Chapter Eight

Carann, Royal Palace

“How did this happen?” Arta asked wearily, slumping on her throne as she rubbed her forehead with one hand. She’d changed back into her tunic and pants almost immediately after returning to the palace and her dueling sword rested at her side, but even though the casual clothing and reassuring presence of a weapon helped comfort her, her nerves were still on edge.

“It seems, Your Majesty,” Gilgam said, stepping forward from where he’d stood beside Duke Mardoban, “that Duke Respen had subverted Guardsmen Aetius and Rastus some time ago, well before the events surrounding your coronation. I had known that they favored him as a successor to the throne in the absence of any other heir, but they had never previously allowed their political opinions to impact their duty, nor was there any indication they were taking his money until we investigated their accounts. Frankly, neither of them had mentioned the duke in months, and I’d hoped they were past supporting him. Clearly, I was mistaken, and for that you have my apologies.

“It appears that Aetius and Rastus helped allowed mercenaries disguised as guildsmen to infiltrate the dedication, and likely also smuggled in the modified recorder mech. We have examined its remains, and its weapons systems indeed proved to be of Aurannian design. We’re currently investigating the rest of the guards to make certain that no one else was in on the plot.”

“You’d better be,” Karani muttered angrily from where she was pacing near the base of the throne.

“Karani,” Duke Mardoban said in a gently chiding tone, “I understand you’re upset, but yelling at Gilgam won’t do anything to help. He knows his job; let him do it.”

“Fine,” she said. “But someone tried to kill my sister, and I want to see some heads roll.” She paused and glanced guiltily at Arta, who’d fixed her with a disapproving stare. “Er, metaphorically, of course. Not literally. Which would be gross. I’ll be quiet now.”

Gilgam bowed and excused himself, and Arta sighed and rose, buckled her sword around her waist, and descended the dais. “The girl who saved my life,” she said. “I’ve not met her before, and I think I’d remember someone like that. Who is she?”

“That I can answer,” Mardoban said. “Her name is Latharna Dhenloc; she’s Ambassador Preas’s new aide, fresh from Realtran. The guards ran a background check on her before she came to work here and turned up nothing noteworthy. She’s in the palace infirmary at the moment, though the doctors say it’s nothing serious, just exhaustion.”

“Dhenloc,” Arta repeated the surname, and frowned. No ‘ast’ – did that mean she was a commoner? Or was it just because Realtran names worked differently? She couldn’t remember from her lessons and the moment, and shook her head – it didn’t matter. “I want to see her when she wakes up,” she said. “I need to thank her for what she did. She risked her life for me and she’s not even a Dozen Stars citizen. I can’t let that go – if Ambassador Preas doesn’t mind, anyway.”

“I don’t think she will,” Mardoban said. “It’s the right thing for you to do.”

“Aha!” Karani said suddenly. “The guards checked her out, you said. But we know at least two of the guards were corrupt. I bet she’s a mole, and the whole attack was staged to get her close to you! Where does an ambassador’s aide learn to fight like that, anyway?”

“Karani,” Arta said, sighing, “doesn’t it strike you as a lot of work just to get an assassin close to me, when they could have shot me right then and there? From what I’ve heard of Respen, he’s one for the direct approach. It really doesn’t seem to be his style. And you thought Shiran was a spy too, remember?”

“Well, I was wrong that time, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong this one,” Karani said, folding her arms. “I still don’t trust her.”

Arta regarded her foster-sister shrewdly for a long moment, wondering if Karani’s attitude was less about distrusting Latharna and more about guilt over not being there to protect Arta when she’d needed it. Finally, she shook her head, deciding it was better not to push her on the issue. “In any case,” she said, “I think we’d better comm Father; he probably saw the attack on the news, and we should probably tell him ourselves that we’re safe.”

“Speaking of messages,” Mardoban said, “everything about this attack – from its rash nature to the allegiance of the turncoat guards to the technology used – points to Duke Respen, who has been absent from the council and maneuvering behind its back for far too long. It is time we change that. We need to summon him to Carann in person and call him to account for his actions.”

“Yes,” Arta said. “I don’t intend to die like my mother did. Respen will answer for what happened today, one way or another, and if he doesn’t…” her voice trailed off, as the implication of what that would entail struck her. Did she really want to finish that sentence, to be the sort of queen who’d start a war with one of her own dukes?

Or had Respen, if he was indeed behind the attack, already started the war himself?

“Something else is bothering me,” Mardoban said. “The guilds have denied all involvement with the attack, of course, and expressed their full condolences, but still – those attackers arrived in guild uniforms and in place of guild representatives. It might be that Respen managed to buy off a few guildsmen in the right places, like he did with the guards – or it might be more than that.”

Arta groaned and felt the beginnings of a headache stir. It was starting to feel like she had enemies on every side, and Midaia’s words came back to her. Warning her to trust no one.

She raised her head and let her gaze slide from Mardoban to Karani. She didn’t want to live like that, but the little voice in the back of her head seemed to be warning her that she might not have a choice.

///

Pakorus rested his chin on his hands as he watched the data scroll by on the computer screen. As the only son and heir of Mardoban ast Orlanes, duke and former regent, he didn’t have access to all of the Kingdom’s classified information, but of that which didn’t directly impact national security, he could access quite a lot. In one sense it was troubling, a sign of the flaws of the feudal system that he should have such access not because he needed it or held any sort of office, but simply because of who he was related to. On the other hand, for the moment it was coming in very handy.

Pakorus knew he wasn’t much of a fighter, certainly not by the standards the Dozen Stars expected of its nobles and was exemplified by Darius ast Sakran or by Arta herself. At the recent tournament he’d been eliminated in the first round. Normally it didn’t bother him; today it did. While Arta and Karani had been fighting for their lives, his father had fought by their side – Pakorus had hidden under a chair and waited for the shooting to stop. That he’d done so had likely saved his life, but it still left a bitter taste in his mouth. He’d rarely felt so… useless.

Fortunately, he had other talents. A fighter he might not be, but his teachers at the Academy had always praised his mind, and currently he was trying to put it to use to put together who might be behind the attack. The traitor guards had implicated Respen, and Pakorus’s father agreed, but he had a feeling it wasn’t the whole story. It was rash, and yet there was a certain element of restraint involved – most of the attackers hadn’t been shooting to kill, as the distinct lack of fatalities had shown. From what Pakorus had heard of Respen, that wasn’t like him. Was someone else involved in things? Naudar and Sateira had been acting suspiciously lately, as well, but could there be more to things than even that?

And that brought him back to the tip Gilgam had given him earlier, about the man called Specter. Pakorus was doing his best to build a profile of the informant and determined if he’d be of help I the current environment, but if the Kingdom’s files had much concrete on him, it was classified beyond his ability to access. Oh, there were wild rumors that the intelligence service had recorded – that Specter was an Adept, or a renegade Alaelam cleric, or even an actual ghost – but nothing that sounded like it might be true. The only hard data was that he lived on Tantos Station, that he seemed to know more about the Kingdom’s affairs than anyone else, and that he would sell that information to almost anyone, if they could meet his price.

Someone sat down at the terminal beside him, and Pakorus quickly closed his screen – he had a feeling his father wouldn’t approve of what he was up to. When he looked over, however, he saw not Mardoban but Arta, looking weary. Two of her guards stood by the library door.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Arta said. “And please, no bowing and no ‘Your Majesty’-ing either. I’ve had too much excitement today to deal with that from one of my only friends in this place.”

“It’s all right,” Pakorus said. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since the attack – are you doing okay? Still holding up?”

“Well, I got shot at, nearly stabbed, and betrayed,” Arta said, “but I’m still in one piece so I’ll take that as a positive sign. What about you?”

“I’m fine,” Pakorus said, a sudden surge of shame rising in him. He considered whether he should tell Arta about his research into Specter, and his slowly forming intention to contact the mysterious informant to find out what he knew about the attack or Respen’s plans but thought better of it. Arta looked weary enough that he didn’t want to add another worry on top of it all.

“I just got off the comm with my father, assuring him that Karani and I were fine and that we hadn’t died, and the Kingdom wasn’t hushing it up,” she said. “Lord, I miss being able to talk to him in person and not from halfway across the Dozen Stars. And I miss Katanes.” She sighed. “Nobody was shooting at me on Katanes. Well, except for that one time.”

Pakorus raised an eyebrow at that, but Arta didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t ask. They regarded each other silently for a long moment; Arta had changed out of her gown and washed off most of the makeup she’d been wearing for the dedication, and it let her looking less classically elegant, but it also made her seem more… real. Not Artakane ast Carann the Adept Queen, but Arta, the girl from Katanes who liked books and dueling for sport and gardens and flying her izdakan. Pakorus found himself wanting to put a hand on her shoulder, to hold her close and comfort her, something, but at the same time he couldn’t think of anything to say that might work, so he did nothing. They simply sat together in silence, two young people who, by accident of birth, had the responsibility for a kingdom dropped on one and future responsibility for a duchy on the other, finding some solace in each other’s company.

The spell was broken by a sharp buzzing; Arta sat up and flicked open her wrist comm, where she’d received a message. “Some good news, anyway,” she said, looking up. “Doctor says Latharna’s awake.”

///

Latharna was sitting up in her hospital bed as Arta entered, taking careful sips from a steaming mug of kaf in her hands. Up close and away from the excitement of earlier, the young queen saw that the Realtran was a girl of about her own age, though her most striking feature was her pallor – her skin seemed even lighter than Midaia’s – and the stark white color and fine texture of her short hair. An albino, Arta realized – she’d heard of the condition, but never met anyone who had it before today.

Latharna looked up from her kaf as she heard Arta’s footsteps, and her eyes widened. “Your Majesty,” she stammered, her cheeks flushing a brilliant red that stood out strikingly against her white skin, “I mean, Queen Artakane, I mean… this is an honor.”

“Arta,” she said, smiling as she took a seat beside the bed. “Anyone who saves my life gets to call me Arta, at least in private. And honestly, taking the time to thank you is the least I could do. How are you feeling?”

“Tired, Your… Arta. Very tired,” Latharna said. “But otherwise I’m fine. The doctors say I just need to rest, and after about a day or so I should be ready to go back to work. I don’t really know how it happened – I didn’t fight that much, did I?”

Arta raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?” she asked.

Latharna shook her head, then looked back up and met Arta’s gaze. At first the queen thought her eyes were red and almost started at the idea, then saw the way the light was glinting on them and realized she was wearing some sort of contacts that tinted them that color. “I remember a little,” Latharna said, “but not a whole lot. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve always been a good duelist – all my instructors said so – and I’ve always loved doing things I’m good at, but I’ve never lost myself in it like that before. Part of me wants to do it again. That scares me a little.”

“Believe it or not, I know the feeling,” Arta said, holding up one of her hands and letting blue light play along it; Latharna’s eyes widened at the sight. “This? This took some getting used to, believe me. But I figured it out. I had a good teacher.”

“I was raised by a school headmistress,” Latharna said. “Sometimes I feel like all my life I’ve had nobody around me but teachers. Stopping assassins wasn’t ever on the curriculum, though.” She paused, frowning. “Did I… I didn’t kill anyone, did I?” She looked like she was dreading the answer.

“No,” Arta said, resting a reassuring hand on Latharna’s arm. “If you worried about that, don’t be. You did mess up Guardsman Aetius’s arm pretty good, but since he was trying to stab me at the time, I can’t complain. Karani probably would’ve done worse if she’d been closer. My sister can be a little… enthusiastic.”

Latharna groaned. “Well, better than I’d been afraid of, at least,” she said, and fell silent. The room was quiet for a long moment before Arta spoke again, her mind going back to something she’d said earlier.

“You were raised by a headmistress?” she asked; Latharna nodded. “Who are your family?”

“I have no idea,” Latharna said. “All I have from them is a name. I never knew them.”

“Well, we’ve got something in common, then,” Arta said. “I had no idea I was Queen Aestera’s daughter until the day before I was crowned; I always just thought I was an orphan my foster-father took in. Sometimes I feel like all I got from my mother was a title and a legacy I don’t think I’ll ever be able to live up to.”

“But… you’re a Queen!” Latharna said. “I’m nobody. Why would you think that after what you’ve done already?”

“What I’ve done already is mostly just accident and luck,” Arta said. “It’s always more impressive to hear about it than it is to do it. I used to want to be a famous knight; sometimes I feel like I wish I could go back to just being Arta without having to carry the weight of a kingdom on my shoulders.” She sighed. “Listen to me, unloading all my troubles on you when I came here to make you feel better.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Latharna said quickly. “I can’t remember the last time I just sat and talked with someone like this.” She paused, something seeming to occur to her. “Ambassador Preas was here before you got here; she stepped out just before you came in, but you probably want to thank her too if you see her. It’s because of her I’m here, after all.”

“I’ll do it,” Arta said, standing. “Thank you again, Latharna. I’m in your debt; if there’s anything you need that’s within the crown’s power, just tell me.” She paused. “By the way, when you’re feeling better, if you wouldn’t mind, I’ve been looking for a new sparring partner. I know Karani’s moves by heart, and all the guards always act like they’re afraid they’ll break me.”

Latharna’s eyes widened. “Of course!” she finally managed. “I’d be honored!”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Arta said. “Get well!” She gave a final nod to Latharna and then turned and left the room, passing her two guards who stood beside the door. Sure enough, Ambassador Ceana Preas was waiting in the hall, wearing an elegant robe and with her arms casually folded. She would be the second ambassador Arta had spoken to in the last hour; she’d bumped into Quarinis on her way up to visit Latharna, and he’d expressed his condolences and disgust over the assassination attempt. Strangely, Arta got the feeling he was completely sincere, though she couldn’t put her finger on why.

“Your Majesty,” Ambassador Preas said with a polite half-bow, fitting a representative of a foreign power. “I’m pleased to see you’re doing well after today’s… unpleasantness.”

“Thanks largely to your aide, Ambassador,” Arta said. “I don’t suppose I could borrow her for a bit after she’s feeling better?” Noting Ceana’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “I just got betrayed by two of my own royal guards. I’m feeling a need for people I can trust.”

“We of Realtran have always valued our friendship with the Dozen Stars,” the Ambassador said. “I’m certain Latharna would be willing to assist you. Good evening, Your Majesty.”

“Good evening, Ambassador,” Arta replied, and then turned and left the infirmary, guards in tow, feeling a sudden weariness rising in her and hoping that she, too, might have the chance to get some rest.

///

Latharna looked up from her caf to see Ambassador Preas enter her room. “So,” the Ambassador said,” you met the Queen. And tell me, what did you think of young Artakane?”

Latharna’s only response was the blush that sprang suddenly to her cheeks; she bowed her head in a effort to hide it, and cursed her complexion once again for making such a reaction so obvious. The Ambassador, however, merely gave a quiet, knowing smile.

///

Later that night, Duke Mardoban was awakened suddenly by the sound of someone pounding on his bedroom door, calling his name. Groaning, muttering under his breath about how he was getting too old for this, he rose from his bed, activated a nearby lamp with a wave of his hand, and pulled on a robe before answering the door. He found Gilgam standing there in full uniform; the guard looked somewhat disheveled, but there was a haunted look in his eyes.

“What happened?” Mardoban asked, a sudden fear filling him.

“My lord,” the guard said, “you need to come with me. I sent someone to awaken the queen as well. I’m afraid we have a situation.”