"That's why Kyrin cut out the servants' tongues."
Innowen stretched out on one of the couches as he tossed his piece of cheese into the garden below. "What's that?" he said, folding his arms under his head.
"That's why Kyrin cut out the tongues of the servants," he repeated. "He didn't want to take a chance one of them might tell his precious daughter about all the misery and hunger in her land, or about all the murders and burned villages. How do you think she'd feel if she knew about that woman with her guts spilled in the road at Chalandri? Or if she'd seen any of those half-rotted corpses? And what do you think she'd do if she knew half of Ispor was fighting for the chance to deball her dear father because he's such an asshole of a king?"
Innowen sat up and stared. "No, you're wrong."
Razkili glared at him. "The hells I am! The slaves can't talk. No soldiers are allowed inside the palace—they might let something slip. She's kept under guard night and day by a nurse and isolated in some private part of the palace. Hell, Innowen, she
admitted
she had to sneak out to see you because her father gave orders against it!"
Innowen leaped to his feet, spilling what remained of his wine. Disgusted, he threw the cup down. It exploded in a shower of ceramic fragments. "You're blaming Dyan because some slaves had their tongues ripped out? That's not her fault!" He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the jamb. "Why don't you just admit you're jealous because I danced for her?"
Razkili's eyes narrowed to angry slits. He looked down at the broken cup and back at Innowen.
"I'm a dancer!" Innowen shouted. "So magic has something to do with it. I still dance! I still create! Well, what good is it to create something if nobody can appreciate it?"
Razkili curled his fists in exasperation. "What is wrong with you?" He stared at his friend, then let out a slow breath. "Can't you see the sickness that pervades this place? The rot eating its way from the inside out? Look at you!" He stormed across the apartment, kicking a pottery shard out of his way as he positioned himself face to face with Innowen. "When did you last give a thought to Vashni? You searched for him for five years, Innowen, five years! Now you come home and find him right outside the gates of your own capitol city. Well, what have you done about it? What are you going to do? If he's here, where's the Witch of Shanalane? Remember her?"
"Remember her?" Innowen answered bitterly. He squeezed past Razkili and retreated to the center of the room. "She made me what I am, gods damn her!"
Razkili followed him relentlessly. "That's just noise out of your mouth, Innowen.
You
made you what you are.
Innowen slammed his fist against a wall. "And what is that, Rascal? Just what am I?
What am I?
"
They stared at each other across the apartment. Neither moved, and the silence stood between them suddenly like a barrier. In that moment, Innowen heard his own plaintive tones, saw all his weakness, all his petty fear and selfishness, and he burned with shame. He wanted to reach out across that silence to Rascal, to touch him and apologize, to be reassured. It should have been easy to make the first move. And yet he couldn't. Instead, he stood and waited and wished that something would happen.
Far away, the dull boom of distant thunder sounded. Razkili blinked, turned away, and walked sadly out to the terrace and gazed up into the sky where the faintest trace of blue overtook the night.
"Innowen!" he shouted suddenly. "Come here, quick!"
Innowen hurried to his side, hoping for forgiveness. His eyes followed where Razkili pointed, and he knew this had nothing to do with their argument. Several lights burned in the windows of the eastern apartments. "Whose rooms are those?" Razkili said urgently.
"Kyrin's," Innowen answered, puzzled. "He has the entire upper level."
"I saw a shadow," Razkili whispered, staring intently, "with a sword."
They watched together. Suddenly a dark form slithered past another window, eclipsing the lamplight. A length of metal gleamed in its hand.
Razkili squeezed Innowen's arm, then took off around the terrace, leaving Innowen behind. Outside a darkened apartment, he leaped a couch someone had left outside and swerved around another obstacle. He disappeared in the gloom for an instant, then reappeared, running hard, making for Kyrin's quarters.
Again, thunder rolled across the night, closer this time. Innowen looked up and frowned. The sky was clear, not a cloud. A few stars twinkled brightly, and in the east... He swallowed hard. Morning was almost upon him.
Yet Razkili was running toward trouble.
He didn't know exactly what, but Innowen felt some sudden danger. That shadow, yes—it moved with deliberate menace. But something more rode the night air, some dark radiance that touched him inexplicably and tingled on his skin. He looked at the sky again where a softening cobalt glow oozed over the rooftop, gave a little cry of desperation, and ran after Rascal.
A high-pitched scream of terror ripped from Kyrin's apartment. Against the lamplight, two silhouettes wrestled suddenly over a blade. Innowen recognized Rascal by the shape of his body and ran faster, his heart pounding as loudly in his ears as the thunder that began to shake the palace stones.
He dashed inside, colliding with another figure that lurched out of the way of the combatants. Starpoints ignited in Innowen's head as he hit the floor. Kyrin's face floated before him as he fought to untangle himself from the heavier, panting man. The smell of urine clung to Kyrin, and he clawed and rolled on top of Innowen, frantic and screaming, and Innowen couldn't tell if his king was trying to kill him or trying to get away. He looked for Rascal, but Kyrin's fingers were in his eyes.
"Get off me, gods damn you!" He smashed his fist against Kyrin's jaw and twisted out from under him. Razkili and the assassin struggled in the far corner of the room. Innowen still couldn't see the man's face. A short bronze sword waved over both their heads, and Razkili had the man's wrist locked in both of his hands. Again and again he brought his knee up sharply into the attacker's side, but with little effect. The bigger man had him pressed to the wall, and growling, he tried to bite Razkili's throat.
Innowen leaped up. With all his might, he threw a punch at the lower curve of the assassin's spine. The man threw back his head and howled in pain, and from behind, Innowen grabbed the soft throat and dragged him backward and down to the floor. Razkili wasted no time and jumped with both feet on the assassin's sword arm. There came a loud crack of breaking bone and a shrill scream.
"Kill him! Kill him!" Kyrin shouted, scrambling to his feet. He ran at the fallen man and dealt him a vicious kick in the ribs before Razkili pushed him back. "He tried to kill me! He dared! My own advisor!"
It
was
Riloosa. He moaned and cradled his arm and struggled to get up, but Innowen took a tighter one-handed grip on the bigger man's throat and dragged his head back even further. Riloosa's weight nearly crushed the breath from him, and sandaled heels drummed against his shins. Innowen dug his fingers deeper into the soft flesh and tangled his other hand in the man's thinning hair. "Stop it!" he hissed savagely. "Stop it, or I'll rip your damned throat out!"
A sound gurgled incoherently in Riloosa's windpipe, and he ceased to struggle. For an instant, Innowen thought he'd inadvertently strangled his captive, but then Riloosa shifted his broken limb and gave another moan.
"Get him to his feet," Razkili said grimly, holding Kyrin at bay with one hand.
"I can't," Innowen answered calmly. Then he smiled. A strange satisfaction surged through him, along with a renewed sense of self-worth. "It's morning."
Razkili bent down and grabbed Riloosa's tunic. "Get off him!" His face twisted with rage and concern for Innowen as he jerked the advisor to his feet. Riloosa screamed again with pain and doubled over, hugging his arm. Kyrin leaped at his would-be killer, but Razkili caught him up short. "Go call your guards!" he dared to order Ispor's king.
Kyrin glared hatefully. "There aren't any guards! Note in the palace!"
Rascal glared back, raising his voice to match Kyrin's anger. "Then call your slaves, and have them call guards from the palace grounds!"
For a moment, Kyrin looked as if he'd try to hit Razkili, but a blast of thunder unexpectedly rattled the room. Fear danced over the king's features until he realized it was only thunder. He managed to achieve a semblance of composure and went to summon his servants.
Razkili knelt by Innowen. "When?" he asked simply.
"Right after I grabbed him," Innowen answered, grinning. "You thought it was a perfect take-down? Well, it might have been, but dawn and gravity took over."
"And you still held on to him."
The admiration in his friend's voice pushed him to laughter. He sagged back onto the cool floor, grabbed his stomach and shook with mirth. It felt good.
He felt good.
It was the first morning he could remember when the life had gone from his legs and he hadn't given in to a moment of sadness and self-pity. Hells, this time he hadn't even noticed.
Rascal touched his hand. Warmth radiated in that touch, and Innowen drew strength from it, with the reassurance he had hoped for. "Are you all right?" Razkili asked worriedly. Innowen met his gaze, quieted for an instant, then burst into another bout of body-wracking laughter.
Razkili stared, dumbfounded, then grinned and let go a loud guffaw himself. "What a noise, Innocent!" he said in mocking accusation. "You sound worse than the storm!"
As if to make the point, thunder struck again. The vibrations shivered through the floor and the walls. A rhyton trembled on a narrow pedestal in the corner but managed not to fall. Beyond the terrace, a bolt of lightning flashed, and a sudden rain roared on the leaves in the garden.
"What's wrong with him?" Riloosa snarled, backing against a wall for support. His face was pale, drenched in a fine sweat. "Why doesn't he get up?"
"He can't," Razkili explained, and Innowen laughed harder. "He's crippled. And if you try to pick up that sword, you will be, too." He nodded toward Riloosa's blade where it lay a hand's breath from its owner's foot.
Riloosa pretended to ignore the threat. "What kind of a deception do you play at?" he spat. "He ran in here, didn't he? I saw him at the banquet, visited him in his quarters. I watched him dance the other night in the garden."
Innowen felt the laughter in him dry up. He pushed himself onto one elbow, looked from Razkili to Riloosa.
"Get up!" Riloosa urged. "We can still get out of here while Kyrin's gone. I can make you wealthy men!"
A familiar burning gleamed in the adviser's eyes, a fire Innowen had seen before, a light that was no light at all, but the pure darkness of irresistible compulsion. Riloosa's apartments also overlooked the garden. Innowen had made the mistake of assuming since all the windows were black that nobody had been awake to see him. But Riloosa had seen.
He looked at the man with a new kind of respect. Riloosa hadn't tried to fulfill his desire at once, but had resisted it or delayed his action long enough to plan. Innowen had learned the hard way that most men succumbed immediately, no matter the nature of their desire, while a few others, depending on their strength of will, were able to defy the compulsion for a time. Sooner or later, though, all surrendered to their worst wishes.
"Did you want his crown?" he asked softly.
Riloosa harrumphed. "Hells, no," he retorted. The madness seemed to flow out of him. He sighed and sank to the floor. Razkili tensed and started to move, but the advisor put on a faint smile and pushed the sword to the center of the room with his toe. "Only a fool would want to rule this gods-cursed country. I just wanted to kill the pig. His rudeness is intolerable. He insults and abuses everybody. At dinner last night he stabbed a slave because the wine wasn't cool enough." He barked a short, bitter laugh. "Cool enough, in these temperatures!" He gestured with his good arm toward the terrace. "Look, it's finally raining. I think Heaven must have approved of my effort."
The world flashed a violent blue-white. The hairs on Innowen's neck and arms stood suddenly straight on end, and his bones seemed to tingle and burn. A deafening crash split the air, followed by another crash of splintering stone. The smell of burning filled the room.
Razkili leaped to his feet and ran to the terrace. "Lightning!" he called. "It blasted away part of the southern wing!" He shot a glance back at Riloosa. "So much for heaven's approval. That was your apartment."
Without warning, lightning struck again. Razkili cried out, threw an arm across his eyes and flung himself away from the terrace. A belch of flame shot up just beyond the doorway, and a loud crack echoed in the garden as a tree split in half.
"Rascal!" Innowen screamed, and he dragged himself across the floor toward his friend.
"I'm all right," Razkili said, sitting up slowly. He gazed around, blinking, rubbing his eyes.
On his belly, Innowen stared outside. The sky was the color of flint. A gray rain beat down in heavy relentless sheets as blue lightning licked at the world. Thunder surged overhead, pounding and smashing like an impossible surf.
Innowen felt the trembling in the stones beneath him, and the palace huddled into itself with a palpable, animate fear. In the corner, the rhyton fell off its pedestal and shattered. In another corner, a small chair vibrated toward the center of the room.