Bruce Cordell: Spinner of Lies

That morning Arathane was dressed the same as when they’d cleaned the last vestiges of the abyssal plague from beneath the Firestorm Cabal’s motherhouse. Her stiff hair was pulled back in a simple braid. She wore no crown. And yet … to Demascus she was as stunning as she’d been in that first encounter.

Her gaze locked on his, holding him in place. She coughed and said, “Are you going to ask me in, or just stand staring?”

Merciful lords, get hold of yourself, he thought. “By all means, welcome. You caught me off guard. Sorry about the mess. I’m in the middle of … redecorating.” Apparently he hadn’t stifled his infatuation with Arathane as well as he’d hoped. Damn it!

The queen entered, but paused just inside the doorway. She glanced again at the damp floor and piled furniture with a lift of an eyebrow, then nodded at Riltana.

Demascus wondered if he was dreaming. The queen of Akanul? In his home? Looking at her made him feel breathless, which was a surprise. He hadn’t seen her in months. Seeing her now, he realized something was familiar about her. She reminded him of someone. Someone he’d just seen, actually … By all the gods of light and shadow, Arathane was as tall as the woman of his vision last evening! And she had the same stormy eyes …

“Have you heard anything I’ve said?” Arathane inquired. Demascus realized the monarch had been talking. For how long, while he’d stood like an idiot? He closed his open mouth.

“Snap out of it, Demascus,” Riltana said. “You can moon over her anytime.”

Damn the windsoul for putting such an embarrassing face on his discomfiture. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night. Riltana showed up late with unexpected guests, and I’m afraid things got a little unruly.”

The queen chuckled. “Sounds fun. Though I sense you’re not telling me everything. I’m sorry I disturbed you with no forewarning. And it is good to see you again.”

He felt his mouth stretch into a goofy smile. His body didn’t give a shadow’s scream about his resolve to eradicate the queen from his thoughts. “What were you saying? I promise I’ll pay attention this time.”

“I was wondering about your gardener, or maybe your householder, whom I met outside?”

“I don’t have a gardener,” Demascus said dumbly. “But I got this lease from a dwarf who smells like fried onions. Is he out there?”

“No dwarf. A human woman. It’s not really important, but she was quite rude.”

He glanced into the courtyard. Empty.

Fable made a try for freedom. He slammed the door before the cat could slip out. Fable sniffed as if to say, “I didn’t really want out,” and sauntered away, tail straight up.

“She’s gone now,” Demascus said. “I hope it wasn’t one of our, um, unexpected guests from last night come back to check on things.”

Riltana gave him a skeptical expression and said, “They’re not really known as early risers.”

Oh, right. He glanced at the queen. The monarch had no doubt run into streets filled with strangers on her way to his house. Her identity hidden, he doubted anyone had called her Your Majesty or made allowances a ruler might be used to. Except the queen didn’t strike him as someone who’d remark on a passing commoner’s inability to pierce her disguise. Which meant someone particularly noteworthy really had been loitering-

Arathane waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter; I was only trying to make small talk. I came here for a more serious reason.”

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” Demascus blurted. He realized he was falling woefully short of being a good host. He was used to Riltana’s and Chant’s visits, and of course Fable’s extended stay. The thief was unimpressed with social niceties and had never once gotten her nose out of joint over not being offered a place to sit or a refreshment. The cat cared only that she was fed on a regular schedule. But a queen! She was probably-

“Don’t bother; I have to get back before the bells strike the next hour.”

“At least have a seat,” Demascus said, and gestured to one of the two chairs that hadn’t been smashed. “Then I’m guessing you’ll explain the serious reason that brought you here without a royal escort.”

Arathane sat with a dancer’s ease on the edge of the chair. Demascus pulled up the other chair, and Riltana brought a stool from the kitchen. The queen glanced at Riltana and said, “I’m sorry things didn’t work out between you and my niece. With Carmenere’s new diplomatic position in Tymanther, I expect you don’t get to see much of each other.”

Riltana colored, and said, “No, we don’t.” The topic was a sore one for Riltana. Demascus had learned not to mention the silverstar. The thief had driven her friend away by exploiting Carmenere’s link with the queen, and, through that link, access to the palace and a certain painting.

“I’m sorry,” said Arathane with complete sincerity.

Riltana nodded, managing a smile. “But that’s also not the reason I’m here,” the Queen said. “And to answer your question, Demascus, if my regular escort was with me, I wouldn’t have come to you. It’s not seemly that I openly hire ‘outside contractors’ to deal with issues of state. But the trundling wheels of bureaucracy sometimes fail to keep up with a rapidly evolving situation. And the Firestorm Cabal still has a way to go to earn my trust …” She shook her head.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust a Firestormer as far as I could fling a dead rat,” said Riltana.

The queen nodded. “Essentially. So, in the meantime-”

“You want to hire us for something dangerous,” Demascus suggested. “Great. I’m in.”

Riltana smacked him on the shoulder. “Some bargainer you are.”

“I’m sure Her Majesty will pay us a fair commission for whatever she has in mind,” he replied, grinning. “Go on, Your Highness.”

She returned his smile, and it was like the sun had come out. “Something’s happened to Akanul’s arambarium mine. All contact was severed six days ago. We’ve dispatched two separate teams of elite peacemakers; neither has returned. Reports about possible causes are sparse, conflicted, and seem almost designed to panic the Stewards. I’m afraid, based on essentially no real intelligence that the Stewards are going to do something incredibly foolish, like blockade the Bay of Airspur and then declare war on Tymanther!”

“Hold on. What’s arambarium?”

“Arambarium is-”

“And why would the Stewards-and you, presumably-declare war on another sovereign nation over it?”

“Because,” said the queen, “Tymanther and Akanul have never been-”

“And what’s Tymanther’s connection to arambarium?”

Arathane held up her hands. “Stop! I’ll answer your questions. But only if you stop interrupting me.”

“Sorry,” said Demascus. He put his finger to his lips and gave Riltana a look. The windsoul rolled her eyes, but nodded.

Arathane took a deep breath and settled farther back into her chair. She said, “Arambarium is an extraordinarily rare mineral. It looks like polished silver in its natural state. Those with an interest in such things have long recognized the mineral as inherently magical and as a possible component in a variety of rituals. However, a few decades ago Akanul war wizards secretly discovered that the power locked within even a single grain of arambarium was far greater than anyone previously realized. More than that-arambarium is uniquely tuned to elemental and primordial magic. Used as a component, arambarium could enable spells of air, earth, fire, and water and other violent energies to be stepped up by orders of magnitude! A warship with an arambarium-alloyed keel can cut through the sea much more quickly. A staff of fire wrapped in arambarium thread could rain down destruction on an entire neighborhood. And a genasi soldier outfitted with an arambarium-laced harness is one few would dare to cross swords with.”