The Emperors Knife - By Mazarkis Williams Page 0,132

memories were there in his head and on his tongue as he lay on his bed fifty miles away in Nooria.

“I’m sorry.”

“But this—” Grada shaped the thought in bright colours, “the two of us, together, it’s… grapes and honey, flowers, cool water.”

“Better.” Sarmin put a smile on her lips.

“Better.”

Eyul thrust out his leg and sent the fourth Carrier spinning into darkness. Asham’s voice murmured, giving warning and advice, a soft and weary comfort in Eyul’s bloody work. He could hear Govnan behind him, his breath quick. Eyul ducked under the bag of rocks and rolled to the side, coming to the very edge of the platform, almost losing himself in the chasm. He pushed himself up again, and his Knife sliced the artery it sought.

As he turned to the sixth Carrier, he heard the twang of a bow.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Mesema sat with her back against the wall, cradling Beyon’s sleeping head in her lap. She tried to move her numb legs, to regain some feeling without waking him. She had passed hungry and passed tired. She had even passed beyond embarrassment when, a few hours ago, Beyon showed her where she could urinate into a chasm in the secret ways by straddling two slender bridges. When she was finished, he did the same.

As they waited for Eyul, Beyon fell into a restless sleep.

Above her reached the scaffold used by the artists who had been working Beyon’s face into the vaulted ceiling of his tomb. Either fear or orders had caused them to abandon their trowels and picks and leave the tomb in disarray. Disembodied eyes and the bridge of a nose stared down at her in shades of topaz and amber. Though unfinished, it was a good likeness.

Beyon’s coffin lay before her, as big as two horses and worked in gold and silver. It was the twin to the tomb of Satreth I, behind it. Stairs rose beside Satreth’s tomb, for the common people to view the body of the Reclaimer. At the foot of Beyon’s tomb, workmen had placed the first marble step.

She wanted to leave this place.

Eyul had not returned. Perhaps he had tried to rescue the women. Her idea to kill them had been cruel, but the assassin must have seen the necessity of it. He could not have been so foolish as to risk himself.

She shivered at the trail of her own thoughts. Hours ago Beyon’s wives had been laughing and talking—though they were childless and trapped in the women’s wing, their lives of no significance to the empire, still they had had meaning to themselves and to their gods. They did not deserve to die like that; it was wrong to let them—

—but so much was already wrong, and she could not change the cruel ways of the palace. Beyon should understand that; he walked those ways himself. Nevertheless, he had been strange with her ever since they left Eyul.

But I can understand if he is afraid of me. I am afraid of me too. Beyon stirred and sat up. He met her eyes, then turned away. “Eyul?” he asked, and when she shook her head, he said, “Then we should go to the desert. My men are waiting. I don’t know how many…” His voice trailed off. He stood and straightened his robes.

She wondered how many men had stayed faithful after hearing of Beyon’s marks. Her father had always had to remain strong; he could never betray any doubt or any hint of illness if he wished to maintain his Riders’ respect. She wondered if even Banreh would stay by his side if he showed himself to be weak.

Some of those waiting in the desert could be twice-treacherous, pretending to betray the new emperor, but instead turning upon Beyon. That would be the best way to kill him—to gain his trust, get in close.

Just as she had. The vision reappeared in Mesema’s mind, tracing Beyon’s lifeless form in sand and blood, putting the knife in her hand. It would come to fruition, and soon. She had the feeling of running downhill, speed overtaking her, compelling her feet to rush headlong. She almost turned her arms in a pinwheel to slow down, but instead, through long practice, she calmed herself by counting stitches. Beyon pulled a pouch from his belt and shook the contents into one hand.

“I have honeyed nuts. I forgot about them until now.”

She plucked one from his palm. It was shiny, golden, hard; it barely looked like food. At home, honey kept the