‘Tamlath Rhyl attempting to assassinate the Emperor?’ His eyes bored into Orhan and Darath.
‘Tamlath Rhyl is unconscious and under guard,’ said Orhan smoothly. A sword in the stomach and a dose of hatha syrup tended to have that effect. ‘Should he recover, he will be subjected to careful questioning to ascertain the truth of what has happened here.’ The knowledge of what he would have to do sickened him.
‘But that’s about what it looks like,’ Darath followed up brightly.
March grunted and nodded at Holt and Mannelin. ‘Can’t argue with the four of you, I suppose.’
‘Five,’ said Darath, as Elis entered the room with ten men at his back. ‘We would appear to have the advantage on numbers, My Lord Verneth.’ Most of the High Council, now Tam was dying.
March’s gaze moved from Orhan to Darath to Holt to the Emperor. Holt shifted but remained standing near Orhan. A long pause, their weary eyes watching each other. Orhan’s hand itched for the hilt of the sword he still wore at his hip. Now we see. Now we see if we can hold them, even for a little while.
And … No. Of course we can’t. March turned and strode out of the room, shouting orders to his men as he went. Cammor Tardein followed him; after a moment, Samn Magreth did likewise, as did a couple of the more minor lords. So it begins, thought Orhan wearily. He’d hoped for a brief while that the Verneths’ long-standing quarrels with the House of the Sun in Shadow would swing them towards him. But there’d be looters on the streets by now too, he shouldn’t wonder. And any moment now—
And any moment now, one of his men burst into the bathhouse, face cut and bloodied, to report that the Great Temple had been attacked, several women and temple slaves were dead, the High Priestess herself was missing.
Chapter Thirty-One
God’s knives.
The Emperor turned paler than ever, a choking sound coming from his mouth. Gasps of horrified astonishment from several of the men present.
God’s knives.
‘This … This …’ Orhan struggled to regain control of his mind. ‘This goes far deeper than I had … had feared. I knew … I knew Lord Rhyl intended harm to the Emperor, but I did not suspect … I did not suspect … I …’ Great Tanis. God’s knives. Questioning Tam would be worse even than he had thought, if he had this to worm out of the man too. Still a halfway decent man, are you, Orhan? a voice whispered in his heart.
God’s knives.
And so more orders were drawn up, disposition organized, Amdelle men sent to the Temple, Aviced men sent to take charge of Tam’s house and household, soldiers called out and sent to patrol the streets. March Verneth to worry about. Most people were keeping indoors but armed men were out searching for invaders and looters were emerging; a fight breaking out near the Temple; fighting in the streets near the House of the Sun in Shadow between Tam’s men and his own.
God’s knives. God’s knives.
It had been a long night. Going to be a long day ahead too.
‘You should get some sleep,’ Darath said gently. ‘There’s nothing more anyone can do tonight.’
Orhan shook his head. He knew exactly what would happen if he released his control on things. And if Tam woke when he was sleeping … ‘Later,’ he said dimly. ‘You sleep, Darath. You need to heal.’
Darath nodded. ‘I’ll leave Elis here with you.’
Wonderful. The man seemed to have come straight from a brothel. Hadn’t even managed to get his shirt done up properly. What use he’d be, Orhan couldn’t imagine.
Darath drew him into a corner, away from the guards and the sleeping Emperor on his couch. ‘Then maybe you can explain to me what exactly you’ve done at the Temple, when I wake up again. Unless you still don’t trust me to know.’
Oh for Great Tanis’ sake … ‘What did you think we were going to do,’ Orhan replied tetchily, ‘bribe the High Priestess to identify the right baby? It was the only way.’ He almost laughed. ‘And I never told you, or anyone, because you might try to stop it. Even most of the men we hired didn’t know about it, the man Skie was bound to strict secrecy, too.’ Rumours that Lord Emmereth was responsible for an attempt on the Emperor would be one thing. The slightest hint he or Darath had been involved in an attack on the Temple, however … If he was to be damned, he’d be damned in private, without Darath being dragged into it. ‘And so Tam never knew to stop it. And so we now have this absurd situation to resolve, on top of everything else.’ The sheer cost of arranging for the red lot to be drawn had been crippling, and for little apparent purpose if the woman was simply missing and then turned up again. And so more things to do. More pain. More damnation. More death.
The grey hour before dawn was the worst. Not as ill-fated as dusk, but still a perilous time, a time of passing and change, neither living nor dead. Things had settled down, exhaustion finally overcoming excitement. Elis and Holt stayed in the bathing house, curled up on chairs and dozed. Everything calm, sleep pulling at Orhan, but a sense of fear hung over him, like birds screaming overhead. A sound of weeping. A scent of blood in the air. So much still to do, so much still so open to collapse. He felt like the palace itself, shaken and burnt. Why did I do this? he kept thinking. Why?
Orhan was dozing himself when a man shook him violently awake again. Tam Rhyl had recovered consciousness. He went quickly to the small storeroom where they were holding the dying man, giving strict instructions to be fetched if anything happened or anyone came.
Tam lay on the floor covered in a bloody cloak, his face clammy, his breath rasping in pain. Orhan was half surprised he was still alive at all. Don’t you dare die on me now, he thought with shame. Not until the Emperor and March Verneth have heard your confession. He knelt down and carefully untied the bandage he’d wrapped around the man’s flabby belly. The wound underneath was beginning to stink.
‘You … won, then?’ Tam whispered. His lips were very dry. Orhan gave him a little water from a jewel-encrusted cup.
‘Just about. We’re both on the border between living and dying, Tam. You’ll die soon whatever. I need you to save me. You know what I’ll pay if you do.’
Tam nodded slowly. ‘I tried to make it too complicated.’ Speaking to himself as much as to Orhan. ‘I tried to play everyone … But you shouldn’t have won …’
‘Where’s the High Priestess?’ Orhan pressed his hands down hard on the wound, breaking the clots and feeling hot blood well up.
A gasp of pain. Tam’s face white. ‘What … are you talking about?’
Orhan pressed harder, feeling sick to his core. ‘I won’t save her, Tam. I’ll let them all burn alive. Your wife. Your son. Your daughter. Your boy. Where is she?’