"I don't know anything about that," the brave merchant answered. "I think there'll always be thieves, and I want someone to protect us from them."
"You have me," Tabaea said. "That's all you need."
The merchant's expression made it quite plain that he did not consider his new empress, whatever her abilities, to be an adequate replacement for several thousand soldiers, but his nerve had apparently run out; he said nothing more, and the scruffy little man who seemed to be serving as Tabaea's chamberlain herded the group down the stairs.
Next up was a woman who claimed she had been unfairly forced from her home; as she gathered herself together and inched up to the dais, Sarai, standing at the head of the left-hand stairway, considered what she had just heard.
Tabaea was no diplomat; her treatment of the warlock and the merchants had made that plain. The case of the stolen blanket was interesting, though; she had not hesitated in the slightest before ordering the man to give the woman the blanket. Had Tabaea really known who was lying, as quickly as that?
It could be, of course; if Tabaea had acquired the right magical skills, she might be able to instantly tell falsehoods from truth. She hadn't had to consult any magicians other than herself, certainly.
Or maybe she had just guessed. Maybe she assumed that the accused were always guilty. Maybe she would always prefer women to men, or the sober to the intoxicated. From one case, Sarai really couldn't say…
She had reached that point in her thoughts when the arrow whistled past. Her eyes widened, and she saw the impact very clearly as the missile struck Tabaea, Empress of Ethshar, in the throat.
Sarai stared as blood dribbled down the pale skin and onto the front of Tabaea's absurdly gaudy dress; the sight of the woman standing there gasping, with the arrow projecting from her neck, was horribly unnatural. Sarai was vaguely aware of clattering footsteps behind her as someone descended the stairs so fast that it was almost as much a fall as a climb, and then the fading sound of running feet as the archer fled down the corridor below. The sound was very loud and distinct in the shocked silence following the shot.
Then Tabaea reached up and ripped the arrow free; blood gushed forth, spattering the dais and drenching her dress. Someone screamed-a single voice at first, then a chorus of shrieks and shouts.
The empress took a single step, staggered-and then straightened up.
As Sarai watched, the gaping red hole in Tabaea's throat closed, the skin smoothed itself out, and the wound was gone as if it had never been.
"Where did that come from?" Tabaea demanded, in a voice as strong as ever.
Several fingers pointed, and Tabaea strode through the room, imposing in her anger despite her small size, with the bloody arrow still clutched in her hand. She headed for the stairs where the assassin had lurked. All present, regardless of who they might be, hastened to get out of her way-Sarai among them.
She had to admit, as she watched Tabaea pass, that was a very impressive bit of magic, the way that wound had healed-if it had all been real, and not some sort of illusion. She turned back to the throne room.
The dais was soaked with blood; if it was an illusion, it was a durable one. And, Sarai saw, a line of bloody drops and smears on the stone floor marked Tabaea's path from the dais to the stairs.
Sarai did not really think it was an illusion at all.
She wondered who the assassin was, and why he had made his attempt. Had Lord Torrut sent him, perhaps? And would he get away, or would Tabaea catch him?
If she caught him, Sarai was sure the man would die. She hoped it wouldn't be too slow or painful a death.
She looked around again, at the remnants of the crowd, at Tabaea's chamberlain standing by the dais looking bewildered, at the rapidly drying blood the empress had lost. She thought of the warlock, and the merchants, and the drunk with the broken hand, of Grandgate Market and the gate itself left unguarded, and of the palace corridors jammed with beggars and thieves. She thought of the empress of Ethshar abandoning everything else to chase her own would-be assassin, because she had no guards to do it for her, no magicians to track down and slay the attacker.
This was no way to run a city.
Quite aside from any question of Tabaea's right to rule, it was clear to Sarai that the murderous young woman didn't know how to rule properly.
She would have to be removed-but as the scene with the arrow had demonstrated, as Mereth's report of the Wizards' Guild's repeated failures, removing her wasn't as simple as it might seem, with the Black Dagger protecting her.
Sarai paused, looking after the departed empress. At least, she thought, there was an obvious place to start. If the Black Dagger protected Tabaea, then the Black Dagger had to be eliminated.
Of course, Tabaea knew that. It wasn't going to be easy to get the enchanted knife away from her.
Easy or not, a way would have to be found. And since no one else seemed to be doing it, Sarai would have to do it herself.
She sighed; it was easy to say she should do it. The hard part, Sarai told herself, was figuring out how.
CHAPTER 34
Let me help you with that, Your Majesty," Sarai said, reaching out for Tabaea's blood-soaked robe.
Tabaea looked around, startled. "Thank you," she said, pulling the robe free. Sarai accepted it and folded it into a bundle; half-dried blood smeared her arms and dripped on the carpet.
"You're not one of my usual servants," Tabaea remarked, as she unbuckled her belt and tossed it aside. She tugged at her sticky, bloody tunic and asked, "Where's Lethe? Or Ista?"
"I don't know, Your Majesty," Sarai replied. "I was nearby, and I just thought I'd help." She hoped very much that if Lethe or Ista showed up that neither would see through her disguise, or recognize her voice.
Of course, those two had mostly waited on the overlord and his immediate family, not on Lord Kalthon and his children; while they both knew Lady Sarai by sight, neither had been a close friend.
And both of them were tired of cleaning up Tabaea's blood, so they probably wouldn't be in any hurry to answer the empress' call. This latest attack, an attempt at decapitation, had been even messier than previous unsuccessful assassinations.
Sarai had seen it, of course; she made a habit of unobtrusively following Tabaea about her everyday business, watching any time an assassin might strike. She wanted to know more about Tabaea's capabilities; she wanted to be there if Tabaea did die, to help restore order; and she wanted to be there if there was ever a chance to get the Black Dagger away.
She had an idea about that last that she hoped to try. That idea was why she was now playing the role of a palace servant.
She supposed she hadn't really needed to watch the actual decapitation, but she had been too fascinated to turn away. For a moment, when the assassin's sword finished its cut through the imperial neck and emerged from the other side, Sarai had thought that this might be too much for even Tabaea's magic- but then she had seen that the wound was already healing where the blade had entered, that the head had never been completely severed from the body, and that Tabaea was already tugging the Black Dagger from its sheath.
Each time someone had openly tried to kill the empress, Tabaea had pursued her attacker, and two times out of three she had caught and killed someone she claimed to be the assassin.
At least, Sarai thought she had; certainly, she had caught the archer the first time, and judging by her remarks to her courtiers and the satisfied expression on her face, she had caught this swordsman, as well.
She hadn't caught anyone when magical attacks had been made, of course, but those attacks hadn't inflicted any deadly wounds, either; the Black Dagger had dissipated any wizard's spell used against her, and Tabaea, using her own powers, had fought off all the others before they got that far.