Chapter 10: The Spy

  With a shawl over her head, Laila knelt before her father. Slipping in and out of Ralu’s domain was always easy for her, but standing in her father’s presence was always a swirling storm of anger and fear in her mind. Torches blazed around them in his spa. It was too much space for one man to enjoy alone, yet he always did. He raised his eyes, turning his neck to see her. As usual, he did not smile, did not even react to her presence.

  “Were you seen?”

  “No.”

  He nodded, leaning forward on his massage chair. The masked women returned to their work on him. Even at his age, her father was muscular, but his skin was vastly scarred, particularly on his back, where the old king had lashed him. For that torture, he paid him back tenfold.

  The attendants applied oil in slow strokes to his skin as they worked his back. Although his muscle aches had been a nagging problem, she thought he brought these women in as another way of feeling powerful. This wasn’t a man who strained himself often.

  “What did you learn?” he mumbled.

  “Every merchant you suspected was present,” she said.

  “Ha,” he grinned with his eyes closed. “Money is a powerful motivator. Almost as powerful as Bilsa’s hand.”

  “Most interestingly,” she said, “Na’Vanad was there.”

  Rontisil’s eyes opened. “Say it then, Laila. Does Ralu still breathe?” The ladies backed away until he slowly leaned forward again.

  “He was not there as an assassin,” she said after he calmed down.

  “Damn,” he said. “Conspiracy.”

  “Kagarani knows.”

  “Knows what?”

  She paused. “He knows what happened to Vakin.”

  Rontisil’s eyes grew mad. “And how do you know?”

  She said nothing.

  “Your mother thought she was a witch,” he said. “She believed she saw things beyond reality. She did not. All she did was prophesy a doom that never came—then, when she tried to end my life with treachery, I choked the life from her instead.”

  “I know,” Laila murmured.

  “So do not test me,” he snapped. “If I wished for you to know my maneuvers, I would have told you.”

  “I apologize,” Laila said. “I learned the truth while investigating what Kagarani’s men had learned.”

  “Hm,” Rontisil wrinkled his nose, leaning forward again.”

  “Kagarani may appear weak,” she warned, “but he is a shrewd man. I advise you: Na’Vanad is not to be underestimated. Kagarani has utilized him well. I believe the Shavu has brokered a reluctant alliance between the two generals.”

  He rose at that.

  “Leave us,” Rontisil told the ladies. Taking a stiff breath, he washed his face from a basin by the wall. Laila rose to her feet in respect. “Who is this Na’Vanad really? Is he a nobleman wearing slave rags? How does a Shavu I’ve never heard of somehow become the most active member of my court?”

  Laila had her own suspicions, particularly that he was a foreign knight, but she had no proof—yet. Even if she did, she wouldn’t reveal it to her father. She liked him too much.

  “I cannot say, but it would be highly unusual for a Lekkian nobleman to infiltrate a general’s ranks as a slave.”

  “Are we certain he is not Vakin’s bastard?” Rontisil asked, his eyes appearing to hope he was.

  Interesting, she thought.

  “That is the leading theory around the curious circles,” Laila mused. “I think it could be possible.”

  “Vakin never mentioned it.” Rontisil looked a mix of sorrowful and displeased.

  Laila stood properly and still. “He knew you’d use it against him.”

  Rontisil laughed lightly, shaking his bearded, sharp chin. “I suppose you’re right. He was not an idiot.” He took a thoughtful breath and leaned against the wall. “I see it in your eyes, even as you try to hide it. What is that plotting mind of yours thinking?”

  Her idle expression shifted to a slight smile. “I suggest we march with Ralu’s forces,” she said, “if I may. Leaving Lords Ralu and Kagarani to carry out this campaign without you will encourage them to collude further. Especially if they succeed.”

  “Why?” He studied her with squinting eyes.

  “By moving on Vakin, you’ve already stated that you favor Ralu. Once they succeed, they may decide an alliance between them is better than supporting you.”

  Her father’s eyebrows showed his doubt.

  Laila replied, “They will succeed, Father. They’re powerful men with great armies.”

  Rontisil looked into space for a few thoughtful moments. “I don’t like leaving the city so often, but I think you’re right. The more rope I give these two, the more likely they are to hang me from it.”

  “I’ve said it before,” Laila said carefully, “but I believe Kagarani only suspects he would have to plot against you to preserve himself.”

  “The man made his choice.” Rontisil turned to his cupboard and mixing station, then poured a cup of some liquid. He was obsessed with his potions. Being superhuman was his greatest ambition in life, second only to dominating his enemies—and the world. He gulped it down. “Vakin was first. He’ll be next.”

  Laila only looked down slightly—knowing how foolish her father’s words were. What was Kagarani’s crime? His offensive choice? That he treated his Shavuim with dignity and respect.

  “Na’Vanad will make it difficult,” she said, the name catching her father’s attention. “He has ambitions of his own.”

  “The ambitions of a slave are not my concern,” Rontisil rolled his eyes. “Why does he occupy so much of your mindspace? His stunt with your sister should have earned him a beheading. He’s lucky to be alive.”

  Laila could not find a reason for her intrigue, so she stayed silent.

  “I agree with you, though,” he set down the cup. “We’ll mobilize behind Ralu. Let’s see how he drags his feet when I am biting at his ankles.”

  She folded her hands and looked at him flatly. “Kagarani will survive this conquest. We should bring him back into the fold—if Ralu falters, it could spell disaster if we are unprepared.”

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  He raised his hand for silence. “We will discuss that another time. Your hunch over a mere Shavu-Kara is no reason to be rash. For now, we pit the two against each other and see who emerges. It’s leaning in Ralu’s favor, as I expected.”

  Because you forced Loran to spread himself between here and Katan-Bat, she thought. The way he contorted himself out of guilt for backstabbing his friends was vile to her.

  Laila bowed low. “If that is all…”

  He dismissed her with an ignorant wave. “Tell Bilsa she will remain free a while longer.”

  Laila exited the chamber with a look of disdain on her lips, and her nostrils flared. I loathe that monster, Laila thought. I’ll never understand how one person could be so horrible.

  Shortly after Laila left her father, she entered her rooms. As always, she had no guards, unlike her sisters, who were always protected. She was deemed different from the others, in part as punishment for her mother’s betrayal, but in part because she was in many ways her father’s own formidable instrument. Was she a spy? Was she simply a lady of the court?

  Who could say?

  So few knew that she could kill a man, or that she had. That was her punishment for being born to the wrong mother—to be dangerous for her father.

  She had a sitting room that led to a bed chamber. In the sitting room, there were two adjacent couches with soft violet cushions, a table before them. The table had legs of curled black iron, with a top of stone. She kept it tidy, in case she entertained any guests, which she never did. None except Bilsa, who was the only sister who would even speak to her. The others thought Laila was bad luck, or bad for their reputations.

  Laila lit a candle in the corner by the window, letting the cool summer night’s air touch her cheeks. Next, she lit an oil lamp, filling the place with dim orange light. It was better than darkness, but she would rather have a hearth—even if it would have been too warm. So little light made it hard to do much more than sleep.

  She walked into her bedroom and lit another lamp, revealing the lavish bed frame she was permitted. It had curtains and was wide enough for two. She’d had romantic partners before, but they were unserious. No man of the court really wanted her. Soon, her thoughts drifted to Na’Vanad as she slipped her shoes off and let her feet touch the rugs over the hard stone floor. She looked at the tapestry on her wall and thought of what he might think of her pampered life.

  Would he judge her? Admonish her for the plight of the Shavuim while she lived in comfort?

  Perhaps he’d feel comfortable, Laila thought. Surely he was not always a Shavu. He just knows what a lord’s life is like.

  Laila drifted over to the round basin in the corner. Her servants filled it with water for her, letting her wash her face. She felt the stress of the day come off of her as she did, holding the towel to her face.

  The other girls didn’t have to work as hard as she, nor did they have to live as simply. Laila’s rooms were less ornate than her sisters’, and smaller, too. Something about that stuck with her. The other sisters were better than her—simply because he said so.

  Their mothers were loyal servants. Their mothers were good. Laila’s mother was insane, corrupted by demons and villains, so Laila had to pay the penance her mother earned before she died. Even if that was true, a smaller room was not much to complain about in a palace. After all, she had every want and need cared for.

  She took off her makeup, scrubbing her face, which looked slightly crooked to her, but she did not know if that was true or her mind playing tricks. There was no positive self-image for her; all that she did felt like an aid to evil. Her mere existence often felt like a crime. It made her feel ugly. Even the High Mother’s words never seemed to heal her of this self-hatred. ‘You are a hidden savior, my dear. A thankless post, yet you serve with honor.’ That only made her look outward in anger at Stet-Lek.

  But how could a young lady think such a thing, raised under this roof? The Great Leader’s roof!

  It was simple. Her mother’s last words to her were clear, all these years later: “Do not trust your father. There has never been a creature so evil, nor will there ever be again.”

  She scoffed to herself, shaking her head. Vakin could have used that advice, Mother.

  Or maybe he knew it, but still played the game. Now Laila was playing the game, his game. She earned such a high place as the only daughter whom he solicited advice from. Was that enough to keep her safe? To keep her from suspicion?

  After all, she was a spy… playing another spy, playing a princess.

  As Laila dried her face, she changed into a silk robe, looking at the necklace she’d worn to a ball. It was a gift from Lord Kagarani. A single jade stone hanging on silver. She cherished it. She cherished him. He was more of a father to her than the Great Leader ever was.

  After her mother died, Lord Kagarani raised Laila until she was a young lady, at which point her father decided he would take her back in. In those ten years, High Mother Tenla educated her in the Kahlist Temple, back before the Kahlists were labeled enemies of the state and went into hiding. That was one year ago, and Laila had been quietly furious with her father ever since, and was deceptively working for Tenla and her hidden Kahlists.

  The only issue with that was that the Great Leader was right, in this case. Tenla and her order were secretly hoping to overthrow the government, and might’ve succeeded had they not been found out. In the end, their plans never materialized. There were rumors that Rontisil had learned Vakin was involved with them, and that was why he betrayed his old friend. Laila didn’t believe that for a moment. She knew the Kahlists, and she knew Khev Vakin. They weren’t working together. But her father had to eliminate the competition.

  Laila sat in the sitting room and opened up her book of Kahlist teachings, a tome called Lessons of the First Generation, which taught the laws of basic human interaction, governing, and war. The book helped her relax, even with her Kahlist friends on the run. Some were dead. The book was not just for her. The words were for all of them. Reading them was her memorial.

  “Lai?” Bilsa peered through her doorway. She always had the look of youthful innocence. Her natural beauty was awe-inspiring.

  Laila looked up from her book, giving her silent permission to enter. She didn’t hear her coming. Impressive, Bilsa, she thought. You used to sneak so loudly.

  “Where did you go?” the young dove asked innocently as she sat on the other couch beside her sister.

  For a long time, they had a distant relationship. Laila lived with Kagarani, while Bilsa lived in their father’s palace. Laila was raised as a Kahlist, while Bilsa studied manners of the court and beauty. Laila learned to kill, while Bilsa learned to smile. Once Laila came back home, Bilsa was the only one who showed her any love. It was beautiful, and made her weep sometimes. To be loved unconditionally by someone was the greatest honor in the world. It made her want to protect Bilsa, so she did.

  As Bilsa tapped her fingers while they sat in silence, Laila wondered if she would notice what she was reading. Kahlist books had been strictly banned in Stet-Lek. Yet Bilsa didn’t say a word about it, nor did she seem interested. She was anxious. Knowing why Bilsa was there, Laila closed the book and set it down.

  “I went to Ralu’s festivity,” she said.

  “And?” she asked anxiously.

  “You will not be betrothed yet,” Laila smiled at her.

  Bilsa finally breathed. “Thank goodness! I feared that dancing with that treacherous Shavu would have doomed me to being his personal whore for the next hundred years. You’ve saved me tonight, Lai. Thank you.”

  Laila hated it when she spoke like that. Ralu might be a good husband to her. Noble, gallant, brave, what more was she looking for?

  Despite that passing thought, Laila was all too pleased to have Na’Vanad dance with her in a trick she hoped would make Aya Ralu retreat. She was wrong, though. Ralu didn’t retreat. He was emboldened while Na’Vanad was rising through the ranks of the Shavium. Although it was not a total failure. Somehow, the stunt did accomplish the desired outcome, as well. Bilsa was still not married to Ralu and wouldn’t be for some time. And, Laila was being listened to. By her father, by Na’Vanad… and by Bilsa. She had to remember that not everything was a manipulation.

  “I can’t marry that man,” Bilsa let out a deep breath. “I just can’t.”

  He does have a reputation for being rough with ladies, Laila reminded herself. Bilsa is a sweet girl; she does not deserve to be subjected to a life of fear of her husband.

  “Bilsa,” she knelt before her and took her hands. “It’s only a matter of time before you’re wed. I think it’s time you prepare yourself.” Laila felt her sister’s dejection as she turned to her side. “Hey, please. You’re as strong as they come. Don’t let something as silly as fear stop you now.”

  Bilsa let out a tight breath and wiped her eye. “Aya Ralu owns more women than anyone in the world. Why must he own me, too?”

  Laila only held her hand. “There is power in our womanhood. At least, there is for you.”

  Bilsa agreed. “If only I had your courage.”

  If only, Laila thought, just be grateful you don’t live with the memory of your mother lifeless, and your father making you look, my dear.