Miya lowered herself into a sagging armchair and motioned them to a pair of wooden chairs. “Thero says you’re investigating the plague in the poorer quarters.”
“Yes. I understand your master was an expert in various death magics,” Seregil replied. “I was hoping you might have heard of something similar to this sleeping death.”
She nodded toward the workroom. “As you can see, my studies have taken me in a different direction, though I daresay I know more about death magic than most under this roof.” She reached over to a side table and carefully picked up a dusty, fragile scroll. “I found this in the cases of my master’s personal library. Do you boys read Red Sun Period Zengati?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Alec glanced sidelong at his friend in surprise; he hadn’t thought there was any language Seregil didn’t have some knowledge of.
She sniffed at that, then gently smoothed out a portion of the scroll. “This was written by a traveler to eastern Zengat some four centuries ago, Teleus thought. I don’t know how it came to him. It’s just a journal, really, and talks about all sorts of different things, but here it mentions what the author calls the falling sickness, which he describes as a kind of trance a person falls into for reasons unknown. And then they die.”
“That’s all?” asked Alec. “It doesn’t say what caused it?”
The old woman spared him a scathing look. “No, it doesn’t. But an intelligent person might gather from this that it’s Zengati magic. Hardly surprising, really, with those folk. Always killing each other off in nasty ways.”
“And there’s no mention of a treatment for it?” asked Seregil.
“No, it just says they die. I told you already, the author was a traveler, not a wizard. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
She showed them unceremoniously to the door and closed it firmly behind them.
“Thero could have told us that much at the Palace!” Alec exclaimed softly as they made their way down to the atrium.
“I don’t think he was in the mood to do us any favors.”
“So this is Zengati magic. I wonder if that’s why Thero couldn’t sense it?”
“Perhaps, but I’m not prepared to take anything for granted. It’s time we caught a raven.”
CHAPTER 36. Honor
“I’M worried about Danos,” Beka told Nyal as they sat together on a knoll overlooking the latest battlefield. Drysians, camp followers, and carrion crows were moving among the fallen. In the distance, beyond the queen’s tent, funeral pyres were being built. The sound of axes echoed through the forest behind them.
Hardly an hour earlier they’d been fighting one of the bloodiest battles in months against half a regiment of the Plenimarans’ best infantry. Nyal and another scout had brought in news of the enemy just before dawn, and apparently the enemy’s scouts had done the same, for they met a prepared force almost immediately after that and ended up fighting with empty bellies for most of the day before Klia had broken the back of the Plenimaran line. After that it was a rout, but a hard-won victory all the same.
And the Plenimarans were regrouping.
“What about Danos?” asked Nyal. “I heard from the healer that his wounds wouldn’t kill him.”
“It’s not that. It’s how he got them,” Beka replied. “Have you seen how he’s thrown himself in harm’s way since the night Klia questioned him?”
“He’s always been a fierce leader.”
“It’s more than that. He took crazy risks today, and it’s not the first time since word of his father’s arrest came. I saw him outride his squadron today, and head straight into a line of enemy pike men.”
“Ah.” Nyal plucked a strand of wind-sere grass and twirled
it between long fingers. “You think he’s trying to prove his honor through a valiant death?”
“Something like that.”
“Has the commander noticed?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to keep an eye on him.”
“I think you should speak with him, before it’s too late.”
In the past Danos had never been hard to find in camp; he was always at one fire or another with his people, laughing and praising. Tonight, however, Beka had to ask the way to his tent.
He was outside, currying his horse by the light of a lantern. Perhaps that had been Caem’s job. Beka had never taken on a servant, but Danos was a noble, and used to such things. All the same, she doubted that accounted for his morose expression. He didn’t cheer up at the sight of her stepping into the light.
“I suppose you’ve come to tell me to be more careful, too,” he said, facing her across the horse’s back. “Anri was just here.”
“Did it do any good?” Beka smoothed a hand down the bay’s dusty withers. “We can’t afford to lose you, you know. Killing yourself is no different than desertion.”
Danos let out a humorless laugh as he brushed harder at his horse’s side, raising a small cloud of dirt and horsehair. “You certainly don’t honey your words.”
“You’re a good man, Danos, and a good friend. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You’ve heard the news about my father. Everyone has. Disgraced. Stripped of his title and lands. Exiled. What is there for me to go back for? What would you have me do? Become a caravan guard, or perhaps a professional gambler? Those are the extent of my marketable skills.”
“Horse shit. You’re intelligent, you have friends and your own fortune and holdings. Those haven’t been taken away, have they?”
Danos shrugged. “So, from the scion of one of the most respected and powerful families in Rhiminee, to a country knight. How would you feel about that, if it were you?”
“My father is a country knight,” Beka reminded him with a smile. “It’s not so bad.”
“Do you really think I care so little for my officers?” asked a familiar voice. Beka and Danos both fell to one knee, fist to heart, as Queen Phoria stepped into the light to join them. She’d taken off her cuirass and crowned helm, but still wore her field uniform with the royal flame and crescent moon insignia on the breast; chain mail glinted at the neck of her tunic. Klia was with her, her uniform stained in dark patches with blood.
“My sister tells me that you have been taking extravagant risks in battle,” Phoria continued.
Danos bowed his head in silence.
Klia started to order him up, but Phoria stopped her, then placed her gloved hand on his head. “The truth knower determined your innocence, Captain Danos. Your father confessed to using you in his machinations, but insisted that you were not a conspirator.”
“Under torture?” Danos said bitterly, without looking up.
“There was no need. Once arrested, he confessed willingly to the conspiracy. That is why I instructed my brother the vicegerent to exile him, rather than execution. His title and lands are yours by right, and you shall have them, if you don’t go getting yourself killed.”
“Your Majesty is kind and generous,” Danos replied softly, “but how do I erase the stain on my birthright? How do I quell the whispering that’s sure to follow me for the rest of my days?”
Phoria snorted at that. “Hold your head up and show them differently, of course. Most people will forget in a season, and those who don’t aren’t worth your consideration.”
Danos looked up not at the queen, but at Klia. “And can you look past my father’s machinations against you? Against your very life?”
“I know the man you are, Captain,” she replied. “There is evidence that your father was coerced to some extent by Marquis Kyrin, who held certain information against him. But regardless of that, your father’s sins are not your own.
Whatever the reason, he used you and your position to his own advantage. If anyone should be angry, it’s you.”
The young man’s eyes glimmered in the lantern light. “The father I knew was a good, kind man.”
“And an ambitious one,” said the queen. “Learn from his errors, and know that I will not forgive if you seek any
