had left. If the wrong person noted their departure so
close to the critical time and made the wrong calculation…. She pressed the heels of her
hands against her eyes and exhaled softly, very near to a groan.
Even should she escape suspicion of murdering Tuon, if the woman was dead, then she
herself would be required to apologize to the Empress, might she live forever. For the
death of the acknowledged heir to the Crystal Throne, her apology would be protracted,
and as painful as it was humiliating; it might end with her execution, or much worse, with
being sent to the block as property. Not that it would actually come to that, though in her
nightmares it often did. Her hand slid beneath the pillows to touch the unsheathed dagger
there. The blade was little longer than her hand, yet more than sharp enough to open her
veins, preferably in a warm bath. If time came for an apology, she would not live to reach
Seandar. The dishonor to her name might even be lessened a little if enough people
believed the act was itself an apology. She would leave a letter explaining it so. That
might help.
Still, there was a chance Tuon remained alive, and Suroth clung to it. Killing her and
spiriting the body away might be a deep move ordered from Seanchan by one of her
surviving sisters who coveted the throne, yet Tuon had arranged her own disappearance
more than once. In support of the notion, Tuon’s der’sul’dam had taken all of her sul’dam
and damane into the country for exercise nine days ago, and they had not been seen since.
Exercising damane did not require nine days. And just today—no; yesterday, now, by a
good few hours—Suroth had learned that the Captain of Tuon’s bodyguard also had left
the city nine days ago with a sizable contingent of his men and not returned. That was too
much for coincidence, and very nearly proof. Near enough for hope, at least.
Each of those previous disappearances, however, had been part of Tuon’s campaign to
win the approval of the Empress, might she live forever, and be named heir. Each time,
some competitor among her sisters had been forced or emboldened to acts that lowered
her when Tuon reappeared. What need had she of such stratagems now, here? Rack her
brains how she would, Suroth could not find a worthy target outside Seanchan. She had
considered the possibility that she herself was the mark, but only briefly and only because
she could think of no one else. Tuon could have stripped her of her position in the Return
with three words. All she needed to do was remove the veil; here, the Daughter of the
Nine Moons, in command of the Return, spoke with the voice of the Empire. Bare
suspicion that Suroth was Atha’an Shadar, what those this side of the Aryth Ocean called
a Darkfriend, might have been enough for Tuon to have handed her over to the Seekers
for questioning. No, Tuon was aiming at someone else, or something else. If she did still
live. But she had to. Suroth did not want to die. She fingered the blade.
Who or what else did not matter, except as a clue to where Tuon might be, but that was
very important. Immensely so. Already, despite the announcement of an extended
inspection trip, whispers floated among the Blood that she was dead. The longer she
remained missing, the more those whispers would grow, and with them the pressure for
Suroth to return to Seandar and make that apology. She could only resist so long before
she would be adjudged sei’mosiev so deeply that only her own servants and property
would obey her. Her eyes would be ground into the dirt. Low Blood as well as High,
perhaps even commoners, would refuse to speak to her. Soon after that, she would find
herself on a ship whatever her wishes.
Without doubt Tuon would be displeased at being found, yet it seemed unlikely her
displeasure would extend so far as Suroth being dishonored and forced to slit her wrists;
therefore Tuon must be found. Every Seeker in Altara was