She smiled, ever so faintly, an echo of Kral’s happy, sated smile. “Then you must call me Hulda.”
“Is that proper?”
She lifted one shoulder and let it fall, an almost girlish gesture on her. “Oh, dear Jepp. Don’t try to convince me that you’re much concerned with protocols. The gossip has yet to settle on why your queen picked you as ambassador, but it’s quite clear to everyone that she did not choose you for your politeness or deft social skills.”
“I don’t know—maybe everyone in the Thirteen Kingdoms is terribly rude and I’m the best of the lot.”
Her smile widened, though not enough to reveal her teeth. There her age showed, if only slightly, lines bracketing her mouth. “Fighters are never the best diplomats. They’d rather resolve problems with their swords and fists than through conversation and compromise. Though I’m given to understand you prefer knives for your weapon. Would you indulge an old woman and provide a demonstration? That tapestry on the wall over there, can you—”
Without looking at the hanging, I pulled a dagger and put it through the eye of a strangely cavorting white deer. That was better. More my usual self. The Dowager Empress didn’t look impressed, exactly, but she did eye me with intensified interest. “Can you kill a man that way?”
“Man or woman, in that way or in any number of other ways,” I returned evenly. “But only if they deserve it.”
“And you are the one who decides that?”
“While I’m out here in the wilds of the Dasnarian Empire, who else can decide for me?”
“At least you’re wise enough to recognize the Imperial Palace as more dangerous than any wilderness, and wildest of all is its heart, in the seraglio. The men don’t know this, but I think that perhaps you do.”
Little mouse. I shook the whisper out of my head. “Are you asking me to kill someone?”
She laughed, a husky sound. “Yes, I do see the attraction. I haven’t spoken with my son in some years, but even so I could have predicted he’d be fatally attracted to a woman like you. If I did ask you to kill someone, would you? What if Kral asked you to?”
“Kral does his own killing just fine, and, no offense to you or your rank, no, I wouldn’t kill someone because you asked me to.”
“What if I persuaded you they deserved it?”
“I’d still have to decide for myself.”
“Would you do it out of love for my son, perhaps?”
“That goes for Prince Kral, also.” The subject of our private bet shouldn’t enter into this conversation.
“Hmm. What did you think of Karyn?”
“Excuse me?” Hopefully these two topics weren’t connected. No way would I hurt that girl. Slap her upside the head, maybe, but I’d set out to help her, not end her life.
“I understand that my son will offer her a divorce. A fascinating development—one that you obviously must have orchestrated, as it would never have occurred to him to do so on his own. That boy thinks with his sword, not his wits.”
Absurdly, I wanted to defend Kral. As many times as I’d insulted his intelligence, I’d only done it out of . . . a kind of affectionate frustration, I supposed.
“Don’t like me disparaging your lover?” Hulda sipped her tea, wickedly amused. “Another fascinating development. Are you truly in love with him, then?”
23
Now I truly did choke on the tea. From Hulda’s wide smile—finally revealing yellowed teeth—she’d timed her question precisely for that. This was the woman who named her son for a shark, then dunned ambition into his head so thoroughly, he valued nothing else. And who sold her daughter into marriage to a murderous, cruel husband.
“Well, it’s been wonderful meeting you, but I have a number of meetings to attend before tonight’s ceremony. Thank you for the tea.” I set my cup down.
“If you assassinate Hestar, I’ll see to it that Karyn experiences a sudden illness that will lead to her unfortunate demise. My son will be the next Emperor and you the Empress.”
I shook my head, blowing out tension on a laugh. “How would you manage that?”
“Her death or your marriage? I’ll address both. Poisons are my weapon, and I believe I am as proficient in them as you are with your little daggers. With Karyn sadly gone to Sól’s lap, Kral will need a new first wife. He will do as I tell him and marry you.”
So many responses sprang to mind that they tangled on my tongue. This worked in my favor, as none of them managed to tumble out. Finally I settled on one that didn’t seem too obnoxious. “If you’re so good with poison, why not kill the Emperor yourself?”
“Oh, come now. You might be soul mate to my son in thinking with your knives instead of what’s between your ears, but you’re not that obtuse. Nor is Hestar. He knows very well what I’m capable of and has everything tasted. If you move quickly—and it will have to be at the reception this evening, as you’ve been flaunting your skills more than you should—you can take out Hestar before they realize how dangerous you really are and disarm you.”
It took some doing not to finger one of the shirikins I’d secreted on myself with exactly that possibility in mind. I’d still really like to squeeze in a trial run, but that might not be possible. Restless, I rose and went to the tapestry, plucked the dagger out of the deer’s eye. I spun it between my fingers, contemplating.
“If I do this thing,” I said, trying to sound as if I hadn’t already planned it all out, “everyone will know it was me. I’ll be executed, conveniently freeing you of the obligation to make me Empress. Which”—I continued as she opened her mouth—“I don’t for a moment believe you can arrange. There’s no one to sign me over, and Kral doesn’t listen to you. You two don’t even communicate; he told me so.”
“Did he, now? Afterglow is excellent for extracting confessions.”
I didn’t reply, disconcerted that she’d voiced something I’d said many times. She and I were nothing alike, and yet people loved to say that men went for women who reminded them of their mothers. Even though Kral’s attraction to me was purely sexual, this whole line of thinking bothered me.
I needed to get out of this crazy-making place.
Hulda gave my silence a slight, wry smile. “Talk to my son and tell him what we discussed. I can tell you exactly what he’ll say. The moment Hestar dies, Kral will become Emperor by default, which means he can protect you and the legalities will be irrelevant. The best and fastest way to secure your safety—something that will be of paramount importance to him—will be for him to immediately marry you. You can tell him you have my approval.” She said that last as if she’d bestowed a great boon on me.
“I won’t have Karyn’s approval.”
“You don’t need it, if you have mine. The chit possesses far less power than she thinks. Then she’ll be dead and you can be first wife and Empress.”
“And I’ll owe it all to you.”
She waved a negligent hand. “Consider it a wedding gift.”
Oh, right. I sheathed my dagger. “I’ll talk to Kral.”
“So will I. You may relate to him that I’ll attend the reception this evening. After all, Karyn is like a daughter to me.”
She really did think I was stupid. But I managed a confident smile. “I’ll have Kral tell you what we decided then.”
“Not necessary. If you refuse to do as I ask, I’ll tell the Emperor that you came to me to bargain for my approval, as Karyn refused to give it. A foreign assassin, placed like a viper at the heart of the Dasnarian Empire. My poor son, duped by an evil temptress, more man than woman. You’ll die, Jepp. Quite painfully, in the entertainment salons. There will be many who will enjoy exploring your tolerance for torture. I understand they’re quite skilled at keeping their victims alive for days, even weeks, testing their limits until the poor things finally give up their lives. The spirit breaks long before the body.”
I pretended the threat didn’t make my skin crawl, that the image of myself suffering what I’d witnessed didn’t t
errify me. Being at the mercy of . . . The memory dashed away, as if equally frightened. “Ah.” I cocked a jaunty hip. “So it’s either death by sexual torture for me or becoming Empress of the Dasnarian Empire.”
She smiled thinly, lips sucked in over her aging teeth. “I like my bargains to be exceedingly clear, so there are no confusing gray areas.”
The stale, damp murk of the stairway leading out of the seraglio hit my senses like mountain air on a spring morning. If I never went into that thrice-cursed satin-lined nest again, it would be too soon. I made it back to my rooms, pushed past a startled Sunniva, and closed myself in the bathing chamber. Putting a finger down my throat, I made myself puke up everything in my stomach.
Maybe it wasn’t poison that had made me feel ill, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Weak and a bit shivery, I sat on the stone floor, back against the door for good measure, and breathed in Danu’s Cycle to energize my body to kick out any dregs of poison, if there had been some. I only knew something was wrong with me, and with my fucking life hanging on the line, I needed to get myself right again thriced-fast.
“Ambassador?” Sunniva tapped on the door. “Are you ill?”
I really looked forward to being alone again someday. To being Jepp who communicated best with her knives again. “I’m fine.” Go away, I thought fiercely at her, unwilling to be that brusque with her, but on the verge of it.
“I can arrange for—”
She broke off when I flung the door open. “I’m fine,” I repeated. I needed to think and I did that best moving anyway. Thinking with your knives instead of what’s between your ears. What Hulda didn’t understand, with her spiked tea, indolent existence, and luxurious prison of pillows, was that the mind is part of the body. Movement of my muscles moves my brain. “Help me push these chairs out of the way.”
“But why?” Sunniva set to work moving another of the chairs to the wall.
“I need space. Stay back.” Because I had it again, I drew my mother’s knife, the bigger haft and satisfying weight more centering than my smaller knives. Settling into Midnight Form, I let the movements take over. When my mind cleared of the noise, I’d review my options.
Such as they were.
I’d verified Kir’s presence, so I’d fulfilled my mission. I could escape, find my way home somehow, and take back that news. Her Majesty wouldn’t blame me for that. Really, I could have left as soon as I’d found that out. Why hadn’t I? It seemed like there had been something more I was to do—but what? She’d sent that note, and I’d committed it to memory. I’d never forgotten orders in my life.
Determine if Ami’s annoying friend who visited her before we did can be found. Do not engage. Recon only.
There had been more. I could see it in my mind like something in a dream. Leaving Kral snoring, going to my own cabin, the small room a tumbled mess of my things and Zynda’s, a few of Dafne’s that she hadn’t needed on Nakoa’s tropical island. I’d sat at the desk she’d used and laid the scroll out flat. My muscles sang with renewed vigor as I moved, my mind clearing. A still pond for the memory to rise through and settle upon the surface. Letting me see it in my mind’s eye.
Got word from our shifty friend. None of it your fault. You did good. Don’t beat yourself up for the dragon king’s actions. That’s an order. Things will work out. I’m handling it. Maybe even better this way. Know our librarian relayed some of what she and I spoke of, but she may have been uncertain what to keep secret.
In case there’s doubt:
Determine if Ami’s annoying friend who visited her before we did can be found. Do not engage. Recon only.
Keep it simple. Do the job. Come home. Don’t be a hero.
You are, and always have been, my best scout. I picked you for a reason five years ago. I picked you for good reasons this time, too. Not the ones you think. When boulders speak, they give good advice. I listened and acted accordingly.
If this finds its way into a fire, all the better.
No matter how I focused my mind’s eye, those few lines remained blurred. The rest of Ursula’s crabbed hand stood out bright and black. Those lines, though; it was as if some finger had rubbed them through. Had the scroll been tampered with? That would have stood out in my memory. I would have been concerned, not frisky and cheerful enough to make the sign of Glorianna and hum her morning song while I burned the letter.
My memory of my orders had changed. It had to be Hulda who’d done it—tampering not with the scroll, but with my mind. I didn’t understand it, and there shouldn’t be magic here, outside the barrier, but . . . there it was again—that funny feeling that I should know something.
I stopped without finishing all twelve forms, wiped the sweat from my brow, and sheathed the blade. Sunniva sat in a chair by the window, the tapestry pulled aside for better light, and watched me as she embroidered.
“That is truly miraculous to see, Ambassador,” she said with quiet reverence.
“It’s a skill like any other. Like your embroidery. I can’t do that, so it looks miraculous to me.”
She giggled, surveying her work. “But I could teach you to do this—not that such a humble task would be worthy of you,” she added hastily.
“Tasks themselves can’t be more or less humble. They simply are. It’s the person who decides they’re too special for some job or another. Where I come from, everyone learns to do everything.”
“Not embroidery,” she pointed out, then flushed at her boldness. “I apologize. I—”
“No apologies necessary. You’re absolutely right.” I prowled over to the window. Behind the overcast sky, the sun would be declining, bringing an end to the short winter day. Perhaps my last. Danu grant me a clean death. I maybe didn’t deserve it, but I hoped for it. “We didn’t have that skill, or I would have learned it. I can sew enough to keep myself clothed. No better than that.”
“Then you already have the beginning,” she said, snipping off a thread with her shears. “The rest is simply refinement and elaboration.”
“I could say the same to you.” I nodded at her shears. “You already have the beginning, with your own knives.”
She held up the sewing shears as if she’d never seen them before. “You think so?”
“I know it. Bring them here and I’ll show you.”
Following that impulse, I showed her a few basics. There wasn’t time for much, so I built on what she already knew, her customary grip on the shears, using them in a new way. The memory of that morning at Ordnung came back with painfully nostalgic clarity. Ursula teaching Dafne basic self-defense, using Harlan as the practice dummy and me as a second. That had been a good day, fun, full of laughter and being with good people I cared about.
Upon further thought, I hoped they wouldn’t mourn my passing overmuch. I’d had a good life. A longer one than my mother’s, though not by much. I’d done some useful things and had a great time in general. This would be a little gift to the women of Dasnaria. Hard to say what Harlan had hoped for. In the end it didn’t matter.
I’d given what I had to give, and that would have to suffice.
Sunniva and Runa helped me dress early for the reception. They’d sent a message to Kral for me, requesting a meeting beforehand. Hopefully he’d agree and that would get me back out into the palace proper with enough time to check my aim through the screen. I hadn’t yet decided on my course of action regarding Hestar. It really depended on what Kral wanted for his favor.
If he asked me to kill the Emperor, I would. Of course, I was honor bound to do whatever he requested for his prize, but I wasn’t above trying to talk him out of something I didn’t like. I wouldn’t marry him, however. Neither of us wanted that, and I wouldn’t consign either of us to that particular damnation. We danced an uneasy line of love and hate as it was. All we needed was to be metaphorically imprisoned with each other to push that firmly into lifelong hate.
And I really didn’t want Karyn dead. When she declared her decision to remain married to h
im, he needed to send her home immediately. If Kral could save my ass—provided he’d do so by at least letting me escape, if not actively assisting me—then I’d ask for that. If he couldn’t, I’d ask for a clean death. Maybe I’d have time to do it myself. With my mother’s blade, as she did.
A fitting end.
Arrayed in my crimson clothes, complete with the stiff skirt, festooned with even more jewels and the addition of a dramatic silk cloak, I paced, waiting for the summons from His Imperial Highness. At least the delay let me practice moving with the headdress Runa had designed, a decorative band that let me slip extra shirikins in as part of the overall effect. She and Sunniva had very much wanted to use a fake hairpiece, but—big surprise—nothing in the Imperial Palace matched my hair.
Finally, a page arrived to conduct me to the meeting with His Imperial Highness Prince Kral. I surprised Sunniva and Runa by kissing them and giving each one of my small daggers. I couldn’t wear all of them on my body, much as I’d tried. If I didn’t return, my belongings would be tomorrow’s trash anyway.
Carrying the scroll I’d written, I went with the page, counting the doors and locks, noting that the patterns remained unchanged. If I needed to get back through them, I probably could. Nothing like a plan to be executed under immense pressure with zero practice.
Kral had arrived in the ladies’ observation salon ahead of me, pacing around the place like a caged lion, exuding resigned impatience. He, too, had already dressed for the reception, his deep blue cloak flaring around him as he strode, his lean, muscled body garbed in enough silver to shine like the Emperor’s.
He dismissed the page and greeted me briskly, “Ambassador Jesperanda. An odd choice of locations. Men do not typically enter this chamber.”
“I’m pretty sure you won’t contract a disease as long as you don’t touch anything.”
He barked out a laugh and stopped just out of arm’s reach, looking at me like he’d love nothing better than to put his hands and mouth on me. Danu knew I wanted it, too. A shame that it seemed unlikely we’d ever have each other again, regardless of how the evening went.
The Edge of the Blade Page 29
