Gate to Kandrith (The Kandrith Series) (5 page)

“Who did it?” Sara asked, remembering the token she’d found in the mud at Vez’s temple.

Her father shook his head, his expression bleak. “We don’t know. There are no witnesses—not a woman or child was spared. They were killed by magic.”

“Magic?” Sara said blankly. Magic wasn’t something she had ever spent much time thinking about. She knew in general how it worked, of course. The gods conferred certain powers on their chosen priesthood. If prayer wasn’t working, you could pay one of them to perform a specific rite. If the rite was a popular one, like relieving pain, a made-up potion could be purchased.

“Yes, magic,” her father said. “Our priests lack the power, and the Grasslander barbarians to the north have no magic. That leaves the Qiph tribes in the south, who spend most of their time feuding with each other, and the King of Slaves, who has always hated our country.” He paused. “Have you ever wondered why the Republic allows Slaveland to exist within our borders?”

“I always assumed it was geography, that its Red Mountains are impassable,” Sara said hesitantly.

“No mountains are completely impassable,” her father said. “No, the reason Slaveland still exists is because of the strength of their magic. Slaveland is said to be an entire nation of priests. I don’t believe that, but there’s no doubt their magic is stronger than ours. I don’t say Primus Tembor was wrong to forbid the temples’ darker practices, but there’s no denying that over the last century our priesthood has grown weak.” He made a face. “Until recently, I thought that was a good thing.”

Sara nodded agreement, thinking of Nir.

“Slave magic is different. Crude, but strong,” her father said with distaste. “And that’s why I need you to go to Slaveland and discover the secret of their magic.”

Sara’s breath caught. What was being asked of her was enormous and frightening, but at the same time it was what she had always dreamed of: a chance to be more than a pretty doll.

But… “Elysinia is closer to Qi than to Slaveland. What makes you certain the King of Slaveland is responsible for the massacre?”

“The message I received reported a small party of Qiph in the area, but insisted they arrived after the massacre had already taken place. I do not know what the Qiph are doing in the Republic—though I intend to find out,” her father said grimly. “It may be that they are working together with the Slavelanders, or it may be that the Slavelanders wish the Qiph to be blamed in their stead. Once we go to war with the Qiph—”

“Once?” Sara interrupted. “Don’t you mean if?”

Her father shook his head. “As soon as word of the massacre gets out, the Senate will howl for blood. They’ll place no credence on the word of one spy.”

Sara winced. Of course, her father would have set a man to spy on his rival Lord Favonius’s comings and goings, but he couldn’t admit doing such before the Senate…

“I’ll have little choice but to send out a punitive force,” her father continued, “even though doing so will play right into Nir’s hands. Nir will claim that we need a strong general to lead the Republic in time of war.”

Sara frowned. “Couldn’t you delay sending out the Legions until you have more information?”

“If I delay, Lord Favonius’s supporters will claim I’m dragging my feet because we were rivals, perhaps even whisper that I ordered the massacre. I’m caught either way. My worst fear is that once we’re embroiled in a war with Qi, the true culprits will strike again.”

“It’s doubtful that Lord Favonius was a random target,” Julen said, speaking up for the first time. “The attack must’ve been planned weeks in advance. It’s probably sheer chance Lord Favonius himself was killed. If they expected him to become Primus, then the attack could have been meant to devastate him and weaken the Primacy.”

The politics didn’t interest Sara. “Sylvanus.” Her mouth dried. “You must move him. He isn’t safe.”

“Where can I move him?” Her father opened his hands, palms out in a show of helplessness. “Wherever I send him, he would just become a hostage.”

“Aunt Evina—” Sara started.

“Is here in the capital,” her father finished. “Paulin controls their estate and has no especial fondness for me. No, I’m afraid Sylvanus is still safest on our estate in Elysinia.” And House Remillus’s original estate in Temboria itself had been sold a generation before to pay debts.

Sara opened her mouth to demand that her father send her there, but what could she do against magic that had killed two hundred men and women?

Her father returned to the subject of her journey. “I have others investigating Qi, but you are the only one who can pass through the gate into Slaveland.”

“I can’t be the first to try to discover their secret.”

“No,” her father admitted. “Many spies have been sent over the years. Most are turned back at the border. Those who do enter, never return. I’m sending you into danger,” her father said bitterly. “I know it, and yet I must. I need to send someone I can trust. Will you go, Sarathena?”

Sara didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“As Primus of the Republic, I give you my thanks. As your father, I shall pray for your safety.” Her father stood up. “Now then, there is still much to do if you are to leave this afternoon.”

“So soon?” Sara asked in dismay.

“There’s no time to waste.” Her father counted on his fingers. “Three days at most until the news of the massacre breaks. A week to wrangle out a course of action. Three more days for a courier to be sent to the closest Legion—that’s if General Pallax doesn’t ride into the city. If he does, I’ll be saddled with him. Two more weeks to equip a Legion and set them marching for the border. In a month we’ll be hopelessly embroiled in a war with the Qiph, and the Slavelanders will be free to strike again.”

Sara felt daunted. “Unless I can uncover proof of the Slavelanders’ guilt.”

“No,” her father said. “I told you, it’s too late to stop the war with Qi. What I need from you is the secret of the Slavelander’s magic, so that we can protect ourselves from future attack.”

Sara shivered. Yes, Sylvanus must be protected.

She stood up. “I will leave you then. As you say, there is much to do.” Her maids would already have begun packing both her trunks and their own. She suddenly realized that Rochelle couldn’t go. Not with an ailing child, and it would be too cruel to separate them. She would need another maid to replace Rochelle as well as a cook and enough guards to stand all the watches…

Sara’s mind was busy sorting, but she paused on the threshold of the chamber. “Can you offer me any advice on how to accomplish my task?”

Her father chuckled. “Ah, Sarathena, I don’t think you understand how most men are affected by your beauty…what a man will do for a smile from you.”

Sara’s heart turned to stone in her breast. So. This wasn’t any different from bringing in an advantageous marriage offer. She was still to use her body.

How stupid of her to think otherwise. As her father had gently pointed out a time or two, she had no head for politics, and her ability to add and multiply numbers quickly wouldn’t be much help in this kind of situation.

Sara schooled her face into blankness. To keep her family safe, she would do whatever she had to do.

“Is something amiss, Lady Sarathena?” Julen asked with fake solicitude.

“Of course not,” she said at once. “I was just thinking I shall have to add a translator to my household.”

But her father shook his head. “No need. Most, if not all, Slavelanders will speak Tembori. They must, just to communicate among themselves. Slaveland is a hodge-podge of peoples—Gotians, Elysinians, Grasslanders—whose only common trait is that they were once Republican slaves.” He paused. “In any case, I’m afraid a household is impossible. You are permitted to bring only one companion. The King of Slaves mislikes foreigners crossing his borders.”

“Only one?” Sara repeated, aghast. “But, without my own household, who will protect me from poison and assassination?”

“They won’t dare touch a hair on your head,” her father said grimly. “While their magic makes Slaveland strong, it is not impregnable. They won’t risk open warfare with the Republic. Or they would not have resorted to this cowardly attack in the first place.”

Sara appreciated her father’s attempt to reassure her, but knew that if she was caught spying, she risked death.

So she wouldn’t let herself be caught.

Taking a deep breath, Sara took refuge in practicalities. “What about my maid? Does the companion rule include her?” She would need another woman as a chaperone for the journey if nothing else.

“Servants aren’t companions. They can’t mean to exclude your personal maid,” her father assured her. “Why don’t you ask your friend Hespera to accompany you?”

Sara shook her head. Hespera was an acquaintance, not a friend, and, in any case, no highborn girl’s family would permit her to come.

Sara tried desperately to think of someone else. Aunt Evina would never leave the gambling pursuits and amusements of the city. She had no cousins.

“Might I suggest a suitable companion, my lady?”

Sara looked up at Julen’s handsome, smiling face and knew she would hate whoever he suggested. He was enjoying rubbing her nose in the fact that she had no friends. Instinctively, she struck back. “Why, Julen, how kind of you to volunteer.” Satisfaction surged through Sara at Julen’s horrified expression. She savored it for a moment before letting him off the hook. “It’s too bad Father can’t spare you.”

“You know, that’s an excellent suggestion,” her father said thoughtfully. “I should have thought of it myself. I’ll feel much better for your safety if Julen is there to steer you. And he knows how to send messages in ciphers.”

Sara fumbled a protest—several protests—but they did no good. Her father’s mind was made up. “Unless you can think of someone more suitable?” he asked pointedly.

For the life of her, she could not.

Four hours later Sara found herself traveling in a carriage with Julen. It had mesh windows to keep out insects and plush burgundy seats, but it was, essentially, a box on wheels. A small box.

After the white-pillared and domed Primary Residence and the fabulous tiered fountains of the Temple District had dwindled into more ordinary streets, Sara found herself with nothing to look at but Julen. She fervently wished she’d never mockingly suggested him as her companion.

Julen smiled as if he could read her thoughts. “So here we are. Together.
Alone.
”

He was trying to intimidate her. Sara scowled. “We’re not alone, or have you forgotten how to count?” Because of the secrecy of her mission to Slaveland, Sara lacked a proper chaperone, but Felicia was sitting beside her. And eight legionnaires disguised as outriders accompanied their plain black carriage. At least a few of them ought to be within earshot if she screamed, even on the noisy cobblestone streets they were rattling down.

Julen didn’t even glance at Felicia. “A wise cuorelle never tells her mistress’s business.”

Aunt Evina’s cuorelles probably turned a blind eye all the time, but Sara didn’t play those games, and Julen knew it.

“You flatter yourself,” she said coldly.

“My lady?” Julen spread his hands in false innocence. “I only meant that since we are alone, I would like to take the opportunity to express my…
humble gratitude
for the wonderful opportunity you have given me.” A wealth of rage lay behind the exquisitely polite words.

Her father had just become Primus. From Julen’s point of view, he’d been exiled on the eve of new vistas of power opening up in front of him. The opportunity for graft alone was enormous.

“No need to thank me,” Sara said with an edge of her own. “It was my father who insisted.” And, oh, how she’d
tried
to change his mind.

Julen’s charming mask slipped. “Your father promised me much, including a title, if I helped him become Primus.”

Sara raised her eyebrow. “If my father gave you his oath, he will keep it. I’m sure he’ll reward you, suitably, when we return from Slaveland.”

“The promises of noblemen are easily given, and harder to collect,” Julen said cynically. “My father’s captain promised him a place of honor on one of his estates for saving his life in battle, and yet when my father became crippled that place of honor shrank to the size of a small hut. I will not be pushed aside so easily. We both know a title by itself is worth less than the position I held. By the time we return, your father will have replaced me.”

Sara shrugged. “Then you’d better hope your replacement is less competent than yourself.” To prick his pride, she imbued her tone with doubt even though she knew Julen to be an excellent spymaster.

“I did not get this far in life by hoping,” Julen said with withering contempt. “I think it would be much better over all if, in a day’s time, you decide on a different companion and send me back to the capital with apologies to your father.”

“I’d like nothing better than to be rid of you,” Sara told him. “But my father made me promise to keep you near.”

Julen waved this away. “I’m sure, with a little thought, you can come up with some excuse.”

“I will not break my oath for you.”

Julen leaned forward. “I don’t think you quite understand. I sold part of my soul to get where I was—the Primus’s right hand. I’m not going to let you throw it away on a whim because I annoyed you.”

An answering flame of anger burned in Sara, obliterating the flicker of guilt she felt. “Annoyed me? I loathe you, for reasons you know very well.” Reasons which had nothing to do with his constant mockery and only partly to do with the callous way he had treated her when she was fifteen and naive enough to have tender feelings for him. She blamed Julen for the worst day of her life and all the terrible consequences that had followed.

“Now that I think about, I’m glad I suggested you as my companion,” Sara said starkly. “Because you’re correct—my father will find a new right hand. And that means that as soon as we return to the Republic I’ll never have to speak to you again.” She looked him dead in the eye. “Bearing your company now is well worth the price.”

And Julen looked away. She saw the guilt on his face.

Felicia looked wildly curious. Not even she knew all the details of that terrible day. Nor was Sara inclined to share them even now.

Unfortunately, Julen’s attack of conscience only lasted until the carriage passed through the city gates into the country. For the next hour, as they traveled down a well-maintained stone road that ran as straight as an arrow, Julen began his campaign to be sent back to Temborium, by making himself obnoxious.

He showered her with syrupy compliments until Sara thought she would go mad. “Your eyes are the sapphire blue of the Kunal Sea on a sunny day. No, nothing so common as that. Let me try again, even though I am doomed to fail. Your eyes are the blue of a summer sky, celestial orbs of wondrous beauty.”

If he intended to wear her down, he would fail. Sara tried to ignore him.

“Your lips are like pink roses that have been brushed with dew…”

It didn’t help that Felicia could hardly contain her mirth. Sara glared at her maid and wished she’d taken Rochelle with her instead.

She’d found it surprisingly hard to say goodbye to Rochelle. Rochelle had wanted to come along, and only after Sara had pointed out how hard the journey would be on Tulio had Rochelle ceased arguing. The degree of her fervency had worried Sara; she’d begun to think of all the things that could happen to a cuorelle with no nearby protectors. If some steward decided Rochelle should scrub floors, who would be there to say no? Worse, hundreds of people had business in the Primary Residence. What if Nir’s eye fell on her?

In the end, Sara had decided Rochelle and her son would be safer with Aunt Evina. She’d penned a swift note, praising Rochelle’s skills and asking that she be given only light work, and sent them off.

“What about her ears?” Felicia asked, breaking Sara’s reverie. “Aren’t they pretty too?” She blinked innocently.

Julen obliged. “My lady’s ears are like snail shells.”

He was giving her a headache. Sara gave up on pride.

“Enough. Julen, hand me your dagger.”

“Of course, Lady Sarathena.” He drew it, then hesitated. “Might I enquire why you need it?”

“So I can stab you through the heart with it,” she said coldly. He had no right to question her.

Julen smiled faintly, but handed over his dagger. Sara used the hilt to rap on the roof of the carriage, sparing her knuckles. Within moments the carriage swayed to a halt beside a field of green grain, the heads just beginning to fill out.

Sara didn’t wait for the coachman to jump down, but opened the door herself and climbed out.

The captain, a fit-looking man of thirty, trotted his horse up. “Is there a problem, Lady Sarathena?” His name was Marcus, she remembered, and he’d seemed competent when she spoke to him earlier.

“I want to stretch my legs,” she told him.

Captain Marcus nodded politely, but said no more. Sara appreciated his restraint.

Felicia descended too. She looked questioningly at Sara; Sara shook her head—she didn’t want to be attended right now—and Felicia smiled up at the captain. Felicia liked handsome men, and Captain Marcus qualified despite his unfortunate jug-handled ears.

He dismounted, which conveniently put him on the same level as Felicia, and began to walk his horse. Sara sent the lovely chestnut gelding a covetous glance. She wished she could ride instead of being sequestered inside the stuffy, bumpy carriage, but it was, of course, unladylike.

Sara felt the rest of the outriders’ eyes on her like a heavy hand, but her rank and their captain’s scowl kept them from approaching her as she walked a short ways into the field. Within moments, all the outriders not assigned to watch the road had been drawn into Felicia’s orbit, leaving Sara in peace.

The wind rippled through the grain like ocean waves. Sara trailed her hands through the green wheat and felt the tension flow out of her.

The field was small, bounded by an orchard and a neat stone wall, but it reminded her of the Remillus estate in northern Elysinia, which bordered on the grasslands. Sara had run wild in them as a girl.

Aunt Evina disdained the country as boring, but Sara would trade all Temborium’s frantic socializing for the endless horizon of the prairies. Sara never realized how penned up she felt in the city until she drove outside and the walls disappeared.

She turned to walk a little farther and suddenly noticed the second, equally plain carriage in their entourage. Her father had told her that the ambassador from Slaveland was returning to his country, but not why. Sara’s eyes narrowed in speculation. A high-ranking ambassador might well know the secret of his country’s magic. If he had been recalled in disgrace, he might be persuaded to part with the information for a large bribe.

Then she wouldn’t have to enter Slaveland at all.

Sara instantly decided to switch vehicles. She could start to fulfill her task and avoid Julen at the same time. She headed toward the second carriage with purposeful strides.

Its door opened just as she arrived, and a tall, brawny man jumped down. The ambassador didn’t seem to be in a good mood; he was swearing creatively and holding his right hand tight against his chest.

He had light skin and looked younger than the graybeard Sara had expected. Then he straightened up, and she stopped breathing.

It was him.
Her rescuer from last night.

Sara’s first thought, that he must be the ambassador’s servant, died a quick death. The carriage door hung open, the compartment obviously empty. Which meant—

She found herself staring at his chest. The same thickly muscled chest she’d caressed last night while drugged. A horrible tide of heat crept over her, embarrassment and…something else. It couldn’t be attraction; the jazoria had worn off hours ago.

She didn’t want to look up, afraid of what she might see on his face: contempt, lust, amusement. But she was a Remillus. Remilluses didn’t hide.

Sara met his gaze and saw that he looked as appalled as she felt. “Did you know?” Sara asked baldly.

He shook his head.

Oddly, Sara believed him, and she relaxed. “I didn’t know who you were either.”

A hard light entered his brown eyes. “You thought I was a slave.”

Sara shook her head. “Only at first and only because your hair and clothes are not those of a noble. But you gave yourself away in a hundred small ways. This morning I decided you were an equitain.”

In the dark, she’d primarily been aware of his body, his face hidden in shadow. Now she noticed the strength of will stamped on his square jaw and the intelligence in his brown eyes.

He didn’t look appeased. In silence, he extended his wrist toward her, turning it so that she saw the bone brand seared into his flesh. At some point in his life he’d been a Bone Slave, an osseon.

Sara winced. She’d bungled this badly; she should have realized someone from Slaveland might be a former slave, but she’d assumed an ambassador would have been at least a generation removed from such poor beginnings. When she dared look up, he regarded her with a coolly expectant expression—probably waiting for her to throw up her hands in horror.

“Let’s start over,” she said instead. “I am Lady Sarathena Remillus, but please call me Sara.” She gave him her most bewitching smile and held out her hand to be kissed.

Unlike most men, he didn’t smile back or look lascivious. He clasped her fingers for a bare instant then dropped them as if burned.

Sara’s fingers curled involuntarily as if she could hold the sensation in. How could such a simple touch make her so aware of his strength and maleness?

“I’m Lance,” he said.

Lance, not Lord Lance? Was he being informal, or did he lack a title? Informal, Sara decided. He had to be of high rank to be an ambassador.

“Lance, I have a favor to beg of you. Something was spilled in my carriage, and it reeks dreadfully. Could I ride with you, until the smell clears away?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We won’t be alone,” Sara assured him. “My maid will be there to insure propriety.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.” Lance raked his hand through his sandy brown hair and winced.

He was going to say no.

Disappointment warred with relief. In her own carriage she would be safe from this unwelcome awareness.

Brutally, Sara reminded herself there was more at stake than her own comfort.
Two hundred dead at Lord Favonius’s estate… Not a woman or child spared
. Such an attack must not happen again. She had to discover the secret of slave magic, and Lance represented a golden opportunity to accomplish her goal quickly.

“Please—” She’d intended to bat her eyelashes as Evina had taught her, but she saw how that single word, please, stopped him. She remembered how he’d risked bodily harm last night for the sake of a stranger. Instantly, she knew all she had to do to get her way was play on his sympathy.

“In a few days’ time, I’m going to be leaving the Republic to live among strangers for months, if not years. It will make things so much easier if, when we arrive, they’re not all strangers.” The words sounded true because they were true.

It worked. Lance nodded once. “Fine, then. Now excuse me, I want to stretch my legs.” He walked off without another word.

Sara told herself it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be able to avoid her once they were in the carriage.

* * *

Lance knew he’d made a mistake as soon as he wedged his large body into the carriage and Lady Sara’s knee brushed his, sending a jolt of heat through him.

But what choice had he had? Ordering another carriage would delay their party, and it was vital that he deliver the Child of Peace to Kandrith. After being denied an audience with the new Primus for a week, Lance had been all but certain that the man intended to repudiate the Pact, imperiling Kandrith. And then today, Lance had abruptly been informed that he and the Republican Child of Peace would be leaving for Kandrith within the hour.