61
Disintegration
Climbing the stairs to the top of the Tower of Air was harder than it had been a week ago. Halfway up, Hyram paused to catch his breath. He looked at his hands. They were trembling. He could feel it in his legs too, and it was starting to affect his speech again.
Is it harder because of the sickness, or because of what I know?
No, that wasn't right. He didn't know anything. He only suspected.
No, that wasn't right either. He knew that Prince Jehal had given him his support. He knew that Jehal had betrayed his pact with Shezira and made Zafir speaker. And he knew what Jehal had said, there in the Hall of Speakers, as he did it.
He knew too what had been whispered in his ear, that Jehal and Zafir were lovers. At first he had simply refused to believe it. Then he'd sought the source of this whisper. He couldn't be sure who'd started it, but it seemed to originate from the Tower of Dusk, which meant it came from Shezira. Sour grapes then, besmirching Zafir in a last desperate attempt to overturn the decision of the kings and queens? It wouldn't work. Silvallan wouldn't care and Narghon would probably be pleased to hear it.
It's too late, Shezira. I couldn't change it now even if I wanted to.
He started on the stairs again and eventually reached the top. Usually the tower was loud and busy with servants running up and down between the levels, but today it was quiet and almost empty. The doors to the two topmost floors were guarded. The soldiers hurried to let him pass but they weren't usually here. I have to keep an eye on her. I have to know where she goes. I have to know what she does, who she sees.
'My lord.'
He stopped. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't seen Zafir. She was sitting in the little anteroom that separated her private rooms from the stairs.
'W-What are you doing out here?'
Zafir stood up. She lowered her eyes demurely and showed him what she had in her hands. 'Embroidery, my lord.'
'Embroidery?' Hyram shook his head. 'And I-I don't have to be your 1-lord.' She'd taken to calling him that as soon as the wedding was over. He'd liked it at first, but now it seemed to make her into a servant. It was almost as though she was using it to build a wall between them.
'Isn't that what you want? Aren't I supposed to sit quietly in my nice airy tower, doing nothing very much while you rule the realms?'
'One of those r-realms is yours, Zafir. You don't have to relinquish it.'
'The other kings and queens will expect it from me. It is what the speaker is supposed to do, after all.'
'Y-You could be d-different-' He stopped himself. This was nonsense. This wasn't why he'd climbed the tower. 'Y-You sent word to me, my queen. A-About the potions?'
'Yes.' Zafir smiled and beckoned him into her rooms. Past the anteroom was another staircase that led to the very top of the tower, to the queen's dressing room. Beyond that, most of the rest of the level was one large open audience room. Or bedroom, as it had lately become. Zafir snapped her fingers. A man came running with a pair of goblets. He seemed rather large and ungainly for a servant, Hyram thought, and the face was unfamiliar.
'Your manservant is n-new.'
'He's hardly a manservant, my lord. He arrived very recently and brought a gift for you.' She took the goblets and offered one to Hyram, then sat down and picked up her needlework again.
A g-gift? I know of no riders r-reaching my eyrie in the night.'
'Your eyrie, my lord? And I did not say he came on the back of a dragon.'
Hyram sniffed the goblet that Zafir had given him. His eyes widened. 'S-So you do have more.'
'Yes, my lord. Drink. There's plenty more now. I have reached an arrangement with Prince Jehal.' She glanced up at Hyram from time to time as she spoke, but mostly her eyes were fixed on what her fingers were doing, on the stab and thrust of the needle through the cloth.
'The Viper.' Even hearing his name was like being stabbed. 'W-What arrangement have y-you reached, my lady?'
'One that suits me, my lord.'
'There have been w-w-whispers, Zafir.'
'Whispers, my lord?' She stopped and looked up at him, as innocent as a child. For a moment Hyram wondered what he was doing. He had everything, didn't he? Everything he wanted. Why sully it with baseless suspicion?
But it was the Viper, and so he had to know, even if it ruined everything. 'Yes, my lady. Whispers. About you and J-Jehal.'
'The Jehal who murdered my mother?' Her eyes held him fast.
'I-I had not forgotten, my lady.'
'Drink your potion, my lord. Recover your strength a little.' She smiled, stood up and came towards him. 'It is true I have an arrangement with Jehal. If you want to know, I will tell you everything about it.' She briefly touched his hand, then went to stand behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. Hyram sighed and drank deeply as her fingers kneaded his muscles. 'You must be exhausted.'
'Yes.' Hyram put the cup to his lips and drained it. He could feel the potion coursing through him almost at once, hot and fierce.
'So here is the arrangement I have with Jehal. There will be no more potions for you. Not ever.' Her hands stayed at their work. 'Your sickness will take its course, just like King Tyan's has. I will be speaker; Jehal will be my lover. In time he will follow me. And you, my lord, will be kept perfectly alive, trapped in the prison of your own body, to watch it all unfold.'
A numbness filled Hyram's head. He had to run the words through his mind two or three times before he understood that there hadn't been a mistake, and that she'd meant every word. He lurched out of his chair and staggered forward. Something was desperately wrong. The room was spinning. He could hardly feel his arms and legs. As though… He reached for her and she sprang away from him, snarling and spitting like an angry cat.
'Don't touch me! Never touch me!'
'T-The s-sickness…'
'Is getting worse, is it? Yes, my lord, this potion is a little different. It'll happen much more quickly now. I pray that the Ancestors leave you as useless as King Tyan, and quickly.'
He had a dagger on his belt. Somewhere. He had to reach for it three times before his hands closed on the hilt. 'Y-You… y-you…' he gasped, 'vile… w-wicked…' There was a chair between them, but he had the dagger in his hand now. A huge pressure was building in his head.
'Me? And what about you, my lord?' she hissed and darted away behind a table. 'You betrayed Queen Shezira, the most powerful friend you had. You've broken your clan's pact. And for what? Who do you think I am? You take me in my own bed and then you moan my mother's name in your sleep. I was never anything more to you than some thing to keep your memories burning. Oh, and the potions, let's not forget the potions.'
Hyram stumbled around the table and lunged. Zafir jumped nimbly out of the way. 'I-I… l-loved-'
She sneered at him, dripping scorn: 'You loved yourself, my lord.'
'I l-loved A-A-Aliphera.' He felt obscenely drunk and his head was about to explode. Zafir's face swam in and out of focus. He wanted to reach out and grab it and destroy it, to smash her into bloody pulp, but his arms and legs felt as though they were made of lead. Sometimes it didn't seem to be Zafir's face at all that he saw, but Jehal's, laughing at him. He took another few steps and slashed the air with the dagger; Zafir was too quick for him.
'Well she never loved you, my lord. She despised you. You made her sick.' She darted forward and spat in his face at the same moment as he launched himself at her. He felt the dagger snag on her clothes and she gave a little yelp. He staggered a few steps forward as Zafir twisted away. She cursed and he heard the crash of something falling over. The pressure inside his head was crushing. The world was slowly losing its colour. He turned around. Zafir was scrabbling on the floor, trying to get up, clutching her side.
'You cut me,' she hissed.
