She nodded slightly and moved to the balcony railing beside him. She wore a blue silk robe of a darker and richer hue than her eyes. On the breasts, sleeves, and back, hawks on the wing had been embroidered. Their left wings lacked two feathers-an emblem marking her as part of the Prince’s household. The hawk was less surprising than the robe’s color-most Desei wore bright colors only on very special occasions, since the dyes had to be imported from the south at great expense.
She peered out at the shifting columns of people. “We attempt to belittle and disregard them, and yet they are capable of picking a city apart. As irresistible as the tide, aren’t they?”
“They bend to the will of their master.”
“Do you as well, Master Anturasi?” She faced him, appraising him openly.
“I am his guest. Can I do otherwise?”
She smiled and turned back to look to the south. “I have no doubt you have found many ways to comply in appearance, but resist in substance.”
Keles said nothing.
“Tired of our game already, have you?”
“Is it a game we’re playing? Because I am working.” He pointed back to the library table with drawings scattered on it.
“So am I, Keles.” She turned and caught his arm. “What if I were to tell you that I am tasked with seducing you and seeing to it that you desire to remain here forever?”
Keles shrugged. “I’d say you’re too late for that, or too early. Had the Prince poisoned me to mimic illness and you nursed me back to health, I might have fallen in love with you.”
She smiled. “That’s how your parents met, wasn’t it?”
Keles jolted and she laughed. “You see, Master Anturasi, we knew you would find it suspect. And, as you suggested, I am too early, because the time to find you companionship will be in a month, during the planting festival. You do know that here in Deseirion we will all be in the fields, plowing and planting? It is backbreaking work, and you’ll find yourself in the fields working with a Desei noblewoman. You’ll talk, she will laugh and be punished for it. You’ll feel guilty and try to make amends. She will tell you that you are different, a dream come true for her. She may not even know her part-though I doubt that. Chances are she will be one of the Mother of Shadows’ special operatives. I doubt you’re a virgin, but she will be unlike any woman you’ve ever slept with.”
He frowned. “And what am I to make of you telling me all this? If you’re even halfway truthful, I have to assume the Mother of Shadows has me watched at all times. She will know we have spoken, and probably know what was said.”
“She might, but at the moment she is distracted.” The woman smiled and glanced back at the library door. “And the people tasked with watching you right now are not going to report anything about our meeting. After all, I have leave to consult you.”
“You do?”
“From the Prince himself.”
Keles leaned back on the balcony’s railing. “Now I am tired of this game. I don’t know who you are, and I really don’t care. Leave me be.”
“I can’t, Keles Anturasi.” She studied his face for a moment, then looked down. “Then again, if you are not intelligent enough to figure out who I am, perhaps I waste my time even talking to you.”
He studied her. She clearly wasn’t full-blooded Desei. She’d not referred to them as “my people.” She was in the Prince’s household, had Helosundian coloring and… How could I have missed it? Her voice. She spoke with a Naleni accent-which he’d not noticed because it was so familiar to him. That, combined with her intelligence and arrogance, led to one inescapable conclusion.
“You’re the Prince’s wife.”
“I am Jasai of Helosunde.”
“In Newtown, the rumor is going around that the Prince will have a son before the year is out.”
“No, Keles Anturasi, I will have a son.” Jasai stared up into his face. “It is up to you to decide if he will be born here, or you will help me see to it he is born in freedom.”
Chapter Seventeen
35th day, Month of the Wolf, Year of the Rat
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Moriande, Nalenyr
Junel Aerynnor slipped into the opium den’s dark, dank depths all but unnoticed. His clothes, which he had taken to wearing while hunting, had long since been stained with things noxious and unknowable. The splotch over his right elbow, in fact, contained a virulent poison. Driving that elbow into a mouth with enough force would guarantee that whomever he hit would be dead within a minute.
Though the Dreaming Serpent was located in the older portion of the docks-one where Naleni nobility was seldom found-he felt no trepidation about passing through the nearby precincts. Footpads and cutthroats abounded and the sense of danger gave him a thrill. Granted it was one that was fleeting, but he sought it on those nights when he was not yet hunting. His game came to be one of avoiding trouble, and if he failed there, he played at killing the troublemakers as quickly as possible.
This night, however, he had not come to hunt or flirt with danger. A message had come to him, summoning him to a meeting. It alluded to certain facts that told him someone had been studying him. Clearly they’d sensed that he was hiding something and had concluded it was an addiction to opium. Hardly a surprise, given that he’d lost two lovers to most horrible slaughter, and had been wounded himself, but not the sort of thing that had an appeal for the families whose daughters he might want to woo.
At least they have not penetrated to the truth. While the lords of the interior knew he was willing to promote revolution to overthrow Prince Cyron, they stupidly assumed he was motivated by greed. If he succeeded in aiding them, they would clearly reward him with lucrative trading concessions. Of course, this was because their own thinking was colored by greed, and they failed to look beyond it.
He really didn’t know how they would react if they knew he was an agent for Deseirion. Some of them would not care, as long as he could help them overthrow Cyron. That a civil war would split their nation and leave it easy prey for Prince Pyrust seemed beyond their consideration.
Junel slowly picked his way through the low-ceilinged basement. Pallets had been stacked three high with barely two and a half feet of clearance between them. An addict would slide onto a filthy pad while an attendant brought them a pipe and a small pea of brown opium. Most would lie there for hours, until their money ran out and the thickly muscled guards ejected them.
Following the instructions he’d been sent, Junel passed to the back and into a curtained passageway. Here the ceiling rose a bit, though the passage narrowed. The ability to wield a weapon in such tight confines would be severely limited, giving the guards a great advantage over anyone who might cause trouble. Junel had no doubt that somewhere further along, in one of the side rooms, a trapdoor opened into the sewers and those who expired from their addiction or some other violence were unceremoniously disposed of.
The fourth door on the left stood slightly ajar. He opened it and entered, closing it behind him. The small room had been richly appointed, with a thick, colorful carpet from Ceriskoron in the center, countless tapestries shrouding the walls, and exquisite bronze lanterns burning on pedestals in three of the corners. A table and single chair sat in the center of the carpet, so Junel seated himself and turned to look at the four-paneled screen in the room’s fourth corner-the one without a visible lantern.
The image on the screen struck him as chillingly prescient. Painted on golden silk, it showed the Naleni Dragon and Desei Hawk descending on a pack of Helosundian Dogs. That would mean the screen dated from before the Komyr Dynasty, when the previous Prince had allied with the Desei to put down a Helosundian threat. Not only was the screen impressive for the power of the image and its antiquity, but for its survival beyond the Desei conquest of Helosunde.