'But your constant companion? Left behind?' Zhia enquired. There were quite a few white-eyes in the city, many of whom had been drafted into the Third Army to bolster the Fysthrall troops and set them well above the troops Zhia had influence over, so Coran would not have attracted undue notice. His absence surprised Zhia, and left her a little irritated – she had heard all the stories about the two having undertaken some obscure rite to link their minds, or souls, maybe, but she had not yet had the chance to observe them together.
'These are tense times,' Emin replied, 'and his temper is somewhat short, particularly in this uncivilised weather.'
'Tell him I sympathise. Tense times indeed, and thus your presence here is a remarkable risk.'
The king's face remained politely blank and inscrutable as he replied, 'A necessary one, Mistress. I have taken a few precautions in case I am recognised by the Circle, your good self notwithstanding, but I'm not here to continue that fight. I have business that cannot be delayed.'
Zhia looked at him for a moment, her head tilted on one side, as if (the were pondering her next remark. Finally she sighed, and said, 'I suggest you take care. Something is happening in this city, some sort of convergence. Your presence raises the stakes even higher.'
Emin nodded. 'That comes as no surprise,' he said mysteriously. Then he turned his attention to the ornate theatre gates. 'Look – I think the performance is about to start. We should find our seats.'
'One of my companions has had to join Siala, and my box will be terribly empty. Doranei, would you give me the pleasure of your company?' Zhia asked, a smile trembling on her lips. 'Haipar is no great fan of the theatre, and she does grumble so.'
'Haipar? The shapeshifter?' Emin asked sharply, receiving a nod from Haipar in response.
'And she is not the only Raylin in the city,' Zhia added as she offered her arm to Doranei. His cheeks flushed as he stepped forward and she beamed at him and patted his solid forearm with girlish affection.
Turning back to the king, she bade him goodbye. 'It has been a pleasure, as always – and I hope this happy chance meeting will be but the first of many. It would please me if you would join me for dinner one evening.' She grinned suddenly. 'The Circle, for all its many talents, is not known for its conversationalists.'
'Of course, Mistress,' Emin said with alacrity. 'And do be careful to return Doranei in one piece, he is somewhat delicate.'
Ignoring the amusement of Doranei's fellows, Zhia smiled in reply and swept through the gates, Doranei in tow and Haipar following close behind.
Zhia had retained one of the best boxes, in the newly built second tier. The darkness of the corridor was broken only by thin lines of light that leaked out of the gaps between the thick canvas curtains covering each small doorway. They could hear muffled voices and the scrape of chairs as their fellow theatre patrons made themselves comfortable for the evening's entertainment.
To Zhia's surprise, her private box was already occupied. As Doranei politely held back the curtain for her, the oil lamp within illuminated a person – a man, she quickly realised – sitting with his back to the stage. He looked up and Zhia could see his tattoos, black feathers on both cheeks, and an ugly red scar that cut down one side of his face. Oddly – for the tattoos alone marked him as other – he was dressed in a labourer's shirt and cropped trousers.
'While the boy who served us last night was somewhat lacking in commonsense,' Zhia commented as she entered her box, 'I confess to being a little surprised that he has been replaced by a monk… albeit a monk of unusual habits.'
'A former monk,' the man replied. His sharp-featured face looked shifty, suspicious. 'Vellern and I have parted company.'
'And so instead you grant me your company: am I to be placed above the Gods?' She turned to Doranei as he peered past her at the
stranger and said quietly, 'Could you give us a moment alone?'
The King's Man gave a grunt, looking hard at the former monk before retreating.
'I'm not here to discuss the Gods,' the man replied sourly. 'The minstrel told me to speak to you. Your interest in us has not gone unnoticed.'
'And you're here to warn me off?' Zhia said quietly. There was almost a sneer in her voice.
'I am here to say that we will not tolerate your spies any longer.'
Zhia bent down to look the man in the face. 'What is your name, little man?'
'My name? Jackdaw. My name is Jackdaw.' His eyes betrayed his growing apprehension.
'Well now, Jackdaw,' she snarled, ensuring he got a good look at her teeth and enjoying the way his face turned from white to green, 'tell your minstrel that if he wants to frighten me, he needs to work a little harder than this.'
'He- That was not the intention,' the monk almost spluttered. 'He hoped we could come to an understanding.'
'And what exactly is it that you wish me to understand?'
'That we need not be competitors,' the monk said, almost pleading, 'that we could help each other – be allies.'
And exactly what help would I need from you, little monk?' Her voice was soft, and menacing.
'What do you need? My master has a particular talent for helping the ambitious.' He sounded less shaky, back on firm ground. Ambition was something he could understand.
Zhia's hand darted out and she seized the monk around the throat. Jackdaw yelped and scrabbled at her fingers, but for all her apparent delicacy, he was helpless. She felt him reach for magic and the familiar coppery tang filled her mouth as she tore the energies from his grip.
Jackdaw gasped with shock. He began to tremble, as if he had only now recognised what danger he'd been sent to confront.
'My ambitions are my own. What do you think you can give me! What can I not take for myself?'
How can you take something you know nothing about?' Jackdaw croaked. 'What is more valuable in an age where the future is not certain than information?'
Zhia looked at him, considering. What else was going on in this city that she didn't know about? She knew spies for the Knights of the Temples were making overtures to Scree's elite, though they were hardly likely to fall for that. A necromancer was performing increasingly complex experiments somewhere in the poorer districts, but necromancers tended to be oblivious to politics. Neither were particularly interesting to her, at least at the moment.
'You presume much, for a failed monk,' Zhia said, her voice laced with scorn. The idea that the minstrel might fill in the blanks in this increasingly complex puzzle was horribly tantalising, and so she rejected the offer out of hand – she knew her own weaknesses quite well enough to see when someone was playing on them.
'I am just the messenger,' Jackdaw protested, quaking again,
'Well, messenger, get out.' She pulled him up from his seat and shoved him towards the curtained doorway. 'If your master wants to speak to me, he must do me the courtesy of attending on me in person.'
As the monk stumbled through the curtain, she called softly, 'And tell him to bring something real to bargain with. If I wanted promises whispered in the night I would find myself a love-struck boy.'
Doranei watched the tattooed man retreat, then raised an eyebrow at the vampire.
'Don't give me that indignant face,' she snapped, waving the Narkang agent back into the box. Doranei smirked, having at last elicited a reaction from her, but wisely said nothing as he took his seat next to her. Haipar poured them all a drink from the jug of wine conveniently found on the little table in the corner, then took up position behind Zhia. From there she could watch them both.
'So, Doranei,' Zhia began conversationally, once she'd arranged her skirts comfortably, 'what are you and your king doing here?'
He sighed. 'I couldn't tell you even if I did know.'