“No,” Tariic said.
The lhesh stared out of the window into the night. Unlike Tariic, Makka found more to look at inside the chamber than out. The final transition of power in Khaar Mbar’ost seemed to find a reflection here. What had been Haruuc’s royal quarters were now Tariic’s. Old trophies of war had been shuffled out and luxuries brought in. Makka couldn’t have guessed where the rich goods came from other than somewhere beyond Darguun’s borders. Thick carpets in strange patterns. Furniture carved with delicate vines and flowers. Small chests of hammered metal inlaid with bright stones. Sweet-scented candles of uncommonly smooth wax in stands of fine ironwork. All had been haphazardly placed or tumbled about the room, abandoned when Tariic had ordered the servants out.
A grin of pleasure spread across Makka’s face. He belonged to the Fury. He knew the currents of vengeance. When Tariic had told Pradoor about Geth’s treacherous theft of the Rod of Kings, asking if she knew any prayers or divinations to locate lost objects, he’d recognized the hands of the Six. Pradoor knew no such prayers.
As if sensing the smile, Tariic turned and met his eyes. His ears went back. “Pradoor, I permit your servant’s presence. I won’t suffer his insolence.”
“He isn’t my servant, Tariic,” said the old goblin. Pradoor perched on top of a spindly little table, her fingers idly tracing the deep carvings of the dark wood. “He serves the Six. Surely his insolence is no greater than yours.”
Tariic bared his teeth, speaking between them. “Have care, Pradoor!”
“Or what?” Pradoor turned white eyes in the direction of Tariic’s voice. “Perhaps you don’t believe you need to humble yourself before the Six, but you need me. My words brought you the people. My words can take them away.” She smiled and her blind gaze softened. “But there is nothing in that for me, lhesh,” she added. “Continue to show favor to the Six as you promised and I will be your most loyal councilor.”
Tariic’s eyes narrowed, but his ears and face relaxed a little. “You use me, Pradoor.”
“As you use me, lhesh,” said Pradoor, inclining her head. “Consider this my best advice: why do you seek the Rod of Kings with such vigor when you possess what you need? The rod you hold has power even I can feel. All accept it as if it were the true rod. Rule with it and find Geth in your own time.”
“The rod was a triumphant gift from my uncle to the nation. It is my duty to recover the true rod. It would be a shame upon him if I didn’t.” A harsher tone crept into his voice. “And as long as I don’t possess the true rod, there is the risk that the false rod will be revealed. I must have the Rod of Kings in my hands as quickly as possible.”
If Makka hadn’t been looking directly at Tariic-and if Tariic hadn’t been looking at Pradoor as he spoke, his reactions attuned more to her blindness than to anything else-he would have missed the momentary tightening of the lhesh’s face and the darting of his eyes to the false rod where it rested alongside the spiked crown of Darguun on a velvet covered sideboard.
The grin on Makka’s face slipped away. Tariic’s glance had the look of greed, of a hunter who had made a good kill, but still wanted more. Makka felt a twinge of unease.
Tariic seemed to regard the fading of his smile as nothing more than proper concern. The hobgoblin’s ears rose and he nodded to Makka. “Yes,” he said, “there’s nothing amusing in that, is there?” He gathered the tiger skin cloak that was still fastened around his shoulders and sat down in a nearby chair. “Until the rod has been retrieved, this matter is a secret. No one outside of this room is to know that Geth is being hunted. Daavn, find another explanation for the death of the guard he murdered on the stairs. The guards who were with you when he jumped-where are they?”
“Out in the streets. Searching for him.”
“Deal with them.”
There was a hard finality in his words. “Mazo,” said Daavn. “But people will start to wonder what’s become of Geth.”
Tariic sat back. “I have a solution ready,” he said, ears twitching. “One that Geth himself made possible and inspired.” He raised his voice. “You can come in now.”
A door opened and Geth stepped into the room.
Makka held back his rage, just as he had when he had faced the shifter before the coronation. To be so close to one of those he had sworn to kill and yet be forced to cooperate with him…
Yet something was different. Geth looked nervous, but not startled or ready to attack as he had before. He looked at them all in turn before his eyes finally settled on Tariic and he gave a little bow. Pradoor slapped Makka’s thigh.
“What’s this?” she demanded. “Who’s there?”
“Geth,” Makka growled. “But not Geth.”
Tariic frowned. “Perceptive.” He looked at Geth. “Well?”
“I only met him once,” Geth muttered. “I don’t have much to go on. It would be best if I stayed away from people who know him well. You think this is easy?”
“It’s easier than dying in a corner of my dungeon,” Tariic said. “Show them.”
Geth wrinkled his nose-then his face flowed and changed, becoming dusky-skinned and softly formed with wide eyes milkier than Pradoor’s. Makka’s lips pulled back from his teeth. “Wax baby,” he spat and Pradoor cackled.
The changeling looked more uncomfortable now than he had as Geth. He didn’t look any more uncomfortable, however, than Daavn. The hobgoblin’s ears flicked furiously, almost pulling back flat. He stepped in close to Tariic and tried to whisper in his ear. Makka caught some of his words. “You can’t trust a changeling, Tariic. They’re treacherous-”
Tariic pushed him back. “Daavn,” he said coldly, “this is Ko. Have you ever met before?”
Daavn drew a breath, then spread his hands. “If we have, I didn’t know it. You know what they say about changelings: they all look the same or else completely different-”
The lhesh cut him off. “Ko, have you ever met Daavn of Marhaan before?”
“Not as such,” Ko said without hesitation. “But I met a masked hobgoblin named Wuud once who sounded a lot like him. He hired me to do a job. That job landed me in your dungeon.”
Daavn’s ears flattened. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”
“I do,” said Tariic. “You tried to undermine my uncle by having Vounn d’Deneith kidnapped, Daavn. Somehow Vounn guessed it. She told Geth. Geth tried to warn me about you.”
The warlord of the Marhaan was still and silent for a long moment. Finally, he bowed his head. “I schemed against Haruuc, lhesh. But remember that I also guided you to power.”
“You guided me as a boatman without oars or rudder guides his boat down the Ghaal-I brought you with me.” Even without crown or rod, it seemed to Makka that Tariic radiated command. “The relationship between us is changed, Daavn. Remember that.” He turned his head. “Have you learned from this, Pradoor?”
Pradoor sat for the space of five heartbeats, as if listening to some distant voice only she heard, then ducked her head as well. “I have, lhesh.”
“I am pleased.” He gestured to Ko. Makka watched, his skin creeping, as the changeling’s features once again shifted into those of Geth. Tariic spread his arms on the arms of the chair, sitting as if it were the blocky throne of Darguul. “Now,” he said, “the real Geth could possibly be hiding anywhere in Rhukaan Draal. Our chances of finding him are slim. However, I’m certain that there must be someone who knows where he is.”
He rose and strode to the false rod, plucking it from its velvet resting place and turning it in his hands. “There could be several reasons Geth might want the rod. Perhaps to sell to another nation. Perhaps as some remembrance of Haruuc. In any case, the scheme isn’t something he could have created on his own.” His smile exposed his teeth. “He’s brave and stubborn, a good fighter, but not a schemer. He must have had help.”