Eight
The flames had seemed so real that Dar’s brow was flushed and sweaty. Deen-yat thought she had a fever. She escorted Dar back to the royal hanmuthi and directed her to rest. Dar didn’t argue, but she insisted on being alone. She was deeply shaken and needed time to compose herself. Her meeting with Meera-yat, which had begun with such promise, had only compounded her insecurity. Dar feared that she had committed some error already and her vision was a glimpse of its consequences.
For a long while, Dar could think of nothing but the burning hall. She relived its destruction repeatedly until its horror gradually dulled. Only then did she ponder the vision’s meaning. She assumed that it was somehow linked to her conversation with Meera-yat, who had been calm until Dar mentioned the Pah clan. Dar wondered if that was why she saw the vision of Velasa-pah and the hall’s destruction immediately after Meera-yat’s outburst. It seemed logical. Yet that assumption left Dar only more confused. She needed to discover what had alarmed Meera-yat. Direct questioning would yield no answers, though she didn’t understand why.
Dar recalled the tale of Cymbe, the girl who ran off to live with a bear. Cymbe’s naivete had doomed her. I’m equally doomed unless I discover what’s going on. As Dar considered her situation, it seemed hopeless. She needed a mother to guide her, but she didn’t trust her muthuri or Muth-yat. Dar recalled the late queen’s advice: “When you’re Muth Mauk, just follow your chest.” But an unsettled chest was an uncertain guide.
Queen Girta eyed Lokung with distaste. She distrusted the royal steward, but then she distrusted all of her late husband’s courtiers. The fact that she needed Lokung made her like him even less. They were in her private chambers, away from the orc guards that made the steward nervous. Nevertheless, he kept glancing at the door, knowing they were stationed just outside it.
Lokung handed Girta a parchment. “A minor matter, Your Majesty. The Merchants’ Guild needs a new master. If you approve, it’ll be Balten.”
“What happened to the old master?”
“Maltus took his own life yesterday afternoon. He stopped a guard on the city walls, handed him a note, then jumped to his death. The note was a confession. He’d been stealing from the guild treasury.”
Girta recalled Maltus from court functions. “He had a reputation for honesty.”
“Reputations can be deceptive, Your Highness.”
“Who’s this Balten?”
“You’ve seen him in court. He’s guild treasurer.”
“Since the treasury was looted, he seems a poor choice for master.”
“The guilty party has confessed. Besides.” Lokung flashed a smile that Girta found patronizing. “.why concern yourself with the affairs of peddlers?”
“Affix my seal,” said Girta. “They can have whoever they wish for master.”
After marking the parchment with Girta’s seal, Lokung brought up another subject. Girta had noted that he never spoke first about what concerned him most, so she was not fooled by his casual tone. “One of your guardsmen visited the orcs last night.”
“So?”
“It was that traitor, Sevren.”
“I pardoned Sevren, and with good cause. He helped to bring about peace.”
“Every wolf is peaceful after it’s supped. The orcs rebelled, and now they’re sated. But for how long?”
“All they wanted was peace.”
“They chose a strange manner to show it. Your husband’s dead.”
“Killed by his own mage.”
“So they say. Yet no one saw him do it.”
“Dar was witness.”
“Who could have done the deed and murdered Othar as well.”
“Then poisoned herself for good measure?” said Girta. “Your imagination’s overripe.”
“Still, Your Majesty, I’d closely watch the orcs and those that consort with them. Sevren’s been seen with one who’s notorious for orcish dealings.”
“A glass merchant,” replied Girta. “From whom would he purchase his wares if not from orcs? They first discovered the secret of its making and still do the finest work.”
“How do you know this?” asked Lokung.
“Not through spies. Sevren told me.”
“You’ve spoken to him?”
“Of course. He serves in my royal guard. He’s the one who told me that women must serve orcs food. He also found a woman experienced with them. Since she entered my service, meals have gone smoother.”
Lokung smiled. “I’m glad he knows what quiets orcs. Let’s hope they stay appeased.”
“‘Appeased’? Why use that word?”
“So you believe the orcs want peace?”
“You speak as though you’ve heard otherwise.”
“I don’t credit rumors. Still, the orcs have revolted once already and now they dwell in the palace.” “They’ve sworn to guard me.”
Lokung noted uncertainty in the queen’s voice and seized his opportunity. “Aye, Your Highness, they’re fearsome guards. Well you know my fear of them. In truth, I don’t trust what I can’t understand. Their yellow eyes liken to a beast’s. Who can tell their thoughts.. .the nature of their lusts.. .what provokes them? When they stare at you, silent and grim, don’t you feel uneasy?”
“They serve me,” replied Girta. “As do you.”
Lokung noted the fear in the queen’s eyes. He gave a deep bow and departed, feeling the conversation had gone well. Balten had recruited him to drive a wedge between the queen and the orcs. Girta’s apprehensions were making the job easy. All Lokung needed to do was fan them. The payment he had been offered was ample compared with the effort. If Lokung obtained more assignments, his gambling debts would cease to plague him. Betraying the queen’s interests didn’t bother him, but he worried that future tasks might be less easy. Furthermore, Balten’s new associate unnerved him. Still, there was no turning back. The stranger was not one to cross. That was already evident. Balten had made dark hints about the man’s powers. When he spoke of them, there had been fear in his eyes.
The royal steward’s rooms lay within the palace, but Lokung did not return to them. Instead, he left the castle’s safety to visit Balten’s house. Taiben’s narrow streets were dangerous after dusk, but Lokung went alone. He hurried, hoping to be done with his errand before sunset.
A frightened servant admitted Lokung into the merchant’s house. When Balten arrived in the entrance hall, Lokung handed him the parchment. “The queen bestowed her seal. You’re guild master now.”
Balten smiled, but Lokung thought he looked almost as anxious as his servant. The merchant glanced nervously at a closed door. “He wants to speak with you.”
A chill settled in Lokung’s stomach. “Do you know why?”
Balten shook his head. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
Lokung gathered his courage and approached the door. Before he could knock, he heard a hoarse voice. “Enter.”
Lokung obeyed. The room was cold, though there was a fire in its ornate fireplace. Candles provided light, for heavy curtains covered the windows. Despite exquisite tapestries on the walls and opulent furnishings, the chamber had an eerie atmosphere. Even the candlelight seemed pale and watery.
Balten’s nameless associate sat in a huge chair of carved walnut. He was richly dressed in somber hues, but Lokung’s eyes were drawn to his head. It was enclosed, both front and back, by a silver mask. A craftsman had formed its features so they appeared both noble and tranquil. The eyelids drooped in a languid manner and the parted lips were formed in a gentle half smile. There were small holes in the silver head at the ears and nostrils. The openings for the eyes and mouth were larger and hinted that a monstrosity lay beneath the metal. The eyes, in particular, countered the expression of the mask. They terrified Lokung.
He bowed. “I spoke with the queen, sire.”