Diplomats and Fugitives (The Emperor's Edge Book 9) (16 page)

“Oh.” Ashara’s brow crinkled. Not the comment she had expected him to make? “Good. Thank you.”

A dozen follow-up comments and questions came to mind, but he didn’t know how to make them. None of them relied on the original Mangdorian hand code, which had been invented primarily for silent signaling during hunting expeditions. He found himself noticing her hair. Today, she had a petal from a flower sticking out of it. He didn’t think she had intentionally placed it there. She foraged often as they traveled, scrounging under bushes and plucking berries from briar patches, and bits of leaves and twigs liked to stick in her frizzy curls. Her hair probably defied combs and brushes, not that she looked like she bothered attempting to tame it very often. She herself did not look like someone who would be easily tamed. Strange that she worked for Shukura. Basilard wondered if she would mind if he plucked the petal from her hair. He doubted she knew it was there.

“I was getting Maldynado to show me some of your signs earlier, but he isn’t a natural teacher.” Ashara’s forehead crinkled, and he worried she had caught him staring at her.

Basilard turned his eyes toward the route ahead. Then, realizing she might expect a response to her comment, nodded. Maldynado was a
horrible
teacher.

“Perhaps you could show me some. And you could teach your corporal, too, if he’s interested in more than lamenting the loss of his vehicle. When there’s trouble jumping out at us, it would be good if we could all communicate with each other.”

Huh. She actually cared to communicate with him? Did she think this mission would be long enough that she needed to learn his language?

Basilard pointed ahead of them.
In an hour, we’ll come to a turnoff to a village. Before nightfall, we’ll reach it. We may not need to continue any farther. I’ll find out about the possibility of trade from the chief who leads that clan, and perhaps Mahliki will find someone to help with the blight information. We may be able to head back to Turgonia soon.
He wasn’t sure why he was explaining in depth when she wouldn’t understand. Part of it, he supposed, was simply him trying to figure out their next step. Could anything be gained by the group staying here in Mangdoria longer than necessary for Mahliki to research the blight? Or would it be best to report this trouble to Starcrest? While Turgonia had no real reason to be concerned about Mangdoria’s problems, the highway across the mountains was maintained by the republic, so they might do something about the grimbals.

“Was that a rejection?” Ashara asked.

Basilard shook his head. He would try to teach her a few signs while they were on the road, but the process would be easier with a translator—or a piece of paper and a pen. Since he could not write and walk, he reluctantly called Maldynado up. Ashara’s lips twisted downward. Maybe she didn’t want Maldynado to be a part of the lessons. Because he had offended her somehow? Or because she wanted to be alone with Basilard?

He snorted inwardly at that thought. As his recent debacle with Elwa demonstrated, women rarely wished to corner him in quiet nooks for private time. The last time he’d
had
private time with a woman had been on an ill-advised brothel visit with Maldynado and Akstyr, back when Akstyr had still been in the republic—which had been the empire, back then. He snorted again, depressed at the realization that it had been
that
long since he’d had companionship, at least in the physical sense. Elwa had often made him laugh, and he had enjoyed her company. Too bad he hadn’t made her realize he thought of her as more than a colleague. And too bad she hadn’t, at the same time, been thinking of him as more than a colleague.

Conscious of Ashara walking alongside him, frowning over at him—and probably wondering what he was thinking about—Basilard rubbed his face, trying to push all thoughts of companionship, physical and otherwise, out of his mind. Whatever Ashara had on her mind, he was certain that wasn’t it. She was an attractive woman, and even if she was living in the republic and had to choose from Turgonians for companionship—if that was something she sought—then with her athleticism and fighting prowess, she would have no trouble attracting one of them.

“What are we talking about?” Maldynado asked, ambling up.

Nothing, thank God. The last thing he needed was for Ashara or Maldynado to know where his thoughts had wandered. Surely real ambassadors didn’t waste their mental energy worrying about such things.

“I believe Basilard is looking for excuses not to teach me his language,” Ashara said. “Perhaps so you can more effectively talk about me when I’m standing right next to you.”

She grinned, but the blatant comment made Basilard’s cheeks heat. He was not generally one to speak about people behind their backs, and even if this was all politics—or whatever the hell he had become involved in—having her point out his dubious moral fortitude made him uncomfortable.

No
, he signed.
I will teach.

“Good,” Ashara said before Maldynado finished the translation.

Basilard didn’t need Maldynado’s frown to realize he had been outmaneuvered. Maybe outwitted. Wonderful.

• • • • •

The village was empty. Ashara dropped her chin on her fist, watching as Basilard walked along the packed earth next to a stream, eyeing hide-tanning racks and stone-and-dirt foundations, all that remained of the three or four dozen yurts that must have been set up there once. Towering oaks and pines rose all around the clearing, offering shelter and shade. The village, or what remained of it, would have been impossible to find, if not for Basilard’s direction. The path they had been following had petered out of existence miles earlier, with a more prominent one inviting them in another direction. Why had these people fled? They shouldn’t have had reason to, given how well this place was hidden.

This was more of a mystery than Ashara had expected from this trip, and she had no one to report it to. Back on the highway, she had never seen the courier Shukura had mentioned—indeed, she wondered if that person the grimbals had been eating might have
been
the courier. She supposed she had to stick with the Turgonians until they returned to the republic, or at least until she had a chance to permanently thwart Mahliki’s research. It had occurred to her that she might steal the woman’s pack or arrange for it to accidentally fall into a river. Would she be able to make any research progress without her tools? She carried everything from magnifying and analyzing equipment to plant specimens to alchemical solutions in that pack. Unfortunately, she used the bulky bag for a pillow when she slept, so stealing it would be challenging.

While Basilard poked around the abandoned village, Maldynado and Jomrik dropped the team’s gear in the middle of the clearing and collapsed next to it. The day had grown long, with the sun dipping below the rim of the surrounding mountains. It didn’t look like Maldynado would get his bed. Certainly not a lodge.

Ashara walked the perimeter, looking for clues as to the direction the people had gone and how long ago that had been. The disappearing Mangdorians did not mean much to her personally, but if they had left their homes because of grimbals or trouble with other big predators, that would be good to know. Some of her old stalker colleagues in the army had possessed the ability to see the past through the eyes of plant and animal life, but she had never been that talented. She had to rely on physical signs to unravel stories of the past.

Ashara found a well-used trail leading farther upstream. Countless feet had trod it that year, so she couldn’t say for certain if the villagers had fled that way, but she did find a child’s doll to one side, something that might have been dropped as the people left in a hurry. A few gouges in the dirt suggested a well-laden travois might have been dragged in that direction recently.

Basilard joined her, nodding.
They went that way.
He picked up the doll, pointed to the sky, and signed something that probably meant it had not been rained on. Or that it did not like sleeping alone under the stars. Though Ashara had wheedled language lessons from Basilard and Maldynado, she was not yet an expert.

“Any idea where they would have gone?” Ashara asked. “Is there a meeting place where your people gather when in trouble?”

Basilard hesitated, then made a single sign.

Ashara decided that hand waver meant,
Yes, but I’m not going to tell you about it.
Had Shukura truly believed she would be able to get close enough to these people to do anything? He might have underestimated them. Or maybe she was an even poorer spy than the ambassador had guessed. She snorted, deeming that a certainty.

“Got some insects to examine,” Mahliki said cheerfully, jogging into the camp with her net.

“That girl has a singular focus,” Ashara said, before remembering that she was supposed to be sharing that focus.

Expecting judgment, she glanced at Basilard.

He shrugged and signed,
Her father.

They had gone over terms for kin, comrades, and food that afternoon.

“He drives her to study assiduously?” Ashara guessed, though that didn’t seem right. Mahliki’s passion seemed genuine, something from within rather than something imposed from without.

He…
Basilard looked frustrated, like he did not think she would know the words he chose. He was probably right. It didn’t help that all of the translating and teaching had been in Turgonian, which wasn’t that natural of a language for her. He sighed and signed a string of terms, making them slowly.

“His power makes others seem weaker?” she guessed, though it didn’t make sense.

Basilard waved to Maldynado, who groaned from his spot reclining against a rucksack. “We didn’t get any sleep last night, Bas. Why don’t you bring your perky self over here if you want a translation? I’m tired.”

Jomrik was cleaning his weapons, but he, too, looked like he might fall asleep on the dirt in the center of the old camp.

Basilard walked to Maldynado and signed what must have been the equivalent of several sentences, but even Maldynado was squinting to decipher his signs in the waning daylight. Ashara would gather firewood once she had her explanation.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Maldynado said. “Can’t we just ask her? Mahliki?” he called to a portion of the stream where the young woman had paused to poke at some reeds. “What’s driving you to solve this mystery? Are you that passionate about fungi, or is it a father matter?”

Basilard rolled his eyes at this bluntness. It was a foregone conclusion that nobody would ever nominate Maldynado to be a diplomat.

“Father matter?” Mahliki joined them, kneeling to pull a lantern out of her pack.

“Sure, like when you feel inadequate and unable to make a name for yourself because of the reputation of your famous father. Are you striving to establish yourself as an independent force? To gain recognition for the family name that has nothing to do with war and soldiering and leading a nation? Do you feel pressure to achieve, and do you fear failure? And are you maybe wondering if sometimes it might simply be easier to embrace the persona of a failure, so that you don’t need to worry about disappointing people?”

When he stopped talking, nobody spoke right away. A few crickets chirped in the undergrowth of the trees ringing the camp.

“Does
Maldynado
have a famous father?” Ashara murmured to Basilard.

Basilard’s hand made a wavering motion. Sort of?

“I’m not talking about
me
,” Maldynado said dryly—and not convincingly.

“You know Father’s just considered an engineer in Kyatt, right?” Mahliki sounded bemused by Maldynado’s speech. “Mother’s the one with the prominent family name, and back before I was born, I understand she was the recipient of a lot of condescending concern over marrying an enemy admiral and bringing him home. My father isn’t really anyone important back home.”

Over the course of this conversation, whose daughter Mahliki was gradually dawned on Ashara. Then she felt silly for not having guessed sooner. Or maybe it wasn’t silly. Why would the Turgonian president have sent his daughter along on a research trip to another country, especially with such a small guard? Was she truly the most qualified person around? At her age? That seemed unlikely. But she supposed he couldn’t have anticipated those grimbals, and with the Mangdorians being pacifists, he wouldn’t have expected any people along the way to trouble her. Still… Ashara’s gut twisted at the idea of something happening to Mahliki and of the revenge the president might seek on those deemed responsible. All she needed was to be blamed for someone
else’s
death. Then she could be wanted dead in
two
countries.

“So…” Maldynado said slowly, “you’re
not
driven by a father matter?” The way he repeated the last two words made Ashara wonder if it was a familiar term in Turgonia. Something bandied about by dubious presses offering pamphlets on improving familial relationships, perhaps.

“I try not to disappoint him,” Mahliki said, “but my passion for solving this mystery is… Well, you know I’m still a student, right? I’m taking all of the science courses at your University, but I’m also sending my coursework back home to a couple of professors at the Polytechnic. I’ve finished the core curriculum there, but I need to write a… what’s the Turgonian term? A thesis? No, it’s more than that. I need to do fieldwork, study something, do experiments, and then write up the results and have them assessed by my professors. This—” she waved to the trees, “—is
perfect
.”

“You’re doing this for a grade?” Ashara asked. Great, she wasn’t only here to encourage the growth of the Mangdorian blight, but she got to sabotage the academic métier of the Turgonian president’s daughter. She might end up wanted dead in
three
countries.

“It’s more like the culmination of years of coursework,” Mahliki said. “I could be one of the youngest people to become a botany professor in the history of the Polytechnic.” She lifted her chin. “If you knew how much home study I’ve had to do over the years, you might understand why I’m proud of my accomplishments and pleased that this project has come my way at an opportune time.” Mahliki shrugged and lit her lamp, her cheeks a little pink. Maybe she felt self-conscious about the attention. Ashara would. “Father matter,” Mahliki muttered. “Why are Turgonians so convinced that collective fulfillment relies on the existence of high-achieving males in your society? I don’t know how your women put up with you.”