There had been no ambush in the desert; the duke had set his tiles on the board with no feint or trickery, and all had proceeded as he had promised. Sarmin should not be surprised; the man was Kavic’s cousin, and Kavic had been a direct and honest man. The politician in him knew an alliance with a Mogyrk ruler could help to ease tensions in the city. He might even be able to bring into question Yrkmir’s authority over the rebels and find his real brother at last.
When the wrong boy had been returned to Sarmin he had felt powerless, helpless; but now his strength had been restored by new hope, flowing into his limbs and fingers with sweet excitement, just as it had on that first night when Tuvaini had opened the secret door to his room.
I suggest you do not make them hate you. He remembered Grada’s words and smiled.
‘I will ally with this duke,’ he said into the dark.
‘Your Majesty.’ Azeem fumbled for words. ‘This must go through the council. The priests—’
‘That will take too long, Azeem. Begin the proclamation tonight. Heralds will announce it throughout the city in the morning.’
In a rustle of silk the grand vizier was gone. Only Govnan remained, still in his seat. Sarmin could hear him breathing. ‘What do you think Ashanagur meant, High Mage, when he said Mogyrk blinds the Tower?’
‘I do not know. Our power fades … but I do not see how that has anything to do with Mogyrk, or his wounds.’
The Storm. Sarmin stared out into the night. ‘You must find a way to stop the Storm, Govnan. The emptiness cannot be allowed to destroy the Blessing or breach our walls while Yrkmir approaches. I cannot do it – I have lost the skill – but you command the Tower. The arcane secrets are open to you. You must find a way.’
‘Yes, Magnificence.’
‘If you cannot protect our Blessing and our walls, I will tear down the Tower and start a new one.’
‘There is no need to threaten, Your Majesty.’ There was a smile in his voice. ‘If I do not find a way to stop the Storm, the Tower will already be gone.’
Sarmin turned to look at the old man. Govnan raised himself from the seat. ‘I am an old man, Magnificence, and sentimental. I have seen six emperors rule Nooria, and of all of them, you are my favourite.’ And now he did smile. ‘I will not fail you.’
Sarmin found he could not speak, and so he bowed.
Govnan bowed in return and left the room, his staff gripped in one hand, his steps slow and determined. Sarmin watched him go, then left the room as well, heading east, towards the women’s wing.
*
Willa opened the door to Mesema’s room. With a motion, Sarmin was rid of her. His wife stood inside, alone, her eyes wide with surprise, her face free of paint, clothed in a wisp of blue silk. The air felt moist and he caught the scent of roses; she had been in the bath. He began to explain why he had interrupted her evening, the awkward words ready to twist his mouth and put distance between them, but instead he stopped speaking, crossed the room and took her in his arms. ‘You were right,’ he said, whispering into the curls of her hair. ‘There was no ambush, and the duke is on his way to Nooria.’
She raised her eyes to him and he looked down at her face in wonder. Cheekbones too broad, his mother said. Chin too pointed. And yet he could not stop looking. ‘And Arigu?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps Arigu also.’
She did not ask about Banreh.
‘You were angry with me,’ she said, laying a palm against his cheek. ‘And I with you.’
‘I do not wish for that. I wish … I wish for you.’
She smiled as he kissed each of her fingers. ‘Today I remembered that you taught me to read. Now I can open any book and learn what is in it. Poor Banafrit cannot read. Willa and Tarub cannot read, and those worlds are closed to them.’
‘You also opened a world to me.’
She stood on her toes and their lips met. Her scent, the touch of her soft hair and the warmth of her body overwhelmed him. He did not know how long he stood there holding her against him, his hands searching for a way through the silk, before they stumbled together onto the bed. He tore at her silk wrappings, breaking her free, each sensation coming lightning-quick, her skin soft beneath his hands, her scent surrounding him. Every touch brought an agony of pleasure. Their bodies flowed together, all soft flesh and taut muscle, until release came shimmering and trembling over them.
They pulled apart, smiling in the dark. ‘Mesema,’ he whispered, and she turned to him, her eyes lost in the shadows. ‘I think we will find our way through this.’
She slid across the silk and kissed him. ‘My prince.’