didn't you? Before he gets here.' Meteroa smiled and brought the lamp closer. 'Right, let's take a look at you. See whether I'm finally going to be proved right.'
He held the lamp close to the assassin's face and took a good long look. Then he shook his head and whistled. 'My, my. Well I can't say I'm entirely surprised, but you're certainly not from around here, are you?'
On the bed, the queen stretched and yawned and slowly woke up. She screwed up her eyes against the lantern light.
'Prince Meteroa?'
'Lord Meteroa.' Meteroa smiled softly. 'My title was taken from me, remember?' Now that Tyan was gone, he supposed he might have it back if he wanted it. He wasn't sure that he did.
'What are you doing?'
He knelt down beside the bed, carefully blocking her view of the assassin dying behind him. 'I have good news for you, My Queen, news that I could not wait until the morning to bring. Jehal will be home soon.' He watched her brighten, and then she leapt out of bed and wrapped her arms around him. For a second or two she almost killed him with hugs, and then she abruptly stopped.
'Meteroa!'
'My Queen?'
'There is a man on the floor. He's bleeding.'
'You mean he's still not dead?' Meteroa sighed and extricated himself. 'I'm afraid that's because I shot him.' 'You shot him? Why?'
Goodness – are you really that naive? 'I'm afraid he meant you harm.' He carefully cocked his crossbow. She sighed and trembled. 'Zafir again.'
'Yes,' he lied. 'Zafir again. 'I'll call some servants. They'll take you to another room. I'm sure you couldn't sleep in here now.' He shot the assassin for a second time, this time through his skull. Even that didn't quite seem to do the job, but by the time he'd moved Lystra out, the assassin was finally acting like a proper corpse. Meteroa had the body moved down into the cells anyway, just in case. Then he nailed the body to a table. Which should just about do the tricky We're starting to have quite an interesting collection down here. Now I can finally get some sleep.
The dead assassin was still there in the morning and was still dead, which was something. Meteroa scratched his head and then left the body be. He rode out from the eyrie to the little town of Wateredge, perched on the cliffs a few miles towards Furymouth. Wateredge was home to the eyrie's brothels and drinking houses and, if you looked hard enough, dust dens. Meteroa knew them all. There were whores here that he'd been keeping an eye on for quite some time. Ones that had a passing resemblance to the queen. He'd started picking them out as soon as she'd arrived. He'd even gone to the trouble of sending a few riders out with the pleasant task of making sure they got pregnant at the same time. Then he'd quietly looked after them, made sure they were kept clean and out of harm's way, just for a day like today.
He picked the most likely two of them, hid their faces and took them back to the eyrie. He dressed the one that he thought looked best like the queen, which took him most of the rest of the day. He led her to Lystra's rooms and while she set about amusing him, he poisoned her drink. As soon as she was asleep, before the poison finished her, he slit her throat.
There. The queen is dead. A day's work but worth it.
The rest was strangely easy. All he had to do was walk around the eyrie telling anyone who'd listen that the queen was dead and to do what they had to do. By the end of the following day, the eyrie was decked out in the grey colours of death. The body was moved down to the dragon mausoleum, which was the coldest place they had. He let a few people see her and watched them carefully. He made sure no one washed the blood off her face first. No one seemed to doubt that they were looking at the real queen. Because when you're a queen no one really looks at you. They see you but they never really look. While he was at it, he dressed up the second whore as a smith's daughter and sent her to be cared for by the palace midwives in Furymouth and to be secretly guarded by half a dozen of his most trusted riders. He moved the real Lystra to live out with the Scales, to be guarded by no one at all. Tempting as it is to put you on a dragon and send you back to your sister. But jehal would never forgive me.
And after that, all he had to do was wait.
Jehal returned a week later. Meteroa met him with a hundred and one riders, all dressed in grey. I'm sorry to do this to you, my king, but the facade must be perfect. Still, he wasn't quite ready for the ice in Jehal's eyes.
'Did you do it,' he asked, 'or did Zafir?' His face was as still as death. Meteroa bowed and then leaned forward and embraced his king. One of the privileges of family. As he did, he whispered in Jehal's ear.
'Neither, my king.'
Jehal let out a roar of rage and pushed him to the ground. 'Don't play riddles with me, Eyrie-Master. Who killed my wife?'
Meteroa picked himself up. 'I have the assassin's body,' he said carefully.
'I want to see Lystra. And then… remember what I said, uncle. What happens to her happens to you.'
Meteroa bowed again. A week with the Scales? Perhaps I should have kill her after all.
'I want to see her right now, Meteroa. Where is she? If you've burned her already, I swear I'll…'
'She's in the mausoleum, Your Holiness.'
No standing on ceremony. Meteroa watched his king barge past and head straight for the caves. So now we know which of your two women matters to you the most, eh? Meteroa kept his distance, smiling quietly to himself. Jehal wasn't usually the sort for sudden explosions of temper, but you never knew. Squeeze a man hard enough and anything can happen. I taught that to you all and how many of you bothered to listen? He followed Jehal all the way down to the black stone tunnels of the mausoleum, waving away the token guards standing watch over the body. 'That's not her.' Jehal spun around.
Meteroa glanced at the retreating guards. 'She's been here a while, Your Holiness.'
'That's not her!' Jehal lunged, reaching for Meteroa's throat. Meteroa dodged away. I could break your arm, boy, if I wanted to.
'No, it's not.' He spoke softly, even though the guards were gone. Words had ways of resonating in caves.
'Eyrie-Master!'
Meteroa jumped at Jehal and grabbed his shirt, pinning him against the rough stone. 'She is safe, Your Holiness,' he hissed as softly as he could. 'She is safe because the people who want to kill her think she is dead. Frankly, I had no idea what to make of your stupid letter. What did you think I was going to do? Kill her myself? Your father's dead, your brother's dead and from the sounds of things you're as useless at making heirs as I am now. Did you think I was going to take a blind bit of notice? She's carrying your heir, Jehal. Our heir.' There. It's been a very long time since you've seen me as I used to be. I imagine you'd very nearly forgotten.
'I didn't want her dead.'
'Someone does.'
'Zafir.'
'No. Not Zafir.' Meteroa let go of Jehal and held up his hands. 'Well yes, Zafir, but not just her. There was another killer. You need to see him. In the dungeons.'
'I'm not telling the world that Lystra's dead.'
'She's safe for now. In a couple of weeks she'll give birth. We can put them both somewhere safe. Apart. Or you can get rid of her, which is probably what you ought to do but… what?'
'I'm not telling the world that Lystra's dead.'
Meteroa pursed his lips. 'Listen. This wasn't Zafir, this was the Taiytakei. They waited until Zafir had failed a few times and then they finally sent one of their own. This is not some killer off the streets of the Silver City. This is an assassin who can meld with the earth, who can turn into water, who can become a gust of wind and blow through a window. I've met them before. They may be the most dangerous men in the world and they are certainly the most expensive. The Taiytakei. We've always known what they want, haven't we? They want dragons. They want hatchlings and they want potions and they want alchemists. Did you ever stop to wonder what happened to our grand-master alchemist Bellepheros after your wedding? And ever since, I've been asking myself: why did they give you such a priceless gift? Have you not stopped to wonder about that?' Probably not. Too much vanity to question gifts, eh boy? 'So they give you a priceless treasure and then they try to kill your wife. Why?' His eyes narrowed. 'They want you with Zafir, but why? Why why why?'
