The Garden of Stones by Mark T. Barnes Read Free Book Online Page B

be the savior of our people. To do that I need to demonstrate a position of strength. I cannot be allowed to die.”
    “Or be diverted.” Thufan blew a cloud of foul smoke around the stem of his pipe. Mari waved it away from her face with a glare at the hook-handed old kherife. “Need to find Far-ad-din. Kill him and his allies.”
    “Including that cursed Indris!” Wolfram growled. “I suspect he was the one who found out what we were doing in the Rōmarq and told Far-ad-din. The weapons and treasures from the Time Master and Seethe ruins are proscribed for areason. Even the treasures with nonmilitary applications are considered too dangerous to be tampered with. It’s our end if we’re caught with them, until His Majesty is in a position to bend the laws. We must silence Indris, before he can tell anybody else what he knows. Ariskander, too.”
    “I’ll kill Ariskander for you, my rahn,” Farouk promised. The scars on his face writhed as he clenched his jaw. “To kill the Rahn-Näsarat would make my name.”
    “In time, Farouk.” Corajidin smiled grimly. “These things need to be planned. If we start negotiating with the Murad-dar and nahdi for a War of the Long-Knife, we need to be in a position to take it where it needs to go.”
    Mari scowled. Wars of the Long-Knife—or Ajamensût—were the small-scale, sanctioned wars preferred by the upper castes of the Avān. They were sometimes known as Wars of Assassins; the aggressors could claim plausible deniability for their involvement, given blood never touched their hands. The favored weapons of choice were assassins, such as the Murad-dar, who nested in the Mar Jihara to the north, or seasoned mercenaries. Disposable armies, without affiliation to anything save the money used to hire them. Her question regarding whether her father also wanted weapons from the ruins in the wetlands had answered itself.
    She was about to draw her father out further when a bright laugh distracted her. The others also turned to see what was so amusing. Yasha was sitting close to Belam, laughing at some witticism or other. They were of a kind, the two of them. Bejeweled and beautiful, perfumed and smooth, their hair oiled into ringlets. Razors in velvet.
    Yasha smiled. “Belamandris was telling me he plans on finding a bride, Mariam.”
    Belam shook his head from behind his stepmother’s back. He pantomimed strangling himself. Mari fought down a smile.
    “Really?” she replied with false interest. “Who do you have your eye on this time, Belam? Haven’t you already seduced and abandoned a good many women of note?”
Including your own stepmother, according to rumor.
    Belam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “I don’t think you’re in any position to judge, Mari. Perhaps if I met a woman as beautiful and accomplished as my sweet sister, then I wouldn’t stray so much.”
    Mari laughed and flicked her brother a rude gesture. Belam pretended to catch it, then put it in his pocket with mock wonder.
    “Belamandris married?” her father interjected. “I will talk with Vashne. His daughter, Vahineh, would make an ideal match.”
    “Vahineh looks like a shoe and reads too much. Nehrun’s sister Roshana is a different matter.” Belamandris frowned when Corajidin snorted, while Thufan barked his fast, false laugh. “Seriously, I don’t see why—”
    “No!” Corajidin sliced the air with his hand. “Everything I have will go to your brother Kasraman when the time comes, so you must make your own way in the world. Part of that is finding a bride who can secure you position and fortune. The Näsarats will provide you with neither.”
    “Roshana’s a woman of beauty and character,” Armal mused. He gazed at Mari. “She’s neither as beautiful, nor as gifted, as Pah-Mariam, of course.”
    “What did the rahn say about us remembering our place, Armal?” Farouk said. “You, too, need to find a bride fitting your station. Don’t aim too high.”
    Armal measured