She glared at all the women and poured the dark liquid as requested. One of the older ladies asked for water, which Jenn scampered away to fetch.
"What do you do to that poor sylph?" asked one woman. Her dark blue eyes twinkled. "Looks like she's been chewing nettles."
Somewhere on the older side of her middle years, Welna Reven was the younger wife of the oldest Councilor, Gorfron. Being his favorite, she wielded considerable influence over her husband. His other wife never attended Zandra's gatherings.
"She belongs to Marcus," replied Zandra with a small smile, "and always sulks when they're apart."
"How endearing." Welna smiled at Jenn on the sylph's return. The sylph glowered back and said nothing.
"Marcus has always insisted his sylphs be allowed to speak their minds and show their feelings." Zandra shrugged. "Jenn has always taken full advantage of this privilege."
The ladies present laughed.
Zandra watched them. She hoped Jenn continued to play her part. She was doing fine so far. The sylph glanced at her, expression suggesting that the choca reward for this humiliation had better be worth it.
"My husband also says it is best to allow sylphs to speak freely." This woman was Jayen Kellen, wife of the new Senate leader, Rogort Mannan. Zandra recalled this Senator had never wanted to see the Throne recognized, but now Marka had an Emperor, his loyalty to Zenepha was unquestioned. "One always gets the best from sylphs if they feel valued." Jayen smiled at Jenn and got a twitch of earpoints in return.
Zandra looked at the twelve ladies. These were, perhaps, the matriarchs of Marka. Wealthy in their own right, they came from influential families and all had married powerful men. High Councilors, Senators, and one was married to the Imhotep. Marriage to these men granted more influence.
Tamsin Mochna was the Supreme Councilor's senior wife, and most of the ladies here deferred to her almost instinctively. Even better, Tamsin worked with Zandra. Her husband wanted Zandra's husband to take the Throne.
But nowhere near as much as Zandra wanted her husband to take it. The problem now was a sylph-Emperor, who had proved surprisingly good at his role.
"Jenn has served Marcus since both were very young," continued Zandra. "Sometimes it's difficult to tell which of us stands higher in his affections."
Again, the laughter. As always, these meetings were informal, but Zandra knew they were essential to keep her husband noticed by the rulers of the city. One short year since Marcus had proved his claim in battle, and everybody needed repeated reminders who had won that battle.
All done gently, but a reminder was a reminder, no matter how she put it across. The need for it showed how far her husband had fallen, thanks to the actions of a third party.
Jenn looked at the gathering through narrowed eyes and her earpoints lashed irritably. Zandra decided Jenn had been baited enough; it was only a matter of time before she spoke her mind.
"Thank you, Jenn," said Zandra. "You may leave us now, please."
The sylph inclined her head to Zandra and looked pleased to leave, but she closed the door behind her gently.
"Will she eavesdrop?" asked one of the wives.
"Why don't we shout and ask?" replied Tamsin, sarcastically.
There was more laughter.
Zandra kept a polite smile in place. She needed these women for her beloved Marcus to make any headway against Council and Senate. This afternoon, she would entertain guildswomen, and plant yet more seeds.
"Jenn always rests on her blankets when she has free time," she said. "Something she picked up being around soldiers all the while."
"I never realized soldiers were so lazy," said another wife.
Zandra did not believe this one was as dim as she made herself out to be. Everybody knew soldiers slept whenever they could, to be ready when needed, no matter the time of day or night.
Zandra would apologize to Jenn later; she had not intended the sylph to be the butt of jokes. Not that the ribbing was cruel, or intended to hurt her feelings, but the infertile could be surprisingly sensitive when not with Marcus.
"I understand there is some excitement among the soldiers," said Jayen. "As usual, the Senate has not been informed. Marcus sits on the inner circle that advises His Majesty on these matters, I wondered if you have anything to tell us."
Zandra masked irritation with another smile. Over familiar to refer to her husband as Marcus, and to call Zenepha "His Majesty" in the same breath was downright insulting! "Zenepha has had enough of the Eldovans lurking to the north and wants to push them further west. They might take the hint and go home."
"Too easy for them to merge into one large army again," said Jayen.
"Too close for comfort," added Welna.
"Will your husband take one of the commands?" asked Tamsin.
"Much to Jenn's disappointment, he can leave that to others now. He always was more politician than warrior. Like Olista, his role is advisory for the moment."
Tamsin nodded and smiled. She, like Zandra, realized that these women would mull over every word uttered and look for hidden meanings. Zandra intended to leave as many meanings open to interpretation as she could. She happily played this game; she had been raised on it. At least half the women here still needed winning over to Marcus's cause. Once she achieved that, their husbands would follow.
If gentle persuasion failed, then there were more rigorous methods. Zandra would not employ those herself, but she would delegate that unpleasant task to people better suited to ruining lives and marriages. She hoped she never needed such methods; the very thought of employing them brought an unpleasant feeling. But politics was sometimes a dirty business.
"I thought that, with the defeat of Hingast, the Eldovans would have gone home." Idelea, wife of the Imhotep, came from a religious background, but she was anything but pious – underneath her smiling exterior, anyway – and far more streetwise than she let on. "It is distressing that these people are still lurking; don't they know they are defeated?"
Zandra smiled. This one would prove dangerous; she could hardly wait to get her on side. Better on side than against. "They are still being rallied. This is why Zenepha is sending someone north to sort them out."
She hoped it would sort them out. Idelea had one thing right: it was distressing to have this army ready to pounce again. It prevented the Calcanese caravans from leaving for Marka; at least half of her household was still stuck there.
"What about all the soldiers being sent east?" asked Welna.
"They should keep the army here," said Jayen, "to protect Marka."
"They should."
Dead silence met Zandra's words. These women listened to her only because she had led a sizeable number of them through the streets of Marka when it looked as if all was lost at the end of the siege. They respected her, though not everybody agreed with her, or even necessarily liked her.
"You disagree with the Emperor," said Idelea, her voice flat.
"Zenepha has given his commands, which even Marcus must respect," continued Zandra. Time to gamble; she hoped Kelanus was right. "But Marcus recognizes that anything done by Re Taura is intended only as a diversion. Re Taura might attack, but they cannot retain any gains. Marka is where the real battle will be fought."
Marcus would not dare say that in public and not for fear of Zenepha's reaction. People in Calcan would not appreciate being left to fend for themselves, no matter how necessary. Marcus must be hard in this, but neither could he afford to alienate his own people.
But now, these women would tell their husbands all about Marcus's true, if unofficial, view. Kelanus had better be right!
"The Eldovans'll soon be sorted," barked Tamsin. "They are not a rabble, alas, but we gave them a bloody nose."
Zandra nodded. "Perhaps we should travel with General Kestan – that should scare them away again!"
This time, the laughter was spontaneous; everybody here disliked Eldovans on Markan territory. Everybody had lost friends due to the siege. W
ars were always harder to bear when personal and close. With few exceptions, they had not particularly cared in the days when the civil war stayed far from Marka's borders.
"I'm sure they would run all the way back home if they thought we followed!"
"They should have run home the last time, if their leaders had any sense."
"That's why they lurk; they fear another drubbing from their own women if they return with tails between their legs."
Smiles and laughter, a fond memory tempered only when they remembered how many friends had died that day and thought of children who would never again see their mother's smile.
Again Zandra looked around the room. Intelligent and astute women surrounded her at these gatherings, all of whom wielded far more power than most generally realized. None were empty-headed, even if a couple sometimes affected it at gatherings. Even so, all were sharp-eyed right now; they watched, listened and filed everything away.
Nothing she said could be construed as treason, but they were clever enough to read between the lines. They were intelligent enough to recognize hidden meanings. Time to gamble.
"Of course," she began, "we were lucky with Zenepha's leadership, but people already ask how long he will be caretaker for. When you have a plan, it is always best to have a second, just in case the first fails."
Eyes several shades of blue regarded her expressionlessly. Tamsin was the exception; she watched the other women thoughtfully. They were on their collective guard now, but she did have their attention.
Zandra began to plant her seeds.
***
Kana Santon and her sister-wife, Elsin Handra, widows to the late Branad Vintner, watched the women leave the meeting. It did not take very long.
Their receiving room was not the largest, though Kana quite liked the seascape paintings lining the walls. The table could seat eight, and their visitors all fitted in. Six women, whose husbands supported – or had supported – Branad's claim.
"There are fewer every time we meet," remarked Elsin.
Kana sniffed in disapproval. "We can thank Verdin for that," she said. "Why won't the boy press his claim?"
Elsin shook her head. "Looks like we'll have to wait for Nazvasta to make the claim instead." Elsin had her own plans there, which she wisely kept to herself.
Kana kept her hands still. "He won't move until Zenepha steps down."
Noise from outside drifted in through the open windows. The heat was building for summer; soon these rooms would need sylphs with fans to keep the air moving around.
"Or is pushed aside." Elsin paused before broaching the really dangerous subject. "Zandra seems to catch more attention with every meeting."
A sylph poked her head around the door, wanting to clear away the used cups and alovak can. Elsin mouthed "Five more minutes" at the sylph, who then withdrew.
Kana's eyes narrowed. "That is because Calcan's claimant is here," she said. "And ours refuses to play along with his ancestors."
Elsin gave the older woman a sideways look. When it came to building friendships and gathering support, Zandra seemed to have a definite edge. But Elsin did not believe Marcus's presence made any difference.
Zandra happened to be very good at what she did. Unlike Kana, who expected immediate compliance because of who she was, Zandra built friendships and relationships with her followers.
"Has Nazvasta written to you yet?" asked Elsin. She hoped Kana never discovered the correspondence between Sandester and herself. Elsin knew a lot more about Nazvasta's intentions than did her sister-wife.
"One letter," replied Kana. "He wants our army back in Sandester once the summer campaigning is over."
Elsin smiled. "Oh good, it means we can go home." She hoped the older woman took her smile for homesickness. She had her own plans.
***
Petan opened the door to a man carrying a sack. Something inside kicked and struggled.
"Stable is around the back." Petan jerked his head. "The one with red rope for door handles."
The man understood, nodded and disappeared around the side of the row of cottages. Petan took his time going through the house and into the yard. He glanced at the neighboring cottages, but all was dark there. Most people would be sleeping. It would take the thief a little time to walk to the end of the row and along the alley to the stable.
Petan entered the stable just in time to see the paid thief tip a spluttering sylph out of the sack. The single light crystal set into one of the beams threw shadows in all directions.
"Not seen by anyone from the Guard?"
The thief shook his head. "Nobody."
"Good." Petan smiled.
That sylph sat up and rubbed dust-laden eyes, earpoints lashing in anger. Petan almost smiled when that anger turned to uncertainty and fear. He nodded to himself.
"You've done well," he told the thief. "Difficult to get?"
The thief smiled. "Very easy. They had him locked and chained in their stable. Just waited for dark and made my move. Got no idea why they moved him there from inside."
Petan nodded. "Maybe a better place to keep him. After all, some of 'em smell. Here." He thrust a leather purse at the thief and the man weighed it carefully in his hands. He finally nodded acceptance.
The man should be happy, the purse held more than had been promised. Petan's hazel eyes were very cold. "I suppose there's no need to remind you that this never happened."
The thief blinked. "What ever happened? I never saw you before in my life."
Petan smiled. "You take care. Happy hunting."
The thief nodded and was gone.
Petan dropped a lockbar against the stable door and then turned to Tangan, who stared back at him.
"I don't know what you did, but those higher than me wanted you recovered from Grayar. They wanted you alive, but did suggest I might need to kill you. Are you going to give me a reason for that?"
Tangan quickly shook his head. "Am I going to Nicolfer?" he asked, fear writ large across his face now, earpoints wilted completely away. His eyes glowed faintly.
"No idea. Come inside the house. Keep quiet and speak only when spoken to."
Tangan blinked. "Se bata." He followed the large man out of the stables, across the yard and into the cottage.
"Sit there." Petan pointed to a scrap of rug before the empty fireplace.
Tangan immediately dropped onto his haunches and hugged his knees. He watched Petan finish a drink before pulling a cloak around his shoulders.
The human gave the sylph a hard look. "If you've moved when I return, you'll find out that not all humans are kind to sylphs."
Tangan reflected he had already found this out for himself and watched Petan leave the house. His earpoints twitched upright the moment the human was gone.
Despite fearing the motive behind it, he welcomed his sudden abduction from Sandev's stables. Stanak had been anything but gentle when putting him in those stables. Nothing had been broken, but Tangan would feel some of those bruises for weeks.
Grayar's questioning had been gentle but persistent, and obfuscation on Tangan's part resulted in pain. A cloth wadded and stuffed into his mouth meant he could not even scream.
And Grayar was supposed to be on the Father's side!
Tangan did not know Petan, but squatting here was more fun than being chained by an ankle in a stinking stable. But he suspected Petan had not freed him from the stable for the pleasure of his company.
Should he take the risk and run now? He had no wish to meet Nicolfer again; her almost total lack of concern for him had shown a terrifying cruel streak, even by human standards. Leaving had been the only good thing about his time with her.
He considered his failed assassination attempt. Not that he'd had any choice, but he regretted trying to kill Grayar. He had failed. It was not his fault that the man used the Gift to protect himself. He might have succeeded, but his chance to kill Grayar had gone forever. Someone else would have to try now.
Tangan wondered how
much of Nicolfer remained with him. In the past, she had compelled him to kill and he felt that compulsion leave the moment he killed. A terrible feeling: elation to depression in a splitsecond. But not this time. His failure meant the compulsion stayed in place.
How could he get rid of it? He had no intention of being a killer for the rest of his life. Did it fade? Or must he kill before it went completely? He wanted to be himself again.
He glanced at the door. Too many people knew who he was and he knew too much about them. Corpses never carried tales. He had no illusions.
If he stayed, he would die. Tangan was neither a fool nor brave.
He had no idea for whom the man living here worked, but he felt certain Nicolfer would be involved somewhere. This might be the only opportunity to escape. He was not ready to die yet.
He looked across the living room. Did anyone else live in the house or was he alone? A cloak hung from a peg behind the door, which suggested someone else might be here. Or that Petan had a spare cloak. Looking at the door again, he hoped it was unlocked.
Rising smoothly to his feet, he padded across the flagged floor to try the handle. The door swung open. Tangan smiled. Not even locked.
Moments later he stood outside and waited for his eyes to adjust to the starlight. He must find somewhere to hide and sleep until the city gates opened. Then he would be free. His smile broadened. It would be good to feel fresh air on his face again.
Time to run.
***
"Gone?"
Grayar stared at Stanak.
"Empty chain, stable door still locked. The boy must be very good."
Grayar sighed. "I probably could not do what was necessary anyway."
Stanak's gray-blue eyes were expressionless. "I would have helped out there."
Grayar's mouth twisted in distaste. "Better to preserve life than take it. Not to mention my soft spot for sylphs; someone knows enough to exploit that... trait." He had almost said weakness. Some would see it so.
Stanak smiled. "Not one for vengeance then."
Grayar grimaced. "Revenge is a base motive, and should only be employed after due process, such as a trial. But this is not about punishment. I wanted to learn more of what makes Tangan tick. Ending his life would be irrevocable."
"We cannot leave a murderous sylph running free," countered Stanak. "He might be a danger to others."
"Do you think he escaped, or was stolen?"