Stephen Deas - The King of the Crags

'Suppose you should have gone with the others.' The Picker shrugged and walked away, and all Jostan could see was the sky, fierce and bright. The singing was getting louder. He heard Semian somewhere far away, bellowing promises of blood and fire and victory, and then the singing swallowed everything.

And then it stopped and there was nothing.

Two

Of Princes and Queens

'Can I kill your bride yet?' Speaker Zafir curled her arm around Prince Jehal and stretched her long neck, tilting back her head, inviting Jehal to sink his teeth into her throat. He duly obliged, nibbling gently at her skin. A few feet to one side of him was a bed. Their bed, high up in the topmost room of the Tower of Air, scattered with silk sheets from the silkworm farms on Tyan's Peninsula. His farms.

'That would hardly be wise, my love.' A few feet the other way was a gaping open arch. More silk fluttered in the breeze. Beyond that, a tiny balcony; then nothing but air and the hard ground of the Speaker's Yard a hundred feet below. He liked it up here. For the view across the palace and the City of Dragons beyond and then the sheer dark cliffs of the Purple Spur and the glittering rain from the Diamond Cascade.

And yes, for the bed too. Although sometimes, when push came to shove as it always did when they were alone, he wondered what would happen if he pushed for the window instead. Two speakers lulling to their death in such quick succession would show such a lack of imagination though…

'I was wondering whether to have her poisoned, or whether I should simply slit her throat.'

Tedious, tedious. Jehal put on his best smile. How many times had they talked about this? He gave a petulant little sigh and stepped away from her, a little closer to the arch and the empty air. 'Must we go over this again? Lystra is Queen Shezira's daughter. Her other two daughters are already riled enough. They have well over three hundred dragons between them and they want your head. The speaker is supposed to weld the realms into a unity of peace and harmony, not start a war. You should let Shezira and King Valgar go.'

Zafir snorted and turned away from him. 'Let them go, let them go – that's all you ever say. I'm beginning to think you're far too attached to this new family of yours. Let them go? Why? So Shezira can wage war on me? I'd rather face the skinny little rag of a daughter that rests so uncomfortably on her throne. So Valgar can stir trouble on my borders? Let his feeble-minded wife be the thorn in my side.'

She was flaunting herself, letting him see the slit of her under-gown, the long gash of naked skin beneath, all the way to the small of her back. She knew exactly what she was doing, of course. He felt himself stir. 'Not so feeble, my love. She is undoubtedly supporting the Red Riders.'

Zafir threw back her head and laughed and brushed her fingers over the silk sheets on the bed. 'The Red Riders? Twenty dragons loose on my borders, and so far all they've done is burn a few peasants. If that's the best she can do then I've no fear of her. No, they're just loose ends that our idiot Night Watchman failed to clean up when Shezira murdered my husband. Let them brood in the Worldspine for a few weeks. They'll go home soon enough.'

'They stole five of your dragons and they burned Drotan's Top.'

'And I've already taken three of them back. They tickled my feet, Jehal, that's all. Drotan's Top was some huts on a hill. And they didn't burn it. They didn't dare.'

'I remember your face when you first heard the news, my love. Dark and stormy as the Endless Sea.'

She pouted at him. 'They won't be allowed to do it again. The Red Riders are barely even a nuisance now. I'm inclined to let them be for a while. We can make some sport with them after I kill their queen.'

Jehal shifted on his feet. 'They make me nervous.' If I were you, I'd stamp on them. But I'm not, and sometimes it amuses me to watch you falter. He smiled at her. 'Hyrkallan leads them and he's no fool'

Now she yawned. 'Then he'll know to give up and go home.' 'Don't be so sure, my love. He might just burn something that matters first.' He moved behind her and ran his fingers along the skin of her spine. 'Show some grace. Let Shezira go. Let the cloud of suspicion hang over her for the rest of her reign. Let everyone wonder whether Hyram fell or whether he was pushed. The longer you hold her, the more your enemies will rally under her banner. Let her go and some will start to question her. Your Red Riders will quietly fade and disperse.'

Zafir waved him away. 'The world thinks* Valgar tried to have me killed. I'd look laughably weak if I let him go.'

Here we go again. 'Fine, fine. Hang Valgar if you have to hang someone. But let Shezira go.'

'She pushed my husband off a balcony.'

'No, she didn't. He was drunk and he fell, and you were glad to be rid of him. Not only is that something that most of the kings and queens will believe, it happens to be true.' Not quite true, actually, but that's one little secret I'll keep to myself.

'I want Lystra gone, Jehal. Before she gives birth to your heir. Otherwise I'll have to get rid of both of them, and that means two assassins and paying twice as much money. Better to get them both together, eh?'

On some days the window called more loudly than on others. He growled, a mixture of frustration and desire, pushing the thought away. Not yet. 'I am here, my love. Lystra is far away, pining for me no doubt, as any woman would, but not actually having me. I am here, I am yours and only yours. I haven't even touched another woman since you took the Adamantine Spear in the Glass Cathedral and became mistress of the realms.' Although the ancestors know how I've been tempted. More and more of late. I might start with your vapid little sister.

She turned back to him and smiled. It always worked, appealing to her vanity. A hand reached out and stroked his cheek. 'O Jehal, I find that very hard to believe. Is it really true?'

'You know it is, my love.' He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close again. 'I have eyes only for you, no matter how far away you are.'

'Mmm. Don't I know it.' She had a lecherous look on now. Almost done.

'If Lystra dies, her sisters will see your hand in it, guilty or not. You've taken their mother, whom they feared. They grumble and moan and rattle their swords, but that's all. Take the sister they love and they'll fly straight for your throat.'

'My throat or yours?' Zafir tipped her head back again. She shivered as Jehal wrapped his fingers around her neck.

'Both.' He pushed her back, hard and fast enough to startle her, until she was pressed against the bedroom wall. An arch to either side. See, that's how easy it could have been. His other hand felt for her knee and then started upward, pushing its way between the silken layers of her gown. She gave a little gasp and pushed herself into him as he found the heat between her legs.

'I know how much you like to talk of murder.'

'No. This is just the only way I know to shut you up.' He tugged at the drawstrings of his trousers. Her hands moved to his, eager to help.

'Then I'm sure we'll talk of murdering your starling-bride again,' she murmured. After that she didn't say much for quite a while. Not unless the squeals and moans carried some veiled meaning beyond the obvious.

Afterwards, when Zafir fell asleep in his' arms, Jehal lay awake. He stared at the ceiling of the great open chamber at the top of the Tower of Air. The walls around them were little more than a ring of huge arches opening out onto the balcony that encircled the upper level of the tower. He got up and went to stand in one, naked, teased by the wispy gauze of silk that hung rippling in the warm breaths of wind that puffed off the plains. Spread below lay the Adamantine Palace, the heart of the speaker's power. Four huge open yards, each large enough to assemble two thousand men, and overlooking each yard was a massive tower. The Gatehouse first, the oldest, the strongest and the largest tower in the palace, where the alchemists and the Night Watchman and the other senior servants made their beds. Then the vast space of the Gateyard, lined with stables and barracks. After that, the elegant Towers of Dusk and Dawn, black granite and white marble, the Fountain Court and the squat bulk of the Speaker's Tower, the place where the speaker and his or her servants traditionally made their home. Then the largest space of all, the Speaker's Yard, wrapped around the hulking misshapen tumour of glassy stone that was the Glass Cathedral. After that, the palace became a little smaller. The Tower of Air was the tallest tower in the palace, but it was slender and lacking in space, a fitting monument to the vanity of the speakers. Finally there was the Circle Court, the azure Tower of Water and the City Tower. Proper towers again, fit for visiting kings and queens.