They went over the plan once more from beginning to end. Arista and Polish came up with several potential problems: What if too few people came? What if they could not secure the armory? What if the garrison did not attack? They discussed and made contingency plans until they were certain everything was accounted for.
As they concluded, Doctor Gerand drew forth a bottle of rum and called for glasses from Mrs. Dunlap. "Tomorrow morning we go into battle," he said. "Some of us at this table will not survive to see the sunset again." He lifted his glass. "To those who will fall and to our victory."
"And to the good lady who made it possible," Emery added, and they all raised their glasses to her and drank.
Arista drank with the rest, but found the liquor to have a bitter taste.
***
The princess lay awake in the tiny room across the hall from Mrs. Dunlap's bedroom. It was smaller than her maid's quarters in Medford, with only a small window and a tiny shelf to hold a candle. There was so little room between the walls and the bed that she was forced to crawl over the mattress to enter. She could not sleep. The battle to take the city would start in just a few hours and she was consumed by nervous energy. Her mind raced through precautions, running a checklist over and over again.
Have I done all I can to prepare?
Everything was about to change. For good or ill.
Will Alric forgive me if I die? She gave a bitter laugh. Will he forgive me if I live?
She stared at the ceiling, wondering if there was a spell to help her sleep.
Magic.
She considered using it in the coming battle. She toyed with the idea while tapping her feet together, anxiously listening to the rain patter the roof.
If I can make it rain what else can I do? Could I conjure a phantom army? Rain fire? Open the earth to swallow the garrison?
She was certain of only one thing—she could boil blood. The thought sobered her.
What if I lose control? What if I boiled the blood of our men…or Emery?
When she boiled the water in Sheridan, the nearby clothing had sizzled and hissed. Magic was not so easy. Perhaps with time she could master it, but already she sensed her limitations. It was clear now why Esrahaddon had given her the task of making it rain. Previously she thought it an absurd challenge to attempt such an immense feat. Now she realized that making it rain was easy. The target was broad as the sky and the action was natural—the equivalent of asking a marksman to throw a rock and try and hit the ground. The process would be the same, she guessed, for any spell, the drawing of power, the focus, and the execution through synchronized movement and sound, but the idea of pin-pointing such unruly force to a specific target was daunting. She realized with a shudder that if Royce and Hadrian had been on the hill that night, they too would have died along with the seret. There was no doubt she could defeat the garrison, but she might kill everyone in Ratibor in the process. It could be possible to use the Art to draw down lightning or summon fire to consume the soldiers, but it would be like asking a first-year music student to compose and orchestrate a full symphony.
No, I can't take that risk.
She turned her mind to more practical issues. Did they have enough bandages prepared? She had to remember to get a fire going to have hot coals for sealing wounds. Was there anything else she could do?
She heard a soft rapping and pulled the covers up, as she wore only a thin nightgown borrowed from Mrs. Dunlap. "Yes?"
"It's me," Emery said. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"Come in, please," she told him.
Emery opened the door and stood at the foot of the bed, wearing only his britches and an oversized shirt. "I couldn't sleep and I thought maybe you couldn't either."
"Who would have guessed that waiting to see if you will live or die would make it so hard to sleep?" She shrugged and smiled.
Emery smiled back and looked for a means to enter the room.
She sat up and propped two pillows behind her. "Just crawl on the bed," she told him, folding her legs and slapping the covers. He looked awkward but took her offer and crawled to sit at the foot of the mattress, which sank with his weight.
"Are you scared?" she inquired, and realized too late that it was not the kind of question a woman should ask of a man.
"Are you?" he parried, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. He was barefoot and his toes shone pale in the moonlight.
"Yes," she said. "I'm not even going to be on the line and I'm terrified."
"Would you think me a miserable coward if I said I was frightened too?"
"I would think you a fool if you weren't."
He sighed and let his head rest on his knees.
"What is it?"
"If I tell you something do you promise to keep it a secret?" he asked, keeping his head down.
"I am an ambassador. I do that sort of thing for a living."
"I've never fought in a battle before. I've never killed a man."
"I suspect that is the case for nearly everyone fighting tomorrow," she said, hoping he would assume she included herself in that statement. She could not bear to tell him the truth. "I don't think most of these people have ever used a sword."
"Some have." He lifted his head. "Adam the Wheeler fought with Ethelred's army against the Ghazel when Lord Rufus won his fame. Renkin Pool and Forrest the silversmith's son also fought. That's why I have them as leaders in the line. The thing is, everyone is looking to me like I am a great war hero, but I don't know if I will stand and fight or run like a coward. I might faint dead away at the first sight of blood."
Arista reached out, taking his hand in hers. "If there is one thing I am certain of," she looked directly in his eyes, "it is that you will stand and fight bravely. I honestly don't think you could do anything else. It just seems to be the way you're made. I think that is what everyone sees in you. Why they look up to you—and I do, too."
Emery bowed his head. "Thank you, that was very kind."
"I wasn't being kind, just honest." Feeling suddenly awkward, she released his hand and asked him, "How is your back?"
"It still hurts," he said, raising his arm to test it. "But I'll be able to swing a sword. I really should let you get to sleep." He scrambled off the bed.
"It was nice that you came," she told him and meant it.
He paused. "I will only have one regret tomorrow."
"And what is that?"
"That I am not noble."
She gave him a curious look.
"If I were even a lowly baron and survived the battle, I would ride to Melengar and ask your brother for your hand. I would pester him until he either locked me up or surrendered you. I know that is improper. I know you must have dukes and princes vying for your affections, but I would try just the same. I would fight them for you. I would do anything…if only."
Arista felt her face flush and fought an urge to cover it with her hands. "You know, a common man whose father died in the service of his king, who was so bold as to take Ratibor and Aquesta, could find himself knighted for such heroics. As ambassador, I would point out to my brother that such an act would do well for our relationship with Rhenydd."
Emery's eyes brightened. They had never looked so vibrant or so deep. There was a joy on his face. He took a step back toward the bed, paused, then slowly withdrew.
"Well, then," Emery said at last, "I shall need my sleep if I am to be knighted."
"You shall indeed, Sir Emery."
"My lady," he said, and attempted a sweeping bow but halted partway with a wince and a gritting of his teeth. "Good night."
After he left her room, Arista discovered her heart was pounding and her palms moist. How shameful. In a matter of hours, men would die because of her. By noon, she could be hanging from a post, yet she was flushed with excitement because a man showed an interest in her. How horribly childish…how infantile…how selfish…and how wonderful. No one had ever looked at her the way he just had. She remembered how his hand
felt and the rustle of his toes on her bed covers—what awful timing she had.
She lay in bed and prayed to Maribor that all would be well. They needed a miracle, and immediately she thought of Hadrian and Royce. Isn't that what Alric always called them…his miracle workers? Everything would be all right.
Chapter 15
The Speech
Amilia sat biting her thumbnail, or what little was left of it. "Well?" she asked Nimbus. "What do you think? She seems stiff to me."
"Stiff is good," the thin man replied. "People of high station are known to be reserved and inflexible. It lends an air of strength to her. It's her chin that bothers me. The board in her corset fixed her back, but her chin—it keeps drooping. She needs to keep her head up. We should put a high collar on her dress, something stiff."
"A little late for that now," Amilia replied irritated. "The ceremony is in less than an hour."
"A lot can be done in that time, your ladyship," he assured her.
Amilia still found it awkward, even embarrassing to be referred to as ladyship. Nimbus, who always followed proper protocol, insisted on referring to her this way. His mannerisms rubbed off on the other members of the castle staff. Maids and pages, who only months earlier laughed and made fun of Amilia, took to bowing and curtsying. Even Ibis Thinly began addressing Amilia as her ladyship. It was flattering, but also fleeting. Amilia was only a noble in name—a title she could lose just as easily as it was won—and that is exactly what would happen in less than an hour.
"Alright, wait outside," she ordered. "I'll hand you the dress to take to the seamstress. Your eminence, can I please have the gown?"
Modina raised her arms as if in a trance and two handmaidens immediately went to work undoing the numerous buttons and hooks.
Amilia's stomach churned. She had done everything possible in the time allotted. Modina had been surprisingly cooperative and easily memorized and repeated the speech Saldur provided. It was short and easy to remember. Modina's role was remarkably simple. She would step onto the balcony, repeat the words, and withdraw. It would only be a few minutes, yet Amilia was certain disaster would follow.
Despite all the preparations, Modina simply was not ready. The empress had only recently showed signs of lucidity and managed to follow directions, but no more than that. In many ways, she reminded Amilia of a dog. Trained to sit and stay, a pup would do as it was told when the master was around, but how many could maintain their composure when left on their own? A squirrel passing by would break their discipline and off they would go. Amilia was not permitted on the balcony, and if anything unexpected happened there was no telling how the empress would react.
Amilia took the elaborate gown to Nimbus. "Make it quick. I don't want to be here with an empress clad only in her undergarments when the bell strikes."
"I will run like the wind, milady," he said with a forced smile.
"What are you doing out here?" Regent Saldur asked. Nimbus made a hasty bow then ran off with the empress' gown. The regent was lavishly dressed for the occasion, which made him even more intimidating than usual. "Why aren't you in with the empress? There is less than an hour before the presentation."
"Yes, your grace, but there are some last minute prep—"
Saldur took her angrily by the arm and dragged her inside the staging room. Modina was wrapped in a robe and the two handmaidens fussed with her hair. They both stopped abruptly and curtsied.
Saldur took no notice. "Must I waste my time impressing on you the importance of this day?" he said while roughly releasing her. "Outside this palace, all of Aquesta is gathering, as well as dignitaries from all over Warric and even ambassadors from as far away as Trent and Calis. It is paramount that they see a strong, competent empress. Has she learned the speech?"
"Yes, your grace," Amilia replied with bowed head.
Saldur examined the empress in her disheveled robe and unfinished hair. He scowled and whirled on Amilia. "If you ruin this—if she falters, I will hold you personally responsible. A single word from me and you'll never be seen again. Given your background, I won't even have to create an excuse. No one will question your disappearance. No one will even notice you're gone. Fail me, Amilia, and I will see you deeply regret it."
He left, slamming the door behind him and leaving Amilia barely able to breathe.
"Your ladyship?" the maid Anna addressed her.
"What is it?" she asked, weakly.
"It's her shoe, my lady, the heel has come loose."
What else could go wrong?
On any ordinary day, nothing like this would happen, but today, because her life depended on it, disasters followed one upon another. "Get it to the cobbler at once and tell him if it isn't fixed in twenty minutes I'll—I'll—"
"I will tell him to hurry, my lady." Anna ran from the room, shoe in hand.
Amilia began to pace. The room was only twenty-feet long, causing her to turn frequently and making her dizzy, but she did it anyway. Her body was reacting unconsciously while her mind flew over every aspect of the ceremony.
What if she leaps off the balcony?
The thought hit her like a slap. As absurd as it seemed, it was possible. The empress was not of sound mind. With the noise and confusion of thousands of excited subjects, Modina could become overwhelmed and simply snap. The balcony was not terribly high, only thirty-feet or so, it might not kill her if she landed well. Amilia, on the other hand, would not survive the fall.
Sweat broke out on her brow as her pacing quickened.
It was too late to put up a higher rail.
Perhaps a net at the bottom? No, that won't help. It was not the injury; it was the spectacle.
A rope? She could tie a length around Modina's waist and hold it from behind. That way if she made any forward movement she could stop her.
Nimbus returned, timidly peeking into the room. "What is it, milady?" he asked, seeing her expression.
"Hmm? Oh, everything. I need a rope and a shoe—but never mind that. What about the dress?"
"The seamstress is working as fast as she can. Unfortunately, I don't think there will be time for a test dressing."
"What if it doesn't fit? What if it chokes her so she can't even speak?"
"We must think positively, milady."
"That's easy for you to say, your life isn't dangling by a thread—perhaps literally."
"But surely, your ladyship, isn't in fear of such a thing merely from a dress alteration? We are civilized people after all."
"I'm not certain what civilization you're from Nimbus, but this one can be harsh to those who fail."
Amilia looked at Modina sitting quietly, oblivious to the importance of the speech she was about to give. They would do nothing to her. She was the empress and the whole world knew it. If she disappeared there would be an inquiry and the people would demand justice for the loss of their god-queen. Even people as well placed as Saldur could hang for such a crime.
"Shall I bring the headdress?" Nimbus asked.
"Yes, please. Anna fetched it from the milliners this morning and likely left it in the empress' bedroom."
"And how about I bring a bite for you to eat, milady? You haven't had anything all day."
"I can't eat."
"As you wish. I will be back as soon as I can."
Amilia went to the window. From this vantage point she could just see the east gate, where scores of people poured through. Men, women, and children of all classes entered the outer portcullis. The gathering throng emitted a low murmur like some gigantic beast growling just out of sight. There was a knock at the door and in stepped the seamstress with the gown in her arms as if it were a newborn baby.
"That was fast," Amilia said.
"Forgive me, your ladyship, it's not quite done, but the royal tutor just stopped by and said I should finish up here where I can size it to her eminence's neck. It's not how things are done, you see. It's not right to make the great lady sit and wait on me like some dress dummy. Still, the
tutor said if I didn't do as he said he—" She paused and lowered her voice to a whisper. "He said he'd have me horse whipped."
Amilia put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. "He was not serious about the whipping, I can assure you, but he was quite right, this is too important to worry about inconveniencing her eminence. Get to work."
They dressed her once more in the gown and the seamstress worked feverishly, stitching in the rest of the collar. Amilia had begun to resume her pacing when there was another knock on the door. With the seamstress and maids occupied, Amilia opened it herself and was startled to find the Earl of Chadwick.
"Good evening, Lady Amilia," he said, bowing graciously. "I was hoping for a word with her eminence prior to the commencement."
"This is not a good time, sir," she said. Amilia could hardly believe she was saying "no" to a noble lord. "The empress is indisposed at the moment. Please understand."
"Of course, my apologies. Perhaps I could have a word with you then?"
"Me? Ah, well—yes, of course." Amilia stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
Amilia expected the earl would make his issue known right then, but instead he began to walk down the corridor and it took a moment for her to realize he expected her to follow.
"The empress is well I trust?"
"Yes, my lord," she said, glancing back at the door to the dressing room that was getting farther away.
"I am pleased to hear that," the earl said, then with sudden alarm added, "How rude of me. How are you feeling, my lady?"
"I am as well as can be expected, sir."
If Amilia was not so consumed with thoughts of the empress, she would have found it funny that an earl was embarrassed by not immediately inquiring about her own health.
"And it is beautiful weather for the festivities today, is it not?"
"Yes, sir, it is," she forced her voice to remain calm.
Nimbus, Anna, and the cobbler all appeared and rushed down the hall. Nimbus paused briefly, giving her a worried look before entering the dressing room.
"Allow me to be blunt," the earl said.
Nyphron Rising Page 28
