Selected for Sport Ch. 18

Late the following morning Alanna knelt before the Tahl-Mat, touching her forehead to the carpet beside the beaming patterns etched by the sunlight streaming through the carved shutters to the right.

This surprise summons had her fully alert, given all that had passed only hours ago. Her left knee was smarting, bruised by a stone when Xanir had rolled her impatiently onto all fours after their second swift discussion last night. The whole night had been sleepless; long, lazy conversation, both serious and irreverent, punctuated by what Xanir had called comfort breaks. A delicious night with Xanir, talking, touching, playing with him both verbally and physically -- not the Tahl, the emperor, but the man who had been a small boy fighting to grow surrounded by danger, to find some peace. She had given him peace, comfort. He had trusted her.

No comfort now; here in front of the queen she felt as though she were on trial for a crime of which she was as yet unaware. Besides keeping silent about his visit, Xanir was also trusting her to keep watch for him here in the palace and his mother was not on the very short list of people she could confide in. A magnificent, regal figure seated on a divan in her main reception chamber, fingers tapping on the armrest as she silently assessed every aspect of her younger son's bride.

"The Zalmat tell me that Xanir granted you night access to my garden." the older woman's voice was soft, but clipped. "And you spend a lot of time there."

The words were not a question. Alanna sat back onto her heels, her mind racing through what she knew of this shadowy figure -- which was frustratingly little; they had passed each other in the star chamber various times since the wedding, but only exchanged bows and polite greetings. Her father had provided only the bare bones of Tahl-Mat Panya's background: offspring of a powerful lord from the western province of Mharim, where Haman now lived and governed; three children presented to the former Tahl -- Haman, Xanir, and her first-born, a sister who was wed to a king to the south of the empire. That was all she knew.

Their eyes met, and she realised that the regal woman before her was furious. Alanna bowed again, murmuring, "Yes, my lady," as non-confrontationally as possible. "I miss the green of my homeland."

Whatever Rihanne might think, this lady was the most powerful in the city, especially with Xanir absent.

The fingers were tapping faster. "My garden is only permitted to members of the imperial family."

A bride was still on probation until the production of offspring, and as such not of imperial status. Xanir had side-stepped having anyone bring up this convention by only giving her access secretly at night.

Alanna bowed again. "I have no wish to offend, my lady." Her mind was racing. Did the dowager queen know what her attendant had been doing in the garden last night? She held back nausea. Did Queen Panyat know what had happened to that attendant?

According to Xanir, the only way Rebeqa could have gotten into the well-guarded retreat was by accompanying the Tahl-Mat earlier in the day. When the dowager had eventually left with her entourage, it was not impossible that one servant had not been missed.

But the queen was not among Xanir's trusted. Maybe the dowager had ordered her attendant to send messages from that impossibly tall tree for her? To whom? Why? The hiding-place, underneath a stiff cloth mesh woven with plants, had been established long enough to have remnants of growth from previous years. Alanna had checked it out just before leaving but wanted to investigate further.

"Then you will not go there again," the dowager stated clearly.

Damn.

"Yes, my lady." Another bow.

Alanna was dismissed with a wave of a braceleted wrist. She was rising when a further snapped question almost took her off guard: "Why did you scream his name out there last night?"

Images flooded her mind and Alanna flushed to the roots of her hair. Blinked. But she hadn't screamed, he'd gagged her. Hands, clothing -- all muffling her screams of pleasure.

Oh. Earlier, from the tree.

At least she could use this embarrassing blush.

"I fell asleep and had a dream -- uh - nightmare -- my lady," she stuttered, scarlet-faced as fleetingly she managed to meet the sarcastic expression on her hostess's face.

The Tahl-mat snorted, lips twisting as she just looked at the bride's bright red cheeks. After an excruciating moment, she waved the young woman away.

Alanna's heart was still pounding when she reached her rooms, eyes narrowed in thought. She made her way slowly over to Helene, ignoring the eager questions of her other ladies over her unprecedented audience with the queen, and murmured, "Yoga?"

Her friend raised her eyebrows but went and got the mats. "You've thought of a new series?"

"Yes," replied Alanna, still frowning. "Let's practise in here, until evening."

Most of her attendants sighed and cleared space in her main room, used to the Tahl-maia's foreign form of exercise -- approved by Bethesda as it kept her supple. Two came eagerly forward to join the northerners and were welcomed.

In the cool of the evening, a Kjell merchant squatting at the far side of Mikla square was playing his habitual game of shah with one of the local wine merchants. The foreigner was noted for his poetry, and seemed especially abstracted from the game tonight, staring into the distance before scribbling short bursts of inspiration on a pad kept by his hand. His friend was used to it.

At one point the wine merchant glanced over his shoulder at the palace terraces. "They move like flowers in the breeze," he agreed gruffly, watching the distant silhouettes swaying gracefully between the different poses they held. "I would write of their beauty myself if I were not a plain man who wields words like an ox." A short pause. "You can't really tell one from another at this distance --is one your princess?"

The Kjell smiled. "She is the most graceful."

His friend snorted, leaning forward to refill their glasses. "Then let us drink to the grace of the Tahl-maia."

***

A week later, Alanna was sitting on the Maian terrace, watching the light carried by a lantern-bearer dip as he crossed the vast square beyond the outer wall, showing a client safely home in the deepening dusk. She let out a long breath and glanced over to where Limaq and Zander were sharpening their swords in the lamplight shining from her rooms.

She padded over to Xanir's sword-brothers, smiling at the fierce concentration as they squinted along their blades, night noises from the birds settling in the trees punctuated by the rhythmic zing of the whetstone. "Seriously?" she said. "There is an award for the Zalmat whose blade is sharpest?"

"Half a day's leave," grunted Limaq, glancing up briefly; the taciturn Zander narrowed his eyes as he twisted the light along his blade, not saying anything. "Goshta Tahl instigated the competition, and it has been held at the dark of the moon ever since. And I always win."

Alanna laughed at the look Zander cast his sword-brother, then dropped her voice to a casual ripple that the maids chatting on the terrace steps would not be able to hear. "The lantern-bearer crossing in front of the Temple of Mikla is an agent of my father's. He has just signalled to me that two figures are skulking in the vines wreathing the Tahl-leias' balustrade, one below, one above, close enough to whisper."

Although both warriors continued to stare at their blades, she could sense the alert jolt that ran through them.

"I am wearing red -- impossible to see in the dark. I will climb around there under the balustrade and listen in." Her blood was exulting. Something to do. Secretly she prayed that the one whispering from above was Rihanne -- which was likely, given her rival's treasonous tendencies, and the fact that that was the concubines' terrace.

"No," Limaq stated unequivocally.

Alanna drew breath to argue.

"Touch my blade and cut yourself," Zander instructed gruffly. "Wail accusations. Limaq will dismiss me at your behest. I will go and listen."

Alanna stared at him. Zander rivalled his Tahl in his level of verboseness. "How?" Her Zalmat were not allowed into the concubines' wing. "And what if they are speaking Sianese?"

"Now," insisted Zander, throwing a glance at his sword-brother. "Be careful, though. My blade is sharper than Limaq's."

The snort from her chief bodyguard drew another gurgle of laughter from her, and Alanna used her mirth, learning forwards, 'accidentally' catching her finger against the gleaming metal edge and rearing back on a true gasp.

"Ow!" It was sharp.

A minute later, one of her attendants was bandaging the shallow cut on her finger and Limaq was waiting in the doorway to her chambers, looking out for her replacement guard to arrive.

Alanna was trembling. "Out," she ordered her hovering ladies on a hiss, flapping a dismissal that rivalled the Tahl-Mat's for rudeness.

After one glance at her face, most of them scrabbled for their belongings and scurried to the door.

The buxom and interfering matron who had just tied up her finger sniffed and stated condescendingly, "I will remain until your relief guard arrives, lady."

A resounding slap brought Limaq's head around sharply. His lips twitched at the outraged expression on the Lady Dohmat's face. Her condescension to the Tahl-maia had been getting more and more overbearing since the Tahl had left. Officially left.

"My guard's place is in that doorway until that relief joins him," hissed the Kjell princess, magnificent eyes aflame as she stalked the wobbling lady around a divan, hands up in strike position. "I think you need a reminder of yours."

The slender figure feinted forwards and the buxom matron turned and fled, clutching her burning cheek and huffing indignantly.

The princess came to stand at Limaq's shoulder, peering past him down the corridor. "What now?" she murmured.

A sound behind her and Alanna spun, just biting back a gasp as Zander stepped, stooping, out of the widening crack of the secret door at the foot of her dais. He beckoned urgently, a finger to his lips.

She darted across the room.

*

Disappointingly, it wasn't Rihanne whispering in the wisteria, but Rihanne's notoriously skilled countrywoman, and Beguine. Alanna's hand was tightening and tightening on Zander's arm while she listened with fierce concentration, straining to hear over the distance and through the vegetation. Luckily the Norweig guard spoke Sianese worse than Alanna did, the hissing words were easy to interpret, but they made her stomach churn.

*

Zander returned her by the secret ways to her bedroom where she disappeared onto the curtained bed, watched silently by Limaq but invisible to the other zalmat. Shortly afterwards, Zander stalked back in by the door, without knocking. Limaq started to his feet with a sharp question, but Zander ignored him, growling a dismissal at the junior guard. Wide-eyed, the younger man looked between the two glowering captains, and then stammered out a farewell while he bowed himself out.

Alanna took Xanir's closest friends back to her terrace, face pale, and recited what she had heard word for word, and then repeated the words in Tahlm'ese. Firmly she squashed the tingle in her spine at the look that passed between the two guards when they realised that she was quoting verbatim and translating fluently; born with a phenomenal memory, she had been trained her whole life to both utilise and hide her skills. She bit her lip. But this was for Xanir.

"'The fleet is ready," repeated Limaq softly. Zander turned his head to look out over the city.

"Yes," said Alanna. "'The powder is uncovered. The fleet is ready'," she quoted again. "'The signal has been sent. You must leave tonight.'."

Limaq cast a sharp look at the zigzag profile of Xanir's chief bodyguard. Zander glanced at him sideways, something passing between them.

"If Beguine leaves tonight," mused Limaq. "Although it will be close-run, we can challenge his force before they reach Jaifa if he is going via Halbut as his mercenaries say."

"Challenge with whom?" hissed Zander. "The bulk of the army is already in the south or Jaifa -- Haman is calling the desert riders -- only the home guard and Zalmat remain here, we cannot strip the palace. And I wouldn't trust any of these yigbut not to turn anyway."

Limaq rose to his feet. "Haman will have reached the first of the tribes, they will be en route; if we can intercept them we may still prevent Beguine joining Justin. We have to move."

Zander yanked him back down, snarling, "But the desert route is not all. 'The fleet is ready and the signal has been sent.' A Sianese said this. You know what their destination will be. We have to warn Xanir, he is running right into their fleet."

Limaq whispered back, equally furious, "And if we don't intercept Beguine those mercenary sappers will breach the city before Xan gets there, trapping him in the bay. Besides, as soon as either of us rides from here, one of this damn nest of traitors will follow. West, no-one will find us in the sands, or suspect. If we head to the Kural Coast, to him, they will guess and simply watch the cape. They will massacre him."

The sword-brothers stared at each other, eyes aflame. Zander's face settled into hard lines, his frown piercing his companion. Limaq hardened his jaw, and nodded.

Alanna's scalp jumped when Zander suddenly fastened that scowl on her, eyes piercing. "You love Xanir? You swear to remain silent whatever?"

She gulped. Nodded herself, wordlessly. He continued to stare imperiously, trying to read her mind, until she cleared her throat, and croaked, "I swear."

"He said to trust her," added Limaq.

Eyes narrowed, the captain of Xanir's guard nodded back an acknowledgement at Alanna. A second later she could not hold back a squeak when Zander's sword flashed out almost faster than she could follow, the side slamming wincingly hard into the side of Limaq's cheek, catapulting him head-over-heels.

Even as she stumbled backwards, mouth agape, Limaq rolled to his feet, his own blade hissing out and the swords clashed with a ringing clang.

Zander called, and the door burst open, guards pouring onto the terrace, more than just her Zalmat. The captain and former captain were circling like wolves, whipping at each other, and the other warriors seemed chary of closing with them.

"Traitor," snarled Zander at the man who had been his friend for a quarter century. Another faint squeak from Alanna, her hands over her mouth when Omar darted in to slam the flat of his blade toward Limaq's temple from behind; Limaq spun faster than thought and disarmed his colleague. Zander took advantage of the distraction to break through Limaq's guard with a ringing hiss of clashing blades.

Everyone stilled. Alanna's hands were to her mouth, staring at the frozen tableau in front of her. Chest heaving, Zander held his naked sword-tip pressed into her chief bodyguard's throat, drawing the faintest bead of blood. Limaq dropped his own blade with a clang, staring into Zander's eyes. Then Alanna's head turned at the rustle of clothing from the doorway and she stared, bewildered, before dropping into the required obeisance as the Tahl-Mat stalked in, eyes stony, her ladies fanning out behind her.

The Queen did not signal for her to rise. Her voice was arctic. "You may have washed in the fountain of my garden and conveniently fallen down the steps of your terrace the following morning to explain the grazes, Lady Kjeldahl, but the subterfuge was worthless. Several of your attendants suspected your infidelity anyway."

Alanna jerked upright, eyes alarmed that they had seen through the cover-up. The Lady Dohmat smiled smugly. Then the accusation of infidelity sank in, and the sudden fear subsided. Wrong end of the stick.

The Queen was still speaking. "Then with your indiscretion in dismissing all of your other guards and attendants earlier this evening, Captain Zander had no choice but to admit to me the suspicions of the Great Tahl; the true reason he was posted here as a member of your zalmat."

Everyone started when Limaq suddenly prostrated himself, tearing off his helmet and banging his forehead on the tiles. "I have broken faith with my liege."

Zander's expression was stony, unreadable as he ripped off Limaq's insignia with the tip of his blade, staring down at his sword-brother.

"Death will be swift for you, Alt Limaq," declared the Queen coldly, glancing down. "Xanir does not forgive betrayal in his sword-sworn."

Gulping, head whirling with conjecture -- how had Zander set this up? Beforehand? - Alanna was dragged up to face the coldly triumphant eyes of her mother-in-law. "However, the Great Tahl wishes to visit his own punishment on the Kjeldahl whore upon his return. Take her to the Tower."

Hauled toward the door, stunned, Alanna took one last glance back into her rooms. Zander was crouched over the now silent Limaq, binding his wrists behind him with a whip-length of cord. He looked coldly back at her and nodded brusquely as though in dismissal.

Her guards hauled her out, but Alanna was quietly reassured. That had been the exact same nod that Zander had given her when she had confirmed her love for Xanir and sworn to keep silent. A captain to a soldier he was entrusting with a mission.

She would keep silent.

*

Monday. It must be Monday. Week ten. Alanna stood on the tiny window ledge of her prison at the top of the Graune tower, the tallest tower in the palace, from which the assassin had zipwired on her wedding night. She was wedged into the v-shaped embrasure inside the arrow-slit opening that faced out over the gardens, beyond them the paddocks, and further, the city. Palms braced to steady herself against the cool stone and eyes watering in the light, she stared out through the narrow gap. In the cool of the early morning, groups of temple cleaners were gossiping and calling greetings to each other while they raked the sandy gravel outside the temples, cleaning up the wilting flowers from the weddings celebrated the previous day and other rubbish from the daily tramp of traffic through the huge square.

Automatically shading the lens as she lifted her spyglass, although the sun was behind the tower right now and couldn't reflect from it, she focussed on the face of one woman outside the Temple of Bahrir who was facing directly towards her, piecing together the words from the lip movements. After ten weeks of practice, she was practically fluent if the person was face on, even in Tahlm'ese.

A shock ran through her. "...says that Em Feliz isn't really dead -- he was captured by the outlanders and they've got him somewhere, doing horrible things to him to find out what he knows."

The person the woman was chatting with, squatting with her back to Alanna, spread her arms and shrugged as she replied.

"I know, but everyone has a breaking point, and they're vicious dogs, those northerners. Look at what their princess did, seducing Alt Limaq into cuckolding the Tahl -- would've thought that was impossible too, wouldn't you?"

The pang was dull, after the number of times Alanna had 'heard' their opinion of her over the last months. To the Tahlmese, she was a wicked seductress who had used exotic arts to bewitch her poor bodyguard until he hadn't been able to resist, and look where it had gotten him -- dying a traitor's death by the rope and leaving Xanir Tahl with one less of his sword-sworn as he fought to keep the Sianese from the coast.

Her stomach lurched. The last time she had left this tower had been the day after her arrest, when she had been led to execution square and forced to watch as her supposed lover was hanged. She had spent the horrible episode being hissed at by the crowd, while reminding herself silently of all the ways she had been taught to feign a hangman's death.