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No one had visited Rashad since the day Kherim and his nephew were there. Neither of the two guards had objected when he sent them to a room two blocks away with a transparent excuse. They understood the clear message: Lord Kherim had some business with the prisoners, and it was none of their affairs.
“You better be more than dried bones, Rashad,” he whispered under his breath as he walked past the empty bars until he reached the bench he occupied last time.
The inspector and the perfumer imprisoned with him sat on the ground cross-legged, pecking at the unrecognizable pigwash they tried to sell as food down here, but quickly set it aside when they saw their visitor.
“My lord. I didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.” Rashad rose and held his fist in front of his chest to salute. He had held up surprisingly well, only the strain in his eyes, the ever-thinning outline of his face, and the neglected beard gave away his suffering.
“You have to endure for a little more.”
“Just until my execution.” Rashad mocked. “Three days, maybe... Or more, time is confusing down here.”
“Last time I said I was playing against an unknown opponent, and the pieces were lined up against us,” Kherim said. “That has changed, at least somewhat.”
Rashad leaned against the bars with a curious glistening in his eyes. “You’ve managed more than I had, then. Not that I expected anything less from you, my lord.”
“I have, but we’re not done yet. The game is still rigged against us, and I’m afraid a storm will swallow up the desert soon. But the phantom has a name, Rashad. I know who’s stirring up Kahlaran’s peace, and I know how to deal with him.”
They looked at each other for an infinitely long second until Rashad’s lips curled into a half-smile. “My gut tells me you have a role for me, my lord.”
“You were always too clever for your own good,” Kherim said. “But you’re not wrong. I realized that the Marid—that is what the worm scheming against us calls himself—is just a symptom. It won’t cure the disease if I get rid of him. The disease itself sits on Kahlaran’s throne, not minding anything that happens in his province.”
Rashad’s dark eyes narrowed as the thought crept up to him. “Tell me you’re not planning what I fear, my lord.”
“Charta must be replaced,” Kherim said. “The only chance the city has against the storm headed our way is to build on a strong foundation. I doubt my brother would voluntarily relinquish his throne, and even though I am the qrahr, the prince remains the prince. To confront him in public would be the end of my career and my life, there’s no doubt about that.”
Rashad propped his head against the cold bars and closed his eyes for a moment.
“That’s a merciless thought, my lord. Not something the Great Divine rejoices in.”
“Mercy is a virtue for better days, Rashad,” Kherim said, to which Rashad just sighed.
“What would you have me do?”
“Keep resolute and keep silent. They’ll starve you, despise you, and call you a traitor. They will take you to the main square in chains, set you up on a podium and give the eulogy, while the news-hungry crowd shouts your name wildly. And then...” Kherim rose to emphasize the dramatic moment, then his face became almost dull with serenity. “Then a pardon from the prince will relieve you of all sins, clear your name and the names of everyone involved, so you can be a free man again. Then you can do whatever you want.”
Rashad snorted at the qrahr’s affecting words, folding his arms with a cynical expression.
“And I suspect that pardon will come from the dignified Prince Kherim Vivekanda.” His eyes wandered to the other side of the cell, meeting Osmi Asbith’s brown gaze. “What about Master Osmi and his daughter?'“
“From what I hear, his daughter is just as easy to handle as your nephew, running around the city, picking on the Marid’s nerves. Presumably, it’s due to them that I haven’t noticed a single assassin trying to strangle me, so showing mercy is a tight-fisted reward.”
“Do you plan to reward them tight-fisted, my lord?”
“That would be a waste of talent. Aspis, the snake that bites only once, but that’s enough. The army could use a soldier like that, especially in the coming days. And that girl, Zaira. If someone can avoid a spirit and an entire city guard for this long, that’s not something to underestimate.”
Rashad shook his head. “I already told Ezair that. He didn’t listen.”
“You weren’t headstrong enough, Rashad. The point is...” He walked up to the cell, clutching the inspector’s hands around the bars. “It is all clear from here. We both suffered from this. We will keep suffering for a bit, but then we’ll reap the rewards. You, me, your hot-headed nephew and his new girlfriend... and Kahlaran. But don’t take what I ask of you lightly.”
“I know, my lord. You ask me to bet my head on the speed of your courier to stop the execution,” Rashad said.
“I thought that would frighten you, Rashad.”
“After the war, death is not a thing that frightens me, Lord Kherim. I trust you and I’m willing to die if that’s required to save this city. But Ezair... He would surely have words about this.”
“Then don’t tell him. I doubt he’ll see you before it’s all over, but if he does... He could ruin the whole thing.”
The inspector nodded, still leaning against the bars. “I know, my lord. So be it. For Kahlaran.”