Empire of Dust (4 page)

Chapter Four

FROM THE WINDOW
of the council chamber, Prince Alexander observes a hunched figure riding a donkey across the palace courtyard toward the main gate. Six peasants accompany the boy. One leads his swaybacked mount while the others follow in a ramshackle cart laden with turnips. But if anyone were to examine these peasants closely, he would quickly see that they are too well-fed—and too well-muscled—to be anything other than royal guards. And that the boy is none other than the prince's younger, slow-minded brother.

Even though Alex knows he must send Arridheus away for his own safety, his heart twists as he watches his little brother pass through the gates and out of view. An hour ago, he watched Arri's nursemaid, Sarina, fill his saddlebags with a change of clothes and a travel blanket. She even remembered to pack his favorite shiny buttons while Arri cried about leaving his pet rat behind. Even though he is twelve years old, the age at which most Macedonian boys would be training with the militia, Alex knows that Arri will always have the interests of a five-year-old.

Worry gnaws on Alex's heart. He is sure that the Aesarian Lords kidnapped Cynane—despite their heralds' vehement denials during negotiations for a treaty after the battle of Pellan Fields. As King Philip's son, Arri would make an even more valuable hostage than his half sister. And despite—or better said, because of—his brother's slowness, the Lords could set him up as a puppet king, ruling through him.

It was Kadmus who suggested to the council that they fake a kidnapping. Arri and several royal guards, all disguised as peasants, would ride to Mieza to stay with a family of farmers known for their loyalty to the crown. Once the young prince was safe, the palace and council would announce that the prince had been stolen. Most people would assume the Aesarian Lords kidnapped him, while the Lords would think one of Macedon's other enemies or so-called allies—the Thracians, the Byzantines, the Persians, or Athenians—had snuck inside during this time of confusion and stolen the young prince.

“He's safe now,” Alexander says, more to himself than the council as he turns to face them. Still feeling the pulsing energy of secrets, he begins to pace. “A good suggestion, Kadmus. Thank you.”

Alex feels Heph's glower before he sees it, like the burning, prickling rays of a summer noontime sun on the back of his head. He fights the urge to roll his eyes. Heph is acting like a jealous child. He knows that Alex must listen to
all
suggestions and act on only the best, regardless of whom they come from. Ever since the battle, the distance between him and Heph has pained Alex, but he is a prince acting as a king to protect his people.

“May the gods go with him,” the minister of religion, Gordias, intones and raises both gnarled, spotted hands.

“May the gods go with him,” echoes Theopompus, minister of provisions, settling himself on a chair that squeaks ominously under his bulk. The other men in the room take their places with a scraping of chairs. Except for Alex.

He can't sit still. Pacing helps him think, helps calm the worry. “What of the Aesarian Lords?” he asks.

Theopompus tugs thoughtfully at his blond beard, woven with turquoise beads, and says, “The Aesarians seem to be keeping their side of our treaty. They wait quietly at Pyrrhia for their Supreme Lord to send them the compensation they owe us and word on where to deploy next.”

After the battle, the new High Lord Gideon asked Alex for peace terms, a prisoner exchange, and a safe place to tend to their wounded, promising to pay damages for the unprovoked attack on Macedon. Alex permitted them to retreat to an abandoned fortress a day's ride from Pella. It is a place they visited from time to time in the past when King Philip allowed them to stay here for mountain warfare training and hunting.

He doesn't trust them. Not about Cynane—if Alex and his men arrived at the fortress to search for her, they would probably just hide her—not about paying the ten talents of gold they promised as reparations, and not about leaving peacefully. Thousands of Lords from all over the known world could attack Macedon like swarms of angry bees. There are rumors of a device the Lords created that breathes fire like a dragon and can incinerate city gates. And the best part of the Macedonian army is with King Philip attacking Byzantium. When Alex asked his father to send some men back to defend the homeland, he refused, sarcastically pointing out that Alex and the Lords had made peace.

“Have our spies and scouts reported any Aesarian ships near our waters?” Alex asks. The fizz in his blood still won't shake loose, and he continues to pace in short, quick strides. “Are any Aesarian troops marching toward Macedon over land?”

Kadmus shakes his head gravely, his gray eyes like chunks of ice in his thin, tan face. “None. But the first reinforcements from Macedonian forts arrived this morning, and they should be enough to protect Pella if the Lords are hatching some plot.”

Theopompus drinks deeply from a black-and-red glazed cup and sets it down heavily, wiping red droplets from his blond beard. “The Chians, the Euboeans, and the Megarans are willing to part with some of their soldiers, if we can pay their price.”

“We don't have the money for this!” sputters Hagnon, minister of finance. “King Philip's march on Byzantium has greatly depleted the royal treasury. And we've signed a treaty with the Aesarian Lords! I shall not sign off on such wasted expenses...”

Alex feels a spike of irritation. Hagnon wouldn't dare talk to King Philip like this. It's because Alex is young that the minister is treating him so disrespectfully. As he studies the man who holds the keys to his father's gold, he tries not to let his dislike show in his face.

Not only is the man miserly, but he clearly enjoys wielding such power over the prince regent. Alexander, like everyone else, is forbidden from touching the royal coffers. If only there was a way of convincing the man that this is more important than petty power struggles. Suddenly, Alex stops pacing. Perhaps, there
is
a way...

Pulling out a chair from across Hagnon, Alexander sits and folds his hands on the priceless ebony table. Some slave has polished it to a reflective gleam, and it smells of beeswax and lemon. Alex steadies his breathing as Hagnon rambles on about frivolous spending, empty coffers, and foolish decisions.

“You are right to be concerned,” Alex interrupts the man, remembering what Katerina told him about getting in touch with her Snake Blood.
Relax. Calm yourself. Think of nothing, at first. Be an empty vessel with no thought. Then think of something that makes you happy.

It's hard to think of nothing. That's like having no heart to beat in your chest, no guts in your belly. He pushes away his thoughts as if they were cobwebs, though he is aware of a few shreds dangling. Then he thinks of clouds soft with rain, the warm smell of leather, and the wind in his hair as he rides Bucephalus. He almost floats inside himself.

“And you are admirably dutiful in your responsibilities to my father,” Alex continues, locking his eyes with Hagnon's beady ones. “We are deeply indebted to you.” He speaks slowly, trying to make each word a long, golden drop of honey.

Alex has never chosen when and where he sees flashes of men's hearts; the unknown force that pulls him into people's memories—often at the most inopportune moments—has always come unbidden. But in the days since Kat told him that she was Snake Blood—that she has the ability to enter the bodies of animals and become one with them—he has been realizing that his own gift may in fact have been a form of the same ability. Though he can't quite fathom the idea of possessing magic blood, he's been interested in finding out if he can do what Kat does. Not with animals so much—except for Bucephalus, with whom he has always felt an extraordinary kinship—but with people. If he has the ability to see a man's strength, weakness, and past, could he also have the ability to persuade?

Judging by the way Hagnon's chest swells and bright pink spots bloom on his cheeks, it seems he does.

The white tunnel that usually appears and drags Alexander into a man's mind does not form this time. Instead, the white light hangs low, misting over his vision. Alex becomes intensely aware of his heartbeat—or perhaps, it is Hagnon's heartbeat.

Alexander suddenly feels the smoothness of pride, the sharpness of fear, and the ragged hunger for power. The disjointed swirls of thought tangle like ribbons as Alex searches for a thin thread that can be used to convince Hagnon to come over to his side. And then he finds it: the slipperiness of self-doubt.

“That is why,” Alex says, slowly and calmly, his voice seeming to echo from someplace very far, “I know you will find the way to collect the funds for our military needs. You have my complete faith in your abilities.” Finally, Hagnon's decision slices down on the mesh of thoughts and emotions, knocking Alex unceremoniously from his mind. Back inside himself, he feels shaky, weak.

The minister smiles and nods. “My lord, I am grateful for your praise and will do as you wish, despite the difficulties that might arise.”

Alexander nods as a bead of sweat drops into his eyes. He brings his hand up to wipe it away and hopes that no one has noticed his uneven breath. He did what he needed to do, but it has a physical cost. And the meeting isn't over yet, no matter how tired he is. “The next order of business, if you please.”

Theopompus shuffles some scrolls in front of him. “I received word last night that the Persian bride chosen for you has unexpectedly died. There is, however, no need to trouble yourself.” He looks toward Alex and peers down his fleshy nose. “The Great King himself is seeing to her replacement.”

Hagnon sighs. “It's a shame she didn't die after she arrived here. We could have kept the bride price.”

Alex lowers his head, but it is only a polite gesture of respect for the dead. He is sorry for the girl and her family, but he didn't know her...or even her name. It's just as well, really, that she will not be coming to Pella, as an entire retinue of Persian girls and eunuchs would be a distraction in this time of war.

Besides, he wonders how desirous Artaxerxes really is for an alliance, remembering the finely chiseled agate cameo of the king he found under the council table last month. The cameo was set in a frame of shining gold studded with gems—it had to be worth a fortune. He told himself at the time that if someone had obtained it honestly, he would post a reward for its discovery and make every effort to find it. Yet no one has come forward. It was, Alex realized, a bribe.

He looks at his council members now. Is one of them a spy for Persia? The thought makes his whole body itch. He can't afford a traitor. It's both a danger and an insult.

After the Aesarian Lords set the library on fire, Leonidas disappeared, and Alex assumed his former tutor had been the spy. But now Leonidas's body has been recovered. He had wronged his former tutor by thinking he was the traitor in the council.

His glance falls on Theopompus, his full rosy cheeks, his hair sparkling with gold dust. A man who lives well, swirling in bejeweled robes, enjoying the finest food and wine, the owner of luxurious estates... And yet the origin of his wealth is a mystery. He was an actor's son with winning ways who worked his way up in Philip's diplomatic service.

Alex's gaze slides to Hagnon's pursed lips and darting eyes. He's a known miser reputed to have hoards of treasure hidden in the walls of his houses even though he was born a sandal-maker's son. If he is hiding treasure, where did it come from?

He studies Gordias, his thin eyelids fluttering a bit as he naps. The ancient minister of religion is known to live frugally and devote himself to honoring the gods. But wouldn't that be the best cover of all?

A memory comes to him. A rumor. A story that Philip had forced Gordias's beloved granddaughter to go to bed with him and when she discovered she was pregnant, Olympias poisoned and killed her. It could be possible the old priest seeks revenge...

If only he could figure out how to enter someone's mind at will to see their past the way he just entered Hagnon's thoughts to persuade him. But the Sight has always come at random moments and it isn't coming now. Perhaps he could try to make it come... But no, he is too exhausted from his experience with the finance minister to try anything else.

Kadmus brings the conversation back to reinforcing the defense of Pella, and Alex is glad to hear the general speak so sensibly. Lean, alert, and serious, Kadmus has been the only council member to take Alex's side again and again since he was appointed regent. But how much does Alex know about him? He's...what? Twenty-five? He rose quickly in Philip's army to become the youngest general. But the king snubbed him by taking an older general, Parmenion, to Byzantium. Would he want to avenge himself on Philip for that? And didn't Alex hear some story about Kadmus visiting family members in Persian territory a few years ago?

Who is the traitor? The idea of a betrayer so close at hand is deeply unsettling. But equally disturbing is the simple fact of not knowing. It undermines everything. It leaves him reeling with distraction and uncertainty, when he should be focused and fierce. The question doesn't leave Alex's mind even after the council adjourns for the day.

As the men amble out of the chamber, Heph approaches him, his face cold. “May I have a word.”

A wave of irritation floods Alex—he doesn't have the patience for another one of Heph's jealous complaints. But the look on Heph's face erases that annoyance instantly. Something terrible has happened. He doesn't need the ability to see into men's minds to know that.

* * *

Fury roils in Alex like white foam on a violent river as he thunders across a field on Bucephalus's back. After Heph finished what he had to say, Alex wished fervently it
had
been a jealous accusation instead of the murder of Kat's entire foster family in Erissa. At the hands of his own mother. He wanted to see Kat right away, but Heph told him he'd given her some poppy juice in wine to make her sleep. And of course he couldn't confront his mother, because she has yet to return to the palace. He
had
been concerned about her disappearance—now he knows where she went, but not why.