by Sarah Zettel
“What is it?” he demanded. “Is it the Vixen?”
There was no time for Bridget to answer. A liveried footman opened the doors and stood aside, thumping his staff once on the floor.
“Their Imperial Majesties will hear you now.”
The footman stood aside. Lord Daren made one more attempt at smoothing down his wild hair and brushing his sleeves into some semblance of neatness as he entered the room. Bridget and Sakra followed close behind him.
The reception chamber of the imperial apartments was grand in the old Isavaltan style. That, to Bridget’s mind, meant chiefly that it was cold and stony. The lush tapestries on the walls did little to screen out the drafts seeping across the floor. The buttresses and arches with their frescoes and divine imagery were artistically interesting but they offered no warmth or comfort. The firepit, for all it was a solid bed of coals, did little to help.
Mikkel, the young emperor of Isavalta, stood beside his wife, the Empress Ananda. Mikkel was a handsome youth — tall, fair, with broad shoulders and the beginnings of a curling beard. Ananda was from Hastinapura, as was her sorcerer, Sakra. She was dark of skin and hair. Her amber eyes slanted above her high cheekbones.
As usual, a small army of servants swarmed around the imperial couple, lighting candles and lamps, setting chairs near the firepit, decanting strong wine and mixing it with water, just in case this meeting went on long enough that refreshment was required.
Bridget and those who entered with her began to kneel, as was required by Isavaltan etiquette, but Mikkel stopped them with a raised hand.
“What has happened, mistress?” he asked Bridget. “What did you learn?”
Bridget straightened up, ignoring the look that Lord Daren shot her. He set great store by matters of protocol. “Sir, madame,” the term “Majesty” did not yet come easily to Bridget. “The Firebird is still in the world, and it means to have its revenge.”
Mikkel blanched white, and even Ananda looked suddenly pale.
“How is this?” cried Lord Daren. “We searched, Majesties. All across the world and through the Land of Death and Spirit. The Firebird was nowhere.”
“I know,” said Bridget. “But it’s back now.”
“The Vixen showed you this?” Ananda’s fingertips touched the back of Mikkel’s hand. “That power is not to be trusted.”
“No, but she said she was showing me … this event because of the favor I’d done her family. She wouldn’t lie about an obligation.”
Mikkel glanced to Lord Daren. “No, Majesty, that is quite true,” admitted the lord sorcerer. “No spirit power will tell a falsehood about a promise or a debt, although they may not tell the whole truth.”
“Can you ascertain the truth of what the Vixen showed Mistress Bridget?” asked the emperor.
Being consulted on the matter appeared to mollify Lord Daren. “The Firebird is one of the great guardians. It could not be fully in the world and remain unseen.” The statement neatly sidestepped the issue of how it had remained unseen before. “All the sorcerers of your court will bend their sight to it.”
“Thank you. If the sorcerers of the land must be alerted, I do not wish to send out any false missive.” Mikkel’s mother had exiled all sorcerers but one from her court. He had begun to find and recall those who had served the old emperor and empress, but although none had disobeyed, it was well known some were not delighted to be pressed into service of such a family again.
“There is another point which should be considered,” said Daren.
“Which is?” Apprehension touched Mikkel’s words, and Ananda drew minutely closer to her husband.
“Whether this vengeance is the Firebird’s own, or is sent by the Nine Elders.” The Nine Elders were the sorcerers who defended the empire of Hung-Tse from all ill-intentioned magics, whether they were malevolent or merely mischievous.
Bridget shook her head. “I think the Nine Elders are in at least as much trouble as Isavalta, and I sincerely doubt they know it’s coming.” She shuddered at the memory of the Firebird’s voice as it spoke of those who should have rescued it but did not.
“Which leaves us with the possibility that they will think we are the ones who unleashed the Firebird on them,” said Mikkel. “That was ever my mother’s threat.”
A look of swift calculation took hold on the empress’s face, and she did not seem to like the conclusions she was reaching. “Could we not warn them?” Ananda asked Sakra. “Is there not some way …?”
Lord Daren was the one who answered. “There may be, Majesty, it is a question of whether there is time enough.”
Mikkel drew back his shoulders. He was about to give an order, his whole stance said it. That was not always easy for him, and Bridget tensed. “Let there be no delay. Use whatever means you have to reach the Nine Elders. I will send a message by courier as soon as may be. All efforts are to be turned toward finding the Firebird and divining its movements, under your direction, Lord Daren.”
Bridget softly expelled the breath she’d been holding.
“Majesty,” Lord Daren reverenced, but Bridget caught the victorious gleam in his eye. It had been acknowledged in front of Sakra that Daren was the one in charge. She suppressed a sigh. Did the man never think beyond petty politics?
The empress glanced around ruefully. “I think no one will sleep much tonight, but return in the morning and we may face this trouble in the full light of day.”
Dismissed, Bridget, Sakra, and Lord Daren reverenced and backed out of the doors that were closed, leaving them standing again in the antechamber with Prathad and the cluster of imperial servitors.
“Well, Mistress Bridget, you bring us grave news indeed,” sighed Lord Daren. For a change, he just sounded tired and worried instead of critical. “You will forgive me if I hope this is some deception on the part of the lokai’s queen.”
Bridget’s smile was tight, and completely without humor. “Sir, if you find out I’ve been taken in, I will be the first to cheer.”
“Hmph.” There was an “I’ll believe it when I see it” look to Daren as he wrapped his heavy robe more tightly around himself. “I must go rouse my fellows.”
Sakra stepped forward, not quite getting in Daren’s way, but making sure he was seen. “Lord Daren, I beg you to let me know how I may assist.”
“I will, but I’m sure the empress will want you free to consult with her come the morning.”
Which meant he would make sure Sakra was kept as far from the work as possible. Bridget felt her mouth purse in disapproval as the lord sorcerer strode out with his servants in tow. Daren did not like Sakra. He did not like the fact that Sakra was a foreigner, and he did not like Sakra’s influence with the empress. He never said so out loud, but he made it plain with a hundred small slights. Bridget was well aware of this, because he played the same sorts of games with her.
Bridget looked to Sakra with a sigh. She set aside Daren’s behavior. Now was not the time to take umbrage.
“I suppose I should have known there would be consequences from what happened,” she said instead.
Sakra shook his head. “You are not the only one.”
“If you please, mistress.”
Bridget started slightly. She was getting into the bad habit of forgetting that Prathad was in the room. She met her maid’s gaze.
Prathad hesitated. “Is it … was it … is this because of my former mistress?”
Once, Prathad had been lady-in-waiting to the Dowager Empress Medeoan, and she had been the last to remain loyal when Medeoan finally went mad. Not even Ananda could bring herself to give the woman a new position after the disaster that brought Medeoan down. Bridget, however, knew about bad luck, and what it was to be unwanted. So, when she was told her new status allowed her two lady’s maids, she’d asked for Prathad to be assigned to her.
“If this is what it appears to be, Prathad, there will be plenty of blame to go around.” Bridget sighed again. “Let’s go back to the room, shall we? It
’s going to be a long night.” She looked at Sakra as she said it, letting him know he was welcome. The truth of the matter was she didn’t want to be alone just yet, although she was not sure she was ready to speak about what else the Vixen had said. Better to let it lie, perhaps. At least until she had a better understanding of the riddle.
Sakra walked beside her through the shadowy corridors. They both knew better than to talk of important things in Vyshtavos’s halls. There was no knowing who was listening, even at such an uncivilized hour. Vyshtavos functioned on rumor and intrigue. In that it was very like a small town. It had not taken Bridget long to learn to guard her tongue.
When Bridget had declared her intention to settle in Isavalta, she had been made a lady-in-waiting to the empress. She was not, however, a lady of the chamber, so she had her own rooms on the imperial level, rather than having to live in the imperial apartments.
She actually had more than that, and that was something she would have to deal with sooner or later.
So much to get used to, she thought ruefully. And now this new thing from the Vixen, whatever it means. If we don’t all get burnt to cinders, I will have to try to puzzle it out.
Perhaps I should have stayed on Sand Island after all.
They reached Bridget’s door. Prathad stepped forward smoothly to open it before Bridget could even get her hand out. Having Prathad at her side proved a mixed blessing some days. She knew a great deal about the customs and the country, and she was dedicated to helping Bridget understand both. As she had once been waiting lady to an empress, however, she had a little trouble with her new mistress’s more informal ways.
Inside, Richikha dozed in her chair, but came instantly awake as Bridget stepped into the chamber. She had not been idle. The firepit had been tended and now held a cheerful blaze to fight the room’s chill. Beside the fire waited a covered silver pitcher of something that filled the room with the scent of cinnamon and old apples.
Sakra stopped politely at the chamber’s threshold.
“Please come in,” said Bridget.
Sakra stepped inside. Richikha and Prathad offered no comment. They just bustled about, bringing forward a small table, a second chair, setting out two cups for the warm cider.
“Thank you both,” she said to her ladies. “You can get ready for bed. I’m going to sit up for a while.”
She didn’t think either one of them was actually going to retire while she was awake, but at least they might sit down and relax for a few moments. They both did reverence and retired behind the wooden screens that separated the living and the sleeping portions of the room.
“Please sit down,” said Bridget to Sakra as she took her own chair and drew it closer to the fire. Even her stay in the imperial apartments had failed to take away all the chill from the garden and the rain.
Sakra gave her a sympathetic smile.
“You’d think I’d be used to the cold.” Bridget held her long-fingered hands out to warm.
“I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to get used to the Isavaltan cold.”
“You’ve never wintered near Lake Superior.”
“A portion of your life I am not sorry to have missed,” he replied blandly. He poured a measure of cider into a silver cup and handed it across to her.
“There were a few of those winters I would not have been sorry to miss either.” She accepted the cup and raised it to him in a small toast. He raised his in return and they drank. The hard cider and bright spices warmed Bridget’s stomach instantly. She lowered the cup, and saw Sakra watching her, waiting for whatever she had to say.
To her embarrassment, she sought delay. “Lord Daren doesn’t think much of either of us.”
Sakra sipped his own cider thoughtfully, but did not look away from her. “Lord Daren is uncertain of his position. He was removed from it before. Losing power is a difficult thing to face, especially for such a sorcerer as he is.”
“I suppose it would be.” Bridget rested her fingers on the rim of her cup. She could think of nothing else to say, and yet she couldn’t say what she wanted to.
“Bridget, did the Vixen say something to you personally?”
Bridget considered telling him that she was just tired and worried about the Firebird, but then she looked up at Sakra’s eyes, and saw he already knew this was not the truth.
Daughter and lover, niece and aunt, are you that sure of all your family?
What did she mean?
Bridget rolled the cup back and forth in her hands. “She seemed to be interested in my family. She asked was I certain of how all my family felt about me. She said, ‘Daughter and lover, niece and aunt, are you that sure of all your family?’ ” Bridget watched the steam rise from her cider. “Why would she care about what might be happening on Sand Island? Or Bayfield? And what has any of that to do with the fact that the Firebird’s coming here?” She frowned and shook her head.
“Daughter, lover, niece, and aunt,” said Sakra. “Is that all that she called you?”
Bridget thought back carefully. The Vixen played games with words. No turn of phrase was accidental. “Yes,” she said at last. “Why?”
Sakra’s face went very still. “Bridget, you are also a mother.”
Bridget’s hand tightened around her cup. “My daughter is dead.”
“Nonetheless.”
Bridget bit her lip. Sakra was right, of course. She was a mother. The hollow pain that took hold of her heart whenever she thought of the swaddled babe in her arms told her that.
No turn of the Vixen’s phrase was an accident, neither was any omission.
“Anna is nine years gone, Sakra. I held …” She swallowed. “I held her body. I saw her buried. I didn’t … I’d never even heard the word ‘Isavalta’ when I lost her. How can the fact I once had a child mean anything to anyone here?”
“I don’t know,” he answered with the quiet honesty that was the central facet of his character. “What else did she ask you?”
Bridget set her cup down on the lacquered table. Her hand had begun to shake. Yet, if she did not answer his question, it would gall her. When the Vixen set one on a path, one had to follow. She was a power, and her touch, however mild, was not to be resisted.
As best she could, Bridget repeated the whole of her conversation with the Vixen. Sakra listened in silence, his only comment the deepening furrows of his brow.
“As close as skin, as close as blood,” he murmured when Bridget ran out of words. “And other duties. Bridget, I fear you are right, she spoke of your family.”
“And you think she meant Anna somehow?”
Sakra nodded.
“Oh, God.” Bridget tried to turn away from the idea, to dismiss it from her mind utterly. Anna was dead. Bridget had been put on trial for that death. She had stood in dock and listened to Ernie Lawrence, Bayfield’s prosecuting attorney, spew invective at her for that death. It was Anna’s death as much as anything else that had driven her from Sand Island and into this strange, vast, welcoming world where she now lived.
“This is ridiculous.” Bridget rubbed her hands together as if she were Lady Macbeth and was afraid of seeing blood on her palms. “She’s trying to distract me. We should be helping Lord Daren track down the Firebird. Surely, you and Mistress Urshila can help me bring up a vision …”
Sakra did not let her finish. “Bridget, have you … ever seen Anna’s ghost?”
Bridget swallowed with difficulty. “No.” Her voice was hoarse, and she did not trust herself to speak more than that one word. She had seen the shades of her mother and her father, and the man whom she had grown up with as her father. But not her baby.
“And you did not seek to.” Sakra spoke the words for her.
Bridget nodded her agreement, her mouth still firmly closed.
Sakra sat silently for a moment, giving himself time to think, and giving Bridget time to collect herself. Of all the things that might possibly have brought her again to the Vixen’s attention … this had
not even entered her mind. How was it possible she was sitting here with Sakra discussing Anna?
Sakra reached out and touched the arm of her chair, his fingertips a hairsbreadth from her sleeve. “I am sorry, Bridget, but can you tell me how Anna died?”
Bridget licked her lips. Of course she could, but she did not want to. “She just … it was a cradle death. It was night. I woke up to help Poppa tend the light, when I came back down …” She could not say it. Nine years later and a world away, and she could not say it. “I tried,” she said instead. “I did everything I could think of. If I’d been a moment earlier … If I’d done more than glance into the cradle instead of the light, maybe …” That was the thought that had echoed through her head the entire time she stood in court. If she’d been a moment sooner. If she’d cared for her child first and her duty to her father and the light second. If, if, if …
Maybe she had truly wanted the child dead, as the prosecutor had said. Maybe she was taking revenge on her lover Asa Kyosti, who took her virtue and left with nothing but a bastard daughter.
Bridget closed her eyes.
“Then there was no mark upon her body? No cause or sign?” Sakra spoke as gently as he could, but the words still burned.
“No. It’s … something that happens.” A moment sooner. If she had looked into the cradle for more than a second. Spared Anna more than just a passing glance …
“Yes, I know. But it is also something which may be hastened … or it may be made false by magic.”
Bridget’s eyes flew open. “What are you saying?”
Sakra had drawn his hand back and now he rubbed it across his brow. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Are you saying someone … a sorcerer … from Isavalta might have murdered my baby?” Her voice rose high and sharp. “Why? How could they? They didn’t even know I existed.”
“But Medeoan knew your mother existed. Who knows when she first sent Kalami across to the world of your birth, and who knows what he saw there?”
