“For?”
“For a peaceful reign.” A lie, but flavored with enough truth that she could tell it convincingly. She didn’t know why she was compelled to hide the whole truth after his revelation. Perhaps she was intimidated by the strength of his connection to her god. Perhaps she was envious. Perhaps both.
Ileem frowned, and dropped the orange. “It is dangerous to treat with the gods for something so trivial.”
Eda lifted her chin. “It wasn’t trivial, and I do not fear the gods.” Another lie.
He shook his head and toed the fallen fruit with one bare foot. A silver tattoo curled up his ankle and disappeared under the cuff of his pants.
She watched him decide something, a hardness coming into his face. He stood from the chair and came to kneel before her, crushing the orange underneath one knee; its scent burst tangy in the air, enveloping both of them. “My god compels me to help you. It’s why he sent me here in the first place. But I am wary of your vow, wary that it will be at odds with my own.”
“It is my vow, not yours. I will not hold you to it, and neither will our god.”
Ileem nodded.
She was suddenly, acutely aware of him, his tall frame folded before her, the heat emanating from his body, the strength in his arms underneath his silk robe. He could overpower her so easily, and fear bit at her, causing her to clench her dagger hilt. But he’d asked her to trust him. She let out a breath, and took her hand off her dagger. “Are we in agreement?”
He smiled, something sparking in his dark eyes. “We are, Your Imperial Majesty.”
She smiled too, relieved. “Good. Now get up and tell me what you propose to do about my Barons.”
He did, sinking down beside her on the couch so close their knees touched, his knee still damp from the crushed orange.
They talked for an hour, the tang of citrus fading from the air until all that was left was Ileem’s scent, heady cedar and sharp iron, and the sensation of power, buzzing just beneath his skin. Eda thought she might get drunk on it.
But at last her lack of sleep got the better of her, her head drooping, eyes closing of their own accord. Ileem touched her shoulder and she started awake.
“Perhaps it’s best we reconvene tomorrow, Your Imperial Majesty.”
She nodded, rising and returning to the window. She fumbled for the latch.
“Are you sure you shouldn’t take the conventional route?” Ileem gestured at the door.
“My attendants think I’m sound asleep—it isn’t worth upsetting them.”
“Attendants are awfully excitable,” he agreed. “But let me come with you—to make sure you don’t fall?”
She was offended. “I would never fall!”
Ileem raised an eyebrow as she climbed up onto the windowsill and nearly tumbled off. “Do you think our god would catch you? You look drunk as a cat. Please let me come.”
She scowled. Even through her haze of exhaustion, she knew it was reckless to bring him with her over the rooftops. Alliance or not, vow or no vow, she still didn’t quite trust him, and there was really nothing to keep him from shoving her to her death and returning to his bed with no one the wiser.
But she was in a reckless mood. “Oh very well, though I didn’t think so refined a man as yourself would ever be caught clambering about on a roof.”
He grinned, joining her at the window. “Whoever told you I was refined was woefully misinformed.”
It was strange, having company as she scrambled over the maze of blue tiles back to her bedchamber. Ileem was quiet, and steady on his feet, his eyes gleaming in the soft starlight. They reached her window before she was quite ready; the night air had revived her a bit, and she no longer wanted to go to bed. For a few moments they both crouched there, considering each other in the dark, the air awash with night-blooming jasmine and the buzz of cicadas.
Ileem smiled at her, soft and slow, and briefly took and pressed her hand in his. “Until tomorrow, Your Imperial Majesty.”
She envied the way he wore his subjection to Tuer, as easily as a loose shirt. It suited him, made him seem shiny and strong. She didn’t know what possessed her, but she reached out and touched his cheek. His stubble was rough under her fingertips; he was human after all.
He didn’t react beyond his deepening smile. She drew her hand back, fighting her flush. “Until tomorrow, Your Highness.”
She grabbed the top edge of her window frame and swung down into her room, where she went, at long last, to bed.
Chapter Seven
EDA STOOD ON THE DAIS IN THE BALLROOM, hugely refreshed after her half night’s sleep—she felt ready to conquer the world. She’d risen early to bathe and dress before the treaty ceremony, and her formal crown weighed heavy on her brow. Green and sapphire skirts pooled around her ankles while her bare arms were painted with silver designs imitating Ileem’s tattoo.
Ileem, Liahstorion, and the Denlahn ambassador Oadem stood beside her on the dais while the gathering crowd of courtiers glanced about with obvious confusion, wondering where Rescarin and the other Barons were.
This was deliberate. On Ileem’s advice, Eda had moved the ceremony an hour earlier and had her personal attendants inform the courtiers but not the Barons. It was a subtle but effective start at undermining their power while emphasizing hers.
The room grew stifling as everyone waited, the courtiers fidgety. Eda sank back onto her ivory throne and instructed her attendants to bring up an elaborately carved chair for Ileem. He sat beside her, and they chatted amicably as they nibbled at a platter of candied mangoes and pretended not to notice the courtiers’ deepening confusion. Oadem stood frowning on the edge of the dais, clearly at a loss without Rescarin.
Liahstorion didn’t speak to Eda or Ileem, just held her scowling post beside the ambassador. She was dressed beautifully this morning in a gauzy rose-pink dress, with a gold headdress to rival Eda’s crown sweeping back her cloud of black hair.
Niren, from her place among the waiting courtiers, looked a mess, her hair unkempt and her trousers wrinkled, her fingers streaked with paint. Eda didn’t doubt Niren had been up most the night working on copying her manuscript.
Eda waited until just a few minutes before the Barons were to arrive then stood from her throne and beckoned Ileem to do the same. “We may as well begin. Count Tarin, may we have the documents?”
Count Tarin, the Imperial Record Keeper, was a wizened little man with long white hair that he tied at the nape of his neck in the old style. He came forward and spread a large scroll of parchment out onto the waiting pedestal table, keeping it in place with a pair of beautiful glass map weights. He drew out a peacock-feather pen and uncorked an ink bottle.
Eda gestured to Ileem to sign first. He accepted the pen and wrote his name in cerulean ink at the bottom of the parchment. Oadem signed next.
Eda flicked her eyes to the ballroom entrance, taking the pen from Oadem and signing her name with a flourish just as the Barons swept in like a flustered brood of hens, the edges of their long embroidered coats flapping ridiculously behind them.
“Baron Rescarin,” said Eda with a lazy smile as he and the others ascended the dais, “so nice of you to join us.”
He glowered at her and reached for the pen. “Your Majesty.”
Eda gave a calculated, playful laugh and batted his hand away. “My signature is the only Enduenan one needed, Baron—the treaty is between the Empire and Denlahn. And you see I’ve already signed. Count Tarin, my seal?”
The count gave it to her, and she melted the wax herself, dripping it onto the bottom of the parchment before pressing the seal into it firmly: three stars, stamped in blue.
“And now,” said Eda, straightening up again and smiling at Ileem as if Rescarin and the other Barons weren’t even in the room, “in honor of the treaty, let us exchange gifts between our two mighty nations.”
Ileem gave her a little nod—job well done. “Denlahn brings to Your Imperial Majesty this humble but priceless offeri
ng, in the name of Rudion our most mighty god.” He snapped his fingers, and a pair of Denlahn guards came through the courtiers, carrying a sapling with white bark and trembling silver leaves. They set it before Eda and bowed, taking up posts on either side of the dais.
Eda brushed her fingertips across the leaves, understanding the gift for what it was—a true gesture of goodwill and trust.
Ileem smiled at her. “This tree was grown from a seed in my father the king’s court, a precious spark of life from our desiccated land. May it grow here as a symbol of our flourishing peace and our joint devotion to the gods our countries share.”
Eda bowed to Ileem. “All Enduena thanks you and offers this gift in return.” She nodded at the guards waiting at the back of the room, and they opened a door to usher in another guard leading a tiger cub on a length of braided leather cord.
The courtiers gasped and drew back as the guard brought the cub up to the dais. Eda accepted the cub’s lead and handed it to Ileem, who was doing a good job concealing his surprise.
Liahstorion immediately knelt down by the little tiger. It nuzzled up against her knee and she broke into a radiant smile.
“Like this cub,” said Eda, “may the peace between our nations grow fierce and strong and never be broken.”
Rescarin frowned—he had not known about the gift, and he clearly disapproved of it. “Your Majesty—”
“And now I think we should all have breakfast,” said Eda brightly. “I believe it’s been set out for us in the dining hall. Shall we?”
The Denlahn and Enduenan guards collected the tree and tiger respectively, with Liahstorion trailing in their wake, while Eda and Ileem descended the dais together. If he seemed at all slighted by the gift of the tiger—a hint that she didn’t trust the peace treaty, that the cub very well might grow up to turn on either one of them—he gave no sign.
They were halfway out of the ballroom before Rescarin caught up. He grabbed Eda’s shoulder and wheeled her around, his anger palpable. She was annoyed that her guards didn’t keep him from touching her, but not surprised. Ileem stood beside her, quiet and wary.
“What do you want, Rescarin?” she demanded. “You got your treaty.”
“My treaty,” he said curtly. “Not yours. If you think you can cut me out after all my years of loyal service to the Empire—”
“The only thing you’ve been loyal to is yourself. I’m done letting you manipulate me. Done letting you use me for your own gain.”
“Proud words from a little girl who wouldn’t be anywhere without me.”
Rage burned through her. “Your days as Baron are numbered, Rescarin. I would beware if I were you.”
He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. “Curious. I was going to say the same to you. It’s only by my generosity that you are still in power at all. The instant I wish to, I can prove your illegitimacy—and your treason—and have you deposed. You’ll be dead and forgotten in the space of an eyeblink.”
Her hand twitched to her dagger. “If that were true, you would have deposed me already. The god I serve would never let you touch me.”
“The god you serve is a fraud.”
“You dare impugn Tuer?”
“He’s a story,” Rescarin snapped. “Just a useless children’s story you should have outgrown years ago. Perhaps that is what makes you still a child.”
Eda stared him down. “When you die, when you are sent to burn alone in the freezing, gods-less void, you’ll wish you’d put more stake in children’s stories.”
She left him abruptly, shaking with fury. Ileem caught her arm just outside the ballroom, and she could barely force the words past her tight throat. “He mocks our god.”
Ileem’s eyes flashed with a fury equal to her own. “He will be sorry. No one mocks Rudion and lives long to boast about it.”
His anger scared her, and she took a step away from him.
His face softened, saddened. “I’ve come for peace, Your Imperial Majesty. No matter how hot my blood runs, I swear to you I’ve come for peace.”
Gods help her. She believed him. She took a breath. “Come see the temple with me tonight. See what you’ve promised to help me build.”
He smiled, and the last of the anger melted from his face. “I would like nothing better.”
In the evening, the pulsing heat of the day fading bit by bit with the westering sun, Eda and Ileem rode out of the city, each accompanied by a pair of guards.
A wide expanse of barren desert unfolded before them, the Place of Kings silhouetted against the sky to their right. Dust swirled up all around, shimmering in the last remnants of the sun. It wasn’t a long ride, just two miles outside of Eddenahr.
They reached the temple site with enough light yet to see by, the half-completed building Eda had been so proud of a week ago looking dismal and forgotten to her now. What would Ileem think of her, now he saw her poor offering to the god they both served? She swung off her horse and handed her reins to one of the guards, who lit torches for her and Ileem. She glanced aside at the Denlahn prince, nervous for his reaction.
But he only nodded. “Show me everything.”
The temple was being constructed in the ancient Enduenan style, the main building meant to resemble a mountain peak, with the central spire soaring straight up into the sky. But construction hadn’t progressed nearly that far. Eda led Ileem up a hundred wide, shallow steps and through a yawning archway into what would be the temple proper, holding her torch high. The walls of the inner sanctum were only knee height, the rest of the building open to the yawning sky and the hesitant, newly wakening stars. When the structure was complete, floor tiles would be laid in an elaborate pattern of intertwined blue and gold. A stack of the tiles waited in one corner and Eda knelt and touched one, reverently.
Ileem knelt with her. “It’s beautiful.”
She met his eyes and knew then that he saw what she saw: the temple in its completed state, a thing of true magnificence. Her heart eased. He took her hand and pulled her back to her feet.
They wandered all through the interior of the temple, Ileem not letting go of her hand. She didn’t mind, and so didn’t shake him off, his fingers warm and strong around hers. She had felt for so long like she was on the brink of collapse, and here was someone who could perhaps steady her feet again. But she wasn’t ready to relinquish her autonomy, not yet.
The night grew cooler around them, and as they paced toward the back of the temple, where small living quarters would be erected for the priests or priestess on duty, a sudden, icy wind tore past them, ripping Eda’s hair from its careful braids, extinguishing her torch with a drawn-out hiss. The sudden smell of incense and dried flowers rose strong in the air, and she turned and clapped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to stifle her scream.
“Your Majesty? Your Majesty, what’s wrong?”
Horror twisted through her like venomous snakes. Two figures stood in an unfinished alcove, staring back at her: Shadow Niren, her silver skirt flapping violently in the wind, and an old man in a stained dressing gown—the garment he’d died in. Eda could still feel the hard vial of poison in her hands as she’d administered the last dose, the dry papery awfulness of the Emperor’s trembling lips. His last breaths. His sudden, shocking stillness.
“Your Majesty? Eda?”
But Ileem’s words didn’t reach her. She stepped toward the two figures, trying and failing to keep herself from shaking. “What do you want from me?”
Silent tears slipped down Shadow Niren’s face, and the Emperor’s ghost looked at Eda with immense sorrow. “The Circles are closed,” he whispered. “I cannot get through. No one can.”
“The god of the mountain is waiting,” said Shadow Niren. “You are the only one who can help him.”
“That was not part of my agreement!” Eda hissed. She was vaguely aware of Ileem coming up behind her, placing one warm hand on her shoulder.
Shadow Niren shook her head. “Seek the god. Fulfill your vow. Only th
en will you be free.”
The words unsettled her, echoes of the ones uttered by the priest of the sacred pool. “I’m not a prisoner. And what about Niren? How can you wear her face when she still lives and breathes?”
“Oh Eda. Do you truly not know me?” Niren’s shadow slipped closer, brushed her fingers across Eda’s brow; they were soft and cool as rain. “How I’ve missed you.”
“Niren—”
But Eda blinked and both Shadow Niren and the Emperor were gone. Wind blew dust over the stone, taking with it the scent of incense and dried flowers. Ileem watched her in the flaring orange light of his torch, but didn’t ask her what she had seen.
“This was a mistake,” she said. “We shouldn’t have come here.”
She swept back across the length of the temple and through the archway, Ileem hard on her heels. She practically tumbled down the steps, then swung up onto Naia and kicked the mare into a run.
But even the fastest horse in the Empire couldn’t outpace Eda’s terror.
The heat was oppressive in the Emperor’s bedchamber, the fire stoked hot, though it wasn’t needed in the warm spring evening. The attendants had kept the fires burning all day, desperate to chase away the Emperor’s chills and keep death from coming.
They had no way of knowing it wasn’t a fever attacking his already frail body.
They had no way of knowing that Eda had poisoned him. She had made herself invaluable to him over the past year—a courtier he could trust. Rely on. She’d used the rumor that she was his illegitimate daughter as an excuse to get close to him. Close enough to put the poison she mixed herself into his food and drink, drop by drop, day by day. Tonight, she’d given him the final, lethal dose.
She sat by his bed, holding his tremulous hand as he took his last rattling breaths. The firelight cast eerie shadows on his sunken face.
She stared at him, watched him die.
And she felt nothing.
She rose from her place at his bedside and rang for the attendant. This was her moment—she would seize it before it was taken from her, like so many things in her life.
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