With a pang of something that was both bitter and sweet, Hytham realized he was no longer needed. He could leave them to it and get on with the preparations for the race. Still, he lingered a few extra minutes, watching the two of them ride. His place might be in the shadows, but he could still take comfort from the light.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The morning of the race, Hytham was up with the rest of the Varangian Guard before dawn. Even in the gray, sallow light, it was already warm and humid, promising to be the hottest day he’d spent in the city so far. Hytham’s clothes stuck to him in sweaty patches, and as the sun rose the heat intensified.

  Yet another thing to worry about. The heat and lack of shade would put the crowds in the Hippodrome on edge. Hytham didn’t like the anticipatory tension in the air. The stage was set for an explosion, and he didn’t know if they had enough people to contain it.

  Thyra was on edge as well when she found him standing guard in the hall outside Leo’s room. “Have you seen Basim?” she asked him. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

  Hytham shook his head. “Not today, no, but that’s hardly unusual.” He took a closer look at her pale face, and a tremor of dread went through him. “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “Maybe nothing,” she said tersely. “We were supposed to meet in one of the formal gardens before sunrise, but he never came.”

  Another meeting. More questions from Basim about this mysterious person he was looking for among the Vikings. Hytham let it pass. He’d decided to trust Basim. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” he pressed.

  “There was blood on the garden wall,” Thyra said. “Not much, but it was fresh. Someone fought there not long ago, but as far as I can tell, there were no witnesses.”

  Hytham’s chest tightened. If Basim had been taken, if the plan was already compromised…

  No. If Basim had been taken, there’d have been more signs of a struggle. There’d have been a trail to follow. More likely, Basim had assassinated an intruder in the gardens and concealed the body somewhere, which had kept him from meeting Thyra as planned.

  He said as much to her, and she nodded, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. “Can you call for him?” she asked. “I’ve heard you do it before.”

  Hytham nodded. “Wait here for Leo,” he said, and left her.

  His thoughts reeled as he walked quickly down the hallway in the direction of the training yard. Had they been focusing on the wrong things, setting this trap for Isaac? Had the leader of the Order shifted his target to Basim instead of Leo?

  It made sense, and Hytham cursed himself for not thinking of it before. Perhaps members of the Order were looking for the same mysterious person Basim was. But for what purpose? And why would the Hidden Ones consider it a personal obsession of Basim’s if the Order was involved as well?

  He came out into the sunlight of the training yard, checking to make sure it was empty before he signaled for Basim using the bird call. He did it three times, just to be sure, and waited.

  The moments stretched, and there was no answer, no stirring of the trees or shifting shadows to indicate Basim was nearby. Hytham’s unease grew.

  A tiny whisper of doubt crept into his mind. What if this had been Basim’s plan all along? Use Leo as bait for a trap, keep Hytham, Thyra and the other Varangian Guards distracted, while Basim pursued some other goal of his own? When Hytham truly needed him, would Basim be there?

  Hytham dismissed the voice. No. Basim had come for him in that dark cellar. His corpse would still be rotting down there if it wasn’t for him. Hytham had chosen to trust Basim. He would stay the course.

  But that left the worrying possibility that Basim was in trouble, and Hytham had no way to reach him.

  Hytham left the training yard through a side gate and made his way along the stone pathways to the formal gardens. A quick search turned up no signs of a struggle, but he did find the same drying blood patches on the wall that Thyra had.

  Where are you, Basim?

  Outside the palace walls, the crowds would be filing into the Hippodrome by now. It was still a few hours before the teams would be introduced and the races began, but Hytham needed to get back to the children’s wing. He’d be missed if he lingered.

  For now at least, Basim was on his own, and so was Hytham.

  •••

  The imperial family lined up in procession outside the emperor’s chambers. Thyra and other senior members of the Varangian Guard surrounded them, with Hytham and Justin near the rear, as close to Leo as possible.

  Hytham scanned the faces of the other guards, looking for anything suspicious. Leo, standing just behind his mother, turned and flashed Hytham and Justin a quick smile while his father was looking the other way. Hytham glanced at Justin and was gratified to see the young man’s lips twitching.

  They were going to be all right, he told himself.

  The emperor gave a curt command to the guards at the front of the procession, and then Hytham had no more time for thoughts of the future. They were moving down the connecting passage to the Hippodrome, past glittering murals of ships on the harbor at sunset, their bootsteps echoing on the marble floor.

  At the end of the passage, the guards pulled open the doors, and Hytham was met with a roar of sound and light that felt like a physical force. He fought the instinctive urge to shield his eyes as the procession walked out onto a stone bridge that afforded them a dizzying view of the thousands of people who had packed the Hippodrome, wearing or waving the colors of their team and cheering as the emperor and his family came into view.

  The chariots were lined up along the spina, their driving teams standing near the horses. They turned and bowed respectfully to the emperor as he walked to the edge of the bridge, resting one hand on the low railing and raising the other in greeting to the crowd and to the racers.

  Hytham watched the emperor’s face. Basil wore a small, benevolent smile as he took in the crowd’s cheers. Here was a man who was not pretending or playing a part, Hytham thought. The emperor wanted the attention of his people. He wanted their love and respect. Some rulers had no care for those things, but not Basil. Having climbed from the lowliest beginnings to the seat of ultimate power in Constantinople, he wanted everyone to know and believe that he belonged there.

  And to all appearances, the people did believe it. They shouted and cheered the emperor and his family as the procession moved on toward the imperial box draped in purple silks. They passed over the bridge, and Hytham scanned the crowd as they went, looking for faces of discontent, hidden weapons, anything that might herald an attack. It was a daunting task, in this crowd. One face blended into the next, the light of the sun flashed off jewelry and buckles, making it easy to mistake them for the edge of a blade or the head of an arrow.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when they passed under the extended, thickened awning shading the emperor’s box, and the imperial family took their seats. Leo was sitting on his mother’s right, leaning forward to get a better view down to the track and the chariot teams.

  The emperor lifted his hand again, acknowledging the crowd and the racing teams. People cheered wildly, and the chariots moved into position for the start of the first race.

  The crowd settled down while the teams got ready, but already Hytham noticed they were restless. The blazing sun and the excitement of the emperor’s presence had emboldened them, especially in one section near the first turn. The people seated there wore blue colors and waved cerulean banners in support of their team, which would be in direct opposition to the emperor’s colors since he would be racing for the greens later in the day.

  The people were on their feet, alternately cheering and jeering the teams as they arranged themselves at the starting point, horses shifting restlessly as they bunched up. Hytham felt the tension in the air, all that compacted energy of the horses together in a group, waiting for the start as the crowd began to chant for their favorites. It was hard not to get caught up in the anticipation, even though he wasn’t rooting for any particular team.

  Hytham swept his gaze over the crowd again and kept one eye on the emperor’s box in case something happened during the confusion of the start. He didn’t think it would. He was almost certain Isaac and the Order of the Ancients would wait until the emperor had vacated his box to strike, but Hytham had been wrong before, and he wasn’t taking anything for granted.

  A sudden hush fell over the crowd, a collective held breath, and Hytham put his hand lightly on his sword pommel.

  The signal came, and the chariots burst into motion, the horses rearing and tearing over the starting line, chariots bumping and roaring behind them.

  The crowd erupted, waving their banners, clapping, and shouting at the top of their lungs as the teams careened into the first turn, wheels lifting off the ground as the drivers held the reins in a death grip and shouted to the horses, snapping whips above them to increase speed while keeping a tenuous grip on control. Two chariots came within a hair’s breadth of colliding as they came out of the first turn, and the rowdy bunch in the stands were on their feet at the edge of the track.

  It was one of the wildest spectacles Hytham had ever witnessed. The drivers and their teams gave no thought to their own safety, instead pouring all their energy into jockeying for position with the other chariots, always looking for a way to gain ground. It was a deadly game with no room for mistakes.

  Hytham’s heart pounded amidst the roar of the crowd surrounding him. He could only imagine how deafening the sound was down on the track.

  He glanced over at the imperial box. Leo watched the race with rapt attention, clutching the edge of his seat as he fidgeted. Next to him, Eudocia looked hot and bored already, and Hytham could see the tension in the tight, unhappy lines around her mouth. Thyra sat behind her. She had seen this spectacle before, of course. It did not move her the way it did some of the younger guards that were gathered at the edge of the box.

  Hytham caught sight of Justin moving through the crowd some distance away. It had been agreed that he would be watching for anyone to attack at range, and by the look of things he was doing his job well. He stopped to speak in the ear of several people in the crowd, checking their bags and persons for hidden weapons, giving quelling glares to anyone who looked as if they wanted to start a fight over their preferred team.

  And so it went. The first race concluded with a victory for the blue team, although it was a near thing, as the left wheel of their chariot had taken a hit from the greens, and it just barely held on to cross the finish line, the horses stumbling and frothing in the heat. The races were not kind to the beasts, but no one was seriously injured. Still, it set up a rivalry between blue and green that looked as if it would continue through the afternoon.

  Hytham relaxed a little as the crowd settled down, some of them seeking out food, wine, and shade between races, chatting about the results in small groups and wiping sweat from their faces. During the lull, Hytham was able to stand for a time in the shade of the imperial box.

  Thyra came over to speak to him as the emperor and his family were given wine, and servants came from the palace with platters of fruit and cheese. Others brought fans to create a gentle breeze in the stifling heat.

  “I’ve seen no sign of Basim,” Thyra said in a low voice when she came near. “Have you?”

  “None.” Hytham noted her dark frown. He was worried too. “Can you manage here while I sweep the area outside, just to make sure he’s not out there somewhere?”

  Thyra nodded, though she didn’t look encouraged, and Hytham knew this was a long shot as well. If Basim were nearby, he would have shown himself by now, which either meant he had changed the plan in some way and not told anyone, or he was in trouble and he couldn’t call for help.

  Either of those options could turn out to be disastrous for their plans.

  Hytham took the stairs down to ground level and found one of the long, shaded tunnels that led outside the main arena. He was surprised how many people had gathered in the streets just to listen to the race and socialize. Merchants had set up temporary stalls and sold wine and goods to the crowd, and there was just as much of a festive atmosphere here as inside, though it was perhaps a little more relaxed.

  Hytham stood in the middle of the crowd, letting the noise and laughter of the people wash over him, but his mind was distant, meditating, seeking the answer to this latest riddle of Basim.

  If he was to trust the man, then he had to assume something had gone wrong with the plan on Basim’s end. Blood on the garden wall suggested an unexpected attack. If Basim had come out the victor, he would have hidden the body of his attacker and found either Hytham or Thyra to inform them.

  Unless Basim was injured or being hunted. After the attack on the palace, Hytham had tracked his target through the streets to the safehouse where the Order had laid an ambush for him. Basim too, would perhaps lead his attacker away, or at least seek a place to hide so he could tend to his wounds.

  Or find a place to die.

  Hytham dismissed the curl of dread in his gut at that thought. He refused to believe that would be Basim’s fate. He didn’t know what premonition told him that Basim would live a long and impactful life, but somewhere deep inside himself he knew it was true.

  He shielded his eyes against the sun and looked on the curved edifice of the Hippodrome. Birds circled a tall tower that was situated opposite the spectators. They were too far away for Hytham to see what kind they were. The last time he and Basim had looked upon the Hippodrome from afar, Basim had commented on its magnificent views.

  “I wager you can see the entire city from up on its highest point.”

  A view of the entire city and beyond, Hytham thought, still watching the flock drifting on the wind. A vantage point for a bird of prey – or a secure perch from which to see your enemies coming.

  Hytham was moving before the thought had fully formed in his mind, looking for the closest set of stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The stairs that led up to the tower ended in a locked door. Hytham turned in a slow circle, examining his surroundings. Arched windows had been cut into the stone, and a brisk breeze whistled through the openings, carrying the scents of the sea and the distant cry of gulls.

  On one of the stone ledges there was a dark smear of blood.

  Hytham’s heartbeat quickened. He stood on the ledge and leaned out. The city spread below him in a grand, living tapestry, as impressive as Basim had imagined it would be. He could see all the way to the walls from this vantage, and the noise of the crowd below was a distant swell of sound. Up here, it was the domain of the birds and the sky and the ever-present howling of the wind.

  The stone wall of the tower was rough against Hytham’s fingers. He ran his hands over the wall, fingers seeking and finding purchase. He tested the stone against his weight, making sure there were no cracks or loose patches that would send him tumbling to his death. Again, his training didn’t fail him, and he crawled unerringly up the wall.

  The wind pulled at his clothing, and the sounds of the birds echoed around him. With a last surge of strength in his burning muscles, Hytham reached the peak of the tower. There, he found Basim tucked into an alcove, sitting in a small puddle of blood and bandaging an angry-looking dagger slash that snaked across his ribs and stained his robes crimson. Relief coursed through Hytham at seeing the man alive.

  Basim tutted as Hytham hoisted himself into the alcove, his hands scraped and aching from finding the barest handholds with which to pull himself up the side of the tower. “Took you long enough, my friend,” Basim said.

  The crowd noise coming from below was even more muted here by the rush of the wind. The height was dizzying, and below them in the harbor, the ships looked like tiny toy boats, the water turned to glittering shards of broken light.

  It hurt his eyes, but it was beautiful.

  Hytham turned away from the spectacular view and gave Basim an exasperated look. “You could have picked a place that was just as defensible but slightly easier to get to,” he pointed out. “And you probably made your wound worse in the climb up here.”

  He knew that for a fact. He’d followed a trail of blood-slicked stones up the wall to reach this perch.

  Basim winced as he finished cleaning the wound with water from a waterskin. “You know why I chose this spot,” he said. “I needed to be able to see my enemies if they tracked me. But I grant you, I was almost too late to be of any use in the attack to come.”

  Hytham crouched next to Basim and took the strips of cloth from Basim’s hands and began wrapping the wound. It was a shallow cut, but with a bit more pressure it would have been a death wound. “Was it Isaac’s people who attacked you?”

  “They were clever to try to isolate and eliminate one of the players from the board while we were all focused on Leo and the security for the race,” Basim said, shifting to allow Hytham to wrap the bandages around his body. “I made the mistake of straying too far from the palace alone.” He sighed. “You’ll be shocked, I’m sure, to learn that arrogance is a fault of mine. I thought I walked unseen, but I was followed and ambushed. I killed one, and the other ran off, but I don’t think she went far. Being cautious then, I retreated, making more of a show of being wounded than I actually was. If we’re lucky, Isaac thinks he’s taken me out of the fight.”

  “Should you be out of the fight?” Hytham couldn’t help but observe, as Basim winced again when he tied off the bandage.

  Basim smiled at him, and it was not a pleasant expression. “Your sense of humor is one of the many things I like about you, my friend.”

 

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