The Jackal of Nar (44 page)

“You’ve been too kind with your gifts already, Lord Emperor. This one I must refuse.”

“But this potion really works! And for someone as young and strong as you, there’s no telling how long you might live. You must think before you make this choice.”

“There’s no need. I know what I’m saying. I don’t want to live any longer than my fate has decided. Being king will be difficult enough for me.”

Arkus gave an exasperated sigh. “Very well,” he said. “I won’t force it on you. But I am disappointed. I had hoped we might have a better relationship than your father and I endured.”

“It still could happen, Your Grace,” said Richius. “If you keep your promise to support me in Lucel-Lor. I have no love for these Drol. They killed my father and my friends. Nothing would satisfy me more than to have my vengeance on them. But we have no chance at all if you’re not fully committed to this.”

“My word will be kept,” said Arkus. “When this finally happens, you’ll have all the might of Nar at your disposal.”

“Believe me, Your Grace, we’ll need it. I’m sure the Drol have secured Lucel-Lor by now. We’ll have to strike hard and quickly just to gain a foothold.”

“Yes, quickly. Time is precious to me now, Richius. This must be done as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do my best.” Richius rose from his seat and smiled bleakly at Arkus. “I’m probably being missed downstairs, and you look tired. Shall I leave you now?”

“Not yet,” said Arkus, also getting to his feet. “I have one more thing to give you.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” Richius protested. “Please …”

Arkus interrupted with a wave of his bony hand. “This is something very special, something I’m sure you will like.” He placed his frigid hands on Richius’ shoulders, his eyes shining with delight. “I have found a woman for you.”

Richius was thunderstruck. He blinked twice, wondering what he had heard.

“A woman, Your Grace?” he asked. “What sort of woman?”

“A wife, Richius,” said Arkus. “A beautiful, young wife.”

Again Richius was silent for a long moment. He stared blankly at Arkus, watching the old man’s face twitch with glee. Clearly he thought his news would be welcome, yet Richius could hardly stammer a response.

“You’ve chosen a wife for me? But I have no wish to be married.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sorry, but this gift is impossible.”

Arkus dropped his hands away and stared hard at Richius.
“Why?” he asked sharply. “Have you already chosen a woman for yourself?”

“No, but—”

“Good. Because Lady Sabrina has come a long way to marry you, and I had to make her father certain promises I wish to honor.”

“Sabrina? Of Gorkney? You’ve chosen her for
me
?”

“Don’t be so alarmed. She’s a beautiful girl and I’m told she’s quite charming. You should consider yourself fortunate. There are others in Nar who have designs on her.”

“I know, Your Grace, but I don’t want to get married. Perhaps someday, but not now.”

“You must have a wife, Richius,” said Arkus. “You’re a king now, and the last Vantran alive. You must marry and have sons.”

Richius was speechless. It was all coming too fast, the plans for war, the possibility of rescuing Dyana, and now this. Marriage was unthinkable. If by some miracle he did find Dyana alive…

He shook his head, unable to reason anymore. Arkus was walking away from him, replacing the crystal goblets in the dusty cabinet.

“Please,” Richius implored, sounding like a pauper begging coins. “I don’t want this. Find some other husband for her. Perhaps one of my own men would accept her.”

“Your men? She’s the daughter of a duke. She must marry into royal blood. I chose her for you because I was told she’s the most beautiful girl in the Empire. I want you to have someone special. If you have your eye on some kitchen wench, forget her. You will marry Lady Sabrina.”

“Your Grace—”

“Not another word,” snapped Arkus. “You’ve already refused the potion. I won’t let you refuse this gift as well.”

There was a terrible, echoing silence as Arkus turned away. Slowly Richius moved toward the door. Yet before he could reach it, Arkus called back to him.

“Richius,” said the emperor. “Come here.”

Arkus was standing by the cloudy window, looking out over the metal metropolis of Nar. Richius moved to stand beside the emperor. A light snow was falling, dropping lazily into the filthy streets and the smokestacks of the laboratories.

“I can give her to Blackwood Gayle,” said Arkus quietly, his eyes never moving from the window. “But only if that’s what you truly wish. He would probably beat her, of course, and she would have you to thank for it.”

“But why not somebody else? Surely there’s another you can give her to. Must it be Gayle or me?”

Arkus nodded. “That’s the choice. Either you agree to marry her and save me from looking like a fool with Duke Wallach, or I will give her to Blackwood Gayle. Make your decision now. I must know what to tell the baron.”

Silently Richius considered his options. Sabrina was indeed beautiful, one of the loveliest creatures he had ever seen. It was true what Arkus had said. Any man would be fortunate to share his bed with her. Yet could he love her? Could he truly be a husband to her? And what of Dyana? Dead or alive, she still haunted his nights. Yet how could he condemn Sabrina to a life of degradation in Talistan? She would be little more than a slave there, another harlot between Gayle’s filthy sheets. He would breed her like a horse, owning her womb until it expired or split open and killed her. And if she were barren or he were not man enough to seed her, he would beat her.

Richius stared mutely out the window. He could see the giant Cathedral of the Martyrs scratching the gray sky, and wondered if God truly had abandoned him. It seemed so.

“You won’t reconsider this?” asked Richius.

Arkus shook his head. “No. I brought her here for you. If you don’t want her, I shall give her to Gayle. Perhaps it will help mend his wounded pride. He won’t be pleased when he learns that I’ve asked you to return to Lucel-Lor without him.”

“Very well, then,” said Richius. “If there’s no other choice but that murderous rogue, I will take her.”

Arkus turned back to Richius, his blue eyes once more sparkling with excitement. “Excellent. You’ve made me very happy, Richius. And you’ll see. You’re frightened now, but you’ll thank me for this someday. She will make you a fine wife.”

“Yes,” said Richius dully. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“And we shall do great things together, Richius. Great things!”

Richius tried to smile. “Yes,” he managed. “Great things.”

R
ichius approached the garden like a stalking cat, careful not to let the Lady Sabrina notice him. As had been arranged she was waiting there for him, amusing herself with a bold little bird that had alighted on her finger. Quietly he stopped behind a statue and watched her. He hadn’t seen her for three days, not since the coronation, and he wanted to be sure about her, to look at her undisturbed and reassure himself that she was indeed as lovely as he’d remembered. Sabrina did not disappoint him. She was as striking as ever amid the blooms of winter lilies, her cheeks lightly flushed, her long sapphire dress swaying gently in the evening breeze. Her painted lips were pursed in a merry whistle that made the canary on her finger cock its head inquisitively.

Dusk was wrapping its dark mantle about the city. Behind her, a thousand candled windows blinked against the encroaching shadows, and the garden’s braziers bathed the balcony in orange light.

Like everything in Nar, the garden of Arkus was immense. It hung out over the palace like a giant, multicolored wing, a veritable forest against a backdrop of unyielding granite. Richius was awed by it. It was so very different from the garden back home where his father had proudly grown roses. That was a simple garden where nothing exotic grew. Not so with this place. Arkus’ garden was a masterpiece of flowers, a meticulous canvas where artists worked with living colors. It was just as Biagio had promised: the perfect romantic venue for their meeting.

Richius smoothed down the wave in his hair and squared his shoulders. The bouquet of scarlet dahlias in his fist looked meager amid the bounty. It had been a long time since he’d romanced a girl, and he wondered if the token would be appreciated. She was, after all, a princess, and doubtless accustomed to suitors. He fought to still his nervousness. If only Dinadin could see him now.

Finally, his courage cresting, he stepped out from behind the
statue. At once the tiny bird in Sabrina’s hand took flight. She turned abruptly to face him.

“I’m sorry,” said Richius softly. “I didn’t mean to startle you, or your friend.”

“You didn’t startle me, my lord,” she answered. “I was waiting for you.”

Richius moved forward, her smile encouraging him closer. He offered the small bouquet for her inspection.

“Count Biagio told me you were fond of flowers,” he said. “I thought you might like some of your own.”

She cooed appreciatively and took the bouquet, dropping her nose into the blossoms. “Ooohh, thank you, my lord. They’re beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them. I was worried you might have a room full of them by now. You made quite a stir at my coronation, you know. I think more people were looking at you than me!”

“Oh, no, my lord, I’m sure you’re wrong. Most people know by now that I’m to be yours.”

She stopped, catching herself, and an awkward silence rose up between them. Dutifully she looked away, casting her eyes back to the flowers. Richius was relieved she had said it first. Perhaps she was already comfortable with the idea, and he would be spared the horrible ordeal of explaining it to her. In the matter of their marriage, neither of them had a choice.

“You look cold,” he said gently. “We can go inside if you like.”

She shook her head. “I enjoy the winter, my lord.”

Richius moved in a little closer, so that only a hairbreadth separated them, and waited for Sabrina to pull away. She did not.

“This weather reminds me of Aramoor,” he said. “I miss it. Do you miss Gorkney?”

Sabrina wrinkled her forehead pensively, then shrugged. “A bit,” she said. “But it’s also good to be away. There are some things about Gorkney I shall not miss at all. And I’ve heard that Aramoor is much like my home.” She paused, looking back down at the bouquet. Her smile vanished as she said, “I want to apologize for my rudeness at your coronation, my lord. I behaved badly, and I’m ashamed.”

“Ashamed?” asked Richius. “Of what?”

“Please. There’s no need to spare my feelings. I don’t deserve
it. The way I slighted you was deplorable, and I’m afraid I don’t have a very good explanation for you. But we weren’t supposed to meet until after you had heard about our marriage, and I was startled. I didn’t know what to do, so I ignored you. I’m very sorry.”

“I understand. I was able to guess why you acted that way. You knew when we met in the forest that you were coming here to marry me, didn’t you?”

Sabrina nodded. “I’ve known about it for months,” she said. “Since my sixteenth birthday. An emissary came to Gorkney with the news. He told my father that the emperor had chosen me to be your wife, and that I was to be in Nar for your coronation.”

“And I thought my trip here was only for my king-making,” said Richius. “I’m sorry this has happened to you, my lady. It must have been quite a surprise for you and your father.”

“My father?” said Sabrina bitterly. “You needn’t worry about his feelings, my lord. A daughter’s not much use to a man with acres of land to tend. He’d been waiting years for that messenger.”

Richius said nothing. She turned away from him again, the long stems of the flowers slackening in her grip. Awkwardly he took her hand.

“I’m not sure what type of husband I’ll make,” he said. “Living with me might be no better than living with your father.”

“Forgive me, my lord. I seem to be doing nothing but offending you, don’t I? Truly I mean no insult. I talk too much. Perhaps that’s why my father wanted to be rid of me.”

“Is that why he sent you here without a proper escort? Because he cares so little for you? Maybe I shouldn’t say so, my lady, but your father sounds like a scoundrel. I can’t imagine any man not being pleased with so beautiful and gracious a daughter.”

Sabrina brightened a little at the compliment. “You’re kind to say so, my lord. But I was escorted here safely.”

“By one driver,” said Richius, recalling the brooding giant he had met in the forest. “It was foolish of your father to send you all this way without enough men to guard you. You could have been robbed, even killed.”

Sabrina shrugged. “But I wasn’t, so you can stop worrying about me now, my lord. You’ll soon find that I’m quite good at looking after myself.”

“Indeed? Well then, I’m surprised you let your father send anyone at all with you.”

“You don’t understand. Dason’s more than just a driver. He’s my friend. We look after one another.”

“He does seem to need you,” Richius agreed. “I saw how you cared for him at the coronation.”

“We’ve needed each other,” Sabrina corrected. “Dason’s been my only friend since I can remember. He can be difficult at times, I know, but he’s a good man with a good heart. I’ll miss him.”

“Do you want to have him with you?” asked Richius. “You may bring him along to Aramoor, my lady. I’m sure we could find work for him there. If he’s so special to you, I don’t see why you should leave him.”

Sabrina grimaced. “You’re very kind, aren’t you?” she said. “Believe me, I would have asked that favor if it were possible. But Dason is a slave, and my father owns his collar, not I.”

“Then we shall buy him back for you, give him his freedom. We have no slaves in Aramoor, but I can’t imagine him costing us more than a few strong horses.”

“Whatever you offer won’t be enough,” said Sabrina. “My father won’t release him, not even for a score of horses.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him squarely and said, “Because my father is a heartless dragon, my lord. He has never released a slave, and has vowed he never will. And he certainly wouldn’t release one simply because I wished it.”