Warrior (76 page)

“Are you drunk, Elezaar?” she asked, looking at him with concern. He was sweating profusely and feeling quite unwell.

He shook his head. “No. Just . . . weary. Did I ever tell you I was born in Pentamor Province?”

“You mentioned it once, I think.”

“I was happy as a child. For a time. I mean, I was born a slave, but not all of us are doomed to a life of desperate helplessness. I had a brother. He was two years younger than me. His name was Crysander.”

“Elezaar—”

“Please, my lady, let me finish this.”

She nodded, clearly not happy with his request. Elezaar hoped he would have enough time to do what must be done.

“When Crysander was eight, our owner sold us to a
court’esa
school. My brother was always going to be handsome but I’m not sure why they wanted me. I think it was because they had plans to make Crys into a Loronged
court’esa
and thought they could try the poison on me first. Perhaps the logic was that if I survived it, Crys probably would too. So I trained as a
court’esa
and, when I was sixteen, they held me down and poured Loronge down my throat and, much to everybody’s astonishment, I survived it. Two years later, so did Crysander.”

“Your brother is also a Loronged
court’esa
?” Marla asked, a little surprised.

“He was.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was sold to a man from Dregian who bought him as a wedding gift for Barnardo Eaglespike.”

Marla was silent for a moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was icy. “Are you telling me, Elezaar, that all this time you’ve had a brother who is a
court’esa
in Alija’s household and you didn’t think it worth mentioning?”

“No, your highness, of course not!”

“Then you’d better finish your tale, Fool. Now that you have my undivided attention.”

Elezaar wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve and blinked several times to clear his vision before continuing. “We were separated after I was Loronged. I only heard much later that Crys was sent to Dregian Castle. My first owner was a woman in Greenharbour who thought I’d make an interesting conversation piece at dinner.” He shook his head, not wanting his last thoughts to be of that best-forgotten time. “I was bought and sold a number of times after that—I was an accomplished musician, after all, as well as a novelty. But I never served in the same household as my brother until I was purchased by Ronan Dell.”

Marla frowned. “I know that name . . . wasn’t he the friend of my brother’s who was murdered all those years ago? It was around the time I first came back to Greenharbour, wasn’t it? When Hablet made an offer for my hand? If I remember it correctly, Kagan Palenovar was convinced the Patriots were behind the assassination, but he could never prove it.”

“Ronan Dell and his entire household were slaughtered on the Feast of Kaelarn the year you arrived back in Greenharbour,” the dwarf confirmed.

“Not his entire household,” Marla remarked coolly. “You escaped, obviously.”

“They killed everyone
except
me,” Elezaar continued, as if Marla hadn’t spoken, his one good eye glazing over in dark remembrance as he related his tale. He could see it as if he was still standing in the room. He could hear the flies. Smell the blood . . .

“They killed Lord Dell first,” Elezaar said. For twenty-five years he’d told this tale to nobody. It astonished him how difficult it was to finally talk about it.

“I heard them coming. We were in his bedroom when they killed him. I hid behind the curtains.”

He fixed his one good eye on Marla, his voice hardening as he relived the nightmare. “I almost gave myself away, cheering for his assassins as they struck the killing blow. Ronan Dell was a monster, your highness. He made your brother’s worst obsessions seem almost harmless by comparison. He had all these instruments, you see . . . scores of them . . . from all over the world. He collected them like other men collect insects or precious stones . . . And he used them, every chance he got; sometimes on his
court’esa
, sometimes on a random slave unfortunate enough to enter the room carrying a tray of drinks when Ronan was showing off to his friends.”

“Friends like my brother, you mean?” the princess asked frostily.

“Yes, my lady, the High Prince was a regular visitor to Ronan Dell’s palace,” he agreed, knowing there was little about Lernen that would shock Marla after all these years. And this was a time for absolute truth. Trying to gild over the unpleasant parts of his story would defeat his purpose. “His favourite toy, and the worst of them all, was a carved bull’s horn wrapped in jagged wire . . .” Elezaar hesitated, not sure if he had the words to describe what he had seen, or how it had made him feel.

Marla could see he was distressed. Although obviously still angry with him, her face creased with concern. “Oh gods, Elezaar! Surely, he didn’t make
you
. . . ?”

The
court’esa
shook his head and forced himself to go on. “I used to wish he had. Then I would have bled to death, too, after a while, and the torment would have stopped. But I was there to watch. I was there to play my instrument while he had his fun with his toys, because the sick bastard liked to do it to music.
Keep playing, Fool!
he’d shout, if I began to falter. He killed them in time to the tempo I set.”

Tears filled Elezaar’s eyes, blinding him to everything but the memories. “It was up to me, you see . . . if I played fast, then they died at that speed, and if I slowed down, then the torment just went on for longer.”

Elezaar pulled at his own silver slave collar as his breathing became more ragged. He wasn’t sure if it was reliving his time with Ronan Dell that made him short of breath. He thought he might be rambling and knew he should try to stick to the point. His time was running out. “Did I mention that he had a particular fondness for virgins? He used to buy them from the slave markets. Really young, sometimes only twelve or thirteen. That way he was certain they were pure.”

Elezaar wiped his eyes, ashamed by his weakness. He’d never shed a tear about it before today.

To have appeared even a tiny bit moved by what he was witnessing would have amused Ronan too much and urged him on to greater feats of torment. The dwarf fixed his gaze on Marla and attempted to pull himself together. “I didn’t have to suffer Ronan Dell’s particular brand of perverse pleasure just once, your highness. I got to suffer it night after night after night.”

Disturbed as she was by his story, Marla was clearly puzzled by his sudden need to unburden himself. “Why are you telling me this now, Elezaar?”

“Because Ronan Dell was murdered, your highness. He was betrayed and murdered. By my brother.”
He’s not in any danger from the assassins. Crysander is one of them
. “When I accused him of betraying our master, he told me he’d been faithful to his real master all along. He told me he’d always belonged to the House of Eaglespike.”

Marla sagged back against the cushions in shock. “
Alija
had Ronan Dell killed?”

The look on the princess’s face tore Elezaar apart. It was as if he could see her trust, her belief in him, evaporating before his very eyes. And it was only going to get worse. His betrayal went far deeper than mere silence.

“And all this time you could bear witness to this crime, Elezaar? And you never uttered a word?”

“I told nobody what I witnessed, your highness. The day you found me at Venira’s Slave Emporium, I was hiding from Alija. When you walked in with her, I was certain my life was over. And then I realised you were the High Prince’s sister and that under your protection, I might escape her . . .”

“So you set out to make yourself indispensable to me,” Marla concluded, making no attempt to hide her bitter disappointment.

“I wanted to make certain you were strong enough to defy her if she ever demanded you hand me over to her.” He hung his head in shame. “There was nothing selfless in my willingness to help you, your highness. In the beginning, I kept what I knew to myself because I thought I might need it as insurance some day. And then . . . well, after you came to rely on me and listen to my counsel, I was terrified of losing your trust. I knew how you’d react if you learned I’d known about this and not told you. And now I’ve just made things worse.”

Marla seemed too dumbstruck to be angry with him. She would find her voice soon, he figured.

Elezaar had confessed much, but he’d yet to reveal his worst, and most recent, crime.

“I saw my brother fall in Ronan Dell’s palace,” he continued while he still had the strength. “I saw them take his body away. I believed my brother was dead. For twenty-five years I had no reason to think otherwise.”

“Are you telling me you think he might not be dead after all?”

“I got a message a few days ago. Venira’s doorman came to the house. He told me they had a slave called Crysander. I arranged to meet him.”

“And never came back,” Marla reminded him.

He couldn’t answer that accusation so he just kept on talking, feeling the heat from the poison infuse his body, warning him his time was growing short. “We arranged to meet at the Lucky Harlot.

When I got there, Bekan was waiting for me. With my brother. And Tarkyn Lye.”

Marla rose to her feet and began to pace the room, back and forth. She didn’t need to be told what Tarkyn Lye’s presence meant. It seemed as if she was trying to walk off her fury. After a while, the princess stopped pacing and turned to look at him.

“What
exactly
have you done, Elezaar?”

“They had my brother, your highness, and Ronan Dell’s favourite toy.” His eyes filled with tears again and he could no longer stop them falling. “Please, your highness . . . understand . . . I . . . I couldn’t watch it happen again. It almost destroyed me once before, standing by helplessly . . . I couldn’t let them do the same to my brother. Not when I had it in my power to stop it.”

For a moment, a glimmer of sympathy flickered across the princess’s face. “What did you tell Tarkyn Lye, Elezaar?”

“Everything.”

Marla stared at him in shock. “What do you mean,
everything
?”

“Exactly what I said, your highness. I told him everything. I told him about Wrayan Lightfinger.

About the mind shields. About how you’d known Alija and your second husband were lovers since before Lord Hawksword died. I even told him how you found out Luciena’s mind had been tampered with and why you’d kept the discovery a secret. By the time I was done, I was
looking
for things to tell him.” Elezaar no longer noticed his tears. He looked up at his beloved princess and shook his head sorrowfully. “I’m so sorry, your highness. I know you deserve better than this, but I had to do something

. . .”

Marla was stunned into speechlessness.

“In the end, for the secret about Rorin’s magical ability and the reason you’d allowed Kalan to join the Sorcerers’ Collective, they gave me a moment alone with Crysander.” The tears coursed freely down his face as he forced himself to finish his tale. It was an effort to sit upright now and it wasn’t just the veil of tears that made his vision blur. “It was too late by then to undo the damage I’d done to you, my lady. But I was able to ensure they would never use Crysander against me again.”

“Elezaar—”

“It was quick, my lady,” he assured her. “I’m small, I know, but I’m stronger than I look. He didn’t feel any pain.”

She stared at him, the pain of his betrayal replaced, momentarily, with the shock of this latest confession. “Are you saying you
killed
your own brother?”

“I made sure they couldn’t use him against me. Not again.”

Unable to hold himself upright, he toppled sideways, feeling the spittle on his chin he no longer had the ability to contain. He heard Marla cry out as she realised something was terribly wrong, something far more serious than guilt or treachery. Dizzy and holding on to consciousness with the very last of his will, Elezaar felt the princess’s cool hand on his burning forehead. It made the pain worse, because he knew he didn’t deserve such consideration from the woman he had betrayed so heinously.

“By the gods, Elezaar . . .” She sounded desperate, rather than angry. “What have you done to yourself? What have you taken?”

His vision had all but gone, fading into dimness. With his one good eye, he tried to focus on Marla’s face. He wanted his last memory to be of her.

“I am my own judge, your highness,” he whispered, lacking the strength to speak any louder.

“And my own executioner.”

With the darkness closing in around him, Elezaar felt Marla gather him into her arms and hold him, rocking him like a small child. He was foaming at the mouth, his muscles twitching uncontrollably.

She must realise by now that he’d poisoned himself. Marla wasn’t a fool. She would know, just by looking at his pallid, clammy skin, that he was on the brink of death. And he knew she must despise him for his treachery.

In spite of that, she held him against her body, as if her shock, her disappointment and even her anger were unimportant matters she was willing to put aside simply because Elezaar the Fool was dying.

“Oh, Elezaar,” Marla murmured softly.

Strange, but she sounds like she’s crying
. He lost himself in her last embrace, his head resting on her breast, thinking that for this one tender moment, it had almost been worth it.

“Why try to face this alone, you little fool? Why didn’t you come to me?”

He wanted to tell Marla that he was a coward. He’d been afraid. Afraid of losing her protection.

Afraid of being cast back into the pit. Afraid of being sold by one highborn house after another, until he was worthless. Afraid he’d wind up as bear-bait when he was past his prime.

And he wanted to remind Marla he’d tried to warn her, time and again, not to place her trust in him. It was the Fourth Rule of Gaining and Wielding Power.
Trust only yourself
.

Most of all, Elezaar wanted to tell his beloved princess that he was afraid of never seeing her again. But he could feel his tongue swelling, making it impossible to speak.