The Tainted Cup (Shadow of the Leviathan, #1)(79)

I thought about it. “I suppose I can’t quit, can I?”

“Quit?”

“Yes. Not sure any dispensation could be worth this, ma’am.”

She grinned. “Maybe not. But the Hazas know your name, child. If you quit now, they will wonder why, and come asking, and they shall not be as fun to work with as I. Only way out is through. Now clean yourself up and get fucking going!”





CHAPTER 26


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WHEREAS THE LEGION’S CARRIAGE had been a rattling, rambling, tottering thing, the carriage of the Hazas was sleek, soft, and smooth. I felt not a bump and caught not a bruise as we hurtled along, my backside pressed into the powder-blue cushions.

But this did not mean the ride was comfortable. On either side of me sat two Haza guards, enormous men with wrists as thick as my neck, and nearly twice as broad as I. Their eyes did not leave my figure. Cold gazes, chilly and remote. Fell hands with a sword, surely.

Across from me sat Fayazi’s two Sublimes. The engraver looked upon me like a surgeon might a septic limb. The axiom remained totally unreadable, but her dark, needle-like eyes did not move from my person. I felt my skin crawling the more she stared.

Between them sat the woman herself: Fayazi Haza, draped over her cushions like a coat tossed over a chair. She watched me carefully yet inscrutably, her wide amethyst eyes alluring but unreadable. It felt like being watched by an enormous doll.

And yet I was still drawn to her. To the luminous paleness of her skin, to her delicate neck. I had not felt drawn to a woman like this before, and I knew enough to know it was unnatural. Yet I also felt damned silly to be seated before her in my muddy Iudex coat, and my straw cone hat askew upon my head.

“You,” Fayazi said finally, “are very tall.” She said it in tones of slight offense, like I had chosen an inappropriate piece of wardrobe for the occasion.

I waited for more. When nothing came, I bowed and said, “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Is it natural?” she said.

“My height? It is.”

“And your face? Your features? Those are natural, too?”

“Ah. They are, ma’am.”

“Hum. How audacious.”

“Afraid I had little say in the matter, ma’am.”

She studied me with that enigmatic doll’s gaze. “You have things, Signum,” she said, “you wish to ask me.”

I looked at her. Then I looked to the right and left, at the guards on either side of me, and then the Sublimes on either side of her. All of them watched me silently. This was not how I’d expected to do the interview.

“I do, ma’am,” I said. “But I had thought I’d question you at your home.”

She waved a hand, bored. “Ask me now.”

I hazarded another glance at our audience. Then I slid open my engraver’s satchel, slid out a vial, sniffed it—this one aromatic of mint—and said, “Tell me about the day before your father died, please.”

“Mm.” She narrowed her eyes very slightly. “We had a party. A big one. We had planned it for some time. Many come to our celebrations. Some wish to, others feel they must. Some of them were colleagues of yours, as you no doubt know.”

“How many came?”

She waved her hand at the engraver. His eyes shivered, and he quickly said, “Out of a list of one hundred forty-six invited, we had one hundred twelve attend.”

“Can you provide me with a list of all the attendees?” I asked.

“Certainly,” said Fayazi. “But not now. I am not going to fill my day listening to two engravers recite memories. But I will make sure you receive the appropriate information, in full.” I noticed she seemed a great deal less breathy and innocent now. “It was a rare event, you know. We used to open our halls many times a year—once a month, or more. But contagion has put an end to that. So much is brought in from the Plains of the Path, why, I almost hesitate to breathe the air in Talagray proper.”

“What is the purpose of these events, ma’am?”

“What is the purpose of any celebration?”

“Usually to celebrate something, ma’am. A betrothal. A birth. A sacred day.”

“Oh, no. Those things—the birth of famous folk, or the dates of their deaths—those are merely excuses to celebrate. People celebrate because they are desperate to reaffirm fellowship and remember what it is to be alive. It is at my halls that any officer in Talagray can come and hear the singers tell tales of the first Khanum coming to the Valley of the Titans. Or of the Sublimes Prificto, the first whose minds were altered. Or of the Third Emperor, Ejelgi Daavir, and his march along the Titan’s Path.” Her eyes shone bright with a queer energy, one I did not find wholesome. “My great-great-grandfather was there, you know. He was among the Legions that slaughtered the beasts and first cleared the path to the sea, and was awarded our first fief. That was before the cantons. Before the building of the third-ring walls.”

An uncomfortable beat.

“Very impressive, ma’am,” I said. “Can you tell me of your father’s movements? During the party?”

A glimmer of resentment in her eyes. Then she waved her hand again, bored. “He moved as one does during such a thing.”

“Can you describe that, though?”