The Last Warrior. Susan Grant

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      “Yes, My Queen?”

      “You’re a love for listening to me.”

      A pang of guilt. Everything Aza confided went straight to Markam.

      The queen left to change gowns and prepare for the banquet. The children were carried away for their naps. Elsabeth remained in the classroom, pulling out a forbidden book and cracking it open to read, as she did many a quiet afternoon in the palace. After all, the children were still too young to endure long hours of learning. Often Aza would find her and ask for a lesson in reading, but always when Xim was far from her chambers. Elsabeth would fill the rest of the boring hours with her nose in storybooks, getting lost in other people’s adventures.

      Can I count on you, Elsabeth?

      She closed the book and flattened her hand on the cover. The memory of Markam’s request for help ended all hopes of reading. She should be living a safe life as a nice Kurel accountant’s wife, spending the afternoon curled up in a cozy cottage with a favorite book and a cup of honey-tea. Instead she was biding time in a stone fortress, at risk of getting caught in a crime that could see her executed for treason.

      At least she’d give them a reason for her execution. Her parents had given them none.

      Yes, you can count on me.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      AFTER WASHING THE ROAD dust from his skin and changing into his formal uniform, Tao arrived in the banquet hall. The bracing days of winter seemed a long way off with such intense light and heat pouring through the windows. Servants had drawn heavy drapes against the suns, blocking out the light but holding in the dense air. A veritable army of other servants perspired as they operated giant cogs and wheels to spin ornate fans overhead, creating a much-needed breeze.

      Savory scents made Tao’s belly grumble and his mouth water. He’d eaten reasonably well in the encampments in the Hinterlands—plentiful game, fruits, nuts and vegetables—but it was a soldier’s diet prepared by his men or one of the female camp followers, not palace chefs who’d outdone themselves preparing a boggling array of delicacies. Snatching a piece of pastry-encased roasted meat off an offered tray, he popped it in his mouth, chewing contentedly. Aza was at his side, cheerfully filling him in on the passage of time, the children, her hobbies, yet only the barest details of her marriage, keeping her arm linked with his in the endless crush of well-wishers at the party.

      “Savior of us all…”

      “Thank you, good sir.”

      Dancers spun close. “Warm your bed tonight, sir?” offered a dulcet voice.

      “A scented-oil massage,” tempted another with a glimpse of kohl-lined dark eyes.

      “I expected gratitude,” Tao confided to his sister, “but they’re treating me like a demigod, for Uhrth’s sake.”

      Markam overheard and chuckled. “I told you, Tao, but you wouldn’t believe me.” With a nod at Aza, he turned to leave them. “I will see you later, Tao.”

      “You can’t escape, Markam,” Tao said. “Not if I can’t.”

      “Some of us still need to work for a living. You, however, are on vacation.”

      “Get back here and help me through this.”

      Aza pretended to be indignant. “You make my parties sound no better than going to the dentist.”

      “Both are a necessary pain, my dear sister.”

      Aza pushed at him playfully, her laughter sweet. It did his heart good to see her this way. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but she seemed more relaxed than earlier. “Not to worry,” he assured her. “I’m enjoying myself immensely.”

      Markam nodded at Aza, his smile for her gentle, then he strode away, careful to circumvent a troupe of musicians. The singers were belting out a ballad about Tao’s exploits.

      They were escorted to a table seating hundreds, Xim at the head, Aza at his right and Tao to the left. Down each side were Xim’s loyalists. The banquet commenced, a circus of food and drink, marred by shallow conversation, overly long stories and competition for the king’s favor amongst those retainers already favored enough to be seated in the hall. Platter after platter was presented, picked over and stuffed into hungry mouths. Limbs from roasted and smoked carcasses were ripped apart and slathered with gravy, and washed down with ale and wine. The pointless excess of palace life, Tao thought, while pretending to enjoy the event for his sister’s sake.

      Aza was in her element, making everyone laugh, while Xim alternately tore at his food and studied Tao. Hunting for malice in every word, every action, Tao was sure. As the evening wound down and the amount of wine consumed went up, the king grew more talkative. Out of the blue, he rested his weight on his arms and leaned forward. “Tell me, Tao. You’ve accomplished at twenty-eight Uhrth years what most men haven’t at eighty. What does a man do when he reaches the zenith of his life at such a young age?”

      Tao almost choked on the wine he’d just sipped. “I would hope my life is anything but over. While the days of racking up military victories are behind me, the years ahead promise much to look forward to.”

      “Like what?” Xim leaned back in his seat, his index finger curving under his chin. “You’ve driven back the Gorr and won me all the lands of the realm. What is left for you to do?”

      “I’ll settle on my family’s ancestral lands outside the city.”

      “In the hills,” Aza murmured, nodding. “We spent our summers there as children, to escape the monsoon. So lovely.”

      Xim scoffed at Tao as if Aza hadn’t spoken. “I can’t see you farming.”

      “My focus will be on the vineyards, overseeing the production of wine.”

      “And heirs,” his sister put in with a wink. “I want many nieces and nephews to spoil. But first we’ll have to find you a wife.” She squeezed his arm lovingly. Her perfume enveloped them. “There is no shortage of lovelies in the kingdom, but how will I find one to enchant you long enough to commit?”

      “I’ve already had this talk once today,” Tao said. “Markam cautioned me against the hazards of marriage.”

      “Did he?” A funny look came over her. She shifted her attention to pushing food around on her plate with a crust of bread. She’d hardly touched her meal. “What does Markam know of that?”

      Xim watched them like a brooding hawk. “A wine-maker,” he sneered. “The Butcher of the Hinterlands, of all people.”

      Tao bristled at the slur as Xim lifted his goblet to the light of a chandelier to study the burgundy liquid. “I wonder, will your wine be sweet…or taste like vinegar?” He narrowed his eyes at Tao.

      “My estate will never be able to produce anything to compete with what your sommelier has served us tonight, Your Highness. That is a certainty. Your wine is like silk on the tongue. In a word, magnificent.” Tao lifted his goblet in a toast.

      “Hmmph,” Xim said.

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