The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,42

history say of me?”

“With respect, Father, it was your and Yasha’s ambition which led us here in the first place.” Mariam leaned against a column of pitted bronze, part of a round rooftop gazebo. “The way I see it, you can either murder Ariskander—and the Asrahn, which I’m honor-bound to prevent. Or you can walk away. I’d hesitate before plunging us into a civil war, and that will undoubtedly happen in the vacuum of power. Better to be patient.”

“Did you know about what Ekko told Ariskander?” Corajidin realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her answer.

“I’d be more concerned with what Indris told Vashne.”

“Your mother says—”

“My mother is dead,” Mariam said flatly. “This is your wife’s agenda.”

“How did this all become so complicated? It all seemed so simple in the beginning. Everything was in place, and all I needed to do was wait. You know I will not survive unless I find an answer to what is killing me.”

“What will you do?”

For almost an hour they had argued the murder of Ariskander and the Asrahn. Corajidin had been genuinely horrified by the idea of killing Vashne. The man was a friend, as much as any political rival could be a friend. Belamandris, Armal, and certainly Mariam had shared his reservations. Thufan and Farouk had remained quiet, though Thufan had been the first to nod as Yashamin had spoken further of the need for Ariskander and Vashne to die. In response to Corajidin’s hesitation, Yashamin had become scathing.

“Where’s the legendary fire of the Erebus men?” she had sneered. “Men whose Ancestors dared the murder of emperors to get what they wanted? Have your balls shriveled now you’re faced with actually getting your hands bloody?”

“You think this is so simple?” Corajidin had felt as if his head were going to split from the pressure, despite Wolfram’s potion.

“There are few things simpler than taking a life, my husband.” Yashamin had stood before him, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her entire body had seemed to thrum with passion. She’d taken him by the chin. “If I thought they’d be tempted, I’d whore myself to both Ariskander and Vashne, then cut their hearts out!”

“Yash—”

“I’d do this for you, Jidi!” she had promised. “I’d do this for the man I love!”

Enraged, Mariam had taken the knife Vashne had given Corajidin and hurled it toward Yashamin. Its metallic sheath had rung against the mosaic floor. Silence had crashed down as they’d looked at where the knife had come to rest beside Yashamin’s bare feet. The late-afternoon sun had shone from the gold rings on her toes and the strands of pearls around her slender ankles. They had been oddly bright, gleaming, compared to the sullen shadow of the dagger.

“Then do it.” Mariam had pointed at Yashamin, her voice calm. “You talk a good game, Yasha. Let’s see how well you can really play it.”

“Enough!” Corajidin had taken the knife up from where it lay. The look Yashamin had given Mariam had been venomous.

Corajidin had looked at the knife in his hands with morbid fascination.

“You know it’s the only way, Jidi!” Yashamin had urged.

Mariam’s look of despair had caused Corajidin’s breath to stick in his chest. Belamandris’s expression had been troubled as he’d tapped his sword hilt nervously.

Yashamin had suggested they work quickly but quietly. There was no time to hire bravos to do this. No time to orchestrate a demise by an assassin’s blade. This thing, this murder, would need to be done by Erebus hands tonight. Before the emergency session of the Teshri. Before their conspiracy became common knowledge. She’d urged them think like leaders. To manage the flow of information.

Corajidin had seen the horrified look on Mariam’s face when she was asked, no, told, by Yashamin to fail in her duty to protect the Asrahn. Mariam had left the chamber then, fists clenched, head low. Corajidin had watched her go, torn to see his daughter so confounded. Regicide was not something he had planned.

So he had come to the roof, into fresher air, to think, which was where Mariam had found him.

“Vashne gave me this today,” Corajidin said. He was transfixed by the knife in his hands. “This was the blade Erebus, the first of our line, used to defend Vane-ro-men, the last emperor of the Petal Empire. We Avān were loyal to our monarchs then. Before we betrayed them to form an empire of our own.”

“Why give it to you? What does he know?”

Corajidin drew the knife. It hissed from the sheath.