Warbreaker (24 page)

The woman’s arrival should have put an end to the discussions of war, but instead she had only exacerbated them. He kept his eyes open, for he feared the images of destruction he would see flashing inside his mind’s eye if he so much as blinked. They waited like Kalad’s Phantoms, hovering just beyond his vision.

He couldn’t accept those dreams as foretellings. If he did, it meant that he
was
a god. And if that were the case, then he feared greatly for them all.

On the outside, he simply gave the queen his third most charming smile and popped a grape into his mouth. “No need to be so formal, Your Majesty. You will soon realize that among Returned, I am by far the least. If cows could Return, they’d undoubtedly be ranked higher than I.”

She wavered again, obviously uncertain how to deal with him. It was a common reaction. “Might I inquire as to the nature of your visitation?” she asked.

Too formal. Not at ease. Uncomfortable around those of high rank. Could it be possible that she
was
genuine? No. It was likely an act to put him at ease. To make him underestimate her. Or was he just thinking too much?

Colors take you, Blushweaver!
he thought.
I really don’t want to be part of this.

He almost withdrew. But, then, that wouldn’t be very pleasant of him—and contrary to some of the things he said, Lightsong
did
like being pleasant.
Best to be kind
, he thought, smiling idly to himself.
That way, if she ever does take over the kingdom, perhaps she’ll behead me last.
“You ask after the nature of my visitation?” he said. “I believe it has no nature, Your Majesty, other than to appear natural—at which I have already failed by staring at you for far too long while thinking to myself about your place in this mess.”

The queen frowned again.

Lightsong popped a grape in his mouth. “Wonderful things,” he said, holding up another one. “Delightfully sweet, wrapped in their own little package. Deceptive, really. So hard and dry on the outside, but so delectable on the inside. Don’t you think?”

“We...don’t have many grapes in Idris, Your Grace.”

“I’m rather the opposite, you know,” he said. “Fluffy and pretty on the outside, without much of import on the inside. But I guess that is beside the point. You, my dear, are a very welcome sight. Much more so than a grape.”

“I...How is that, Your Grace?”

“We haven’t had a queen in such a long time,” Lightsong said. “Since before my Return, in fact. And old Susebron up there really
has
been moping about the palace lately. Looking forlorn. It’s good he has a woman in his life.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace,” the queen said.

“You’re welcome. I’ll make up a few more, if you like.”

She fell silent.

Well, then, that’s it
, he thought, sighing.
Blushweaver was right. I probably shouldn’t have come.

“All right,” the queen said, hair suddenly turning red as she threw her hands up in the air. “
What
is going on here?”

He hesitated. “Your Majesty?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Probably.”

“But you’re supposed to be a god!” she said, leaning back, staring up at the canopy. “Just when I thought things in this city were starting to make sense, the priests start yelling at me, then you come along! What am I supposed to do with you? You seem more like a schoolboy than a god!”

Lightsong paused, then settled back into his seat, smiling. “You have me found out,” he said, opening his hands. “I killed the real god and took his place. I’ve come to hold you ransom for your sweets.”

“There,” the queen said, pointing. “Aren’t you supposed to be...I don’t know, distinguished or something?”

He spread his hands out. “My dear, this
is
what passes for being distinguished in Hallandren.”

She didn’t seem convinced.

“I am, of course, lying through my teeth,” he said, eating another grape. “You shouldn’t base your opinion of the others upon what you think of me. They’re all much more deific than I am.”

The queen sat back. “I thought you were the god of bravery.”

“Technically.”

“You seem more like the god of jesters to me.”

“I’ve applied for the position and been turned down,” he said. “You should see the person they have doing the job. Dull as a rock and twice as ugly.”

Siri paused.

“I wasn’t lying that time,” Lightsong said. “Mirthgiver, god of laughter. If ever there was a god more poorly suited to his position than I, it’s he.”

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “It appears there’s a
lot
I don’t understand in this city.”

This woman is no fake
, Lightsong thought, staring into her youthful, confused eyes.
Or, if she is, then she’s the best actress I’ve ever met.

That meant something. Something important. It was possible there were mundane reasons this girl had been sent instead of her sister. Sickness on the part of the elder daughter, perhaps. But Lightsong didn’t buy that. She was part of something. A plot, or perhaps several. And whatever those plots were,
she
didn’t know about them.

Kalad’s Phantoms!
Lightsong cursed mentally.
This child is going to get ripped apart and fed to the wolves!

But what could he really do about it? He sighed, standing, causing his priests to begin packing his things. The girl watched with confusion as he nodded to her, giving her a wan smile of farewell. She stood and curtsied slightly, though she probably didn’t need to. She was his queen, even if she wasn’t herself Returned.

Lightsong turned to go, then stopped, recalling his own first few months in the court, and the confusion he’d known. He reached over, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Don’t let them get to you, child,” he whispered.

And with that, he withdrew.

Annotations for Chapter 16

Seventeen

Annotations for Chapter 17

Vivenna walked back toward Lemex’s house, dissecting the argument she’d heard at the Court of Gods. Her tutors had instructed her that discussions in the Court Assembly didn’t always lead to action; just because they talked of war didn’t mean it would happen.

This discussion, however, seemed to mean more. It was too passionate, with too many voices for one side. It indicated that her father was right, and that war was inevitable.

She walked with her head down on a nearly deserted street. She was beginning to learn that she could avoid the roiling masses by walking through more residential sections of the city. It appeared that people in T’Telir liked to be where everybody else was.

The street was in a wealthy neighborhood, had a slate stone sidewalk running along the side of it. It made for pleasant walking. Parlin walked beside her, occasionally pausing to study ferns or palm trees. The Hallandren liked plants; most of the homes were shaded by trees, vines, and exotic blooming shrubs. In Idris, each of the large homes along the street would have been considered a mansion, but here they were only of average size—probably the homes of merchants.

I need to stay focused
, she thought.
Is Hallandren going to attack soon? Or is this just a prelude to something still months, perhaps years, away?
 

Real action wouldn’t occur until the gods voted, and Vivenna wasn’t sure what it would take to get them to that point. She shook her head. Only one day in T’Telir, and already she knew that her training and tutorials hadn’t prepared her half as well as she’d assumed.

She felt as if she knew nothing. And that left her feeling very lost. She was not the confident, competent woman she’d assumed herself to be. The frightening truth was, should she have been sent to become the God King’s bride, she would have been nearly as ineffective and confused as poor Siri undoubtedly was.

They turned a corner, Vivenna trusting in Parlin’s amazing sense of direction to get them back to Lemex’s house, and they passed under the gaze of one of the silent D’Denir statues. The proud warrior stood with sword raised above his stone head, his armor—carved into the statue—augmented by a red scarf tied and flapping around his neck. He looked dramatic, as if he were going gloriously to war. It wasn’t long before they approached the steps to Lemex’s house. Vivenna froze, however, when she saw that the door was hanging from one hinge. The lower part was cracked, as if it had been kicked very hard.

Parlin pulled up beside her, then hissed, holding up a hand for her to be silent. His hand went to the long hunting knife at his belt and he glanced around. Vivenna stepped back, nerves itching to flee. And yet, where would she go? The mercenaries were her only connection in the city. Denth and Tonk Fah could have handled an attack, right?

Someone approached from the other side of the door. Her BioChromatic senses warned her of the proximity. She laid a hand on Parlin’s arm, preparing to bolt.

Denth pushed the broken door open, sticking his head out. “Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”

“What happened?” she asked. “Were you attacked?”

Denth glanced at the door and chuckled to himself. “Nah,” he said, pushing the door open and waving her in. Through the broken door she could see that furniture had been ripped apart, there were holes in the walls, and pictures were slashed and broken. Denth wandered back inside, kicking aside some stuffing from a cushion, making his way toward the stairs. Several of the steps had been broken.

He glanced back, noting her confusion. “Well, we
did
say we were going to search the house, Princess. figured we might as well do a good job of it.”

~

Vivenna sat down very carefully, half-expecting the chair to collapse beneath her. Tonk Fah and Denth had been
very
thorough in their search—they had broken every bit of wood in the house, it seemed, including chair legs. Fortunately, her current chair had been propped up reasonably well, and it held her weight.

The desk in front of her—Lemex’s desk—was splintered. The drawers had been removed, and a false back had been revealed, the compartment emptied. A group of papers and several bags sat on the desktop.

“That’s everything,” Denth said, leaning against the room’s doorframe. Tonk Fah lounged on a broken couch, its stuffing sticking out awkwardly.

“Did you have to break so much?” Vivenna asked.

“Had to be certain,” Denth said, shrugging. “You’d be surprised where people hide things.”

“Inside the front door?” Vivenna asked flatly.

“Would
you
have thought to look there?”

“Of course not.”

“Sounds like a pretty good hiding place to me, then. We knocked, and thought we found a hollow space. Just turned out to be a section of different wood, but it was important to check.”

“People get really clever when it comes to hiding important stuff,” Tonk Fah said with a yawn.

“You know the thing I hate most about being a mercenary?” Denth asked, holding up a hand.

Vivenna raised an eyebrow.

“Splinters,” he said, wiggling several red fingers.

“No hazard pay for those,” Tonk Fah added.

“Oh, now you’re just being silly,” Vivenna said, sorting through the items on the table. One of the bags clinked suggestively. Vivenna undid the drawstring and pulled open the top.

Gold glistened inside. A lot of it.

“Little over five thousand marks in there,” Denth said lazily. “Lemex had it stashed all over the house. Found one bar of it in the leg of your chair.”

“Got easier when we discovered the paper he’d used to remind himself of where he hid it all,” Tonk Fah noted.

“
Five thousand marks?
” Vivenna said, feeling her hair lighten slightly in shock.

“Seems like old Lemex was storing up quite the little nest egg,” Denth said, chuckling. “That, mixed with the amount of Breath he held...he must have extorted even more from Idris than I assumed.”

Vivenna stared at the bag. Then, she looked up at Denth. “You...gave it to me,” she said. “You could have taken it and spent it!”

“Actually, we did,” Denth said. “Took about ten bits for lunch. Should be here any minute.”

Vivenna met his eyes.

“Now there’s what I’m talking about, eh, Tonks?” Denth said, glancing down at the larger man. “If I’d been, say, a butler, would she be looking at me like that? Just because I didn’t take the money and run? Why does everyone expect a mercenary to rob them?”

Tonk Fah grunted, stretching again.

“Look through those papers, Princess,” Denth said, kicking Tonk Fah’s couch, then nodding toward the door. “We’ll wait for you downstairs.”

Vivenna watched them retreat, Tonk Fah grumbling as he had to rise, bits of stuffing sticking to the back of his clothing. They thumped their way down the stairs, and soon she heard dishes rattling. They’d likely sent one of the street boys—who passed periodically yelling that they would bring food from a local restaurant—for the meal.

Vivenna didn’t move. She was increasingly uncertain of her purpose in the city. Yet she still had Denth and Tonk Fah, and—surprisingly—she was finding herself growing attached to them. How many soldiers in her father’s army—good men, all of them—would have been able to resist running off with five thousand marks? There was more to these mercenaries than they let on.

She turned her attention to the books, letters, and papers on the desk.

~

Several hours later, Vivenna still sat alone, a solitary candle burning and dripping wax onto the splintered desk corner. She had long since stopped reading. A plate of food sat uneaten by the door, brought by Parlin some time before.

Letters lay spread out on the desk before her. It had taken time to put them in order. Most were penned in her father’s familiar hand. Not the hand of her father’s scribe. Her father’s
own
hand. That had been her first clue. He only wrote his most personal, or most secret, communications on his own.

Vivenna kept her hair under control. She deliberately breathed in and out. She didn’t look out the darkened window at the lights of a city that should have been asleep. She simply sat.