A Sorcerer’s Treason

by Sarah Zettel

  Ananda’s steps faltered. A girdle around his waist. Was that all that had done this? She had to get to him. Her blood sang in her ears. All other plans and thoughts fell away from her. She had to tear the vile thing from him.

  “It must be hidden from normal sight,” Sakra was saying. “And the dowager will let none but the servants she has handpicked near enough to the emperor to touch him.”

  They reached her door. Kiriti and Behule, leading the gaggle of other ladies, bustled inside to prepare the rooms. It was all Ananda could do to keep from running headlong down the corridor to Mikkel’s door.

  But she did not. She maintained her dignity, leading Sakra into her outer chamber, even though every portion of her mind sang hurry, hurry. There was no telling what the dowager was doing. She must get to Mikkel, or she must send Sakra to him. She needed to know what to do, immediately.

  Kiriti and Behule shut the doors behind them, setting the bar into place. The other ladies busied themselves about the chamber, lighting candles and setting things in order for the evening. Mostly, they were proving they were too occupied to listen in on whatever might pass between their mistress and the keeper.

  Ananda spun on her toes, grasping Sakra’s hands.

  “Can you free him?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper. Kiriti and Behule were staring, but she could not permit them to hear. Too much was changing, too fast. They must not be able to report anything should her frail hopes be dashed. There was no time for pleasantries, no time for thanks. All that mattered was getting to Mikkel. All that mattered was the end of the nightmare.

  All of which Sakra realized perfectly. “I cannot,” he said, but he held up a hand to stop the outburst he most surely saw coming from her. “To undo a spell of binding, which this is, one must be bound to the victim, by blood, by oath or by being the one who cast a spell. I am in no way bound to Mikkel, but you are. If you can get the girdle off him, he will be free.”

  Free. Yes, free. Both of us free, and the nightmare over. “How may I reach him? The dowager’s guard will be patrolling the halls.”

  The keeper’s eyes sparkled, and for a moment Ananda could truly see Sakra behind them. “If your ladies may be distracted for a moment, it will be time for you to become the good keeper.”

  Ananda understood him at once. She nodded to Kiriti and made a sweeping gesture. In return, Kiriti gathered up all the ladies to depart behind the bed screens to turn down the sheets and lay out the nightclothes to be brushed and warmed.

  “Quickly,” said Ananda to Sakra.

  Sakra leaned forward. Ananda felt a piece of netting wrapped around her wrist, and then Sakra kissed her full on the mouth. Startled, Ananda jerked away, and saw herself looking back at her. Reflexively, she looked down at her own hands and saw the pale, vein-lined hands of an old man protruding from the long sleeves of Keeper Bakhar’s robes.

  Ananda eagerly grasped her double’s hand, before she remembered who she was supposed to be.

  “Blessed daughter,” she murmured, as Bakhar had said a thousand times to her. “Be well.” Sakra, her double, nodded solemnly to her and passed her the keeper’s staff.

  Ananda did not hesitate any longer, but strode from the room. She passed the stragglers from the court with her strangely aged and too huge hand raised in blessing. They bowed their heads respectfully as she passed, but they did not look at her twice. She strode down the hall and through the open chambers in what she hoped was a stately and appropriate pace. Inside, her heart was pounding. She could reach Mikkel, but then what? As the good keeper she could not be reasonably kept from one of the household, but she could hardly begin stripping off Mikkel’s clothing. And if the dowager’s lackeys saw her as herself, they would surely send her away.

  Anger flooded Ananda then. Must she even go into disguise to save her husband and thus the whole land of Isavalta? She was the highest-born lady of Hastinapura. She was an empress. Who would dare prevent her from going where she would? How much longer did she intend to cower underneath the machinations of an insane old woman? Mikkel’s doorway waited straight ahead of her, flanked by its guards, the dowager’s guards. No, her guards. Mikkel’s guards. This was the end of the game, and she would play it out as herself.

  She stripped Sakra’s spell off her wrist and thrust the bright weaving into her sleeve.

  Two of the guards watched over the emperor’s door. Ananda frowned. Where were the others? The full complement of six had taken him from the Great Hall. One of the pair was tall and thin, with the sandy red hair that marked him as a man from the plains to the south. The other had dark brown hair, almond eyes and golden skin, which came from the eastern coast.

  They both blinked to see her, but at once gave her the soldier’s bow, as was proper.

  “Is the emperor within?” Ananda inquired.

  “No, Majesty Imperial,” said the man from the east. “He has been taken to the baths.”

  The baths. The baths. Of course. It was a requirement of the holy day, that the emperor be bathed in water from Vyshemir’s ocean at midnight. Frustration roiled inside Ananda. She could not follow him there. “Then I will wait for him inside,” she announced.

  But East was not to be so quickly commanded. “Majesty Imperial, it is the wish of Her Grand Majesty that all remain within their own rooms tonight.”

  So that Mikkel can stay imprisoned. So that she can keep hold of her power. But no more. I will not permit this anymore. Ananda moved close to the man, forcing him to press himself back against the wall lest he inadvertently touch her. “You spoke my title. You know who I am.”

  “Yes, Majesty Imperial.” His eyes betrayed the beginnings of confusion, perhaps even fear. She heard the rustle as his counterpart, who should have been standing rigidly at attention, shifted his weight uneasily. Good.

  “And who I am I?”

  He bowed his head, getting ready to give the salute, but she gave him no room. “You are the empress of Isavalta.”

  Ananda returned the slightest of nods. “And who are you?”

  “Underlieutenant Kolapai Prilepaisyn Priklonskovin.”

  Ananda took a step closer. The man had to suck in his chest now. The imperial personage was sacred. He could not even accidentally brush up against her. Right now, that piece of protocol was making it very difficult for him to breathe. “And you, Underlieutenant Kolapai, are going to tell me where I may and may not go within the palace?”

  Uncertainty wrinkled his face. “I have no choice, Majesty Imperial.”

  “Oh, but you do have a choice,” she whispered, pleasantly. “You may serve your emperor and allow me entry, or you may be guilty of treason.”

  “Majesty Imperial,” said the southern man from the other side of the door. “We all have our orders tonight. Please do not ask this of us.”

  Ananda turned toward him without giving the underlieutenant any extra space. She let her face go hard. “You know all is not well. You could not help but know that. After tonight everything will change. You can either obey me now, or be very well remembered for your failures.”

  The southern man, either more loyal or more frightened than his superior, made his decision and snapped to attention. “As Your Majesty Imperial pleases.”

  Ananda smiled and stepped back from the underlieutenant. “Thus is Eternal Isavalta served. I shall remember.” She crossed to the southern man and slipped a ring of polished coral from her finger. She pressed it into his hand. “And that is for your silence on this matter. Tell no one I am inside.”

  Mikkel’s apartments were bright with the light of lamps and braziers. Still, they felt lifeless. She passed from the blue and gold audience chamber, to the private study with its inlaid desk that was a newer copy of the one the dowager used, to the parlor and private dining room. Each was furnished well, as it should be, and all were clean. The gilding shone. The murals had been kept immaculate, as had the icons in their alcoves. Rich wooden furniture and thick rugs lent the place warmth, but there was no heart here, no s
oul. It was a place where a body might rest, no more than that.

  Ananda hurried to the screened-off area where Mikkel’s bed waited. The bed they had tried to poison just a few hours earlier tonight. She swallowed and tried to prepare herself for patience. It was not easy, and after only a few moments, she found herself pacing back and forth.

  What was going to happen? What was she going to do? Would the house guard on the door keep their silence? What if they did not? Should she hide? Let the servants put Mikkel to bed? What would she do then? When they slept and she emerged, what would she do, and how would she ensure that they did not wake to find her with Mikkel all against the dowager’s express orders?

  And what of Mikkel himself? Would he stay silent and disinterested? Would he perhaps even sleep through her attentions? In his enchantment, did he truly sleep? Sometimes Ananda hoped he did, and that in his dreams, at least, he knew her, and remembered the delight and anticipation they had once shared in each other’s company.

  She had gone to him once. Kiriti and Behule had distracted the servants Medeoan set to watch Mikkel, and Ananda had hidden behind her husband’s bed-curtains and seen him, all laid out like a doll in a toy bed.

  “Mikkel.” She had breathed his name as she climbed into the bed beside him. “Beloved, husband. I am here.”

  She’d run her hands across his shoulders then, and down his chest. She’d kissed his eyes and his cheeks. The strength of desire, she thought, might do what nothing else could. It might make him remember, might make him acknowledge her, say her name, or even just look at her and for one moment truly see her.

  But he lay there, unmoving, his flesh cool and undisturbed by her caresses.

  “Mikkel.” Tears stung her eyes.

  She kissed him full on the mouth, but his mouth did not move in answer. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she pressed harder, trying to force his lips apart with her tongue. They did part, but his mouth remained slack, soft, dead.

  Choking on her tears, and suddenly sick, Ananda jerked backward, her hand slapped against her mouth to hold back her rising gorge. She ran away, blinded by tears, rage and horror.

  She had not been able to make herself return to her husband’s bedroom. Until now, and now she stood here — empress, wife and frightened girl all rolled into one, hoping only that she would understand how to act before she was discovered and confined once again.

  • • •

  Bridget allowed Gali and Iadviga to divest her of her heavy gold-and-pearl outer coat, and the outer layers of tissue. She stood near the freshly stoked fire in her dark velvet underdress and she could hear the pair of them behind the bed screens, twittering and bickering as they divided up the pearls she had promised them. All had gone well, so far, after all, and she might need their help again. It was as well she paid the price she had promised.

  Left momentarily alone, Bridget unfastened Kalami’s brooch from her shoulder and tossed it gladly into the wooden box where Richikha had concealed the first love charm.

  You will have this, I promise, she thought to the absent Richikha as she closed the lid, but she had no idea how she could keep the promise.

  Bridget dropped herself into a chair beside the firepit and stared into the flames. She was beginning to hate this room. It was a cell. A beautifully furnished cell, but a cell all the same. First Kalami, and now the dowager, held her here until they were ready to use her and she was becoming sick to death of it.

  Bridget glanced at the door. Had Ananda and Sakra managed to get to the emperor yet? Where was Kalami? What was he doing, and what was he saying? What was he planning to do to her? And how was she going to find out in time to save herself from it?

  I can help you.

  Bridget sat up straight.

  I can help you against him. I can see you safe.

  “Firebird,” breathed Bridget, her fingers curling around the chair’s arm.

  Help me, and I can see you safe, said the susurrating voice inside her head.

  Bridget’s heart fluttered high in her throat. The voice was so clear, more so even than it had been the night she had gone in search of it. It seemed as if her ladies must hear it as well, but all the noise that came from behind the screens was Gali’s slightly disdainful voice saying, “No, no, my lady. That one is mine. The next is yours.”

  “How can you keep me safe?” breathed Bridget. She had no doubt that the Firebird could hear.

  He will find you there. You must come to me.

  Bridget rose slowly to her feet, her heart pounding as if she already heard Kalami’s footsteps outside her door. No, calm yourself.

  Rubbing her hands, Bridget began to circle around the firepit. He is with the dowager. You have done your work there. He is under an inquiry. He can do nothing to you tonight.

  So you hope, she answered herself. How can you know?

  Richikha lay burning with fever, if she lived still, and Kalami had not even needed to touch her. Richikha had just been a bystander, someone who committed an offense in ignorance. What more would he do to Bridget?

  She hated herself for being so afraid, but there the fear was. It was not the fear she had felt of storm, or fog, her father’s illness or even the coroner’s jury as they sat in judgment over the death of her daughter. Those she could stand against. For those she had tasks that she could perform, a stance to take, even when it was only to maintain her dignity. This was a helpless fear of a force she did not know how to counter.

  Come to me, said the Firebird. Let me help you.

  She already knew the price the bird would demand in return. It wanted its freedom. The cage drove it frantic, had driven it frantic for almost thirty years. Yet, she could not forget the images of fire and destruction she had seen so clearly in her dream.

  But could she forget the vision of salvation she had also seen? Could she trust a vision that had come only in a dream?

  If she stood before the Firebird’s cage, what would she see inside it? She could see the truth in Isavalta. However this new ability had come to her, it was clear that she could trust it. If she stood before the Firebird and looked at it closely, then she might know what to do. Then she could decide.

  And Kalami would not know where to find her. She would be safely hidden, at least for a while.

  “How do I find you?”

  You know how, replied the Firebird. Bridget remembered the dance she had danced in Sakra’s stone house and the wild joy of it. Think of me said the Firebird. The fire will bring you to me.

  It was not a good idea, but it was the only one she had. Last time she had attempted any such thing she had become lost, and the foxes had come for her. But then she had not known where she was going. This time she had both a vision and the Firebird’s own voice to guide her. She would not wait for Kalami’s next move. Not again. She could no longer tell herself that she had no power, that she did not know what she was doing. Those were the lies now. That was what Kalami wanted her to believe. That was what truly kept her trapped. If she wanted to be free of him she would have to accept what she was, all that she was.

  Bridget took a deep breath, fixed in her mind the image of the Firebird in its golden cage, all alone amid the darkness and its own endless heat.

  Bridget began to dance.

  • • •

  Sakra, in his disguise as Ananda, had informed the ladies that he would be sitting by the fire for some time, and that they should not delay their own rest for him. Kiriti and Behule begged leave to sit with their mistress, which he readily granted, as Ananda surely would. The others moved about the room, laying out their own beds with the help of the page girls, and readying themselves for sleep.

  All at once, one of them gave a shriek and pointed right at Sakra. He started to his feet, and in so doing, caught a glimpse of his hands, large and dark, and completely undisguised.

  “Agnidh Sakra!” exclaimed Kiriti in a voice that said plainly she was not sure whether to be frightened or outraged. “What is happening?”

 
“I wish that I knew, Lady,” he answered. Ananda had removed his talisman, or it had been removed from her, thus shattering the chain of illusion. In his modest bed, Keeper Bakhar now reverted to his own appearance, as Sakra had, and out there in the corridors, Ananda was herself. He frowned at the door, wishing foolishly that he could see through it as Bridget Lederle seemed able to.

  “He is not permitted here!” squeaked one of the other ladies. One of the Isavaltans by the voice.

  “Hush, sister,” he heard Behule say softly in reply. “This is not our business.”

  “As if we needed more business tonight,” said another of them. “What is happening to them all?”

  “That,” said Kiriti firmly, “is most assuredly not our business.”

  The talisman had not been broken. He would have felt that. It had only been removed then. He could hope. Ananda might have done that herself so that Mikkel could see who she truly was. She might be standing before him even now, undoing the dowager’s spell.

  “Agnidh?” Kiriti bowed before him, giving the salute of trust.

  It was only then he realized he had been standing with his fists clenched and his teeth bared at nothing at all.

  Sakra’s attention snapped back to the room around him. The ladies clumped together like a flock of brilliant birds, watching him with greater or lesser degrees of suspicion. Even Behule looked uneasy. He could not blame them. Currents were running through the palace tonight, all of them fast and deep. After that scene in the Great Hall, not even the dimmest among Medeoan’s court could be unaware that great change was coming.

  And here he was locked in this room, unable to help Ananda through it. His gaze strayed to the altar with the Seven Mothers poised in their dance, and then to the door beside the altar.

  He faced Kiriti. “Lady, your sisters in waiting are disturbed by my presence. I do not blame them. I suggest they make themselves ready to await their mistress’s return. I shall put myself in the private study, and from there I will disturb no one’s delicacy.”

  In the private study, with Ananda’s 100m and all the tools they had laid out so carefully. Surely, they had left a mirror in there. From there he could see beyond these walls. If he was quick, he might even be able to warn Ananda, if there was need.