Michelle West - The Sun Sword 02 - The Uncrowned King (64 page)

Commander Sivari's exhalation could probably be heard in the courtyard.

"If you, however, choose to continue this particular and unfortunate behavior, you will be disbarred not only from participating, but from even witnessing the events. Ever. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Dismissed. There are two men who were knife-fighting in the spectator stands who are next on the list, and I consider their practical crime to be graver, if less insulting, than your own." He looked down the edge of his nose. "NEXT."

"Si van," the Princess said, "he still has some chance of winning."

"If he places well in the rest of events, yes."

"The judge could have chosen to place him last in the event, period. There has been some agitation for exactly that punishment. Were it not for the request and the recommendation—" she stopped. "Never mind. As it is, Valedan," she said, turning to the kai Leonne, "you've been ranked twenty-fifth of the twenty-five who were selected to compete in the river-vault. Do well in the rest of the day's events." She glanced to the center courtyard, where the sundial cast its shadows. "We have little time; come."

As they made their way out of the public courtyard, Commander Sivari turned to Valedan. "If you ever do anything like that again, you won't have to worry about being disbarred. I'll strangle you with my bare hands." He passed the Princess, and the Serra who had been standing quietly by Valedan's side.

"Valedan," she said softly. "A word of advice."

"Serra Alina?"

"You cannot have men in your service who show such a disrespect for your rank that they would dare to speak like that in the presence of any witnesses."

Valedan shrugged, the movement elegant and quick. "It's Commander Sivari," he said. "He didn't mean it."

"It is not whether or not he meant it that concerns me." Her words were ice. "No man but one who courts death speaks that way to a Tyr. Not even be he par to kai. Only the powerful speak of death to the powerless in the South."

"Alina—"

"I understand the Commander," she said, the words cold. "I understand the North. Rule in the North, Valedan, and you may do as you please. But you will go South."

"Alina, he has been a much valued friend here."

"Yes," she said, and her expression softened. "Valedan, in the North, the greater the affection a man feels, the less respect he offers."

"Then he—"

"Lose his affection. You cannot afford it. Without respect from the Southerners, you have nothing, and if even one of the men whose support we require hears such a speech as that, you will indeed have nothing."

And her words, so softly spoken, so elegantly, so quietly, were sharper and far more inflexible than the Commander's had been.

Valedan kai di'Leonne would have bowed to the woman who was his Southern teacher—but men did not bow that way in the South, and she would only correct him.

"Aidan."

He was quiet. Very quiet. Aidan hated it when grownups were quiet in that particular way. He'd seen it before. His father, first, and then Widow Harris. You were quiet like that when you had words you didn't really want to say. Words that were going to be said anyway.

He was grateful: The Princess of the blood had actually taken the time to send word to his father the morning after. He wasn't certain what she'd said, but he had a feeling it was something quiet. Like, Aidan is fine, and is staying as a guest at the palace because he's been chosen as witness. Nothing about demons. Nothing about death.

He was fairly certain about it; his father could be rough—and was—but if he'd heard about the killings, he'd've been down at the gates of the outbuildings raising Hells' own city.

He would. Aidan was certain of it. Almost certain of it. And that was as much as he wanted to think about his Da.

He shifted, uncomfortably hot in a room that was far too big, far too grand, for someone like him. The guesthouse had been a dream, but this was a dream that had gotten too large. It was like being at a banquet and
being forced
to eat when there wasn't any room left for food.

And he thought it was going to get worse before it got better.

So he tried to ignore the voice.

"Aidan," Valedan kai di'Leonne said again.

But he couldn't ignore it. Couldn't; didn't know how. And he knew that he was going to hear what he didn't want to hear. He looked up. "What?"

"We're sorry about—about your friend. We're not completely certain what happened but…"

"She's dead."

Valedan bowed his head. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Aidan shrugged. "It's war," he said, because he'd heard it said so often today that it seemed the only thing he could say.

"Yes," Valedan said. "War."

But she
wasn't
a soldier. She wasn't a warrior. She wasn't even a woman, yet. She was just—Just Sam, the girl who remembered where the rooms were. And they both knew it, he and this foreign prince.

"What happened?"

"We think—but we're not certain—that she was killed by the same… thing… that nearly killed the ATerafin. She—" He bowed his head again, turned away. "She killed four Imperial guards: snapped two necks. Almost escaped. And there was very, very little that was human about her when she finally died."

"But—" He stopped. "Is that what they meant for me, too?'"

"I think—and I'm told that you are
not
to discuss this with any but myself—that they meant exactly the same thing for you." He turned to the low table and lifted the jug of water that seemed— 'cause the dozens of servants that came in and out never touched it—to just keep filling itself. Given the money the Kings had. it wasn't impossible. "We think that they intended to use you— what was left of you—as an assassin."

"But if the magic—"

"Yes. We don't understand it. And it is… worrisome. It can be detected, if we know exactly what to look for. The Kings' people have begun to interview the candidates. We should know by the end of the test of the javelin, whether or not any others were affected." He poured water into a large goblet. Handed it to Aidan.

"This is war," he said quietly.

And it sounded, to Aidan, as if he was trying to convince himself of that.

"Do they want you to lose
that
badly?"

Valedan's head rose again. "I think so. yes. Winning is important in the Dominion."

Aidan snorted. "It's important everywhere." He drank the water: it wasn't exactly cool, but it wasn't as warm as the air. "Do me a favor?"

"If it's within my power."

"Win this. Beat the bastards."

Valedan laughed. Then, as he saw the expression on Aidan's face, he grew somber. "I will," he said. "For your Sam, and for my own. because I'm certain by the end I will have many, many of them." He rose. "I will require your services in the morn: break fast with me."

19th day of Lattan, 427 AA

Averalaan Aramarelas, the Test of the Javelin

The Ospreys were both pleased and furious.

Pleased because Valedan had given the "other" Southerners something to think about, and furious, of course, because he was judged to have started the fight in the first place.

"Ever notice how political these unpolitical events are?" Fiara said to Alexis' back. "Everyone knows they're here to try and kill him. All
he
does is try to hit one of them with a bloody stick. Wasn't even Valedan who laid the bastard out."

"Everything's political. Welcome to the Imperial Court. It might not have escaped your notice that he's very much part of it, hostage or no. Frankly, I'm impressed they didn't sink him."

"They did! He went from tenth—"

"Fifteenth at best."

"Fifteenth, then. But they dropped him to last place, behind that—" She managed to stop herself from using the word "Annie," but it was a close thing. "Behind the other one."

"They dropped him to twenty-fifth, Fiara."

"That's last."

"They could have dropped him into the hundredth position."

"They wouldn't dare."

The silence was short and a little bit too warm.

"Fiara, try to look at it slightly differently. Duarte has volunteered your services as dress guard to The Kalakar. You accept because it's a direct order, and he's already in a foul mood."

"And?"

"The Kalakar is going to meet The Berriliya. They go off into a room together for a discussion. They take half of their guards as plumage, and they leave the rest behind. You're one of the lucky ones. You get left behind."

"Alexis—"

"One of the Hawk's guards is a man you recognize; he's been pissing you off for almost a decade. He starts to make smart, and you deck him."

"Duarte would kill me."

"Right. Or at the very least bust you down to Sentrus."

"I'm already at sentrus," Fiara said, although they both knew it.

"Pity, that. This is
war
, Fiara. It's not a little bit of infighting or a bit of ugly rivalry. And you know what Duarte's like in a war." She shook her head; stray strands of hair clung to her face like black filigree.

"Yeah, I remember," Fiara said distantly. The distance, the sudden quiet that took the words, made it clear that she
did
. "But you know something, 'Lexis?"

"What?"

"You were worse."

Alexis' turn to be silent, to let silence acknowledge the truth in the words that might have been an accusation had they come from an outsider. "We weren't really talking about either Duarte or myself. We were talking about Valedan. He's not at liberty to start a fistfight because he feels like it. Not now. Not ever.

"They're letting him know it, probably as gently as they're allowed to get away with letting him know it. Certainly a helluvalot more gently than Duarte would've. Oh good."

"What."

"They're back. Heads up. Look sharp. You've got your orders."

Kiriel di'Ashaf, off-duty for the moment in the shadows of the tented awnings that had been put up by what might have been a small army of men and women had they been carrying something other than tent poles and fabric, stared at Fiara, then Alexis, her head bobbing back and forth between them as they exchanged sentences.

She did not understand the Kalakar guards.

"Was he given an order, then?" she asked Cook.

"Who, Valedan?"

"Yes."

"About what?"

"About how to behave."

"No."

"Then the example Alexis gave makes no
sense
."

"Kiriel—" Cook brought his hands up to massage his forehead. Or at least to cover his face; Kiriel couldn't quite tell which. "Valedan wants to be a King."

"He wants to rule, yes."

"Kings don't start fistfights."

"But—if they want, and they rule, who would dare to stop them?"

"No one."

"Well then?"

"Valedan doesn't rule
yet
. He has to impress a lot of people before he gets to
be
ruler." Cook's expression shifted slightly; he smiled as Kiriel stared at him. The smile cracked when she spoke, though.

"And he's going to impress people by allowing himself to be belittled in front of witnesses?" It did not occur to her to keep the scorn out of her words. "Are these judges trying to weaken him? Are they in the thrall of his enemy?"

Cook covered his face with his hands again.

"You two!" Alexis shouted:

They both looked up.

"Look sharp!"

Cook straightened out. Kiriel stared at him. "But we're off duty," she said at last.

She understood, by his reaction, that he was not pleased with the outcome of their conversation. That he had not, in fact, been pleased with the outcome of most of the conversations they had beneath the open sky, on this terrible, hot, wet. endless day.

Neither was she.

They made no sense. They made no sense at all. The men were here to prove they had power and skill—but they were forbidden to fight. Absolutely forbidden to kill.

That there were levels of 'forbidden' was new to her. New as this city. New as these strange, confusing and irritating people that called themselves Black Ospreys. In the Shining Palace, forbidden had only one meaning.

She would have remained silent, but she had to ask one more question. "Cook?"

"Yes, Kiriel?" His voice was almost inflectionless.

"What's the purpose of ruling if everyone you surround yourself with has more say in your existence—more power—than you do?"

Morning.

The second day of a trial that had been more of a trial than Vale-dan could have imagined. He had thought—and he knew, now, how stupid he'd been—that he might display the skills he had built, over time, with the aid of Mirialyn ACormaris; that he might distinguish himself in the eyes of his people. .

And then what?

Be admired? Be held in high esteem?

A completely innocent girl was dead—and he had no reason to believe that that death had not been a hideous one. In her wake, eight men, eight unquestioned and unquestionable men, followed. The work, he was told, of the Dominion. He believed it.

"You're thinking again," Commander Sivari said.

Valedan shrugged.

"He's brooding," the ACormaris said gently.

He started at the sound of her voice.

"I cannot stay," she said; it was true. Here, only the personal trainers and the witnesses were allowed to gather. He had offered to cite her, and Serra Alina had emphatically refused to allow it; to be trained, it seemed, by a woman was worse than no training at all.

He started to speak, and she smiled, shaking her head. "I've brought you a gift; I wish you to both use and keep it." And turning to the men who accompanied her, she lifted a spear by its thick wooden shaft. "It is not magic," she said, "but it has been crafted by a master, and it is a simple enough thing." Her smile faded. "I gave you your first sword," she said softly, "but it is not up to any of the tasks you have chosen to face. I am glad of it, and I would replace it equally gladly—but I fear that you will have no significant sword until you raise the Southern one." She bowed. "Do well today, Valedan. You can."