There were a few poisons that could kill if injected and against which a proofer was no use, the most dangerous of which was a rare and expensive poison called rucho, the death feather, extracted from the feathers of a bird found only on islands off the far west coast of the continent. Not the kind of substance easily obtainable by a disgruntled family member or business partner, but one only found in the kits of assassins.
I helped Thendra restore the body to its former position, still deep in thought. Karista had looked as if she had believed me responsible—and perhaps I was, indirectly, if the target had been Tain—but, despite that, she was not willing to ask the physics to look for signs of murder. Perhaps proclaiming it a murder might draw attention to the reasons why someone would wish the former Councilor ill, and bring further dishonor to her already humiliated family. Reputation and honor were still a currency of this city, for all our shuffling of power in the last few years.
Thendra was watching me, her lips still thin. “Thank you,” I said quietly.
She nodded. Then, after a long and thoughtful pause, “Be careful, Credo. This country has had its share of instability, yes? I would prefer not to see you down here again.”
INCIDENT: Attempted poisoning of Chancellor Caslav Iliri
POISON: Zarnika
INCIDENT NOTES: Bottle of fortified kavcha delivered to Manor in purported celebration of birth of Chancellor’s niece, proofed and tested by self, found to contain non-fatal dose of zarnika. Given proximity to vote on junction boundary, suspect attempt to incapacitate Chancellor by Ash family. No further action at present.
(from proofing notes of Credo Etan Oromani)
2
Kalina
There’s a fine line between diplomacy and dishonesty. As I stepped away from my broken cup (sending a silent apology for the disrespect to good porcelain) and made a show of being surprised by the man who had looked around at the crash, I thought the line was rather easier to cross than I’d once assumed.
“Credola Kalina!” Ectar sprang to his feet at the sight of me, almost dropping his own cup.
“Lord Ectar.” My best rueful smile and a murmured apology to the boy who had appeared out of nowhere to clean up my mess. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at my clumsiest.”
The Talafan nobleman, grandson to the Emperor and survivor of the siege of Silasta, hurried over. He was immaculately dressed and coiffed, his pale yellow hair bound with a jeweled clip and his floor-length nihep cut to emphasize his slim—thin, by my people’s standards—physique. The Talafan silk and metallic embroidery gave him an otherworldly sheen in the sunlight from the window. Sincere delight manifested in his fluttering hands and the pitch of his voice, rather than in any overt change in the expression on his elaborately made-up face.
He took my hand and touched the back of it to his cheek, a gesture marking respectful and polite affection in the Empire. “Clumsy? You are never clumsy. I taught you to shoot a bow, do you remember?” He held on to the hand a fraction longer than would be proper in his homeland, I suspected. “I didn’t see you there before. Please, come and join us!” He stepped aside and indicated the cushioned alcove in which another Talafan man sat cross-legged, sipping from a sweet-smelling cup of kavcha. Its scent mingled with the perfume from a heated pot of oil in the center of the low table. He regarded me with a combination of curiosity and distrust.
“Oh, I must not intrude,” I demurred in Talafan, nodding politely to the other man. “I was about to leave in any case—there is a ribbon dancing performance at the arena I have been looking forward to. It was a pleasure to see you again, Lord Ectar.”
“But no!” Ectar’s hands fluttered. “Please! We too are attending the ribbon dancing. Won’t you come with us?” He added, in slightly stilted Sjon, “I have been hoping to see you.”
Since the Talafan delegation had arrived for karodee, Ectar had sent several messages, asking me to various private engagements. Indeed, he had written to me often in the time since the siege, expressing his pleasure over my recovery and his hope to return to the city one day. He was a learned and pleasant correspondent, but his letters had taken on a concerning tone in recent months. I had begged health issues or other commitments to deter him so far. I did not want to see Ectar in private, and build on his obvious hopes. Nor did I need to probe the motives of someone who had risked his life to help us two years ago. It was the other members of the Talafan party I needed information from, and Ectar was my best ticket to gain entry to them.
“What a lovely coincidence,” I lied. Even surrounded by Talafan guardsmen Ectar was comically easy to survey, because like all Talafan noblemen he had been conditioned to pay no attention to servants. It had been a simple matter to learn of his plans today. “If you are already going, then I would be very pleased to accompany you.”
“Wonderful! Your fine Council has arranged a magnificent area for viewing the events in the arena—there is plenty of room. Credola, have you met the Foreign Minister, Master Kokush?”
“I have not.” I offered my hand, Talafan style, to the Minister. He was a shrewd-looking fellow with a thick mustache and small eyeglasses, and he clasped my hand firmly enough, his face still as he looked me over.
“Credola Kalina,” the Minister repeated slowly, as if searching his memory. “Credola Kalina. Ah! The Hero of Silasta, isn’t it?”
“Not an official title, I’m afraid,” I said, chuckling as if he’d made a fine joke. He knew exactly who I was, and he’d been stonewalling the Administrative Guild’s requests for a meeting with me ever since he’d arrived in the city. What I needed to find out was why. For now I smiled, going along with the pretense that he was struggling to place me. “It is an honor to meet you, Minister. I met your predecessor some years ago and I was sorry to hear what happened.”
“Very unfortunate,” the Minister said, his face neutral.
“He was a fearsome negotiator, but fair. I enjoyed dealing with him.” An exaggeration; I had still been in recovery when the former Minister had come to Silasta to negotiate reparations and compensations for the disruption and broken trade contracts surrounding the rebellion. When my health was better, though, I’d been able to participate, and the Minister had been a clever and determined man, ruthless in his pursuit of good terms for his country, but a reasonable one. We’d scrutinized him for any sign that Talafar had been involved in the plot that had torn our country apart, and found no grounds for suspicion.
Things were different now.
The former Minister had drowned in a boating accident, and Kokush had replaced him. Coincidence, perhaps, but one of many such coincidences that had gradually changed the makeup of Talafar’s Imperial government. Sjona and Talafar had a secure treaty and had been firm allies during the Emperor’s long rule, but our spies’ reports, the impressions of our former Ambassador Astor, and my own private correspondence with Ectar all confirmed the past two years had seen a gradual shift of power from the elderly Emperor to his eldest son and heir. Crown Prince Hiukipi’s intentions toward the Empire’s southern neighbor were uncertain; we had no spies close to the Prince, and since Astor’s expulsion from the capital we’d even lost intelligence from more official sources.