Master of restless shado.., p.12
Master of Restless Shadows Book Two, page 12
part #2 of Master of Restless Shadows Series
“That squeamish half-wit?” Hierro gave a laugh. “He doesn’t have the balls to put down a lame horse, much less murder his king.”
“Maybe not a horse, but he’s suspected of murdering both Lord Numes and Lord Wonena, in case you haven’t heard,” Remes said. “Numes’s wife accused him before my uncle this very morning, and Yago has arrested him.”
“Oh yes? Well, let’s hope the royal bishop sees justice done.” Hierro glanced to his sister and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. Then his troubled expression returned. “But the attack against your grandfather sounds too manipulative and knowing to have been Fedeles’s work. He doesn’t possess the intellect to suspect our plans, much less to disrupt them with such skilled witchcraft.”
“Perhaps not, but his cousin Javier might,” Prince Remes retorted.
Hierro appeared to consider the possibility, then shook his head. “The moment Javier Tornesal sets foot in the capital, he will trigger spells all across the city, and not just mine. We would all know if he’d been here.”
“The Labarans, then?” Prince Remes wondered. “Could this be an act of war?”
“It’s not impossible,” Hierro allowed. “But it seems unlikely that any of their agents would find the opportunity to approach, much less enthrall, one of the king’s physicians. And from all that I’ve heard of Count Radulf and his courtiers, not one of them is clever enough or determined enough to master thralls. No, the Labarans just don’t have the brains or the guts.”
“Could it be . . .” Clara spoke so softly that Narsi had to strain to hear her. He barely caught himself from leaning forward. He had no idea how little it would take for any one of the three of them to notice him.
“Oh, it’s too terrible an idea.” Clara shook her head.
“Could it be what?” Hierro prompted his sister.
“You’ll think I’m being foolish.” Clara bowed her head, looking so bashful and intimidated that she resembled a child more than a grown woman. Narsi felt a pang of sympathy for her.
“A lady as lovely as yourself need not rely upon the merit of her wits to win admiration, my dear.” Prince Remes again caught her hand in his. “Gentlemen will always find the whimsies of pretty women pleasant and amusing. Never fear.”
Hierro rolled his eyes, then, when his sister remained silent, he snapped, “Just spit it out, Clara.”
“I—” Clara kept her head bowed and Narsi guessed that neither of the two men who towered over her could see the secretive smile that briefly flashed over her lips. “It’s only that the Haldiim are said to be such a clever race. And it . . . it seems so strange that the only time a Haldiim physician visits the royal palace, he happens to be the only person to notice someone harming the king. Of all the wise, loyal and pious Cadeleonians attending his Highness, I don’t understand how only this one Haldiim physician would notice a physician-priest preforming an unimaginable act of treachery . . . unless he knew beforehand.”
Prince Remes stared at Clara, his expression shifting from indulgence to horror. Hierro nodded slowly, as if considering some larger matter.
“I could be wrong, of course. My head is so full of silly notions,” Clara went on. “But is it possible that the Haldiim physician was part of a greater plot?”
“Whose plot?” Hierro demanded.
“That of the Haldiim race,” Clara whispered.
To Narsi’s surprise, Hierro scowled at her with obvious exasperation. “You need to get over this obsession. It’s already proven troublesome. The Haldiim are a race of simpering girls. We have other enemies.”
Clara lifted her head and cast Prince Remes an entreating look.
“It’s because they are cowardly and womanish that strong Cadeleonian men like yourself and my brother cannot recognize the true danger they pose. But as a frail woman, I see the treachery of my own weak sex belying their timidity. They disguise their heresies as pretty flowers and wild gardens, all while rooting their poison deep in the hearts of our cities. They sully the wisest men, selling ungodly cures through their pharmacies when prayer is the only true remedy. Their schools instruct children in only lies and their commerce lures women from the rightful paths of humility and obedience. Countless Cadeleonian souls hang on the brink of complete damnation.” Clara clenched her hands to her chest as if she were caught by a sudden chill. “For the sake of our godly nation, the Haldiim must be purged from our lands.”
Narsi felt a flush of outrage surge through him, and he had to fight to keep from giving himself away with an obscene shout. Even so, he rustled a branch of the bower. All three of the nobles started, turning in Narsi’s direction. Horror flooded Narsi. His heart felt like it had lunged into his throat.
Then a cat leapt from a nearby bower, pursuing some tiny prey. As Hierro, Clara and Prince Remes watched, the cat sped across the open path and disappeared into a stand of trees. Narsi waited, his pulse hammering and his muscles straining against the slightest motion. He didn’t even dare take a breath.
Remes shook his head. Hierro shrugged.
“I don’t dispute the fact that removing the Haldiim from our nation would vastly improve the qualities of our natural Cadeleonian stock,” Hierro said after a moment; then he looked to Prince Remes. “But I’m not convinced that any of them would have a reason to attempt to take the king’s life. Your grandfather indulged their kind—and any number of their vices. If anything, they’d fight to keep that bent old reprobate alive.”
The prince appeared at a loss, but Clara responded.
“They know that nothing will keep the king from death now. Sevanyo will ascend to the throne. They can no longer take royal tolerance for granted. So how better to ingratiate themselves than to stage an assassination where one of their own race plays the hero before Prince Sevanyo?”
Hierro cocked his head to one side and considered his sister.
“If that is the case, how did they manage to enthrall the physician-priest?” Hierro asked in a playful tone, as if he knew she was weaving a wild lie and found it entertaining.
“I cannot know the answer to that.” Again Clara bowed her head. “But if I had to guess I would imagine that it took place in or around a Haldiim pharmacy. I’m told that even very pious men of medicine sometimes resort to Haldiim potions in their efforts to undo the holy punishments meted out to the sinful among us.”
“Merrypox, you mean? Or are you referring to quim cankers?” Hierro gave a laugh as Clara’s face flushed. Prince Remes smiled at her discomfort as well.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Clara responded quickly, her expression anguished and embarrassed. Prince Remes responded at once, schooling his countenance to sympathy. He reached out and touched her shoulder, offering her reassurance.
“Your ignorance does you credit, my dear,” Prince Remes told her.
Hierro rolled his eyes again, but the prince paid him no heed. His attention remained fixed upon Clara’s lowered face.
“All right, your prim little idea isn’t completely without merit. I’ll give you that.” Hierro shifted his attention from Clara to Prince Remes. “But to be certain, I think I should have words with this enthralled physician-priest. I’ve been practicing a few methods to extract information from even deeply enthralled men. I’d like to put my study to practice.”
“You’ll have to cross the Sorrowlands and plunge the depths of the Black Hell to do that,” Prince Remes replied. “The coward slit his own throat.”
“That’s vexing.” Hierro scowled, then he rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger. “What about the Haldiim physician?”
A shiver of dread slithered down Narsi’s spine.
“He arrived as part of Bishop Timoteo’s entourage but vanished when the rest of us were busy making grandfather ready for travel.”
Narsi didn’t recall Prince Remes being busy helping out in any way. Certainly he’d not personally attended his ailing grandfather.
“Now that I think about it, the physician does strike me as suspicious. Uncle Nugalo even mentioned the Grunito family’s habit of sheltering dangerous Haldiim. You know it’s very possible that they are in collusion—the Haldiim and the Grunitos. Uncle isn’t completely deluded on that point.” Prince Remes pursed his lips as he trailed off in thought. A moment later he glanced to Clara. “Our lord may well have blessed you with a moment of profound intuition, my dear.”
“Oh, thank you, Your Highness. If it weren’t for your encouragement I wouldn’t have dared to voice my fears aloud. But now that I have, I’m so heartened to know that you believe me and understand how deeply troubling this matter is.”
“Rest assured, my dear.” Prince Remes squeezed her shoulder again. “I’m not my heathen-loving grandfather, nor am I unmoved by your distress. When the time comes we will address these troublesome people together.”
Narsi glowered at them as fury and helplessness churned through his chest like a slurry of mud and ice.
Then for no reason that Narsi could understand, all three of them turned suddenly and stared up at the empty blue sky. Narsi followed their stares but only saw a billowy white cloud. A few doves winged across the sky, and nearby a blue dragonfly whirred past.
“Old King Gachello finally takes his leave.” Hierro stopped short and frowned. He narrowed his eyes as if straining to see something. Beside him Prince Remes appeared puzzled; he too squinted but seemed to struggle more than either Hierro or Clara to see clearly.
“Wait . . . no. Oh, Lord, no,” Prince Remes murmured.
“King Juleo, I would swear to it.” Clara made a holy gesture over her chest, then raised a hand over her mouth as an expression of pretty wonder spread over her features. “Has he been lost to the Hallowed Kings?”
“That can’t be possible!” Prince Remes objected. Unlike Clara, he struck Narsi as truly distressed. “I must go at once.”
“We’ll join you,” Hierro offered. “No one of royal blood should travel alone now.”
Hierro gave a wave of his hand and at once six strapping guards wearing the royal bishop’s colors raced forward from the palace doors. Prince Remes appeared to take their attendance for granted, his attention fixed on the distant sky.
Narsi found it telling that it was Hierro, and not Prince Remes, whose command they’d answered. Then to Narsi’s horror, Hierro ordered two of the guards to search the palace grounds for a Haldiim physician and hold him captive when they found him. Prince Remes remarked that the man must be long gone, but Clara suggested that one of the guards watch the stables while the other begin searching in the herb gardens.
“I’m told that it has become common practice among many Haldiim to steal cuttings of medical plants,” Clara explained, and Prince Remes gazed at her as if she’d said something terribly witty.
As the party strolled to the stables, Prince Remes favored Clara with his fretful conversation while Hierro followed after them.
Narsi resisted the urge to leap up from the bower. There would be no point in racing out to make his escape from the palace when his horse was stabled in the building that Hierro, Clara and Prince Remes currently occupied. Particularly not when he knew a guardsman would now be waiting there for him. He needed to remain calm and think.
For the moment he seemed safe where he was, so he could afford to wait and see if the guard didn’t grow bored. If the guard remained long after Hierro, Clara and the prince rode away, Narsi decided that he would simply walk back to the duke’s townhouse. He was loath to leave his mare, but he felt certain that he could convince someone from the duke’s household to return and fetch his mount for him.
So he had a plan, for the short term at least. Though how he’d manage in the long run he wasn’t sure. If he became a wanted man, then he would be forced to flee the capital. Possibly the nation.
How much support would the prince or Hierro lend to Clara’s instigations? Could she convince Prince Sevanyo that Haldiim citizens had plotted to murder King Juleo? Narsi knew next to nothing about these nobles, and yet they held so much power over his life. Over so many lives. Had Narsi signed the death warrant for all his own people simply because he’d taken quick action? Could he warn Mother Kir-Naham and Esfir about Clara’s accusations against Haldiim pharmacies? Would foreknowledge only make them appear guilty?
His pulse quickened as anxiety churned through him relentlessly.
A year ago, back in Anacleto, he would have scoffed if someone claimed that leaders and lawmakers would take baseless insinuations seriously. But in the last month, he’d witnessed bigotry and paranoia manifest first in whispered rumors of supposed poisonings—it seemed that nearly every Cadeleonian had heard of a friend who had a relative who knew someone who’d taken ill or died. No bodies were brought forth, no charges laid, nor were testimonies heard. And yet, unfounded as they were, suspicions grew into certainties. Ironically, the very lack of corpses meant there was no evidence to gather to prove the absurdity of the common gossip. So rumors carried on and on like lyrics of a popular song—the words becoming ingrained in people’s minds even when they hated the tune.
Then, without ordering an investigation or even convening hearings, the royal bishop had banned the Haldiim people of Cieloalta from accessing medicines they needed. A few Cadeleonians had protested, but they then fell under suspicion as conspirators. As if there had ever been a conspiracy.
Narsi shook his head and then noticed that his hands were shaking. His palms felt clammy. He folded Dommian’s charm-book closed and wiped his hands against the cold surface of the stone bench.
Clara’s words turned through his mind again and again.
For the sake of our godly nation, the Haldiim must be purged from our lands . . . the Haldiim must be purged from our lands . . . purged . . .
She’d said it so earnestly, and so entreatingly, as if she was pleading for protection—not suggesting mass murder. As if she genuinely believed that innocent Haldiim people simply living their lives somehow presented a mortal threat to a noblewoman like herself. Never mind her entire godly nation. It was absurd! And yet there had been such conviction behind her words that it shocked Narsi.
He was used to facing angry, ignorant bigotry—dullards and bullies driven by their own deficiencies to demean and belittle others. But he hadn’t before encountered so much hatred disguised as fear. How many Cadeleonian gallants would resist such an entreaty? Evidently Prince Remes had been moved enough to see merit in a story Clara obviously made up on the spot. It hadn’t taken anything more than a quavering voice and a frightened, childish tone to convince him.
Narsi shuddered despite the warmth of the rising sun.
All at once those tales of his Haldiim ancestors battling for their lives washed through him with a terrible reality. Thousands of people had died. In this very city he’d seen ruined mosaics standing as testaments to vast Haldiim population that had been wiped out. Was this how it had started back then?
Berto’s previous nervousness didn’t seem so excessive just now. Haldiim people were already abandoning the city, maybe rightly so. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so hasty in assuring Lord Vediya that he would stay on. Narsi stopped himself even as the idea of fleeing arose in him.
People here depended upon him keeping his word. He couldn’t lose his courage.
Narsi drew in a deep, calming breath. Then another. He remembered his mother gripping his hand in hers as they started across the scarlet Ammej Bridge, leaving their Cadeleonian lives behind them. Her fingers had felt like ice.
“Fear is the threshold we must cross every time we find our courage,” she’d told him.
He hadn’t understood her nervousness then, but later he recognized that as a shunned heram she’d known she would face immense hardship returning to the Haldiim District, but she’d gone anyway—for his sake. She’d refused to let fear confine her.
He couldn’t do less. Not knowing that she was now reborn into a new Haldiim family; an infant whose whole future might depend upon him holding to the courage that she’d taught him. Now more than ever, it mattered that he help to keep people like Clara Odalis from working their will.
Narsi took in another deep breath and felt his muscles relax as he released it.
Thinking of his mother, he tried to consider his agitation, rather then simply submit to it. It wasn’t only the idea of Clara Odalis’s wild accusations that troubled him.
There was also the fact that he’d witnessed an enthralled man slit his own throat and bleed to death in front of him. He flinched from the memory. Not just because of the visceral horror and shock but because in a small way he’d been responsible for the man’s death. Narsi took a moment to accept his own feeling of guilt and then to recognize that he couldn’t have respected himself if he hadn’t acted. He just wished that there had been some other way, another course he could have taken, that might have saved the king and spared the enthralled physician-priest. Had he managed that, then would Clara still have accused him of taking part in a Haldiim plot?
He couldn’t know. Even the most harmless and justifiable actions could set off unforeseen repercussions. That didn’t make taking action wrong.
In the end, he’d kept the king from bleeding to death in front of him. And as horrifying as it had been to hunch on this stone bench while powerful nobles stood only feet away discussing him and the fate of his people, it had also been revealing. Not only was he forewarned of Clara’s persistent goal, but he’d stumbled upon a truly remarkable phenomenon.
He glanced down at the elusive null symbol at his feet. It appeared to have taken its power from Hierro’s and Clara’s interest. In other words, it had drawn power from them without either of them consenting or even noticing. There had to be a use for a symbol like that, didn’t there?
