Breaking the Gloaming (9 page)

Her demeanor softened subtly. Her shoulders shifted back, her eyes opened wider, and she almost seemed to smile. “Ilias,” she said, as if savoring the word, “for whom do you wait?”

“I have been waiting for you, Ravien,” he answered. “I waited because Sebastian wrote and told me to, among other reasons. You almost got yourself killed with your surprise by the palace gate.” Ilias’s words filed out like soldiers. Sunans said he spoke like a military commander, but with gentler intentions. “Here.” He held out Ravien’s dress and boots. “The weapons are taken, of course, but please dress. His Excellency has decided you may serve him, and so you may wear your own clothes.”

Ravien took the dress without breaking the stare. “Your boy king and all his soldiers have already had an occasion to study my body. How do you justify such treatment of foreigners? Do you tell us it’s because what little breeze you have feels better when there is no fabric to block it?”

Without waiting for an answer, she slipped the purple silk over her head and walked to a small sitting area by the open wall of the room. Ilias followed her.

“It is always hot in the day,” he said as they took seats across from each other. “But the nights can be very cool. The air is also dry, so the heat does not weigh one down as it does during a Valemidas summer.”

“You have visited Valemidas?” She began to slide her boots on.

“Twenty years ago I studied under the head priest of the Valemidas Cathedral. The god of Sunan is not all that different from the god of Valemidas, at least not from my perspective. I hoped to learn more about the differences, and Father Yates became a friend. Sadly, I have not been able to visit Valemidas again. People no longer move freely between our nations.”

“Interesting. That explains your fluency in our language.” Ravien paused. “I would like to learn more of that another time, but as you can see, I have more urgent needs.” She spread her arms and motioned to the room. “The guards locked me in here, and no one has told me anything since I was seized.”

“Yes, of course. Let me try to explain.” Ilias poured chilled wine into two glasses that sat on the table between him and Ravien. He sipped some and studied the moisture beading on the outside of the glass.
 

“In our language, you would be called a Sun Guest. It is a position of honor, though you may not leave the city, and you will be followed wherever you go. Now you are on an upper floor of His Excellency’s Sun Palace, his home residence. It is one of his three palaces. You likely saw the Throne Palace, where His Excellency sits as ruler, when you stood before him and presented Ramzi’s head. On your way here you crossed the Sunan River. The name ‘Sunan’ was first applied to the river, and it spawned many other uses of the name, including for our people, our city, and our nation. The river is what sustains us in this desert continent.”
 

Ravien motioned for him to continue, as if she was aware of these facts. She stood and stepped to the open wall with an expansive view over the city.
 

“His Excellency may call upon you at any time,” Ilias continued as he rose and came to her side. “You must always be ready. If you hope to persuade him to do something, it is imperative that you follow our customs. He may find your disobediences interesting, but he is a young ruler who cannot tolerate being dishonored.”

“What would I want the boy to do for me?” Her question sounded like a test.

“You would want many things,” he answered. “His Excellency has complete power over your fate.”
 

“No one has power over my fate,” she said.

“Whatever the truth of that, you must convince His Excellency that you
believe
he has that kind of power. From a woman who has already proven herself to be unruly, he may have special appreciation once she shows obedience and respect for him. The appreciation of His Excellency affords many opportunities.”

“What opportunities do I need?” She asked.

“Give me the note, and I will tell you.” He needed to confirm she was still working with Sebastian. In Sunan, his name was Sebanith, son of Seban.

She nodded and reached down to her boots. When she rose, a small paper was in her hand.
 

“This is from Sebastian.” She held it out to him.

He took it and studied the seal. It was authentic and unbroken. He placed it in a pocket of his robe. He would read it later, but he would not trust its words.

“Thank you,” he said. “You seek two things. First, you must convince His Excellency to invade Valemidas without delay. You know that the invasion is coming, but for reasons I can only guess at, you want the Sunans to sail off for war now, against your own people.”
 

“You will understand my reasons in time,” Ravien said, “but I think you know more than you say. What of the second thing I seek?”

“Second,” Ilias finished his wine and set the glass down. “You must convince His Excellency and his advisors to sail the Sunan fleet into the mouth of the River Tyne and onto the sandy north bank, under the huge cliff that Valemidas sits upon.” He stopped there, not revealing the rest of what Yates’ note said.

Ravien nodded. “You have good sources, Ilias. How do you think I can convince your boy leader to do this?”

“His Excellency, you must call him ‘His Excellency.’” Ilias reminded himself to be patient. “His Excellency delegates much of the military strategy to his advisors Seban and Dassa. Both of them will be reluctant to take advice from a woman.”

Ravien raised her eyebrows and set her jaw. “Go on,” she said through gritted teeth.

“You must make His Excellency yearn for your respect, and then you must give it. Make him value you, desire you, trust you, and then you might have a chance. Your brashness has already piqued his interest, but you must be careful. Do not be disrespectful again. Use your assets,” Ilias gestured to the length of her figure, “to get into his inner circle, but do not be too easy or forthcoming.”

“I am never forthcoming.” Her voice was abrupt, like a door slamming shut. “But I will of course use what I have.”

“Others will notice,” Ilias added, “and they will work against you. You must be wary. Many Sunans will never trust a woman from Valemidas. His Excellency, however, will find you exotic and intriguing. For a young man who can have anything he wants, the few things held just out of reach will attract him like a worm on a hook.”
 

Ilias glanced out the window and saw the sun had passed its midday peak. “I am afraid I must go now, Ravien. You are surrounded by enemies, but I hope that we can grow to be friends.”

She stepped closer and bowed lightly. “You have brought me valuable information. I am grateful for that, and for your protection in the future.” She locked her dark eyes onto his. “The coming days will test us all. I, too, hope that our new alliance will endure.”

“Thank you, Ravien, Princess of Valemidas.” Ilias bowed in return. “We will meet again soon. Be vigilant, respectful, and enticing with His Excellency. Farewell.”
 

“Farewell, Ilias.”

Ilias turned and left, sure that Ravien’s eyes followed him out the door. He went straight to His Excellency’s throne room, plotting along the way how he would stir up the dust of Sunan politics. That dust would be a necessary distraction. Ravien would have no chance if everyone’s focus was clear. For starters, Ilias decided, he could pit Ravien against His Excellency’s current mistress, Jezebel. His Excellency was a teenage boy behind his royal divinity, and nothing would distract him like two beautiful women competing for his affections.
 

He reached the giant, golden doors of the throne room and walked in. The room seemed larger, emptier than it had been when His Excellency’s father had sat on the throne some years ago. As always, Sunan soldiers stood at the base of each column lining the path to the throne. They were like statues, as if sculpted to be extensions of the sandstone pillars at their backs. Each man had bronzed skin and a long spear planted into the gold-veined tiles at his feet.

This was the daily meeting of His Excellency’s appointed counselors. The two other royal stewards, Malam and Seban, were there, along with military leaders, merchant leaders, and Jezebel. They stood in an arc circling His Excellency, who sat on the throne. The throne was pure smooth gold, with its back against the sandstone wall. Golden stairs lead up to the chair on either side, which had its seat raised high enough so that no one’s head rose above His Excellency’s feet.
 

“Ilias, you are late,” Malam announced.
 

“My apologies to you all.” Ilias kept his eyes on His Excellency. “I was interrogating His Excellency’s new servant, the rebel princess of Valemidas. You are wise to keep the woman alive for now. I believe that she does indeed have much information that we can use against Valemidas.”

“His Excellency is like the sun.” Jezebel’s passionate and lustful voice stood out. “His heat should have consumed this woman, burnt her away for her disrespect.” Ilias had expected that Jezebel would not tolerate a competitor for His Excellency’s affections. She was like a tigress who would slash the neck of anything that walked too close to her mate. Of course, His Excellency viewed her more as a toy than as a mate. That made her all the more desperate—and dangerous.
 

“My flames must abate when their burning would harm the Sunan people.” His Excellency sounded tired. Ilias prayed that would be helpful in this meeting.
 

“His Excellency speaks wisely,” Ilias interjected as he took his place in the arc of counselors. “I recommend that you meet with the foreign woman alone, so that no one else interferes with your divine insight.” Ilias looked away from the throne, at the others around him. “Our god, working through His Excellency, has brought us this opportunity. His Excellency must seize it and learn everything he can from the woman. I believe she will reveal more to him than she would to any of us.”

“Your counsel is wrong,” Jezebel said, her voice rising. Her defiant pose reminded Ilias of Ravien’s. She wore the complete coverings required of Sunan women, but the black linen draped her curves closely, and it was nearly transparent. She had caught His Excellency in her spell, so that he made exceptions for her—a woman speaking before his throne, dressed like a harlot, sharing his unwed bed. “This woman is a threat to His Excellency and to us all. You would give her unguarded access?” Jezebel’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that they could all hear. “Such an absurdity hints of treachery.”
 

Just as he opened his mouth to defend himself, Ilias was saved by an outburst of laughter—Seban. The man had been forced to concede his claim to the throne and had fallen into amused despair ever since. His stout body shook, and his long dark hair with streaks of gray rustled at his shoulders. The other counselors stared at him in surprise. Ilias thought they should have expected this by now. Seban had probably been drinking since the sun rose.

“A woman?” Seban managed to say between his fits. “A threat to His Excellency?” He laughed again. “Jezebel, you forget your place, and you forget His Excellency’s power.” Seban looked up at their monarch with a grin. “I think he will do just fine when facing a woman alone. He is not some young pup to be kept away from a hint of danger and excitement.”

His Excellency smiled in response. “Seban is right. Bring her to me today at dusk.” The boy’s smile took a devilish turn. “I always treat my guests with respect.”

For once, Ilias worried little about his pupil’s decaying virtue. He worried instead about a foreign woman’s pride, and how that pride might let opportunity slip from her grasp—the opportunity of a fresh, over-eager boy fueled by his desires. Nothing less than the fate of war depended on it.

Chapter 10

LIMITED PERSPECTIVE

“Man is born free, and
 

everywhere he is in chains. 

Those who think themselves
 

the masters of others are indeed
 

greater slaves than they.”

Wren finished his last morning pushup and paced his prison cell. Five steps one way. Turn around. Five steps the other way. He hated pacing. It did not take him anywhere.

It had been three days since he and Ravien had arrived in Sunan. Three days of breakfast, pushups, lunch, pushups, dinner, pushups, and sleep. With no visitors and no notes, Wren felt angry and confused. Sweat rolled down his bare chest. The cell was stuffy like an attic, despite a window the size of his hand.
 

He paused his pacing to stare out the little opening. He was high up in a huge palace. The perch could have afforded a sweeping view of the city of Sunan, but instead his peephole revealed no more than a small square picture.
 

In that picture he saw scores of low, sand-colored buildings. They looked like little dunes, mere ripples of sand between a broad river at the base of the palace and the vast blue sea beyond. Enormous white trees, like the one in Valemidas, lined the river bank. The birds were the best part of the view. Gulls and pelicans and cranes filled the sky. They squawked and skirmished, circled high and dove for fish. Everything was bright outside. Everything was dark inside. He had not seen a single raven, or any other sign of his beloved.

He turned away and sat facing the door. Its hard wood mocked him. He had given up knocking it down after bruising his shoulder and his pride the first day. A group of three armed guards would bring and retrieve the food and waste. They never said a word. He doubted that he could fight past them, and it was not clear how that would even help him—he had no friends here, no idea how to get out.
 

He thought about Jon and their store, the Invisible Hand. He recounted the exact, high prices that Valemidas nobles had paid for Sunan dyes and spices. Those spices smelled lush and exotic, but they could not rival Ravien’s scent. He remembered her fragrance, the feel of her skin, the dark allure of her eyes. He remembered their wedding night and their voyage here. Her laughter and love had been paradise to him. A paradise lost.