Jeweled Fire

by Sharon Shinn

  Now everyone at the table was so quiet that the clink of Melissande setting down her fork sounded louder than cannon fire. Filomara didn’t flinch.

  “I have an armed escort every time I leave as well,” the empress replied. “My subjects are loyal and loving, but there are always dangers. I would hope no one of any prominence ever travels the city unattended.”

  “I tried it once—just to see,” Corene went on. Her voice was polite, almost casual. “I was chased through the city by royal guards, but I eluded them. I saw them pounce on a woman with some violence just because she looked like me. They didn’t seem bent on my protection so much as my capture.”

  Filomara narrowed her eyes, considering how to answer. Harlo spoke first. “Filomara, is that true? They are under protective guard?”

  “They are representatives of foreign nations and their lives are precious,” Filomara snapped. “If harm came to any of them, we would instantly be at war—with yet another nation! Of course I have them watched! How could they possibly object?”

  “I do object,” Corene said. She couldn’t resist glancing at Garameno. “I have never liked it when anyone tried to control me.”

  “You have been treated with every kindness,” the empress ground out. “Shown nothing but courtesy. If you wanted to leave, you had merely to say so. But you have never been prisoners here.”

  “No, we’ve been hostages,” Corene said calmly. “You hope to embroil our home countries in your stupid war with Berringey.”

  There was a small outcry at that from Harlo and Mariana and even Bartolo. Filomara just gazed stonily back at Corene.

  “If that is the case,” she said. “I have been successful. There are Welchin naval ships a few miles out from the harbor and Coziquela ships are on the way.”

  “Really? Coziquela soldiers come to avenge me?” Melissande said. “But how romantic!”

  “Not to avenge you,” Filomara snapped. “To keep you safe from Berringese invaders.”

  “But the Berringese have done nothing to harm me,” Melissande pointed out.

  “Neither have I!” Filomara exclaimed. “I have kept you here, but I have kept you safe! Your own parents would have done the same!”

  “Clearly not,” Corene said. “My father allowed me to leave the country against his expressed wishes. He might be watchful, but he’s not a jailor.”

  “Or perhaps he’s not as careful as he could be with the things that really matter to him,” Filomara shot back.

  Corene laughed. “As careful as you are?” she demanded. “You sent your youngest daughter to Berringey to be murdered.”

  “That’s a lie!” Filomara cried. She slammed her open hand on the table and everyone pushed back as if they wanted to run from the room. But no one did. Everyone sat, frozen with horror, staring between the two of them. “I sent her to Berringey to marry a prince!”

  “Who you knew very well might be sacrificed, along with his whole family, if certain circumstances arose,” Corene said. “You gambled with her life. And you did it knowing exactly what the risks were.”

  Filomara was on her feet now, shaking with wrath. She had such presence, even with her small stature, that she seemed to tower over them. “I loved her,” she said in a low, furious voice. “I gave her the greatest opportunity of her life.”

  Corene stood more slowly. “And yet Subriella is dead. And Aravani is dead,” she said, knowing she sounded ruthless, sounded cold. She didn’t need to hear Steff murmur her name in a shocked voice to realize that. But she went on unheeding. “And ever since then, it has been nothing but lying and scheming as every single member of your court vies to be named your heir.”

  Filomara’s worn, sad face creased into a grim smile. “You would know something about that. You have fought for a crown at your court and at mine.”

  “I’m done now,” Corene said simply. “I want to go. Malinqua is too poisonous. Palminera is too dangerous. I don’t want to be the next corpse that shows up in this scramble for a throne.”

  There was another outcry at that, this one louder. “What do you mean by that?” Garameno demanded.

  She glanced down at him. “Count the bodies,” she advised, just as Foley had suggested so many ninedays ago. Why hadn’t she listened to him? “Subriella. Aravani. Aravani’s daughters. Two of Filomara’s brothers. Sarona. And now possibly Alette. Someone’s trying to clear a path to the throne and make sure there are no inconvenient bastards sired by careless heirs. I don’t want to get in the way.”

  Now the low murmur around the table was of consternation and denial. Corene could only make out a few phrases. But it was an accident! . . . A fever! . . . Nobody could have known about Berringey . . . Donato and Morli killed each other, everybody knows that . . . But she watched as a few faces registered doubt, horror, speculation. Could it possibly be true?

  Filomara’s hand slammed on the table again, bringing them all back to shocked silence. “Do you think I haven’t noticed?” the empress roared. “Do you think I overlooked the graves of my daughter, my granddaughters, my girls that I loved?” She swept a hand out as if she would sweep the room clean of murmuring ghosts. “Morli dead—and then Donato dead—not the same night, as everyone supposes, but two days apart. Who mixed those poisons?” Her finger stabbed at Garameno. “Your father?” She pointed at Jiramondi. “Yours?” She went around the room, gesturing at the mayor, at Harlo, even the stunned Sattisi. “You or you or you? Do you think I have not taken what steps I could to protect the heirs that I have left? Do not come here, little Welchin girl, and think to school me on the finer points of treason. I was old and bowed with grief before you were even born.”

  “And I am young and in fear for my life,” Corene said deliberately, shutting out any twinges of pity. “I want to go home.”

  “How I wish I could send you there,” Filomara spat out. “But I do not want your death on my conscience as well, and it is not safe to let you set sail from the harbor.”

  “Well, then,” Corene said. “I suppose I’ll have to gratefully accept the escort of your soldiers whenever I leave the palace. Maybe they’ll keep any schemers at court from trying to kill me.”

  That unforgivable remark elicited a chorus of gasps and exclamations, though she was pretty sure she heard someone mutter, “Don’t be so sure.” Steff, probably. She didn’t think she’d manage a better exit line, so, inclining her head in an ironic gesture of respect, she pivoted on her heel and stalked out.

  She was almost pushed down the hall by the explosion of conversation that erupted as she left. She could feel her heart pounding; the argument had been both exhilarating and unnerving, but she thought she’d handled her part well enough. Melissande would certainly tell her later if she hadn’t.

  She was so tightly wound that she flinched a little when Foley unexpectedly fell in step beside her. “I didn’t realize you’d stayed at the door for the whole meal,” she said as an excuse.

  “It seemed wise,” he answered. “Things have been so unsettled lately that it’s hard to gauge where disaster might strike next.”

  “You heard my whole performance?”

  He nodded.

  “What did you think?”

  He glanced at her. “I couldn’t decide if you were trying to turn the subject away from Alette’s disappearance—or throw the whole court into turmoil with accusations of murder.”

  “A little of both,” Corene admitted. “If everyone has something else to think about, maybe they won’t look for Alette so hard. Or, at least, they won’t look for her outside of the palace. They’ll be hunting for bodies in dark closets.”

  “You’ve just drawn the highest degree of attention to yourself,” he said quietly. “You’re more at risk now than you’ve ever been.”

  She laughed. “I think I’m safer than I’ve ever been. If I die now, I’ve just proved there’s a killer at court. T
his person has only succeeded for so long by being very careful.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But maybe you’ve made the killer so angry that he or she just wants you dead.”

  A few more moments and they were at the door to her room. Corene glanced at Foley as she put her fingers on the handle, surprised to see a look of uneasy indecision on his face.

  “What is it?” she said.

  “Your safety,” he said. “Always your safety.”

  “Ah.” She opened the door but didn’t step inside. “You’re wondering if it’s time you slept in my room.”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  She gestured across the threshold. “Plenty of room.”

  “Plenty of scandal.”

  “My father is immune to scandal, or haven’t you noticed? Josetta was sharing a bed with Rafe long before anyone even knew he was royalty, and Darien never blinked.”

  “Josetta isn’t his daughter.”

  She ignored this. “You can’t possibly think my mother would object. She sees all men as means to an end. To be used however the situation dictates.”

  He watched her a moment, his face troubled. “You’re not usually so cynical.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “You pretend to be,” he said. “But you usually don’t mean it.”

  “I mean it,” she said, “I just wish it wasn’t true.”

  “What you said tonight—did you mean that?”

  “Which of the many things I said?”

  “About being done. About wanting to go home.”

  She couldn’t decide if she should nod or shake her head. “Yes and no. I’d like to leave Malinqua, but I don’t want to go home. I don’t know what options that leaves me.”

  “Plenty of other places in the world.”

  It was nice to feel her face lighten in a smile. “Yes, we could head to Yorramol! And join Alette there, maybe.”

  “If you went to Yorramol, you might never come back,” he said.

  “Or come back so changed no one would recognize me.”

  “I don’t think anyone ever changes that much, except in stories.”

  “I think I’d recognize you,” she said softly. “No matter how much you changed.”

  He shook his head. “I’m always the same.”

  “Maybe because you want to be,” she said. “I’d like to be different.”

  “Would you? Different in what way?”

  She raised her hands as if she could scoop the right words out of the air. “Less angry. More certain. Happier. Nicer. And I wish I didn’t care so much about—” She didn’t complete the sentence.

  He tipped his head to one side, as if trying to figure it out. “Your father loves you, you know. You don’t have to win his affection.”

  “That’s not it,” she said. “Or that’s only part of it. I want him to be proud of me, but I want it to be because I’m doing something that matters. I always thought I had to be on a throne somewhere—in Welce or Malinqua or somewhere else, who knows?—because that’s what I was trained for. But I’m starting to realize I don’t even like court life. All the scheming, all the intrigue. I like the parts where we talk about international trade and alliances between nations. I don’t like the parts where someone wants me dead if I flirt with the wrong person.” She sighed. “And I definitely don’t want to marry any of the potential heirs to the Malinquese throne. This trip has been a mistake from start to finish.”

  “Maybe you didn’t win yourself a crown,” he agreed. “And maybe you didn’t win your father’s approval. But you achieved one thing that’s really important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The same thing I achieved when I moved from my father’s house to Chialto,” he said. “You altered the trajectory of your life. You didn’t know what you would find at the end of the road, but you knew you wanted to be on a different road than the one stretching out before you.”

  That was so accurate she could not, for a moment, think of a reply. “Are you glad you left your father’s farm?” she finally asked.

  “I am,” he said. “What about you?”

  “I’m glad you left the farm, too,” she answered.

  “That wasn’t my question.”

  “Really? I misunderstood.”

  His half-smile was back, but he slowly shook his head. “I don’t believe you did.”

  She laughed. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re here in Malinqua to keep watch over me—particularly after my remarks tonight. I imagine Filomara isn’t the only one unhappy with me right now.”

  “And we’re right back to the beginning of our conversation,” he said. “Trying to figure out how to keep you safe.”

  She kept her face innocent. “Only one way to truly ensure my safety.”

  “I know.” He squared his shoulders. “I’ll get my things.”

  • • •

  It was both delightful and unnerving to have Foley alone in the suite with her. She felt giddy and a little breathless, thinking how near he would be, wondering what he would wear as he sought his bed, wondering what she should wear and if she should take the opportunity to present herself to him while she was clad in only a flimsy nightgown. Oh, Foley, I heard a strange noise and it frightened me . . .

  She decided that she’d caused enough scandal already tonight; she should behave with decorum in her own bedroom. So she put on a thick robe that covered her from throat to ankle—it was more chaste than some of her dinner ensembles—and paused to bid him good night after she washed up in the bathing room. She was surprised to find he didn’t plan to ensconce himself in the maid’s room, which he considered too far from the entrance. Instead he had made a pallet for himself right in front of the door to the hallway. “That way no one can get in without tripping over me,” he explained.

  “Unless they climb in through the window,” she said, just to tease him.

  “Too high to do without a rope, and the walls are too slick to manage it without special tools,” he replied.

  “Are you serious? You’ve thought about that?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “You’re even better at your job than I thought you were.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

  She laughed. “It is! I don’t know why you always doubt me most when I’m being completely sincere.”

  He eyed her for a moment and didn’t answer. She laughed again and pulled a chair close to where he had settled on his pallet. “So I have a question for you,” she said in a chatty tone.

  He looked even more doubtful. “What,” he said, his voice flat.

  “How often have you spent the night in a woman’s room?”

  He rolled his eyes and rested his back against the door. “How often have you been told your behavior is inappropriate?”

  “More times than I can count!” she retorted. “So is that your answer, too? More times than you can count?”

  “I think you knew I wouldn’t answer the question when you asked it.”

  “But I want to know.”

  “But I don’t have to tell you.”

  She flounced a little, not easy to do on a hard-backed chair. “Well, then, how often did you spend the night in Josetta’s room?” When he looked even more annoyed, she hastened to add, “Just watching over her! Keeping her safe! I wasn’t implying anything else.”

  “The situation never arose,” he said.

  She allowed herself to look unconvinced. “Really? That’s odd. I thought—” Her voice trailed off.

  “Why? What did Josetta say?” he asked, caught briefly off guard.

  “Well, I just thought—I mean, it always seemed that you were so close—or at least, Josetta felt close to you—”

  “That might be,” he said. He seemed to be thinking over how to frame
his reply. “I suppose it’s not uncommon for a young woman—who has been very sheltered—to sometimes find that she’s—that she thinks she is—” He started over. “A man who has agreed to guard her with his life might appear in a somewhat romantic light—”

  Corene could hardly contain her delight. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “Josetta offered herself to you, didn’t she? She always said there was nothing between the two of you, but I always thought she liked you more than she’d admit.”

  Now he seemed alarmed. “I didn’t say that.”

  She shrugged, guessing at what must have happened. “Josetta approached you, but you turned her down with talk about guards and assignments and duty. And being the sweet, polite, good girl that she is, Josetta meekly nodded and turned away. Is that what happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” he said.

  “Huh,” she said. She resettled in the chair again, but really it wasn’t made for lounging around and having conversations about love. She couldn’t get comfortable. Or maybe she just couldn’t relax. “Well, I’d still like to know the answer to my original question.”

  “What question was that?” he asked wearily.

  “About all the girls you’ve been in love with.”

  “I’ve been too busy to fall in love.”

  “No one’s that busy.”

  “Maybe it’s just that I love my job.”

  “Right now your job is me,” she said.

  His face stilled. His body stilled. He just looked at her. Corene felt herself freeze in place on the unforgiving chair as she stared back at him.

  “That’s right,” he said, finally, slowly, not looking away from her. “And my job is to keep you safe. From any hazards that might arise—even the ones you create yourself.”

  Her chin lifted at the reprimand. You might throw yourself at me, but I will guard you from the consequences of your reckless behavior. “Are you really that good?” she asked softly. “You can save me from my own indiscretions?”

  “I won’t have to,” he said. “You’re too smart to put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Unless I don’t think I’m putting myself at risk.”

  “Oh,” he said, “I think you always know exactly what the risks are. You like to play with fire, but you won’t let it burn you.”