She didn’t rise, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “Your Highness, I work in the detention tower and … and, Your Highness, the guards asked me to pass along that the prisoners are requesting baths and clean clothes.”
I processed that with some astonishment. “Why under Sawehl are you asking Me?”
“Please, Your Highness.” Her voice trembled. “The guards, they say that Your Highness gave orders that the prisoners be given every comfort, but You did not specify whether baths and new clothing counted, and…” She trailed off at my silence.
“And…” I prompted. Tertulyn caught my eye, rolling hers.
“These are unusual prisoners, Your Highness.” The girl sounded increasingly desperate. “Your Highness, they’re destined for His Imperial Majesty’s justice and no one wants to make an error.”
No. Ejarat forfend that we should err in turning over these unfortunates to Anure’s undoubtedly cruel vengeance. I flipped a careless hand, dismissing the thought. “Please rise already. I see no reason to deny the request. Give them what they need to bathe, and whatever clothing they like—though not their armor or weapons, of course.”
“Your Highness, should we send for their clothing from their ship in the harbor?” The maid bit her lip when I turned an incredulous stare on her.
“All right now,” Tertulyn intervened. “This is beneath Her Highness’s attention. I will—”
“No, that’s all right, Tertulyn. I realize we are operating without precedent here. Do not break the quarantine on their ship for any reason. It’s to remain under guard, and the prisoners should access nothing from it.” Who knew what the wizard might do, given the opportunity? “Provide them with an array of clothing from the palace for them to choose from.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“You’ll need something large for Conrí—be sure to keep that in mind.”
“Who, Your Highness?” Her clear brow knitted in anxious confusion.
“Conrí. That’s what his people called the Slave King.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” But her frown persisted. Likely the girl hadn’t seen the man, so she wouldn’t realize how ill most of what we had on hand would fit him.
“And nothing too colorful—he won’t like that.”
“Your Highness?” The maid twisted her skirt in anxiety.
Tertulyn moved in front of me, so only I could see her face, and fully raised her brows in question. Yes, yes—I was acting out of character. I needed to get through this and I’d be able to return to my usual role and rehearsed lines. Still, I’d be serving a grave enough injury to this Slave King—even if I saved his wizard and his lady—while sending him to a fate I couldn’t bear to contemplate. The least I could do was see him dressed as befit his sense of himself. The man had fought hard and won, until now.
My father had been a warrior in his day, before he gave that up for Calanthe. He’d been a big man, too. “His Highness, the late King Gul—all of his things were stored, yes?” I directed the question at Tertulyn and Calla, who both looked startled and somewhat aghast.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Tertulyn recovered swiftly and replied smoothly. “Packed in cedar and preserved.”
For whom, I wondered—the sons I’d never bear? If I had a way to identify and round up all of my illegitimate half siblings, I could distribute the lot to them. As things stood, it ended up being fortunate that I had the stuff still. “Let Conrí choose from those trunks. They should fit, if My eye judges correctly.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The maid curtsied—an abrupt bob, quickly aborted—and fled. I looked after her thoughtfully, then became aware of my ladies’ unusual silence. The Glory, sensing something in the air, looked about uneasily. Tertulyn didn’t quite meet my gaze, but her mouth quirked in an unhappy bent.
“I may have had no choice but to protect Calanthe and the empire by apprehending Conrí and his companions,” I said in formal tones, though I should not have to explain myself, “but we are a people who celebrate beauty and the higher aspirations of all people. I will send His Imperial Majesty’s prisoners to him, but they will make the journey in the dignity befitting any human being.” There, that would lay the groundwork for my subterfuge. Now I just needed bodies to put the clothing on when it came time to ship them out. If only I could use Leuthar for one.
“I loved when You called the Slave King a dog,” Tertulyn quipped. “Such a joke!”
Nahua made a yipping sound, then giggled. “Did you see how dirty they were? No wonder they want baths!”
“No amount of soap could make them clean,” Calla replied with disgust. “They’ve been filthy so long, the dirt has embedded itself in their pores.”
“Did you see Lady Sondra’s complexion?” Tertulyn put a light emphasis on Sondra’s title, as if dubious about its origins. “Positively ruined. No wonder she’s ended up with an ill-mannered brute like the Slave King. What man of refinement would have her?”
“And that’s if she weren’t an escaped slave and traitor!” Calla replied.
The Glory laughed with them, but with a line between her brows. What she must think of all this. Unexpected shame pricked at me. Time to send her away. Giving the Glory the usual thanks, gift, and good wishes also served to put an end to the gossiping. When the ladies renewed their efforts to prepare me for the day, they did so quietly, perhaps because I reminded them to hurry. Perhaps they sensed my displeasure.
“I’m surprised,” Tertulyn murmured for my ears alone, as the others retrieved my gown, “that You would want to demean your father’s memory by dressing that dog in his clothes.”
I kept my face serene—necessary, so as not to disrupt her careful painting, but also to disguise my reaction to her unkind words. Had Tertulyn always been so condescending and judgmental? The Lady Sondra … she could be any of us. Had my father chosen to fight Anure, we, too, might have shared her fate, and lost our pretty complexions to similar trials. By the haunted look in the woman’s eye, she’d endured far worse than losing her beauty.
It took me aback on a deep level that Tertulyn—the rest of my ladies, pampered and sheltered, sure, but Tertulyn, my dearest friend—had no compassion in her heart for another of her station and gender.
“I demean nothing,” I replied quietly, but with an intensity that made her eyes widen and fly to mine. “They’re people, like you and I but for the vagaries of fate. They deserve to be treated as such.”
“Perhaps you’d feel differently if it had been your family they slaughtered in Keiost,” she hissed, then pressed her lips together tightly.
“We don’t know that,” I reminded her. “I have people looking.”
“Apologies, Your Highness. I forgot myself.”
Yes, she did, but I didn’t say so. Partly as the others returned just then, holding my gown aloft, and partly because I might feel similarly distressed in Tertulyn’s position. We’d been friends so long that I could hardly hold one slip against her, particularly under such difficult circumstances.
Still, I remained silent while they sewed me into the gown and Tertulyn finished my makeup, lest I give voice to my annoyance and disappointment. Since when had we grown so callous to the suffering of others? We’d protected Calanthe and Her people, but I’d thought all knew the price we paid for our continued idyllic existence—and that most of the rest of the world, those not in Anure’s pocket like we were, suffered greatly.
Apparently not, though I didn’t know how to change that.
First steps first. I needed to decide how I’d deal with Leuthar, and how to trick him. I could perhaps carry off a switch—but only if Conrí wouldn’t betray it.
“Has Leuthar arisen yet?” I asked, breaking a silence I realized I’d let go on far too long while I thought.
Tertulyn flicked a glance at Calla, who hurried out. “Not at last word, Your Highness,” she replied with stiff politeness. “He was well into his cups until only a few hours ago—and indulging heavily in yilkas, as well—and then t
ook to his bed with a set of lovely young triplets, two girls and a boy, new arrivals Delilah saved for a special occasion. I doubt he’ll inform You of his intentions to review the prisoners until afternoon.”
Her perfectly formal tone began to get under my skin, as did the pointed reminder that, as emissary of the emperor, Leuthar’s authority exceeded mine as regarded the prisoners. Calla returned, moving to whisper in Tertulyn’s ear.
“You may tell Me directly,” I said, not sure why I did so, except my irritation—and sudden sense of losing control of the situation—made me speak before considering.
Calla looked briefly startled. “Apologies, Your Highness. The Lady Tertulyn’s source confirms that the emissary is still closeted with his new toys and commanded that he not be bothered until luncheon—and then only if they aren’t sleeping.”
Good. “Cancel the morning’s court.”
“Your Highness?” Tertulyn, who’d been studiously avoiding my eyes, glanced at me in full surprise.
“Cancel the morning’s court,” I repeated, taking petty satisfaction in putting command in the words. She deserved it, questioning me that way. “I will interview the prisoners privately, in My courtyard.” Away from overzealous ears. “Beginning with Conrí, then Lady Sondra, then the other gentleman. Ambrose, I believe they called him.”
I’d extract Conrí’s promise of silence in return for saving his people, then enlist Sondra and Ambrose to the game, preparing them to hide away.
I raised my brows at Calla’s hesitation and the obstinate line of Tertulyn’s mouth. “Inform the guards, please, Lady Calla.”
She bobbed a quick curtsy and set her basket of flowers aside, hastening to do as I commanded. Ibolya picked up the basket, working swiftly to stud my hair with flowers. I’d decided on an iridescent lavender today, to begin the journey away from the metaphorical bloodshed of the day before. Now I regretted it. Too insipid. I could hardly change my mind now, however. I’d already behaved oddly enough, and time grew short.
“I’ll attend You, Your Highness?” Tertulyn asked. At least she no longer assumed. Just as well.
“No, I’d rather you take yourself to Delilah’s court and keep your ears pricked for Leuthar’s movements. Send Me word immediately when he pokes his head out.” I’d need plenty of warning to make sure Leuthar never saw Ambrose’s and Sondra’s true faces.
“You can’t mean to meet with this … escaped convict alone. A man. You’ll take one of the other ladies.”
I gazed back at Tertulyn steadily, while the other ladies exchanged excited whispers at the prospect of the gossip they’d obtain. “No, I don’t think I will. There will be guards outside the walls.”
“Your Highness.” Tertulyn visibly wrestled with herself. “Please don’t put Yourself at such risk.”
“What risk?” I asked lightly, even laughing a little so the other ladies echoed it. “These people will be unarmed, escorted under heavy guard. I am not without My own defenses.”
“And Your reputation?” she pointed out. “What will Your fiancé, His Imperial Majesty, think of You interviewing the Slave King alone?”
“Well, I certainly don’t think he’ll imagine I fucked the man,” I replied, thoroughly irritated. “I’ll send him a letter giving him what information I extracted during my interrogation.” Oh, that was good. I’d definitely do that. “And reaffirming My love, et cetera.” I waved a hand.
“I don’t understand why You want to talk to this vile creature, especially at such risk,” Tertulyn muttered.
I lifted a hand to her wrist, halting the jewel she had been about to place. “I thought I’d try to discover more information about what exactly happened at Keiost.”
“Oh.” Her warm brown eyes filled with tears, and she bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, Euthalia, I’m sorry. Thank You.”
I nodded, glad to have thought of a good excuse, the guilt for that small lie a drop against the ocean of it that threatened to drown me. I could only do my best, though.
As I stood for their finishing touches, it occurred to me with some humor that I’d somehow agreed to his absurd request. It seemed that Conrí the Slave King would get his private audience.
18
When the summons to attend the queen arrived, Ambrose gave me a small salute, otherwise not budging from his lounging position on the bed he’d adopted.
“Don’t move just yet,” Sondra instructed, frowning at me.
“Darling,” I said, keeping an eye on the heavily armed guard who’d popped up through the trapdoor and had a sword ready. “While you’re holding a very sharp knife, he has a very sharp sword. I think that wins.” Ambrose had also produced a tonic to soothe my throat—and woo a queen—that worked better than anything he’d given me before. He ducked explaining where it came from.
Sondra trimmed along the comb, letting the hair fall into place. “Better. See? You still have plenty of hair.”
I stood, brushing off stray trimmed hairs from my shoulders. Not that the dark hair would show against the black leathers I’d dug out of the trunk the guards brought up, struggling to lift the weight of it up the ladder. The clothes had been packed away in layers of silk and spilled wood shavings. Cedar, Sondra had told me, to fend off chewing insects. Go figure.
Still, I wouldn’t question the gift—they were clothes worthy of a warrior and a king, whoever they belonged to—only the reason for it. The guards only shrugged and said we’d asked for clothes, here were clothes.
We had more of an argument over the manacles. “You get your audience with Her Highness Queen Euthalia,” the captain of the guard informed me. “But you won’t be allowed to bring Her harm. That’s the price. Pay it or not.”
“It’s temporary,” Sondra urged, giving me a pleading look. “And worth it, yes? You promised a chance to hold the torch.” She glanced at the guard and back to me. “You’ve never backed down from a challenge, Conrí.”
So I set my teeth and allowed the manacles to be locked on me. I couldn’t imagine how I was supposed to woo a queen when I wore chains, but then I had no idea how I was supposed to woo her at all, so the manacles didn’t change all that much.
Except that they made me feel small, weak, and worthless again. Hearing the clink of the metal, feeling the cold weight of the iron locking on—it brought back that day when we knelt in the court of Oriel for our “trial,” Anure gloating on my father’s throne.
It hadn’t been the worst thing that happened. What came later exceeded that day in pain, suffering, humiliation. But kneeling there, in our own palace, beside my father—the king of Oriel!—with my sister missing and our nobles kneeling in ranks behind us …
It left the taste of ashes and rage in my mouth, and it was all I could do not to jerk up my wrists and bash that guard in the jaw. But I didn’t. I paid the price of my obedient capitulation.
Yet again.
“You’re next,” the guard told Sondra. “Remember that you’ll be meeting with the Flower Queen of Calanthe, not visiting the kitchen to scour pots.”
“Oh, hey—great advice!” Sondra replied brightly. She’d been focused on making me presentable and hadn’t yet bathed.
A laugh choked out of me and I made it into a cough. Amazing that Sondra could always find a way to laugh off the worst of insults. The guard huffed but had no reply, instead pointing me to the ladder down the open hatch, ringed below by more guards with unsheathed swords. At least they’d manacled my hands in front of me, so I could hold on as I climbed down. Apparently they’d brought me up unconscious the same way they’d carried up the bathtub and trunks, via a clever rope and pulley system.
They led me down the tower and through a wing of the palace, so many guards escorting me that I decided I should be flattered. What I could do to them—or their precious queen—manacled and unarmed was beyond me. What I’d say to the queen was beyond me, too. If only Ambrose had provided me with some sort of love potion to administer to Euthalia. Shouldn’t a wizard be useful that way? Though … he
had promised that I’d have an audience with her, and against all probability I was going to one.
Made my head hurt to think about it. Besides, I needed to concentrate on wooing the queen. Sondra had stuffed my head with advice while she trimmed my hair and shaved me with a razor sharp enough to keep my attention. Give her compliments. Don’t stare at her breasts. Be romantic. Say poetic things. I imagined going on one knee and reciting poetry—though the only poem I could remember was a bit of doggerel about a guy with a dick so long he could suck it. The thought of repeating that one to the icy queen made me bust out laughing—and made the guards jump.
The captain cuffed me on the head. “Be silent, Slave King.”
I nearly told him my dubious honorific had been sneered much better than that, but I kept my peace, studying the palace instead. I had to admit—grudgingly to myself and never out loud—that it was the most beautiful building I’d ever seen. The palace at Oriel would forever hold a place in my heart, but it would look like a farmhouse next to the wonder of Euthalia’s home.
It helped, no doubt, that they apparently had little inclement weather to deal with. Corridors and halls opened onto breathtakingly beautiful gardens—from groves of fruit trees, to masses of flowering vines, to water gardens bursting with lily pad blossoms. Some of the ponds even extended indoors, with small bubbling streams channeled through the halls, requiring us to cross bridges over them. Mosaic tiles outlined the channels in deeper colors, with patterns radiating outward, echoing the ripples of water in the floor.
The guards escorted me along one of these artificial streams—we crossed it twice—and then fully outside into a maze of gardens. I’d been suspecting that we followed a circuitous route, because I could see more direct paths than we’d followed. The guards confirmed it for me when they abruptly turned at the sight of a group of colorful courtiers, taking us into a hedge maze.
So this “audience” wasn’t to be common knowledge. Interesting.
The Orchid Throne Page 17