The Seer - eARC (55 page)

“Yes, my lady.”

“Come with me.”

So much to do. A story to invent and quickly, one to get them through the night until Cern’s decision could be solidified.

They could not allow it to be said that Restarn had killed himself. A common man might do so, but the empire’s king was another matter entirely. What would the people think of Restarn’s rule, and consequently Cern’s, if they found out that, at the last, he had possessed not even the courage to live?

Innel needed to find out who had seen the slave dragged through the halls. Cern’s fury had to have been noticed. By whom? What were they saying? Where were the guards he’d sworn to silence? And the doctor? He must speak with a number of people, and quickly.

But there were priorities.

“Of course, my lady,” he said, following her.

After Cern was asleep, Innel confirmed the king’s body was being well-guarded, and told the stunned-looking seneschal to start planning the funeral.

“Yes, ser,” the seneschal said quietly.

Not long after, Innel stood in his office, Nalas and Srel before him. “What do they say?”

Soberly Srel replied: “That the king is dead of his long illness. Killed by his guards. By his dogs. By the doctor, who has fled. By the slave. By you. By himself. Is healthy and well and in hiding, to test loyalties. The queen is pretending his death. Again, to test loyalties. That the queen’s birds killed him, and his eyeballs dangle from their beaks. That’s most of it, ser.”

“Nalas?”

“I’ve isolated the doctor, the slave, and the guards, each individually. They’re all eager to comply with your desire, ser.”

“Good. What else?”

“New talk about the insurrections in the north. Rising costs of imports. People comparing the old king to . . .” Srel trailed off.

“The queen?”

“To you, ser.”

“
Me
?”

“Some say the queen is only doing what you tell her,” Nalas added.

“Pah. If only that were true,” he muttered. An interesting balance. He needed the aristos and Houses to respect him, but only so far; it was Cern who had the right to rule. If people thought that Innel was the real power, respect for them both would plummet. “What else?”

“That if Restarn were still on the throne, the insurgencies would be done with. There wouldn’t be shortages. Garaya would be compliant.”

“How quickly they forget. There were shortages then as well. Restarn nearly exhausted the treasury with his expansions.”

“Yes, ser.”

“Any word from Sutarnan?”

“A status letter from Abinar Province,” Nalas said. “Mostly he complains about the slowness with which an army moves. And the food. He has suggestions as to improving the latter.”

“I’m sure he does.”

“Instructions, ser?”

He and Cern had come to an accord that morning in bed. A good place for it.

“Yes. The doctor and guards—send them away for a time, far from the city, until all this has had time to quiet. Make arrangements for an execution for the slave Naulen. Something simple but visually compelling. Beheading, perhaps. I want everyone to know about it except her.”

“Yes, ser.”

A shame to waste such beauty. “I want her heavily sedated. The best of what you’ve got and plenty of it. Be sure she does not know where she is or what is happening to her.”

They could not make the execution seem too quick or too painless, but they could make sure she didn’t feel it.

Nalas and Srel gave him uncertain looks. They didn’t understand. Srel shook his head, as if to say his own understanding was irrelevant.

But it wasn’t. He needed them to be able to make decisions without him.

“How do you think the old king died?”

Srel gave him a surprisingly formidable look. “Until you tell me, ser, I don’t know.”

At this show of loyalty, Innel smiled. “Nalas?”

“He’s been sick more than two years. Surely that’s answer enough.”

“Indeed. But what will they say if the queen orders his favorite slave to execution the day before his funeral?”

“They will wonder what the slave did to gain such royal attention and so formal a death,” Srel answered.

“And they’ll want to see it. The execution,” added Nalas.

“What will they say next, do you think?”

Srel considered. “They will speculate that the slave killed him, while he was ill. Or—” Srel hesitated.

“Or?”

“Oh,” said Nalas.

They exchanged looks.

“Yes?”

Srel exhaled in a long stream. “They will wonder if the king killed himself, with the slave as the only witness. Then the queen would be protecting her father’s reputation by maintaining he died of his illness rather than by his own hand.”

Nalas continued. “The honorable thing to do, executing the slave, thereby implying more than is ever actually said. Protecting the king’s name.”

“The most immoderate of the stories that might go around, I think.”

Also, ironically, the true one.

“Agreed,” Nalas said.

“Do what you can to quietly give this story a good launch. While the palace is talking about a slave’s execution, perhaps they will talk less about border skirmishes and shortages. That, perhaps, will give us a few moments of quiet.”

“I very much doubt it, ser,” said Srel.

Innel sighed. “Probably not.”

Innel stood in the toilet room at the back of the Frosted Rose, feeling stiffness in his shoulders from the tension of these last days. Much to do and little time. But this, too, was important.

“I have your final payment,” Innel said into the overhead vent. “With a bonus for delivering the girl alive.”

“No,” Tayre answered. “It is not my doing that she is here.”

“So your messenger said. But surely you convinced her?”

“She came on her own, for her own reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“I think she hoped her answers could achieve some measure of peace across the empire.”

“Those who want peace had better first be ready for war,” Innel said. “Thus far she is not helping much. Would you be interested in another contract?”

“Perhaps. To do what?”

“Bolah tells me that when you ask questions, nothing is held back. I want to be sure there isn’t anything she knows that she’s not saying.”

“You don’t like her answers.”

“I think she’s not telling me everything she could. Whatever her true agenda is, mine must prevail.”

“Surely you have others who can interrogate her.”

“Of course. But I don’t want to have to explain this to anyone else if I can help it. You’ve studied her, traveled with her. You know her and what she is, or pretends to be. She may even trust you somewhat.”

“She may. What if her answers to me reveal nothing more?”

“Then I will know better what she is.”

“In what condition do you want her after? Scarred? Blind? Missing limbs? Dead? How far do you want me to test her answers?”

If she had no new answers, would she still be useful to him? Again, best to keep his options open. “Leave her as whole as you can, but do what you must to be certain.”

“I understand.”

“How long will you need?”

“A few days, perhaps.”

“That fast?” Innel was surprised. He had watched lengthy questioning before. One such famous interrogation had lasted nine years. It was considered an accomplishment as much for keeping the man alive as for any answers it had provided.

“With complete control and no interference, yes.”

“I would like to see this.”

“It will take longer if you are there.”

For a moment he considered insisting. Then: “So be it. Can you begin immediately?”

“Payment in advance.”

“Yes,” Innel said, realizing he could now easily afford this man’s services. What he couldn’t afford was the seer keeping answers from him.

Chapter Thirty

Something was coming.

Amarta wrenched awake, heart pounding, the red and white room around her a momentary mystery.

She took gulps of air, trying to exhale the shadows that still clung to her from another long night of dark dreams in which she fled from the monster, squeezing through tunnels of knives to escape, looking over the edge of an impossibly high cliff, the shadow right behind. She had been trying to work her courage up to jump to her death rather than be caught when she instead awakened.

The soft, cream-colored sheets and blankets were soaked in sweat. She kicked them off, got to her feet, realizing as she took deep breaths that each one brought her closer to whatever was coming.

She paced, trying not to think, looking around the room in which she was locked when she was not answering endless questions. So many marvels, from its sheer size to the delicately painted designs on the walls—white on rust, rust on white—interlocking circles and spirals.

And the corner fireplace, now quietly banked with coals, lined with alternating red and white bricks, each inlaid with copper and silver. The royal mark of moon, star, pickax, sword. Not enough to keep the room warm, it seemed; it must have the crown’s sigil as well. Each brick must be worth more than anything she had ever owned.

At the wooden cabinet that held her folded, clean clothes—more than she could ever need—she opened and closed drawers, wondering at the craft required to make them move so easily, stroking the smooth wood with her hand. If only she could show this to Pas. So easy to imagine him delightedly opening and closing them again and again.

Almost, she asked the question of whether she would see them again. Almost.

Pushing away, she went to the windows that also did not open from the inside and touched the smooth glass. Dirina would love this, this window so clear one could see four stories down to the tantalizing gardens below, where red and yellow flowers were blooming. She could pick a flower, hand it to her sister. The craving she felt, thinking of them, was a welcome distraction from her dread.

She took another breath. As if spending another coin.

Despite the height of the room she had no view of the city, like the glimpses she could catch as she was led from her room to the Lord Commander’s offices and back again. Instead the view was a nearby wall of pink and white stone, the side of another section of this massive palace. Looking up between the buildings she could just see a patch of sunlight, a bit of blue.

Locked from the outside. Guarded. The Lord Commander did not trust her.

But where would she go?

Not that it mattered. She had made a contract. Given her word. She was not going to even try to leave.

Never had she used foresight so much across so many days as she had these last ten. She had learned that while her vision could be made weary by days of questions, she herself could be brought to exhaustion and tears by relentless examination of her every answer, each word and detail, always ending with the Lord Commander’s frustrated dismissal.

Yet the next morning she would stand before him again, waiting while he reviewed the previous day’s reports, comparing each to her predictions, asking about every deviation until her head swam.

Then the questioning would begin anew, her every word studied like a piece of bread on which someone at the palace had found a speck of dirt.

And still she couldn’t give him the answers he wanted.

She stripped out of the sleeping gown and pulled on a green and white dress. She had an outfit for sleeping and one for being awake, both finer than any clothes she’d ever worn. When she had said so, Srel had brought her more clothes yet—a day outfit: dark green with white trim, belted, with matching trousers. A servant’s outfit, he’d explained.

The door clicked and opened, and she started at the sound. But it was only Srel, bringing in a tray of food, a cylinder of tea. Behind him the door locked again.

Srel was a slender man, with light green eyes, a quick, sympathetic smile. He seemed to enjoy doing things for her. There was something about him that made it seem, for a few minutes each day, as if someone here liked her.

“I’ve brought the bread sticks you like, with”—he gestured—“a peppered cheese béchamel, hazelnut paste, duck pate. Also mutton sausage and rice pudding. Try to eat some, won’t you?”

Again he had brought nearly as much food as she used to eat in a single day, if she were lucky.

She took a bite of the roll and made an appreciative sound. Srel smiled brightly, as if he had been waiting for this. He poured her tea, mixed in honey and set it on the table, then stood as if to leave.

“Srel, you could stay and eat with me. You always bring so much.”

He shook his head. “Not today.”

Of course not. Today something was happening. Something was coming. She put down the roll.

“One small bite?” he chided gently. “I know you can do that much.”

“I think I am not going to the Lord Commander today.”

He gave her a wary look. “Surely you can see such things?”

She looked down at the platter, with the delicate bowls and small silver spoons. So much. Too much.

“Sometimes it is better not to know.”

“I understand,” he said.

“Srel, will I have long to wait?”

“A little while,” he said softly.

“Thank you.”

“Try to eat, won’t you?”

A cold fear came over her. Vision warning again, like a keening animal. “Srel,” she said urgently.

“Yes?”

She took a breath, looked into his future. Two years, three, then five. For a time, at least, his life would be surprisingly constant, somehow withstanding the storms of violence that crashed around him at the palace and in this city. “You’ve been very kind to me. Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” he said with a smile that seemed tinged with sadness. “Very welcome indeed.” For a moment more he stared at her. Then he left, the door locked behind him.

The food was so beautiful, she could stare at it a while, but dread ruined her appetite. As she paced the room, the morning bells rang, marking an hour, then another. The time she would usually have been taken to the map room came and went.

Vision warned again. The light was too bright, the quiet too loud, and she saw flickering hints of unlikely escapes that she could still attempt.

“No,” she said aloud.

The lock clicked. The door opened. A shock went through her.

Tayre entered the room, shut the door behind him. Gone was any disguise.

Tayre entered the room, shut the door behind him. He was clean-shaven, simply dressed. So very different, but she knew him.

He walked to her, put his hands lightly on her arms, his touch at once comforting and unnerving. Inside her, dread and hope mixed so tightly that there was no room for reason.

“I’m here to question you,” he said mildly, without preamble. “To find out what answers you may be keeping from the Lord Commander. Solutions you have not yet offered him.”

“I have told him everything. He doesn’t like my answers.”

“I am paid to disbelieve you.”

She twisted away from his touch and stepped away. “I thought your contract with the Lord Commander was over when you brought me here.”

“It was. I made a new contract.”

Her heart sank. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“If I were not here, someone else would be. Someone less careful. I know the Anandynar interrogation style. It lacks precision.”

She shook her head. “I’ve answered his every question, a hundred times and more.”

“And if you were anyone else, that might be enough. But you have an ability you do not entirely understand, and the Lord Commander has an important puzzle that needs solving. There may be pieces you can give him that you will not see until you’ve looked harder for them.”

“You are the dark cloud, come here to hurt me.”

“Am I? What do your visions show you now?”

All at once the weight she had felt since yesterday was gone. The room seemed bathed in a calm, gentle light, as if going from night to day in an instant. Her mouth fell open in surprise.

He smiled a little. “The future of this moment does not hold pain for you, so your fear vanishes. Yes?”

“Yes,” she said wonderingly, searching his face for understanding.

He exhaled slowly. He stared at her, then past her.

Dread tore through her like the teeth of a ravenous animal. She was foreseeing—suddenly, vividly, inescapably. She inhaled, hungry for air, the pain of the future so vivid she could almost feel it all through her limbs.

The smell of burning lamp oil. Wetness on her face. Agony twisting through her, washing over her like waves.

Panicked, she backed away from him. The bed caught her legs and she lost her balance, falling back onto the soft surface. Before she could blink he was there, cradling her head in his lap. She curled around herself.

“The future has changed, hasn’t it, Amarta?”

“How—”

“I changed my intent.” He touched her head, stroking gently.

“I’ll tell you everything, anything—”

“There’s nothing you can say to stop this, Amarta.” Again the touch. She wanted to push him away, but she did not.

“I thought I was done being afraid of you.”

“I know.” Not sympathetic, not reassuring, just understanding.

Again vision warned her, then fell silent. And again.

Pain, darkness. A keening and sobbing.

For a moment she wasn’t sure if it might be memory. She hoped it was memory. Blinking, she came back into the present.

No, it was still before her.

“I use your foresight to build your fear. You will tell me everything I want to know, as many times and in as many ways as I want.”

She sobbed a denial, pushed against him, stumbled to her feet, went to the window.

“I’m good at this, Amarta.”

She looked out at the gardens below, a world away, hearing his slow steps come close behind.

Could she break this glass and throw herself to the gardens below?

Shards of glass fell away from the opening, but she herself could not get through because he held her.

“Remember the forest, Amarta? How you slipped by me, over and over? I think you could do that now, perhaps better than ever before. You might even get out of this room. If you need to prove to yourself that you’ve done everything you can to resist this, I understand. Go ahead and fight me, if you wish.”

What would it gain her?

Guards, so many the room was packed, each one cutting off a possible escape. She was held, tied, carried out of the room.

Tayre knew what she was.

“It is the same,” she said, looking down onto the garden below, wanting to drink in every bit of color she could before the world turned dark. She stared at the pink and white stone wall across the way. “I’m afraid.”

He put a hand on her arm and from behind her spoke. “I know you, Seer—you can do this.”

The words startled her, like a shot that went deeper than it should. She turned her back to the window to look at him. His face held a hint of a smile. She felt—what? A touch of hope.

Was this another way to draw her in, to make her fall harder and farther later?

“So,” he said. “Will you fight, or shall we walk there together?”

“Tayre, I’m not ready.”

He took her hands in his. It was, she foresaw, one of the few gentle touches she would feel for some time.

“There are things you can’t be ready for. This is one of them.”

They descended into the palace’s basements, through dim corridors, down steps carved from dark stone. The windowless, lamplit room into which they were led was suddenly quiet as the many guards escorting them streamed out.

He dropped the bolt on the inside of the door and set a large pack on one of three large, wooden tables. On one was a paper map of the empire, on another a white cloth, and on the third, nothing.

Her gaze stayed on this last table as vision gave hint of the grain of the wood, up close.

“I will tell you how I will do this,” he said as he opened his pack. It was the same tone he might have used when they had been traveling north from Kelerre, perhaps discussing a possible route or the care and feeding of the horses.

He took a folded bundle out of his pack and unrolled it across the white linen, revealing a set of knives. He set them on the white linen one by one as he spoke. “First I make you afraid. I make sure you believe that I will hurt you past your ability to bear. I think we have achieved that.” He looked at her. “Yes?”

She struggled to slow her breathing. “Yes.”

He took out from the pack a coiled rope, then another, setting them atop each other. “With you,” he said, “this is somewhat easier; I set my intent to hurt you, and you believe me because you can see it happening in your future. It’s almost as though you read my mind.”

Next he brought out three sets of pliers, each one smaller than the last, setting them beside each other on the table.

The pain would not stop, no matter what she said. She could not breathe.

She gulped air.

“You, in your terror,” he continued, “hide very little. It is almost as if I can read
your
mind. You see?” He paused in arranging the tools and looked at her thoughtfully, a look she could almost mistake for concern.

She was shaking now and could not seem to stop.

“Next, I ask you questions—some I know the answers to, some I don’t—to better judge your responses for veracity. As it happens, I know you pretty well already, though”—he gestured to the room—“a different place and time means I will need to fine-tune my perceptions. Do you understand all this?”

“Why can’t I just tell you what you want to know and you don’t hurt me at all?”

“Why indeed?” he replied, taking out from the pack an iron-headed mallet, then three more, of varying different sizes, setting them next to each other. “Because of your ability, I can only deceive you so far with my pure intent—the things I conceive must actually occur in order to convince your foresight. Equally important, the Lord Commander will find it challenging to believe my work was effective if there isn’t convincing physical evidence. He must see the signs of it on you, and his guards must hear something through the heavy door to report back.”