Darath splashed him with water. ‘If I’m getting fat, you’re getting morbid. It’s a bad habit. Let’s change the subject. Is the child really yours?’
‘What?’ Orhan sat up too and gestured for Darath to pass him a cup. ‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re jealous.’
‘Jealous? Surprised, more like. It’s not yours, is it?’
‘Darath, do you really think I’d tell you either way? You may be the desire of my life, but some things are private.’ Orhan smiled at him. ‘If it’s a girl, I can betroth it to Elis, if you like.’
‘Elis?’ Darath sounded genuinely astonished.
‘He’d still be just under forty by the time she was ready for marriage. Then he’d get to be the Lord of the Rising Sun after me.’
Darath burst out laughing. ‘That would make me your … Living and dying, no, that’s just not right. I’m not bedding my little brother’s good-father. Let’s not even think about this. And I’m not marrying my brother to some serving boy’s bastard, either.’
‘Now you’re assuming it’s not mine. You are jealous.’
‘I’m never jealous. How many men have you slept with, then, in the last few years? Describe them all, I won’t even look upset, I swear.’
‘No one. You know that. No one but you.’
Darath pulled a face at him. ‘Be still my heart, he loves me beyond reason … Come on, there must have been someone? Pretty curls and pouting lips? No? How disappointing. I’ve been through dozens …’ He sipped his water thoughtfully, Orhan could see him purse his lips at the cold, sweet taste of it, sharp with lemon. ‘Speaking of such things, there seems to be a story spreading that the most beautiful boy in the world has been seen wandering around the city looking to buy swords, helmets and hatha root. Curious, don’t you think?’
‘I don’t listen to stories. Even about beautiful boys.’
‘You should. It alarms me a little … I don’t like people talking about someone buying weapons right now.’ Darath stretched and settled himself comfortably into Orhan’s shoulder. ‘Oh, listen to me, now I’m being morbid. Are you sure you don’t want a cup of wine, something to eat?’
Orhan shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘So easy to please.’ Darath kissed him, wrapping his arms around him. Orhan’s cup spilt and icy water poured over them, making them both cry out in surprise and then laugh. They fell back into the bed together, did not speak again for a long time.
‘We really do need to get up now.’
The candles had burnt low and the room was gloomy, shadows dancing on the high walls. It must be getting on for evening. Time and more than time. Orhan’s stomach roiled. What are we about? Why don’t we just stay here and fuck some more, and content ourselves with that?
‘You need to get up, Darath,’ he said.
Darath rolled over and groaned. ‘You’ve exhausted me … Lord of Living and Dying, just another moment dozing …’ He sat up and rang the bell for a servant. ‘Come on then.’
Body servants washed and dressed them in shirts and trousers, rich silk in bright colours, served them a light meal of bread and smoked meat. They drank a cup of wine afterwards as a toast, eyes meeting silently. Then Darath dismissed the servants and they helped each other put on their armour. Orhan’s fingers fumbled awkwardly with the fastenings. He’d had servants to do this, on the rare previous occasions he’d worn the stuff. They belted on their swords and took long knives also. No helms. No shields.
‘Great Tanis, Lord of Living and Dying,’ Orhan murmured when they were finished, ‘we stand away from You now in the place between light and darkness, between life and death. Protect us, Lord Tanis, hear our prayers and give us life or death according to our due.’ Darath laughed shortly, but nodded. All things done as they ought. They ate a mouthful of salt and honey from a small white dish. Then they went down.
The men were waiting in the inner courtyard. Twenty of them, all the trained men of the House of the East and the House of Flowers combined. Pitifully few, where once the High Lords of the Sekemleth Empire had kept private armies enough to overrun the world. But enough. They had been assembled apparently hastily, told that there was an emergency and that they were needed now. It must have stirred up the streets already, to see Orhan’s men march out fully armed in their blue livery, faces confused and grim. But as they came out into the street they smelled smoke in the air, and heard screaming, and it was obvious that the city was alive with panic because the palace was on fire and men were dying in its halls. Voices were already beginning to cry of invasion and murder; as they went through the Court of the Broken Knife, a woman with blood on her clothes was screaming that she had escaped from the palace, where armed men with the look of Immish were slaughtering all that lived. Other lords would be assembling their men, word might even have reached the Imperial army outside the walls. They went on hurriedly, staring faces crying out in fear and reassurance as they went.
A man came running towards them, eyes very wide, a band of red silk tied around his chest. He nodded at Orhan and said simply, ‘It is done.’ The words were mechanical, as though he did not know what they meant. Which he probably didn’t. Orhan smiled, astonishment and elation rising up within him, mixed with a deep shiver of horror at what he had just achieved. All was changed, now, whatever the outcome. He had changed the world … Only the hard part left. The part he feared with the practical, immediate fear for his own life. He was damned already now. Being cut to pieces was a more immediate concern.
From the direction of the palace came a great crash, like a roll of thunder. The sound hung in the air, almost deafening. Silence again, then a roar like a vast beast. The men started and stared at each other, Darath and Orhan with them. What in Great Tanis’s name …? I must not be afraid, thought Orhan. This was my idea.
‘What did you tell Elis?’ he asked Darath.
Darath shook his head. ‘Nothing. I don’t want him trying to work things out. What did you tell your wife?’
‘Nothing, for the same reason.’ But he’d left her a letter among his papers, torturously trying to explain what he was doing and telling her that he was sorry. For what, he left unspoken. Marrying her, ignoring her, getting her killed, being born. If he’d lived, he wrote, he would have welcomed and cared for the child. Signed it with his full name and title, Orhan Emmereth, Lord of the Rising Sun, the Emperor’s True Counsellor and Friend, Warden of Immish and the Bitter Sea. Though Sorlost had not had suzerainty over Immish since the days of the Calboride Godkings, and had never had any interest in the Bitter Sea.