Kalanon's Rising (Agents of Kalanon Book 1) Read online

  “But that’s changed?”

  “Roydan believed so. He wanted to establish exclusive rights to import silk from Nilar. He thinks a monopoly will ensure the exclusivity of the product and help it retain its value. Supply and demand.”

  Brannon nodded slowly. “If he’s the only one Nilar will allow to trade for silk, he controls the supply and can charge whatever he likes for it. People will pay more for something that’s difficult to have and you both get rich.”

  Ylani shrugged. “That’s the point of trade.”

  “So if it’s supposed to be a monopoly, how did the others get involved?”

  “Word leaked. Prince Keldan approached me wanting to get the deal for himself and to outbid his father. One or two others have also made enquiries.”

  “Who?”

  Ylani shook her head. “Negotiations are still underway and it’s important that the competitors don’t know who each other are. I’ll not tell you their names and risk messing up the best deal for my country.”

  “You told us Roydan’s name,” Draeson pointed out.

  “Roydan is Keldan’s father. I’m sure he would have told you himself, had you asked. The names of the other competitors are not relevant to your investigation.”

  “They are if one of them killed Keldan so he wouldn’t get the deal,” Brannon pointed out.

  “If Keldan were the mostly likely to have his bid succeed, then I would agree,” Ylani said. “But he wasn’t. If you were trying to eliminate the competition, surely you’d start with the one who was the biggest threat?”

  “And who is that?” Draeson asked.

  Ylani remained silent, the little half-smile on her lips.

  “You realize that refusing to help us makes you look suspicious.”

  She shrugged. “I have already told you that I would not reveal the names. Once the negotiations are complete, you may ask me again. Or, if it appears that they may be involved after all, I will tell you. But not now.”

  Brannon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “There’s no way for you to know if they’re involved or not if you won’t let us investigate them.”

  Ylani chewed her lip again. “Well, none of the other potential traders have come to harm. If they do, we’ll know one of them is behind it.”

  “That’s cold,” Draeson said. “Even for a Nilarian.”

  The ambassador spread her hands helplessly. Her voice was soft. “Your investigation is your priority. Mine is to negotiate on behalf of my country. I’m helping you as best I can, but I have to protect the trade negotiations. Nilar needs the funds this deal will bring in to help in the recovery. We spent too much in the war and silk is one of the few things we have that can help us back on our feet.”

  “Perhaps,” said Draeson, just as softly. “Or perhaps the opportunity to get revenge on a Kalan prince was just too tempting. Your precious trade deal lured him in and perhaps you killed him yourself. Is that it? You’re here to finish by subterfuge and murder what you started with war?”

  Brannon watched the ambassador’s face closely as a complex array of emotions flickered across her features.

  “Contrary to popular Kalan opinion,” she said, “we are not all murderers.”

  “Tell that to the hundreds of families killed by your invading army.” Draeson’s voice could have cut stone.

  Ylani’s eyes flickered to one of the wall panels. Brannon followed her gaze. The word “peace” was an emerald-green.

  When she spoke, there was a rawness to her voice. “Tell me, wizard, how do you feel about the part you played in the deaths of so many of my people? When you held back the waters of your river Tilal and waited for us to cross, did that feel like murder? It certainly wasn’t the clean death of battle. The wave you released rushed over everything and everyone in its path. They drowned without ever having a chance to surrender or escape. If you want to call someone a murderer for what was done in the war, start with yourself!”

  Draeson’s face was red with fury. “I’ll not apologize for defending my country against attack!”

  “Nor should you,” Brannon soothed. He reached a calming hand toward each of them, struggling to keep his own emotions in check. He could feel the battle rage burning at the edge of his mind, ready to blaze the way it used to. Even this many years later, the anger that another country would invade his Kalanon and kill his countrymen was a force that could fuel him for days. He forced it away and concentrated on the current issue. “We’re not here to talk about the past.”

  Draeson and Ylani stared at each other for a long moment, then the ambassador shook her head. “Of course. I’m sorry. Emotions get the best of all of us sometimes.”

  Brannon felt his breath release. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it. “That’s okay. Draeson has that effect on people.”

  She laughed and the sound instantly lightened the mood in the room. “I can’t imagine it!”

  The mage turned away, scowling at the door.

  “We have to investigate all the possibilities though,” Brannon continued. He shrugged, palms up. “Given the history, and that you’ve a connection to the victim, we have to wonder if you’re involved.”

  Ylani’s laugh faded. She licked her lips, then gave a little nod. “Fair enough. But I didn’t do it. I assume you have not found any connection between me and the other murders, however, and if they are all linked, then there’s no reason to suspect me at all.”

  Draeson’s head snapped back around to face them.

  “What?” Brannon felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest. “What other murders?”

  Ylani’s eyebrows raised. “Ah. You didn’t know. How awkward.”

  “Know what? What have you heard?”

  The ambassador gave a delicate shrug. “I only know that there have been other killings that looked the same. I assumed you would have known by now.” Brannon opened his mouth to ask questions but she held up a hand to forestall him. “I truly don’t know anything more than that. I’m sorry. If I did, I would tell you.”

  “Where did you hear about it?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t say.”

  Brannon frowned. If this was true, then the Nilarian ambassador had better sources of information than the royal court. Or, at least, than he and Draeson did. It was possible King Aldan had kept them in the dark to keep them focused on Keldan’s death specifically. If the murders were connected, however, Ambassador Ylani was right—it would change the suspects.

  If, in fact, there were any other murders. The woman was a politician and a Nilarian. For all he knew, the entire story was made up as part of some manipulative game.

  “It seems there’s a lot you can’t tell us. Or won’t.”

  Ylani sighed. “Yes, I suppose there is.”

  As the door closed behind them on their way out, Brannon turned to his companion. “What do you think? Do you believe her?”

  The mage shook his head. “Not at all. There’s something about her that isn’t right. I just can’t put my finger on exactly what.”

  Brannon covered his face with his hands and leaned back against the door. “Blood, Tears, and Wolf-shit. Why couldn’t this be easy?”

  Draeson shrugged. “It never is.”

  Brannon lowered his hands and pressed them against the wood of the door to push off. The wood was warm.

  He pulled away, looking up and down the corridor. There was no one but Draeson.

  “What is it?” the mage asked.

  “Feel that.”

  The mage ran his hand over the door. “Body heat? Someone was pressed up against it while we were inside.”

  Brannon nodded. “Listening to everything we said.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Latricia Sandilar entered her late husband’s office in her nightgown. Her bare feet made no sound on the carpet. The light from the single candle she carried pushed back the darkness just enough to see her way into the familiar room. It was a warm night and the soft glow made the world seem
gentler and safer than the harsh sun had allowed in the last few days.

  Daytime was given to the business of mourning—the black clothes, the receiving of visitors, the organizing of the rituals as best she could when Keldan’s body had not been released to her. She was familiar with mourning—she’d buried her father and brothers and many more during the war—but it was a surprise how deeply this loss cut. She had become soft in the seven years of peace. And, she had to admit, in those other times of grief, she’d had Keldan to lean on. Now she had only her father-in-law and her young son. She knew Keldan would have teased her if he’d seen how clingy she’d been around Tommy of late, but she couldn’t help herself. Her son was all she had left. Everything she did was for him.

  At night, however, there was no one to see when she slipped into her empty bed. No husband to discuss the day’s events with or plan for the future. For all his faults, Keldan had been a good husband. The thought that she’d never see him again, nor hear his careful assessment of some political intrigue or business deal, kept her from finding rest. She found she couldn’t bear to stay in the room where Keldan spent most of his nights. Instead, she came to the room where he spent much of his days.

  The room was filled with Keldan’s trophies. The mounted wolf’s head he had killed himself as a boy, the marble bust of himself commissioned from a sculptor he’d found and introduced to court. Even the portrait of Latricia herself. Keldan had always striven to prove himself and he liked to be reminded of what he had achieved.

  He’d liked others to be reminded of it more, Latricia supposed, a smile on her lips at the memory. But why not? She’d always been prouder of him than he was of himself. Oh, certainly he’d had his flaws—great men always did. But he was a good man just the same and it cut her to know he wouldn’t get the chance to see how great he could become.

  She made her way to the wide mahogany desk and set the candle down. She settled into the comfy suede chair and curled her legs up under her as she had done as a younger woman, visiting Alapra for the first time as a wife. Things had changed a lot since then. The country girl she’d been had learned a lot of city politics and intrigue.

  She ran her fingers along the smooth wood of the desk. How would Keldan react if he could see her now, at the mercy of his father’s whim? Roydan had never particularly warmed to her. It was frustrating that he now had her future in his hands.

  She pulled open the middle drawer and took out the leather-bound journal inside. She’d never really understood Keldan’s desire to record his thoughts and plans on paper. He was always careful to keep his journals locked away in a hidden panel cavity, but she’d considered them a security risk to his plans. He claimed they helped him order his thoughts better and she couldn’t argue with that. Now, they were the only part of him that remained.

  She had taken this one from the hiding space two nights ago. It was an early journal, of the time when they had first been in love. Reading it made her feel like Keldan was courting her all over again. She pulled back the covers and read a random entry in the dim candlelight.

  “I heard Latricia singing tonight,” read Keldan’s slanted handwriting. “She really does have the most beautiful voice. Algaly Harwood tried to steal everyone’s attention at her parents’ ball by singing with the band. Then my Latricia got up and put the poor girl to shame! It was brilliant!”

  Latricia smiled. Keldan had hated the Harwoods in those days. He’d been in competition with Algaly’s brother for a lot of the same activities. She couldn’t remember that young man’s name—he’d since died in the war. She did remember Keldan complimenting her on a masterful move that had “put that shrew in her place.” She hadn’t known it at the time, but Algaly Harwood had been suggested as a possible wife for Keldan.

  She hugged the journal to her chest and breathed in the memories. In the dark, it was easy to pretend they weren’t a lifetime ago. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her back as they danced and he told her he was proud of her singing. And his breath on her ear as he whispered other suggestions for the evening. They swooped across the dance floor, young and happy and in love. The country was at war, but they didn’t care. Their life together was just beginning.

  She felt the hard edges of the journal cover bite into her palm and the memory faded. It was time for another.

  “The king gave me a special assignment today. I am to be given special treatment and, in return, I am to fulfill a deal that was made with the Magus Draeson.”

  Latricia leaned forward, thrusting the journal closer to the candle as she read. This was something she didn’t know about. Draeson had been a regular visitor to Keldan throughout their marriage, but Keldan had never mentioned being part of a deal with the mage. He’d simply explained it as an old and powerful family friend.

  As she read the entry, Latricia’s eyes widened. At last, she closed its pages and set it down on the desk, pushing it as far away from her as she could. She stared at the candle flame.

  “Information is power,” she whispered to herself. She could still hear Keldan telling her that. Whether it be business deals or politics, it was a truth he’d firmly believed.

  A noise outside caught her attention. Someone was in the garden.

  Curious, Latricia blew out the candle and moved to the window, shifting the heavy drapes just enough to peer through a crack. A dark figure moved, just inches away from the glass. She let out a gasp and froze, but the figure didn’t seem to hear her and moved on. With a trembling hand, she pulled the drape aside a little more and watched as the dark shape followed the line of the house, then paused at another window. Roydan’s office.

  The figure knocked on the glass and, after a moment, the window opened and light spilled out, silhouetting the figure as he passed a slim crate, the length of a man’s arm, through to whoever had opened the window, then climbed inside.

  Latricia frowned. Who would be climbing into Roydan’s office in the middle of the night? If it had been his bedroom, the answer would be obvious, but not the office.

  She moved back from the window, fumbled in the dark for the journal and slipped it back into the drawer. Keldan would have wanted to know who was visiting his father as well. She could almost hear his voice coming from the journal, encouraging her to find out.

  “What’s the old goat up to now?” he’d have said. “Middle of the night means something sneaky.”

  Her lips moved silently to the rest of it. “And something sneaky means something we can use.”

  She slipped out of Keldan’s office and pushed the door closed behind her with the barest of clicks. The hallway was black, but her eyes had adjusted to pick up the faintest trace of light and her feet knew every twist and turn. The crack beneath the door to Roydan’s office was like a strip peeled off the sun and left lying on the floor. She crept up to it and pressed her ear against the wood.

  “Are you happy with it?” a strange man’s voice said.

  “Yes.” That was Roydan. “That will do nicely. You think they’ll be able to deliver to Sandilar, as promised?”

  “I do. They’re very eager for you to succeed.”

  “Good.” There was a scraping sound like a chair being shifted on the floor. “What about Brannon and his lot? Are they getting anywhere close to this? I don’t want everything messed up because Keldan was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  Latricia felt a shock run through her. Was Roydan interfering with the investigation? What could he possibly be doing that he would value over finding his son’s murderer?

  “I don’t think so,” the stranger’s voice said. “He spoke to the Nilarian ambassador today but I don’t think there’s any harm in that.”

  “Good. Keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get in our way.” Roydan paused for a moment. “Bring anything he finds out about who killed my boy to me as quickly as you can. Whatever Aldan has planned for him, I’d like to get there first.”

  “Of course, My Lord.”

  “Hooded Blood
and Tears, I hate that he’s gone.” Roydan’s voice was thick with emotion and Latricia sagged in relief. For all their differences and competitive ways, Roydan had loved his son. Somehow that helped. “Do you think . . . Is it possible that our arrangement is somehow responsible for what happened?”

  Whoever the stranger was remained silent for a moment, considering. Latricia felt as though her insides had been hollowed out with a giant scoop. If Roydan had somehow caused her husband’s death . . . her mind struggled to comprehend the betrayal. It must have been possible or Roydan wouldn’t ask. What had he been doing? Almost without thinking, her hand reached for the door handle, but she held it still when the stranger spoke again.

  “I don’t think so. There was silk in the room, but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s a very strange case. It doesn’t seem like business to me. It seems personal.”

  Roydan sighed. “But personal to whom?” The chair scraped again as he got up. “I’ll fetch your payment.”

  Latricia scurried away from the door, her heart thudding painfully until the moment she was inside her bedchamber and alone. She took several deep breaths to calm herself enough to think.

  Information was power, Keldan had always told her. Well, she’d found information aplenty tonight. The question was, how was she to use it?

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was a warm day with just a light haze of cloud obscuring the sun as Brannon waited on the docks with Draeson and Jessamine for the expert on Djin rituals to arrive. The smell of freshly caught fish, wet wood, and boat tar mingled with the screech of gulls fighting for scraps and the shouts of fishermen and sailors going about their daily business.

  A message had come early that morning from Valda that the boat from Djinan had turned into the Alapra Canal and was moving fast. They should expect the arrival of their expert in just a few hours. Brannon could see it approaching now, a kind of multihulled canoe on a large scale, travelling at least three times as fast as the boats around it.