The Emperors Knife - By Mazarkis Williams Page 0,108

you. Take it—keep safe.” Sarmin closed his eyes again. His head drooped back upon the silk. He slept.

“I don’t want it,” she whispered, though he couldn’t hear. She crept to the door, dagger in hand, and began her descent to the palace.

Eyul pushed in the eye of Keleb and stepped through the wall into the hidden corridors. He guessed that Beyon had chosen these dark passageways—he would have, in the emperor’s place. He carried no lantern; better that he come upon the emperor unawares. When he had finished with the emperor, he would come back for Govnan.

A rustling sounded above him and to the right. He smiled to himself and crept towards the spiral staircase. Beyond that would be the bridge. It wouldn’t do to send Beyon’s body into the chasm; it had to be burned in the courtyard, before witnesses. He’d wait until Beyon had arrived safely at the other end.

At the top of the stairs he crouched, listening. Somewhere ahead, Beyon breathed. Clever for the emperor to stand on the bridge. He knew the law better than anyone.

“Eyul, is that you?”

Eyul listened. He heard only Beyon; the two bodyguards had either run or been sent elsewhere.

“Eyul, you are my sworn protector. You will not kill me.”

“I am sworn to protect the rightful emperor.”

“I am Tahal’s chosen successor.”

“You are a Carrier.”

“No.”

Silence. The darkness felt bitter, pressing in on Eyul’s skin. A smell of rot wafted up from the deep. His palm grew sweaty around the Knife’s hilt. He could hear whispers, soft as leaves in the wind, too low for him to understand.

“What do you say?” he murmured, twisting the hilt in his hand. The voices fell silent. Eyul stood and addressed Beyon, fixing his eyes where he knew the emperor stood. “I’ve seen the marks on you.”

“I carry the marks, nothing else.”

The stench of rot grew stronger. Eyul stood and peered into the dark. Beyon lowered his voice. “My brother is alive.”

Eyul listened now to the above and the below, for any footstep that would reveal another listener. Beyon was careless to speak out in the darkness.

“My brother is alive,” Beyon repeated, “and I am no Carrier. The true Carrier who stabbed my brother knew the secret ways. Someone had revealed them to her. Someone from the palace.”

Someone from the palace. Eyul knew who that must be, but his mouth was slow to follow his thoughts. “The attack…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not the first time. I believe…” Dangerous to say the words, unfamiliar. “Tuvaini arranged for the Carriers at the fountain.” Working with Govnan? The two of them, conspiring to bring down the empire. Why?

“You see,” said Beyon. “Come with me, and—”

“No. You’re still marked.” Eyul readied the Knife in his hand. “Tuvaini may be a traitor, but your brother is the emperor now, and you must die.”

He took a step forwards. He heard Amalya’s voice then, strong enough in his memory to bring back her warmth and her scents of spice and smoke. You should give him the benefit of the doubt. It matters to you. He paused, his leg extended, his grip faltering. It did matter. He lowered his Knife.

“You must die,” he said again, “but it won’t be me who kills you.”

A long silence fell between them. Fire crackled, and a lantern illuminated the bridge. Beyon stood at the midpoint of the crossing, the darkness on either s ide, his eyes darker still. He smiled, a tight stretch of the lips. Eyul couldn’t remember if Beyon had ever smiled at him before.

He sheathed the Knife and joined his emperor.

Chapter Thirty

"And the girl, Your Magnificence?” Azeem stood by the bottom step of the dais, his face polite, respectful, blank. Elevation to Lord High Vizier had wrought no discernible

change in the man.

“Not important.” No grandson of Tahal would threaten him now. Tuvaini eased back into the throne. It was not a comfortable seat. He drummed his palms against its stone arms as his mind rushed through the corridors of the palace, out into the winding streets of the city and along the wide roads that led to every corner of the empire. He had so many plans that he could not decide where to begin.

“I wish to invite some of the greater lords,” he said at last. “We must make it clear that we will work with them. Lord Zell of the

western province is the loudest when it comes to complaint. Send five men with silks, gems and fine wood—it must be a good load.