All of them gave him glances that were quite welcoming, even the male. Introductions were made. The usual questions asked. The sickly Terrarch, by name Petron, by profession an author, by blood Lady Sardontine's brother, spoke: "I, for one, will be glad to have Kathea seated properly on the throne, and the Taloreans here. For too long Kharadrea has languished in the shadow of the Dark Empire." He paused for a moment. Rik guessed that the word shadow had a resonance for Terrarchs that it simply did not have for him, something to do with the powers that had evicted them from Al'Terra. "Now we shall see some progress. Our backward land will wake up.”
The ladies emitted small shrieks of scandalised outrage, although Rik suspected they were really quite enjoying Petron's words.
"My brother is a radical," murmured Lady Sardontine in Rik's ear. "He is a great admirer of your patron. Our father disinherited him because of his Scarlet outlook."
"My sister is doubtless informing you of the skeleton in the family closet. My father is an old tyrant. He regrets the days of the Conquest ever ended and that he can't take the whip and lash our humans to death as he used to do in the old days."
Petron smiled at Rik warmly, a thing that made him as uncomfortable as the coldness of some of the other Terrarchs. Petron was trying too hard to be friendly, to show he had no prejudice. He was not seeing Rik as himself but as a human, any human. This conversation was not about Rik, did not include him and never would. It was all about Petron, and how radical he was. Rik smiled back. He was becoming quite expert at playing the hypocrite.
"I understand that still happens in Sardea — the beatings to death, I mean."
"My dear fellow it still happens here in Kharadrea. Not all of our landowners are enlightened. King Orodruine's edicts may have made it illegal to kill your humans for all but capital crimes, but somehow word of those laws never reached our larger estates. Khaldarus means to repeal the edicts anyway; he has said so publicly many times. That is why it is imperative — imperative! — that Kathea is our Queen."
Rik felt the old slow, smouldering anger start to build within him. The outrage he had felt even as a boy against the injustice of the world was still there despite his current hypocrisy. As the anger mounted the whisper of the voices in his head became louder. There were times when he thought he sensed even the presence of the Quan, swirling somewhere in the depth of his mind, lurking there like a shark below the surface of placid waters.
Petron's words reminded him that the order of the world was still wrong, that murder was still being done legally, that people were still being killed at the whim of the world's Terrarch masters, and that it would only get worse if the Dark Empire won. From what Malkior had told him, worse things than that were happening in Sardea, and for once Rik saw no reason to disbelieve his putative father.
He kept his face a mask, determined that these people would never see the way he really felt. Sometimes it was hard, he thought, caught up in the cynical politics of the Terrarch factions and his former comrades lust for plunder, to keep sight of the fact that, despite everything, the conflict they were engaged in really did have a meaning beyond the goals of the protagonists, that the world really could be a better place if one side won and another side lost.
He brought his attention back to Petron who was still enumerating a list of his father's crimes against his serfs. Another realisation hit him. Easy as it was to be cynical about Petron and his motives, the Terrarch probably was a real ally to the cause of humanity.
The night moved on in a whirl of drinking and music and conversation. Rik mostly listened, told tales of his life as a soldier, avoided all questions concerning what had happened in the Serpent Tower or in Harven. He drank far less than those around him, afraid that if he did the voices would become louder. His reticence seemed only to stand him in good stead, to add to the aura of mystery that surrounded him. He began to feel that things were different here, that these people knew nothing about his past, they seemed to take him more or less at face value, as part of the conquering army, as a hero who had saved their future Queen, as the mysterious putative lover of an Elder World sorceress. It was a seductive feeling. He had come a long way from the streets of Sorrow, from their soiled terrors and grubby triumphs.
All these people saw was his nice coat and his Terrarch features. They did not know and need never know about his thievish past. He grinned. They did not, but he always would. He was marked by more than being a Shadowblood. He was his past and it would set him aside from these folks for as long as he lived.
At some point during the night, he noticed that a few couples had discreetly vanished, unmissed amid all the drinking and music. He was not in least surprised when Lady Sardontine took his hand and led him from the chamber through a maze of passages into a dark cavernous room. Her breath was scented by alcohol. Her lips tasted of old Kharadrean wine.
The voices whispered beware, and he drew back. He sensed another presence in the room, and swung Lady Sardontine around so that she was between him and whoever it was. It was only a matter of moments before he noticed a figure standing in the shadows. He recognised her at once.
“Tamara,” he said. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
A blade glittered in her hand. He felt a small stab of fear. “I see you are armed with something more than a knitting needle this time.”
“Thank you for bringing this handsome young man here, Ilea,” Tamara said to Lady Sardontine. “I would be grateful if you could leave us for a while.”
“It was a pleasure, my dear,” said Lady Sardontine. “One I hope to have the chance to repeat soon.”
“So here we are again,” said Rik. The voices jabbered in his head. They were afraid of the sword, afraid that if he died they would lose their last toehold in life. He could not blame them for that.
“I would say the situations are reversed since last we talked,” she said.
“You surely don’t intend to kill me here,” he said. “Not with all these high ranking Terrarchs around. Or is the Kharadrean Liberation Army about to claim another victim.”
“One of the things I like about you, Rik, is your sense of humour.”
“That is reassuring.”
“There are times you remind me of my father.”
“Believe me, that is a path you don’t want this conversation to go down.”
“I hear you had a meeting with him and his interesting friends in Harven.”
“News does travel fast.”
“I believe you rather impressed him. He did not expect you to survive your last meeting. My father is usually right about such things.”
The chorus in his head swelled in anger. He tried to force them down, to make himself concentrate. How did Tamara know about what had happened in Harven? The voices refused to be silenced. They wanted Malkior dead. In truth, he wanted Malkior dead. It did not seem particularly diplomatic to point this out. “He very nearly was.”
“And yet here you still are, just like after the Serpent Tower. You have a talent for survival it seems.”
He looked at the sword in her hand. “Is it poisoned?” he asked. He felt sure that with the spells Asea had taught him he might be able to survive that but he was not sure he could survive the thrust of an ordinary blade, not with Tamara wielding it. He was going to do his best though. There was still a huge well of power within him from his encounter with the Quan and he still carried his concealed dagger and pistol loaded with a truesilver bullet. That would give him a chance, even against her.
“No,” she said. “But it is woven round with some particularly nasty spells. I would advise you to keep your distance.”
She seemed as wary of him, as he was of her. At least he had that small edge. “Why am I here?” he asked.
“I wanted to know if you had considered the offer I made you the last time we talked.”