Chapter Thirty-Seven

 

 

The news didn't reach Tansen until ten days after the fall of Liron. He had expected to spend the spring consolidating rebel power in the east and sweeping across the land toward Adalian, a city already trembling before its imminent fall. But now he knew he must return to Dalishar.

When Liron fell, Tansen, like everyone else, had been caught up in the euphoria inspired by the greatest victory since Alizar, perhaps the greatest since the beginning of the rebellion. To wander through the empty palaces of Liron and know that they would never again be inhabited by Valdani; to watch ships leave the port overloaded with the city's last few fleeing Valdani civilians and disarmed Outlookers; to walk through the streets of Liron and know that no Outlooker could ever again stop him here, question him, abuse him, arrest him... He had once told Josarian that it was a dream worth dying for. Now he discovered that it was a dream worth living for, too, an achievement worth every sacrifice it had required.

Thank You, Dar. Thank You for letting me live to see this.

She still hadn't revealed Her intentions for him, but he felt that She had declared a private, temporary truce when She let him survive that day at Darshon. It return, he supposed it was only fitting that he offer Her an occasional prayer. Mirabar had assured him that, despite his having murdered his bloodfather and having tried to keep Josarian from Dar, it wouldn't be a sacrilege.

"No one can ever profane Dar with prayer," she had said.

Since such matters were Mirabar's realm and not his, he was willing to take her word for it.

Mirabar...

Tansen had wondered often about her since leaving Dalishar with Jalilar. Mirabar had changed after Darshon. No longer a girl, he realized. And no longer a demon. Among other things, he wondered if she had returned any more of Cheylan's "very passionate" embraces since Darshon. He had seen Cheylan here in the east, of course, but he would cut out his tongue before he'd discuss such matters with him. It was a relief that Cheylan, having met Mirabar himself, no longer asked Tansen about her. Tansen sometimes wondered where she was, what she was doing, if she was well.

Now he just wondered if she knew about Josarian. The moment he and Emelen learned what had happened, Tansen knew he must return to Josarian's side.

After killing Srijan, Josarian had dragged his body out into the street and left it there as a warning to everyone, including Kiloran: So die all who betray Josarian. Srijan's wounded servant had been left alive to return to Kiloran with the news of his son's death. Tansen couldn't imagine what had gone on that day at Kandahar, how Kiloran had responded, what had been said. And he could hardly bear to think about what Kiloran would do now; but he knew he must.

Tansen set out from Liron immediately. He would go to Josarian's side and stay there. Kiloran would never forgive Josarian for this, would never accept peace between them now. Tansen understood why his brother had done it. After Kiloran's betrayal of Josarian, everyone must choose a side. There could be no middle ground. Josarian knew his people. Though he was the Firebringer, many Silerians would only choose him over Kiloran if he made it clear that he was as ruthless as the greatest waterlord in Sileria, unafraid of his wrath and unforgiving of his treachery.

Josarian had never taken a bigger risk, not even when he had jumped into the Fires of Darshon. Yes, Tansen understood why Josarian had done it, but he wished he hadn't. Now Kiloran would never stop trying to kill Josarian, no matter what it cost him.

So Tansen was returning to Josarian's side now. A man protected by a shatai was very hard to kill. It was small consolation, but it was all Tansen had.

 

 

"Don't take it out on me, Commander," Searlon snapped, fingering his shir in the lantern light. "It was your men who made a mess of what should have been a perfectly smooth—"

Koroll snapped back, "Since you weren't even there—"

"We cannot violate Sanctuary."

"A fine distinction, since you led the ambush party straight to—"

"The distinction is that we do not fight or kill on land claimed by the Sisterhood," Searlon said coldly. "Josarian knows this, and it's why he should have been as vulnerable as a baby when he—"

"Then what went wrong?"

"Your men bungled the attack!" Searlon sneered at him. "My master was right. All Outlookers are fools."

Koroll's face burned at the insult. He longed to have this assassin hauled off to prison right now, but he couldn't. Kiloran, though enraged, had not withdrawn his cooperation. Koroll longed to have Searlon killed before his very eyes, but he still needed the assassin and his master.

"Do you have access to this thing they call the Alliance?" he asked Searlon, rigidly controlling his temper.

The assassin lifted one brow. Koroll had learned that the gesture signaled surprise in his cagey companion. "Yes." Searlon's smile was insolent as he added, "I even have access to Torena Elelar shah Hasnari."

Koroll's belly churned with humiliation. He knew that Searlon was laughing at him again. Though they were allies for the moment, the assassin never bothered to hide his contempt. Wanting to spit into that smiling face, Koroll merely said, "I see."

"Why do you ask, Commander?"

"The newly-appointed Imperial Advisor has arrived."

Wealthy, aristocratic, arrogant, and very demanding, Advisor Kaynall was one of the Emperor's many nephews. His distinguished career in the Palace of Heaven had been interrupted by the war, so the Emperor found another use for him and sent him to Sileria. Quite a disappointing assignment after ten years in the Palace of Heaven, Koroll imagined. He might feel sorry for Kaynall if he didn't dislike him so much.

"And?" Searlon prodded.

Actually, Searlon rather reminded Koroll of Kaynall. "And he wants to hold a secret meeting with someone who can speak for the Alliance. Under flag of truce, of course."

"To discuss what?"

"I have no idea," Koroll lied, just as he was certain Searlon was lying every time he claimed ignorance of Kiloran's plans and intentions. "Can it be arranged?"

"I will ask my master."

It was the answer Koroll had expected. He suspected that Searlon had far more power and autonomy than he admitted to, but the assassin kept his own skin safe and his master's reputation intact by pretending to the Valdani that he was a mere messenger.

"Since you have access to Elelar," Koroll said, "you might tell her that her husband is in custody here."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. She might not recognize him, though. I doubt she's ever seen him quite so sober."

Searlon shrugged. "I doubt the torena will care. I understand that she has a new man these days."

"What a surprise," Koroll said dryly. Her husband was in prison and Borell was barely cold in his grave, but Elelar already had a new lover. "Some things never change."

"And some fools never learn." Searlon leaned forward, his expression cold as he said, "We are not pleased about the recent massacres, Commander."

"We did not do it to please you."

"If you want my master's cooperation—  "

"He is still the enemy," Koroll snapped. "I will not tolerate a waterlord trying to dictate Valdani policy in Sileria."

Hoping to crush the rising spirits of the peasants in the remaining Valdani-occupied portions of Sileria, Koroll had ordered a wave of brutal attacks along the borders of rebel-held territory.

Searlon's dark eyes glittered with loathing. "You are clumsy and savage."

Koroll kept his expression equally cold as he pointed out, "Yet you came to me for help against Josarian."

Searlon shrugged. "As my master has so often said, allies need not be friends."

"Indeed, if they were," Koroll murmured, "then I would pity Josarian his friends."

 

 

Tashinar was ill and keeping to her cave on Mount Niran when she heard the news. Mirabar had scarcely left her side these past few days, she was so worried about her. The long rains had been a bad time for Tashinar this year, making her joints ache terribly. Her lungs had succumbed to the damp, too, and she couldn't seem to get rid of this liquid cough that wracked her body day and night.

I'm old. How did I become old so soon?

She was touched by Mirabar's concern and solicitude. Unfortunately, when it came to watching over a sick old woman, the girl—woman, Tashinar corrected herself, for Mirabar had changed a great deal in recent months—was about as calming and gentle as a volcanic eruption. Mirabar's fears about Tashinar's health made her tongue even sharper than usual. Just last night, she had once again caused the Sister tending Tashinar to burst into tears. Moreover, the men camped up here routinely entered the cave one after another all day long to talk to Mirabar about the rebellion, the Otherworld, Josarian, Tansen, the fall of Liron, the latest news about Adalian, and numerous other plans that overwhelmed Tashinar's mind and disturbed her rest. Najdan the assassin was never far from Mirabar's side, and Tashinar would never be able rest anywhere near a shir. She didn't know how he could rest, either; his enchanted dagger often twitched and shivered in Mirabar's presence as if it were alive.

All things considered, Tashinar had been trying to think of some way to convince Mirabar to leave Niran without hurting her feelings. But this... No, this wasn't how she had wanted it to happen. The news had just reached them: Josarian had murdered Kiloran's son.

Dar have mercy, we are finished.

The information had brought chaos to the camp within moments. Assassins and rebels were squaring off, choosing sides, and launching bitter accusations against each other. Kiloran had betrayed Josarian, some said, and this was the Firebringer's revenge. No, Josarian had gone mad, others said, drunk on power and glory.

Baran's enmity with Kiloran was too deeply ingrained for his people to care what happened to Kiloran or his men. Given a choice between the Firebringer or a waterlord who was their own master's chief rival, they preferred Josarian. The lowlanders, sea-born folk, and Guardians would remain staunchly loyal to Josarian, since they had never pledged themselves to Kiloran. However, some shallaheen would be torn and divided by these events. Many of them still feared Kiloran too much to oppose him, and some clans had sworn loyalty to him many years before they'd ever even heard of Josarian.

This will destroy the rebellion.

Tashinar felt immensely weary as she listened to Mirabar and Najdan argue in hushed, desperate voices. Mirabar's eyes were hot and yellow with panic. Najdan seemed to have aged ten years since this morning. Tashinar didn't understand the loyalty between these two, but from the first moment she had seen them together after the birth of the rebel alliance at Lake Kandahar, she had seen how strong their bond was. Now it was dissolving in the disastrous tide of events beyond their control.

"This is the end of the rebel alliance," Najdan told Mirabar, his voice weary and full of regret. "It's over, sirana."

"No!" Mirabar shook her head, fighting the destiny that had already overtaken her own plans and dreams. "I will go to Josarian. You will talk to Kiloran. We will convince them—"

"Kiloran will never forgive this."

"But he can postpone his revenge until after the war," said Mirabar.

"He will not, sirana. And Josarian knew it when he killed Srijan."

"Then I will go to Kandahar and—"

"No!" Najdan's response was sharp and forceful. "My master would kill you, sirana."

Mirabar's hands twisted in the folds of her tattered tunic. "Then let that be the price of Srijan's death. Let Kiloran kill me in Josarian's place."

Heart pounding, Tashinar protested, "No, Mirabar, you can't! You—"

"Nothing is more important than defeating the Valdani," Mirabar insisted. "Not you, not me, not anyone. Josarian's destiny is to drive them out of Sileria. So we must protect him from Kiloran."

"Kiloran will accept no death in place of Josarian's, sirana," said Najdan. "Not even yours."

"Let's ask him," she said.

"No. I know him. Far better than you do. I have served him since before you were born." Najdan shook his head. "It must be Josarian. No one else."

Mirabar leaned forward, her gaze intent. Her hand trembled as she laid it over Najdan's. "Then help me kill Kiloran," she whispered.

He jerked away as if she had burned him. "No."

"You and I, together, we could—"

"No!" He shook his head. "He is my master. I am his servant. I swore an oath to him twenty years ago. My life is his, sirana. I cannot betray him."

Anger washed across her expression. "I know what these oaths are worth to assassins! How many of your kind have betrayed their masters?"

"I don't know," he said through gritted teeth. "But I won't be one of them."

"He betrayed Josarian," Mirabar said fiercely. "He betrayed us all!"

"We have only Josarian's word for that. A secret ambush by a handful of Outlookers—"

"At a meeting place known only to Kiloran and Searlon!"

"A Sanctuary!" Najdan shouted. "One where Josarian has had meetings before! A site he chose! Who's to say that another cowardly shallah didn't betray him? It's happened before!"

"He said that the Outlookers knew Searlon!"

"He was already locked in a quarrel with Kiloran! What better way to attack my master than by pretending—"

"Would Josarian pretend something that would destroy the rebellion?" Mirabar demanded.

"He has changed since Darshon!"

"But he has not lost his mind!"

Their shouting was interrupted by Tashinar's next coughing fit. Mirabar came to her side and tried to ease her through the spasm. Her chest ached. She could hear phlegm moving through her lungs. Her head reeled from the argument. Her nerves quivered from the explosion of emotions in this tiny space. When the spasm ended, she lay back on her pallet, gasping for air, cursing old age and its burdens.

"Sirana..." Najdan's voice was filled with regret as he held Mirabar's gaze. "I must leave. I must return to my master. You are loyal to Josarian, and I know that is as it should be. But I... cannot honorably continue to serve the servant of my master's enemy."

"Najdan..." Mirabar's eyes filled with tears.

"I would never betray you. If my master... planned an attack on Josarian, he never confided in me. And regardless of why Josarian killed Srijan, you and I must now be enemies." Najdan looked away so as not to see her tears. "Serving you has been the greatest honor of my life, sirana." He rose and turned to leave. Speaking over his shoulder, he said quietly, "I wish you health, happiness, and a long, fruitful life."

"Najdan... When your time comes..." Mirabar's voice broke for a moment. "I pray to Dar that the Otherworld will welcome you."

The assassin lowered his head to slip through the low-hanging mouth of the cave, then disappeared from their lives. Mirabar drew in huge gulps of air, struggling not to weep.

"What will you do now?" Tashinar asked her.

"I must leave, too." Mirabar nodded wearily, forming her own plans. "I must find Josarian. I must.... protect him from Kiloran." She sighed, a soft sound full of sorrow. "I know why he did it, but..."

"But?" Tashinar prodded.

"Must it always be this way here?"

"Always? I don't know." Tashinar closed her eyes, unbearably weary after a lifetime in Sileria. "I only know that it always has been this way here."

 

 

Adalian fell even sooner than expected, but Zimran could not find it in his heart to celebrate when he heard the news. The torena had been desolate ever since Srijan's murder. At night, she allowed Zimran to comfort her in the dark privacy of their bed, but she was distant and dismissive by day. Moreover, she went away often now and didn't always take him with her. Sometimes she was gone for only a day, sometimes for three or four days. She revealed little about her activities when he questioned her, saying only that the Alliance was busy discussing how best to govern the cities coming under rebel control. Even when they were together at the villa near Chandar, she seemed to have less and less time for him, always writing letters or holding meetings with other high-born members of the Alliance.

It was perhaps only now that he realized how much he loved her. He would not have cared about the long, unexplained absences of any other woman. Indeed, any other woman's inattention would merely have spurred him on to his next conquest. But Josarian had been right; now that Zimran had found Elelar, he wanted no other woman. He wanted this one to pay attention to him as she had in the early days of their liaison. Nothing else would make him happy again. He had briefly considered pursuing another woman as a means of making Elelar jealous, but he had dismissed the idea. He knew enough about her by now to recognize that he would lose her with such behavior.

Although Elelar's habit of excluding him from her thoughts and activities since Srijan's violent death made Zimran increasingly unhappy, he hadn't quarreled with her about any of this until today, when she summoned Tansen to the villa for a private meeting—one which she insisted Zimran leave when he discovered them together. Tansen and Elelar's angry voices certainly seemed to preclude any possibility of the meeting being a pretense for more intimate activities, but Zimran was furious all the same. He knew how much the shatai had always wanted his woman, and he knew how close together anger and passion could live in a man's heart. Zimran left the two of them alone as ordered, but his heart raged with jealousy and humiliation. As soon as the roshah left, Zimran confronted Elelar.

"We argued about Josarian," Elelar informed him wearily. "What else?"

"Then why couldn't I be there? Why must I be sent from the room like some child?" Zimran demanded.

"Because you and Tansen do not get along," she said reasonably. "And the conversation was volatile enough without adding that fuel to the fire."

He hated it when she was reasonable, when her arguments were irrefutable and sensible. It made him sulky. "You are always having secret meetings these days. Always writing letters. Always going away."

"This is the life I led before being imprisoned in Shaljir," she said. "The life I have always lived."

"Can't you rest now? You are no longer living a secret life in Shaljir, and this war should not be women's business, anyhow."

She went very still. For a moment, he feared he had said the wrong thing. She could be rather difficult. But, then, she was a torena, and they were different. He must remember that.

Trying to call up her softness, the part of herself that she reserved for him alone, he slipped an arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, "I worry about you so, kadriah. These are dangerous times, and I can think of nothing but your safety when you go away without me."

"I'm... I know," she murmured, softening under his touch.

Her waist was so slim, her stomach so smooth and flat. He usually took pleasure in the exquisite beauty of her body, but now he longed to see her waist thicken and her belly swell with his child. He had always dreaded the thought of fatherhood; some years ago, he had even resisted pressure from Josarian and his self-righteous wife to marry a girl in Emeldar who claimed to be carrying his child. He enjoyed women for the pleasures they could share with him, not for the hungry mouths they could burden him with. Like so many other things, though, he found that this, too, had changed now that he was in love with Elelar. He wanted to plant his seed in her belly, to create a new life within her and someday watch her nurse his son.

Such an idea would have been unthinkable before the war. Even their relationship would have been unthinkable not so long ago, but everything was different now. And with the world turned upside down, Zimran intended to keep Elelar as his own. Forever.

He slid his palm up over her breast and gently massaged her, feeling her body quicken under his touch. Maybe a child would be just the thing, he realized. Maybe a baby would make her settle down at last, leaving the business of war to Josarian, Tansen, and their kind. Perhaps if Zimran got her with child, then the two of them could settle into a quiet life together, free of all this madness. Whether or not Josarian fulfilled the destiny of the Firebringer, he was as good as dead anyhow. Kiloran would never rest until he had avenged the death of his son. In the meantime, with Liron and Adalian already fallen and all of Sileria now involved in the war, surely destiny could play out the rest of this game without Zimran and his woman.

He kissed the slender column of her neck, inhaling the subtle fragrance that clung to her fair skin. He pulled her closer, glad he had locked the door when he had entered this room to quarrel in private; a torena's household was full of servants who were always inconveniently underfoot, bursting into her presence without warning or apology. It was so long since she had allowed him to make love to her in the middle of the day. He kissed her long and hard, intending to override any protest she might make now.

She let him unfasten the silken ties that held her tunic together. Beneath it, she was warm, soft, and fine-boned. His mind reeled away from the sudden unbidden memory of Srijan's blood covering the face he now kissed, soaking the hands which now slipped between his legs to stroke him. How could Josarian have murdered Srijan right in front of Elelar? Fury filled Zimran as he thought of it again, fury that flooded him with protective fervor as he swept her up into his arms.

How could Josarian have endangered her so?

What if there'd been a fight and she'd been hurt? What if Kiloran, who undoubtedly knew of her presence, didn't believe she was an innocent bystander who had actually tried to save Srijan?

Zimran had despised Srijan, but he knew that Elelar was right. Killing him, no matter what the provocation, had been an insane act. A shallah did not cross a waterlord and survive. Josarian may be the Firebringer, as people said, but this was Kiloran whom he had offended. And Kiloran no doubt now regretted having shown mercy to Tansen, Josarian's brother—a show of mercy that had obviously made Josarian lose respect for him. Kiloran would not make the same mistake twice.

Surely Josarian was doomed. How could he live much longer? And considering how Josarian had abused and endangered Elelar that day at Golnar, Zimran could not find it in his heart to be sorry that his cousin might die soon.

 

 

Elelar was finding it more and more difficult to get away from Zimran. Sex always pacified him upon her return home, but he was becoming increasingly sulky, quarrelsome, and demanding before each departure. She would glad turn him out of her household, except that her rift with Josarian had grown so wide that Zimran was now her only reliable connection to him.

Josarian might be half-mad since his leap into Darshon, but he was still no fool. He knew that Zimran told Elelar everything, so he said little to his cousin about the war, his plans, or his enmity with Kiloran. Nonetheless, careful questioning of Zimran after he saw his cousin always revealed more than Elelar could have learned without him, so she continued to let him stay with her. Luckily, in a doomed attempt to win Zimran away from her, Josarian had recently sent him off on some innocuous mission. Zimran resented the separation from Elelar, but—at her insistence—had accepted the assignment and proved his loyalty to his cousin by obeying orders. Not only did it serve to re-establish some of Josarian's waning faith in Zimran, but it freed Elelar for an important assignation with Searlon, one which would take her away for more days than Zimran would have tolerated without making a fuss.

She had met with Searlon once before, at the behest of the Alliance. Her associates were deeply concerned about the rift between Josarian and Kiloran. So far, it seemed that the Valdani knew nothing about it, which was a relief. Revelation of the crumbling rebel alliance would renew Valdani confidence just when they were finally losing it. Whichever side of the quarrel Silerians took, it was in everyone's best interest to ensure that the Valdani didn't find out about the unbreachable chasm of hatred which now separated the Firebringer and Sileria's most powerful waterlord.

Adalian and Liron had already fallen. Cavasar was in a state of constant turmoil and completely cut off from Valda. Moorlander warships now patrolled the waters off of Sileria's western coast, and the sea-born folk had controlled Cavasar's port ever since sacking it. One half of Sileria's land was under rebel control. The Silerians still living in Valdani-held lands were now openly loyal to the rebellion, preparing for their own liberation.

Indeed, at this point, the Valdani must be nervously wondering why the rebels had not yet made a move against Shaljir. At least the rebels' frustrating inability to take action at this time was having one useful effect: The delay was driving the Valdani mad with nervous anticipation.

Elelar knew from dispatches making their way through Liron and Adalian that the Emperor's two-front war was devastating the economy of Valdania. If the Imperial Council had thoughts of calling for peace with either the Kintish Kingdoms or the Moorlanders, it was too late now. They had gone too far, committed too much. Neither the free tribes of the Moorlands nor the Palace of Heaven would accept an offer of peace now. They would know it was merely a sign of weakness, an indication that they might now have an opportunity to carve up the distant reaches of the Empire for themselves.

The Silerian rebels, however, had no ambitions on the mainland. They wanted nothing from the Valdani except unconditional withdrawal from Sileria. So, after two hundred years, the Imperial Council had decided that Sileria was expendable.

The new Imperial Advisor in Sileria had been instructed to meet with the Alliance under a white flag of truce to negotiate an end to hostilities. Unable to risk proposing peace to their two mighty foes on the mainland, the Valdani were evidently ready to cut their losses in Sileria. It would relieve them of an increasingly costly problem, and they undoubtedly believed they could reclaim Sileria at some later date, after securing the victories they still anticipated in the Moorlands and in the Kintish Kingdoms.

The Valdani wouldn't believe the prophecy about the Firebringer, if they even knew it: The enemies he drove out would never return to Sileria. And Elelar had no intention of trying to win them over to Silerian mysticism. After all, they'd be more likely to leave now if they believed they could simply come back later.

Elelar's heart almost ached with hope as, escorted by Searlon, she made her way to the negotiations she had been instructed to attend. The meeting was so secret that she had been advised to tell no one about it. Not even Faradar knew where she was now. Would the Valdani really make an offer—and if they did, would it be sincere?

Will the war really end?

As Searlon guided her to the edge of rebel territory and beyond, Elelar saw plenty of evidence that it would be best for Sileria if the war did end this year—perhaps even by summer. The rebels were prepared to fight for much longer. Now that the Firebringer had come, they would fight forever, if need be. But this impoverished land was already suffering under the burden of fighting the world's wealthiest empire. It would be so much better for Sileria if the fighting could end before her land was too war-torn and her people too devastated to reap the benefits of victory.

Above all, Elelar longed to see an end to all the killing. She had heard about the terrible massacres occurring all along the borders of rebel territory, but none of the stories had prepared her for the horrors she now witnessed as she rode beside Searlon.

Village after village had been attacked. Many had already been burned, the tragedy so great that the survivors simply torched entire towns rather than trying to resurrect their lives amidst such devastation. In some villages, where survivors remained, Elelar heard such horrific stories of brutality, murder, torture, and slaughter that she felt physically sick. Even women, children, and dying old people were not safe from the Outlookers rampaging through the lowlands in a wave of violence so vicious that it eclipsed all memories of Myrell the Butcher.

The orders came from Commander Koroll, of course, and his name was on everyone's lips. Having failed to hold Sileria, he now sought to destroy her in his humiliation. It made Elelar think of what Borell had done to her in the guardhouse at the Lion's Gate. Now she saw that a man could try to do the same thing to a whole nation, that he could hate an entire people that bitterly.  

Koroll must be stopped.

Josarian knew it, of course. He was fighting to defend the helpless villages falling victim to Koroll's vengeful rage. However, the Outlookers had learned a thing or two from the rebels. These attacks on undefended, non-military targets always occurred by surprise and usually in the middle of the night. They were secret operations. Even if Elelar were still living in Shaljir, sleeping in Borell's bed, and privy to his discussions with Koroll, she'd probably be unable to learn about the planned attacks in time to save the victims.

Koroll must be stopped.

And the war must end soon. It might be different if Josarian and Kiloran were still allies, but now that they were enemies, time was running out. The rebellion was crumbling already, splitting up into warring factions in the wake of Kiloran's betrayal and Srijan's murder. The Alliance must negotiate for the Valdani to leave now, before they could take advantage of Sileria's internal weaknesses again.

It's only a matter of time...

Of course, Elelar knew she might be riding to her death even now. Kiloran apparently believed that she'd had nothing to do with Srijan's murder. She wouldn't put it past Searlon to toy with her before assassinating her, but he'd had many opportunities to kill her or lead her into a trap during these past few days, and he hadn't done so. So she believed he was indeed taking her to the Alliance's meeting with the Imperial Advisor now. On the other hand, she had even less reason to trust the Valdani than she did the Society, so she wasn't certain she would live through this.

Searlon said the invitation had come through an assassin the Valdani had captured and then released in the hope that he could, as he claimed, get a message to the Alliance. Elelar had resisted at first, assuming it was a trap laid by Koroll. The commander wanted them all, and he probably still wanted her more than anyone else. Indeed, Searlon himself had passed along the news that Koroll had imprisoned Ronall in the hopes of using him as some sort of bait or exchange hostage for her. Ronall! Evidently Koroll was too big a fool to realize just how unlikely Elelar was ever again to take two steps out of her way—let alone return to prison—for the sake of her husband. Anyhow, he was a Valdani aristocrat; surely keeping him in custody was the worst thing that Koroll would do to him.

She remained suspicious about this meeting, but the Alliance had asked her to be one of the four representatives who would attend. She assumed it was because, among her associates in the Alliance, she was the closest to Josarian—though none of them realized how much that had changed. Even Searlon, whom no one would ever describe as a trusting sort of man, seemed to believe today's meeting was genuine rather than a trap. So Elelar went, praying that she wouldn't find herself right back in Shaljir's prison as a result.

When they arrived at the crumbling ruins of a Moorlander fortress in Valdani-ruled land, Elelar saw the white flag of truce flying over a round tower that was decorated with the remnants of the demon-slaying stone creatures carved there many centuries ago by the Moorlanders. 

Someone emerged from behind the tumbling stone walls. Elelar felt relief when she recognized Toren Varian of Adalian. The old man, who had been an associate of Gaborian's for over forty years, was one of the chief authorities within the Alliance. His presence gave her hope that the meeting was indeed genuine. Searlon helped her dismount, then watched her follow Varian into the ruins. This meeting was for the Alliance only. The Imperial Council believed they could reason with aristocrats, toreni, and even wealthy merchants, but not with illiterate peasants, assassins, wizards, fire-eating mystics, and outlaws.

"War is the business of one kind of man," Varian advised her as he guided her into a large tent flying another white flag. "And peace is the business of another."

And the business of women is to make you all do the intelligent thing and let you believe it was your own idea all along.

She had failed at Golnar when Josarian killed Srijan. She had failed the night Tansen had murdered Armian. Both failures had cost Sileria dearly. She vowed that she would not leave this meeting without securing peace for her people.

Varian introduced her to Advisor Kaynall. He had obviously heard of her, and she found his gaze insultingly familiar as it traveled over her. He made some remark about envying Borell. She didn't comment, just returned his gaze coolly, hating him as she hated all Valdani. She ignored the seat he offered her, choosing another instead.

"Tell me, torena," he said. "Just out of curiosity... After all the effort your husband invested to procure your right to an imperial trial, why did you flee Shaljir?"

She stared at him. Realizing he meant the question seriously, she said, in the tone of one addressing the village idiot, "Because I preferred escape to death by slow torture."

"But death by slow torture was by no means a certainty, particularly considering—"

"I was being dragged to the cellar for that very purpose when Silerians rebels broke into the prison to rescue me. How much more certain do you think I needed to be?"

The Advisor frowned. "That's impossible. You had been granted a trial. And surely that's why Borell killed himself—because your testimony would ruin him."

Elelar shook her head. "No, Captain Myrell said that I had been denied a..." She stopped suddenly, realizing. "Koroll."

Kaynall's eyes widened. She saw that he was quicker than Borell had been. "I... gather that your testimony could have damaged Commander Koroll as well as Advisor Borell?"

"Not as much, but it would have been damaging." She leaned forward, reconstructing the events as they must have occurred. "Borell got the dispatch granting me a trial and killed himself. Koroll somehow suppressed the news before anyone else knew about it, then worked out a scheme wherein he could get away with killing me before I could embarrass him at trial."

Following the conversation with his own quick mind, Varian guessed, "And he would have found a way to cast blame elsewhere."

"Onto Borell, probably," Elelar mused, "who couldn't defend himself once he was dead."

Varian smiled blandly at Kaynall. "Evidently life in Santorell Palace isn't all that different from the Palace of Heaven, which is notorious for such scheming and deception."

Kaynall was too experienced to reveal the fury he must be feeling over the High Commander's self-serving subterfuge, or the embarrassment he must feel at having it revealed to him by an enemy—and a woman.

The new Advisor merely returned the bland smile, then said to Elelar, "I'm afraid your husband and his family have suffered severely due to these misunderstandings. The Council honored you by granting the right of an imperial trial to a Silerian, and His Radiance considered your violent escape from prison a personal insult. It is small reparation, but I give you my personal guarantee that your husband will be released from custody the moment I return to Shaljir."

"The Emperor, my husband, and my husband's family are all Valdani," Elelar said, "Their suffering, their sense of insult, and their freedom are of no concern to me."

"Well." Kaynall's brows rose. "How refreshingly direct."

"Would you care to be direct in return?" she said. "Rather than spending two days leading up to it, why don't you tell us right now, with no prevarication: What do we have to do to secure unconditional Valdani withdrawal from Sileria?"

"Ah..." Kaynall steepled his fingers together. "I think you'll be surprised at how little we want, torena."

"What?" she prodded.

"Only one thing. Just one. But it's not negotiable."

"What?"

"We want Josarian's head."