The Tower Broken(103)

Mesema had begun to lose confidence they would succeed. Sarmin had not found a way to heal the Storm, and though it appeared Govnan had bought them some time, there was precious little of it left. She had not forgotten the pale sickness, how it had drained Pelar – he had been so fragile, so weak. And what the high mage blocked for them was nothing compared to Mogyrk’s Scar.

Now the only enemy who had ever captured the palace had returned. Mesema did not care to think of what might occur should the Yrkmen sack Nooria – what might happen to Sarmin, to herself … She wondered where Nessaket had gone, whether she was safe and could remain so. She sorely missed the Empire Mother’s advice. Nessaket had warned her of Arigu and cautioned her to stay away from Banreh, and she had ignored her and made a mess of things. Besides the emperor, Arigu and Dinar were the most influential men at court. And together … she thought of the few men who remained in the city. While all of them might be relied upon to support Sarmin in other matters, this might drive half of them away – those who were military men and admired Arigu, and those too devout to oppose the high priest of Herzu. The pressure to put her aside would be strong, but Sarmin would refuse; she knew that. And his continued refusal would put him in a precarious position.

Surely the two would not make their play in a time of crisis? And yet it had happened before: it was during the height of the pattern-sickness that Tuvaini had manoeuvred his way to the throne. The soldiers had come to take Beyon’s wives – she still dreamed of that night, the terror in the women’s faces, how the blood had spilled across the floor. She glanced at her men who hovered by the stairs. If Arigu sent his soldiers after her, Sendhil and the others would be little protection against them. But with Pelar safely out of their reach there was nobody to put in Sarmin’s place – unless they meant to use Daveed.

No. Nessaket would not allow it; she would never be part of such a plan again. This was a simple power play, nothing more, men jockeying for position and influence. Not another coup. She would be in a better position now if she had been able to find the slaves – but she had run out of time … all of Nooria had run out of time.

At least she did not feel Banreh’s pain as she had before. Now it whispered behind her thoughts, like grief, and she was glad of it, for she needed a clear mind. She gazed up at the statue of Mirra that rose above the bench, Her finely carved eyes flickering in the light from the torches, and for the Empire Mother’s sake Mesema said a prayer.

A whisper of footsteps came upon the stairs and the guards shifted to allow Grada, lithe and liquid, to step through their midst. She looked at each of the men in turn before stopping at the bench. She watched Mesema, the blunt features of her face lost in shadow, until finally she said, ‘Your Majesty.’

Mesema inclined her head at the Knife in the way of her own people. ‘Grada.’

‘May I speak to you privately, my Empress?’

Mesema nodded and waved the guards back down the stairs, out of earshot, and the Knife waited, listening, until she was sure they were alone.

Then she bent down and in Mesema’s ear whispered, ‘Do you trust each of those guardsmen with your life?’

‘Of course!’

‘Don’t answer too quickly, Empress.’ Grada’s dark eyes narrowed. ‘Think carefully on each one.’

Mesema stood up and paced to the statue of Mirra and back again. The fire in the north cast the goddess’ face in darkness. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted at last.

‘One of them has told stories: he said you went out into the city to see Banreh before he came to the palace, and afterwards you went into the dungeon to see him again.’

‘But they couldn’t know I went to the dungeon – I did not take them, or tell them.’ Mesema clutched her roiling stomach. ‘And you’re the only one who knows I was in the city, and why – that was nothing to do with Banreh.’

‘Then how?’

Mesema shrugged. ‘Perhaps someone followed me? But you would have noticed, Grada.’

‘Meere has heard the rumours, and they are said to come from one of your men.’ Grada frowned. ‘That could be a lie, but I think they would not risk an untruth, not when their message is so important. They want to remove your influence over the emperor, and replace you with Arigu’s niece. They find him too … soft … in your company.’

‘His niece, is it?’ Mesema wiped sweat from her forehead. Arigu had helped Tuvaini against Beyon; he did not move without a powerful ally to cover him. He was a coward. Sarmin would face down all of Yrkmir by himself if need be, but men like Arigu and Dinar sneaked and whispered. It disgusted her. ‘Dinar is working with the general, and he has just caught me with the prisoner again.’