One

 

Yavi checked the grappling hook to ensure it was secure before vaulting himself over the windowsill in his room and lowering himself down the smooth stone wall of the palace. A full moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the palace’s tall spires and sleek, white walls. Yavi dropped soundlessly onto the balcony below, retrieved his hook, then hung it over the next balustrade so he could descend another fifty feet to a second balcony.

Their palace was bloody tall, he thought as he landed with a soft oof on the stone floor of the lower balcony. One more long jump down—no rope necessary—and he’d be within a few feet of the stables, where he could slip in, steal Sikar, and be off before anyone noticed the emperor had left the premises. Especially his pest of a brother, who would insist on tagging along if he knew what Yavi was up to.

Sleep, my brother. Keep that lovely wife of yours warm tonight.

Besides, should something go wrong on this little mission, Yavi wanted Yajna to be safe and sound back at the palace so he could go on ruling Nandala in Yavi’s absence. They had come a long way toward restoring peace and stability in Nandala over the past six years, but the famine had not completely broken, and there were still many hungry mouths to feed in their homeland.

Yavi slipped easily past the stable hands and found Sikar’s stall. The muscular black horse snorted softly at Yavi’s approach, nodding his approval at seeing his master dressed for a midnight ride. Yavi quickly saddled him and led him out of the stable by the back gate. He ducked into the shadowed side of the outbuildings, then mounted Sikar and headed past the guards’ quarters to the southern gate of the palace grounds.

The guard on duty at the gate stepped forward in alarm. “Halt! Who goes there with the emperor’s horse?”

Yavi pulled his hood partially aside so the moonlight illuminated his face.

“Emperor!” the guard gasped, kneeling.

“Keep your voice down,” Yavi whispered, covering his face with the hood. “Open the gate.”

The guard rose and did as he was ordered.

“Not a word of this to anyone, Guardsman.”

“Yes, Mahaj.”

Yavi was sometimes annoyed by such formal address, but knew it came from deep respect on the guard’s part. He and Yajna had a fiercely loyal armed guard, and despite tensions over their unexpected deposing of Thakur as well as an abysmal lack of palace funds, they were managing to maintain a small but dedicated army faction based in Darpan as well.

“I’ll be back by dawn.”

“Godspeed, Mahaj.”

Yavi nodded curtly and disappeared into the night.

Ularian Road led east out of Darpan, and Yavi saw it as he crested a hill just beyond the city’s wall. The route was notorious for bandit attacks, since it was the main road from the capital city to Ularia, a large Nandalan fishing port along the Blue River. Yavi paused within the shelter of some trees to survey the road below him in the moonlight, alert for any sign of movement or activity.

An arrow sailed past his nose and landed with a thunk in a nearby tree trunk. Yavi swore and turned to see his grinning brother riding closer, his horse’s hooves crunching lightly in the snow.

“You didn’t think you’d go after that stolen caravan alone, brother?” Yajna chided.

Yavi glared at his twin. “You should be in bed, making love to your wife right now.”

“Already did. Now I’m ready to go hunting with my brother.”

Yavi bit back a retort, unwilling to let his jealousy show so openly. He was truly glad to see his brother happily married and in love. But living in constant close quarters with Yajna and Jiandra’s obvious affection for one another ripped a dagger through Yavi’s lonely soul each and every day. He knew that he and his twin had each gotten what they deserved in love. Yajna had always been cautious and faithful, and had won the heart of a true queen. Yavi had toyed with love, bedded various women of his choosing in his youth, and had ended up causing an innocent young woman to be killed by a jealous sorceress. After Svana’s death he’d sworn never to seduce another woman again, unless Tejeshwar blessed him with a woman like Jiandra.

But who was he kidding? He knew that, beyond his brother’s wife, such a woman didn’t exist.

“Yajna,” he said tiredly, “go home. It’s too dangerous for both of us to risk our lives and leave Nandala without an emperor. If something happens to me, I want you to be there to guide the country to prosperity and peace. Go.”

“No need for that kind of precaution. If something happens to both of us, Jiandra can rule Nandala better than we do anyhow.”

Yavi sighed. His brother had a point.

Yajna guided his horse alongside Yavi’s and surveyed Ularian Road. “That highway is crawling with bandits. Admit it, brother. You’ll need me and my bow.”

“I have a bow, and I can use it almost as well as you.”

Yajna grinned smugly. “Almost, but not quite.”

“Swords are faster anyway. I can slice off the attacker’s head before you can even string one arrow.”

“Arrows kill without me getting anywhere near an attacker, thus keeping me out of sight and ready to take down an entire patrol if necessary before they find me.”

“But when they do find you, you get surrounded, and you’re helpless to fight them off since you can barely swing a sword. So you need me there to protect you as well.”

“I have a sword, and I can swing it almost as well as you.”

“Almost,” Yavi returned coolly, “but not quite.”

Yajna frowned. “We were trained to work together, brother. I’m as eager to track down that missing caravan as you are, and I’m not going back to the palace without you.”

Yavi shook his head, then covered it with his hood. “All right, you stubborn bastard, let’s go then.”

§

Graciella Stovy peeked in the parlor into check on her brother. Elio was sitting at the desk in the corner going over farm ledgers by candlelight.

“Elio.”

He looked up, his blue eyes strained.

“Haven’t you figured out how we’ll pay for the new wine barrels yet? It’s late; you’re exhausted.”

Elio sighed. “Jiandra was so much better at managing the books than I am.”

Graciella pressed her lips together. “I miss her. And Rafe.”

“Me too.”

She swallowed down a painful lump that formed in her throat, then forced a smile. “Well, I’m off to bed. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, sister. I’m spending the day with Solange tomorrow, by the way. I’m expected at the castle by ten. Should be home for dinner.”

“All right. Give the queen my love.”

“I will.”

“Good night.” Graciella climbed the stairs and popped her head into the first bedroom, where their housekeeper, Shirali, was busy brushing through her daughter’s long platinum-blond hair.

Shirali looked up. “You off to bed, Miss Grace?”

“Yes, unless you need any help with the children.”

“No, Miss, everything is under control here.”

“I’ll bid you good night, then.”

“Good night, Miss.”

Graciella went into her own room and closed the door. She washed up for bed, slipped into her long nightgown, and knelt by the bed to say a prayer. It was a habit from her childhood, something Jiandra had done with her when she was little, after their parents were killed. After the quick prayer, she reached under the bed to retrieve her carved wooden strong box, set it on the mattress, and opened it to count her coin. She’d saved up almost fifty silver from baking bread and selling it in the market square over the years, money she intended to use to buy her own bakery shop someday.

She closed and latched the box, replaced it under the bed, and blew out her candle. Stretching out under the covers, she settled her head into her feather pillow and stared at the swath of moonlight on her bedroom ceiling. She replayed in her head for the millionth time the last time she’d seen Yavi of the Zulfikars.

Yavi, her tall, handsome brother-in-law, her sister’s husband’s twin.

He’d been dressed in wedding attire from Jiandra and Yajna’s wedding, wearing a gray waistcoat over an open-necked white shirt that revealed just a hint of his chest muscles and black leather breeches tucked into tall black boots. Graciella had easily and perfectly memorized his expressions, his gestures, and the lines of his muscular physique because she had stared at him all evening. He was more serious than she’d ever seen him before, a hollow look of weariness etched into his silvery eyes, a grimness set into the line of his sexy lips. Of course, he’d lost his father in the battle with Emperor Thakur only a few months prior and had been hailed alongside Yajna as the new joint-emperor of Nandala. As the elder twin, Yavi was the one who bore the primary responsibility for ruling his suffering, destitute nation, and the heaviness of that responsibility had begun to show.

Graciella knew from Jiandra’s letters and yearly visits to their family farm in Villeleia that progress in rebuilding Nandala had been slow, that the palace’s first few crops had failed, and that Nandala’s wintery curse from the Old Gods had not started to show signs of lifting yet. The twins carried much weight on their shoulders, and though it was obvious they were born to fulfill the role of rulers, still, it was a burden.

Graciella had been bold enough to ask her new brother-in-law to dance the night of the wedding banquet. He had accepted, smiling kindly as one would smile at a child, for she was a child in his eyes, only fourteen at the time. But being near him made her feel like a woman in every fiber of her being; from the moment Jiandra had first brought him to Stovy farm, Graciella’s heart had beat madly for Yavi of the Zulfikars.

Their dance lasted only a few moments. Precious scarce moments with her small, trembling hands held securely in his large, strong ones. When the music ended, he had thanked her and bowed his head, and soon after retired from the banquet hall for the night.

And she had not seen him since. Only his twin, when Yajna accompanied Jiandra to visit the farm.

Graciella sighed and rolled over, fluffing her pillow a bit before sinking her head into it again. Jiandra hadn’t yet answered her most recent letter, in which Graciella had asked, as she always did, how Yajna and Yavi were. Knowing her younger sister’s infatuation all too well, Jiandra usually put in at least a short note specifically about Yavi. He’d been spending a lot of time with his sparring partner, honing his sword-skills. Or he’d been happy, along with his brother and Jiandra, to see the cabbage seedlings emerge in their cabbage fields. Or he and Yajna had been cleaning out and restoring various buildings on the palace grounds. Once Jiandra wrote that she’d caught Yavi practicing climbing on the side of a tower of the White Palace with his grappling hooks, and when she’d scolded him for doing something so dangerous, he’d done a back flip into a swan dive and landed in a haystack on the ground. Jiandra wrote that she’d screamed in alarm as he fell, and that Yavi had laughed a good long while about it. It was rare to hear him laugh like that of late, Jiandra had said.

Graciella pulled her pillow into her arms and hugged it snugly against her breasts, pretending it was Yavi she was holding and comforting. She was no longer the awkward fourteen-year-old he once knew; she had turned twenty in March. When she saw her brother-in-law again, it would be as a grown-up, and she intended to make sure he noticed she wasn’t a child anymore.

Imagining that meeting, a smile curved her lips, and she drifted off to sleep.

§

Two black-cloaked, hooded figures rode hard into the night along Ularian Road, stopping after a couple of hours to rest and water the horses by a creek, and then setting off again. They reached the site of the caravan attack within another hour, finding it just as their escaped guard had described: three palace guards dead, a few heads of the cabbage and other vegetables they’d packed strewn here and there amongst the patches of snow, and no sign of the carts or horses.

Yavi’s blood boiled as he surveyed the wasted food. Produce they had worked so hard to grow, had invested so much time and coin in. Here it was, carelessly flung along the roadside while families in Ularia were starving, waiting for that caravan to arrive.

Behind him, Yajna muttered an oath in Nandalan. “Shall we gather up what we can salvage here, brother? Pack it onto our horses and carry it into town?”

“No. The trail of those thieves is getting colder by the minute.” Yavi let himself down from Sikar’s back to look around, examine the wheel tracks and hoof prints. “They left the road, headed off to the north through these trees, took the wagons with them. We can move much faster than they can with those carts over the wooded terrain.”

“Let’s go, then.” Yajna guided his horse off the road, toward the trees.

Yavi mounted Sikar and followed him. They found a path of sorts through the woods and urged their horses into a gallop, flying through the darkened trees with only slivers of moonlight to light their way. After a while the trees opened up into a meadow, and they followed the cart tracks in the half-melted snow for another mile or two, until they came to another forest thick with trees. As they made their way through it, they caught sight of the faint glow of firelight ahead, and the brothers halted their horses in the dark shelter of the forest.

Yavi slipped silently to the ground, and Yajna followed suit. They tied the horses to some low-hanging branches and moved quietly through the trees until they saw the bandits’ camp just ahead, in a small clearing. There was a campfire glowing in the center, with a couple of tents pitched around the perimeter and the palace’s still-loaded carts and horses standing nearby.

There looked to be about eight men total at the campsite—five sitting around the fire, two others rifling through the contents of the carts, and one leaning against a tree trunk off to the side, some distance from the others. He was the only one who was alert for intruders. Yavi made eye contact with his brother, who nodded and strung his first arrow.

The arrow sliced through the air, struck the bandit who stood off by himself in the throat, cutting off his airway and ability to warn the others. He stiffened, then crumpled to the ground near the tree he’d been leaning on.

Two more arrows flew, hitting each of the two thieves in the back who were rummaging through the carts. The men sitting around the fire jumped to their feet, drawing their daggers. One of them rushed toward his horse, but Yajna took him out on the way with a fourth arrow.

Yavi drew his scimitars and rushed in for the attack, leaping into the air while swinging the blades in a double spiral that sliced the throats of two of the bandits who stood by the fire. Yavi’s hood fell back when he landed, and the remaining three men gaped at him.

“It’s one of the emperors!” a bandit gasped, backing up.

Another bandit turned to run. An arrow stopped him midflight, and he fell to the ground.

Yavi grabbed the nearest bandit by the throat, forcing him back a bit on his tiptoes. “I sent a caravan of food and supplies to help my people in Ularia, and you vermin—” he tightened his grip and pressed a dagger to the underside of the man’s jaw, “—slaughtered my guards and stole it? If you were hungry, all you had to do was send word to the palace for food and supplies. We would have shared what we could.”

“Sire…we…just work for Uman,” the man choked, holding onto Yavi’s wrist with both hands.

“Who’s Uman?”

“Our leader. I think you killed him. He was standing over there by the trees.”

Yavi glanced back to where the first man had fallen with Yajna’s arrow in his throat, and then addressed the bandit near the carts, who stood frozen with his hands in the air. “You. Re-hitch the carts to the horses. Move, or my brother’s arrow will find its mark.”

The nervous fellow hurried to do as requested.

Yavi released the man he’d been holding. “You and your friend here have two choices. You either help us drive our carts to Ularia, or we hang your carcasses on these trees for the birds to find.”

“We’ll drive,” the bandit responded.

Yavi pointed a finger of warning in his face. “Just so we’re clear, you go as our prisoners. If you try to escape on the way, we’ll execute you ourselves on the spot. And when we get to Ularia, you’ll be turned over to the local authorities. If you don’t care for that arrangement, we can fight it out here and now.”

“We’ll drive your carts, Sire.” The man held up his hands. “You’ll get no further resistance from us.”

The other man had finished hitching the carts and bowed low. “At your service, Mahaj.”

Yajna emerged from the trees, and Yavi gave orders to the prisoners. “Get on those carts, and let’s get going.”

§

When the Zulfikar twins were completely out of sight, Uman’s body lifted itself off the ground awkwardly, as if pulled up by invisible strings, and stood itself on its feet. His eyes popped open, having become solid dark gray disks, as his pale face twisted into an unearthly grimace. He grasped the arrow that was lodged deeply into his throat with both hands and yanked it out, dark crimson blood seeping from the wound.

That done, Uman grinned wickedly and went to examine the dead bodies of the bandits lying around the camp. He ripped open the shirt of one who looked particularly tasty, then bent over him to chew through his chest, feasting on the bloody, sinewy flesh, and eventually reaching his heart. He dug it out with his fingernails, dropped the still-warm organ into the leather pouch at his waist, and took off running with unnatural speed through the trees, heading north toward Faril.

§

Jiandra awoke to find Yajna absent from their bed. Thinking perhaps he’d gone for a drink of water—maybe because she herself was parched—she swung her legs over the side of the mattress and shoved her feet into her slippers. She retrieved her robe from the chair near her side of the bed and lit a candle, then stepped out into the passageway outside their quarters. She followed the darkened hallways and descended the large central staircase to the Main Hall, then wandered through the door to the kitchen.

To her surprise, the cook was still up, leaning over a table reading something on a piece of parchment. He whirled around when she entered, hiding the parchment behind his back.

“Terijin?” Jiandra gasped, then chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d still be up—you startled me!”

Terijin bowed curtly. “Your Highness. Forgive me—I was just going over my inventory sheets.”

“At this hour?” Jiandra swept past him to get a cup from the cupboard. “It must be two in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” he explained with a sheepish smile.

“Have you seen Emperor Yajna?”

“No, Your Highness. Is he missing from his quarters?”

“It seems so.” Jiandra dipped the ladle into the water bucket and filled her cup. “Well, he must be wandering around the palace somewhere. If you see him, would you tell him to please come back to bed? His wife’s special request?”

Terijin smiled and bowed again. “Of course, Your Highness.”

She noticed his gaze dropping to the glowing blue stone around her neck. She touched the Omaja protectively, an instinctive move when she saw someone staring at it, then nodded to him. “Good night, Terijin.”

When she climbed the stairs and went back inside her room, it was still empty. Baffled by Yajna’s disappearance, she took the candle and wandered down the back hallways of their wing until she reached the door to the northeast guard tower.

The guard on duty came to attention as she entered the tower, then bowed. “What is it, Your Highness? Something wrong?”

“Yes, Ciren, I was looking for Emperor Yajna. Have you seen him in the past couple of hours?”

“No, Your Highness.”

“I’m sure he’s just checking on something somewhere in the palace or on the grounds. If you see him, would you tell him I’m looking for him and worried?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Ciren placed a hand on the handle of his sword. “I’d better accompany you back to your room and post a guard outside the door, just in case there’s mischief afoot.”

“You shouldn’t leave your post unmanned. And the Omaja stone protects me from all harm, so there’s no need to worry about—”

“Still, Emperor Yajna’s orders are to make sure you are safe at all times. Wolfan will be here soon to take my place. It’s almost his shift. Please allow me to escort you to your room, Your Highness.”

Jiandra had wanted to continue looking for Yajna in Yavi’s wing, but realized she was only worrying the guards and servants, probably for no reason at all. She closed her hand over the Omaja stone as Ciren led her down the long hallways and read his mind with Knowing to see if he might be hiding something about Yajna. All she found in his thoughts was a desire to do a good job as guard so as to impress and please the emperors.

At the door to her room, she thanked Ciren, slipped inside, and closed the door. She gazed at the empty bed with a sigh. If only the Omaja worked like a crystal ball or a scrying stone and could let her know if everything was all right.

She crawled back into bed, resigned to be patient until Yajna returned. Her intuition told her he was fine, that she needn’t worry about him. Still, she wasn’t used to sleeping in their large bed without his strong arms around her, and it was truly a hardship to suddenly go without his warmth.

She drew the covers up tightly to her chin, shivering a little. Yajna, you are in big trouble when you show up again. She smiled to herself as she imagined a few ways he could make it up to her, and eventually drifted off to sleep.

§

Yavi and Yajna delivered the carts of food and supplies as well as the two prisoners to Ularia’s guard captain. One of the prisoners caught Yavi’s arm just before they left.

“Sire, be wary.”

“Of what?” Yavi watched the bandit’s face.

“One of your own tipped us off about the caravan heading to Ularia.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, Mahaj. I’d tell you if I did, I swear it. He was Uman’s contact. All I know is, it’s someone in your service at the palace.”

Yavi nodded grimly. “Thank you for telling me. What’s your name?”

“Bindar, Sire.”

“Bindar. Tejeshwar guide you.”

“Also you, Sire.”

Yajna gave Yavi a quick nod and followed him out of the gate to where their horses waited. They mounted, bid the gate guards farewell, and set out for Darpan.

As they rode, Yavi peered up at the moon. They would make it back by dawn, just as he’d told the guard at the palace. Yavi smiled to himself as he rode with his brother by his side through the night. It had been too long since they’d gone on a mission together, and it felt good to get out of the palace and do something useful. Something dangerous. It reminded him of their youth. Yavi had loved swordplay ever since their father had given him and Yajna their first wooden swords as boys. Varyn later made Yajna a bow, and the extra wooden sword became Yavi’s permanent possession. The two brothers played war and practiced their weapon skills constantly, pretending to fight all sorts of vile miscreants in the woods near their farmhouse.

The two of them were accepted into Nandala’s Black Armies at the age of seventeen and began to receive formal weapons and stealth training. They were soon recognized as particularly gifted in the assassin arts, and were sent to train with Tylvani mystics at their monastery for a year. When they returned to Darpan, Thakur had promoted them to the highest ranks in the Assassin Army. At the age of twenty-five they were sent on the mission of a lifetime, to assassinate the Queen of Villeleia, with the promise that upon successful completion, their father’s royal name would be restored and his house once again eligible to inherit the throne of Nandala after Thakur’s death. That mission had taken them to the verdant, prosperous land of Villeleia to the south, where Jiandra and her magical stone had thrown a kink into their plans in more ways than one. Yavi’s brother had fallen head over heels for the green-eyed beauty. And with her stone’s healing powers she had saved both their lives, time and again, as they turned rebel and fought to liberate their people from Thakur’s misguided, selfish rule.

Yavi hugged his knees close to Sikar’s flanks, leaning low over the horse’s neck as he galloped down the road toward the palace he now called home. A beautiful but cold and impersonal dwelling as far as Yavi was concerned, somewhat of a prison made of gleaming white marble and gray granite. He missed his father and mother and their small farm. Six years had not healed the soul-crushing wound left by witnessing his father’s violent death on the battlefield, as Thakur slit Varyn’s throat right before Yavi’s eyes. And while Yajna had Jiandra to love him, hold him, and make his wing of the palace feel more like a home, Yavi was alone. The truth was, he’d loved escaping the palace tonight because he needed to escape his own empty room. His empty bed.

His empty heart.

§

Yajna closed the door and saw Jiandra’s sleeping form under the covers in the darkness. Relieved she hadn’t awakened and tried to follow him, he moved to the washbasin to undress and wash up before joining her under the blankets. His blood was still running hot from the evening’s excitement, and that combined with the thought of snuggling up beside his sexy wife gave him a stiff erection.

As soon as he picked up the edge of the blanket, Jiandra rolled over and sat upright. “Yajna! You brute; you left me here alone half the night! Where have you been?”

“Hush,” he chuckled against her lips as he gathered her into his arms. “It’s a long story, and I’m not in the mood for talking.”

“I’ll have you know I looked everywhere—”

“Shhh.” He covered her lips with his, silencing her with his lips and tongue. Her sensuous lips tasted so sweet under his assault, and he plunged his tongue between them urgently.

When she relaxed and surrendered to his kisses, he moved to trail his lips down the slim column of her neck. She clutched his head and pressed herself against him. “Yajna, you are incorrigible.”

“I know.” He chuckled. “I love you, beautiful wife. Forgive me. It was for a good cause. I’ll explain fully later, I promise.” He kissed her collarbone, reaching up to caress her breast through her nightgown. Her nipple hardened against his palm.

“Stop being so…mmmnh…sweet and contrite.”

“Never.” Yajna grinned, then proceeded to show Jiandra just how contrite he felt, with his hands, lips, and tongue.

§

Yavi removed his cloak and boots, peeled off his leather armor, then stood at his washstand to sponge off the sweat and grime from the evening’s outing. He scrubbed his chest under the emperor’s ruby, which dangled from a thick chain around his neck. Bindar’s warning about a traitor inside the palace haunted him as he mentally filed through the list of palace servants. They couldn’t afford many people, so it wasn’t a long list. They had a washing girl, Kitran, and a housekeeper, Kitran’s mother Shandri. But Bindar had referred to the inside contact as “he,” and Yavi honestly couldn’t imagine either of those women selling palace information. Shandri had been a beggar in the streets of Darpan prior to getting hired as their housekeeper, and her daughter Kitran was so clearly infatuated with Yavi it was hard to imagine her doing anything that would endanger him or go against his wishes.

Their steward, who also acted as valet, handyman, and all-around help, was a middle-aged, kindly fellow named Liel. Nothing in his demeanor led Yavi to believe he could have betrayed their confidence, but who else could it have been? Terijin, the cook? The man never left the kitchen; all he knew or practiced was food preparation, and he had thus far been the most dedicated cook Yavi could imagine. Aside from those four, there were perhaps six other servants, all orphaned youths who assisted Shandri with housekeeping and Liel with around-the-house tasks.

Yavi hated to face the possibility, but the informant could be a palace guard. But who? The guard captain, Harshad, was fiercely loyal, and by all accounts so were his men. Their current palace guard detail was small—too small, in fact—only about fifteen men. They guarded the palace itself, the stables, and the two gates leading out of the palace grounds. To Yavi’s knowledge each man was nothing but faithful. Their pay certainly wasn’t enough to warrant the level of devotion they had shown to him and Yajna thus far.

He sighed and sank wearily onto his mattress, then lay back and pulled the covers over his body. The only way to be certain was to ask Jiandra to read the staff’s thoughts with the Omaja stone—something she avoided doing unless she felt it was extremely necessary.

This, however, was extremely necessary, because Yavi wanted this traitor dealt with before he could strike again.