25
“So, it didn’t go quite as we’d hoped,” il Tornja said, leaning back in the chair to prop his gleaming boots on the desk before him.
Weeks had passed since Uinian’s trial, but the kenarang’s new duties had not afforded a chance to meet until now. Adare sat across the desk in what had been her father’s personal library, a high-ceilinged room ten floors up inside Intarra’s Spear. The space was as strange as it was spectacular—the transparent exterior wall, the very crystal of the Spear itself, giving an overview of the rest of the Dawn Palace—the Floating Hall; the twin towers, Yvonne’s and the Crane; the massive central courtyard leading to the Gods’ Gate, and beyond the gate, the Godsway, plunging like a great river into the chaos of the city beyond. It was a space in which a man might feel himself master of the world, aloof from the trials of mortals toiling in the shops and shipyards, alehouses and temples below.
Adare felt anything but aloof.
“It was a disaster,” she said flatly. “Worse than a disaster. Not only does Uinian go unpunished for my father’s murder, but the rumors of his miracle are probably halfway to the Bend by now.” The memory of the serried ranks of the Sons of Flame marching in Sanlitun’s funeral procession suddenly seemed more dangerous than ever. “Intarra has always been a popular goddess, Uinian has his own private army, and now, in a single day, he’s managed to command the awe and imagination of every citizen in Annur. Anlatun the Pious come again, people are calling him, never mind the fact that Anlatun was a Malkeenian.”
“It was a pretty good trick,” the kenarang replied, pursing his lips.
“That trick may have spelled the end of the Malkeenian line,” Adare snapped, amazed and irritated at the man’s nonchalance.
Il Tornja made a casual flicking motion with his hand. “I wouldn’t go that far. There have been birds in and out from the Eyrie every week since Sanlitun’s murder, and they assure me that Valyn’s hale and whole.”
“Valyn isn’t the heir.”
“There’s no reason to suppose anything has befallen Kaden, either.”
“There’s no reason to suppose it hasn’t. Ashk’lan is at the far end of the empire, practically in Anthera. Uinian might have sent someone to murder Kaden. Kaden could have fallen off a ’Kent-kissing cliff and we wouldn’t know about it. We haven’t heard a thing from the delegation sent to collect him.”
“Travel takes time. Meanwhile, you’re here.”
“I’m a woman, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Il Tornja glanced down at her chest, then raised his eyebrows provocatively. “So you are.”
Adare colored, though whether the flush came from anger or embarrassment she couldn’t be sure.
“The point is, I can’t sit the Unhewn Throne. You’re regent, but you’re not a Malkeenian. Uinian has an opening now, a gap in which he can assert himself as the inheritor to my family’s tradition.”
“So kill him.”
Adare opened her mouth, then shut it, unsure how to respond. Il Tornja said the words the way another man might suggest purchasing more plums. Life, of course, was cheaper on the frontiers, and he’d spent a career watching men die, his own and those of the enemy. Unfortunately, they were not on the frontier.
“There are laws,” she replied, “legal codes to be followed.”
“The same legal codes that worked so well for us during the trial?” he asked. “Legal codes are all well and good, but there’s a certain clarity to just lopping off a head. I don’t know about you, but I take that trial as a personal affront. That weasel of a priest won, which means I lost. And I don’t like losing.”
“I can’t just go around killing people!”
“You can’t?”
“I’m the Minister of Finance, not the headsman.”
“You’re the Emperor’s daughter. There’s five hundred Aedolians whose only job is to fight for you.”
“Their job is to protect me.”
“Tell them they can protect you by sticking Uinian full of steel.”
She shook her head. He was missing the whole point. “The Malkeenians are not despots.”
He laughed at that, a long merry laugh. “Of course you are. You’re just particularly good despots. You’re enlightened. You try to do what’s good for the people. All that sort of thing.”
“Exactly.”
“But you’re still despots. Or tyrants. Do you prefer tyrants? The point is, no one chose you to rule over Annur.”
“I don’t rule over Annur,” she protested, but the man waved her objection aside.
“You’re the princess and a minister, your father’s daughter and your brother’s sister, and right now the only Malkeenian on the continent, let alone in the city.”
“And yet the Council of Ministers chose you to be regent,” she replied, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.
“And I’m deferring to you. That should tell you just how much power you have.” He dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward in his chair, nailing her to the spot with his eyes, fully engaged for the first time in the conversation. “You’re a remarkable woman, Adare. I’ve had the displeasure, as kenarang, to spend time with some of the men who like to think they hold Annur together, and I can tell you you’re smarter than the lot of them combined. You see situations clearly and quickly and you’re not afraid to speak your mind.” She colored at the unexpected praise, but he wasn’t finished. “The question is, are you able to act?
“I’ve known a dozen men with good enough military minds to rise to my rank. They understood strategy. They could see their way out of impossible tactical positions. They knew the importance of the boring stuff: logistics, transport, and all the rest. Their weakness was their inability to act. There comes a time in every battle when the necessary course of action is clear, at least to someone who understands battle in the first place. What thwarts most men is the nagging doubts. What if I’m seeing it wrong? What if there’s something I haven’t considered? Maybe I should wait another minute, another hour.”
He smiled, a hard predatory smile. “I fight against men like this all the time, and I kill them.”
“Kill Uinian?” she said, trying to feel the full implications of the idea. The whole situation was overwhelming, not just the problem of Uinian, but il Tornja’s praise and criticism as well. No one had ever spoken to her like this, not even her father, who trusted enough in her judgment to raise her to the rank of Finance Minister. That post was more than she had expected from her life, and yet il Tornja, for all his criticism, spoke to her as though she had the potential for something more, something great.
“Why not? He murdered your father, he flaunted your family, and he looks ready to make a major play for imperial power.”
Adare considered this man who sat across from her. When they first met, she had thought him ostentatious and vain, a pompous fool who cared more for his wardrobe than for important affairs of state. She had been wrong; she could admit that to herself now. What was harder to admit was the fact that she wanted to impress him. It was a ridiculous thought, a girlish thought. But why not? she demanded of herself angrily. Here was a man who had risen to the highest military office, upon whose command hung the lives of hundreds of thousands, and who spoke to her not as a simpering girl or a sheltered princess, but as an equal. As she looked at him, she caught a glimpse of a pairing that might be—the princess who was a minister, the kenarang who became a regent—but she forced it down. The man eyed her calmly from across the table, his eyes deep as wells.
“Why are you helping me?” she asked.
“I’m helping the empire.”
“That, too,” she acknowledged, “but you’re also helping me.”
Il Tornja smiled, and this time the smile was warm, human. “Is it so wrong for a man to want to ally himself with a brilliant, beautiful woman? There is a thrill in campaigning, sure, but the bombast and endless posturing of military men grow old after a year or ten.”
Adare dropped her eyes, tried unsuccessfully to slow her pulse. Uinian, she snapped at herself. You’re here to figure out how to deal with Uinian.
“Killing the Chief Priest won’t be as easy as you make it out,” she said, forcing her mind to the matter at hand.
Il Tornja watched her for a moment longer with that same intensity, then leaned back in his chair. Adare felt relief and longing at the same time as he moved away.
“Men tend to die when you slide steel beneath their skin and wiggle it around. Even priests.”
Adare shook her head. “He needs to die, you’ve convinced me of that, but you’re still thinking like a soldier. Soldiers may not blink when their comrades fall on the Urghul frontier, but Annur is not a battlefield. The empire has outlawed blood sacrifice. The entire city will sit up and take notice if someone murders Uinian, especially after the trial. The man was popular before.… Now, if anyone knows, if anyone suspects that I ordered the killing, there will be riots in the street.” She considered the matter for the first time from the perspective of the Chief Priest. “If I were Uinian, I’d be hoping we would try for something like this.”
“So we’re back to caution and waiting for Kaden?” he asked.
“No,” Adare replied firmly. “We’re thinking of a third path. Let’s go back to the trial. How did Uinian avoid burning?”
“I hope you’re not going to tell me that he really is the consort of some mythical goddess.”
Adare frowned. “You don’t believe in Intarra?”
“Do you?” Il Tornja spread his hands. “I believe what I can see with my eyes and hear with my ears. Men have won and lost battles for a thousand reasons, but never because a god came down to take part in the fray.”
“That’s not what the histories say. During the Csestriim wars—”
“The Csestriim are a child’s tale, as are the gods. Think about the look on Uinian’s face going into the trial.”
Adare nodded slowly. “He knew he was going to survive. He didn’t have a moment of doubt.”
“And if you were counting on the favor of a goddess no one has seen or heard from in a thousand years, even if you thought she was going to bail you out, don’t you think you’d be at least a little nervous?”