Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) (39 page)

‘I do not recognize him,’ the queen said.

‘Is it possible he comes from some secret organization?’ Leana asked.

‘A religious group maybe?’ I added. ‘Or fanatical cult?’

‘Sometimes,’ Leana muttered, ‘I find it hard to understand the difference between such things in Vispasia.’

There was a smile on the queen’s lips. ‘This is why we have only the one major religion in Koton.’

‘It could well be a professional assassination attempt on the princess.’

Nambu looked at me, her wide eyes betraying little. She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’

‘Quite,’ the queen snapped, lifting her chin, ‘and we’ve enough to worry about as it is with good friends and powerful people being murdered, let alone a further conspiracy. Astran’s mercy . . .’

‘With greatest respect – and I ask only to aid my investigation – what happens if neither yourself nor Nambu are on the throne? To whom does power devolve?’

‘An interim government would be formed, much like in Detrata,’ the queen replied without hesitation. ‘The next in line will be sought and that could mean either of two of my cousins, one of whom is a lay preacher in the community of Astran and Nastra, and the other is confined to a faraway temple – because she is a leper. The preacher wouldn’t be permitted to rule since we have a separation of the temple from the affairs of the state – unless he chose to forgo his religious calling.’

‘They are not exactly challengers to the throne then,’ I added.

She looked down at the body one last time. ‘Not exactly, no. We will hang this one’s corpse as a warning.’ Then, to her daughter, she said, ‘Come.’ For the first time there was something resembling normal affection – a gentle hand on her shoulder as she was led away. Sulma Tan followed while Leana and I knelt beside the corpse, staring hopelessly at its resting form as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Within a minute guards came to take the body away.

‘Search his possessions thoroughly,’ I said to them, but judging by the haphazard way they tried to lift him, I doubted their job would be anything like thorough.

Once again I studied the papers taken from the premises of Naval Exports, hoping that something new might materialize. The word
evum
still stuck out, calling to me from the page, but there was little more that could be made of what was presented.

The candles flickered and burned down low. Somewhere beyond the closed door, Allius Golt stood on guard.

Leana was taking Nambu through some of her stretches. When we had arrived back in these quarters, there had been a gem-studded bracelet waiting for Leana as reward for her service earlier in the day. The item was wonderfully ornamental, and the emeralds in it were worth a year’s wages. Leana was totally indifferent to the trinket, and merely shoved it in her belongings.

There was an extra level of determination in the young princess’s face now, as if she had been unsettled by the events earlier in the day. Perhaps it was a point of honour, to want to defend herself rather than have others protect her.

Talking about it might help her process things so, after they had finished, I put that thought to her and wondered what she would make of it.

Exhausted from some dynamic moves, the young girl perched on the end of the bed and untied her hair. Leana slumped across the couch, and I turned fully from the desk to give the princess all my attention.

‘I want to be prepared in case it happens again.’ She dabbed the perspiration on her forehead with her sleeve.

‘And you think there will be another attack?’ I asked.

‘I want to be prepared,’ she repeated. ‘For whatever happens to me. I do not want to have to be saved again.’

I shot a brief smile at Leana. ‘You heard her – next time let the attacker claim her.’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ she replied. ‘Leana, thank you so very much . . .’

Leana dismissed her thanks with a wave of her hand. ‘Think nothing of it. The amount of times I have saved his skin . . .’

‘Well, I’m grateful,’ Nambu continued. ‘I just don’t want to have to be a burden to anyone. I want to be able to look after myself. I have led such a protected life. I’m old enough now to know better than that.’

She was still young, of course, but when was a bad age to learn the arts of defence?

‘Do you think you could cope,’ Leana asked, ‘with your blade above a man’s heart, your hand poised to press down and end his life – do you think you could do that?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, somewhat hesitantly.

‘The moment you do will end your childhood.’

‘I’m not a child,’ Nambu snapped. ‘I’m older than a child.’

‘The path to adulthood is not through a numbered gate.’ Leana leaned up in the chair. ‘Many are still children though they are twice your age. They live their lives cushioned from the realities of the world. They are infantile. They have had everything done for them. They have earned nothing. They have the souls of children, but they live in grown-up bodies.’

‘Are you saying I’m cushioned?’ Nambu asked, before looking glumly at the floor. ‘It isn’t easy, you know.’

Leana sighed. ‘When I was your age, my family had all the money I could wish for. Spirits save me, we had a palace as grand as this. We wore clothes of such fine weaving. We were surrounded by art. Atrewen culture, at its height, would have eclipsed anything that Vispasia could offer. One day I was walking along polished onyx floors, through gold arches that glittered in soft sunlight. The very next day, the civil wars broke out in our district.’

A natural pause developed, and I felt I did not wish the conversation to end. In a few sentences Leana had muttered more about her past than I had really known. She talked very little about those days.

‘Then what?’ Nambu asked bluntly.

‘I had been sheltered from the war,’ Leana continued. ‘I led that soft existence. I knew very little about why we were fighting – even who we were fighting. But it was my mother who made me eventually watch. She said it would be for my own good. Standing there in my precious silk gown I looked from our balcony as fires took the forests surrounding the palace. We could hear the screams of the villagers as they were cut down before they had the chance to get out of bed in the morning. The soldiers protecting our compound stood in their brilliant white tunics, their shields glimmering in the morning sun. I remember them being so neat – those crisp white lines. The walls of our compound soon gave way to the assault. The gate collapsed. The walls were scaled. We were besieged. As those fine soldiers protected us, being slaughtered so that we could live on, some of my family ushered a few of us through tunnels until we emerged in the cliffs, then dropped down by rope to the shore and escaped on ships. That was the moment I stopped being a child. Within a year I had learned the skills of a warrior, for there was no other choice. I watched as my own father was beheaded in battle. My mother was stabbed through the stomach trying to defend his corpse. Later I led rebel forces in retaliation, and we had some success. Men and women would have died for me.’

‘Oh my.’

‘Think on that responsibility, young Nambu, for it will be yours one day . . . But the wars became more violent. My people were wiped out because of their spiritual preferences or simply because they were associated with my family. The rest of my kin I saw killed, spirits save them. My husband – for I married when I was just a little older than you are now – was killed in front of me. Eventually I became the last in my bloodline to survive. I met Lucan here amidst an ocean of corpses – corpses that were there on my behalf, trying to restore my family’s name to the throne of Atrewe. It is quite a responsibility for a young woman to bear, I can assure you.’

After a profound silence, Nambu asked, ‘How old were you?’

‘When the wars began, a mere eleven summers. When I mastered the basic arts of being a warrior, twelve. When I became advanced enough to lead a unit of my people, fourteen. When I married, fifteen. When I became, as you say in your cultures, a widow, seventeen. I met Lucan not long after that, a few years ago now.’

‘That was not much of a childhood,’ Nambu muttered, transfixed by Leana’s tale.

This wasn’t precisely how I remembered those events upon my arrival in Atrewe all those years ago, when I had first met Leana. The situation was more complex – the wars that involved her family also involved securing minerals for trading with the Vispasian Royal Union, a lucrative venture for whoever won, and I had certain suspicions that soldiers had been sent from the nation of Venyn in order to arm the rebels in the first place. I could never prove this and, of course, there was no point in raising the issue now.

Silence came and I had nothing to add to the matter, for I had led something of a privileged life. My Detratan summers, growing up, were long and uneventful. I played games in our large gardens, and received tuition from incredibly fine minds. There was never a day where there was a shortage of food for our table. With my friends – sons and daughters of the senatorial class – we were taken on short journeys to see some of the wonders of our nation. Thanks to the close protection of the Civil Cohorts, there were very few visits by thieves.

Indeed, I had led rather an idyllic childhood. No events came, save the early death of my mother, to corrupt my view of the world. No horrific killings were enacted before my eyes. Leana had experienced far greater luxuries and endured far greater evils within a few years than most people would ever know existed.

I viewed Leana and Nambu in a very different light. They had both been denied a normal existence – Leana through atrocities, Nambu through being sheltered to the point of being a prisoner.

Suddenly it occurred to me that it was simply a basic right for a child to be allowed to play in the sun without a care in the world, if only for a while.

The world was full of struggle but surely that was due to striving to achieve growth and prosperity, leaving a legacy of fine arts and technology, all ultimately for the next generation? We look after them, we give them food to survive and flourish, to see that they are happy.

At least being an officer of the Sun Chamber, I could do something no matter how small to ensure that children had that opportunity to . . . play. Unfortunately, right now my business was protecting people who were decades older and who lived a very comfortable life. Who would be next to fall foul of our murderer?

‘What’s your plan tomorrow?’ Nambu asked.

Only then did I realize how much time had passed, and how deep the silence had been, since Leana had told us her story. We each must have been lost in our own private worlds for some time.

‘At daybreak,’ I said, ‘we travel to Lydia Marinus’ country house to see if it offers any more clues than her city dwelling. I put in a request with Sulma Tan for a small armed escort – not that I think there will be trouble, but we can conduct a more thorough search of the house. She’ll also ensure that members of Lydia Marinus’ private guard can lead the way.’

‘Such a shame that Lydia has gone too,’ Nambu said.

‘You knew her?’ Only then had it occurred to me that a ‘friend’ of her mother’s could have brought them in contact with one another.

‘I met her twice.’ Nambu yawned. ‘She was very kind to me. But everyone has to be kind to the heir to the throne.’

‘
We
don’t have to be kind,’ I commented.

‘No,’ Nambu replied. ‘And that’s why I like your company.’

I prodded Leana’s boot with the tip of my own. ‘You hear that? You’re clearly not working her hard enough if she still likes us.’

Our horses, Kinder and Manthwe, were waiting for us in the palace courtyard courtesy of the farrier Sojun, who had since left the premises. Nambu had given the order for her own majestic white animal to be brought round and moments later Sulma Tan arrived on horseback with a dozen soldiers in the blue and black colours of the equestrian regiments, each one with a hunting bow strung across their shoulders and a quiver full of arrows at the waist. Four of Lydia Marinus’ own private guard arrived a moment later, their faces glum.