when. Would you drown me. Uncle, throw me in the river? You foolish old man! After I discovered what a snake you are the first thing I learned to do was swim. You have my secrets, but see what good they do you." She set him back on his feet, pleased by the fine, sudden sweat sheen on his brow.

Molin rubbed his back where the stone had bitten into it. "d.a.m.n you! Don't you ever get tired of games? Don't you weary of always winning?"

Amazed, she threw back her head and laughed. "Uncle, you're such a delight! The joy isn't in the winning, but in seeing the effect of winning on the loser."

She left him, then. Inside the hall, the noise of conversation had reached a new height. Shupansea had not returned, nor was Kadakithis anywhere in sight. Daphne moved through the crowd, smiling and tinkling with laughter with Dayrne as her escort. Lowan and Rosanda stood alone in a corner in private dialogue.

"Is it true you were undefeated in the Rankan Games?"

Chenaya looked disdainfully at the little man who had dared to brush her elbow.

He offered her a goblet of wine which she refused, and he repeated his question.

"Your name is Terryle, isn't it?" she asked innocently. "The tax collector?"

His face lit up, and he made a slight bow. "My fame precedes me!"

Chenaya wrinkled her nose and imitated his tone. "Is it true you're the most detested man in Sanctuary?" His brows shot up. She walked away before any more could come of the conversation. She saw the man Lastel coming her way.

Strange, she thought. None of this is as I thought it would be. She'd won, but there was a bitter taste in her mouth. She recalled something she'd said to Daphne: Even winning can cost a dear price.

Without a word to anyone she mounted the steps, nodded goodnight to Lu-Broca and left the Palace. A few guests mingled in Vashanka's Square on the Palace grounds, but she avoided them. Just outside the Processional Gate four of her gladiators waited with her palanquin. Too late, she realized she'd left a fine cloak inside. No matter, she would send for it tomorrow. Right now, she wanted to get home, change into leathers and take a walk with Reyk. The falcon was the only company she wanted.