The Ghost Tiger's Lament

Chapter Fourteen

“Worried?” Braksya asked the next morning, after she mentioned to him her encounter. He did not look up, intent on the daily filing of his nails. She had expected him to react to the news of the sorcerer, at least.

“How could I not be?” she snapped back. The itch of observation from before had not dissipated with Rahm’s departure, and only now did she realize just how much more anxious his brief visit had made her. He had said little, but his evident flight from the group hinted at a falling-out or fundamental disagreement among the bandits: a potential weakness, an opening to be taken advantage of. And though such a development might have encouraged her under other circumstances, she could not now relax.

Despite Phas’s promises that the princess was unhurt and would remain so under the sorcerer’s care, almost two weeks now had passed. Those promises were no longer valid.

The men of Khonua had no reason to keep the daughter of their enemy alive.

There had been so many alliances broken and forged and then broken and reforged in the past weeks that Ashne no longer knew for certain who was on whose side. Not that she ever had. Only two things had remained constant all this time: the princess was alive. The princess was with Phas’s employer. That was enough. Had been enough. She did not care about the whys and wherefores. They were not her concern, nor was it her place to be concerned. Her only purpose was to bring the princess safely back home.

She had not, until now, given thought to the possibility of failure.

She had not let herself.

“I am sure your precious princess is still alive,” said Braksya, as if he had read her mind. It was no surprise to her if he had. She knew all too well that she was no good at hiding her emotions, least of all from him, who seemed to see the world in disturbing clarity. She no longer even bothered.

Instead she demanded, “How can you be so sure?”

“Think. Who has the scabbard? What does the sorcerer desire? What can he offer in exchange?”

“Her death. That’s what he can offer.”

“Close. Once she is dead, however, there is little that stops the bandits from doing what they want. And little that keeps her father the king from bearing down on them in righteous vengeance. She is far more valuable as a hostage, even now. Both that funny chieftain and the sorcerer must realize this. Old Matron and the noblemen certainly will, even if their prince does not.”

“You are mistaken. King Khosian cares little for his daughter. And he does not need such flimsy excuses to sound the war drums.”

“Oh? Perhaps that is so. But I doubt the bandits see it that way. With the northern states bearing down on him, King Wat has no time to turn his attentions to a little toothless rebellion in his own lands. But if the princess, the key player in your current marriage negotiations, were to be killed...”

“All the more reason for them to kill her! Those Dragon ambassadors will take it as an insult. They will call off all negotiations at once. Everything the king has been working for will be —” She realized that she had perhaps spoken too much.

“And then what will they do? Strike back in retaliation? Drown the wildlands in blood and chaos, subjugate the kingdom as Wat subjugated Nua? I cannot say for the bandits, but do you truly think Matron and her noblemen wish for such an outcome?”

“They would never defeat us,” she said. “Not unless they allied with those very same noblemen.”

“Have you forgotten how much the north scorned the barbarian riverking Pashrai? How they cowered in fear of his father before him? It would be a bitter alliance, and short-lived.”