by Callie Bates
His smile unnerves me. My mouth goes so dry I can’t do anything but grunt.
I have no choice but to follow him into the palace, trailed by Quentin and Faverus. The guards stop at a small, narrow room. It’s unfurnished except for a plain wooden chair in the middle. One of the legs is cracked. A single lantern hangs from the ceiling.
Alcibiades flicks his fingers. The guards go out, bolting the door, but Quentin and Faverus remain. Quentin stands with his shoulders back, as proud as if he’s on parade. Faverus casts surreptitious glances at Alcibiades. Is he afraid of the grand inquisitor, or what he does?
With a courtier’s grace, Alcibiades gestures to the chair. “Lord Jahan, please sit.”
He can’t tell that I’m a sorcerer. Madiya saw to that. I know it. This is just a demonstration of force. It’s the emperor trying to intimidate me. Trying to remind me that he has more power than I ever will.
But I’ve never had a witch hunter examine me before. Not alone in a room. Not like this.
I try to muster a laugh, a modicum of disdain, but all I feel is the quivering in my legs. “Surely you don’t think I…” I can’t finish.
Alcibiades cocks an eyebrow, but merely gestures again to the chair.
I sit.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he says mildly, coming to stand in front of me, the bell pinched in his fingers. Then, with a mirthless smile, “Unless you really are a sorcerer.”
I manage to crack a grin, but I feel it slide off my mouth the moment he rings his bell.
I plaster that damned grin back on even as my heartbeat surges into my ears.
And I’m aware, like a slap to the face, of Madiya’s voice ringing out. Jahan!
All the gods, not now. I gulp in air.
Alcibiades Doukas raises an eyebrow. “I promise, Lord Jahan, this is quite painless.”
Jahan, Madiya whispers.
Shut up, I think. My pulse is wild. I have to stay calm.
I grind my teeth together. Alcibiades has begun to ring the bell in a figure-eight pattern. But, I realize, nothing has actually happened. I’m light-headed from the terror pumping into my brain, from Madiya’s voice, not from the bell racking my mind.
But…even if I’m not proven a sorcerer, Alcibiades could lie. According to rumor, he’s more than capable of torturing innocents. It would be an easy way to remove my inconvenient presence from court. An easy way to stoke the warmongering against Eren and Caeris. The emperor has never been particularly fond of me, even though I saved his son’s life. He once said to me, “Korakides, someday your irreverence is going to get you killed.” Which I suppose it might. By him.
Jahan, Madiya whispers.
She always wanted us to use our power to destroy the witch hunters. But how can I use magic against Alcibiades, if it slides right off the bells and stones?
Now he’s taking some stones from his bandolier and placing them in a circle around me, with one at each of my feet. In a conversational tone, he says, “I heard you’re from Pira on the Britemnos Isles, Lord Jahan.”
“Yes,” I manage. Every fool in Aexione has spent the last two years gossiping about it.
With a delicate touch, Alcibiades turns my hands over and sets a stone in each of my palms. “I was there once,” he remarks. “Years ago, now.”
I stare at him. His head is bent. I can’t tell if he’s threatening me, or inexplicably making conversation. And all at once I think of the witch hunter who came to our villa that morning when I was ten. I never saw that man’s face; never thought he might have colleagues, friends, family who would come looking for him.
Perhaps I am going to be charged with murder. The witch stones hum gently in my palms, a half-heard thing. Not enough to drive me mad, unless perhaps I listened to it for the rest of my life.
Alcibiades rings a bell directly in my ear, and I wince.
He pats my shoulder. “Just making sure you’re in there.”
“I may be deaf now,” I grumble.
He chuckles, then comes around and peers into my face. Again, one eyebrow rises.
I’m sweating as much as Faverus, but I wet my lips and begin, “The emperor can’t truly believe I’m a sorcerer…”
“It is one possible explanation for your recent behavior.” He pauses. “And your brother’s.”
“Rayka?” All the gods, did they find him after all? Have they taken him to the Ochuroma? But Quentin told me he’d evaded their attempts to examine him. My pulse has lurched back into my ears, but I force a grin. “Rayka’s always been trouble. I apologize if he’s been giving you the runaround.”
Alcibiades chuckles again as he takes the witch stones from my palms.
I flex my hands. “I don’t know what would possess him to run away from the Akademia. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t pass the exam. It’s strange, isn’t it, how we understand our own families less well than other people, sometimes?”
This would be the moment for Alcibiades to confess that they’ve hauled Rayka away to prison. Instead he just says, “You show no signs of sorcery, Lord Jahan. We won’t detain you further.”
I stand. Quentin utters a disgusted sigh, but I don’t miss the relief on Faverus’s face. Perhaps the torture they subject sorcerers to disturbs him. It’s strange; he should have been bullied out of it by now.
“We seem to have wasted your time, sir,” Quentin says crossly.
“Not at all,” Alcibiades replies with a cool smile. He glances at me. “It was a pleasure, Lord Jahan.”
A pleasure? Well, I’m not about to refuse my freedom. I practically bolt out into the corridor. But if I was hoping for a reprieve, perhaps a hot bath and supper, I don’t have such luck. A guard leads me down a flight of stairs and up another, to a filigreed door set unobtrusively into the wall. A footman in imperial livery—purple and gold—stands to one side of it. He bows to me. “His Imperial Majesty will see you now.”
* * *
—
ALAKASEUS SARANON, the ninth emperor of Paladis, waits for me in a gilded armchair beside the fireplace. He must have come from the public supper he takes almost every night; he’s dressed in a lavishly embroidered suit, lace cascading at his chin and gemstones winking in his ears. His face, however, is a good deal more sober.
I was right. He’s not pleased to see me. Disdain pinches his face.
I’m starkly aware of the fact that I haven’t bathed, and that my Caerisian tweed is rough with road dust, salt, and sweat. The emperor won’t be charmed into thinking I’m setting a new fashion. The dog lying by his feet thumps its tail on the carpet, but lays its head down when its master doesn’t react.
I lower my head. I make a bow from the doorway, pace forward ten feet and make another. I’m not sure of the protocol here. Footmen and guards occupy the two doorways, but otherwise the emperor of Paladis and I are alone.
I have never been alone with Alakaseus Saranon. It’s not exactly something I dreamed of.
He’s watching me like a hawk. Or a snake. And although I would love to be like Elanna and boldly stare him in the face, I drop to one knee and lower my head. It feels like capitulation.
I don’t speak. The emperor must do that first.
He says nothing. Somewhere, a clock ticks.
Finally he shifts in his chair, an expensive shuffle of silk. “I am eager to hear exactly what you think you’ve been doing.” He does not, however, sound eager at all.
I lift my head. His eyes are narrowed. One bejeweled royal finger taps the arm of his chair. A pulse of hilarity bubbles up in me. I want to say, I was taking a holiday. The air is very fresh in Caeris, you know. Instead I do my best to look honest. The emperor values sincerity, as men who are frequently lied to often do.
“I went to Eren to help the Dromahair family reclaim the throne of Caeris,” I say, which is of course true.
&
nbsp; “Yet Euan Dromahair is still in Aexione,” the emperor says, “his son Finn is dead, and his bastard daughter stole the throne. I did not encourage this endeavor.”
My teeth lock together. He has no right to throw Finn’s death in my face. None. It’s not as if Finn mattered to Alakaseus Saranon—not as the son of a crownless king living off Alakaseus’s charity. I’m surprised the emperor even remembers his name.
And it’s difficult not to point out that he was in the business of funneling us funds and munitions when Elanna woke the land.
I force my jaw to release. “Your Imperial Majesty, the Eyrlais were no great friends of yours. We believed we acted with your approbation.”
He drums his fingers on the silk-padded arm of his chair. “You must have known your rebel friends planned to use sorcery.”
“There have always been such rumors about Caeris,” I say, “but it was hard to credit them.”
“Until that witch made the land move.”
“The Eyrlais drove us to great desperation. The Caveadear did what she had to.” It’s hard to keep my voice even. “Without her sorcery, we would never have succeeded.”
The emperor looks at me again. The clock ticks. I refuse to look away, though the angle strains my neck. At last he says, “And you’ve had the audacity to return. Why?”
“I…”
A door creaks open behind me. The emperor’s head jerks up and—just for a moment—his face softens. I tuck in my chin as a woman passes me in a whisper of soft-soled slippers and jasmine perfume.
“Jahan Korakides,” she says in her bright, laughing voice. “What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”
It’s impossible not to smile when I look up. Even the emperor snorts, amused. She’s standing at his side—our empress, the Idaean Rose, Firmina Triciphes. The first empress from the city of Ida in more than two hundred years. The first in history not born of noble blood. One of her hands grasps Alakaseus Saranon’s shoulder. She’s leaning into him the way a lover does, though they are twenty years apart in age. She must have come from the public supper, too, though she dresses more simply than her conservative predecessor, the mother of the emperor’s children Leontius, Augustus, and Phaedra. She’s smiling at me, her golden eyes lively.
“I was just asking him why he’s troubled to return to Aexione,” the emperor is saying, though less forbiddingly than before.
“Oh?” Firmina Triciphes says. “It must have been the Ereni food. Was it very dreadful? Do they really eat sheep’s brains? And do they truly never bathe?”
“Not sheep’s brains. But the worst was the weather,” I say with a responding grin. “We were assailed by snow this winter, followed by an interminable rain.”
“How cruel of the gods!” Firmina exclaims. “No Idaean can survive under such conditions.”
Though I know she didn’t intend to, this only serves to remind me that I’m not truly Idaean, or Paladisan. But Firmina Triciphes is an outsider herself—the common daughter of an Idaean financier. She persuaded the emperor to wed her rather than install her as his latest mistress, though Leontius insists she tricked Alakaseus with her feminine wiles. But I’ve always thought Firmina was clever. Even the courtiers who initially despised her common birth have been won over by her charm. Idaeans love her: one of their own, raised up to the imperial dais. It’s a victory for those who don’t possess full Paladisan citizenship, though the emperor pretends to ignore this.
And he doesn’t appreciate our levity. “We can only presume it’s the Ereni’s abominable witchery that’s driven him home.”
“In fact, Your Imperial Majesty,” I say with a smile, because one should never appear to contradict the emperor, “I have come on behalf of Queen Sophy and Caveadear Elanna, to sue for peace between Eren and Paladis.” I pull out my papers. “You’ll see in these documents I am named ambassador royal.”
He snatches them from me, casting off his wife’s hand. “Are you indeed? I seem to recall you begged to be named my ambassador to Eren.”
I say mildly, “The kingdom of Eren no longer exists quite as we knew it then. Now it is the united countries of Eren and Caeris. I imagined that my post terminated when Loyce Eyrlai was deposed.”
“So,” the emperor says, his voice cold, “you’ve come back here on behalf of a bastard girl?”
“Queen Sophy has been elected by her people.” Unlike him. “Your Imperial Majesty, forgive me, but there is no practical reason to go to war against people whom, six months ago, we considered allies. Believe me, Queen Sophy holds no animosity toward you, only a desire for peace.”
He stares at me, then shrugs. “The black ships will make quick work of them. We’ll get rid of this bastard girl and her witch and place Euan on the throne, as he’s always wanted. Then things will be as they should.”
“That may be less easy than it seems,” I say. “The Caveadear is heavily guarded—and she’s beloved by her people. Your Imperial Majesty, as I said, we don’t have to fight a war. You may negotiate with Queen Sophy instead—through me. Why should Paladis waste its resources, its funds, its men, because of the actions of one woman?” He looks at me, and I hurry on before he can interrupt: “The Caveadear may be a sorceress, but not in the way you imagine. She isn’t like the sorcerers of old whom Paladius the First destroyed.” This may be the largest lie I have told in my life. “She is a humble girl who desires nothing more than to bring freedom to her people. You know how poor Caeris is. With so few resources at their disposal, how could they not turn to the one thing guaranteed to set them free? How could she not take action, even knowing how you and the other great powers would punish her for it? She had to act, against the dictates of her own conscience, because not to do so would have left Eren and Caeris in the grip of a tyrant. So she used her magic, though she loathes it. And now she humbly begs your forgiveness. She hopes that you will overlook this one action to see the larger advantage of an alliance with her nation.”
The emperor folds his arms.
I wet my lips. He looks far less persuaded than I’d hoped, but at least he hasn’t summoned the imperial guard to haul me away again. Yet. It’s a good thing Elanna isn’t here; she would hate the portrait I’m painting of her. But it’s the only thing I can think of to dissuade the emperor from war—making him believe that Elanna Valtai, despite her great magic, is truly harmless. That she’s only acting this way out of dire necessity.
“What would happen,” I ask, “if Paladis allied with Eren, instead? We needn’t condone sorcery. And Paladis is allied with other nations that practice far worse things for far less worthy reasons.”
But the emperor is unmoved. “I will not make a precedent of this witch. I will not invite further riots in the streets. Riots,” he adds, “taking place in your name.”
I wince. “I would never incite anyone against Your Majesty. But the riots might stop if you made Queen Sophy—and by extension Elanna Valtai—your allies. If Paladis cooperated with Eren, there would be nothing to riot against.”
Alakaseus Saranon gathers himself to speak, but Firmina strokes his shoulder. “He makes a good point, my darling. It would confuse the rioters’ ambitions.”
He looks up at her. “Condone one witch, and you condone them all.”
“You’re right, of course, but Eren is our ally, not our subject. We cannot impose our laws on a nation we don’t rule! As Jahan said—quite thoughtfully—we condone far worse things than sorcery. Consider how we allied with the Czars of the Ismae after they slaughtered their own people in the Winter Uprising!”
“The Czars have a standing army I am loath to fight,” the emperor retorts.
“But, darling, it is the same! The Ereni witch defeated the Eyrlais. What if she defeats us? The Ismae Czars have not done that, because we were wise enough not to give them the chance.”
The emperor’s scowl grows more pron
ounced. Over his head, Firmina gives me a small smile.
I’m fighting down a smile of my own—one of pure relief. Firmina Triciphes’s support was not something I had ever thought to hope for.
And with her support, maybe we can succeed.
“I will give this consideration,” Emperor Alakaseus pronounces, flapping Sophy’s papers. “I must speak to the ministers. We’ll meet again, Korakides. You may not have done as poorly as it first appeared. Though,” he adds, “it would have been better if you had done something about the witch before you left Eren.”
I force a laugh. “How could I, Your Imperial Majesty? She’s only a girl fighting for freedom.”
“Only a girl?” The emperor snorts. “By all accounts, you are quite well acquainted with her.”
I feel a flush burn into my face. So they know about Elanna and me—and now my entire argument is crumbling under the emperor’s knowing smile.
“Nothing more than vicious rumors, I’m certain,” Empress Firmina says. Her gaze passes over me, amused. “Who would take a wild Ereni girl for a lover, after sampling the rose garden of Aexione?”
“Indeed!” I feign a shudder. Thank all the gods for the empress. “Ereni ladies have none of our women’s grace.”
The emperor sighs heavily, as if we’ve denied him personal pleasure in bringing me down. “Ah, well. Get out of here, Korakides. I need to get back to my supper.”
I rise—my knees protest after so long on the Agran carpet—and make another bow. The empress is smiling. “So much trouble, Jahan Korakides,” she says with a laugh.
The emperor laughs, too, though without kindness.
“My only hope,” I say devoutly, “is that the trouble benefits our great empire.” And I bow my way out.
CHAPTER FIVE
In the corridor outside the emperor’s chambers, I draw in a breath. I want to sag against one of the brocaded walls. We have a chance. We have Firmina’s support. It’s more than I ever expected. I’ll have to write her a note expressing my gratitude.
