The Tower Broken(31)

‘She was not of the palace, Dinar. Her law is not our law.’

Dinar frowned, but he lowered the book. So bulky was he that it looked a toy in his hands. ‘I have another question, Your Majesty, if you would entertain it.’

‘Make it quick. I am on my way to the Tower.’

‘When should I expect the prisoner?’ A smile of anticipation danced over the priest’s lips.

Sarmin realised the full nature of his command in the private audience chamber. In the palace, no question was merely asked. There would be blood first, the removal of flesh, exquisite pain designed for Herzu’s pleasure. He stepped away from the scent of Mirra’s flowers, ashamed for Her to hear. ‘You will have him when I send him to you.’ If I send him.

Dinar’s dark eyes flickered. ‘At that time I will be pleased to give him over to Herzu. He is one our god will cherish, though imperfect.’ With a slight bow he retreated.

Sharing the palace with Herzu’s high priest required constant balance. Sarmin must be careful not to appear weak, to give the man everything he wanted, but neither must he leave him with nothing. Dinar had influence over at least half the court and must be kept content. Sarmin was not ready for a confrontation, covert or otherwise. Yet giving over anything to Dinar – the Megra’s soul, Banreh’s body – felt unnatural. He glanced down at Govnan, shrunken and silent at his side.

‘Such is the way of the empire,’ said Govnan, as if Sarmin had spoken his thoughts aloud.

‘We shall see.’ They began their slow walk, neither of them blessed with easy movement. Here the walls bore not mosaics or tapestries, but subtle carvings best seen in shadow. Pomegra studied her books, Ghesh stood upon a star and Keleb’s finger pointed in judgement. Around them all spun the mass of the universe – planets, waters and suns rendered in white marble, with no mind to scale. Beneath two clashing suns stood a bench for the comfort of worshippers journeying from temple to temple; there sat Nessaket, pale and gaunt. She should not look so; she should look well, and her child should be with her. His brother.

‘Mother,’ he said, stopping, ‘you should not be walking about.’

‘We must speak.’ Nessaket tapped the stone at her side. He noticed the veins that stood out upon her hand, the wrinkles at her wrist. When Sarmin settled beside her, she said, ‘You must not give the prisoner to Dinar.’

‘Are you here to plead his case?’

‘Not in the least. It is only that Dinar will take too long to kill him, and he must die.’

Sarmin watched and listened.

‘Arigu is not here – not yet – and without him the White Hats grow restive. They long to have their honour restored. The longer you keep the chief alive, the harder it will be to assure their loyalty to you.’

‘General Lurish—’

‘General Lurish is a blustering old man. He cannot hold them to you. Only the public execution of the traitor will seal their faith.’

Sarmin watched Govnan pretending to study the marble. ‘Only Banreh knows where this duke might be hiding.’

‘You are not afraid of the desert,’ said Nessaket, leaning forwards, her dark hair falling over his arm. ‘The desert made Uthman into a conqueror. The desert made ours the strongest empire in the world – and you lead it. This duke is a northerner who knows nothing of the sand. You will find him.’

Sarmin laid a hand on her arm. It was true: all of this was his – the bench where they sat, the temple wing, the city, the whole empire, and all the history that came with it. And yet he was not so certain he commanded the desert as well. Mogyrk remained powerful there.

Nessaket pushed his hand away. ‘Now go.’

Sarmin stood and motioned to the high mage. ‘Come,’ he said, ‘let us see what is so important at the Tower.’

*

Sarmin ran his fingers along the length of the crack. ‘What does it mean?’ he asked, more of himself than the high mage. The rock-sworn had felt a pull on his elemental when he touched it, but this was not the emptiness of the Great Storm. The Storm took more than magic – it took colour and memories. It hollowed. He remembered the question Mesema had asked of him. ‘Govnan, how long do you think it will be before the Storm reaches the Blessing?’

Govnan laid a hand upon the wall and patted it, as if it were his child. ‘We don’t know that it will be altered by the storm, Magnificence. It was given us by Meksha Herself – a literal blessing. What is Mogyrk against Her?’

‘I thought that fire was Her realm.’

‘She gave us this Tower, Your Majesty, and the ability to command all four elements. She commands Her fiery mountain, it’s true – but there She might find not only rock and flame, but the winds upon its peaks and the water that runs down its surface.’