The Traitor Queen

It’s a pity he’s so close to the king. If only I’d made friends with a Sachakan in a more neutral position. He’d have been able to tell me how best to deal with the situation.

Were any of the Ashaki in a neutral position, politically? From what Dannyl had learned, most were either loyal to the king or were allied with Ashaki who would happily seize the reins of power if they had the chance – which they were not likely to get. King Amakira’s position was secure, supported by most of the powerful Ashaki.

As the carriage pulled up outside the palace, Dannyl sighed. He waited until the Guild House slave opened the door, then rose and climbed out. Smoothing his robes, he straightened his back and strode toward the entrance.

Nobody stopped him. He had wondered why they’d let him in the previous day, when all they intended to tell him was to go home. Once again he stepped out of the broad passage into the hall, and was told by a slave to wait to one side.

Several people were standing around the hall. The king was present this time. At least Dannyl would be able to give his request directly to Amakira. Not that it would gain him a favourable response. The king finished talking to a pair of men and invited another three to approach.

Time passed. More people arrived. The king saw some of them not long after they arrived – sooner than Dannyl and some of the others waiting for an audience. They must have been more important, or at least the matter to be discussed was. Or he’s deliberately ignoring me to put me in my place.

Dannyl guessed that a few hours had passed by the time the king looked his way, then beckoned.

“Guild Ambassador Dannyl,” he said.

Dannyl approached and knelt. “Your majesty.”

“Rise and come closer.”

He obeyed. The air vibrated faintly, and Dannyl realised that the king, or someone else, had placed a shield about them to prevent sound escaping.

“You’re here, no doubt, to ask me to give Lorkin back,” the old man said.

“I am,” Dannyl replied.

“The answer is no.”

“May I at least see him, your majesty?”

“Of course.” The king’s stare was cold. “If you promise to order him to tell me everything he knows about the Traitors.”

“I cannot give that order,” Dannyl replied.

Amakira’s stare did not waver. “So you said. I’m sure you could convince him that the order came from those with the authority to give it.”

Dannyl opened his mouth to refuse, then paused. I could agree to try, in order to see Lorkin and confirm he is alive and well. But what if the king decided that Dannyl had broken his promise? Was that crime enough to be imprisoned for? Osen made it clear that I should avoid that. And if they take me prisoner, they’ll take Osen’s ring from me.

“I cannot do that either, your majesty,” Dannyl replied.

The king leaned back in his chair. “Then come back when you can.” He made a dismissive gesture. Taking the hint, Dannyl bowed and backed away for an appropriate distance, then turned and left.

Well, at least I got to see the king this time, he thought as he waited for the carriage. A rejection from the ruler is a slightly better-quality failure than a rejection from one of his lackeys. He wondered which he’d receive tomorrow, or if they would start refusing him admission to the palace.

When the carriage arrived at the Guild House he opened the door for himself, before any slave could do it. The air outside the house was hot and dry, and it was a relief to escape it into the cooler interior. He headed for his rooms, but before he got there Merria appeared in the corridor ahead.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Dannyl shrugged. “No better, though this time I was given a royal refusal.”

She shook her head. “Poor Lorkin. I hope he’s all right.”

“Any news from your friends?”

“No. They said they’re doing what they can to manipulate the Ashaki into objecting to the taking of a Kyralian magician prisoner, but it requires careful timing and can’t be hurried.”

He nodded. “Well... I appreciate their efforts. We all do.”

They had reached the entrance to his rooms. She looked up at him, her expression concerned, then patted him on the arm. “You’re doing everything you can,” she told him. “Everything they’ll let you do, anyway.”

He frowned. “So you think there’s nothing else I could do? Nothing that the Guild is preventing me from doing that I should do? Nothing we haven’t thought of yet?”

She looked away. “No... nothing that doesn’t include a risk of making the situation worse if it fails to work, anyway. Are you hungry? I was going to ask Vai to make me something to eat.”

What is this risky idea? he wondered. Should I ask about it? “Yes,” he said. “But not straightaway. I want to contact the Administrator first.”

“I’ll arrange something.” She headed back down the corridor and disappeared.

* * *

The interrogator didn’t turn up until some hours after the morning meal. Food had arrived – a slurry of ground grain. A faint symbol drawn with water on the porous wooden tray reassured him it was safe.

Lorkin’s stomach stirred unpleasantly as the Ashaki interrogator and his assistant led him in a new direction. The man chose another corridor and stopped at a different doorway, but the room inside was little different from the previous one. Plain, white walls surrounded three worn old stools.

The interrogator sat down and gestured for Lorkin to take one of the other stools, then looked at his assistant and nodded. The man slipped out of the room. Lorkin braced himself for more questions.

None came. The interrogator looked around, then shrugged and began staring at Lorkin with a distant expression. When the assistant returned, he shoved a female slave into the room before him. She threw herself onto the floor before the Ashaki. Lorkin tried to keep his expression neutral, to hide the wave of hatred for slavery he felt at her grovelling and the Ashaki’s expectation of it.

“Stand,” the interrogator ordered.

She got to her feet, facing the Ashaki with hunched shoulders and keeping her eyes downcast.

“Look at him.” The interrogator pointed at Lorkin.

The woman turned to face him, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was beautiful, he realised – or would have been if she hadn’t been terrified. Long, glossy hair framed a sculpted jaw and cheek bones that, for a moment, stirred memories of Tyvara that made his heart skip and fill with longing. But this woman’s limbs, while as graceful, were trembling, and her dark eyes were wide. At her obvious fear he felt his stomach sink. She expected something bad to happen.

“Look at him. Don’t look away.”

Her gaze flitted up to meet his. Lorkin forced himself not to look away. If he did, he knew the Ashaki would make him regret it somehow. He could not help searching for some hint of resolve in her face, or an effort at communication that might indicate that she was a Traitor. All he saw was fear and resignation.

She expects pain, or worse. The only slaves I’ve seen down here were carrying things. Why else would she – a beautiful young woman – be down here with no obvious menial purpose?

A slave this beautiful would never be given purely menial tasks.

He felt sick. He could not help thinking of Tyvara again, and what she must have been forced to do as part of her spying. She, too, was too beautiful not to have attracted that kind of attention from her masters.

After all, the first time she met me she expected me to take her to bed.

The interrogator stood up. He took hold of the woman’s arm and pulled her closer to him. One of his hands went to the jewelled sheath that all Ashaki wore at their hip and he slowly drew his knife. Lorkin held his breath as the knife rose toward the slave’s throat. The woman shut her eyes tightly, but did not struggle.

Words flooded into Lorkin’s throat, but stuck there. He knew exactly what the interrogator intended to do,