more precious than gold.
More Kurel formed a bottleneck behind her. Their agitation made the air crackle with sudden tension, a needless escalation of the situation. Tao put his fingers to his mouth and blew out a quick, sharp whistle. The home guards jerked their focus to him, and he shook his head, motioning at them to move on. They had better things to do than pick on Kurel women, especially today, his homecoming.
The redhead’s slender arms hugged the bag closely and protectively. Her cheekbones turned pink enough to cover freckles that were a scant shade darker than her skin. Tao gave her a jaunty wave in advance of her gratitude at his aid. But the look she gave him contradicted all delicacy in her appearance. Those contemptuous blue eyes could have ignited stone.
“Are you all right?” he called.
She blanched at his attention and wheeled away without a word. Chiron clip-clopped along the same path, but the redhead kept walking, her attention fixed straight ahead as if he were a stray, possibly vicious dog she mustn’t provoke.
He pulled Chiron back, setting the horse to prancing on the cobblestones, their enormous shadow looming over the other ghetto dwellers who had gathered around. As soon as they saw him looking their way, they, too, averted their eyes—as if afraid he’d single out one of them next. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to hurt them. Nor would his men. The idea of their thinking so annoyed him even more.
“The Gorr are the monsters, but in Kurel eyes I’m a monster,” he snarled at Markam. “Distaste, I’d expect, but fear? Guards stopping innocents in the streets? That’s not the way it was when I left.”
Markam’s gloves tightened around the reins. “Xim initiated a crackdown on K-Town as soon as King Orion was buried and you were back to the front.”
“Your messengers mentioned nothing of the sort. Why?”
“Distract you when you held the fate of all humanity in your hands? I refused.”
“Do you think I would have gotten this far if I didn’t know how to prioritize?”
They glared at one another. Markam broke ranks first. “Xim fell ill, a fever. He refused treatment by a Kurel physician, fearing sorcery, and relied on a Tassagon healer. In his delirium, he fretted that the Kurel thought him weak, that they liked his father more and had therefore created a spell to make him sicken and die like so many did in the epidemic.”
Tao clamped his jaw against an image of his parents’ fevered suffering. “Go on.”
“When Xim recovered, he said the current laws against sorcery were too vague and too lenient. He had the Forbiddance redone to his liking.”
“The entire oral code?”
“Yes, all of it. He had everything transcribed into writing by Kurel and for them. Orders were given to shoot on sight any Kurel practicing the dark arts. Uhr-Beck’s regiment was given the job of enforcement.”
Old one-eyed Beck. Tao had sent him home five years ago, gravely wounded, never expecting he’d walk out of the Barracks for Maimed Veterans. But Beck had regained sight in one eye. Sidelined ever since, the old warrior chafed at having to serve inside Tassagonia’s walls, training recruits instead of fighting at the front. It was a valuable contribution to the war effort in Tao’s view, but not Beck’s apparently. He acted as if Tao had sentenced him to the worst kind of hell. The Uhr’s resentment had turned into an obsession to prove he was still a potent warrior. Xim’s handing Beck an order to quell Kurel would have been like pouring fuel on a long-smoldering torch.
“A few violent incidents occurred inside the ghetto gates,” Markam continued.
“He sent his men inside?” Aghast, Tao wondered how Beck had convinced his green recruits to dare it. Even experienced soldiers were leery of risking a sorcerer’s curse.
“Not very far inside, I assure you. A few Kurel came forth to reason with them. Stories vary. We’ll never be sure what happened, but at the end of it, there were casualties. I did what I could to restore calm. There hasn’t been a repeat, but the Kurel haven’t forgotten.”
The redhead’s reaction to his homecoming confirmed it. Xim wasn’t the man his sire was, anyone would agree, but it seemed the kingdom had fallen into the hands of a boy who didn’t ponder the consequences of his deeds. Tao was only a few years older, but he’d acquired a lifetime of experience compared with the king. It was clear Xim needed support and guidance in a more sensible direction, but it would have to be done tactfully. Markam’s insinuation that Xim had lost the respect of the public was a warning that others might see Tao as a candidate to usurp the king.
Politics. Was there no escaping it here in the kingdom?
“Ah, no frowning, my friend,” Markam cried. “Not today. Look at the people. Feel the love. This is your day!”
Tao couldn’t fault Markam for changing the subject. This moment of triumph had been many hundreds of years in the making. He was once again aware of the crowd crying out for him, but his thoughts inevitably returned to the angry Kurel woman and Markam’s words. Had he returned from battle only to find war brewing in his own backyard?
CHAPTER TWO
“UHR-TAO, UHR-TAO…”
Chanting for the general chased Elsabeth all the way across the moat bridge and into the coolness of the palace, where servants hurried this way and that, carrying enormous trays of breads and fruits to tables already groaning under the weight of food set out for the banquet.
Her heartbeat hadn’t slowed since the home guards had harassed her. She hadn’t been afraid for herself. She’d been too worried that the books in her bag would be traced to Queen Aza. The Home Guard reported to Colonel Uhr-Beck, who reported to King Xim.
She worked to calm herself, lest she encounter anyone who’d notice her agitation. Her role in the palace was safe only because of her ability to keep from being noticed. Any nervousness on her part could very well be translated as guilt, and then it would be over for her.
“What’s your hurry, Kurel?” the guards had demanded, wanting to search her bag—and more, had she not given them the reasonable expectation of a good fight if they dared try—all because she’d drawn attention to herself by failing to fawn over Uhr-Tao.
“Show the general some respect!”
Respect, when soldiers like Uhr-Tao won acclaim for wielding swords but wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with a book or a pen, let alone proper eating utensils, or anything else associated with civilized human behavior. Respect, when every time she looked at a Tassagon Army uniform, she relived her horrifying race through the ghetto, only to discover she was too late, because her parents had already been shot like animals for no more crime than standing in the street. Respect, when the soldiers responsible for killing them walked free, rewarded for their actions.
Even now, three years later, her heart clutched with the memory of her parents’ murders, and her vow to oust Xim for the crime was no less determined. She wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she’d have gotten this far, spending her days within an arm’s reach of the man, if not for discovering friends amongst her enemies. Some Tassagons were just as disillusioned as she was with King Xim, including the mutineer chief of his palace guards.
“There you are, Elsabeth.” As if bursting from her very thoughts,
