Hammer Of God (32 page)

Oh dear. “Zandakar…does he look unwell to you?”

Zandakar was frowning. “I think you say…exhausted? Ethrea far behind. Witch-man bring us here with witch-man power. Much power. Very hard.” Despite his anger, Zandakar seemed impressed. “Sun-dao say he rest till sun, then more fly in wind.”

“He say – I mean, said? You've spoken with him? When? How long have I been asleep, Zandakar?” A cold thought touched him. Shivering, he tugged the blanket close again. “How long have we been in this boat?”

Another shrug. “Witch-man say same night.”

“Truly?” He shivered again. Beware the emperor and the witch-men of Tzhung-tzhungchai. “Oh dear. Ursa's going to be furious.”

“And Rhian,” said Zandakar. His fingers traced the scar on his arm. “Rhian…”

Dexterity rallied. “It's not our fault. We were kidnapped. Stolen away without our consent. That Emperor Han, he ran roughshod right over us. You can be certain I'll lodge a formal complaint as soon as we get home.”

The lamplight was poor, but even so the glitter of wry amusement in Zandakar's eyes was clear. “If we get home, Dexterity.”

He stared. Every so often, Zandakar's Ethrean was perfect. He could easily have wished this wasn't one of those times. “Yes,” he said, subdued. “If we get home.” And tipping back his head, he looked at the distant, indifferent stars.

Do you hear me, Hettie? You'd better help us get home!

“Gone?” Rhian stared at Ursa. “What do you mean they're gone? They can't be. Gone where?”

“I don't know, Majesty,” said Ursa, her face pale with distress. “Jones didn't leave a note. All he left was his money-belt full to bursting with coin, stuffed to the bottom of the flour barrel as usual. And his dratted donkey, bellowing fit to raise its stable roof. The neighbours are most displeased.”

“I'm most displeased!” snapped Rhian, and took a turn about her parlour, acutely aware of Alasdair's silent, brooding presence before the fireplace. “When did you last see them, Ursa?”

“Yesterday morning, Majesty. They were going down to the harbour markets. Jones had toys to sell, and Zandakar was an extra pair of hands.”

“And you've no idea what happened next?”

“Well, they went home, Majesty,” said Ursa. “But after that? No. Jones did mention something about sightseeing round the home districts today, but I don't know if he went. All I can tell you for certain is he asked me to dinner tonight, and he's not at home.”

“Have you told anyone else, Ursa?”

Ursa shook her head. “Of course not, Majesty. I put the donkey in the field at the bottom of the lane, to quiet its carry-on, then came straight here.”

Halting beside her favourite armchair, Rhian nodded. “Good. That's good.” She risked a glance at Alasdair. He was watching her, his expression noncommittal, his eyes accusing. I told you so, Rhian. I told you it was foolish to let him go…She felt her breath hitch, and her skin flush hot. “Ursa, you know Dexterity better than anyone. Can you think where he might be, or why he might have…disappeared?”

“No,” said Ursa, so anxious. “This isn't like him.”

“And Zandakar?” said Alasdair. His voice was deceptively mild. “You're a woman of experience, Ursa. You had him under your eye all that time on the road. You formed an opinion. Has he murdered Mister Jones and fled Ethrea on some foreign ship?”

“Murdered?” Ursa's cheeks lost all their colour. “No. No, he wouldn't do that. Zandakar wouldn't murder Jones.”

“Are you sure?” said Alasdair, brutally gentle.

Rhian turned on him. “Don't,” she said, her voice hard and low. “You're frightening her.”

“Someone needs to be frightened,” said Alasdair. “Zandakar is a frightening man. I seem to be the only one capable of remembering that.” His teeth bared in a mirthless smile. “Perhaps because I'm a man too, and not an impressionable woman.”

Ursa rallied. “Now, now, Your Majesty, I'm sure there's no need to be nasty. I'm too old to have my head turned by a pretty face. And even if I wasn't, I promise you I was never a woman to be so easily taken in. I might never have married, but that's not to say I don't know my way around men.”

Alasdair's smile now was far less intimidating. “I don't doubt it, Ursa. You're a woman of profound good sense, and I value your opinion. Why are you so certain Mister Jones isn't murdered?”

“It's hard to say,” she replied slowly. “I mean, I've had my suspicions of Zandakar, I'll not deny it. He's a heathen and a killer, we all know that. But he's fond of Jones and I do believe he wants to help the queen. I believe he believes if he helps Her Majesty he'll be helping his own people. I think that's what he wants more than anything else. And even if he wasn't fond of Jones, which he is, killing him won't help Mijak.”

“Then where are they?” Rhian demanded. “This makes no sense!”

“Perhaps Hettie's sent them off on some wild-goose chase, Your Majesty,” said Ursa, shrugging. “She's done it before, and Jones has kept quiet about it till after.” Her cheeks pinked a little. “He loves you like a daughter, you know, but Hettie…” She sighed. “Well, Hettie may be dead but she's still his wife.”

“That's as may be, but I'm his queen and Hettie shouldn't forget it!” Breathing hard, Rhian reined in her temper. “All right, Ursa. Thank you for coming to me so promptly. Should you be unduly pressed for news of Mister Jones by anyone, no matter how seemingly innocent, let me know at once. And if you should by chance hear from him or Zandakar…”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Ursa, and offered a cricked-knee curtsey. “King Alasdair.”

As the parlour door closed behind her, Alasdair folded his arms. “Rhian—”

“Don't!” she said again, feeling vicious. Feeling betrayed. She could easily, treacherously, dissolve into tears. “There's an explanation. A reason. There has to be.”

“Of course there is,” said Alasdair, his voice level, his eyes burning. “Zandakar—”

“Hasn't betrayed me!” She retreated until she stood with her back to the curtained window, fists clenched, her hair still sweat-sticky and plastered to her head. Ursa's news had burst upon them moments after she'd returned from her evening hotas. She hated dancing them alone, she felt incomplete without Zandakar to dance with, but not to dance them would be to let him down.

And has he let me down, instead?

“He hasn't betrayed me,” she repeated, willing her voice to stay strong. “Neither has Dexterity. I'd stake my life on that. He's been a friend to me since I was a baby, he—” And then she turned because the parlour door was pushing open.

“God's grace on you, Your Majesties!” said Ludo cheerfully, entering the chamber all sunshine and smiles. “And on me, for I'm returned from the wilds of Hartshorn and Meercheq having not slain Duke Adric. Though I confess I was sore provoked once or—” He stopped, his smile dimming. “What's wrong? What's happened?”

“Close the door,” said Alasdair. And added, once Ludo had obeyed the curt command, “What's happened is that the toymaker's vanished into thin air – and Zandakar with him.”

Ludo folded his arms, his face collapsed into a frown. “Zandakar's gone? Rollin's toenails. That's bad news.”

Rhian glared at him. “Really? D'you think so? I thought to dance a little jig, Ludo. Sing a song. Call for a fanfare.”

Ludo was more than a duke, he was family. Along with his crippled father Henrik and, of course, Alasdair, the only family she possessed now. Within these privy apartments there was no ceremony. They spoke as equals, laughed as equals, even fought as equals…within these quiet, private rooms.

“Don't lash out at Ludo, Rhian,” said Alasdair. “Not when it's yourself you'd like to kick.”

“Did I ask you to defend me, cousin?” said Ludo, firing up. “I can speak for myself. Tell me how Jones and Zandakar have vanished.”

As Alasdair recounted what little they knew, swiftly and sarcastically, Rhian slumped onto the window's embrasure and closed her eyes against the pain in her head.

Dexterity…Zandakar…what have you done?

“Rhian,” said Ludo, once Alasdair was finished. “What were you thinking, letting Zandakar out of your sight?”

She flicked him an angry glance. “I was thinking we should stop treating him like a common criminal, Ludo.”

“I told her she'd made a mistake,” said Alasdair. “To bring him back here without delay. But she's a typical Havrell. She wouldn't listen.”

Shocked, Rhian stared at her husband and his cousin. “A typical Havrell? What's that supposed to mean?”

“What d'you think it means?” said Ludo. He was such a handsome man, all the Linfoi looks denied to Alasdair bestowed instead on him. But now his pleasing features were scrunched in a scowl. “You're just like your brothers, Rhian. Ranald and Simon were wild against any kind of restraint. They were told there'd been fever in Dev'karesh, did you know that? The word was out, they were warned it would be best if they didn't go, but would they listen? No, they—”

“Don't, Ludo,” said Alasdair, sounding suddenly weary. “There's no point. That's past mending.”

“But there is a point,” said Ludo, swinging round. “They wouldn't be told and they died of it. So did Eberg. She wouldn't be told and now a dangerous man is God alone knows where, and whatever he's doing I doubt it bodes well for us.”

Rhian folded her arms around her ribs. The parlour was warm, yet she felt so cold. They wouldn't be told and they died of it. So did Eberg. “No-one said anything to me about Ranald and Simon knowing Dev'karesh had plague.” To her own ears her voice sounded thin and uncertain. She felt thin and uncertain, as though her bones had turned to sand. “Who else knew? And why wasn't I told?”

With a furious glare at his cousin, Alasdair crossed to her. Taking her hands in his he tried to smile. “I'm sorry. Eberg never wanted you to know. Don't think about it, Rhian. Don't torture yourself. It's hardly going to bring them back.”

“Someone should've told me,” she said. “They were my brothers. I had a right to know. You should've told me, Alasdair.”

He shrugged. “Eberg forbade it.”

“Eberg's dead!” she retorted. “And they were my brothers.”

“I know that. And now that you know what happened does it change anything? Does knowing make you feel better or worse?”

“Oh, worse, worse, you know I feel worse!” she cried, sliding her hands free of him, feeling her knife-hilt calluses catch on his skin. “But that's not important. I won't be protected, Alasdair, I won't be coddled like some helpless baby bird. Like a woman. It's bad enough Papa did it, I won't have you—”

“Leave him alone, Rhian!” said Ludo sharply. “He's your husband, of course he tries to protect you. If he didn't what kind of a husband would he be? What kind of a king, when you're his queen? You don't want to be protected? Fine. Ranald and Simon were headstrong and foolish and they paid the price for their impetuous arrogance.”

“And now you think Ethrea's about to pay because of mine?” She tilted her chin, refusing to back down to him. “Go on, Ludo. Say what you think. I'm not wearing a crown, am I? I'm not dressed like a queen. I'm in working leathers, I'm stinking with sweat.”

Ludo grimaced. “The crown's always on your head, Rhian. Stark naked you're still the queen.”

“And a damned useless queen I'd be if I didn't let good men speak their minds!” she shouted. “I don't care if you're angry with me, Ludo. I don't care if you call me names. I care if you hide your true thoughts and feelings!”

Frustrated, angry, they glared at each other. Then Ludo sighed and turned away. “Ah well. What's done is done, and can't be undone. What do you think has happened to Zandakar and the toymaker?”

“We don't know,” said Rhian, curtly.

Ludo looked from her to Alasdair. “Surely it's most likely Zandakar changed his mind about helping us. He's bolted, and halfway across the ocean by now. The toymaker's cottage should be closely examined for signs of foul play. Could be his body is buried in the garden.”

“Nonsense, Ludo,” she said. “There is another explanation, one that makes sense of their vanishing without it involves oathbreaking and murder.”

“Well,” said Alasdair, “if it's not oathbreaking and murder then it must be kidnap. There's no other way to make sense of this. You told them not to leave the home districts. If they'd come to grief somewhere in the local countryside, we'd know by now.”

“Kidnap for what reason?” she demanded. “On whose authority? And how, without raising a monstrous hue and cry? For they'd not go quietly, I can promise you that.”

Ludo pulled a thoughtful face. “Am I mad to think they could be stolen by a foreign power?”

Alasdair stared at him. “One of the trading nations? Would they be so bold, to risk the charter like that?”

“You'd think not,” said Ludo, shrugging. “Ordinarily the league of trading nations safeguards the charter like a virgin daughter. But these times aren't ordinary. And don't forget, we seek to break it ourselves by raising our own army. Perhaps we've made them more nervous than we realise. Perhaps one – or more than one – think to seize an advantage by seizing Zandakar.”

“To do what with him?” said Rhian, pushing off the embrasure to pace again. Her bones still felt barely strong enough to support her, but if she remained seated while Alasdair and Ludo stood it would feel like a weakness. Some kind of surrender. Always she felt she had to be more…it was exhausting, but she had no choice. While the world had surely changed, it hadn't changed enough yet. “If Harbisland took him, say, or Arbenia, or Keldrave, he'd not help them.”

“If they took him against his will,” said Alasdair softly.

She stopped, and had to swallow hard before she could answer. “No. I won't believe Zandakar's betrayed me.”

“Rhian—” Alasdair shook his head, impatient. “You must consider the possibility.”

“What of Mister Jones?” said Ludo. “Do you think he and Zandakar acted in collusion?”

Shocked, Rhian stared at him. “Dexterity betray me? Ludo, are you mad?”

“He has a point, Rhian,” said Alasdair. “For no sooner has Mister Jones scolded you into letting Zandakar leave the castle than both men are mysteriously disappeared.”

“Not Dexterity!” she insisted. “Rollin's grace, you might as well ask that I believe you'd betray me! I'm telling you, both of you, that if they do enjoy the hospitality of a foreign nation, it is not willingly.”

“We all know how dangerous Zandakar is,” said Alasdair, so stubborn. “Even Helfred could overpower Mister Jones…but Zandakar? Is there a man in Ethrea who could overpower him?”

Rhian felt the answer run through her like a sword.

Oh, God. Emperor Han. But why…why…

“One man?” said Ludo, unnoticing. “Likely not. But a band of men, who took him and Mister Jones unawares?”

“I don't think it's wise to assume anything just yet,” Rhian said, pacing again to make certain Alasdair couldn't see her face. She couldn't trust herself to keep it schooled. “The fact is, we've still no proof of any misdoings. In the morning, if they've not returned safe and sound, we'll talk more of how this problem can be resolved. Now, I'm for my bath. Ludo, stay to dine with us. I want to hear more of your adventures with Adric, and how the funerals passed off.”

Alasdair and Ludo exchanged glances, then shrugged. So alike they looked, so brotherly and resigned. If she weren't so distraught she might easily have laughed.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” said Ludo. “I'm yours to command.”

Alone and sunk deep in her oak tub's decidedly lukewarm water, sponging away the dried sweat from her hotas with rose-scented soap, Rhian made herself face the appalling thought that had occurred in her parlour.