A man who gazed round the room with a vacant and pleasant smile.
“No!” I shouted, surprised to hear Ambrose’s tenor join in, along with Merle’s warning caw. I don’t think that we’d have stopped Sondra in time, except that something intervened, her movements going slow as if through viscous fluid. Her brow creased and her lip curled in a delayed snarl as she fought to complete the strike but couldn’t.
I looked to Ambrose and found him staring at her intently, a hand raised in the air like a priest of Sawehl giving a blessing. The wizard slid me a sideways look. “I can hold her a bit longer, but best to disarm her.”
I didn’t question it—much as I wanted to ask why, if he could freeze people mid-attack, he hadn’t demonstrated this very useful ability before this—and strode over to pry the dagger from Sondra’s fingers. She almost didn’t seem to notice, her attention focused on the unresisting man she throttled.
I tucked her blade in my belt and nodded at Ambrose, who dropped his hand. Sondra continued her motion at her usual lightning speed, slashing at the emissary’s throat with the dagger she no longer held, spinning him away from herself in a continuation of the motion. Then her mind caught up and she rebalanced, staring perplexed at her empty hand, then at the unharmed emissary.
No fool, she immediately glared at Ambrose. “What did you do?” she demanded.
“Enabled you to obey your king’s orders,” he replied calmly, indicating me.
“Since when have you cared enough about that to hit me with a magic spell?”
“It wasn’t a spell,” Ambrose replied with injured dignity. “That’s not—”
“—not how magic works,” Sondra and I chimed in to finish with him.
The wizard sniffed in annoyance. “Well, it isn’t. Besides, he’s no threat now. I have him under control.”
“And what do you want us to do with him?” I asked, handing Sondra back her dagger. She stared at it like it might turn on her, then shook her head and sheathed it. I stepped in front of the fancily dressed emissary and looked into his placidly smiling face.
“I thought you had questions,” Ambrose replied mildly.
Right. “How many do I get?”
Ambrose rolled his eyes. “He’s not a djinn released from a bottle. Ask as many as you like until I can’t hold him anymore.”
“How long will that be?” Sondra wanted to know, sidling up and drawing her dagger to have it ready.
“You’ll be the first to know,” Ambrose replied and sat on the bed, somewhat heavily. “A few minutes,” he admitted.
“Tell us about the fortifications at Yekpehr.”
Leuthar shrugged. “I’m a lowly emissary. I’m hardly privy to matters of defense.”
“How much vurgsten does Anure have stockpiled?” We’d cut off his supply chain, but he’d had years to lay in supplies.
“I don’t even know what that is.” Leuthar leered at Sondra. “Maybe you should suck my cock and see if that tickles my memory.”
She growled, low and dangerous, but smiled sweetly. “But if you’re screaming and bleeding from me biting it off, will you be coherent?”
“Aw, don’t be so churlish.” Syr Leuthar’s gaze slid over her, lingering on her bare legs. “Your face may be ruined, but your body looks pretty enough still. I could make a special pet of you. I’ve a dog collar that—”
He never finished the sentence, his words ending in a burble that seemed to take him by surprise, even as his eyes glazed and he crumpled to the floor, throat billowing blood from the ear-to-ear slice Sondra had dealt him. She’d moved too fast for me to see, much less stop, and stood over him, bloody knife in hand, shaking with fury. “You were saying?” she hissed.
“No more questions,” I noted.
“The guards below are napping,” Ambrose said. “A good time for us to leave anyway.”
“Sorry.” Sondra glanced at me, chagrined. “I lost my temper.”
“Now we don’t have to drag him around.” I shrugged. If I’d been her, I would’ve cut his throat for that, too. We hadn’t had the time to torture him into talking anyway. “They relocked and barred the trapdoor, though.”
“Merle can take care of that,” Ambrose said, the raven taking wing before he finished and darting out the open window. A moment later, the bar scraped and the lock snicked.
I glared at Ambrose. “Why,” I asked through gritted teeth, “did you let us stay in here if you could do that all along?”
“I got you your private audience, didn’t I?” He hmphed. “Not my fault you blew it.”
“What else did you say to Queen Euthalia, anyway?” Sondra wanted to know, making a last check of the bodies for anything she wanted to take. “She sounded thoroughly pissed at you. I think your wooing skills need some serious work.”
“I’ll take the lead,” I said, pointing at the stairs and deciding not to dignify that with an answer. “Ambrose in the middle, and Sondra as rear guard. Ready?”
“Ready, Conrí,” they replied, each giving me their own salute. I opened the trapdoor and Merle flew through, cawing in triumphant tones.
Time to escape this pretty prison.
23
Alone, I paced the confines of my private chamber, pressing a hand to my corseted belly, willing my roiling stomach to behave and settle. It didn’t help that the panicked hyperventilating made me dizzy. I made myself sit to catch my breath, but my shrieking nerves would have none of it. Leuthar’s taunting words spurred me on, and I rose again, pacing.
… So pleased with You … intends to reward Your long and lonely, virginal vigil … Bring Your wedding gown, for You are to be married at last.
I needed to think. I needed time and I had none left.
Two hours.
Ridiculous that even Anure would expect me to leap to his bidding on such short notice. Bring my wedding gown, indeed! Did he imagine I kept it enshrined on a special mannequin where I petted it and dreamed of marrying the imperial toad? Probably.
A quick knock sounded—Tertulyn’s special code, so I called for her to enter—and she came in, carrying a bottle of brandy and box of ice. Nudging the door closed with her hip, she set down the box, snagged a glass, and poured as she walked.
“Let me tend to You, Euthalia,” she said, her smile soothing.
I took the glass but scowled at it. “I need my head clear.”
“You’re pale to fainting under Your makeup,” she chided. “I heard everything. The whole palace has. You may be Queen of Calanthe, but You wouldn’t be human if this edict hadn’t knocked You back on Your heels. You don’t need to be strong with me. Am I not Your oldest and closest friend? Drink.”
Put that way, it sounded like a reasonable solution. I drank, the brandy burning down my throat with cleansing heat. Mutely, I held out my empty glass and she refilled it, then set down the bottle.
“Sit, Euthalia,” she urged, guiding me back to the chair I’d abandoned. “Let me loosen Your stays a bit and—”
“No,” I said. “I don’t have time to get all dressed again. Two hours! The man gave Me two hours to board his ship. Do I even have a wedding gown?”
“Not that I know of and I know everything about You, according to court gossip.” Tertulyn smiled, pleased that she’d made me laugh, however halfheartedly. She took a cloth and soaked it in the ice water, laying it on the back of my neck.
The scent of lavender wisped cool over my skin, and I sighed in relief, though water droplets snaked down my back, tickling as they went until they soaked into my undergarments. Sipping at the brandy, I breathed as evenly as I could. I wanted to enjoy this, to let my old friend soothe me. But we weren’t girls anymore, with small spats to resolve with simple gestures and easy forgiveness.
I was queen, and that meant I had to ask the hard questions. “Where were you?”
“I got here as soon as I heard,” she replied, leaving the cloth on my neck and dabbing at my temples with another. “I only paused to gather ice, lavender water, and bra
ndy.”
“Tertulyn.” I weighted her name with my disappointment and the expectation of an honest reply. Then sighed when she didn’t immediately answer. “Where were you when Leuthar woke and received the messenger bird?”
Her gown rustled. “I’m so deeply sorry, Your Highness, but … I’m such an idiot! I fell asleep.”
“Asleep?” I echoed. I’d never known her to lapse in such a way.
“I know it, and I have no excuse.” She dabbed at my temples with renewed vigor, and I stayed her hand.
“Too much and you’ll have to fix My makeup,” I cautioned her.
“I don’t mind.”
“I do. I have very little time and I can’t afford to squander any redoing what’s already been done.” Including sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Ejarat knew I’d done that aplenty. I stood, tossing back the rest of the brandy and letting the burn clear the haze from my mind. “You fell asleep.”
She cringed a little as I faced her, though I thought I hadn’t sounded severe, just confused. Casting her gaze out the windows, she nodded, speaking quietly. “I’m so ashamed, Euthalia, that I let You down, but I’ve been staying up so late, going to the parties and gathering the gossip for You, watching Leuthar all the time … I only closed my eyes a moment, pretending to have a wine headache from the night before, and I … When I woke, Leuthar had already left his quarters.” She met my gaze, finally, as she finished, blue eyes damp with regret. “I’m so sorry that I let You down so terribly.”
I sighed. Waved a hand. “In the end it doesn’t matter. I didn’t succeed in what I’d hoped to carry off.”
“What were You planning?” she asked, tilting her head curiously. “I don’t think You had time to tell me.”
I hadn’t had time, no. More than that—the orchid’s petals brushed my fingers—something had made me cautious. If I’d succeeded in convincing the Lady Sondra and Ambrose to take my offer of sanctuary, I’d planned to keep the substitutions highly secret. Only Dearsley had known of my plan, as I’d needed him to find appropriate condemned prisoners for me to dress up as Con’s companions. I should let him know that plan failed, though he might guess if indeed the entire palace thought I’d be departing. I’d hardly have been in a position to send substitutes for Sondra and Ambrose if I had to scurry to be ready to board the ship with the prisoners. And I hadn’t even called my ladies to begin packing.
Packing. Blessed Ejarat, how could I possibly arrange to go in time? I’d made no provisions for the governing of Calanthe. Dearsley could be regent for a time, but … My heart picked up its frantic pace again and I regretted not letting Tertulyn loosen my stays. I couldn’t breathe.
“Euthalia?” A polite and pretty frown furrowed Tertulyn’s brow.
“We have to tell Syr Leuthar I can’t possibly leave on the evening tide.”
Her frown deepened. “But His Imperial Majesty said—”
“Who knows what he actually said and how much is Leuthar’s political maneuvering,” I snapped. “I need to speak to Leuthar, with an audience as witness. It’s too late to convene court, but let’s—Ah yes!—let’s call for a celebratory toast. Call My ladies and everyone who can to gather in the fountain foyer. Make sure as many from My salons who are awake are there. Break out the best champagne. And tell Leuthar to attend. He’s up above in the detention tower interviewing Con and the others. Quickly, Tertulyn, there’s no time to lose.”
But she held up a hand. “I’m so confused, Euthalia. Please, who is Con? And You want a toast—now, with Leuthar and the best champagne, but why?”
“Con is the name of the man we knew as the Slave King,” I replied patiently, going to my desk and extracting my best stationery.
“I didn’t know it had a name,” she replied archly, adding a titter that faded as I leveled a very serious look at her.
“Conrí. Lady Sondra. Ambrose. Those are their names.”
“Well, I didn’t know. They didn’t give them in court. I suppose You found that out in Your private interrogation. What was that about anyway?”
So many questions. Had she always asked me so many questions? Perhaps not, as she’d never had to before. “I want a toast to lull Leuthar into complacency so I can announce a ball for tonight—to celebrate My impending nuptials—and explain then how I can’t possibly leave Calanthe before three days. Can I get away with claiming that many days to get ready? I think so. I’ll pen the letter Myself for the bird to take to Anure.”
“A … ball?” Tertulyn echoed, looking dazed. “For tonight, because You … won’t be leaving yet?”
Biting back the sigh, I went to her and took her hands in mine. They were cold and wet from handling the ice. Though I wanted to tell her to keep up and do what I said, I squeezed her fingers and smiled reassuringly. “You said I’d think of something and I have. Get Calla to arrange the ball while you go order the champagne toast. Send Ibolya and Nahua to Me to run errands. And send one of My door guards to fetch Xichos for Me.”
She blinked at me a moment longer, confused and wary. “Yes, Your Highness,” she replied, not moving yet. “But I—”
“No time, Tertulyn,” I cut in. “Go.”
She picked up her skirts and went at last. I put her odd behavior out of my mind for the moment, needing to concentrate on the correct tone for my reply to Anure. What could I say to win myself a few days of reprieve? Oh, Ejarat, now that the time had come, I didn’t think I had the courage to go through with it.
Think. Don’t worry about what happens when the time is up. Get the reprieve, use it to think up a new plan.
I needed to appeal to Anure’s need for ceremony appropriate to a celebrated emperor. Anure’s greatest weakness was fear of illegitimacy. The louder he proclaimed his right to be emperor, the more clearly the voice of his fear showed through. Anure had no royal upbringing to fall back on, no training in courtly etiquette. Even as he’d killed and destroyed the kings and queens of the noble families, he’d longed to be one of them.
Use your power as queen of the last independent kingdom in all the empire to end his blight upon the world. Con had said that. Though he was an idealistic fool, he had spoken a seed of truth there. As queen of Calanthe, the last free queen—more or less—of the known world, I would bring legitimacy to Anure’s rule. I needed to remind him of that. Putting everything else out of my mind—the deaths his current wives would face, the prospect of my own suicidal marriage, leaving Calanthe alone and without an heir—I set ink pen to paper and addressed my future husband in my most elegant script.
Con wanted me to end the empire, promising me his secret weapon to tear down walls. Well, I was no warrior. But I knew how to tear down personal walls. Anure had built a fortress of his own ego, protecting the fragile thing inside thick barriers constructed of absolute power and brutal tyranny. I could breach them with my own subtle rebellion of careful words.
I wrote of our impending nuptials, how they’d inspire the empire and set the fashion for decades—possibly centuries—to come. We’d be founding his dynasty and future generations would hark back to this wedding, wanting to emulate the first and greatest of the emperors.
Warming to my topic, I moved to the extensive planning needed—and how Calanthe, isle of pleasure and all things of most-desired beauty and refinement, could supply the requirements of such a grand event. Carefully I alluded to other famous weddings and how they’d lasted for days, so ours must last longer, so as not to pale in significance. I would bring my own fresh flowers, and the best of wines.
Calla, Ibolya, and Zariah came and went, reporting on their tasks and hurrying off to execute more. Less than an hour to the celebratory toast. My letter needed to be sent before that. Fortunately, writing it helped order my thoughts for my formal—and public—set-down of Leuthar’s impetuous plan. Of course, I could simply refuse to go. The emissary might try to have his contingent of Imperial Guards bodily move me—though I’d like to see him try, as my guard greatly outnumbered them. For that matter, m
y ladies could defend me to a point. That would cause complications, however, and blood spilled in violence to the point of murder.
And that would win me even less in the long game, as Anure would surely come down on Calanthe with all his might.
Diplomacy and calling upon the arcane world of noble females would thwart him. His Imperial Majesty wanted me to bring a wedding gown? Obviously, the wedding gown of an empress should outshine all others, past or future. I must set the finest dressmakers in Calanthe to sewing the best silk with their most delicate threads of all colors, including the fragile strands of gold and silver, to embroider the exotic blooms of Calanthe intertwining with Anure’s great rock of a citadel.
Crushed beneath it would be more appropriate. I laughed to myself without humor and continued on. I’d begun to convince even myself as I spun my fictions of a wedding whose glamour would dazzle the entire empire. Such an event should be years in the planning—though I didn’t dare test Anure’s temper by suggesting as much—but months, surely. By the time I’d finished writing, I’d made an excellent case for waiting until spring in Yekpehr, still several months away. Hopefully Anure wouldn’t counter with proposing a wedding in Calanthe, island of eternal summer. To forestall that eventuality, I added a postscript suggesting how the towers and battlements of Yekpehr could be employed in memorabilia to seal the event in memory and for all posterity.
Satisfied—at least, as best I could be for a hasty and desperate maneuver—I folded the letter myself, employing my skills to make it intricate, beautiful, and obviously from my hand. None of my ladies had returned from their current errands. How inconvenient. And odd, as they normally checked back regularly. I had asked a great deal of them in a short time, however.
I crossed my private study with quick steps, as much as balancing the wig and crown allowed, invigorated by my plan and feeling far better than my frantic pacing of only an hour earlier. Opening the door, I had already begun to ask the guard at the door to summon my master fowler when I stopped mid-word, beyond surprised to find no one there.
The Orchid Throne Page 23
