Emissary (22 page)

Boaz nodded. He had never felt this empty and he knew now he would never love another woman, as he had this one, nor permit himself to.

Pez alighted on the spire above the grisly scene. It made no difference that he was in his Iridor shape. He still wept. He wept for his friend, he
wept for her suffering and he wept for all the supporters of Lyana.

Zafira’s life was the first lost in the battle. He knew it would not be the last but that was cold comfort as he looked down upon the tiny figure, broken, bloodied and impaled upon her own temple’s new spire.

As if in respect for his grief, a cloud scudded across the sky and blocked the moonlight, casting the owl and the body into darkness. He took the opportunity to change into his dwarf shape and wiping his wet cheeks, gingerly moved down beside Zafira. He kissed her cool cheek and was alarmed when she gasped.

‘Zafira!’

‘Ah, Pez,’ she whispered. ‘He came for me.’

‘Don’t talk, I’ll—’

‘Listen!’ she croaked, coughing blood in her struggle. He held her head as she no longer had the strength to do anything but slump and die. It was a wonder she could survive as long as she had. ‘He asked a lot of questions about you.’ Her breath was ragged. ‘I put him off your scent as best I could.’

‘How?’

‘By letting him hurt me and then making him think I was begging to tell him who Iridor is.’

Pez wept harder as she somehow unbelievably gave a pained burst of a laugh. ‘Who did you accuse?’

‘Salmeo,’ she whispered, and died with a smile on her face.

‘Lyana speed you to her,’ Pez said reverently and then set about his ghoulish task of lifting Zafira’s near weightless body off the sharp spire.

Pez gave Zafira’s body to the sea, near to the temple that she had given her life’s work to. When it was done he climbed back up the stairs to sit out on the roof where he said another prayer for her soul and her sacrifice before once again returning to his owl shape.

Perched on the spire that finally took his friend’s life, he could see a small boat being rowed across by a single man. There was no mistaking this man, either. It was the one he sought.

Ana sat on the cold ground of the area of the palace known as the pits and trembled. What an abominable mess her once happy, uncomplicated existence had turned into. She groaned, wished Lazar had never come to their home in the foothills. Wished he had never come into her life.

He was alive. She hugged her knees tighter and allowed herself the luxury of pity. With only this night left in her life, what did it matter if she filled the hours with tears. She had no reason to be strong, no-one to be strong for any more. Death was very welcome, for everyone she had trusted since leaving her home had betrayed her. The man she loved had been the greatest liar of all but Pez was a close second. She hated them
both in that moment, even more than Herezah or Salmeo. At least with the latter two she had always known their propensity for treachery. But Lazar and Pez! She wept harder and prayed that dawn would come fast and finish the misery.

Lyana indeed! If she was Lyana, where was the magic that might take her away from all this?

‘Dead?’

Pez nodded. He was back in his dwarf form, having flown down to the boat. Lazar had not been surprised to see him but Pez’s news had stopped his friend from rowing any further. They drifted for the moment as the former Spur digested the tidings. ‘I’ve just given her corpse to the sea. I thought it was fitting.’

‘So he’s declaring himself,’ Lazar mused, his voice morose.

‘Not really. Maliz believes no-one will ever know about Zafira and presumably he took steps to hide his actions. Certainly the temple’s the loneliest of places—no-one would have disturbed them.’

‘But we have the truth.’

‘Yes, he doesn’t know this, of course. He thinks Salmeo is Iridor.’

At which they both shared the same bitter thought that he would make an incredibly big owl.

‘Cunning Zafira,’ Lazar said. ‘Courageous to the last.’

‘True. If you saw what a mess her body was in you’d understand just how brave she was.’

‘So this is the beginning?’

‘Yes. First blood to the demon. Not the last, I’m sure.’

Lazar didn’t respond to that comment. ‘You’ve spoken to Boaz?’

‘We’ve put our differences behind us, or so he believes. You see, the difference I have with him is Tariq—or Maliz, I should say. He thinks I’m suffering jealousy. Poor Boaz, if only he knew.’

‘Would it make any difference?’

Pez frowned. ‘You’re right, probably not. He is dealing with Tariq the Grand Vizier and obviously responding well to the man’s counsel, whilst we now see him only for the snake he is…the demon in disguise.’

‘Except we have to be careful that this counsel he gives is not detrimental to you or Ana.’

‘Or you.’

Lazar looked up from the oar he had been gently manoeuvring to prevent them turning circles as they drifted.

‘I’ve told you, you are as much a target as I am.’

‘I don’t think so, Pez.’

‘Still believe you’re a coincidence, eh?’

Lazar nodded, although he didn’t look completely confident.

‘We’ll see. In the meantime, your Zar is shocked at my news of you being very alive, of
course, but also thrilled. He wants to see you in secret. No-one is to know of your presence, so we shall have to wait a few hours and you must arrive hooded.’

Lazar wasn’t surprised. ‘Ana?’

‘I have not seen her,’ Pez said and offered no more. ‘Are you all right to keep rowing?’

‘I’m not an invalid!’

Pez bristled at Lazar’s angry mood. ‘Good, because once Herezah learns the truth, she’ll start warming her bed for you,’ he replied.

Lazar growled softly, returned his attention to rowing and allowed his thoughts to finally drift to Ana and how she was going to react to learning that he was alive, perhaps even being permitted to see him. As much as his heart leapt at the thought, he did not look forward to it.

The Grand Vizier sipped the sweetened wine and eyed his Zar who seemed restless, distracted. ‘Yes, as I was saying, I had some business to attend to in the city. And I gather there’s been some excitement in my absence.’

Boaz turned from the window he was staring absently out of towards the Sea Temple, little knowing his friend, Pez, was about to launch himself from its roof and alight on a small craft in the bay to share some grievous news with its infamous occupant.

‘Excitement? I suppose you could call sentencing two people I like to hideous deaths exciting.’

‘I’m sorry, my Zar, that was tactless of me. This task seems to be a habit for you.’

Boaz couldn’t take offence at his Grand Vizier. Unlike his former cringing self, the man seemed to be able to blend just the right amount of sardonic attitude into his otherwise direct manner. And Boaz far preferred that hard-edged bluntness to the soft and slippery cunning of Salmeo. Neither had it stopped gnawing at him that his mother was involved this time in the
latest intrigue that would have palace tongues wagging. He would be speaking to her about it.

‘Odalisque Ana is my First Chosen. I had hoped to make her a Favourite, more perhaps.’

‘You are that fond of her? Already?’

‘She is my equal,’ he replied softly. And when the Vizier raised his eyebrows at the comment, Boaz explained. ‘Not in status, obviously. But her mind is sharp and agile. She is mysterious. Her peers are like open books that are read without much interest, whilst Ana is closed, fascinating. The others are also vain, already scheming for my attention. Ana, however—easily the most beautiful—is hardly aware of the effect she has on me. I could never be bored around her.’

‘My, my, that sounds like a woman to hang on to.’

‘Except she’s determined to shun this role in the harem. I simply can’t save her from herself.’

Maliz realised which woman he was talking about. He hadn’t met her but Tariq’s memories gave him the knowledge he needed, which he was grateful for or he could have walked straight into an error. He remembered now talking to Tariq during the preparations for the flogging of the Spur that all surrounded this same woman. An intensely exquisite-looking woman, he recalled.

‘What happened?’

‘She attempted another escape.’ He smiled in spite of his mood, sounded almost proud to the
Vizier. ‘Truly audacious this time. She could have got away with it if not…’

‘If not for?’

‘Salmeo. My mother too, I suspect.’

Maliz’s inward sneer at the mention of the fat eunuch nearly showed itself but he reined in his reaction. ‘Why would the Valide have any interest in the girl?’

‘She has every interest in who I might take for a wife. I think she might have feared this was happening too early.’

‘Zars have taken wives far younger than you, Majesty.’

‘But they didn’t have Herezah for a mother, Tariq. I could be wrong but I imagine my mother sees every potential lover of mine as a wife and thus a threat to her own power. It has only been a year since I took the throne. I would hazard she had hoped for a little longer to build her own empire.’

‘You choosing Favourites, wives, even siring heirs is not something your mother can avoid for long.’

Boaz looked awkward at the thought of children so soon. ‘No, but with Ana it was probably happening too fast. It’s true I would have elevated her quickly.’

‘And death is unavoidable?’

‘You know the rules, Tariq.’

‘Not of the harem necessarily.’

‘Attempted escape is one of the worst sins but the worst—in the eyes of the harem down the
ages—is if one of its women commits adultery and cuckolds the Zar.’

‘She didn’t!’ Maliz exclaimed, hugely enjoying the tale, yet trying to sound sympathetic.

‘No, I don’t believe she did but she refuses to defend herself against the claim, and both Salmeo and the Valide unfortunately discovered her in a very compromising position. What they saw can’t be argued unless Ana herself can prove otherwise.’

‘A very twisted web. And so she and the person who helped her escape must die, I’m presuming.’

Boaz’s expression melted from suppressed to open pain. ‘Correct. I have no choice, much in the same way as I had little choice with Horz. Ana has broken ancient, sacred rules not once but twice…and indeed so has Kett.’

‘Kett?’

‘The black eunuch. We grew up together, can you believe. We were playmates until my position in my father’s reckoning became all too obvious and my mother did not want us remaining close. It’s strange, you know, when we were little I had this whimsical notion that Kett reminded me of a bird. He used to flit around, always busy, always industrious…usually dreaming up games for us to play.’ Boaz smiled sadly. ‘My sorrowful little black bird.’

Something erupted in Maliz’s mind but he was exhausted from his exertions at the temple, as
well as mellowed from the wine coursing through his veins. He was already pouring a third cup, and he was having such fun with this tale of woe that he paid scant attention to a nudge of familiarity. ‘So, deaths at dawn, I’m guessing?’ When his Zar gave him another look of exasperation at the heavy wit, he put a hand up to ward off the reprimand. ‘Forgive me, Highness, I don’t mean to be insensitive but if I can help you look at this objectively, then please permit me to say that this woman could have made a mockery of you. This just cannot be tolerated. Your father ruled with a tough fist, my Zar, and you could do a lot worse than follow in those footsteps. Too much leeway in a place like the harem—that I can only presume exists because of a very rigid structure, an adherence to ritual and ancient rules—can bring a dynasty down if unchecked.’ He saw Boaz’s rueful look and shook his head.

‘No, hear me out. It doesn’t take much to topple a Zar or his control. If the people sense that he can’t control his own women, then what respect do you think they’ll give the Crown? Your manner of ruling must begin with the harem. In truth, I like the way you’re creating your own traditions but it would be dangerous, my Zar, to allow anyone—and I include Salmeo and the Valide in this respectfully—too much familiarity with you. The harem is the true seat of your power. It’s the secretiveness of it all that adds the lustre to the Zars of Percheron down the ages.
The traditions, the structure, they must be protected at all costs, otherwise I feel you could be toppled from within.’ He could tell Boaz was paying attention now. ‘At least no real harm has been done and you have an entire harem of no doubt unbelievably beautiful girls to work your way through. I saw them as youngsters but the older ones would have matured this past year. Truly, such incredible choice. Far better to spread your seed amongst them than become too devoted to one so early, especially one so headstrong, my Zar.’

Boaz looked crestfallen. ‘My father once said something quite similar to that. He said a wise Zar lay with as many in his harem as he could, and should have many, many sons so he could choose the perfect apprentice and the most suitable heir that erupts from his furrows…is how he put it.’

‘The advice is sound. Lots of sons, Majesty. It not only keeps the women on their toes but the obvious advantage is that you can select the ideal candidate to hand your precious crown to.’

Boaz sighed. There was nothing new in what he was hearing but Tariq justified the approach with a fresh passion that Boaz needed to hear. ‘Ana’s execution is at dawn—private drowning—the harem way. I refuse to be present. Kett at noon—a public ganching.’

‘That should bring a crowd running—we haven’t had one of those in a while.’

Boaz looked aggrieved. ‘Forgive me, Tariq, I have an appointment to keep,’ the Zar said, putting his own goblet down to end their meeting.

Maliz was surprised. ‘So late?’

‘Er, yes, I need to prepare, you understand.’

‘Must be someone important to keep a Zar from his bed.’

‘I won’t be doing much sleeping tonight, Tariq. I might as well keep working.’

‘Of course, of course. I did have a few things to discuss with you, my Zar, but all can wait for the morning.’

‘Good. Until then. Salazin will see you out.’ He gave the signal.

Outside the door Maliz signed to his spy:
I must know who he is seeing.

Salazin nodded, signed back:
The priestess?

Will trouble me no more.

And Salazin smiled tightly.

Salazin was sent to escort the hooded figure from the main gate—this was a sign that the Zar gave permission for this man not only to enter the palace compound but also to be given access to the Zar himself. Nevertheless, four of the Elim searched the man before escorting him to the Zar’s wing of the palace. Outside his suite, the Elim broke away and left Lazar with the four fearsome-looking mutes.

Pez came skipping down the corridor to meet him.

‘These are interesting fellows,’ Lazar murmured.

‘Vizier’s orders,’ Pez muttered back before breaking into song about crocodiles eating the royal barges.

Bin met them. He bowed as he did to all visitors. ‘The Zar has asked me to admit you upon presentation of his seal,’ he eyed the hooded figure with unabashed curiosity, ‘although this is most unusual.’

Lazar said nothing, held out the small piece of thick parchment that carried the Zar’s seal, the unique wax indisputable. Salazin had given it to him.

‘Thank you. Please wait a moment.’ Bin knocked before disappearing into the room with Salazin hot on his heels. Pez was flapping his arms as if trying to fly and spouting a new rhyme about elephant droppings.

Bin emerged and gestured to Lazar to come forward. ‘You may enter.’ At Pez’s movement to also join the visitor, Bin objected. ‘Er, Pez, don’t you think…’

‘No, no, don’t touch me,’ Pez shrieked. ‘The Zar is my friend. I need pomegranates, and he’s got them all!’

Bin stepped back. He didn’t want to provoke a repeat of Pez’s last screaming performance. He looked at the visitor, embarrassed. Lazar shrugged as if to say it mattered not to him and so Pez, clutching the stranger’s robes, danced into the Zar’s
chambers, sticking out his tongue to the astonished secretary.

Inside, Bin apologised to his Zar as Pez hopped around the room, apparently sniffing out hidden pomegranates.

‘He can stay,’ Boaz said, his eyes on the bowing visitor, who was hidden from top to toe by the jamoosh.

‘Can I serve refreshments, Majesty?’

‘No. I want privacy now. We require nothing further.’ The servant looked disappointed.

‘Thank you, Highness,’ Bin said, bowing and backing out of the chamber.

There was a moment’s awkward pause after the door closed and Pez damped down his noise to a soft humming purely for appearances in case anyone was listening at the door, although his Lore told him no-one eavesdropped.

Lazar inclined his head towards Salazin. ‘A new friend, my Zar?’

Boaz smiled slightly. It felt like a comforting warmth to hear that familiar, albeit sarcastic, voice again. ‘This is Salazin; he’s a mute. One of the new retinue of bodyguards the Grand Vizier insists upon. He can neither speak nor hear. We three are alone, in other words.’

Lazar pulled off the jamoosh and Boaz, preparing to embrace the man, stepped back, shocked. ‘Your hair!’ was all he could stammer.

‘After all that’s happened, my Zar, I thought there should be complete honesty.’

‘What does this mean?’

‘This is my true colouring.’

‘And the beard?’

Lazar shrugged. ‘In case I needed a disguise.’

‘Anything else?’ Boaz asked, still stunned that it was Lazar before him but not the Lazar he remembered.

‘The other truth I should share is that I am not from Merlinea. I am a Galinsean.’

Another shock. ‘Galinsean! But—’

Lazar, ever impatient, opted to move on quickly past the confusion. ‘Everything I apparently stand against, yes, Majesty. Forgive. It is a long story and the lie I told so many years ago was all about protection. I was young, cautious. And then after your father’s generosity, I didn’t want to let him down, and because I gave my heart to Percheron, the lie never felt dangerous. I was never a threat to this realm and never once since stepping foot into your city have I given anything but profound loyalty to the Percherese Crown. Nothing has changed since the attempt on my life…other than my hair colour.’

Boaz stared at the proud golden-haired man who stood before him—Lazar, yes, but not Lazar. This man looked older, leaner, less angry perhaps because his eyebrows were lighter and because of the soft beard he had finally allowed to grow; and the hair colour, before so at odds with his eyes, now fitted perfectly.

‘I am no enemy, Highness.’ Lazar bent to one knee to press his point.

Boaz was moved. ‘I will hear that long story from you one day, Lazar, but right now let us drop the formality. You have been returned from the dead and I am grateful to Zarab for granting such a gift.’

He didn’t notice Pez wince. Lazar stood and, reluctant to make the first move, allowed Boaz to move forward and grip him at the top of each arm. ‘I can’t believe it’s you, Lazar,’ he said, beaming, ‘welcome back.’ And then the Zar of Percheron hugged his old friend briefly before adding, ‘My mother will be delighted.’

Lazar shot him a look before all three men in the room, bar the mute, laughed. ‘Amazing what a year does,’ Lazar said, admiring the composed young man before him. Boyhood had certainly left him. ‘You have your father’s wit.’

‘Thank you, I’ll accept that as a compliment. You will, of course, accept back your old position as Spur? I never filled it, you know…something beyond grief prevented me from doing so.’

Lazar glanced towards Pez, sharing the same vague notion that Boaz might be one of Lyana’s supporters, still to be discovered. ‘I wouldn’t presume—’ he began.

Boaz waved away Lazar’s humility. ‘Nonsense! Galinsean or not, I have no doubt of your loyalty, although perhaps you should dye your hair again, especially as you’re the one who has helped put the fear of the Galinseans amongst us.’

Again they shared a moment of amusement.

‘I accept.’

‘You had no choice,’ Boaz said lightly but none in the room disbelieved him.