Legacy of Kings (5 page)

The lords of the city who had survived his initial purge offered him not only vows of loyalty but generous tribute as well. Some presented him with treasured heirlooms, empowered by generations of tribal reverence. Others brought rare perfumes, precious incense, aromatic spices. Still others placed hemp bags brimming with coins at Nasaan’s feet, a simple but eloquent offering. They were all bribes, of course. Those in high office who had survived the conquest were anxious to keep their heads on their shoulders. Others whose positions were less precarious hoped to win the favor of the city’s next administrator. And there were offerings from outsiders as well: merchants who regularly passed through the city, travelers who depended upon her generosity, tribal representatives who wanted to make sure that Nasaan did not add their ancestral lands to his military agenda. The new prince would keep half of all the treasure for himself, and the rest would go to his men, a reward for their courage in battle. And especially for their restraint afterward. Most of the city was still standing, and most of its women were unviolated. Such things did not come cheaply.

And then one of Nasaan’s warriors stepped into the sacred chamber, glancing anxiously about as he did so. Many of the tribesmen were nervous about being in the presence of so many gods, and were clearly in awe of their leader for feeling otherwise.

“Yes?” Nasaan asked. “What is it?”

“There’s a woman to see you.” The man hesitated. “She came alone.”

Nasaan raised an eyebrow. The few women who had come to see him thus far had all been accompanied by sizable retinues. When they’d been forced to enter the House of Gods without their attendants in tow they had done their best to mask their fear, but Nasaan could smell it on them. Would this new prince respect their status, their alliances, and their families, or consider them the spoils of war? Jezalya had been at peace for long enough that none of them had been through this kind of thing before. None of them knew what to expect.

Yet this woman came to him alone.

“Who is this maverick?” he asked.

“She would not give a name.” The man paused. “She said that you would be expecting her.”

A chill ran down Nasaan’s spine. Only one woman would have reason to introduce herself like that . . . or one creature that was not a woman. Would the gods be angered by a
djira
entering their sacred space? Or would that be deemed an offense only if she claimed to be a god herself?

Drawing in a deep breath to settle the sudden tremor in his stomach, he waited until he was sure that his voice would not betray his unease before he nodded to the man and ordered, “Send her in.”

She looked more like a woman now than she had on the field of battle, but he was not fooled by that. Her eyes were human in color and shape now, and the layers of silk that draped her frame lay still about her flesh like normal human garments, but the power that emanated from her person filled the chamber like a costly incense. Sweet, musky, intoxicating. He licked the taste of it from his lips and felt its power pass into his blood. Desire and dread combined, a heady intoxicant.

“You know who I am?” she asked.

The
djiri
did not have names, at least in their natural form. Only when they took on mortal flesh for an extended period of time did they bother with such human trappings. Was she testing him, to see how much he knew about her kind? Even the legends of these creatures—what few there were—offered little clue as to their true motives. Each
djira
was unique, with a nature as mercurial as the shifting sands of the desert. That was part of what made them so dangerous.

“I know what men call you,” he answered.

She walked toward him, her dark eyes taking in the piles of gold surrounding them, a flicker of a smile playing across her lips. The presence of so many gods did not seem to concern her at all; her gaze passed over them briefly, then fixed upon the treasure at his feet. “So do you require an offering from me as well?” she asked. “Or is my past service enough?

She was testing him, he realized. Daring him to haggle with her over the price of her aid. But he knew the ancient legends well enough to know where that would lead him. The
djiri
did not look kindly upon those who tried to wriggle out of their contracts. And he had seen what this one could do to mortal men if she wanted to; he had no desire to be at the receiving end of that kind of power.

“Your service is worth far more than merchant’s gold,” he said graciously.

“You owe me your victory,” she said bluntly.

There was no way to deny it. Lips tight, he nodded.

“Your entire tribe is in my debt as well.” The dark gaze was mesmerizing, merciless. “Had I not changed the course of battle, your men would have perished outside the gates of Jezalya. Your women would not have had warriors to protect them after that, when neighboring tribes moved in to claim their land, their wealth, their persons. Within a year your tribe would have perished, and within a generation all its proud history would have been forgotten. Do you not agree?”

He stiffened. “I am the one who made a bargain with you. The price is mine to pay. Leave my people out of it.”

“Ah.” Her eyes narrowed. “So the new prince is a man of honor. Little wonder that men are willing to die for him.”

His expression tightened, but he said nothing.

“Surely such a prince must hunger for more than a single conquest. Surely this one city, no matter how well appointed, would not be enough to satisfy him.”

After a long day of battle and bloodshed, Nasaan suddenly found that he did not have the energy for riddles. Not even from a demon. “If you came to name your price, then do so. If not . . . .” A spark of defiance took root in his soul. “I have other business to attend to.”

Was that anger in her eyes? For a moment it seemed he could sense the supernatural power that was coiled tightly within her, ready to destroy anything and everything in its path. But he was not going to roll over on his back for anyone.

She needs me for something,
he thought.
Else she would not go to such effort to expand upon my debt.
Still, he had taken a risk in confronting her. The gods alone knew where that would lead.

“There are cities to the north,” she said to him, “even more prosperous than this one. Roads that lead directly to Anshasa and beyond. Bodies of water so vast that you cannot see the far side of them, even on a clear day.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, low and seductive, as her power wrapped itself around him; his flesh stiffened as if warm fingers were probing his manhood. “Do you not hunger for those things, my prince? Do you not dream of possessing them? I can help you establish an empire such as most men only dream of.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “I imagine it would cost a man his soul to pay for such a service.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “For some. But I am a simple creature, with simple desires. I am content to ally myself with a man of power and bask in his glory.” Irony was a black fire in her eyes. “Is that too high a price to ask?”

A shiver ran down his spine as understanding came to him. “You want to rule by my side.”

“Every king must have a queen. Even if she is not openly acknowledged as such.”

“And what will my people say when I give a creature that is not even human power over them?”

“Your people will know only that you found a woman who pleased you and took her in to serve as your counselor. Whether I appear to be your wife, your concubine, or your queen is irrelevant to me. Only you and I will know the truth. As for having authority over them . . . .” A cold, dry smile flickered across her lips. “I offer you my counsel. Nothing more. Take it, and my power will be wedded to your ambition. Deny me, and you will fight your battles alone. That is my offer.”
And my threat
, her expression added.

It was a strange offer, coming from a desert spirit. She could easily have demanded more. He was surprised she was not threatening him more openly . . . though the threat lurking between her words was no less powerful for being unvoiced.

“This will satisfy you?” he asked. “Even without public acclaim? It is enough to satisfy my debt to you?”

“To plant the seed of an empire and help it grow to strength? Yes, that will satisfy me.” With a smile she stepped forward, closing the space between them. Her strange perfume filled his nostrils as she reached out to touch his chest, slender fingers tracing a thin line of blood that had spattered across his breastplate. “Besides, I find a man of power . . . enticing.”

A sudden rush of heat to his loins cut short his breath. Was it some
djir
spell that was stirring his blood, or just the female power of her presence? He had fought in enough wars to know that a man was quick to arouse in the hours following a battle. What if she adopts the role of a prince’s concubine? Will she play the part in private as well, in all its aspects? For a moment it was hard for him to think clearly. Then, very slowly, he brought his hand up and closed it over her own. And lifted her hand away from his chest, putting distance between them once more.

“Your price will be met,” he said quietly. Feeling the blood pound in his veins, not sure whether desire or ambition was the greater driving force. Never mind that he had just sold his soul to a desert spirit, whose nature and motives were a mystery. She had stirred up more a more powerful desire in him than any simple lust. And proven, in doing so, just how well she knew him.

No,
he thought.
Jezalya is
not enough for me.

Smiling triumphantly, she stepped back from him. “Then I will leave you to your other business. For now.” Her eyes glittered darkly, reminding him of his vision of her on the battlefield. Faceted eyes, black as jet. Such secrets in their depths! Hopefully he would learn their true source before they consumed him.

It struck him as she walked to the door that he should have asked about the winged creature that was at the battle. Too late now. He would have to remember it for later.

“Oh. One thing more.” She turned back to face him. “All the tribes that make their home within your territory and accept your rightful authority, I will protect as though they were my own kin. Those outside your borders, however, are mine to do with as I please.” She smiled coldly. “I trust that will not be a problem for you.”

This time she did not ask for an answer, nor wait to hear one, but left him alone amidst the city’s gods to make his peace with the price of victory.

Chapter 2

I

T WAS raining by the time Salvator reached the monastery, which did not make his entourage very happy. The servants had managed to get a traveling canopy unpacked when the rain first began, and four of them now carried it high over Salvator’s head so that he and his horse could remain dry, but other riders did not have such protection. The guards dealt with it well enough—they never expected to be pampered anyway—but the various courtiers who had come along on the journey in the hope of winning Salvator’s favor were less than pleased. Out of the corner of his eye the High King could see one of them struggling to make sure that his cloak covered every single inch of his precious silken garments, lest a drop of water discolor them. Yes, he thought, God alone knew what the state of the kingdom would be if one of the High King’s advisers got his clothing wet!

The young monarch was tempted to urge his horse to greater speed, to ride out into the rain ahead of them all, but he knew that the servants carrying the canopy would be mortified if he did so. Besides, he did not need Cresel lecturing him later on all the reasons he should bear himself with proper royal dignity. Or his mother. Even though the sensation of rainwater pouring down upon his head would refresh him body and spirit, washing away the suffocating formality of the royal court, that did not matter. Some things simply could not be allowed.

As the company made its agonizingly slow approach to the monastery gates, Salvator felt a pang of longing for the life that he had once lived within these walls, and for the utter simplicity of his former existence. His soul ached for the familiar rhythm of monastic duty, the moral clarity of a life devoted to spiritual ideals. It seemed like a lifetime since he had left those things behind. How long would it be before his spirit finally accepted the change, so that he no longer felt as if he were playing a part in some bizarre play, reading the part of a High King while everyone applauded dutifully?

Evidently the monks had seen his entourage approaching, for the heavy wooden doors opened before the first rider reached them. A robed brother came up to Salvator as he entered the courtyard, holding his horse steady while he dismounted, then leading the animal away. No words were needed, nor were any offered. Other monks tended to his entourage with equally wordless efficiency. Their silence was clearly disturbing to Salvator’s courtiers, who were accustomed to a stream of incessant chatter. A few of them even asked the brothers pointless questions in a vain attempt to get them talking, but they received no more than a nod in response, or perhaps a single word at most. Finally the silken magpies settled for prattling amongst themselves, wondering aloud when the current weather might improve, commenting upon how miserable it was to be traveling on such a day, expressing concern that the rain might damage a particular garment. So at least the bad weather was keeping them occupied.

How unlike these chattering birds the brothers of the monastery were! An observer might have guessed them to be from a wholly different species. Nor did they offer up any more deference to their visitors than the absolute minimum that protocol demanded. Such behavior probably would have enraged Danton, who had insisted that all men bend to humble themselves before the Royal Presence. But to Salvator it was refreshing. The Penitents honored and obeyed mortal kings, but they refused to glorify them; true humility was reserved for the Creator alone. Not all rulers were comfortable with such a philosophy, but it suited Salvator well.