Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards) (28 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Five Hundred Years After (Phoenix Guards)
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“He? Well, yes and no, I think.”
“How, yes and no?”
“He is healthy, yet he is not happy.”
“He is not happy? Has, then, something happened to make him unhappy?”
“Something happen? I nearly think so! Did you not hear that His Majesty had a search made of his daughter’s quarters in the House of the Dragon, or the Dragon Wing, I forget which?”
“Well, yes,” said Khaavren. “It seems to me that I did hear something of that, now that you mention it.”
“Well,” said Tazendra.
“Were you able to cool his temper?”
“Oh yes,” said Tazendra. “I spoke most soothingly, and he listened to everything I said. And of course, our friend Aerich was of some help.”
“So that he was no longer angry when you left?”
“He was as gentle as a winneasaurus, content to let us make our investigations and do nothing until he learned what the results were.”
“Investigations, my dear Tazendra?”
“Yes, certainly.” Then she stopped and her eyes grew wide. “Ah, fool that I am, I was not to mention that to you.”
“How, you were not to mention that?”
“Exactly.”
“What were you not to mention?”
“That we have determined to investigate.”
“Well, then I will pretend that you said nothing of any investigations.”
“Oh, would you do that?”
“Cha! It is nothing. Though I confess that my self-love is a trifle damaged, Tazendra, that His Highness felt I could not be trusted.”
“Oh, it wasn’t that, I assure you.”
“Well, but then, what was it?”
“He merely wanted to avoid putting you in a position where you must choose between your duty and your friendship.”
“I see. Then it was a noble gesture.”
“Was it not? I’ve always thought Lord Adron every inch a gentleman.”
“Oh, certainly. Yet, I fail to see how an investigation you are conducting could cause a conflict between my duties and my friendship.”
“Well, would you like to know something, Khaavren?”
“Certainly, my friend.”
“I don’t understand either.”
“How, you don’t understand?”
Tazendra solemnly shook her head.
“Then,” said Khaavren, “it must be a deep matter indeed.”
“Oh, the deepest.”
“It must involve intrigue.”
“I think it does,” said the Dzurlord, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“And the court,” said Khaavren, lowering his voice to match hers.
“Oh, of course, the court,” said Tazendra. “Why else mention Jurabin?”
“Ah, that is who they wish to investigate?”
“None other.”
“It is, I suppose, Aerich who is investigating Jurabin?”
“No, no. Aerich has remained with His Highness. It is Aliera and Sethra who are speaking with Jurabin.” Then she winced. “Bah! I cannot keep my tongue under control. I was not supposed to mention that, either.”
“Think nothing of it,” said Khaavren who was, meanwhile, thinking of it a great deal.
“Ah, I am vexed with myself.”
“But what
were
you to tell me?”
“Only that we saw His Highness, and passed the evening with him.”
“That is all you were to tell me?”
“Not a word more.”
“And whence came these orders?”
“Bah! From whom would these orders come except from His Highness?”
“But, then, who told you to pass on that you had seen him and that he was well?”
“Oh, that was Aerich.”
“I see,” said Khaavren. “Yet it seems to me that you have done just what you were asked to do.”
“I have?”
“Why, yes. You have told me that you spent the evening with His Highness. So, you perceive, you have done what you ought to have done.”
“Have I?” said Tazendra. “Well, then I shan’t worry about it.”
“And you will be right not to.”
They continued speaking for some little time then, as old friends will, but they confined the discussion to reminisces and to praise for their friends and for each other.
“Well,” said Tazendra, after a certain amount of time had passed, “I have seen you, and seen once more these rooms that were so important to me, and I have told you what I came to tell you. Now I shall be off, and I will, no doubt, see you at home this evening.”
Tazendra stood up, and Khaavren did the same, and they embraced once more and parted with compliments. Khaavren returned to his duty of inspecting his guardsmen and reading the reports of the previous night’s events, and was on the point of leaving to see if His Majesty required anything when he was informed that he had another visitor.
“Well, it seems to be the day for it. Who is this?”
“The Duke of Galstan.”
“Ah, ah! Send him in!”
Pel came in, once more dressed as a student of the Art of Discretion: fully covered in plain robes the color of the mud that formed at the edge of the Dragaera River. “Pel, my friend! Sit down, sit down. Do you know, you have not missed our friend Tazendra by more than an hour.”
“How, she was here?”
“In the very chair you now occupy.”
“Well, but did she have a reason for her visit?”
“Oh, indeed yes. Aerich sent her to tell me that Adron is furious, and may be contemplating doing something rash, and is, moreover, investigating Jurabin, because they suspect, as we do, that Jurabin may, for his own reasons, have prevailed upon His Majesty to be lenient toward Aliera.” He frowned. “Our dear Jurabin cannot have had an easy time of it.”
“I should think not,” said Pel, smiling.
Khaavren shrugged. “Now you know what I know.”
“That is true,” said Pel, “but you do not yet know what I know.”
“How, you have learned something since last night?”
“Indeed yes, and I will tell you if you wish.”
“I wish for nothing else in the world.”
“This is it, then: we were right about Her Majesty. She was behind the search of Aliera’s quarters.”
“Ah,” said Khaavren. “How did you learn this?”
“I spoke to her, in my role as a student here. I asked if she had anything she wished to speak to a Discreet about.”
“And yet, if it was told you in confidence—”
Pel laughed. “Not in the least. She denied requiring a Discreet, after which we had a pleasant conversation together, during which I learned much from her.”
Khaavren nodded slowly, recognizing Pel very well in this tale.
“So, now what, my friend?”
“Now what?” said Pel. “I am not certain. Yet if, as seems to be the case, there is trouble brewing between the Consort and the Prime Minister, and at such a time as this, well, nothing good can come of it, Khaavren.”
The Captain nodded, for he had been thinking exactly the same thing. Then he sighed. “I must think, and you do too, and we will see if, together, we cannot formulate some plan. For I will tell you, Pel, that I am frightened of this situation; and you know, I think, that I am not easily frightened.”
The Yendi nodded solemnly and could think of nothing further to say. Khaavren rose and walked with Pel back to the Imperial Wing, after which Pel turned toward the Athyra Wing, walking at a slow, dignified gait so at odds with the spring in his step when he was garbed as a cavalier. Khaavren watched him, smiling. “Ah, my friend,” he said softly. “How many of you are there? Do you even know anymore? And how do you keep them all distinct in your mind?”
He took a step toward the Portrait Room and His Majesty, when, on a sudden impulse, he changed direction and made his way up to the suite of rooms belonging to Noima, Her Majesty the Consort. Now this suite, located on the east side of the Imperial Wing, featured an extension which had been grafted on above the Jhegaala Wing to provide a sort of balcony or parapet or porch where Her Majesty could sit on fine days and look down on the Dragaera River or the hills of Eastend. This balcony, for so we will call it, was entirely secluded from the rest of the Palace, and could not be reached except through the Consort’s own bedchamber, which was always watched by a pair of guards (not to mention the other three pair who guarded the different entrances to the Consort’s suite). All of this, in addition to providing an excellent setting for Luin’s farcical murder drama,
Who Dropped Her First?
had the result that, if the Consort wished for privacy, all she need do was inform the guards to her room that she did not wish to be disturbed, and these guards would let no one, not even His Majesty, pass without word from the Consort.
No one, we should say, except their superior officer, Khaavren of Castlerock.
We ought to mention that it was not, in fact, Khaavren’s intention to eavesdrop—his plan was to speak openly and frankly with Noima in hopes of pleading with her on Aliera’s behalf. But when his clapping produced no response, and when the two guards informed their Captain that the Consort was, in all probability, taking the air on the balcony with her maids of honor, Khaavren simply shrugged and walked through the door, thinking nothing of it.
The Consort’s bedroom was large and furnished mostly in white, with an imperial-size canopied bed, a white couch, and enough chairs for her attending maids. In the back of the room was the door which permitted access to the balcony to which we have felt obliged to call the reader’s attention. Khaavren
was, in fact, setting his hand to the doorknob when he was caught up short by the sound of the Consort’s voice, speaking in tones that were severe and left no doubt about the seriousness of the matter under discussion.
“Oh ho,” said Khaavren to himself. “Her Majesty is upbraiding one of her maids of honor. Perhaps, then, this would be a poor time to ask her for clemency, and it would be best to leave them alone and wait for Her Majesty’s disposition to improve. And yet, one cannot help but be curious about the subject of Her Majesty’s anger, for there is no doubt that what makes someone, be it Consort or courtesan, angry, tells us as much about her, or him for that matter, as what brings her pleasure. Let us, then, listen for a moment, and then we will steal away as silently as we have arrived, wealthier in knowledge and richer in experience.”
As Khaavren listened, then, so shall we, and we will hear the Consort speaking in these terms: “Daro,” she said, addressing a maid of honor whom Khaavren remembered as an elegant and haughty Lyorn, “you take liberties. I warn you that your position at court is in doubt if you continue speaking and behaving in this manner.”
“Come, that’s not badly said,” murmured Khaavren. “What will be the reply?”
The reply, delivered in a feminine voice both strong and melodic, took this form: “Madam, I do take liberties, for which I hope Your Majesty can forgive me, yet my self-love speaks louder to me than my love of pelf, and if I must sacrifice one, why, there is hardly a choice. Your Majesty contemplates an injustice; I cannot remain quiet—”
“An injustice!” cried the Consort. “How, you are weeping for this poor, helpless, defenseless girl, who happens to be a Dragonlord, and, moreover, daughter of the Dragon Heir to the Throne? If you hate injustice, you might look to the injustices committed daily against those who have fewer means of defense than Aliera e’Kieron!”
“Ah, ah,” said Khaavren. “What is this? They are talking of the very subject that interests me! Come now, this is fortunate; we must listen more closely than ever, that not a single note of this concert should escape our critical judgment.”
“Madam,” said Daro, “What Your Majesty does me the honor to say is full of justice. Nevertheless—”
“Yes? Nevertheless?”
“Weak or powerful, she is still a woman, which means she is human, which means she is able to feel pain, and Your Majesty has already subjected her to the humiliation of having her rooms searched, and this only for the crime of attracting attention that has previously gone to Your Majesty. Now Your
Majesty contemplates crushing her beneath the weight of Imperial displeasure by bringing to bear all the weapons of the law—”
“The law she has broken!” cried the Consort, whose voice was beginning to sound shrill.
“—upon her head. Yes, madam, she has broken the law. An ancient law. A law some feel is unjust, and a law some feel is useless, but, nevertheless, a law. But I beg leave to point out to Your Majesty that it is a law no more ancient than those unwritten laws which regulate honorable behavior and use of power—laws designed to protect—”
“You are in danger, Countess,” cried the Consort. “I warn you, take care!”
“Madam, I have Your Majesty’s interests at heart, believe me. That which Your Majesty contemplates can result in nothing good for you, as well as those of us who have the honor to belong to you. I cannot stand by idly when Your Majesty engages in acts which cast shame upon you and on the court.”

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