Tower & Knife 03 - The Tower Broken by Mazarkis Williams Page B

mountain. It had been barred, and travel north of the city had been forbidden. The Great Storm presented too great a danger.
    She lifted the glass, hoping to catch sight of it.
    ‘So he is gone.’ The voice came from behind her. Mesema lowered the astrologers’ device and turned to see Nessaketstanding over the roses, her shoulders stooped like an old woman’s. Behind her stood the ever-present guards. No one came to the garden without them, not since Jenni – working for the treacherous Lord Jomla – had attacked them on the night of the fire, the same night rebels took Nessaket’s son Daveed. Nessaket pointed towards the Blessing. ‘You should have gone with him, Empress.’ Since her injury she had taken to a plain way of speaking, like a Rider, though she would not have appreciated the comparison. The head blow she had suffered left her dizzy and prone to headaches, but her eyes remained clear.
    ‘I will not leave you before Daveed is found,’ Mesema said.
    ‘You should have gone,’ Nessaket repeated. ‘This city will turn to dust at last, and we with it.’
    ‘Sarmin halted the emptiness once before,’ Mesema said, too sharply, but then, Nessaket should have known better than to suggest failure. ‘He will halt it again, and we will find Daveed.’
    ‘It is better we do not.’
    Mesema took the Empire Mother’s hand and guided her to the bench. ‘Come, Mother,’ she said, ‘your headaches tire you and you say things you do not mean. Sarmin will not leave his brother in Mogyrk hands.’
    Nessaket sat and did not speak again for a time. Mesema stretched out her legs, still aching from all those stairs.
    ‘Perhaps he has a nursemaid who coos over him,’ said Nessaket. ‘Perhaps at this moment he is laughing, and reaching for a shiny toy. Perhaps he could grow to be a merchant or a priest and nobody will know who he truly is. But here … here he is one extra boy. It is easy to love a tiny child, but as he grows, Sarmin will watch him and wonder and begin to fear.’ She turned away, her eyes dark with memory. ‘No, he is safer elsewhere. And so are you.’
    ‘I listen, and I hear, my mother. But you do not know the future any better than I.’
    ‘Do you not know the future?’ Nessaket glanced at her sidelong.
    Mesema squeezed her hand. ‘The Hidden God is not always clear.’ She closed her eyes, remembering the events at Lord Nessen’s house. ‘I must believe Daveed’s safest place is with his mother.’ She looked out over the city: Sarmin’s city. Those streets under the bright sun were filled with his people and he was responsible for all of them – merchant, beggar and prince – yet he had managed to save only his son so far.
    It was not unusual at this time of day for a carriage to creak its way up the palace road, but it was unusual to see one with a painted roof. Mesema held the glass to her eye and studied the unique emblem, two pine branches enclosing a hammer. She had seen it once before, when the Fryth delegation had arrived bearing Marke Kavic. She tried to read the faces of the men who flanked this carriage, but the spyglass wavered in her hand.
    Nessaket stood, her black hair tinted orange in the sunset. ‘Daveed.’ Her voice carried urgency and also hope, which Mesema found unexpected, considering all she had just said.
    ‘You think …?’ Mesema rose to her feet.
    Nessaket did not reply but hurried towards the stairs, forcing her guards to dance out of her way. Mesema turned back towards the distant ships.
My son
. He was as safe as she could make him; she could do no more. She hurried after Nessaket, pinching the flesh of her palm to keep the tears away, letting one pain serve as a distraction from the other.
    She followed Nessaket through the halls of the old women’s wing, her breath harsh in her throat. The burnt sections had been taken down and removed, making the space feel hollow.Once this wing had assaulted her eyes with its colourful walls and floors, its