Blood Song

“Your keenness of mind does you credit, Highness,” he said.

She inclined her head, apparently deaf to the emptiness of the compliment. “But what has puzzled me lately is an event in which you were closely involved; the Aspect massacre, although why it’s called that when only two of them died I can’t imagine.”

“Why should such an unpleasant event concern you, Highness?”

“It’s the mystery of course. The enigma. Why would the assassins attack the Aspects on that particular night, a night when novice brothers from the Sixth Order are present in three of the Order Houses? It seems a singularly poor strategy.”

Despite himself his interest was piqued.

She has something to share. Why? What advantage does she gain by this? “And what conclusions have you drawn, Highness?”

“There’s an Alpiran game called Keschet, which means cunning in our language. It’s highly complex, twenty-five different pieces played on a board of one hundred squares. The Alpirans have a great love of strategy, in business and in war. Something I hope my father remembers in times to come.”

“Highness?”

She waved a hand. “No matter. Games of Keschet

can last for days and wise men have been known to devote their whole lives to mastering its intricacies.”

“A task I’m sure you’ve already accomplished, Highness.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t so hard, it’s all in the opening. There are only about two hundred variations, the most successful being the Liar’s Attack, a series of moves designed to appear essentially defensive but which in fact conceal an offensive sequence bringing victory in only ten moves, if done right. The success of the attack is dependent on fixing the opponent’s attention on a separate overt move in another region of the board. The key is in the narrow focus of the hidden offensive, it has but one objective, to remove the Scholar, not the most powerful piece on the board but crucial to a successful defence. The opponent, however, has been convinced that he’s facing a varied attack on a broad front.”

“Attacking all the Aspects was a diversion,” he said. “They only intended to kill one of them.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps two. In fact if you apply the theory more widely it could be that you were the intended victim and the Aspects merely incidental.”

“Is that your conclusion?”

She shook her head. “All theories require an assumption, in this case I assume that whoever orchestrated this attack was seeking to damage the Orders and the Faith. Simply killing the Aspects would of course meet this end, but new Aspects can be appointed to replace them, like Aspect Tendris Al Forne, and it is not unreasonable to conclude that his ascension has driven a wedge between the Orders. Damage has been done.”

“You’re saying the whole attack was aimed at elevating Al Forne to Aspect of the Fourth Order?”

She raised her face to the sky, closing her eyes as the sun warmed her skin. “I am.”

“You speak dangerous words, Highness.”

She smiled, her eyes still closed. “Only to you, and I do wish you’d call me Lyrna.”

The promise of power wasn’t enough,

he thought. So now she tempts me with knowledge. “What did Linden call you?”

There was only the smallest pause before she turned away from the sun to meet his gaze. “He called me Lyrna, when we were alone. We had been friends since childhood. He sent me many letters from the forest so I know how much he admired you. My heart ached to hear…”

“Love must risk all or perish.” He was aware that his voice was hard with anger and his face set in a fierce glower. He was also aware that she had stopped smiling. “Isn’t that what you told him?”

It was only for a moment, but he was sure something like regret passed across her face, and for the first time there was uncertainty in her voice. “Did he suffer?”

“The poison in his veins made him scream in agony and sweat blood. He said he loved you. He said he had gone to the Martishe to win your father’s approval so you could wed. Before I slit his throat he asked me to give you a letter. When we gave him to the fire I burnt it.”

She closed her eyes for a second, a picture of beauty and grief, but when she opened them again it was gone and there was no emotion in her answer: “I follow my father’s wishes in all things, brother. As do you.”

The truth of it lashed at him. They were complicit. Murder entangled them both. He may have resisted loosing the bowstring but he had placed Linden in the path of the fatal arrow, just as she had set him on the road to the Martishe. It occurred to him this may have been the King’s plan all along, sordid murder binding them together in guilt.