Sterling (25 page)

M
y father
, the man I’d loved and hero-worshiped from infancy. My father, the lying traitor.
Half of me did not believe it, and that half sustained my tenuous hold on my composure. I sat across from the Governor where Lord Jaxith had dragged me up from the floor into the chair. I refused to look at either man.

Insidious doubt crept in, pointing out the connections, the coincidences, the timing of Papa’s visits here—so many secret visits to an enemy country, too many to ever be innocent.

Papa had taught me to prefer the truth, no matter how awful, to lies, but I could not face this knowledge. It coiled in my heart like a dark and deadly serpent.
No.

“Come with me, Lady Sterling,” Jaxith’s cloying voice broke into my thoughts. I did not respond. I couldn’t.

Jaxith yanked to me to my feet and hauled me to a stark room with only a narrow daybed and a table. No windows. I was left alone, thank the gods. My limbs were gutted of all strength.

I longed for Erich. What had they done with him? Could we still make an escape? I prayed they hadn’t harmed him. They did not know his identity—would it make them value him less or more?

I went to the door, unsurprised to find it locked.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor, and Jaxith entered.

“Lady Sterling,” he said, bowing sharply. “I have here the deeds for you to sign.”

“I will not sign them,” I said in his language. “The agreement is invalid. My father never made use of the troops.”

Jaxith’s mouth tightened as he placed the deeds on the table, presented a stylus, and set the ink pot beside the papers. He pulled out the chair for me. “Do you know what we do to disobedient women here in the Empire?”

I dropped into the chair he had pulled for me. I was so exhausted. “No,” I said sullenly.

Jaxith drummed the table. “We kill them. Slowly. With delicate, sweet poisons. Just as we killed your sister. Just as we killed your mother. Just as we killed Jhalassa Galatien.”

He might as well have kicked me in the stomach. I doubled over, gasping. “What—what are you talking about? Jhalassa Galatien and Mama both died of illnesses!” Costas’s mother and my own had died within a few sidereals of each other shortly before Papa had declared war.

“Sweet night queen’s death looks much like a disease. I shouldn’t like to see you suffer it.”

“You’re saying you killed my sister, my mother, and the former Queen of Lethemia?” My mind raced. The Imperials had killed Stesi? It hadn’t been Costas?

“Not I, personally.” Lord Jaxith wiped his hands on his trousers. “I do not dirty my hands with such matters, though in your case, I would not hesitate. You must be taught the proper decorum for a woman. You western women speak too much; you reach for powers you should not have.” He shook his head. “In the east our women know their place: behind the harem walls. Sign, my lady, or I shall bring the potion.”

“How?” I rasped desperately. “How did you kill Stesi and my mother? Who—”

Jaxith blinked his cold snake eyes. “Curiosity is unbecoming in a woman, but I shall give you answers. If you sign.”

I picked up the stylus to keep him speaking. I had no intention of signing. Cold shivered up my spine as I finally understood: these Easterners had no care for honor. They wanted my signature, and they would stop at nothing to get it. I was only alive because I had not yet signed. The moment I did, the sword would fall.

I walked on a high wire like an Esani acrobat. Every step had to be perfect.

“Good girl.” Lord Jaxith’s gaze followed the stylus as I slowly dipped it in ink. “We had an assassin placed in the Galatien household. She was most useful. You see? You give me what I want, I give you what you want.”

I tried to disguise my trembling hands. He spoke of Sienna—the horrid magitrix who had been my sister’s handmaiden after her marriage. I knew it—she had been the one to poison Stesi—and Mama, too? I had thought she worked for Costas, though Serafina had believed Sienna was an Imperial agent.
I should have listened to you, Serafina.

I deliberately filled the stylus with too much ink and had to empty it over the pot, delaying. “Why Stesi? Why my mother? Why Jhalassa Galatien? Why not Costas or Mydon?” The Galatien men would have been the logical targets.

“Who says we did not kill your King Mydon?” The loathsome man smiled slyly. “As to your current King, he is a slippery man. We hoped your father would complete that job for us, but alas, Xander Ricknagel had many failures. No matter. Costas Galatien will be ours soon.”

I spattered ink all over the table as my hand spasmed. “What do you mean?”

Jaxith wiped up the ink with a kerchief from his pocket, frowning. “Do not stall, girl. Sign.”

I took the rag from him and wiped the stylus nib before dipping it painstakingly again. “You cannot touch Costas. Not even that foul, betraying magitrix Sienna can get close to him.” Raw hatred burned my throat as I said the woman’s name. She had been a magitrix; she was a Lethemian. There was no Hell of Amatos terrible enough for a creature who betrayed her country as she had.

Jaxith laughed. “We need no western magic this time. Eastern poisons may be delivered many ways—even from a distance. Every general rides to battle with a potion-master at his side.”

Tension coursed through the room as I set the nib on the line for my signature.

Jaxith leaned forward eagerly. “We know your young King thinks he’s so clever, evacuating Shankar and letting us take it. But what do we care for a single city? Maybe we take it, maybe we lose it. Either way, our great Empire will someday stretch from Western to Eastern Sea. Galatien must die, in battle or otherwise. If we win Shankar, we will crush it to dust,
Uraska.
But if we lose it, we will not worry. Like snakes in a trap-hole, we can wait. We wait until the very moment of surrender, when general and potion-master must plead for grace and mercy from your King.” The man’s chilling laugh sent sweat running between my shoulder blades. “That is when our venomous snake will strike.” He leaned across the table. “Now stop delaying, Uraska. Sign the deeds.”

Slowly, as if submerged in mud, I moved the stylus. I drew it straight up, making a long, spattering line through the document. Before Jaxith could halt me, I scrawled another line, crossing out the text. Jaxith tried to grab my hand, but I managed one more line before he wrested the stylus away.

“You little bitch!” He yanked the deed from the table.

“I will not sign.” I clasped my hands, my heart drumming its panic against my ribs.

“Do not say I never warned you,
Uraska
. And you will sign. We have ways to convince the reluctant.” Jaxith swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

* * *

A
fter several days alone
, I became so anxious that I made a survey, hoping to find some way out of my prison. The door would not budge. I suspected a bolt from the outside. I checked beneath the bed and carpet for trap doors in the floor. Of course there were none; the floor was made of thick stone, so too the windowless walls. Escape looked impossible. My stomach growled. They fed me only twice a day, a disgusting, mushy slop made from substances I could not bear to consider. Despite the poor rations, my dress was growing tighter around my waist and chest, so there had to be good nutrition in the food, even if it tasted terrible.

I tallied my assets: one uncomfortable daybed, one bare table, a single chair. I sat in it, trying to think. The walls moved in on me, and I closed my eyes to avoid the feeling of tightening space.

Erich, Erich, Erich—
his name rang like a litany or a prayer inside my head. A tear rolled down my cheek. Had they killed him? If they had, the fault was mine.
Oh gods, I cannot bear this.

I would capitulate if I let my panic win. I had to stay alive. I had to warn Costas of the diabolical assassination plan Lord Jaxith had revealed.

Eventually Jaxith returned with the marred land deeds. My ink lines had been scraped, but I could still see them around the words. “If you sign you shall be set free from this room and treated as an honored guest. You will be fed Eastern delicacies.”

“I will not sign.” I did not believe his lies. After what he had told me of the assassinations, past and future, I knew my signature was my death warrant.

* * *

D
uring the long
nights I tossed fitfully on the bed. My heartbeat rang in my ears. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw foods I used to enjoy at home in Shankar: chocolate with sweet whipped cream, almond paste, honey, sugar-eggs. I curled into a ball and moaned. How much time had passed? A sennight? Two? More? I lost track.

Jaxith came again, this time with two servants bearing food and drink. Savory odors emanated from the trays. My mouth watered.

“My lady,” Jaxith said. “You could eat and drink this fine food. Please, sign the deeds. I will tell you more of these intrigues you so enjoy. Do you not wonder how it was we killed both your King and Queen?”

If he had threatened or spoken harshly, I might have given in. But his poisonous quiet tone steeled me. I wanted to throw the soup he’d brought into his face.

“I will not sign.” I turned to the wall.

He sighed, and the aromas of the food dissipated as he and the servants departed.

As long as I could refuse to sign, I had some small power. If I died without signing and without an heir, the Ricknagel properties, entailed
and
private, would revert to Costas Galatien’s control, and then they’d have nothing. So I persisted despite my discomfort. They did not wish for me to die. Yet.

The next caller I had was not Jaxith, but the Governor, flanked by sentries. He wore his scale armor and his horrible gauntlets, clicking and clacking. He held the hateful deeds. “Enough nonsense. You will sign the deeds now. I have never tolerated such disobedience from a woman. I will not begin now.”

He placed the scrolls on the table and gestured for me to sit. I remained standing, hands clutched in my skirt, recalling what Jaxith had said:
Costas Galatien will be ours soon.
Even
if Costas defeated them, the Imperials intended to use the very moment of their surrender to kill him.
Someone
had to warn Costas of his peril. I needed to escape Vorisipor in any way possible, yet I could not leave without Erich. The deepest place in my soul—where we were connected in some unbreakable bind—told me he was still alive.

I needed information. I needed Erich.

I began a bluff. “If I sign, what protections will it win me? Will you send me home, escorted and safe? What of my companion? Will you return him with me? What surety can you give me? When I came here under your ‘protection,’ you took me prisoner. You have given me no reason to trust your word.”

The Governor frowned. “We are at war with your country. We can make no bargains until the outcome is settled. You understand this.”

I did. As his living prisoner, I could be kept for the final reckoning at the war’s end, a bargaining chip, a means by which he might gain a concession if Lethemia won or a stranglehold if we lost. They would not let me go alive.

“If you cannot negotiate with me, I will not sign,” I snapped. My ruse had not worked—he’d said nothing of Erich.

“
Uraska
!” He took two clacking strides and cuffed me across the face, knocking me to the ground. The spikes of his gauntlet gouged my skin. Had I thought nothing could shock me after the revelation of my father’s treasons? How wrong I was. This violence did.

I did not rise, but instead inched along the floor to press against the wall. The Governor glared at me with an expression I would have reserved for cockroaches in my water closet. Tears trickled down my chin. I tasted blood as my cheek throbbed.

The Governor spoke sharply to his sentries and departed.

The dreary room contained nothing to clean or bandage my face. I tore a strip of muslin from my chemise and pressed it to the bleeding wounds which would add scars above my mark.

Gods, what was I going to do? How could I escape?