24

T he man looked sickened. “Lie to the Zar? Admit to a terrible sin I did not commit?”

“Unless you want your family slain, Horz,” Salmeo agreed conversationally. At the Elim’s stunned expression, his chief continued slyly: “Or did you think I didn’t know about them? I know everything, Horz. I know that you were once married and have three children—two boys and a girl, if I recall correctly. I know that your wife died—your error in making her travel during an illness—and that your brother’s family has raised your children whilst you, as a penance of sorts, offered yourself to the Elim.”

Horz’s face had drained of all color. He stood before the Grand Master Eunuch pale and rigidly still.

Salmeo looked at his nails, made a mental note to have a slave neaten them again this evening. “I know that your children live with your eldest brother. Your other brother is a goatherd in the foothills. His marriage is less than perfect but he has five children—one of them not his. The middle girl is an orphan, adopted by your brother. Her name is Ana and she was found by Spur Lazar, purchased fairly and brought to the palace. Except the negotiations were with the shrewish wife, not your brother, and he is hurting and you are angry that one of your own has been given to the harem. Odalisque Ana recognized you but did not give you away—she’s a clever girl. She’ll cost me more grief than I deserve, I’m sure, but she protected you, Horz. It was you who gave yourself away. I knew nothing about your brother in the foothills until I began to make inquiries after your reaction at the presentation of the girls. You were protective toward her, and I became suspicious. And now it’s simple, Horz. I need a scapegoat and you’re the perfect solution. I can’t possibly take the blame myself.”

The Elim said nothing, presumably understanding all too clearly now that he was staring into two pits—both dark, both horrible. One meant death to the family he loved; the other meant death to him. There was no choice, really.

“Now, if you go along with my suggestion,” Salmeo said softly, his lisp more noticeable as a result, “I will give you my assurance—a blood assurance, if you insist—that I will take care of your children. Your sons will have money and some land or a shop if they wish and a house each of their own in the city. You may choose. Your daughter I will help find a good man for…someone she likes, I promise, someone who will treat her kindly. A rich man. She will want for nothing. Your brothers and their families will receive an annuity each year in gold and camels. Even in your most vivid dreams, you couldn’t have hoped for this much.”

Horz shook his head sadly but said nothing.

“It’s how much I value what you will do for me. I pledge it. All this will occur if you’ll lie for me…and die for me. You are Elim, after all.”

Still the man stayed silent.

“And if you will not lie, Horz, then your family will die. Not just your children but both of your brothers, their wives, and all their children between them. I hear the youngest is just a summer old. Pity. There is nothing you can do, there is nowhere they can hide. You should know,” Salmeo said to the proud man who now gazed fearfully at the ground, trembling, “that I have already sent men to encircle your people.”

Horz looked up sharply, hate radiating from his dark eyes.

“Oh, come now, did you expect anything less? Of course I’ve already dispatched men—killers too—but they will not act until they’ve heard from me. Does your family live or die, Horz?”

ANA WAS LED IN by two senior eunuchs and she immediately sensed that the Zar was not in the playful, chatty mood of the previous day. When she stood before him, he signaled the escort to remain. This was a formal meeting, then.

She eyed him through the slit of the charcoal veil she wore tonight over creamy loose pantaloons and a billowing chemise. Ana was glad that the veil hid her fear. The Zar’s grave countenance could mean only one thing: he had bad news for her. It was obvious Lazar was not coming back in a hurry.

Why she had held such hope that he would be striding through the marble corridors within days was beyond her. One didn’t have to be wise to see that Lazar’s injuries were so horrific that he would need months to recover. And this was all her fault. Her selfish attitude had brought about his suffering. Remembering how he had looked at her before the flogging, she knew in her heart that Lazar had already forgiven her. But could she ever forgive herself? She doubted it.

Ana swallowed hard and reminded herself that this soul-searching was yet more self-centeredness. She was already wondering how she would cope without a glimpse of Lazar or a chance to hear his voice. She loved him, and wanted to tell him that she had mouthed the words behind her veil, but of course he would not have understood; she could only hope her eyes had conveyed her feelings truly. She knew she was a child in his eyes, but he had sold her into the harem for an adult’s role. If she could make love to the Zar, she could make love to the Spur.

Oh shame on you, Ana, she chided silently. Your wicked thoughts will dismantle you. Ana watched Boaz approach and then fell to her knees, flattening herself as she had been taught, arms spread wide in supplication.

“Please stand, Ana,” Boaz commanded graciously.

She did so, straightening her robes but not offering him eye contact until she was given permission. From now on, she would do everything the right way, and then she would earn the palace’s affection and hopefully Lazar’s respect.

“I wish to talk with you privately but I’ve asked the Elim to remain. Let us move here so we may not be overheard.”

She nodded, wondering both at the secretiveness and at the reason Boaz had requested the Elim’s presence.

“You may look at me, Ana. It would please me.”

She heard the struggle in his voice and decided to help him. “My Zar, I believe that you have called me here this afternoon to give me news of the man who so generously offered his own skin to save mine. Thank you for keeping your promise.”

To her surprise, Boaz didn’t look any happier for the aid. “Your intuition serves you well, Odalisque Ana. Yes, this is about Spur Lazar, but first I must ask you something.”

“I’ll answer whatever you wish to ask, Highness.”

“I want your truth,” he counseled seriously. “The man called Horz, do you know him?”

“He is the head of the Elim, Highness,” she answered immediately but carefully.

Boaz’s serious expression did not waver. “I know. I want to know if you know him outside of that role.”

Ana blinked. “He is my uncle,” she said softly. “I hardly know him but I have seen him once prior to the palace, when he came to visit my father and our family. It was a long time ago but I don’t forget faces, Highness.”

“I see,” Boaz replied, and she could sense a swell of disappointment overcome him. Why was he upset? Was he angry with her for not saying something sooner?

“My Zar,” she began, leaping to the wrong conclusion, “he has shown me no special treatment. I have hardly seen him since my arrival, other than in the Choosing Room when I was to be presented with the other odalisques. He also was in charge of me at the flogging but we did not exchange so much as a word. He pretends not to know me and I him.”

Boaz sighed. “I thank you for your honesty.”

“You look so unhappy, my Zar. Please unburden yourself and give me the tidings of the Spur—the pain is mine, for the fault is mine. I know he was badly hurt and I suspect you are disappointed that he will be out of service for a long while.”

She saw Boaz’s eyes widen slightly. There was deep grief hidden in that startled expression and there was pain in the way his mouth twisted, urged itself to say the words. “Ana, it is my sad duty to tell you that Spur Lazar will not be returning to the service of Percheron.”

She heard him clearly but the words made no sense to her. “Has he gone away?” she asked, feeling injured that Lazar had not sent word of farewell.

“He has gone away for good, you could say,” Boaz said gently. “He has gone to his gods, Ana.”

She cocked her head slightly as if listening to an inner voice. She couldn’t seem to grasp his meaning.

“Spur Lazar died in the early hours of this morning, Ana. It was confirmed by an old priestess from the Sea Temple.”

“Zafira?” she whispered, hardly knowing she uttered it.

“Yes. He died in her arms. She has disposed of his body as he requested.”

Ana was trembling. Boaz signaled to the Elim, who were at her side in moments, preventing her from falling.

“He died from his wounds?” She began to wail softly. “How can this be?”

“I’m afraid I know nothing further,” Boaz lied.

“He can’t be dead,” she groaned. “He can’t. Have you checked with Jumo, my Zar?”

“Jumo was here with me this morning, Ana. He is as upset as you and has agreed to find Lazar’s family and pass on the news with my deepest regrets.”

“Jumo’s gone to Merlinea?” she stammered, no longer thinking straight, just talking, saying anything to keep the horror at bay.

“Yes. Ana, you need to lie down. You are in shock. The Elim will take you back to your chambers and will give you something to help you sleep. We shall talk again soon.”

“Boaz, no!” she shrieked, ignoring all protocol. The Elim gripped her hard, angry at her manner with their Zar.

“Stop,” he ordered them. “Be gentle with her. Carry her back to the harem, and if I hear of a strand of her hair so much as pulled from her head, you will both regret it. Ana,” he said, gently, wishing he could cup her face or hold her hand but unwilling to touch her in front of the Elim, “go now. We will know more soon. Be brave; Lazar would want you to be as brave as he was.” Looking to one of the men, he ordered, “Ask her maid to give her a soporific immediately. She must sleep off her shock and someone must be with her the whole time. Pez will do.” He saw their puzzlement. “He’s mad, yes, but he’s also company and he can soon alert the harem when she wakes or if she needs anything. Do as I command. Find him and tell him I said he’s to stay with her.”

He looked away as the baffled men, unsure of how to order Pez to do anything, ushered the silent, grief-stricken figure away.

PEZ TOOK ONE LOOK at the tearstained face and understood immediately that Ana had learned the shocking news.

“…and you’re to remain here with her, dwarf, do you understand, you fool? Zar’s orders,” an Elim was saying.

He ignored the man, humming to himself, but as the Elim bent down to make his point, he sneezed into the man’s face. And then kept sneezing, much to the man’s horror and disgust. Pez could see the man’s fingers twitching into a fist, desperate to make the dwarf pay for such insult.

“Don’t,” the Elim’s mate cautioned. “It’s not worth your own skin. He’s mad, you know.”

“Sometimes I feel as though he knows exactly what he’s doing,” the first man grumbled, wiping his face. “Come on, let’s go.”

Mercifully, they left and Pez was finally able to turn and lay his hand on the slightly feverish forehead of the restless young woman. Ana moaned softly, caught in a drug-induced sleep. As before, as soon as he touched her, Pez felt a strange sensation tingling through his palm and traveling up his arm until it entered his body proper and warmed him throughout. It was unsettling—as though her fever had passed into his body—and yet it was also somehow comforting. As long as he kept his hand on her body, the sense of glowing within remained.

She stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open but her eyes remained unfocused, her pupils dilated. The warmth running through Pez intensified. He half expected Ana to sit up and then walk in her sleeping state—he had seen others do this—but she began to murmur instead, incoherently. He leaned in close to hear better and realized that she was speaking a language he did not understand but recognized as an ancient one.

Suddenly she gripped his hand with such force he winced. Her body had become rigid although her eyes continue to stare blankly. “Pez.”

Her voice sounded distant, odd. A trickle of fear crawled up his spine. “I’m here, Ana.”

“Tell Lazar I’m sorry.”

He did not want to lie but did anyway. “I will, although he needs no apology.”

Seemingly at his words, the warmth through his body increased.

“The owl is yours.”

“What?”

“Get the owl, Pez.”

A sudden chill shivered through him. “The owl?”

“Zafira has it. Get it now!”

“I will, I promise,” he replied, baffled.

And then Ana’s grip relaxed from his wrist, her body became limp again, and she slumped into deep sleep, her lips slightly parted, her expression no longer troubled but serene. “The owl,” he said quietly to himself, not understanding any of it. What should he do? He had orders to remain, but if he sneaked away, the Elim would just think he was being his usual contrary self. However, these orders came from Boaz, and Pez didn’t want to disappoint his friend. And yet somehow Ana’s need felt more desperate, and that searing heat through his body had been too strange and frightening to ignore. And besides, he had good reason to visit Zafira. She was going to tell him one way or another how he would find Ellyana. He had an oath to keep to Jumo.

BOAZ HAD SPENT the last hour steeling himself for this confrontation. It hurt him to think that he might have to deal severely with a man he admired while ignoring the one he despised. Boaz couldn’t fully believe Salmeo and yet he could not disbelieve him outright. The fact of the matter was that if Horz admitted to this shocking deed, Boaz would have no choice but to bring the full weight of his crown behind the punishment. It was treachery of the highest order—not just the slaying of a man of rank but a man close to the Zar—the Zar’s absolute protector, in fact. The people would demand no less than death and nothing honorable about it either. More serious than all of this, of course, was the betrayal from within. That Boaz could be treated so traitorously by one of his own, especially one in the prestigious Elim, demanded the most punitive retaliation. If he did not act with the utmost severity, it would set a poor tone for his reign.

Bin somberly announced the arrival of the Grand Master Eunuch and the head of the Elim.

“Bring them in,” Boaz ordered.

Bin disappeared momentarily to the study and returned with the two visitors. Salmeo bowed low but Horz fully prostrated himself.

“Stand,” Boaz ordered. The head of the Elim returned only to his knees, head bowed. “Horz,” he began, glad his voice was free of all the tremors he had feared, “the Grand Master Eunuch has shared—most reluctantly, I might add—some information that has devastated my feelings about the Elim. I gather you know to what I refer?”

“I do, my Zar. I beg you not to blame the Elim for this deed. Its honor is intact, for the act you refer to is all my own doing.”

“So you admit it?”

“I admit that it was my sole doing, High One.”

“What exactly are you admitting to, Horz?” Boaz asked quietly.

The man swallowed hard and Boaz could see his hand trembling. “I killed Spur Lazar with poison that I stole from the apothecary. Without the Inflictors’ knowledge, I dipped the tips of the Viper’s Nest into the lethal potion known as drezden.” He fell silent. Salmeo nudged Horz with his toe and the man began speaking again. His voice was detached, as if he were reciting from a prepared script. “I had already blackmailed the head Inflictor into leaving his post on a pretend excuse; the deputy, Rah, was ill. That left only the apprentice, Shaz, who I was sure would botch the flogging, particularly using the snake whip which I insisted he use.”

“Stop!” Boaz commanded. “Grand Master Eunuch, would you leave us for a short while. I wish to speak with Horz alone.”

Salmeo gave a soft, bouncing bow and departed. Boaz did not miss the glare he threw toward the Elim on his way out.

“Look at me, Horz,” Boaz said gently, and the man reluctantly lifted his head. Boaz looked at the angry eyes and defiant set of the mouth that belied the humble tone and willing confession. It didn’t take much to put the scenario together and he regretted deeply not sending a runner to fetch Horz far earlier and confronting him with Salmeo’s claims as he stood before the Grand Master Eunuch. He felt suddenly empty. “I thought as much,” he said sadly. “What has he got over you, Horz, that you would lie for him? It can’t be loyalty, for what you’re admitting to surely goes against everything you stand for, have always stood for.”

Horz took a moment to compose himself, and when he spoke his voice was even, no wrath flavoring his words. “I am not lying, Highness. I am honorable in this confession.” His eyes silently said something different.

It broke Boaz’s heart but he was helpless. It was obvious that Horz had somehow been compromised but the man was openly and determinedly confessing to a murder and it was he alone who must take the full blame. Boaz called for Bin and asked him to readmit Salmeo. The eunuch flounced in confidently but was careful to keep his expression somber as he bowed yet again.

“Is everything all right, my Zar?”

“Yes, everything is exactly as you described it, Grand Master Eunuch,” Boaz replied smoothly.

Salmeo inclined his head in thanks and Boaz had no choice but to allow the head of the Elim to continue to weave his sad lies.

IT WAS DONE. Boaz imagined Salmeo was inwardly gloating, although his expression betrayed nothing but intense sympathy for the kneeling figure.

“We will require a formal witness from my council for sentencing,” Boaz said. “Bin?”

The manservant stepped forward from the recesses of the chamber. “My Zar?”

“Fetch the Vizier, and I suppose you had better fetch the Valide Zara too.”

The servant bowed and left the room, urgently calling for runners. Boaz excused himself without much courtesy. He could no longer bear to look at Horz or the smug Grand Master Eunuch.

But, as his father had constantly counseled, information is power. Boaz knew only too well how Salmeo’s mind worked and the eunuch no doubt understood this. Salmeo’s eloquent presentation of the role of Horz in this murder was plausible, and given the circumstances of the Elim’s hollow-sounding confession, he could hardly accuse both men of lying. Why Horz might go along with such a grave untruth he couldn’t imagine, but Boaz was sure Salmeo understood that his Zar suspected the lies. It gave Boaz some satisfaction to know that the fat man might never again feel comfortable in the Zar’s presence.

BIN WAS SURPRISINGLY SWIFT in rounding up the Vizier and the Valide prior to supper, and Boaz returned to the study quickly. Horz had not moved from his kneeling position, although Salmeo had deliberately distanced himself from the criminal. Boaz felt the flutters of anger again at the chief eunuch’s audacity but he damped them down, knowing them to be a useless waste of energy.

“Mother, Tariq,” he acknowledged. As both bowed, Boaz was once again struck by the new posture of the Vizier. His eyes must be deceiving him, for the man seemed ever straighter, taller than he had just a few hours before—even his complexion looked less pasty. His mother, by comparison, looked deeply unhappy. Dressed in dark garments with no adornments whatsoever, she looked almost as though she were in mourning.

Boaz wasted no further time on courtesies. “You are here to witness the sentencing of Horz, head of the Elim, who has confessed to the premeditated murder of Spur Lazar.” Herezah uttered a soft sound of shock. Not much surprised the Valide but this statement had. Tariq, Boaz noted, said nothing and in fact barely flinched at the news, suggesting either that he didn’t care or, more likely, that the man knew more than he was sharing. “Grand Master Eunuch has assisted in winning this confession,” Boaz continued, his words couching a silent threat to Salmeo.

“And what reason, my Zar—if you don’t mind my inquiry—has Salmeo wrung from Horz for wanting to murder our Spur?” It was said innocently enough but Boaz looked sharply at the Vizier. It seemed Tariq too had already discounted Horz’s involvement in Lazar’s death.

The eunuch demurred. “It is not my place. I shall leave that to our Zar to explain.”

Boaz briefly explained the connection between Horz and Ana to his mother and Tariq.

“Because of that girl!” Herezah exclaimed, angry now. “She is more trouble than she’s worth—first the escape, then the Spur’s flogging, and now we learn he’s been slain because of a father’s anger on the girl’s behalf.”

“Mother, please,” Boaz soothed.

But Herezah would not be appeased. Her anguish at the realization that she would never again look upon the Spur had crystallized her feelings during the past couple of hours and her sense of self-pity at losing him had turned to anger. She could not forget Joreb’s counsel to her to keep Lazar close to their son. Now she was fearful for her young lion—and for her position and the power she had worked so long and so hard to attain. Her emotions spilled over. “She’s a goatherd’s daughter, a peasant! We’ve lost Lazar because of her.”

Boaz knew his mother was grieving for Lazar, but he also felt the many underlying agendas in the room. The intense feelings emanating from the various people he now faced had very little to do with sorrow that a good and senior man had lost his life to deceit. “Silence!” Boaz snapped, more harshly than he intended. “Bin, you will record this and name the Valide Zara, Vizier Tariq, and the Grand Master Eunuch, Salmeo, as witnesses. Horz, please stand.”

As the tall man finally stood, Boaz declared, his anger rising at being forced to punish what he deeply believed was an innocent man, “You have confessed to the murder of Spur Lazar and thus you will be taken from here to the Palace Pit, where you will await execution. You are hereby denounced as a traitor to Percheron and will be accorded the appropriate punishment.” Boaz no longer minced his words. “Horz, you will ride the needle at the bell of midday tomorrow. Until then you will be given no food, water, or companionship. You will not address the Elim, and you will not be permitted to speak with any family members. You have betrayed your Zar and your country, and therefore your corpse will rot on the needle as a warning to all who choose to betray me.”

Boaz could hardly believe the vehemence in his own voice, although the pain reflected in Horz’s face almost undid him.

The Zar hoped he might privately make retribution on behalf of the head of the Elim, but sadly not while the man lived. Horz would have to enjoy his satisfaction in Zarab’s Kingdom. “Begone from me,” Boaz added. “May Zarab offer you the sanctuary that your Zar cannot.” His one consolation was that he knew Horz understood his careful words of regret.