The Godspeaker Trilogy (115 page)

You wei hesitate killing , Zandakar had told her.
You hesitate, you die. Belly soft. Strike deep, go up. Twist knife. Cut inside. Make bleed. Make die.

Every time they danced the
hotas, Zandakar would tell her that. At first the thought had made her queasy but after a while she’d stopped hearing the words. At least, she’d thought she stopped hearing them.

But I didn’t. The words seeped inside me, soaking into my muscles and bones. And now I’ve killed a man … exactly as Zandakar taught me to.

Turning on her heel, leaving Ven’Martin like a slaughtered beast, she went back inside the inn. Trod up the stairs. Returned to her chamber, where Alasdair was waiting.

He’d lit the lamp again but fallen asleep. “Alasdair,” she said, standing beside him. “Wake up.”

He opened his eyes and stared at her blearily. “Rhian?”

The blood-smeared blade was still in her hand. She showed it to him. “Ven’Martin attacked me. I killed him. You’d best come downstairs.”

As he gaped at her, speechless, she walked out of their chamber and along the corridor where Zandakar had been given a room. He’d wanted to stay awake all night again, guarding her, but she’d flatly forbidden it.
This is Kingseat, Zandakar. I’m safe in my home . She banged on his closed door and a moment later he opened it. He was wide awake. Still dressed. He looked at her face and then at the knife.

“You’re a good teacher, Zandakar,” she said. “I didn’t think. I didn’t hesitate. He attacked and I killed him.”

Back along the corridor, Alasdair was shouting for her. Other doors were opening.

“Show me,” said Zandakar.

She took him to the dead man. Other people followed them downstairs till the courtyard was crowded. Alasdair. Zandakar. Her other bodyguards. The innkeeper. His stableman. Rudi and Edward in their nightshirts. Adric, still dressed. Ursa. Warm light from torches and lanterns chased away the silver moonlight.

Ursa pressed her fingers to Ven’Martin’s throat then looked up. “Yes, he’s dead, I’m afraid.”

“God have mercy!” That was Helfred, arriving. “It’s Ven’Martin. Why is he not dressed in his vestments? What is he doing here? Your Majesty, what
happened ?”

“He tried to kill me,” she told him. Told everyone listening. The knife was still in her hand.

“
Kill you?” Helfred stared. “Your Majesty, this is
Ven’Martin . Vestments or not he’s a sworn man of God. What you say—it’s not possible. There must be some mistake.”

Ven’Martin’s blood had dried a sticky dark red on the blade’s honed steel. “You don’t believe me?” she asked, her gaze fixed on it. “You think I killed him for sport, Helfred? Do you think I was
bored ?”

“No, Your Majesty, no—but
murder ?
A venerable ? It confounds understanding! Did he
say anything? Did he—”

She closed her eyes. Heard again that rasping, hate-filled voice. “
In Marlan’s name I send you to hell where the spawn of devils like you belong .” She opened her eyes again. “I’m sorry, Helfred. This is your uncle’s doing.”

“No!” said Helfred, stepping back. “That’s not possible. Marlan may be misguided but he would
never stoop to murder. It is strictly against God’s law!”

“God’s law?” said Alasdair, his face livid with fury. “It’s plain our prolate recognises no law but his own ambition. All but a few of Ethrea’s people are with the queen. His chaplains proclaim her. He must know she’ll face him in the capital tomorrow where all of Kingseat capital will shout her name. This was his last desperate attempt to defeat her.”

A hurly-burly of voices, then, as Helfred and Alasdair and the rest added their clamour to the clamour in her mind.

This man is dead because I killed him. At last I am a killing queen. Is Zandakar proud of me? He must be proud …

“
Enough! Have you doltish men eyes in your heads? Can’t you see Her Majesty is wilting?”

Ursa. Her harsh demand silenced the uproar. Alasdair stepped forward. “Rhian?” he said, gently. “Come inside. Let us do with the venerable what must be done.”

“If Marlan sent Ven’Martin here then his soul is surely damned,” she whispered. “Or am I damned for killing him? Oh, Alasdair. I’ve killed a man of God.”

“Rhian …” Alasdair’s voice was anguished. “Please. Let me take you inside.”

“Wei,” said Zandakar. “I take her. I talk to her.”

Alasdair turned. “
You? I don’t think so. You are the cause of this. You’re her bodyguard, you’re supposed to be, yet you didn’t prevent this attack. She’s killed a man who
you should’ve killed. His blood should be on
your hands, Zandakar. Not hers.”

If the harsh words hurt him, Zandakar didn’t show it. “Alasdair king has killed a man?”

“What?” Alasdair shook his head. “No. I’ve never killed a man. How does that matter? I am her—”

Zandakar’s eyes were so pale. So pure. “I talk to Rhian, Alasdair king.”

Silence, as the two men stared unblinking at each other. Rhian turned her head, distracted by movement. Dexterity had joined them, though he was still far from well. She looked at him, her miracle man. The toymaker who’d given her dolls and puppets, who’d mended her rocking horse and let her weep on his breast. He nodded, so slightly. His face was shocked, his eyes bleak.

“Alasdair,” she said. “Please. Take everyone inside. I think I must talk with him out here. Alone.”

Her words went through him like the blade of a knife. She saw them slice him. She saw him bleed. “Fine,” he said curtly. “Your Graces? With me!”

“Your Majesty,” said Helfred. “I beg you. Ven’Martin cannot lie here like a butchered hog. He must be laid out properly and prayed over. He—”

She rested her hand on his arm. “He will be. Have the innkeeper show you to his coldest cellar. Make what preparations you think are fit. Ven’Martin will be brought to you there.”

“Majesty—”

“
Go, Helfred! Before I—” She bit off the unwise words and swallowed them, though her throat was so tight. “Go.”

The inn’s yard emptied, Ursa scolding as she saw Dexterity on his feet. Too soon it was only herself and Zandakar … and dead Ven’Martin. Zandakar dropped to one knee beside the man she’d killed and bared his death wound to the brilliant night sky.

“Good stroke,” he said, nodding. “Quick. Clean.”

She shrugged, trying to pretend she didn’t feel deathly ill. “Didn’t I say you’ve been a good teacher?”

He stood. “Rhian good student.”

“Papa always said so. He was proud of my accomplishments. I wonder if he’s proud of me now …”

Twenty-seven years a king, Papa, and you never killed anyone. I’m not even crowned yet and there’s blood on my hands. Blood because I wouldn’t capitulate. Because I wouldn’t accept the future you decreed for me. And now will a kingdom be punished for that?

Zandakar reached out, touched the base of her throat. His fingertips woke pain there. Ven’Martin’s choking fingers had bruised her. “Man hurt you.
Wei knife?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t try to stab me. He wanted to strangle me.” She shivered, remembering. “His eyes, Zandakar. And when I stabbed him—when I stabbed him—”

“
Wei yatzhay man dead, Rhian,” said Zandakar, sternly. “Rhian
yatzhay, Rhian stupid.”

“All right then,” she said, flinching. “I’m stupid. Because I am
yatzhay . I’m
yatzhay he’s dead. I’m
yatzhay I killed him.” She felt her stomach heave. “I’m
yatzhay I knew what to do when he attacked me.”

Zandakar’s eyes narrowed. “You ask me train you.”

“I know I did!”

“I
wei train, you die.
Zho? ”

“
Zho! But does that mean I should be glad I killed him? Should I be
happy I’m like you, a blooded, bloody warrior? I mean, you’ve got what you wanted. Rhian the killing queen. Are
you happy?”

He said nothing.

“
Answer me, Zandakar! Are you
happy now?”

He stood in the moonlight and the light from the torches, his hair shimmering the most unnatural blue. He was dressed like an Ethrean but he still looked foreign. Exotic. His eyes were unshadowed. She saw his heart clearly.

He smiled. “Happy you
wei dead. Happy I save you.”

Oh, Alasdair … “How many men have you killed, Zandakar?”

He stopped smiling.

“I want to know,” she persisted. “How many? A handful? Tens? Hundreds?” Still he said nothing.
“More?”

“I am warrior, Rhian. Warriors kill.”

“How old were you the first time you took a life? Do you remember?”

Thoughts flickered across his untranquil face. Then he nodded, as though answering a question only he could hear. “I kill first man when I am twelve
intza . I think you say years.”

She swallowed. “God’s mercy. You were a
child . What were you doing, killing at that age?”

“Training to be warrior.”

By killing someone?
Dear God. What kind of people does he come from? “This man you killed. Who was he?”

“Criminal.”

“You remember that?”

“
Zho . I remember.”

Surely it must be hard to forget, executing a criminal at the age of twelve … but she suspected he remembered a great deal more.
How long has he been hiding himself, I wonder?

“And how did you feel after you killed him?”

He pulled a face. “Not good, kill that man.”

Her own belly was still roiling. All the red wine she’d drunk earlier, sloshing around. It was a miracle she hadn’t lost it in a great heaving. “And yet you killed again. Many times. More times than you want to tell me about.” A shudder ran through her. “I never want to kill again, Zandakar. I didn’t want to kill
this time. I didn’t say to Ven’Martin:
Fiend! You must die! He attacked me and I stabbed him. I didn’t think. I didn’t question. I had my knife—
this knife—” She held up the blade and watched the dried blood drink the moonlight. “I thrust it deep into his belly. I twisted it, to cut him inside. And then I knelt beside him and watched him die.” Some sound broke from her throat, then, horrible and harsh. Her fingers opened. The knife clattered on the cobbled ground. “Dear God, it was
disgusting . I
butchered this man!”

Zandakar shook his head. “
Wei, Rhian. You die or man die.”

“No! I could’ve shouted for help. I could’ve run. But Zandakar, I
didn’t . I
killed him. It was instinct, like—like breathing. Dear God, after everything I’ve said and done to avoid violence between Linfoi and here. And yet
I’m the one who’s spilled the first blood.
I’m the one who’s tarnished the crown.” There were hot tears on her skin. Inside she was freezing. “I wish I’d never learned a single
hotas . I wish Dexterity had left you on that ship.”

“Rhian …” Zandakar put one hand on her shoulder, standing so close she could feel his body heat. Her heartbeat quickened. “You not learn
hotas you dead now,” he said. “You not kill bad man? Bad man kill you.”

And here they were again.
Kill or be killed . His song without ending ever since he’d found the words.

With the softest of touches he wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Rhian die, what happen Ethrea?”

And that was the hideous question, wasn’t it … If she died what would happen to the small precious kingdom she’d inherited against every expectation?

“Zandakar …” She hunched her shoulders against the cool night air. “I need to ask you something else. Something important. And don’t tell me you can’t remember because I think you can.”

His eyes flickered with shadows again, with thoughts he would not share. “Ask.”

“Have you ever killed a man who wasn’t a criminal or trying to kill you in battle?”

He flinched, as though she hadn’t dropped her knife but pricked it to his ribcage.

“Dear God …” She stepped back. “You
have .”
Oh Alasdair, Alasdair . “Zandakar, who
are you? Should I be afraid?”

His ice-blue eyes were liquid. “
Wei . Zandakar
wei hurt you. I teach you
hotas so you keep safe.”

If she picked up her knife and pointed it towards him, something would change between them that could never change back. Her fingers hummed to pick up the blade. She gripped them behind her until her knuckles cracked.

“Are you
yatzhay for that, Zandakar? Are you
yatzhay for killing an innocent man?”

Please God, please God … don’t let him say no …

Zandakar nodded.
“Zho. Yatzhay yatzhay.”

A deluge of relief, swamping the fear.
He’s not lying. He’s sorry. He’s not a monster, he’s just a man .

“Do all the boys where you come from learn to kill when they’re twelve?”

“
Wei . Only warriors.”

“What of the girls?”

“
Zho . Girls warriors.”

Of course they were. It had never occurred to him she could not fight … or kill.

Bending, she picked up the knife. It was heavy in her hand. Heavy with blood. Heavy with memory. If she closed her eyes she’d feel the give of flesh before steel, hear the soft exhalation of life fleeing the body.