The Killing Moon (Dreamblood #1)(76)

When Gehanu finally released Sunandi, she pulled away reluctantly, remembering the night when a foreign trader had given shelter to a street child whose incompetence at thievery had gotten her beaten nearly to death. That trader had brought the child, a bright and pretty girl with no future, to the notice of an old sonha nobleman with no heirs. He had renamed her and raised her to do battle with kings—but the street child had never forgotten that first kindness.

“You’re still a meddling old bat,” Sunandi said back.

Gehanu gave a rusty chuckle and shook her head. “Kinja never could tame you, wild child. Go on now.”

Reluctantly, Sunandi turned away. Not far off, Ehiru had mounted his horse, and Nijiri stood near his. Another horse had been saddled for her and she pulled herself onto it now, feeling a moment’s pang as she gazed southward. That way lay home, and a storm of trouble when the Protectors learned of Gujaareh’s plotting.

Trouble? Say “war” and be truer.

She glanced over at Nijiri. It took him a moment to notice her gaze; he was staring at his mentor. When he finally did turn she was stunned at the bleak despair in his face. Then he noticed her gaze and his expression became a cool professional mask.

“We must see this through, Jeh Kalawe,” he said.

Sunandi frowned, wondering what troubled him. The soldier he’d killed? He was trained to kill, but not so brutally. Then she looked beyond him at the slumped, hooded, too-still frame of Ehiru, and guessed.

Well. At least we won’t have to waste time going to the hospital now.

After the long, bloody day, and facing a far uglier future, that was the most comforting thought her tired mind could dredge up.

The captain called the march, and they spurred their horses toward Kisua.





28





The Prince protects Hona-Karekh, as the Hetawa protects Ina-Karekh.

(Law)





Yanya-iyan’s audience chamber was nearly empty when Charris entered through its bronze doors. The dais at the far end, a mounting series of steps leading up to the throne, was normally thronged with courtiers and worshippers. Now it held only the Prince, who stood with arms extended as two of his attendants dressed him in the full-torso armor that was the Sunset’s traditional wartime garb. A third servant held the Aureole in place behind him, shifting it as he turned. “Ah, Charris. Please report.”

Charris knelt at the foot of the steps. “No word from the south yet, my lord. The attack would only have occurred yesterday evening. It would take time for the troops to return and send a bird or runner.”

“Hmm. Well, whether the woman is dead or not, she may have sent a message. We shall have to assume the Kisuati forewarned.” He turned, the bronze scales of his breastplate gleaming, his arms still held out from his sides. “Do I look suitably martial, Charris? Not military-caste, of course, but acceptable?”

“More than acceptable, my lord. You will inspire our soldiers to fight to their utmost.”

“Spoken like a true highcaste.” The Prince lowered his arms, gave himself one final look before the mirror that a fourth attendant held, and nodded in satisfaction. Dismissed, the servants quickly left the chamber, save the Aureole-holder. “I have no need of flattery, Charris. Niyes understood that. In time I hope you will as well.”

Charris took a deep breath to school his churning emotions. “Yes, my lord.”

“Of course, there are benefits to having a general like you, too, Charris. You ask no awkward questions, give me no disapproving looks. I suppose that’s refreshing.” Walking down the steps with the Aureole-holder in tow, the Prince gave a curt signal for Charris to rise and follow. They passed through the back of the hall, Charris nodding to the Sunset Guardsmen who fell in behind them as the Prince left the chamber.

“In the end, loyalty is what matters most,” the Prince continued. “Take our mad, murderous friend, who is currently chained and resting in the catacombs beneath the palace. He doesn’t think—not anymore. He doesn’t act unless I tell him to, or unless he’s hungry and prey comes near. In many ways this limits his usefulness, but at the same time I never need fear his betrayal. There are kings who struggle all their lives to earn that kind of loyalty, and here I have created it at will.” He chuckled. “True power, Charris. My father and all the Princes before me never had it, but I shall.”

The audience chamber was on the highest story of Yanya-iyan. When the Prince led him onto the royal family’s private balcony, Charris caught his breath at the sight of the whole city spread before them, the ground so far below that the people milling in the market plaza seemed small as dolls. To the west was the river and the fertile greenlands, source of Gujaareh’s prosperity. Northward, Charris could even see the river delta and the coastal edge of the Sea of Glory. It was the whole of the Prince’s kingdom, laid out as far as the eye could see.

Then he looked to the east, and stiffened.

“You must forgive me for not telling you about this,” the Prince said. Charris could feel the Prince’s eyes on his face, drinking in his reaction. “Admiral Akolil scorns the landed military, and I generally try to keep him appeased. But the time has come for you to know.”

Ships, Charris thought in a daze. From their vantage he could see the eastern port, which opened to the Narrow Sea and allowed Gujaareh to trade down the continental coast as far as Kisua. The port was full of ships—warships—crowding in to reach the loading docks. Beyond that, he could see the expanse of the Narrow Sea spreading from Gujaareh’s coast all the way to the horizon. And there he saw more ships, neatly anchored rows of them. Hundreds of them. They dotted the water like a pox.