Wings of Wrath (28 page)

M
IDNIGHT.

Siderea Aminestas awakened suddenly from a sound sleep. Her heart was pounding as if something had frightened her awake, but the shadowy bedchamber was peaceful and silent and the only other presence she could sense was that of her maid, encamped beyond the threshold of the room.

So what was the cause? She focused her attention inward, trying to catch some hint or memory of what had disturbed her, but all she could remember were bits and pieces of dreaming, none of them helpful.

Rising from bed, she wrapped a robe of fine gold silk around her, more out of habit than of need; the night was pleasantly warm with a balmy breeze blowing in from over the port, rich with the smells of summer. But she felt a need to wrap something around herself. To give her hands something to do while she tried to calm herself.

But her heart would not stop pounding. Did her body know something that her intellect did not? Was there enough innate witchery left in her soul that it had sensed something amiss, something that should make her afraid—or perhaps excited—that her mortal senses could not detect?

In another day, another lifetime, she would have called for guards to attend her. But that did not suit her current circumstances. She'd twice played host to a visitor who liked to circumvent normal protocol, and in case this had something to do with him, she wanted as few witnesses around as possible.

Almost a month now. She went to bed each night wondering when he would come back to her. If he would come. If she would still be alive when he came. . . .

Quietly she walked out into the corridor. A servant stirred sleepily, ready to serve her. “Shh,” she whispered, “there is no need.” The girl sighed and returned to whatever dream she'd been enjoying; judging from the smile on her face it was a pleasant one. At the entrance to the royal wing a pair of guards waited; they snapped to attention as they heard Siderea's soft footfalls coming their way. “All is well,” she told them. They would not worry about her safety unless she gave some sign that they had to. Royal tradition might demand a retinue of guards to protect her, but who really expected a witch of her obvious power to be in danger in her own demesne? The one time she had been threatened, years ago, she had dispatched the troublemaker before her guards could take their first step. Word of that had spread quickly. No one had threatened her since.

Of course, no one knew that the power that had once protected her was now gone.

She would not give them cause to suspect it.

Down the hall she walked, softly, the ends of her silk gown fluttering behind her like wings. She did not think about where she was headed, but simply walked; her feet seemed to know where they should go. At last she came to the place where a marble archway offered passage to a balcony overlooking the harbor. Of course. It was where Amalik had met with her the first time, when he had given her a ring and a promise. Now she understood.

Her heart still pounding, she took a moment to compose herself before stepping out onto the balcony.

He was there. Dressed in a tunic of midnight blue, with high leather boots of the same color. The color made his coarse skin look pale as moonlight.

“It is time,” he said.

She didn't realize she had been holding her breath until she suddenly exhaled it. “Then . . . what? What is needed?”

“Tomorrow you will come with me into the mountains.” He gestured toward the northwest, where the steep flanks of the Sentinel Mountains crowded Sankara against the sea. “Alone.”

“Alone?”

He bowed. “The secret is for your eyes alone, my Queen.”

“We go by witchery, I assume?”

“Not for this matter, I am afraid. You will understand why when we arrive. . . .”

“So we ride? Like ordinary mortals? Is that your intent?”

He nodded.

She looked out toward the mountains. They rose abruptly from the fertile plain, with no gentle foothills as a prelude. They were steep, too steep for farming, and without a clear pass for miles; the tallest peaks had snow upon them even at the height of summer.

One could become lost in such a range, and no one would ever know it.

One could hide secrets there, and no one would ever see them.

“I cannot ride there alone,” she said.

His eyes narrowed; there was a flicker of anger in their depths. “Are you setting conditions now?”

“I am telling you the simple truth. If you do not think that my guards will follow me when I leave here, and watch over me secretly if I try to order them back—or that my people will not take note of me riding alone through the city without servants in attendance—then you do not understand the ways of royalty. We are never
alone
.”

“I can shield you from their eyes so that none will see you. Until we reach the mountains.”

“And will I be coming back here, after this . . . revelation?”

“If you choose to.”

“Then I cannot simply disappear. It would raise too many questions.” She silenced his protest with a wave of her hand. “You say you wished your business kept secret. Well, if so, that is not the way to manage it. Remember, all it takes is one Magister to catch the scent of mystery, and all your secrets will be revealed.” The word
Magister
curdled on her tongue as she spoke it. “Unless you and your allies are proof against sorcery, it is best not to draw their interest in the first place.”

He scowled. “So what do you suggest?”

She considered. “A special outing, to collect herbs of power from secret places in the mountains, that I can trust no one else to handle. If my people believe it is witch's business they will not ask too many questions. I will come up with some reason for your attendance. You may lead that group as close to the mountains as you think appropriate, and we will worry about leaving them behind after that.”

He clearly was not happy about her suggestion. No doubt it would bring her people closer to his secret destination than he wanted, but that could not be helped. Would he stand up to her, she wondered, give her orders, demand that his original conditions be obeyed? It was clear that he wanted to, and she knew from their previous dealings that he did not feel bound by the usual rules of protocol. There was a black fire inside this man, and she was willing to bet that being given orders by a woman, queen or no, was stoking it to greater and greater heights. What did he hunger for more right now—the masculine catharsis of dominance reasserted, or the more civilized satisfaction of effective cooperation? The answer would tell her much about how to manipulate him in the future.

(
In the future
. What a powerful, wonderful phrase that was! There had been a time not long ago when she had not had any future.)

“It will be as you describe,” Amalik said stiffly. “My Queen.”

So,
she thought,
the hidden fire is contained once more.

She traveled with eight guards to protect her, as well as a handful of servants to see to her personal needs. Of course her servants believed that she had the power to handle any trouble that might arise, and even cook her own food, if necessary, with a wave of the hand if required. But because she was a witch rather than a Magister, it was their job to see that she did not have to. And so the whole party of them must come along, carrying such tents and rugs and silken cushions as a queen must have in the wilderness.

Amalik was displeased by all that, and he made no secret of it. He clearly hungered to travel faster, and less encumbered, and he took every opportunity to let her know it. And while she would not have brought along servants simply to irritate him, it could not be denied that the more agitated he became, the less careful he was about hiding his true self from her. By the second day of travel she had ascertained that he was not used to dealing with nobility, or with women, or perhaps even with people in general. Indeed, he seemed happiest when he was riding out ahead of them all, perhaps pretending that he was riding alone, with Siderea following obediently and silently behind him. A good thing for both of them, she mused, that he had never had the opportunity to test that fantasy. It would not have lasted long.

At night he would disappear, presumably to make his own camp somewhere in the wilderness. Always he positioned himself ahead of them: fearful, perhaps, that one of her guards might scout the way ahead and see something he should not. Promptly at dawn he would return, looking as if he had neither slept well nor managed even a cursory cleaning, pacing his horse back and forth in a bad temper while her retinue packed up their things.

But then came the morning of the fourth day when he brought back two other men with him. They shared his lean and hungry look, but there the similarity ended. One was ebony-skinned, with knotted tangles of black hair that cascaded down to his shoulders and a coarse cuirass of some blue-black leather that looked as if he had not taken it off for several years. The other was a short man, yellow-skinned and black-eyed, with bony, skeletal features that seemed better suited to a day-old corpse than a living man. He, too, was dressed in grimy leather armor of a sort, of the same color and texture as his companion's. Siderea shuddered as they approached the camp, and her guards hurried into position ahead of her, challenging them. Her other servants stopped what they were doing and stared, not knowing how to respond to such an unexpected presence.

Are these my new allies?
Siderea wondered. Her hackles rose at the thought.
What have I gotten myself into?

Amalik faced her; his expression was impassive, but she knew him well enough by now to guess just how much he was enjoying the moment. “You may leave your guards behind now,” he said. “These men will see to your needs the rest of the way,” he said.

She drew in a deep breath, while her servants turned to her in disbelief.
You have no choice,
she told herself.
For better or worse, this game must be played out to its end.

She turned to her guards. “I will be going on alone. These men will protect me.”

“But, Majesty—” their leader protested.

She waved him to silence. “Do you doubt my capacity to handle trouble? Or perhaps it is my judgment you question.”

His face paled. “No, Majesty. Of course not.”

“Well, then. You have your orders.” She looked out over the small company. “You will all wait for me here until I return. You will not, under any circumstances, follow me. Is that clear?”

They all bowed their heads in assent. Which was good; if she did not meet their eyes, they would not see the uncertainty in her own.

She looked at Amalik and mouthed:
How long?

He hesitated, then held up fingers: four at first, then five.

“A week,” she ordered. “Wait for me a week, without leaving this place.”

Her horse was saddled and waiting. A servant ran up to offer her a lift with his hands, but she mounted without it. The desert-style pants that she wore under her skirts slid over the polished leather with a whisper as she settled herself astride in the manner of a man. One of the few southern customs she still maintained.

She, too, was restless.

“Do not follow me,” she commanded one last time, as she kneed the horse into motion.

The faces of Amalik's allies were expressionless, but she could sense the same black fire burning behind their eyes.
Lovely companions I have now,
she thought grimly. There was a musky-sweet odor that hung about the newcomers, less than pleasant at close quarters. Apparently the source of their power did not value either bathing or perfume.

Amalik did not lie,
she reminded herself.
The power I need is out there, hidden in the Sentinels. If these are the only men that can bring me to it, so be it.

“Lead on,” she told Amalik, and when he and his companions began to ride north, she followed.