B oaz declared three official days of mourning for the death of the Spur of Percheron. He sent messengers to the various quarters of the city to make announcements of Lazar’s passing. No actual details of how he had died were to be given, although the Zar knew rumors would become rife very quickly.
At the shocking news, Herezah had retired to her chambers and demanded that no one disturb her. Boaz privately reconfirmed simply from her reaction that his mother had had nothing to do with Lazar’s punishment and subsequent death. The stillness of her body as she received the tidings, the horror she couldn’t hide in her eyes, and the slight trembling of her voice when she asked a tentative question gave him more than enough proof that the Valide was as devastated as he was—although no doubt for different reasons.
The Vizier’s reaction had been a surprise. Boaz had found there to be something different about Tariq; something about the way he listened thoughtfully before offering comments when ordinarily he rushed to say anything in an attempt to impress, to be part of any royal conversation. Boaz even found himself appreciating his steadfastness when the Vizier cautioned against overreaction.
“May I humbly suggest you take your time, my Zar. This situation is grave indeed, and if our Spur has been hurried to his death, as you imply, it will not do to leap to conclusions. A proper inquiry should be made, formally appointed and delicately handled. Let it take as long as it must until the guilty party is hunted down. The Spur was too admired by too many for justice not be seen to be done…especially so early in your reign.”
Boaz had not expected such levelheadedness. He knew of the acrimony that existed between the Vizier and the Grand Master Eunuch. It was based on years of jealousy, intensified since his father’s passing, and the desire of each to win his mother’s trust. Of course neither man had reckoned on the young Zar wanting to have any involvement in the running of the state. They thought of him as merely a boy, assumed that his mother would rule as Zara until he reached an age when he was ready for such responsibility. Boaz guessed they had counted on at least three or four years of autonomy, by which time it would be hard for the young Zar to wrest back full control of his realm. Well, they had been wrong. Boaz had every intention of taking full control now, before misconceptions about his right or fitness to rule could arise.
He had dismissed both his mother and the Vizier but not before he had made a point of thanking Tariq for his wise words. Boaz had waited for the Vizier’s usual preening of feathers and plumping of chest; instead he had been surprised once again when the man had hardly blinked at the compliment. Instead he had bowed graciously and simply said, “My Zar, please call upon me whenever you need.”
Boaz had watched the Vizier gently guide his mother—like Boaz, astonished by the man’s graciousness—from the room, careful not to lay so much as a fingertip on her person. The Zar frowned, intrigued not just by the Vizier’s behavior but also by his straighter bearing. The man’s stoop had improved. He wanted to talk to Pez about this sudden metamorphosis, but first, he had to arrange for money to be given to Jumo, and then he would need to speak with Odalisque Ana, to break the news that would surely shatter her.
JUMO WALKED BACK with Zafira to the Sea Temple in a simmering silence. The priestess had the good sense not to try reasoning with him again but she felt her own heart fracture when she watched him finally kneel by Lyana’s altar and kiss the dried smear of blood where only yesterday his master had lain dying. Taking a risk, she knelt by the softly keening manservant and put her arm around him, expecting a sharp rebuttal. None came. Jumo’s anger was spent; he was now consumed by grief and despair, and in this, he knew he was not alone.
“I’m so sorry, Jumo,” she whispered. “So sorry for doing this to you.”
They remained kneeling in silence for several minutes before Zafira painfully pulled herself to her feet. “I shall leave you to your thoughts and private prayers,” she said. “When you’re ready, let me share quishtar with you before you leave.”
Later, as she busied herself with her brew, she heard men’s voices. Soon enough she heard slow footsteps on the stairs and turned to see Jumo standing in her small room.
“Ready to go?” she asked, trying to infuse her tone with a gentle brightness.
Jumo nodded. “The Zar has sent money.” She saw a heavy-looking pouch in his hand. “It is too much, far too generous. I came to ask you if I might leave some behind…here? Perhaps you can make better use of it in Lyana’s work. Lazar was always impressed by those who serve the Goddess.”
“That’s because his people worshipped her more recently than the people of Percheron. It took longer to get rid of us priestesses in the west.” Though her words were sharp, Zafira delivered them without malice.
“Lazar believed in no gods, Zafira. Not yours and not Percheron’s.”
“That’s sad to learn. It probably means at some time in his life he had been badly let down. It is interesting to me, though, to see that he was drawn to Lyana that day before you all left to find the new girls for the harem. We spoke then about the Mother Goddess. He felt a special pull to her statue, said she gave him a sense of peace.” She took a step toward him, her tone beseeching. “Jumo, this needs to be said. I understand the depth of your sadness but you must recognize it as grief, not hate. Lazar would not want you to hate me.”
“I do not hate you, Zafira. It is Ellyana I despise for her treachery.”
“Please, I beg you, allow some room in your heart for her. She had hard choices to make.”
But Jumo shook his head. “She made choices beyond her authority. I should have stayed. Perhaps he might have lived if I had. And if not, at least I would have been with him as he died. I cannot forgive her. She has no place in my heart.”
It hurt Zafira deeply to hear these words. She wanted to tell him more about Ellyana but fear stopped her. “Don’t leave the money. The Zar is already donating some and you might need it—you have no idea what you’re going into, or how long you’ll be. I presume you now know how far you might need to travel to find Lazar’s people?”
He said nothing in response to her mild prying, was still incapable of believing Pez’s tale. For the time being, he had deliberately stopped thinking about it. Crossing the Faranel would give him plenty of time for dwelling on Lazar’s great secret.
Zafira was far too sensitive to press him. “Keep the money, for safety’s sake. You can always leave it later upon your return.”
He tucked the pouch inside his robes. “Then I shall go. I thank you for the offer of quishtar, but another time perhaps when some wounds have healed. I have a ship to find.”
Zafira nodded her gentle understanding. “Then go safely, Jumo. I shall look forward to sharing a healing quishtar with you on your return.”
And he was gone, his footsteps retreating down the stairs and padding softly across the stone of the temple floor. She watched from the vantage of her window as he emerged into the quiet of the long peninsula and walked away until he was lost in the crowd and action of the busy harbor. She wondered if she would ever see him again. She wondered if Lyana herself would ever forgive her for hurting a good man so deeply.
Zafira steadied her thoughts. She had to find Pez again. She had forgotten to give him something important, something Lazar had insisted upon him having. It frightened her to have it in her posession. Zafira knew the old stories—what this statue of gold signified chilled her to the marrow.
Iridor was rising. And she had been instructed to give the statue to the strange, mysterious dwarf she called friend but knew so little about.
BOAZ SUMMONED the Grand Master Eunuch, who was shown in, puffing from the exertion of meeting the urgent call to the Zar’s chamber.
Boaz gave no time for polite preamble. As the hefty man completed his bow, the Zar was already talking. “Did you request that Odalisque Ana be readied for a conversation as instructed?”
“Yes, Majesty. She is being prepared now, although I would caution—”
“Salmeo, I am tired of everyone in this palace cautioning me. I shall make myself perfectly clear for the last time to you and to those who would question my authority. I will make my own decisions, good or bad, and should I ever require your counsel, I shall seek it. Until then, just follow my instructions as I have already outlined to you!”
Salmeo seethed beneath the expressionless countenance he had mastered. “Of course, my Zar. We have only your best interests at heart.”
“Then perhaps you can explain why I have no Spur of Percheron.”
The eunuch looked around him, as if he thought the Zar was speaking to someone else. “Majesty?”
Boaz reined in his anger. He’d had years of experience watching Salmeo in action. It would be a pity to waste that knowledge so early in their new relationship by allowing the eunuch to provoke him into explosions of anger or manipulate him in any way. “Lazar, our Spur,” he reminded calmly. “I’m wondering if you have any thoughts on how serious it is that we no longer have Percheron’s highest-ranking member of our security force available to us.”
Salmeo appeared taken aback. “Well, Highness, I suspect he will have to heal considerably before he can sit a horse again or command the men.” He struggled to say more, then added: “A few days perhaps?”
“A few days? You were standing quite close, Grand Master Eunuch. I’m sure the extent of his injuries was not lost on you.”
Salmeo affected an innocent shrug. He closed his eyes, as if sympathetic to the Zar’s observations. “Yes, Shaz made a bad job of it, my Zar. I have confined him to his quarters since, not that he’s up to much. He himself admits he botched it.”
“And yet you had felt confident he could carry out the sentence,” Boaz reminded him.
“Zar, I didn’t have much to choose from. Someone had to do this task. Shaz’s superior assured me that he was the best available. He is apparently adept with the whip.”
“Yes, the whip, for flogging servants and other dissidents within the palace. Perhaps even for striping a wayward odalisque who needed reminding of her place. He had never even been allowed to touch the Snake before. I’m sure you were aware of this.”
“I am afraid I was not, Highness. Time was short and Shaz’s superiors were not available for lengthy discussion.”
“Did you know that Shaz had never flogged anyone before, only dummies in the practice courtyard?”
Salmeo shook his head slowly. “My Zar, this is the first I’ve heard such a thing. How do you know this?”
Boaz knew when he was being fed an untruth. Silently seething, he ignored Salmeo’s question. “Have you heard any news about the well-being of the Spur?”
“No, Zar. But I gather the Vizier was going to send out parties of runners. Has he failed you in this?”
“News has arrived, Grand Master Eunuch, but perhaps you’ve been too busy with harem matters to hear it.”
Salmeo had not, in fact, heard the news. He disguised his wrath; he would personally deal with the Elim spies who had apparently failed him. “Oh, Zarab be praised. I’m pleased, High One. I did hear that a party of messengers was sent out a few hours ago and I hoped that was to deliver news of the Spur. All good, I hope?”
Boaz fixed the fat eunuch with his best stare, one he’d learned from his father. “News, yes, but none of it good, Grand Master Eunuch. New messengers have been sent at my behest to spread news of the Spur’s death.”
“His death,” Salmeo repeated softly, his hand across his heart.
“Are you surprised?”
“I’m shocked, Zar Boaz. The injuries were bad, I’ll grant you, but the Spur was strong, still a young man. If he had had the right care, the healing might have taken a while but…” His voice trailed off. “Dead,” he echoed, still seemingly unable to accept it.
Boaz was confused now, although he worked hard to keep his expression hard. He had hoped to push Salmeo into some sort of confession, hoped that Salmeo would at the very least let slip some information that might indicate he was behind the murder. Perhaps the Grand Master Eunuch really was innocent and aspersions had been cast without proof.
“It’s all my fault, Zar Boaz. If I hadn’t insisted upon such tradition, the Spur would have been spared. I have killed him.” The man, deeply upset, struggled down to his knees. “I have inadvertently killed him through my actions. Oh my Zar, I was only trying to do the right thing. You are young and we all want to support you, make the transition as easy as we can. I thought that by making an example of Odalisque Ana, we could prevent any further embarrassment to the royal family. Who would have thought Spur Lazar would take her punishment himself?”
Boaz was taken aback. He suddenly felt out of his depth, wishing for once that his mother was nearby to offer advice. Was the eunuch weeping? Yes, he was. Boaz wanted to look away but knew he mustn’t. “You might have spared the Spur the Viper’s Nest, Salmeo. That in itself was unnecessarily cruel and, in my opinion, a punishment that did not fit the crime.”
Salmeo opened his arms wide in a plea. “Oh, Zar Boaz, I would have. It was never my idea to use the Snake. You must believe me. I have never called for its use before. I believe it should be reserved solely for traitorous acts.”
“If you did not order its use, then who did?”
“No, Zar Boaz. I take full responsibility. I cannot blame anyone else for this. I permitted it, after all. But I promise you from my heart, Mighty One, I was only trying to do the right thing.”
“Salmeo, there is yet one more layer to this dark deed,” Boaz warned. He watched the eunuch grow still. Salmeo’s face was already slick with tears and perspiration but somehow it seemed to darken as his eyes widened.
“What do you mean by that, Great One?”
“Please stand,” Boaz commanded, discomfited by the huge bulk of the Grand Master Eunuch imploring him from his knees. The man took several seconds—and the support of a conveniently placed divan—to heave himself back to his feet. Once again he towered tall and Boaz was relieved that he had himself chosen to stand on a raised part of the chamber. He cleared his throat. “Lazar’s injuries were horrific but we know this was mainly the result of an amateur’s work.”
Salmeo nodded. “He should not have died from them.”
“Well, we shall never know. What sped Lazar to his death, however, was the use of poison.”
“Poison?” Salmeo uttered in apparent disbelief.
Boaz nodded. “Drezden. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes, of course. It was used by Zars long ago.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you are aware of having this poison in the palace?” Boaz said, aghast.
Salmeo looked mortified. “Great One, this is my fault, and my fault alone. Your father asked me to dispose of the small amount remaining in the palace. It was safely under lock and key and I had forgotten about it until now.”
“Really,” Boaz said drily.
Salmeo feigned confusion. “But when did the Spur drink it, Great One? If he consumed it before he was taken to the Courtyard of Sorrows, then the perpetrator could be anyone outside of the palace.”
“That is true. Except one presumes that if it had been administered orally, Lazar would never have made it to the flogging. He would have died then and there.”
“Not necessarily, High One. Drezden, as I understand it, is a very slow killer. That’s the point of it. It gives the murderer time to retreat.”
“I see. Either way, drezden was not swallowed by the Spur.”
“Oh?”
“From what I can gather, the tips of the Snake were dipped in the lethal potion. It then entered his body via the wounds from the flogging.”
Salmeo’s shock appeared complete. “No” was all he could say, vehemently shaking his head, flesh wobbling tremulously beneath the sober-colored robes he had chosen this day.
“Who chose the Viper’s Nest if not you, Salmeo?” Boaz urged.
“I can’t—” Salmeo groaned.
“You must, Grand Master Eunuch, or the full blame of the Spur’s death will rest on your shoulders. I will not lie to the people about this. Answers are required. Someone must pay for the murder of this man.”
The eunuch wept harder. It was disconcerting enough to watch this normally arrogant man humbled, but to hear him cry was the most uncomfortable moment Boaz had known in his life. “It was Horz, my Zar,” the Grand Master Eunuch suddenly blurted out. “Horz, the head of my Elim guard. He said he was going to take revenge on the Spur but I didn’t believe it. I kept hoping that in his drunkenness he was just talking rubbish.”
“Horz?” Boaz repeated skeptically. The head of the Elim was one of the most trustworthy and sober people he knew.
“Horz had a grudge against Lazar,” Salmeo explained.
“What are you talking about? What grudge?”
“Horz is related to Odalisque Ana, Great One. He is brother to her father. He resented that she had been brought into the harem to be made a concubine. Perhaps her father is furious—she did say that he did not sanction the sale.”
“Ana’s uncle?” Boaz’s mind was reeling. “She never mentioned it.”
“Why would she? Ana is secretive by nature. But I make a point of knowing all I can about our odalisques, Majesty.”
“And he used the drezden? Are you sure?”
“Who else could it be, Zar Boaz? Horz has access to it. Only he and I have keys to the dispensary. And once we had heard about Spur Lazar’s intentions, it was to Horz I turned to help me set up the flogging. I briefed him and left it to him, my Zar. It was Horz who chose the Viper’s Nest. Believe me when I say it was a shock to me too, to see that vicious weapon being brought out. But by then it was too late—what could I do?”
“Intervene?” Boaz snapped, angry.
“With all due respect, High One, I could not. I have invested my faith in Horz, Great One, as you invest yours in those who serve you well. He has been a model Elim, and has been an exemplary guard. I trust him completely; I would never have compromised his position by undermining his authority at the flogging. As I said, I was surprised, but having been told that Shaz was the best new Inflictor, I felt it would be handled with caution. Furthermore, once you commuted the sentence—”
“Which you didn’t seem to agree with,” Boaz interrupted.
“That is true, Mighty One. I believe in upholding tradition and forgive me if my expression reflected a reluctance to stray from that path.” Salmeo stopped talking, breathing hard from his urgency to explain.
“So Horz had the motive and the opportunity, you say?”
“That’s right. I thought it was mere talk—the talk of the liquor—it never entered my mind that he would actually carry out his wish for revenge.”
Boaz sighed, deeply disturbed by all that he had heard. “Family honor is a powerful motivation.”
Salmeo nodded sadly. “I take full responsibility, my Zar. I appointed Horz. He is my man.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Salmeo. You didn’t ask him to do such a thing, nor did you guide his hand. This is murder—a calculated killing, and I will not tolerate it in my palace.”
“What will happen to Horz?” Salmeo asked, a new and plaintive tone in his voice.
“He must pay for his crime. I will require a full confession from him by sundown. Bring him to me just before the feast gong. I would prefer not to handle this on a full belly.”
“Yes, my Zar.”
“Salmeo, for the time being, this is between us. If I discover that anyone has learned of Horz’s actions—or our discussion—your head will roll with his. I want to know the truth from his lips before I make my decision.”
“I understand, Zar Boaz. I will prepare him.”
“Will he be honest?”
“He is an honorable man, Great One.”
Boaz nodded. “I wish to be alone now to consider all that I’ve heard. I shall see you in an hour. Please have Odalisque Ana brought to me then,” he said, sadness creeping into his tone.
Salmeo bowed low and turned to leave. The Zar could not see the way the scar on the Grand Master Eunuch’s face lifted with the man’s sly grin.