“No! They were not going to put me on my throne. They were willing to send me home, but not as a queen, not a real queen.”
Azak bought troops of young girls and ordered them shipped to the palace like livestock. He would not view her problem as she did.
“True.” He stirred sand with his finger, seemingly thinking. ”And my enemies? Rasha, certainly. Should the warlock of the east enslave her and make her a—what was the word, votary?—then that might rid me of her. But the warden of the east can never be my friend, because he is occult preserver of the legions, and the Impire must be about due to invade us again. They are a generation behind their usual schedule. War growls in the long grass. I told you.”
After a moment he added, “We do not share the same enemies, you and I.”
She fought the tightening tentacles of his logic. “They are certainly not my friends, those two! They want to use me as a token, a coin!”
Azak leaned his chin on one hand and gazed up at her, studying her face in the moon’s light, his own face shadowed. “In any market, the coins outnumber the traders. You object?”
“Of course I object! Rasha promised to help me, and now seeks to use me for her own ends.” She would not add any remarks about helpless women, but she had never felt more helpless.
“Help usually has a price.”
“I was hoping for advice, not aphorisms.”
“They are more dependable. You want to escape? And go where? Back to your kingdom? Assuming you can elude the sorceress, it will take you at least a year to cross Pandemia, being realistic. And you will have to hire an army—and ships, also, as you say the land route is closed. Have you any money?”
Inos had already thought about this, the brute-force solution. “I have rich relatives within the Impire, but I know the Impire doesn’t allow private armies. And who could I ever hire to fight an army of jotnar?”
Azak grunted thoughtfully. “Other jotnar? So you would head north to Nordland, to hire your mercenaries?”
And ten to one she would at once be raped, robbed, and find herself cooking fish in some thrall’s hovel for the rest of her days. Jotnar would not follow a female leader anyway, and how would she get rid of them afterward?
“Nordland doesn’t seem a very practical solution,” she said. ”Fighting cholera with typhoid? No. So where do you go?” She had expected answers, not questions, but she could see that he was clearing out the undergrowth. There might be nothing left when he had finished, of course.
“Hub?” she suggested.
Azak grunted again. “All roads lead to Hub! But the journey will take months. It will be very dangerous, a hard, long journey. You may finish up somewhere else, in much worse straits than you are now. You might yet wish you had settled for a green husband. They are green, aren’t they?”
“Sort of. I know it would be long and hard. Is it possible?”
“The imperor will certainly marry you off to an imp in short order. ” He hadn’t answered the question.
“Any imp would be better than a goblin! Well, almost any imp.” or a moment she thought a smile rippled Azak’s ribbon of beard. He bent his head and began sifting the hot, sand through his fingers. Seabirds cried; waves broke and tumbled. He seemed to have run out of questions.
“I thought I would appeal to the wardens,” she said. “Rasha used magic against the Imperial troops in Krasnegar, and that’s a violation of the Protocol.”
“But East is the offended party, and East already knows about it. He doesn’t need you to remind him of it. Or mention it to the others. He may prefer to keep them uninformed.”
When she was about to speak, Azak added, “And she did it to rescue you. You will seem very ungrateful.”
Manners were unimportant in politics—he was taunting her. “She’s cast spells on you! That’s more meddling in politics.” She saw his eyes flash in the shadow as he glanced briefly up at her. “But not your business. ”
“If the Four are as split as Rasha says—”
“You can trust nothing the bitch said, nor the warlock either. Historically the wardens squabble like cats in a sack, but there is no way we can know what the current rivalries and alliances are.”
The conversation was not proving very helpful. “So advise me! Is it possible for me to escape from Rasha?”
“It is always possible to try. Even sorceresses must sleep. At least this one does.” He did not look at Inos as he said that, just trailed sand through fingers twice the size of hers. She felt a stir of hope.
“And you will aid me?”
“Why should I? It would annoy the harlot, and I suffer enough at her hands already.”
“Because I am the enemy of your enemy.”
“You can’t harm her. It’s a pretty problem, but immaterial to me. Why should I risk further hostility from the slut? I see no advantage in aiding you. ”
In that case, Inos saw no advantage in further polite conversation. What would move Azak? Not conscience. Honor? This was politics, not a parlor game, so nerve was what was needed. She didn’t feel very brave, but she had begun to feel angry.
“Further hostility?” she snapped. “How much hostility will you endure before you try to fight back? She’s already gelded you, you say. What else do you want?”
His teeth flashed like daggers at that, but she rushed ahead regardless.
“So the Sultan of Arakkaran is gigolo for a dockside harlot? You called her that. She denies you your title—what new outrage will she think up next? You come when she whistles. You reward your women with smiles. How many sons are they bearing now, your Majesty? What will the other princes say when they stop bearing altogether, your Majesty? Or is that already obvious? You prance around on your fancy horses all day and whore for the sorceress all night. What sort of a sultan are you? What sort of a man, to endure such treatment without even trying to put an end to it? How can you—”
Azak rose to his knees. She stopped then, aghast at what she had said, wondering if he’d have her flogged.
Silence.
No one in the kingdom could speak to him like that. She felt her palms wet. Every nerve screamed at her to say “Sorry!” She didn’t.
He looked down at her, his face in shadow; but when he spoke, his voice was unchanged. “If you can have your kingdom only by marrying a goblin, will you?”
The same hypothetical question again—and obviously this time she must not seek to escape it.
Answer no and she didn’t care enough. Answer yes and she was a whore like him. She would never outwit this man. Her face was visible to him, awash in moonlight. She must speak the truth—what was the truth?
“You told me a kingdom is not buildings or scenery. If I can help my people by marrying a goblin, then I will do it.”
“And if it helps your people for you to stay away forever?” The words froze in her mouth, but she spoke them. “Then I stay away forever. ”
Azak reached down and hooked his fingers like claws in the silver sand. He stared at the backs of his hands. A wave fell. Another. Inos discovered she was holding her breath and couldn’t any longer. Two more waves . . .
“In very old treaties,” Azak said, without looking up, “there was always an item called the `Appeal Clause.’ It shows up in any treaty the Impire ever made with anyone, including Arakkaran or its allies of the day. Until about the Twelfth Dynasty. After that it seems to have been dropped. Forgotten, or just found inconvenient. Or unnecessary, maybe. But it’s never been revoked that I know of. In that clause, the Impire promises to maintain the Right of Appeal.”
He paused, but she did not ask, knowing it would come. This was the sort of expert advice she had been hoping for. “Appeal by any state or ruler against illicit use of magic. You see, Emine’s Protocol was supposedly designed to defend all peoples, all Pandemia. Not just the Impire. In theory, the Impire was going to do everyone a favor by suppressing the political use of magic. Even then, the Impire was the largest mundane power, so that was a very convenient altruism. But it did raise the question of whether the Four serve the Impire, or the Impire serves the Four. That’s why for centuries the imperors have maintained that any ruler with a sorcery problem may appeal to the wardens. There isn’t anyone else to appeal to, of course, since they’ve driven all lesser sorcerers into the bushes. Nowadays it may be nothing but a handy fiction; but if it still works, then you have an open-and-shut case.”