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“You have a great source of magical power right there beside you.”Kerik looks at Lyr as Perl shouts, “He is the Books of Alios. He is from Klish. A vessel. And she made him into a great magical talisman, created from ancient texts full of power. He can charge your power with ease.”
Kerik looks at Lyr. Lyr nods. Kerik says, “Sorry, I know we’ve only just met. And I know what was done to you before, but would you mind if I…”
Lyr reaches out and takes hold of Kerik’s forearm. Kerik grips back. His touch is warm. “Can you kill her?”
Kerik says, “I can try.”
“Then do it,” Lyr feels something rising inside him. A great sense of joy. A profound feeling. Justice. Revenge. Peace. Greater than the relief he feels from sofi, or any other thing he uses to calm his mind. The words he says next feel like balm. “Use what she did to me to kill her.”
It is a strange sensation, like something heavy is leaving Lyr’s body, draining into Kerik’s.
Kerik raises the sword in his free hand and a blinding white light fills the cavern.
40
XAN
ATTAR DOCKS, ATTAR
Xan walks down the gang plank of his ship. A Plumian ship moored at Attar docks, in the heart of the empire.
Such a thing should be impossible. And yet here he is, with papers from Lord Harwin Underlia, formally introducing him to Emperor Selim as Xan the Plumian, the first envoy from Plumia to visit Azuria. Here to find a way to make peace on the isle of Pluma-Ferris.
But he has already heard grave news. Before he even left his cabin a messenger brought him word that Emperor Selim was dead. And although it does not matter to Xan which Darek Emperor he speaks with, what is far more of a problem is who they plan to execute for Selim’s murder.
He breathes in the air of Attar, salt and spice in the wind. He will meet with this newly minted Emperor Atticul. And the first thing he will demand is his sister’s pardon.
Then he will bring this filthy city to its knees. And the Azurian Empire with it.
41
JEMEL
THE ROSE PALACE, ATTAR
Jemel stares at the parchment before him. The light from his small oil lamp flickers on the words. He has been struggling with this sentence for half the day. It is only short. Six words. But he cannot decipher two of them.
He’s puzzling over it when Gelen Zain walks in. Jemel lifts his veil from where it lies on his desk, and replaces it. He does not need to cover the horror of his face before Gelen, only in public, but he is so used to having his face covered, he prefers to wear his veil before anyone. Jemel stands, sliding the papers he has been working on under some other documents.
Gelen wears his fine robes as the High Word of Zai. At least he does not have blood on them today. But there are sooty marks on his fingers.
He’s been branding someone.
Gelen enjoys nothing more than inflicting pain. Unlike some men in the Order of the Enforcer, who find causing pain rousing, who have clearly been drawn to the calling by their own cocks rather than the whispering of Zai, Gelen seems to enjoy pain purely; simply for its own sake. Jemel has witnessed it often enough when he has watched Gelen giving instructions in his preferred sharp methods.
“Ah, Jemel. I have a job for you.” Gelen says as Jemel bows.
“I am yours to command, Sire,” Jemel says as he straightens.
“There is an envoy arriving from Plumia. He speaks only Plumian and will need a translator. I understand you speak Plumian.”
“It is not one of my stronger languages, but I believe I have enough.”
“Very well,” says Gelen. “I don’t have to impress upon you, I am sure, that this role is sensitive. I will expect you to accompany this man everywhere. And report to me about anything he does that you think is notable.”
“Very well, Sire.” Jemel feels quite proud. His abilities with languages are rarely prized in the Order of the Enforcer.
When Gelen has left, instructing Jemel to wash, change his clothes and come to the Hall of Twelve, he takes a moment to look again at his translation.
