The Windward King, page 22
Focus. Think. But he only thought of more questions. Was this a threat? A warning? Retaliation?
He paused in the doorframe and traced his finger along the place where the lock slid into the wall. “Did you leave the doors unlocked?”
She shook her head. “Not this one. But your servants usually bring my breakfast around this time, so I left the outer one open.”
Shara had not yet succumbed to the urge to kick open a door, but he could guess what it would look like. “Then someone had a key.”
“Or picked the lock,” Lady Oshari offered.
Nashai’s brow furrowed. “Took the care to pick the lock but then did all this?”
Shara didn’t dare ask what picking a lock meant. He could guess, anyway, so instead he nodded. His head pounded harder, and the urge to be sick welled up stronger than ever. Trying to maintain dignity, he gestured toward the hall. “Could we discuss this outside?”
“Where it smells better? Please.”
They pooled into the hall. Free of the cloying aroma, Shara drew a deep breath, and his hope of following the trail of perfumes disappeared. Everything still stank—the corridor, the guard breezing past him, Lady Masar, his own clothing. As if someone had painted the insides of his nostrils with perfumes.
Exactly how unhuman would it be to try cleaning them out?
Probably not the best idea while surrounded by people. Especially since a small crowd had gathered as well. Some collected at the end of the hall to watch the commotion; a few ambled too-casually past, craning their necks to peer inside Nashai’s rooms. And—Shara’s gut clenched—there stood Faresh, slouched against the wall and studying the activity with amusement.
It took everything Shara had not to charge up and sniff him.
Instead he spun and ushered Nashai in the opposite direction, forcing himself not to look back. At the end of the hall, he shoved open a window, and he, Nashai, and Lady Masar drew a collective breath. Then another, and another.
“I apologize,” Nashai said, rubbing her temples. “They were left in my room as a gift. It seems I didn’t shove them far enough out of sight.”
There. Nashai hated perfumes. Proof she was trustworthy.
Sweet, cool air rolled over them, and slowly Shara’s head stopped pounding. Outside, a pair of squirrel-dragons chased each other in looping flight, chittering loudly in friendly challenge. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Lady Masar glancing between them and him, a shy yet awed smile on her flushed face.
Then Nashai had told her. She knew he wasn’t Iliath.
It felt suddenly that the whole world was watching him. He tried to slouch and stand straight at the same time; the opposing movements sent him wobbling, and he gave up and began pacing instead, raking his hand through his tangled hair.
What now? He’d promised Nashai he’d do everything he could to preserve peace, but what could he do?
His feet dragged. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” he said, trusting Lady Masar to sign his words while he paced and stared at the floor.
“For?”
“For everything. Yesterday you agreed to give me a chance, but I spent all night tracking boar and swallowing air, and now . . .” Embarrassment boiled beneath his kingly clothing as Lady Masar faltered. “Sorry, I wasn’t actually— It’s, uh . . .”
“Alvithi,” Nashai supplied. “Which you are. There’s no need to apologize for it. Nor for this.”
He pivoted midstride to hide a squirm. It was like Korith had sent a replacement. “But I’m sure you’re used to dealing with people who aren’t floundering and overwhelmed and constantly falling out of the sky.”
She smiled wryly. “My family rules Tethamar. I live surrounded by administrators and servants and guards. We are all of us floundering and overwhelmed. That doesn’t make you less capable.” She shot a pointed look at Lady Masar, like a scolding teacher whose student hadn’t yet grasped an oft-repeated lesson. “Or less anything.”
And another pivot. “That’s easy for you to say.”
Her snort was so unprincesslike that he grinned despite himself. “I require an interpreter in order to have a conversation with more than one person. Even with one, sometimes. I’ve practiced lip-reading for nearly fifteen years but still regularly ask people to repeat themselves. I came to Barath as a negotiator, and instead I’m facing assassins who may be my own people. And now someone’s trying to get me to raise sail and run.”
Shara’s surreptitious glance down the hall revealed that Faresh was gone, so he gestured toward her quarters. “Any ideas who?”
She folded her arms and bit her lip. “If someone wanted me dead, I would be. No assassin sneaks into a room, finds it empty, and takes out their frustration on the room instead. I expect it’s someone angry about yesterday, but that could be anyone in Barath. Or”—she broke into a grin—“perhaps it’s Teren trying to convince me to flee to safety.”
“Excuse me.” Lady Masar planted her hands on her hips. “I was in the gardens with you, remember? And if I wanted you to flee to safety, I’d drug your tea and make Captain Sothal carry you.”
“Again.”
“Oh, let it go. There were pirates. Anyway, it wasn’t me this time. Besides, you gave your word that we’d stay and help end this.”
Shara’s footsteps faltered, and he faced Nashai directly. “You don’t have to, though,” he said, little though he wanted to. “After what just happened, you don’t have to stay.”
She fixed him in a thoughtful gaze, twisting the signet ring on her finger around, around. “But you feel you do,” she said, “though you are not Barathi, nor even human. You said you’re falling out of the sky, but you keep flying all the same.”
His face burned. Her tone, her expression, Lady Masar’s subtly admiring gaze, like they considered him some sort of selfless, unyielding hero.
“I hope I get to meet you when this is all over,” Nashai went on before he could explain the truth. “As you, that is. I expect it’ll be a relief to be yourself again.”
“Uh.” His voice came out as a pathetic, rasping croak, and he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yes. That’ll be . . . nice. Meeting you, I mean. As me.” An idea sprang to mind—a chance for a different topic and for answers. “Perhaps I could come to the wedding.”
“Oh, that would be lovely!” A wide smile lit her face but wavered almost immediately. “Assuming Iliath still wants . . . Assuming he’s even . . .”
Lady Masar settled a hand on Nashai’s arm. Shara cringed, then frowned. That flutter of surprised happiness, broken so quickly by fear and doubt. If she’d already been rethinking the marriage, surely she wouldn’t be so—
His breath caught. “Your Highness, you said you put those perfumes somewhere out of sight?”
“I put them in the far corner of my dressing table. More out of reach than sight.” Her eyes widened. “You think someone smashed them on purpose. Because of you.”
He tilted his head up the hall. “Did you tell your advisors? About me?”
She pursed her lips. “You think they did it to make us look like victims.” Her braids swished as she shook her head. “To be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case, but no, I didn’t tell them. Only Teren.”
Something heavy settled in his stomach, and he nodded grimly. “Then I need to visit my advisor.”
Chapter 33
Agreements and Allies
There was something satisfying about pounding on doors. Shara did it several times before Gepar deigned to answer. The man’s eyes widened, and his hand slipped from where it had braced against the doorframe. “Your Majesty.”
His voice wavered, hushed and almost reverent, and for a second, Shara forgot why he’d come and what he’d been about to say.
Gepar’s expression pinched. “Oh, it’s still—” His eyes snagged on the guards flanking Shara, and he dipped into a bow. Water droplets glistened in his damp hair. “That is, please come in, my king.”
He bowed Shara into the room and closed the door firmly before crossing to the desk. Shara stared after him. Had he actually believed . . . ?
He shook off the alarming thought and looked around. The office might have been an overstocked bookstore. Dark-stained shelves stuffed with pristine tomes lined the walls and blocked most of the window, but the books didn’t stop there. They’d spilled onto every available surface, collecting in tidy piles on tables, chairs, and nearly the entire floor.
Shara picked his way along a narrow, book-free trail and stopped before the desk, where Gepar had stationed himself like a soldier mounting a final defense against an invading army. Gesturing stiffly for Shara to sit, he began opening drawers at random. A worn carving of a dog wobbled atop the nearest stack of books as if to call attention to how little it belonged in this room.
Shara knew how it felt, and rather than sit, he drew a deep breath. His nostrils stung, and his already-pounding heart beat faster. But though he’d gone so long without a victory, this one felt hollow. Malothi dead, Korith healing, and now here sat Gepar, reeking of perfumes.
How quickly he was running out of allies.
“I expect you’re here for your speech,” Gepar said lightly.
Speech?
He’d forgotten it completely, and it said something about everything else bearing down on him that the idea of learning a speech and reciting it before an entire city sounded like a welcome relief.
Gepar extracted a piece of paper from beneath a stack of books and pushed it at him. Cramped, angular writing covered about half of it, full of words like attack and security, strength and coronation. “You will deliver that at noon from the north balcony. I will come fetch you shortly before that. I suggest you spend the morning learning it.”
“I will.”
“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He gestured dismissively at the door and, without a second glance at Shara, resumed searching his drawers.
Shara didn’t move. He folded the speech into a little square and tucked it into his coat, fighting the urge to strip the garment off. How could anyone work in this room? Warm, stifling air hung thick around him, sharp with the scent of Gepar’s familiar soap and traces of the perfumes he’d not been able to wash away.
His hands fisted, and a different sort of heat engulfed him. “Why did you do it?”
Gepar leaned back in his chair. “Why did I do what?” he asked, each word clipped and precise. Despite the tautness of his muscles, a smug superiority tugged at his mouth and flickered in his eyes, Faresh-like.
Shara didn’t have time to be intimidated. “You know what.” He gripped the back of the chair as images of Nashai’s ruined suite rolled over him like perfumes. “Why did you break into Nashai’s rooms and destroy them? Your king wanted peace with Tethamar, and you—”
“My king.” Gepar gave a high laugh and pushed to his feet. “You think you can stand there in his body and appeal to my loyalty to my king? You think because you look like him, I am beholden to you, duty-bound to answer your meddling questions?”
“I only—”
“I am advisor to the king! In case you’ve forgotten, you answer to me. I owe you no explanation, no matter how long you stand there pretending to be someone important and looking at me with that unnatural alvithi stare.”
Shara’s gaze dropped before he could stop it. Gritting his teeth, he pinned it back on Gepar, holding steady as long as he could. “I need to know who my allies are. And why one of them smells like perfumes.”
Face sour, Gepar spun with a scoff and stared out the sliver of window not hidden behind a bookshelf.
“This is about Faresh, isn’t it? You let me think the agreement you and Nashai were discussing was the marriage, but it was Faresh. Nashai wants him back, treaty or not. A sign of good faith. You said no, so she thinks he’s bribing you.”
Gepar whirled. “He is not bribing me!”
Shara stumbled back. Wild anger twisted Gepar’s expression, and the venom in his voice left no room for falsehood. For a heartbeat, Shara feared he’d been wrong yet again, but then it hit him. “He’s threatening you.”
Gepar crumpled. His shoulders slumped and his head hung, and when he braced himself against his desk, the whole thing trembled along with its owner. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Heat pooled in Shara’s chest. “Wouldn’t understand being trampled on?”
“Wouldn’t understand why—”
“I might if you explained it. I’m not as hopeless as you think, you know.” His mind stalled over the unexpected words, and the next ones tumbled out without thought. “But if you prefer, I can find Tishel and Nashai, and they can explain it to me.”
Gepar’s glower travelled over Shara, toured the room, and landed again on Shara. After a long stillness, he pushed himself upright, desk creaking under his weight. He spent a long time straightening his garments, but at last he folded his hands and, with obvious effort at control, said, “The circumstances are none of your affair, but suffice to say that I fell into debt to Faresh. When I could no longer pay, I . . .” His throat worked. “You will recall a conversation we had at the treasury regarding duplicate receipts.”
Shara’s eyes flew wide. “You—”
“Yes,” Gepar snapped. The veins in his hands stood out as his fingers twitched through an angry spell. “You needn’t say it.”
“Sorry.”
He drew a raspy breath. “I took the money to Faresh, but he guessed where it had come from. He threatened to expose me unless I convinced Iliath not to send him back to Tethamar. Yesterday, as you’ve guessed, I spoke to Nashai about the matter. She suggested instead that Barath could demonstrate our commitment to peace by handing Faresh over when she departs.”
“So you ruined her suite in the hopes that she’d flee and forget to take Faresh?”
“I was desperate.” His gaze darted about the room, part fury and part terror. “He’d already made his threat clear, but last night he . . .”
Pity rippled through Shara. Not even Gepar deserved to be toyed with by Faresh. Biting his lip, he let his gaze trail over the desk, the books, the little dog. Hissing sharply, Gepar yanked the figurine off the pile and stuffed it out of sight. As if Shara might judge him for the one thing here that made him approachable.
“Lord Gepar?” Tishel’s voice sounded over the rapping of her knuckles against the door.
Gepar stiffened. “If you breathe a word of this . . . Yes, come in.”
Shara swallowed a promise he wasn’t sure he should make and turned to greet Tishel.
“Your Majesty.” She glanced between them. “I take it you’ve been apprised of the situation, my lord?”
Gepar twitched.
“We’ve had no luck identifying or finding the invader, but we’re investigating who had access to keys to that room. I also have servants cleaning the room and others helping Nashai move to new quarters. And I’ve set additional guards around the area. Her advisors weren’t particularly pleased, but they didn’t argue.”
“Good.” Gepar wrung his hands. “Good.”
Tishel’s lips parted, and her brow furrowed. She peered questioningly at Shara, who did his best to look lost. Odd having to fake it for once.
“Well.” She adjusted her spectacles. “Now that everything is mostly settled, I’ve informed the Tethamari that we will be searching their ship. Nashai and her advisors have insisted on coming, of course.”
“Very well,” Gepar said. “I will accompany you. Shara will remain here. He has a speech to learn.”
He frowned at Shara, half command, half fearful anticipation. Oddly, though, Shara didn’t feel like protesting. Eating breakfast, visiting Korith, and learning the speech in the stillness of the gardens sounded much more appealing than scuttling around a ship dodging Gepar’s warning scowls and listening to Nashai’s advisors exchange snide remarks.
“I’ll go back to my rooms, then.”
“His Majesty’s rooms,” Gepar muttered. He cast a final glance at the drawer where he’d stuffed the little dog before sweeping after Tishel.
As Shara made to follow, Gepar held out an arm to block his path. Pulling the door shut, he braced himself in front of it. His hands had stopped twitching.
“Who your allies are,” he said quietly, “depends entirely on whether you keep your mouth shut and remember who you are. It would be most unfortunate if it were discovered that an alvithi had disposed of our king and attempted to take his place.”
A chill shot up Shara’s spine.
“That,” Gepar growled, jabbing Shara’s chest where he’d tucked the speech, “and nothing else.”
Then he stepped into the hall and strode after Tishel.
Chapter 34
Answers
To Shara’s immense relief, the speech didn’t contain anything worrisome. Nor did it take as long to learn as he’d expected, so he left the gardens and headed off to see Korith, pausing at Iliath’s rooms to collect another bowl of dried fruit and the king’s now-incomplete malir set. He waited while Amesal informed one of the warmongering merchants that His Majesty was unavailable, listened until the angry footsteps faded entirely, and snuck back into the hall with a grateful smile at his secretary.
He left his guard standing outside the healing room with the two others Tishel had stationed there. He wasn’t going to visit Korith while royal guards watched awkwardly from the corners.
Korith was still asleep, resting under the influence of another dose of alsum. Little though he wanted to be anywhere near that stench, Shara set the board on the bedside table and laid out the pieces as the Guide figurine watched.
“You first,” he said quietly.
He drifted the length of the room, his mother’s coat swishing around him. It probably looked odd over Iliath’s royal clothing, but he didn’t care. It made him feel less alone.
As he walked, he practiced the speech aloud, refusing to let either his footsteps or his voice falter. If he paused even a moment, Gepar’s threat would catch up to him and drag him down into the mire. Betrayal, indignation, uncertainty—he could roll in all of those after they found Iliath.
