Pirouette, p.31
Pirouette, page 31
part #3 of The Andari Chronicles Series
Even in his anger, Kyril could hear the agony in Janard’s voice. “Then it was you,” he said. “Even if you were not the worst of the villains, in the end, it was most assuredly your doing.”
“I’m not suffering for your forgiveness, Andari.” A mocking sneer twisted Janard’s lips. “There is only one person who could ever grant me absolution and it is unlikely she will ever know the truth.”
“Why does it matter to you if she does?” Kyril asked coolly.
“There are far too many things that matter to me, Andari. And I cannot have them all. I have always had to choose, and I am never granted the ability to know whether I have chosen well.”
“Why not just tell her?” Kyril demanded. “Shouldn’t Ilani have the chance to understand why she must live the way she does?”
“The only thing she needs to know, Andari,” Janard replied flatly, “is that she lives. And that her life is a miracle. The only miracle I could give her.” His tone became oddly dispassionate. “There was no such miracle for her mother. And I had to make that choice too. Do you think she would feel better with the knowledge that I could have saved either her or her mother, but not both? That I had moments in which to make a choice, knowing that whomever I chose to save would never forgive me?”
There was something in the Caelani’s face that even Kyril could see, much as Janard tried to hide it. Pain. It added years to his face and stripped the pride from his bearing. Janard could certainly be acting his way through the entire confrontation, but self-loathing was a difficult thing to fake.
Kyril felt the first pangs of unwanted compassion, and he wondered if there was even more to the story than Janard had yet admitted. But there was so little time, and no more of it could be spent on questions.
“Sometimes,” Janard said slowly, “it is better not to know.” Eyes closed, he took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It benefits nothing for her to know. Better that she believe me a monster, or know for certain that her father is?”
Kyril swore.
In a tale as dark as this one, there ought to be some shred of decency, some particle of hope. He had no desire to believe that anyone could do what Ilani thought Janard had done. Was there any excuse good enough? And could Kyril really be the judge?
“I don’t know what to think,” Kyril admitted aloud. “I want to believe that you are not the villain she thinks you, if only because it is difficult to conceive that such a monster could exist. But, like you, I’m not sure I have the luxury of making a different choice. We need each other if we’re to avoid complete disaster. It seems”—his lips twisted in a humorless parody of a smile—“I may be forced to live with my choices if it turns out I’ve allied myself with a conscienceless bastard.”
“Never doubt, Andari, that I am a bastard,” Janard replied, seeming to shrink as his anger abated. “Kind and honorable men do not last in Zahari. They adapt, or they wither and die.”
“Then I am forced to consider you the best of a host of terrible options.” Kyril closed his eyes for a moment, weary of his own anger and the necessity of distrust.
“You should know,” Janard said unexpectedly, “that Miss Haverly asked me to reassure you that she is well, and has not, in fact, lost her mind.”
Kyril opened his eyes again and leaned forward, a bit light-headed with the shock of hearing that name on Janard’s lips. “And now you will please tell me exactly how and why you know anything at all of Miss Haverly or her mind.”
Janard chuckled, sounding genuinely amused. “Perhaps you are imagining me torturing her or detaining her against her will? Reverse the image and you would be closer to the truth.”
“So you are claiming that Miss Haverly tortured you and detained you against your will?”
“She most certainly entered my apartments unannounced and forced me to entertain her proposals.”
Kyril blinked. Brenna had done what? Was that where she had been all this time?
“She is quite a commanding young woman,” Janard admitted, admiration in his tone. “Perhaps also demanding, and courageous to the point of foolhardiness, but I quite admire her audacity. Which is probably the only reason that I agreed to her proposition.”
“Her what?” Kyril felt as though he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Janard countered briskly. “She seems to have the situation well in hand. Now, tell me what it is you’ve come here to demand.”
“Not so fast,” Kyril protested. “Rowan is threatening to have her thrown in the dungeons unless I produce his valet by sunset!”
“And I take it you have no knowledge of this valet’s whereabouts?”
“I didn’t say that,” Kyril answered blandly. “But I cannot possibly give him back.”
“I see. In that case, perhaps it will ease your mind to know that Miss Haverly is quite safe and capable of taking care of herself.”
“That doesn’t ease my mind at all unless she’s already found her way out of the palace and onto the ship!”
“You may rest easy, Andari,” Janard said soothingly. “It is part of her bargain with me that she be permitted safe passage to the ship.”
“I can’t say that makes me feel any better,” Kyril muttered ungracefully. “But it is better than nothing. In that case, I must ask for a similar bargain for the remainder of my party. Delaney and his valet, Quinn, became engaged in an altercation with Rowan’s valet, Porfiry. Delaney was badly injured and they are in desperate need of safe transport back to our ship so he can be cared for and we can return home.”
“And in exchange?” Janard was sharply focused now.
“I have information.” Kyril was careful in his reply. “I can promise it will aid you against Rowan, perhaps even uncover his purpose, but I regret I cannot share it unless I have your promise. My companions’ lives are at stake and I will not risk them.”
“Oh very well, Andari,” Janard all but rolled his eyes. “What you ask is a small thing considering that the prevailing sentiment has turned against your Mr. Delaney and he is considered a risk. There will be little trouble in removing him.”
“I think you will find that Rowan himself had a hand in turning that sentiment as a means of discovering Delaney’s whereabouts,” Kyril admitted. “He likewise indicated that he had no intention of permitting our party to leave until he is finished with us. The task may be harder than you think.”
“Allow me to worry about that,” Janard drawled. “Your prince seems to believe he has control over these matters, but I believe it is within my ability to convince him otherwise. Now, the promised information?”
Kyril drew in a breath and let it out slowly. And hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. “A bag of stolen articles was found in the possession of Rowan’s valet. All of them appeared to be personal items, of a decorative nature, meant to be worn. And all of them appeared to contain silver.”
Janard leaned forward, clearly interested now. “Stolen articles, you say? This makes him a thief, I suppose, but why is this information of such importance to me?”
“Because,” Kyril replied carefully, “The wearing of silver prevents magic from being used against you.”
Janard leaned back again, eyes wide, appearing genuinely stunned for the first time. “And if Rowan is, as you say, using magic as a means of influence…”
“Yes,” Kyril agreed. “This means anyone whose silver was stolen is now vulnerable. And they may not even realize it.”
Janard rose swiftly. “This changes things indeed. If I am to remove your companions we must make haste. Where are they at present?”
Kyril grinned. “The one place no one ever goes. I stashed them in the archives of course.”
“The archives have been locked for some time.”
“Spies, remember?” Kyril reminded him. “What kind of spies would we be if we couldn’t pick locks?”
“Andari,” Janard answered dryly, “allow me to assure you of my complete cooperation in the matter of removing your companions from the palace, if nothing else because it will get the lot of you out of Zahari sooner. Perhaps Rowan is not so much of an anomaly when four of his unarmed countrymen can cause so much upheaval in my land.”
Kyril grinned. “Oh come now, Janard. I believe it’s generally considered to be part of our charm.”
Janard smiled thinly. “Remind me never to visit.”
With the matter of Alexei and Quinn off his shoulders, and Brenna apparently in command of her own fate, Kyril turned his attention to the next issue at hand: getting a message to Ilani. He wished he had thought to tell her the truth about silver, so that she and her sisters could be certain they were never without it. Especially when they were likely to be in Rowan’s vicinity.
It seemed like far longer than a few hours since Ilani had so forcefully rejected him. Everything had changed since then, except, perhaps, her anger. She would no doubt still be upset with him, but Kyril didn’t care. He would brave her anger a thousand times if it would help keep her safe.
Feeling only a trifle guilty, Kyril reached into his pocket and drew out the two objects he had surreptitiously removed from the sack Alexei had recovered from Porfiry. One was a ring, a heavy man’s ring that appeared gold on the surface, though Kyril was betting there was silver beneath. This one he put on, feeling like a thief, but also feeling much safer. The other was a hinged ivory bracelet, or possibly anklet, with a spiderweb of silver inlay tracing the inner surface. The outer surface was carved with flowers and birds and it seemed a pretty, expensive enough bauble for his purposes.
He could not think of any way to ensure that a message would reach its destination, or that it would go unread by eyes other than Ilani’s. Never mind that he had no one to help him write a message that Ilani could read. So he would have to hope that his alternative plan would be sufficient.
Kyril looked around their apartment until he spotted what he needed—a small wooden box. Brenna had bought it in the market, and it proved to be full of something that looked edible, smelled delicious, and ended up in a heap on the floor. A silk scarf, also Brenna’s, came next, followed by Kyril’s small gold earring. The scarf Kyril wrapped around the bracelet and the earring together, and stuffed them into the box. Then he went in search of help.
He found a slave who seemed to be stationed near the princesses’ Pavilion. The man stood against the wall in his spotless white caftan, like a piece of furniture waiting to be used. Kyril felt a stab of guilt every time he asked a slave for something. As though he was complicit in the evil being done. But at least he was doing something. If the insane risks they all took paid off, and Janard told the truth, there was a chance that the evil of slavery could end.
Somehow, it didn’t make him feel better.
Kyril walked up to the man and held out the box.
“Ilani Rohin Adayan.” The slave started, his eyes still on the floor, but hesitated to take the gift. Perhaps he thought he could not have heard right.
“Ilani Rohin Adayan,” Kyril repeated. It was the only way he knew to tell the man what he wanted. The only words he could say.
He had lied, that first day, when he told her he couldn’t pronounce her name. He would never be able to forget it.
The slave finally seemed to accept that he had indeed heard correctly and ran towards the guards at the gate. There was a conversation, and the box was added to a small pile of other items. Items that Kyril assumed were other gifts that would be delivered the next time the gate opened. At least, so he hoped. Time was growing short. He did not know how long he would be permitted to roam free now that all of his companions had disappeared. Hope was really all he had.
It was not quite sunset when the princesses were brought their evening meal. Ilani watched as her sisters accepted their usual tokens of admiration, most likely from those too cautious to dare the contest, who hoped to find favor afterwards.
Varinda turned towards Ilani with a strange frown.
“Here is another one for you, Lani,” she said, gazing curiously at what appeared to be a plain, dark wooden box. “Clearly your admirer has grown persistent, whoever he is.”
Ilani almost groaned aloud. Tarekh had grown bold indeed if he presumed to send her gifts. Or perhaps he was merely demanding a meeting to discuss their “agreement”. Ilani had no intention of speaking to him again. Ever.
But she was curious, so she took the box Varinda handed her, smiled blandly, and retreated to her room.
Ilani had seen the sort of gifts her sisters received, so she thought she knew what to expect. She most certainly did not expect a wrinkled silk scarf, wadded tightly to fit into the box. Frowning, she lifted it out, and it unfolded to drop two objects onto the floor. There was no note.
The first object, a carved ivory bracelet, seemed in keeping with the tradition, until Ilani picked it up and peered at it more closely—a delicate tracery of silver was just visible on the inner surface.
Was this Tarekh’s way of saying he expected her to keep her magic under control? It seemed odd, even for him. Disgusted, she was about to put the bracelet back in the box and throw it away when she saw the second object, which had bounced and rolled a little way across her room. It was small and round and gold. She reached down stiffly to retrieve it, and found a roughly made circle meant to be an earring. More suited for a pirate than a princess.
Kai.
She did not ask herself why she had looked so closely that she recognized the ornament, but it was unmistakable. The box was a message, just not from Tarekh. And Ilani had no idea what it meant. The earring, of course, was to tell her the identity of the sender. But the bracelet? He knew she carried silver. Unless he meant her to have more. Unless he had found out something she had no way of knowing, some reason why she would need the bracelet instead of her cane.
She could choose to believe he sent it to her in anger, but that seemed unlike the man she thought she knew. There had to be a purpose. And hopefully, another message as well.
That he had forgiven her.
Feeling the tiniest surge of hope, Ilani opened the bracelet and decided to wear it on her ankle, where it would be hidden from view. Then she removed one of her own, elaborately jeweled earrings and replaced it with the simple gold hoop.
If Kai had not yet given up, then neither would she.
At sunset the gates opened to admit a man, and when Ilani saw him she winced. But not where anyone could see her.
It was Tarekh. Apparently he had not been willing to wait for her to respond to his message.
Ilani had hoped that when the other contestants saw what had become of Darshan, they would think twice before entering the Pavilion. And perhaps they had. Perhaps that was the only reason Tarekh had come at all—because no others could be found to brave the dangers of thirteen angry princesses. Not to mention the threat of death if they failed.
Tarekh bowed low before them all, a sly smile on his lips.
Varinda greeted him, as she had before. “A pleasant evening to you, Tarekh.” She stopped at the verbal greeting. Even Varinda had no desire to permit Tarekh any nearer than necessary.
“And to you, most gracious princess,” Tarekh bowed again. “Let us come directly to the point, shall we? His Eminence desires to know why you will not dance. I see no reason why we cannot come to an agreement that will be mutually beneficial to us all.”
“And I see no reason why we should bother speaking to you,” Varinda returned, matching his bluntness with her own. “You are but a failed diplomat, with no family of note, and no experience in ruling so much as a province, let alone an empire.”
“Perhaps,” Tarekh returned, “but that was not a stipulation of the contest. And perhaps I should simply tell you now that I already know your secrets. One of your number has consented to bargain with me, and I have made certain promises in return. It will distress me, of course, to order the deaths of any so lovely as yourselves, but it would be foolish in the extreme to permit anyone to be in a position to challenge me. However,” he said, his eyes alight with greed and anticipation, “if any of you should choose to speak now, to own your fault in refusing His Eminence’s request, I shall most certainly be moved to lenience, and perhaps consider a change in my choice of wife.”
Ilani closed her eyes in horror. The fool. The man had no idea what he had done. Honeyed words had not worked for Darshan, and threats would certainly not move any of them to compliance.
“Do not malign my sisters, commoner, by insinuating they would lower themselves to consort with you in any matter, let alone one of this magnitude.” Varinda’s eyes flashed at his impudence. “My sisters and I are not fools.”
“I do not believe you are.” Tarekh smirked. “But perhaps you have been too kind in your compassion for the crippled witch. She was most eager to provide me with the information I sought, when I made it plain that no one else would be willing to offer her mercy.”
Ilani froze. He what?
Thirteen pairs of eyes turned to look at her.
“He lies,” she said, willing her voice not to shake. It was bold of him to make such an accusation. And she knew in a moment that she was unwilling to guess which of them her sisters would believe.
“He did approach me. He threatened to expose my secrets and see me collared if I did not cooperate. I used him to gain information, but made no promises, as he is well aware.” She straightened her spine and looked him in the eye. “I would rather be collared than see a spineless blackmailer who creeps about in the shadows threatening women be placed on the throne.”
Varinda whirled back to Tarekh. Her fingers had curled to claws. Her eyes should have shot sparks, so angry did she appear. “You are a liar and a fool, and you have insulted every one of us with your posturing and your threats.” She stalked forward.
Tarekh’s smile slipped.
“You will pay the penalty for every one of your crimes.” Varinda did not hesitate to hand down judgment. Her voice was harsh and cold, and it sent chills down Ilani’s spine. “Here, in our home, it is our duty to mete out justice, since none will do it for us. You have been found guilty by your own admission, and the sentence will be swift.”
