One person, though, wasn't watching the dragons. Among a group of messenger boys standing at the back among the guards, one wasn't jumping up and down and cheering. He was more interested in Zafir, and in him. Jehal smiled to himself. He wasn't sure who the boy was spying for, Hyram or Shezira. Both of them perhaps. In the end it didn't really matter. What mattered was who the boy really was.
The dragons were getting closer. An hour ago they'd launched themselves from the top of the Diamond Cascade. Ten immense wooden frames, each one a hundred feet high and a hundred feet wide, lay strung across the Hungry Mountain plains and around the lakes. Ten frames, one for each of the Kings and Queens of the Realms, and the last one for the speaker and her guests. Jehal was supposed to be out in the plains, at King Tyan's frame, but he'd quietly slipped away to be here instead. He'd made some effort not to be seen, but the boy had followed him here anyway.
Around him everyone was shouting. He peered over the water, trying to see whether there were any more dragons on their way, but there weren't. The point of the race was to fly through all ten frames. From the ground they seemed enormous; on the back of a speeding dragon they became suddenly small. Accidents happened. Sometimes a dragon would be lost, but more often a rider. Losing four, though… Jehal felt briefly wistful. He'd ridden in these races and knew exactly how the riders fought for position. It must have been a particularly good battle over the plains, and for a moment he wished he'd been there to see it.
He shook himself. The two dragons fighting for the lead were still neck and neck heading for the last frame. They'd reach the finish in less than a minute. Time for him to go. He slipped away while everyone was watching the finish, and almost no one noticed him leave.
Almost. As he scurried away into the woods Jehal heard the roar of the crowd reach a peak and then a crash as one or both of the dragons hit the frame. He felt a flash of irritation. They'd be talking about this race for years, and he'd missed it.
He peered around among the trees. As he did, two figures began to rise from the undergrowth; hastily Jehal motioned to them to stay hidden. 'Another minute,' he whispered as he walked past them. 'Dressed as a messenger boy.' He stopped for a moment and held the white silk up to his eyes. Zafir was already on her way, walking quickly with a pair of her riders at her heels. Doing her best to seem furtive. He put the silk away and crouched down amid the ferns and brambles.
'Have you got it?' he asked. One of the men handed him a large sack. He thought about reminding them all how dangerous their quarry was, but he could already hear Zafir coming along the forest path. She passed barely a yard from where Jehal was hiding. He held his breath and waited.
And waited.
He was on the point of reaching for the silk again when the messenger boy finally appeared, creeping silently down the path, Jehal tensed, ready to spring.
The boy must have had a sixth sense. As Jehal and his men launched themselves, he was already spinning around, jumping away with a knife in his hand. He lashed out and one of Jehal's men grunted and staggered. Then Jehal had the sack over the boy's head.
'It's a woman!'
'I know that. Pin her down? Jehal hissed. She was deadly quick but no match for three strong men. 'Get her hands. And get that bloody knife off her!' For a few seconds the four of them wrestled in grim silence, and then Jehal punched at where he guessed the woman's face would be and the struggling stopped. Together they wrapped another sack around her waist, pinning her arms.
'Shit.' The wounded man was looking at himself, at his hands. His shirt was soaked in blood. He stood for another second and then slumped to the earth, lost among the bracken.
'Stay here,' growled Jehal. 'Deal with him.'
'He's dead, Your Highness.'
'Yes. Unfortunate. And he's a rider of Furymouth. We can hardly leave his body here, can we? Deal with him and then come back to me.' He searched the woman carefully for more knives, made sure her arms were properly pinned and tied a rope around her neck. Then he dragged her away through the trees. Whenever she seemed to be coming to her senses, he pulled on the rope and made her fall. I don't need you looking pretty, not that you ever were. Just alive and able to run, that's all.
He'd come to the woods the day before, looking to see how far he'd have to go. There was a long-abandoned forge not far from where the dragon race ended. With a cellar. At the time it had seemed perfect. It had also seemed a lot closer to the place he'd chosen for the ambush.
Finally, after it seemed he'd been dragging the woman for an hour or more, he reached it. He pulled her inside and threw her down the stairs to the cellar, then closed the door behind them. Finally he pulled the sack off her head and threw a bucket of water over her. He smiled and gave a little ironic bow.
'Lady Nastria. Queen Shezira's knight-marshal. What a pleasure to have your company at last. Shame about the circumstances.'
She looked at him. Her lips were broken, her face bloody and bruised. One of her eyes was already so swollen she could barely open it. She spat out a tooth and opened her mouth.
'Scream if you want, but no one will hear you. That's what all women do in the end, isn't it? Scream for help?'
Nastria closed her mouth. 'Traitor,' she slurred.
'Traitor? Me? Because I gave your queen my word and then didn't keep it? Just like Hyram, eh?' He laughed. 'Traitor? You don't know me, Knight-Marshal. Not at all. No, no treachery here. All I'm doing is righting a very old wrong.' He shook his head and sighed. 'I've been watching you. Would you like to see how?' Without waiting for an answer he took out the white silk and pressed it to her eyes. 'Look. Look hard. A little bit of sorcery that someone gave me. And don't pretend to be shocked. Does Queen Shezira know about your blood-mage?' He took the silk away. 'You understand, don't you, that I wouldn't have shown you that unless I was going to kill you?'
She looked at him, defiant and sullen at once. 'What do you want, Jehal?'
'Here.' He held out a cup of water. 'Water. I thought you might be a bit of a mess by the time I got you back. You know you killed one of my riders back there.'
Nastria looked at the cup and turned her face away.
'Lady, you and I both know that good poison is expensive and nowhere near as easy to come by as others may think. When I kill you, it'll be with steel.' He picked up a sword from the corner of the cellar and drew it from its scabbard. 'This was my father's, back when he could hold it.'
'Then get on and use it, Jehal. Your fate is already sealed and you can't change it.'
'I'd sooner destroy the palace itself than murder an artist such as yourself. But as I cannot have you following me… A lady knight-marshal. I've often wondered what it must be like for you, surrounded by riders who are all so much stronger. In full armour I imagine you can barely stand up. But you're quick, I'll give you that. And you can do something that almost no other rider could ever do: dress like a serving boy and slip through the palace, and no one gives you a second glance. Sometimes you're Lady Nastria, knight-marshal. Sometimes you're a pot-boy, a scullion, a maid, I admire you, I really do. You and I are alike.' He smiled. 'If you want to be sure that something is done properly, there's nothing like doing it yourself.'
'How long?'
'How long what?'
'You and Zafir.'
Jehal laughed. 'A long time, Knight-Marshal. Long enough that we glance at one another in a way that only lovers do, no matter how much we try not to. It pleases me that you're the one to see through it. I suppose you've already told Hyram.'
Nastria shrugged.
'Well I'm going to feel very silly if you haven't.' He held out the cup again. 'Please.'
She spat and looked at him with scorn.
'No, you have told Hyram, and I know you have. 'Your wife and the Viper, Lord Hyram. Watch them closely.' That's what you said. He didn't take it very well. It's all falling apart for him, isn't it? He's ill again. The potions aren't working any more. Zafir is young and he's old. And then there was the vote. I wish, I really do, that I could have read his mind just that once. Just to know what went through it right then.'
'I know things, Prince Jehal. Things about the Taiytakei. Things you don't. They're not the friends you think they are.'
