Chapter Four
Makari apologized to Ashai for the blandness of the palace’s smaller dining hall, but inside he cringed at its opulence. Plush rugs warmed the gleaming marble floor, and the high, vaulted ceiling bounced voices in near-endless echoes. Crystal chandeliers lit the room, their light reflecting off gold, silver, and brass. Even the small, cherry wood table, with its ornate carvings and high-backed chairs, sang of royal riches.
Wealth offended God, and this room reeked of it.
Ashai admired the knife he’d just used to slice off a bit of lamb. The edge shone keen and razor sharp. He could do it now, kill both his targets before the guards could react. Child’s play.
The fools. It was just two hours from the dagger’s delivery—no doubt the work of a second Denari Lai—and Bauti had so tightened security that it was squeezing life from palace residents. To enter this meeting, Ashai felt like he’d been violated rather than searched.
And yet they left all he needed to kill his targets sitting in front of him.
He sighed. Fools.
To his right sat King Abadas Damar, pouring wine into a silver goblet, his snowy beard splayed across the vast expanse of his belly. His red velvet jacket looked ready to burst at the buttons. The king’s expression reminded Ashai of curdled milk, as if he’d been left too long in the sun.
To the left, Makari regarded her father with summer-sky eyes shrouded in worry. She wore a ludicrous teal dress with a collar of yellow lace and ruffled sleeves that made her shoulders look twice as wide as Ashai’s. But the hideous dress couldn’t hide her beauty any more than the night could hide the beauty of the stars.
Ashai set the knife on the table. He’d only been among them an hour, and these people remained guarded. He would wait until they trusted him with all their hearts, then he would cut those hearts from their chests and raise them high to strike fear in every Pushtani.
“Your Majesty,” he said. “The lamb is magnificent, but you must have more pressing matters than dining with a simple merchant.”
“Simple merchant,” the king repeated. His gaze seemed distant, as if he were really quite far away. “Captain Bauti, is this man a simple merchant?”
Bauti lurked near the back of the room, his gaze never leaving Ashai. Ashai avoided eye contact with him, but rage still burned in his heart. Captain Bauti, killer of children, would burn for eternity before Ashai was done in Dar Tallus.
“Indeed not, Majesty. He displayed incredible heroism … for one of baseborn roots.”
Sarcasm dripped from his lips like wine from the king’s. Makari shot him an icy glare.
“Father, we should raise Ashai to lord,” she said, smiling for the first time in an hour. “Grant him lands and a title. Then an orphan from Brynn can spread word of your good grace and smash our enemies’ lies about you.”
Abadas considered that, dipping a hand-sized piece of bread in his wine, and mashing it into his mouth. Crumbs clung to his beard and tumbled to his belly.
“Hmmm, well, we do have Laramor,” he said. “Lord Penter—half-breed upstart—defaulted on his taxes, so I relieved him of his lands and titles. And his head.” He burst into laughter, sending bread and wine everywhere.
“Your Grace,” Bauti said, “Laramor is on the Nishi’iti border. That lord would face constant attacks by Nishi’iti savages, and even now the slaves are restless. He would need a strong military background and unquestionable loyalty to handle Laramor.”
“Never should have trusted that half-Nishi’iti dog.” Abadas studied Ashai’s face. “You do look like there’s some Nishi’iti in you.”
Ashai shifted in his chair, his hand inching closer to the knife.
Abadas stared at him a moment longer, then shook his head.
“You looked like you might wet yourself,” he grumbled. “Makari, I think your dear hero may need to use the privy.”
“Father, you’re awful!” Makari said, eyes wide. “Master Ashai is a guest. You shouldn’t scare him.”
Bauti grinned, smug against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I wasn’t frightened,” Ashai said in his softest voice.
All laughter stopped.
“You looked afraid,” Bauti said. “You smelled afraid.”
“Lord Captain, even on Tailor’s Row we know of His Majesty’s great love of jest and even greater hospitality. He would never harm a guest in his palace. I think perhaps you smelled your own tunic. I don’t think it’s been cleaned in some time.”
Bauti’s face turned purple and he puffed his chest out, taking a step toward the table. Abadas’s chuckle stopped him short.
“Ah, Bauti, you should stick to crossing blades, not tongues or wits.”
Bauti bowed. “Gladly, Sire.” The embers in his eyes told Ashai they might very well cross blades someday. Unfortunate for the captain.
“That still leaves the issue of your reward, Master Ashai,” Abadas said. “I won’t have it said that Abadas Damar doesn’t reward his friends or crush his enemies. But how?”
His gaze went distant again.
“Perhaps we should sleep on it, father,” Makari suggested. “We may come upon suitable rewards in our dreams.”
“Yes,” the king said. “Yes, good idea. I shall answer in the morning, merchant.”
Ashai inclined his head. “Truly, Majesty, your gratitude is all the reward I need.”
“I will escort him back to town,” Bauti said, stepping a bit too close for Ashai’s comfort. Despite his graying hair, the captain made an imposing figure, just as a mountain imposed, despite the snow on its peak.
“No one leaves the palace tonight,” Makari said standing and putting her hand on Ashai’s shoulder. Her touch caused a tingle that made him squirm. “Father’s orders. We should put Ashai in the guest chambers tonight.”
“Done,” the king said.
“But highness,” Bauti interjected. “What of the threat?”
Abadas considered only a moment. “Put two guards outside his door. If he even peeks out, kill him. Merchant, do not test my gratefulness!”
“Of course not, Majesty.”
“I will show him to the chambers,” Makari said, offering her arm. “Captain Bauti, you may accompany us if it will make you stop scowling at me.”
Bauti’s face had just regained its normal color, but now it flushed plum again.
Ashai linked arms with Makari and let her lead him from the dining room, grinning at Bauti as he passed.
Marwan Bauti stalked the corridor like a thundercloud stalking a valley, glowering at everyone who passed, making servants, soldiers, and even some minor lords duck out of his way. He could feel his neck muscles bunching, even as his fists clenched. How dare that common merchant treat him with such arrogance? And Makari was smitten with him! A man she barely knew, an arrogant commoner with no noble blood.
How could the Princess not listen to her trusted, longtime protector? Yes, Ashai was handsome, that much was certain. But something was off about him, and left a gaping pit in the bottom of Bauti’s stomach.
He had been by Makari’s side since the day she was born. How could she choose a merchant over him?
Still steaming, Bauti turned the corner into an empty hallway and paused. He glanced around, furtive, and made sure he was alone. Then he twisted a sconce a few degrees to the right until a portion of the wall slid backward. A great sucking sound drew air from the corridor, as if life were rushing into a crypt, and Bauti pressed on the slab of marble until it was open enough for him to step inside. Then he slid the panel back into place before anyone could see.
Few people knew about the passages, but Bauti had been in the palace for decades and knew many things most people did not. They’d been built to allow the original Pushtani royal families to come and go without being seen, to add security to their then-tenuous hold on power. They’d seen assassins everywhere then, behind curtains and in shadows and lurking corners, and the passages allowed kings and princes to move without exposing themselves to danger.
Now, though, even the King and Makari did not know of the passages. Only Bauti and one other man.
The man he was going to see.
He had to feel his way along the cool, granite walls, for the torches on the walls were cold. But he knew the way, and a few minutes later, he stood in front of a wooden panel, raising his fist to knock.
To his surprise, the door slid open and there, holding a lit oil lamp, stood Samaran Tan. Pushtan’s chief spy didn’t look at all like a spy. He was a thick man, with a belly like an ale keg, and shoulders that slouched as if the weight of the world rested there. His blue eyes stared out from under a cliff of a forehead, and his mouth was touched with femininity, a flower bud or a bow in the middle of his face.
“So good to see you Captain,” he said, pulling the door closed behind him. “I would invite you in, but I’m currently entertaining company and would not want our meeting to be overheard.”
Tan had eyes and ears—noses, fingers, and tongues even—in every crack and corner of the place. If it happened in the Palace, Samaran Tan would know.
“Thank you for seeing me, Lord Tan.” Bauti masked the distaste in his voice. He had little like for spies, with their sneaking and lying, but he recognized their usefulness. “Have you discovered the identity of our Denari Lai?”
Tan ran his meaty fingers through his thinning, mud-colored hair. “Good Captain, you know I would come to you right away if I had such information. What is it you really want to see me about?”
Bauti hated feeling like a man saw inside his head, read him like a scroll or a book, but that was how Tan operated. Knowing people was his business.
“I’m sure you’ve heard we have a new hero in the palace?”
Tan giggled, a child’s laugh coming from a near-giant.
“Master Ashai, yes? Quite the brave man, I understand. But since you’re here, you must believe him a threat to your dear Makari.”
Bauti looked at the floor and shifted his stance.
“My instincts are screaming at me. I don’t trust him. I could use any information your people can find. Strictly to ensure the royal family is safe, of course.”
Samaran Tan raised his eyebrows. “Of course, for their safety. But I’m afraid my assets are quite busy. Trying to find a Denari Lai is difficult enough without getting involved in this … affair. You have your own sources, do you not?”
Bauti fought the instinct to strangle the man.
“I will utilize my sources, too, but the safety of the King requires both of our efforts.”
“As I said, Captain, my assets are too busy to be involved in—”
Bauti drew his sword so fast Tan jumped back, bumping his head on the wooden door. His hands came up in front of his chest, sausage-like fingers spread wide.
“This is a matter of Royal security!” Bauti growled. “I’d hate to think you don’t care about the King’s safety. Don’t you find the timing of this man’s arrival somewhat suspect?”
Tan’s lips pursed and he made a clucking sound, like a mother scolding a child, while his wide forehead scrunched down.
“So you suspect Master Ashai could be our assassin?”
Bauti shrugged, sheathing his sword. “He moved very quickly to stop that boy in the square. Too quickly.”
Tan considered a moment, then nodded.
“I see your point. I will have my sources look into it and let you know what they find.”
“That’s all I ask, Lord Tan. That the spymaster does his job.”
Bauti turned on his heel and started to march back the way he’d come, but Tan cleared his throat.
“You know, Captain, information is my sword. The next time you draw your blade against me, I won’t hesitate to wield mine. And it is just as deadly as steel.”
Bauti’s throat clenched. He looked back over his shoulder.
“Understood, Lord Tan. Next time I draw steel on you, I’ll be sure to use it.”
Tan giggled again, the sound turning Bauti’s stomach.
“Now, Captain, I need you to leave these passages through a different door. Follow the tunnel to the first intersection, then turn right and follow it to the end. No one will see you. It would be most unfortunate if master Ashai knew we’re conspiring against him. Even worse if the Princess found out.”
Bauti nodded, turned around, and followed the tunnels. When he reached the door a few minutes later, he stood open and stepped outside to be assailed by the worst reek he’d ever smelled. Sliding the door closed behind him, he stepped cautiously around the middens heap and started up the hill towards the palace gate.
“So you think this is funny, Lord Tan?” His boots squished through the slop under foot. “Remember this when I shove my blade through your heart.”