The Saints of the Sword (64 page)

“Yes, I’ve heard,” said Kasrin. “I’m very grateful.” He
looked her over. “You look very nice. Is there some occasion?”

“No occasion. I am still queen, remember. I can’t always go around looking like a rat.”

Kasrin laughed. “You mean like me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It’s all right,” said Kasrin. “I know what a sight I must be. I haven’t had a proper bath in a week, or even a good night’s sleep. I could use both desperately.” Then he sighed, looking back over his ship. “But there’s so much bloody work to do. Even with fresh help, I don’t think we’re going to make it. We still have so many repairs. And we can’t even get the new mast—”

He felt Jelena touch his hand. He looked at her.

“Enough,” she said. “No more work for you tonight. You must rest.”

“Rest? Now you sound like Laney.”

“He’s told me how hard you’ve been pushing yourself. It won’t do, Captain. You need sleep, and a good meal for once. I’m here to see that you get both.” Jelena held out her hand for him. “Ready?”

Without hesitation, Kasrin took the queen’s hand. It was so small it seemed to disappear in his own. Now that he was closer he could smell perfume. Oddly, he remembered Meleda back in the fishing village’s brothel. Meleda wasn’t anything like Jelena.

“Come,” bade Jelena, leading him away. Kasrin stole a glance over his shoulder and noticed Laney grinning at him. His friend raised his cane victoriously. Kasrin didn’t say a word as Jelena led the way, far from the
Dread Sovereign
and toward a bank of buildings that looked as though they’d been hastily constructed. These were the barracks where, according to Jelena, the Lissen “army” had trained for the invasion of Crote. Now the barracks still housed Lissens, but they weren’t soldiers. They were sailors and craftsmen and all manner of shipbuilders who had come to work on the damaged
Sovereign
. Among them still remained a sprinkling of young soldiers, but most of these stayed out of sight and tended to the day-to-day
needs of Karalon. Kasrin and the remains of his crew had a barracks to themselves. Jelena and her attendants slept in a structure at the other end of a parade ground that had long ago gone to seed. As he walked toward the dilapidated buildings, punctuated by a flagstaff flying a forlorn Lissen banner, Kasrin realized that he hadn’t given Karalon much consideration. He’d been so busy working on his ship that he had neglected his new home. It occurred to him that this abandoned island had lured Nicabar into their trap, in the bloodthirsty hope of slaughtering young Lissens.

He stopped walking.

They were on the edge of the parade ground, still a good distance from the barracks and other structures. He let his hand slip out of Jelena’s. It was very quiet. The noise from the workers had fallen off behind them. In the west the sun was going down, lighting the sky with a violet afterglow.

“He was a monster,” Kasrin whispered. Suddenly his imagination filled the parade ground with young Lissens, their faces golden and earnest. He imagined them drilling with weapons and marching in formation. And he remembered how Nicabar’s eyes had widened at the thought of murdering them.

“Kasrin?” Jelena cocked her head, regarding him strangely. “What did you say?”

“Just thinking,” replied Kasrin absently. He began walking in a slow circle, looking all around the deserted grounds. “This is where they trained, right? For the strike on Crote, I mean?”

“That’s right.”

“How many men were there?”

“Men and women,” corrected the queen. Then she shrugged, saying, “Or boys and girls. I don’t really remember how many. Hundreds.”

“Hundreds,” echoed Kasrin in a whisper. He could picture them all. They were young, just like Jelena—and Nicabar had wanted to kill them. Very slowly, he felt the guilt easing. “Were they afraid? They must have been.”

“They were afraid,” replied Jelena. For some reason, she seemed uncomfortable with his questions. “But they had Lord Jackal for support.”

“Lord Jackal? Is that what they called Vantran?”

“The Jackal of Nar is a hero here, Captain. Those who came to Karalon to serve with him did so voluntarily. It was their honor.”

“Back in Nar, they don’t think of Vantran as a hero, believe me.”

“I believe you,” said Jelena. “But here in Liss, Richius Vantran is revered. He defied your emperor, Arkus. He fought the Narens, just as we do. And he led us to victory on Crote. If you’re going to speak against him, please do it when I am elsewhere.”

Once again, Kasrin heard the unmistakable affection in her voice. What were her feelings for Vantran? he wondered.

“You speak fondly of him,” he said. “He was special to you?”

“Of course. As I said, he is a hero to us.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.” Kasrin slid a little closer to her. “I’m asking if he was special to
you
.”

The Lissen queen colored, and her gaze dropped to the ground. “I thought he was,” she answered softly. “But I was very young.”

“You’re still young.”

“Younger, then. I hadn’t been queen very long at the time, and Richius was a young king. I wanted him to teach me things. I …” She hesitated. “I admired him.”

Kasrin tried to hide his jealousy. Admired. What a horribly safe word to use.

“Vantran is a Naren,” he said. “I’m surprised you admired a Naren.”

“He was different,” said Jelena. “He wasn’t like other Narens at all.”

“Different?” Kasrin moved another inch closer. Not so long ago, Jelena had used the same word about him. And Jelena seemed to recall her statement, too. Her breath caught in her throat, making her lips tremble. They looked
at each other. When she spoke, her voice was as soft as a rose petal.

“I came because I wanted to see you,” she confessed. “I waited for you to come to me, but you never did.”

Kasrin closed the distance between them so that their bodies nearly touched. “I’m no hero,” he said softly, “but I am Naren.” He brought up a hand, slowly, and touched her cheek. Jelena froze.

“Kasrin …”

“Blair,” he said softly. “That’s my name.”

“Not here. Others may see us.”

“I don’t care,” said Kasrin. “You took my hand, remember? My crew already saw you.” Carefully, he slid his hand down and took hers again, giving it a squeeze. “You can’t hate all Narens, Jelena. I know that now.”

Jelena did not pull away. “Not all … Blair.”

Kasrin was entranced with her. He had been since the moment he’d seen her glide across that Crotan beach. Eyes of a little girl set with a Naren lord’s ferocity. Jelena didn’t need the Jackal to make her strong. She didn’t need anyone.

“Tell me truly,” he said, “before I make a fool of myself. I’m not seeing hatred in your eyes, am I?”

“No,” replied the queen.

“Affection, then? Something to start with?”

This question was more difficult for her, and she moved away from him, turning and wrapping her arms around her shoulders. There was no breeze to chill her, yet she seemed to shiver.

“When I saw the
Dread Sovereign
from the canyon, I thought you were dead. I ran down the slope, desperate to find you. I was more afraid for you than for myself, or for any of my people.”

Kasrin drifted closer, standing behind her. “When you pulled me ashore, and I looked into your face …”

“Yes?” she asked.

“Thank you for all your help,” he said. “None of this would be happening without you, I know that.”

She turned and looked at him. “Tonight you rest.

Tomorrow we work.” She managed a smile. “You’re on a deadline, after all.”

“No, I don’t want to go,” he confessed. “Not now. Not after this.”

Jelena put a finger to his lips. “We made a promise to Biagio.”

“We?” asked Kasrin. “It’s
my
promise, Jelena. Your part in this is done.”

But Jelena didn’t answer. She merely took his hand and led him toward the buildings. They didn’t go to the barracks that Kasrin shared with his crew, but to the private rooms of the queen of Liss.

B
arnabin remained in Elkhorn Castle for two days, then left Biagio alone in Prince Redburn’s home. Barnabin had been a good and faithful servant, just as Malthrak had claimed, and Biagio had appreciated the man’s service. Before his leaving, the emperor paid Barnabin a goodly sum and thanked him for his aid, telling him to contact Malthrak if he needed anything more.

“There will always be work for you in the Black City,” Biagio had told Barnabin, because Prince Redburn didn’t want the man in the Highlands anymore. According to the prince, Barnabin was a spy, and not welcome anywhere in his territory. It was a ruthless streak that Biagio hadn’t expected from the young ruler, but it wasn’t impressive. It was petty and shortsighted, and that was all. So Biagio held his tongue, said farewell to the man who had taken him so far, then tried to settle into life among the Highlanders. For two more days after Barnabin’s departure, Biagio argued with Redburn, pleading for his help. And for two more days, despite promises and threats, Redburn rebuffed the emperor. Now, on his fifth day in the castle, Biagio was becoming forlorn.

It was morning, and like every morning in Elkhorn Castle this one greeted Biagio with the squeals of children. He rose early, broke his fast with bread and jam that was
laid on a tray outside his door, then immediately dressed. Because he had come to the castle with very little, Redburn’s people had provided clothes for him; mostly uncomfortable tweeds that clashed with his coloring. He had also been given a new pair of boots—cow leather and very rigid, polished to a black sheen. Since he was emperor, there was plenty of hot water offered him, and Biagio bathed often. Breena had even given him some bath salts. They weren’t the expensive oils he was accustomed to, but they were a welcome treat in this rugged land, and Biagio had accepted them gratefully. So far, Breena had been Biagio’s guide and go-between. It was she who always took him to Redburn, for her brother always needed convincing before agreeing to an audience with Biagio. He had claimed that Biagio never had anything new to say.

Sadly, he was right.

But today Biagio didn’t feel like arguing. He wanted solitude, and he knew that Redburn, likewise, needed to be alone, to have time to think on what had been said. Biagio was an expert on reading people, and he had studied the prince’s body language carefully. Redburn was weakening. He wanted peace, but he knew in his heart that war was coming. Right now he was considering ways to avoid it. He was getting desperate. Soon, he would come to the conclusion that a fight with Talistan was inevitable.

Sunlight poured through Biagio’s window, filling the day with promise. Life in Elkhorn Castle was nothing like his gilded existence in the Black Palace. Back home in Nar, there were no screaming children always getting underfoot. And there were no boisterous beer gatherings either, full of laughter. In Nar, the air was laced with smoke and acrid steam from the war labs, but here in the Highlands they knew nothing of such poisons. The air was perfect here, like the breath of God. Cool, too; not like Crote at all. It was all so frustratingly different, and Biagio was having trouble adjusting.

“No children today,” he mused as he checked his reflection in a mirror. “No noise, no stares, and best of all, no Redburn.”

It would be nice not seeing the prince today. Biagio straightened his shirt, scratching a bit at the irritating fabric, then smoothed down his hair. Several baths and Breena’s bath salts had returned it to its natural luster. He was still a monarch, he told himself confidently. He was emperor.

A few minutes later, Biagio left his chamber and went quietly through the halls, hoping to go unnoticed. Quickly he found his way to the main hall of the castle, a somewhat squalid, barrel-roofed chamber decorated with tapestries. These he ignored, making a beeline for the main gates. Out in the courtyard, he discovered the perfect day hinted at by his window. The sun was strong, wonderfully bright, and Biagio put his face to it, enjoying its touch. Though he had given up the drug that turned his blood to ice water, its effects still lingered and he still had an aversion to the cold. There were dogs in the court, as usual, and more of the clan’s ubiquitous children, who pointed at him. Biagio looked around the courtyard briefly, satisfied that Redburn was absent, then headed for the stables. He hoped to find a horse and do some riding, for he was stiff from sitting around his rooms and craved the openness of green hills. The stables, he had discovered earlier, were on the western side of the castle, separated from the main house by a pasture and a short wall of hand-laid stones. It had a rustic feel that matched the rest of the castle. As Biagio approached, he was glad that he’d worn his boots, for it had rained the night before and the pasture was filled with mud. A trio of stable hands watched him as he approached. One had a feed bag in his hands and was fixing it around the snout of a horse. The other two were each grooming elk. The antlered beasts towered over them. Biagio slowed a bit, put off by their presence. According to Breena, the horses and elk were usually kept separate. He hadn’t expected to encounter any of the creatures.

“Good morning,” called the young man feeding the horse. “Can I help you with something, my lord?”

Biagio gestured to the horse. “I’m looking for a mount, to do some riding. I’ll need it fully tacked, of course, and I don’t have a saddle of my own.”

The man blanched. “Uhm, you have permission to take a horse, my lord?”

“Permission? I don’t need permission, young man. I am Lord Corigido. I’m a guest of Prince Redburn.”

“Yes, my lord, I know,” replied the man. “It’s just that, well, the prince has told us not to let anyone ride off unattended. This trouble with Talistan, you see. If you could wait just a moment, I could go check with the prince. I’m sure—”

“Our guest will not be unattended,” came a new voice. “I’ll be riding with him.”

Biagio turned to see Lady Breena approaching from his left. She had been hidden in one of the many stalls.

“I’m sorry, Lady Breena,” apologized the hand. “I didn’t know you’d be riding with him. You didn’t mention that.”