1618686836 (F) (21 page)

“I think it is time for you to take some rest, Eden. I have been talking at you a lot; your mind must be running away with you. Take some time at the baths, or sleep. Do whatever you please for the afternoon. Quinn, please go and fetch Sirah. She should be in her own rooms. She is to come here straight away. Then go and report to Maertn. See if he needs any help in the apothecary.”

* * *

Sammah leant back in his chair as the two left, stretching his limbs and relishing the feeling as each joint popped, a brief vibration in his muscle resonating through the area sending a shudder of pleasure through his body. As she waited for Sirah, he moved out of his chair to a mirror, and redid his ponytail. Moving in closely, he brushed some dust out of his eyebrows. The young lord was a frequent visitor to the baths, but he still didn’t maintain the levels of cleanliness expected by the Sha’sek noble houses. No one in this filthy country did.

The door opened and closed with barely a click. “Sirah. Take a seat. Have some wine.”

The woman did as he bade. Sirah had been a quiet servant since the courtroom debacle. She had done as he had asked, keeping a close eye on Quinn throughout. She had told him then, that she had news for him regarding his young empath. He had waited on calling her on it, to ensure it wasn’t some impulsive opinion drawn from a spontaneous reaction to something Quinn may or may not have done. Sammah did not trust impulsive decisions, even less than he respected spontaneous reactions.

“You have news for me, on Quinn?”

Sirah sipped from a small glass of red wine. A fine choice, Sammah noted. Sirah did like the finer things in life. That was, after all, why she had chosen to chase him above all others.

“I do, baron. It seems our empath is maturing in more ways than one.”

“Oh? How so?” Ross had already informed Sammah of Quinn’s apparently innocent cavorting in the baths with Eden. Sirah’s so-called news was no longer news. Still, he did not want to steal the woman’s thunder, not after making her wait for so long.

“It seems she is showing more than a passing interest in Shiver’s son, Eden. She had quite an eye for him during the courtroom. He was on her eyes more than anyone else there. That is something I think you can take advantage of.”

“Indeed. This is very interesting news.” Sammah feigned interest, stroking his chin and grasping up his own cup to take a sip of rich wine. “Did she talk about him to you at all?”

“She didn’t, baron. There again, we both know that, of the two of us, Quinn is more likely to open up to you.”

“There is very little love lost between you, isn’t there? Do you think you could perhaps be kinder to Quinn? A bit more gentle with your words, to make some progress? She is not a threat to you, Sirah.”

Sirah coloured gently, more through embarrassment at being caught out in her snide bitchery than anything, if Sammah was any judge of merit. He let the silence stretch out a little more, and was rewarded with a brief fidgeting from a woman who was usually so rigid and composed.

“I will do my best to change my attitude, Sammah. But you measure me wrongly. I simply dislike the girl. She is too simpering. Too…conforming.”

Sammah removed his shirt. Sirah arched an eyebrow and put her glass to one side. “She is what I have formed her to be. You will learn that this is the way things are. Or you will stop being useful to me.”

Sirah smiled lustfully. “I can learn to live with that.”

She rose from her chair in an elegant curve and swayed her hips as she moved slowly towards Sammah. He swung his head to match her own movements. She was a creature of a certain nature, he reminded himself. She was not at the top of the food chain. She was, therefore, liable to bite any creature, whether it was food, or a threat. Sirah would never be able to obey in the immediately submissive way that Quinn did, and he had tried for long enough to adapt her to his needs. As Sirah reached him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head for the expected kiss. Sammah dipped his lips to her neck and left one lingering kiss on her soft olive skin. “You make this too easy for me, my dear.”

He lifted a hand and pushed back her already tilted forehead, and with the other he swept his sharpened knife, clutched in his hand from the moment she had walked in to the room, across her exposed throat. The knife bit so deeply that the tendons themselves were cut; Sirah couldn’t even lift her head back up to look her killer in the eyes. Sammah closed his own eyes as the arterial spray washed over him. He spat some back out in to Sirah’s face. The heat from her lifeblood was invigorating. When the blood flow stopped, he let go of her head, dropping her down on to the stone, making sure she didn’t fall on to his imported carpet. He beckoned to the corner of the room. Ven, Elias’s potential replacement for now, stepped forward. He was a mute, like all of his mercenary cousins who had chosen to serve the baron. A life of peace for both of them. “Get rid of this. Make sure it’s somewhere that it will be found, and quickly. A body found early won’t count against the young Eden yet, especially if it’s a Sha’sek. Did you get my bath ready?” Ven nodded twice. Sammah waved him away, and continued undressing. Looking down, he saw the blood covering his chest. He was briefly fascinated with the rivulets of blood running against his skin, until he saw the blood staining his trousers all the way down to the knees. He removed them and called Ven back.

“Burn these. I don’t want a single strand of the fabric to be found, please.”

Ven nodded again, and Sammah headed to the copper bath, which had been mounted over coals in his bedroom. He slid his body in, tensing at the heat searing his skin. Sirah was going to serve him more in death than she would ever have done in her pathetically over-ambitious life. Her body was going to be dumped near to the castle perimeter. As soon as a Sha’sek was found, one of Sammah’s own retinue, it would prove that the Satori was indiscriminate in who would be chosen in his attempts to trigger war. Next, Sammah would need to go through all of the people that Quinn had previously visited who were still alive and in the city. All of these people would know that Quinn was female, and that Eden’s hunt for a predatory male was pointless. All of these frayed ends would need to be quickly trimmed to keep everything in check. Sammah dunked his head under the water. He could hear nothing but the muffled sound of his own heartbeat. It was a strong noise.

And Quinn thinks I don’t go through any trouble for her
. He mused playfully before he again sank his head underneath the warm waters.

32

Eden stood, arms folded, looking down at the body. She was so pale from the amount of blood that she had lost, that at a glance it was impossible to tell where her homeland had been. It had only been after identification, after he had been told that this woman was the escort of Baron Sammah and a long-time part of his retinue, that he had found she was from Sha'sek. Nervous, he had called for an immediate counsel with the King. Vance had been stunned at the audacity of the move, striking so close to the heart of Sammah’s household in an effort to spark a war again between their kingdoms. Eden had then called nervously upon Sammah, who had thrown himself on the corpse in despair.

Vance had retreated, leaving Eden alone with the baron. Eden would wait until Sammah had blown his grief out, before asking further on how the Satori had been cunning enough to strike so deeply in to the household of Everfell's only Sha'sek citizen of prominence, without being seen.

Sirah, as Sammah had called her, had a stern face, even in death. Eden had seen some bodies that looked peaceful after passing. Not this woman. Sammah's keening, too, seemed hard and unnatural, as if forced. That couldn't be the case though, could it? Perhaps it was just that the baron was usually so stoic, so predictable, that seeing him in floods of tears was simply uncomfortable for Eden to bear. Not even Vance had been able to stand it, after all.

Eden stood awkwardly to one side, looking briefly away as the shuddering of Sammah's shoulder appeared to ease. He stayed bent over Sirah's torso for a time, looking as though he were taking in details, before covering her once more with her burial shroud.

"I shall arrange the formalities for her. It is only proper. We may not be at home, but I will see her spirit escorted in the proper way to the Otherworld."

Eden nodded approval, which apparently was his to give under the jurisdiction of the investigation. He felt suddenly younger than his already tender years, and out of his depth with the battle he was facing to bring this Satori to justice. If such a man could again make it past all the castle guards to strike close to a noble man's heart, who was Eden to stop him? Sammah seemed to sense this, and placed a hard hand on Eden's shoulder.

"I know you will find who did this, Eden. You have to. It's not just one person relying on you now, or one lord. Losing Broc was tragic. You are the barrier standing between Everfell and war. You're a son of Sevenspells. You have to succeed.

Don't think you're alone. I know why you did this. It must be hard, living up to your father's name in the shadow of your brothers. I can help you. Consult on me whenever you like, in any manner you deem necessary. I will be yours, to use as you need, until vengeance is done."

"Thank you, baron. That means a lot to me, especially in light of what you have lost."

"My tears have been spent, Eden. I shan't shed any more for her. Not because I am not sorrowful; but because I know I will see her again in another place. My anger and efforts are better placed bringing who did this to justice."

Eden reached out his hand; Sammah clasped it at the wrist. "It is agreed. No rest until the Satori is done."

33

Sammah smiled. He had the young lordling exactly where he needed him to be. He would use the apparent emotion he felt for Quinn against him, and he would either get Eden on side or destroy them both on his way to the throne.

34

“You have a strong arm for a woman. Your aim is terrible, though.”

Quinn squealed, though her anger didn’t sound genuine to Eden. She threw the knife with more vigour, only for it to fly completely wide of its mark this time. Her pitiable attempts simply brought out another bout of guttural laughter from Eden, who was sat on a wall watching her efforts.

"Strong arm for a woman indeed. You do the work I do, day in day out, and not have a strong arm, Captain Eden of Sevenspells."

Eden jumped off the wall, striding confidently over to Quinn. He was under instruction now to teach Quinn to defend herself, from his father and from his king, and surprisingly also, from the baron himself. He was relishing the chance. Quinn was, as he had both hoped and feared, far more than the rumours that surrounded her allowed. Like all women in Everfell, however, she was appalling with weapons.

Under had taught him that in Sha'sek, if a woman chose to bear arms then that was her choice to make. She would train alongside the men, and she would fight alongside the men. Many of the battles in the last war were won because the men of Everfell did not know how to respond to or face women on the battlefield, though many of them had also died alongside their kinsmen.

Eden had assumed that Quinn would already have some basic grounding in weaponry, given that her father was Sha’sek. Quinn didn’t even know how to hold a knife properly. Eden immediately took his role as her protector and mentor seriously; it seemed that he had learned more of the Sha'sek traditions and histories from his brief time with Under, than Quinn had learned over her entire lifetime with Sammah.

"Here. You need to throw like this. Bend your arm. Don't release the blade too early. Bend your knees slightly. You need to relax and breathe evenly."

Eden took up one of the knives and, with very little waiting or aim, released it. It whistled through the air, thudding into the outer rim of the wooden target. Quinn shook her head in admiration.

"How can you do that so easily?"

"The same way I heal wounds so readily. Years of practice."

Maertn placed his fist around the knife Eden had thrown, yanking it hard from where it had embedded in to the board. It took two tries; Eden had a solid arm. He then moved around the yard, collecting the knives where Quinn had tried, and failed, to hit the target.

"But it looks so simple! At least when you clean wounds it looks horrendously complicated."

Maertn paused, appearing to consider this. Eden, too, seemed confused. He tossed a throwing knife in to the air, catching it easily by the hilt as it came back down. "If it were a simple thing, every man would be able to do it. Quinn has shown us that is not so. Truly, every man that comes across the throwing knives in the courtyard says the same thing. It is a hard art to master. Harder than the short and broadsword. Harder to get right than handling a pike, even. Here, you try, Maertn.”

* * *

Maertn shrugged. Placing the rest of the knives on a wide worn oak table reserved for their practice weapons, he tried to copy what he had already seen Eden doing; he did not want to look like a fool in front of either the guard captain or Quinn. He hefted the blade in his hand. He wasn't sure what he was meant to be expecting or judging. It felt about the same weight as a small lump of clay. It was balanced just above the hilt, a small way down the blade. Maertn knew this might be important, but not in what manner he should adjust his throw in response to this knowledge. Sending up a message to the spirits, he gripped the end of the blade and hurled it in a direction that was mainly that of the target. Maertn closed his eyes and tried not to sigh with relief when he heard the clunk that meant the dagger had hit home. Opening them again, he saw that it was buried in the top of the target, barely making it home. No matter. It was there. Maertn turned to Quinn, a brilliant smile on his face. She stuck out her tongue at him, but returned the smile in kind.