The Black Shriving (Chronicles of the Black Gate Book 2) (48 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Tiron couldn't rest. He pushed aside the billowing curtains that hung over the entrance to the balcony, briefly considering tearing them down as he stepped outside. Delicate and beautiful they might be, but they could provide an assassin with crucial seconds of cover if one came over the balcony and managed to kill Hannus quietly. The image arrested his movement. Then, setting his face in a grim expression, he turned back and yanked the curtains from their rods and tossed the fabric aside.

Ord was watching from the doorway, eyebrows raised. He understood and nodded.

Returning outside, Tiron stepped up to the stone balustrade and leaned forward, scrutinizing the city of Agerastos as it tumbled away down a gradual slope to the harbor. The sky was a languorous shade of umber and yellow that reduced the low-hanging sun to a ball of simmering gold. White gulls were wheeling over the cascading rooftops below and red-sailed ships of all sizes lay at rest beside the piers while slender skiffs cut back and forth from one side of the harbor to the other. Towers arose like daggers between the many rooftops, and smoke from evening fires was drifting like dirty cotton, rising up to soften the angularities of the architecture and reduce the city to a wondrous haze. The evening sunlight glinted on the great scaled domes that arose here and there. Even now, it was hard to credit that he was standing in Agerastos, the land of the hated heretics, the great opposition to everything that Ascension stood for.

Not that he cared any more. Once, maybe, he might have felt the appropriate disgust at being surrounded by heathens. Now? It seemed immaterial to him. What mattered was the danger that lurked in the shadowy streets below, the faceless mass that might turn against the emperor when they discovered whom he was harboring in their midst.

And Iskra. Tiron set his jaw. By the Ascendant it was hard to restrain himself, from reaching for her, from dropping to one knee and swearing his fealty over and over again. And yet. To what end? What use in running down a hallway when you knew it was a dead end? He wanted to groan and close his eyes, to pour himself the first of many drinks. If only Sarah were yet alive to give him counsel. A pang of grief slipped into his chest like a knife. He saw her smiling face, heard her laughter echo from the depths of his memories. Tiron covered his face with his hands. How wretched had he become that he wished his dead wife returned only so that she may offer him advice on how to handle Iskra?

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Hannus, stepping over to join him.

Tiron dropped his hands and looked over at the young soldier. Hannus' face was clear of concern, unriven by the cruel lines wrought by grief and loss. A young face. A blank sheet on which time would write its woes.

"Sure," said Tiron. He turned back to the city.

"Never thought I'd travel as much as I've done with the Lady," said Hannus quietly. "Always thought I'd serve as a guard at Kyferin Castle for a spell, then return home with enough wealth to buy a new plow, perhaps some cattle. Help my father make the most of our land." He lapsed into silence for a moment, then asked, "Do you think we'll ever get back, ser?"

Tiron took a deep breath, testing the pain that smoldered in his side. "I don't know. If we do, it will be at the front of an army."

Hannus nodded. "That's what I thought. I hope it's soon, then. Our return. I've a wife and daughter waiting for me back home." He ran both hands through his hair restlessly. "I asked one of the guards that stayed back the castle to let her know where I'd gone. For all I know, she thinks me dead. It would be good to get a message to her somehow." He didn't look at Tiron, just gazed down at the harbor below.

Tiron didn't know what to say. Maybe Hannus had his own share of grief after all. Once, he'd have given the young man a gruff speech about duty and honor. Now? He didn't know if he believed in such things. He knew how flimsy a man's honor could prove, how duty could be a one-way street that led to your ruin.

"Why'd you come, then? Why'd you leave them behind and follow Lady Kyferin here?"

Hannus looked at him in surprise. "Because it wasn't right, what Lord Laur did. I couldn't stand by."

"Simple as that?"

Hannus thought about it, then said, "Yes. I'm sure there's some who could talk at length about their reasons, but that's the heart of it. It wasn't right."

Tiron nodded. "Agreed. I'm glad you're here. But if you ever want to return to your family, I'll not fault you."

"You wouldn't?"

Tiron shook his head and turned to leave. "I had a wife and son once. I spent precious little time with them. I regret that now, more than anything. If you think you truly need to be with your family, then go. If you decide you'd rather be the kind of man who protects Lady Kyferin when she's wronged, then stay. Either way, it's your decision to make and then own."

He clapped Hannus on the shoulder, then walked the perimeter of the balcony, peering down at the gardens several floors below. He forced himself to focus, to truly study the lines of ornate shrubs and fish ponds and not stare blankly into the distance as he considered his problems. It was possible someone could climb the ornate façade, or perhaps even one of the palm trees and so gain the balcony, but unlikely. He paused and gazed pensively down at a pond on the surface of which black swans were gliding, then stepped back inside.

Someone knocked at the door. Ord waited for Tiron, who stepped up and opened it.

A young man in an elegant blue robe bowed deeply. "The Emperor Thansos, first of his name, has asked for the honor of having Lady Iskra Kyferin join him at dinner tonight." The young man's Ennoian was all whispery, but clear. "If that is pleasing, I shall return to escort you to the dining hall."

"All right," said Tiron. "She'll be ready."

The page, probably used to more flowery responses, blinked once before bowing again. "The chamberlain has also instructed me to offer a variety of suitable robes and accessories for her retinue to wear. If that is agreeable, I shall have them delivered promptly."

Tiron stared at the young man. "What are you saying about our clothing?"

The page paled, his gaze flicking down to Tiron's bedraggled, torn armor and filthy tunic. "It was meant merely as a suggestion, my lord. If you -"

"Very well," said Tiron, not wanting to bait the young man further. "Send along the robes." He shut the door before the page could bow again, then looked to Ord. "When's the last time you had a bath?"

"Does wading through that cistern count?"

Tiron shook his head.

"Then..." Ord trailed off in thought. "Do you mean on purpose?"

Tiron snorted. "Enough said. It looks like your loyalty to Lady Kyferin is about to be tested, soldier. Prepare yourself."

Two hours later they were all clean and scrubbed and wearing soft robes of silk dyed a rather striking shade of Ennoian green. Tiron was standing to one side, Hannus and Ord beside him, all of them smelling like flowers, their skin stinging from the abrasive sponges wielded by the handmaidens who had attended them, their beards trimmed and oiled, their feet getting used to strange leather sandals. Any desire to protest had been silenced when Tiron saw how black the water was in the copper tubs when they emerged. Even the black rings under his nails were gone. It felt... strange. Pleasant, even. Disconcerting.

The door to Iskra's chamber opened and she emerged, silencing all thoughts and causing him to straighten to attention. The same page had furnished her with a delicate green gown with hanging sleeves, which somehow hugged her figure in all the right places while still giving the impression of modesty and refinement. Her auburn hair was done up with elegant simplicity, and her face was luminous.

Iskra stopped to let them regard her and raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Ser Tiron?"

He felt his face flush, something that almost never happened to him, and he quickly coughed into his fist and looked away. "You look -" His mind raced. What to say?
Ravishing gorgeous beautiful stunning
- "You look very nice, my lady."

"How gentlemanly of you." She glided forward, extending her arm to take his own. He stood stiffly by her side, painfully aware of her touch. "Oh do relax, Ser Tiron. Surely my company can't be so onerous?"

"Not at all," he said, perhaps a trifle too loudly. Had he offended her? "I'm simply concerned about your safety tonight."

"Oh? You think to protect me by glowering?"

The page who had been waiting opened their door and began to lead them down the hall.

Ser Tiron coughed into his free hand. He
had
offended her. "I intend to protect you by any means necessary. I'll glower if it helps."

Iskra glanced sidelong at him. Was that a hint of a smile? "Then please be so kind to deploy it only when needed. I would rather not spend the entire evening assuring everyone we meet that they are in no danger of being attacked."

"As you desire," said Tiron. His heart was racing. "I shall reserve it for when needed, though I doubt I shall need it at all. The Agerastians will learn quickly as to how formidable an opponent you are."

"Formidable? My dear Ser Tiron," said Iskra, her voice warm with amusement. "I believe that might have been a compliment."

Again he felt his face burn. He could practically feel Ord and Hannus smirking at his back. Why had he opened his damn fool mouth and begun this line of conversation? "No, my lady. Not a compliment." He practically marched her down the hall. "Merely a statement of facts. As I see them."

"Well, as your lady, I command you to state such facts as they strike you. I find myself growing more and more curious about your world view."

Luckily he was saved from further torture by their arriving at a grand staircase where other nobles and people of note were descending, like elegant fowls alighting in a pond, toward a long hall in which strange music was playing. Tiron felt eyes immediately turn to Lady Iskra, and he tried to stand even straighter, ignoring once more the burn in his side from his wound.

The music was plangent, some kind of stringed instrument accompanied by cymbals and a drum. Hundreds of candles were burning in wall sconces, and the hall was decorated to appear like a forest, the columns carved like trees, the ceiling painted with an arboreal theme. Tiron guessed it was quite attractive, but he didn't spare much time on the decorations. Instead, he forced himself to relax.

Walking into this crowd was akin to wading into battle. You couldn't count on spotting your foe before he attacked you, and turning rapidly in every direction in a vain attempt to keep everyone in view was the mistake of a novice. Instead, he exhaled and didn't let himself focus on any one thing; letting his eyes wander, he sought to pick up knots of tension in the patterns around him, alert for some sudden movement in the corner of his vision that might signal an unexpected attack.

Iskra was in her element, smiling and bowing her head to all who sought to engage or compliment her, but not stopping to become embroiled in any conversation just yet. Around him swirled the Agerastian language, and Tiron wished that Orishin were present and providing them with an ongoing translation of the factions and words at play.

A group of somber men in white and blue robes approached and bowed stiffly to Iskra, who curtseyed smoothly in return. Tiron recognized one of the men in the group: Patrician Athash.

"Good evening, Lady Kyferin." Athash's eyes devoured her frame before he managed to look up and meet her gaze. "I was just speaking with my fellow senators of your arrival earlier today. May I be so bold as to effect introductions?"

Iskra inclined her head, and Athash introduced a half dozen men, all of whom studied her as a feline might a bowl of cream.

"I had not known that there was a senate," said Iskra gravely when he had finished. "I find myself growing ever more curious about the structure of government here in Agerastos."

Athash inclined his head. "Our senate is prestigious, composed of the greatest worthies from across our island. It is our duty and honor to advise the emperor on all matters political, and I do not believe I presume overmuch when I say he welcomes and values our thoughts."

Iskra smiled. "A ruler is made wise when he listens to the counsel of those with wisdom."

Athash smiled in return, but there was no warmth in the expression. "You are correct, Lady Kyferin. I would be glad to explain at a later date the workings of our government and perhaps provide you with some insight about our current situation."