The Ruthless. Peter Newman

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ up as well. ‘A glorious day! Fourboards is safe once more, and the Wild will take time to recover from the beating we gave it.’

      As will Lady Anuja, thought Vasin. As will we all. It troubled him that despite all they had seen, Lakshin and Quasim were still behaving as if everything was normal. As if tradition and skill alone would be enough to see order restored.

      ‘A toast before you leave,’ announced Anuja, raising her cup. She did not stand, and so the other two Deathless were forced to sit and collect their drinks. ‘To days shared. Be they long, glorious, hard or joyful. Let us endure them together, as friends, always.’

      ‘To days shared,’ they said. Then toasted, stood, bowed, and left.

      ‘I should retire too,’ said Vasin. ‘Leave you to your business.’

      She held up a hand. ‘In a moment. First tell me you can hunt with them.’

      ‘Of course. The question is whether they’ll hunt with me.’

      ‘They will hunt wherever and with whomever I chose, until such time as their High Lords call them home.’

      He thought about her words. She states that they will follow her orders, yet makes a point of asking me as an equal, as if I were here as a High Lord rather than subordinate. And this after inviting me to join their gathering, calling me Ruby-friend in front of her allies. She knows I move on Yadavendra and is giving her support.

      On impulse, he knelt before her and took her hands in his. ‘Thank you. I won’t forget this, and nor will House Sapphire.’

      She inched closer, wincing with the effort, sliding her hand down his wrist to clasp it. For a time they held eye contact, and Vasin was glad of it.

      ‘The Wild is changing, my friend, and we must change with it. The Sapphire must heal and be better than they were before.’

      ‘We will, I promise.’

      She squeezed his wrist. ‘And I will hold you to it.’

      A new day was dawning and word had reached them that High Lord Sapphire was coming with it. As soon as Chandni left her chambers, she stood straighter, any worries banished from sight. Her majordomo’s robes were perfectly fitted, their edges crisp, the studs of sapphire bright at her collar. Gloves covered her scar and any awkwardness with her right hand, and her feather was trapped within a braided cage of her hair. Unmanaged, it would pool around her feet. As it was, the bottom of the braid swung against the back of her calves.

      She made her usual tour of the castle, pleased to note that everyone was where they should be. The other staff acknowledged her, and she exchanged a quick word with each as she passed. Usually these were banal comments on the weather or the way the castle was sitting in the sky that morning. In a couple of cases she would stay longer, enquiring about the health of a family member or whether a requested tool had arrived. She worked her way through the castle, past the legs of the sapphire giant that stood astride the main entrance. Mid-thigh they vanished into the ceiling, his lower body, upper body and head each on a different floor. The guards standing between his feet saluted as she went down into the kitchens.

      A rich symphony of scents greeted her as she descended the stairs, accompanied by the familiar clatter of pots and plates. Once, long ago, she had run down here, assassins hot on her heels. The memory remained fresh in her mind, reborn every time she came this way. She forced herself to slow down. It had become a point of pride to use every step, and savour the fact that it was at a pace of her own choosing.

      In most other places in the castle, her arrival would prompt a flurry of salutes or bows, but here in the kitchens, everyone was engaged in their tasks: kneading dough, chopping herbs, cleaning the never ending supply of dirty plates. Here, and here alone, Chandni tolerated it. For though she was in charge of the castle, the kitchens were Roh’s domain.

      A thick slab of sapphire protruded from a corner of the room, the air around it shimmering with heat. Energy from the suns fed the crystals beneath the castle, the warmth and light carried up through the walls like blood through veins. Here, the sapphire had been shaped flat with shallow depressions for placing pans and plates, and during the day something was always cooking on them.

      She made her way over to the old cook, who was busy stirring a pot of thick sauce. ‘Good morning, Roh.’

      ‘Big day today, Honoured Mother.’

      ‘I trust you have something special prepared for the High Lord’s dinner.’

      ‘That I do, that I do. And I’ve got his favourite soup ready for lunch. You know our High Lord, always early.’

      It was true. Not in the way that Chandni was early. She liked to arrive with time in hand, to ensure she was present at the appointed hour. For her it was about respecting others and being precise. Yadavendra, on the other hand, would be shockingly, monstrously early. It was one of the reasons Chandni had already dressed in her best clothes, as on a previous visit she’d still been changing when he’d arrived. The frantic rushing, the panic, it had made for some of the worst hours of her life.

      Never again, she’d sworn to herself. I’d rather go out into the Wild.

      The throwaway thought brought back true memories of the Wild, and she shuddered. And then, straight after, came memories of Varg. He’d been thrown into her life so suddenly, and then left it the same way. He’d made the Wild bearable, and he’d been devoted to her in a way that nobody else was. The staff here were all loyal, but they were loyal to her as a tool of House Sapphire and Lord Rochant. Varg was loyal to her personally.

       Even though he serves Lady Pari, he wants to be with me.

      She thought of his gruffness, his strength, his appalling language, and had to suppress a chuckle. Then she thought of other things, the ease at which he blushed in her presence, his hands massaging her feet, of them wandering elsewhere, his promise that he would pay off his debts to the Tanzanite and come to her. That had been sixteen years ago.

      It was fantasy of course, but it was her fantasy, the only one she had, and she clung to it.

      ‘I imagine you have a lot on your mind, Honoured Mother, what with the High Lord on his way,’ said Roh.

      The blood grew hot in her face. ‘Oh … yes. I’ll leave you to it.’

      Roh hummed an acknowledgement and went back to her business, while Chandni made her way out quickly.

      Any thoughts of Varg were long gone as she reached Satyendra’s chambers. All was quiet in the corridor outside save for the swish of fabric as the guards saluted her. She acknowledged them and paused at his doorway to sing for permission to enter. As his mother, she didn’t have to, but she did it anyway, to make a point.

      There was a pause, not quite long enough to be rude, but awfully close, before Satyendra replied: ‘Come in.’

      The atmosphere in the room was strange, tense. Satyendra held a tablet of glass in his hand that held details of Lord Rochant’s life. He was doing a good impression of studying it, carefully ignoring the other boy in the room.

      Pik was three years younger than Satyendra, a cousin on her side of the family. Though they shared a similar body shape, the boy had none of Satyendra’s sharpness, and without Mohit’s blood, the blood of Lord Rochant, there was little to distinguish him. СКАЧАТЬ