CHAPTER 19

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Gazette! Get your copy of the Gazette!” sang out a paper vendor, passing by the front of the café. “Fighting in Enhirre, latest news!”

Rieuk leaped up, beckoning the boy over to buy a paper, hastily scanning the columns to discover what had happened.

“Our brave Guerriers have successfully repelled a raid on the Fort of Ondhessar by hostile Enhirran tribes. Ownership of the fort has long been contested by Enhirre and Djihan-Djihar, as it lies on the border dividing both countries. The household troops of his Excellency Shultan Fazil of Djihan-Djihar fought alongside the Francians to repel the invaders. It is reported that Arkhan Sardion’s eldest son and heir, Prince Alarion, is among the many Enhirran casualties…”

The paper slipped from Rieuk’s fingers. Alarion dead? But the Arkhan had forbidden him to fight. It had to be a mistake. And why had Djihan-Djihar entered the fray?

A hawk-winged shadow darted overhead and he heard Ormas’s voice, low and urgent.

Almiras is here. He has a message for us.

Rieuk cast coins on the table and hastily set off after the hawk. It must be an urgent message for Lord Estael to send Almiras so far from Ondhessar. At the end of the street he saw an avenue of plane trees leading to ornate ironwork gates. A sandy path led him into a shady public garden, where the distant voices of children at play carried over the splash of water spouting from a green-stained marble fountain. Rieuk stopped in the heart of an alley of sweet-blossomed lime trees, checked to see if anyone was watching, and set Ormas loose. There was a rustle high in the branches overhead and he saw both smoke hawks alight.

We are to return straightaway,” Ormas conveyed Almiras’s message. “The Arkhan is demanding to see you.

 

The Arkhan’s palace was hung with black. Black gauzes covered every window and only a faint, muted light seeped through. The sound of women’s weeping, muffled and desolate, echoed through the vastness of the empty halls. The hushed, gloomy atmosphere only increased the ominous feeling of foreboding that had been plaguing Rieuk on the long journey back to Enhirre. Many weeks had passed since Alarion’s death, yet as Rieuk followed the silent guards to the Arkhan’s private chambers, he realized that Sardion was still grieving.

 

“I will never forgive them,” said Sardion softly. “They took my son from me, my firstborn, my beloved Alarion. They will pay dearly for this. Francia will pay.”

“I—I am sorry for your loss, my lord.”

The Arkhan raised him to his feet, fingers clutching his shoulders. “And you will be the instrument of my vengeance.” His blue eyes burned with a feverish glint in grief-hollowed sockets.

“Your vengeance?” Rieuk repeated, wishing he could retreat, yet held tight by the Arkhan’s strong grip.

“The House of Francia will suffer as I have suffered. Let Gobain know what it is to lose a child, a child more dear to him than life itself.”

“What do you mean, my lord?” Had Sardion been driven mad by Alarion’s death? Rieuk could not follow what he was saying.

“My Emissaries have many skills at their disposal. They have acted as assassins before. Now it is your turn.”

Assassins. Rieuk felt a chill in the pit of his stomach at the mere thought. “Please don’t ask me to do this, my lord. Please, I beg you.”

Sardion let go of him at last and reached into the breast of his robe. He withdrew a little phial which he held up in front of Rieuk’s face. A translucent swirl of dark gold lit the lotus glass, intertwined with a spiraling thread of black. Rieuk’s hands reached out toward the glass before he knew what he was doing.

“No, my lord, please not Imri—”

“Imri was dear to you, wasn’t he?” The Arkhan’s sleep-starved eyes glimmered like corpse candles as he snatched the precious glass from Rieuk’s grasp. “And you will carry out this mission for the sake of the soul of the one you hold dear. Fail me, Rieuk, and I crush this soul-glass. And Imri Boldiszar becomes one of the Lost.”

 

“We are magi,” said Lord Estael dispassionately. “We achieve our ends much more subtly than a common hired gun. But we are just as deadly as a trained marksman. And much harder to track down afterward.”

“The Arkhan wants me to kill?” Rieuk still could not believe what he had been ordered to do.

“You will bring about a death. There’s a subtle difference.”

“Why? Why must it be me?”

“You’re a native Francian. You’ll be able to get close to your target. Close enough to carry out your mission.”

“And who is my target?”

“The heir to the throne. Prince Aubrey.”

 

Rieuk went to the top of the Tower and gazed out into the night. A gust of breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it the hot, parched scent of the desert.

If I were to close my eyes and let myself fall forward into the darkness, I would be killed instantly. And that would be an end to it. Their hold over me would be broken and I’d be free. In truth, he was weary, soul-weary, and wondering what there was left to live for. Magister Gonery’s prophetic words kept whispering through his mind. “They will promise you the things you most desire. And then, before you know what you have done, you will find yourself in thrall. Sealed into a contract that binds you until death—and beyond.


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The eerie ice-light of Imri’s Rift tomb shimmered in the darkness. Rieuk stood, one hand on the casket of aethyr crystal that encased Imri’s body.

“Where are you, Imri? Can you hear me? Or are you far beyond the bournes of this world already…and this is just some cruel ruse to get me to do the Arkhan’s will?”

Beneath the rime-coated crystal facets, he could hardly make out the form of Imri’s body anymore. So much time had passed since they were last together. And Rieuk knew now how frail and vulnerable a soul was, once it was separated from its mortal body.

He slipped to his knees, resting his forehead against the chill crystal. “I don’t know what to do. If only you were here, you’d tell me. Can I trust Lord Estael? If I carry out this mission, will the Arkhan keep his promise and set you free?”