“Of course.”
Chane was always interested in languages, though he wanted to speak of more important matters. Then there was the other little change that he’d noted.
Wynn now often used the domin’s first name, though in the past, she had generally referred to him as Domin il’Sänke. Then again, Chane wondered whether il’Sänke was still a domin at all. Even if he was not, Wynn would probably always see him as such, regardless of what she called him.
She turned her head toward the sitting area. “Osha, we’re going to practice a bit of spoken Sumanese. Do you want to join us?”
Chane scowled. Why did she always feel the need to include that elf?
Osha appeared from out of the sleeping quarters, though Chane had not noticed him leave the main room. The gangly elf’s eyes shifted once from Wynn to Chane.
“Come sit,” Wynn added as she leaned over to dig through her pack by the chair. “The domin wrote a few phrases down to help us if we need to shop at the market.”
Osha did not move and, for the first time, Chane wondered what had been going on as he lay dormant. Then he barely heard footfalls on the stairs outside and down the passage.
“Someone is coming,” he said, though Shade’s ears had already pricked up.
Everyone looked toward the door as it opened, and Ghassan il’Sänke stepped in and shut it again.
Wynn rose too quickly, jostling the cup on the table. “How did it go? Can we get them out?”
Il’Sänke studied her for a moment. “I have gained assistance from someone inside the imperial grounds.”
“Who?” Chane demanded.
This domin, now responsible for Wynn’s safety as well as being the reason for that need, kept far too many secrets.
“Someone highly placed ... someone I trust.” Il’Sänke’s gaze shifted briefly to Chane and then back to Wynn. “Tomorrow night, Magiere and the others will be secretly freed and taken to the front gate. After that, we are on our own. We must be in place and ready for anything ... including pursuit.”
Shade rumbled, lifting her jowls and exposing her teeth. Wynn reached out and touched the dog’s shoulder.
“What is it?” Chane asked.
“She wants to know more,” Wynn whispered, glancing at him. “I think ... she thinks this is happening too quickly—too easily.”
“I agree,” he whispered back.
Wynn turned to il’Sänke. “If our friends have been imprisoned for a moon, we cannot get them out quickly enough.”
“I want ... to ... see entrance,” Osha said from the other doorway. “Plan ... tonight.”
Again, Chane could not help but agree. “So do I. Regardless of risk, we must study the surrounding area if we are to have any chance of success.”
His next impulse was to insist that Wynn stay there, but that would only cause a fuss. Also, on second thought, keeping her close would make it easier to protect her, no matter how well hidden this place was.
Il’Sänke inhaled through his nose as if considering options, but then he nodded. “Everyone get your cloaks, pull your hoods low, and follow me—and do exactly as I say. I will show you what we are facing, and then we return and remain here until tomorrow night.”
Chapter Five
The following night and well past dusk, Prince Ounyal’am paced alone in the entry room of his private chambers. He struggled to ignore the repercussions of all that could go wrong in the events he had set into motion. At a soft knock upon the outer door, he froze for an instant.
As he went for the door, a voice spoke from beyond it.
“My prince? Commander Har’ith has arrived.”
Ounyal’am took a slow breath upon hearing Nazhif. “Enter,” he replied and quickly assumed a cavalier and almost bored demeanor as Nazhif opened the door and stepped back.
A tall man in his late forties with narrow, hawkish features entered wearing a broad gold sash wrapped over his left shoulder and across his chest. He halted after three steps inside and bowed his head, though he appeared mildly puzzled.
Har’ith commanded the imperial guard. The prince rarely sent for him—and certainly not after dark.
“You summoned me, my prince?” the commander asked.
Ounyal’am let silence hang for two breaths, as if annoyed by such an obvious question.
“I visited my father tonight,” he said. “The emperor made a request.”
Har’ith’s eyes widened slightly, as well they should have. Counselor a’Yamin allowed few, if any, to see Kanal’am, including his own son. Then again, aside from the emperor himself, no one had open authority over an imperial prince.
For an instant, the commander’s gaze flickered, as if trying to peer into every shadow in the room. That ended in a start as Ounyal’am stepped to a small side table and picked up a rolled parchment bearing the imperial seal.
“My father expressed concern over the treatment—and security—of the foreign prisoners. You are to conduct an inspection tonight and report to me after my morning tea.”
Commander Har’ith blinked and hesitated before taking the rolled sheet. He immediately cracked its seal and unrolled it to view the order. To make matters worse, the commander was well-known as one of a’Yamin’s minions, though he would not question a direct order from the emperor, no matter how bizarre.
The order was as brief and succinct as Ounyal’am’s instructions, for he had written it himself.
Earlier that evening, after manipulating his way into his father’s quarters in the counselor’s absence, he had dismissed any servants present. They fled in panic, not daring to question his sudden appearance in the emperor’s chamber after three moons. Perhaps he had stood there too long in staring across that room to his father’s bed, hidden behind a haze of gauze curtains. Even obscured, the sleeping, decrepit form tucked beneath vermillion sheets left him sickened.
Some palace servants had whispered rumors about his father being seen once or twice wandering the halls downward through the palace dressed only in a long dark robe and hood. Of course, none had said this openly, and none seemed to know where that figure went. Looking upon the withered corpse-to-be, Ounyal’am did not believe a word of this.
How much better all would have been—would be—if he had smothered that wrinkled face with a pillow. But such a thought had filled even him with self-loathing as he stood there in the half dark within sight of his father.
The order had been quite simple to draft. Forging his father’s signature was another skill practiced over half a lifetime at the insistence of Ghassan. After he used the imperial seal, he carefully cleaned and returned it to the cabinet, never again looking to the bed. He had waited until the scent of melted wax dissipated before leaving that place.
At some point—there was no way to guess when—the imperial bodyguards on duty outside his father’s chambers would inform the imperial counselor of a son’s sudden nighttime visit.
That could not be helped.
“Perhaps you should hasten,” Ounyal’am said shortly, affecting a yawn, either sleepy or impatient, to hide his panic. “I will expect you again in the morning.”
Har’ith’s eyes narrowed slightly. It would seem to him beyond unlikely that the emperor would give a passing thought to the treatment of foreign prisoners accused of murdering Suman citizens, but it was not the commander’s place to question—only to obey.
“Yes, my prince,” Har’ith said clearly, and with another bow of his head he pivoted on one heel and left.
Ounyal’am followed a short distance behind and took a half step through the door, though Nazhif had reached for the handle to close it. They both stood there in silence, watching the commander of the imperial guard stride off down the passage.