“He is not so fierce,” I said, speaking largely to Ambrose, who opened his eyes wide, as if shocked I could think so. “I frankly wonder if there’s much to the tales at all.”
“I imagine not, as You captured him so easily. Still, His Imperial Majesty wants him, and his companions, delivered as soon as possible. Where are the other two?”
I mentally sighed, washing my hands of the lot of them. I’d tried to help them. Intention counted for something, didn’t it? I refused to feel guilty. My primary responsibility, as my father had drilled into me, was to Calanthe. I owed these rebels nothing. “They are in the detention tower, Emissary.”
“Excellent.” Leuthar tucked the hankie away. “I’m to take them on the ship they captured on the evening tide.”
“Oh dear.” I fluttered my fingers helplessly. “I’m afraid it escaped.”
“Escaped?” Syr Leuthar paused, alarmed, hints of anger leaking through his yilkas-induced serenity.
“In the night.” I shrugged elaborately, drawing his gaze to my bosom. Unlike Con, he let it linger there and I breathed heavily, as if in distress, letting him be distracted by the show. “I don’t know how.” I gasped theatrically, widening my eyes. “Do you think they could know some of the old magic?”
Behind Leuthar’s back, Ambrose rolled his eyes at me. Then he pursed his lips and blew some inaudible words toward the emissary. Leuthar relaxed again into his haze, smiling at me.
“Oh, Your Highness. Such flights of fancy You indulge in. Magic never existed. Our beloved emperor has labored so hard to eliminate those old superstitions. Your Highness really must try to move into the modern era and think logically.”
“I shall try.” I lowered my lashes modestly, allowing the crystals to chime as I fluttered them.
“Don’t be too distressed. The ship can’t be far and we’ll recapture it in short order. I’ll send His Imperial Majesty’s navy after them. These rebel dogs won’t be able to evade seasoned warriors as easily as they did Your soft Calanthean guards.”
I smiled, closed-mouthed, swallowing my retort. I had little trouble pretending to be a silly figurehead to lull Anure and his toadies into complacency, but I found it difficult not to defend my people.
“But I have yet to tell You, Your Highness.” Leuthar drew himself up, oozing pompous arrogance, and my heart chilled. “This is my exciting news—You are to accompany us! His Imperial Majesty is so pleased with You that he intends to reward Your long and lonely, virginal vigil. Bring Your wedding gown, for You are to be married at last.”
By dint of great effort, I managed to shake my head sadly, mastering my fear. “Alas, I wish it could be so! But the laws of our ancestors preclude Me from becoming anything less than first wife.”
Leuthar smiled, not at all nicely; it was a terrible sign that he showed that face to me. “Ah, but Your Highness, to celebrate this victory over the rebels, His Imperial Majesty intends to sacrifice his current wives. They shall be burned along with the prisoners on the bonfire to celebrate Your marriage!” He nearly danced with joy. “You will be Empress—and I look forward to being Your closest adviser.”
My stomach heaved and Merle clacked his beak savagely. I only wished I could do the same.
22
The trapdoor levered up. Fortunately these Calantheans made a great deal of noise, as did their locking mechanism, so I’d thoroughly hidden my escape project and lounged innocently by the window, covering the evidence with my bulk. Also fortunate, it didn’t seem to occur to our guards to search our prison to see if we’d gotten up to trouble. Instead of sweeping the room as I would’ve had done, the guards didn’t even come in, just sent Ambrose through. Merle flew through the opening and Ambrose’s head followed.
Xichos only poked his head in once Ambrose cleared the ladder. “Two hours,” he growled at us. “Might as well enjoy them. They’re the last ones you ever will.” Pleased with his wit, he cackled and disappeared below, the trapdoor closing, the lock clicking, and a bar sliding over.
I listened for more, but it was the same every time. One lock. One bar.
“One reason to stay on Calanthe,” Sondra remarked. “I could teach them much more evil-sounding things to say to prisoners than that. Their repertoire is sadly lacking.”
“They’re very nice people here, it’s true,” Ambrose agreed. “What were you doing, Conrí?”
Nice people, but kind of pitiful that the wizard noticed what Xichos hadn’t. I dug out the tool I’d improvised by bending one of the metal plates, moved the bed away from the wall, and recommenced digging at the inlaid jewels that decorated the windowsill.
“You’re digging your way out through the wall?” the wizard asked politely.
“Making a bagiroca,” I said. When Merle made a dubious caw, I grimaced. “At least it’s not grapes wrapped in a napkin.”
“See my knife?” Sondra showed Ambrose, looking terribly pleased with herself. She’d rolled another metal platter into a tube—by getting me to stand on it for her—and had laboriously attached the biggest glass shard from the broken pitcher to one end by binding it tightly with braided silk rope she’d made from her gown. She’d had to rip the hem off for that and for cloth for my bagiroca, so the dress now revealed most of her long legs. They’d taken away our other clothes when they brought us the fancier ones, so she’d have to fight as is. When I’d pointed out that the guards were likely to get an eyeful of her lady parts when she fought, she’d only smiled thinly and commented that it would be an excellent distraction, and that her lady parts—she’d sneered at my euphemism—were her own business.
I had to grant her that, on both counts. I even nearly made the mistake of saying I wanted nothing to do with her lady parts, but thought better of it just in time. She was still angry with me, and perhaps embarrassed, that I’d said I loved her, even to a third party. Maybe particularly to a third party.
Ambrose examined her makeshift weapon, as did Merle, who landed on his shoulder to poke his beak at it. “Will the cloth hold?” Ambrose asked.
Sondra made a face and took her “knife” back. “For a few slashes, anyway. That’s all I should need to disable a guard and help myself to his weapons.” She smiled in sunny anticipation.
Ambrose nodded thoughtfully, then examined my heap of gems piled in the center of the ragged circle of pink silk I’d laid on the bed. They weren’t precious stones, but had been polished and shaped for decoration—and were the heaviest I could find in the tower. “Not your usual style,” Ambrose commented.
“If you have bigger stones, I’ll take them,” I replied shortly. Another one came loose and I tossed it on the pile. “Either way, we’re not going meekly. We’re going to fight, and we have a plan to escape.”
“Oh yes? Better go ahead and tie it up now,” Ambrose said.
“I’d like it heavier—better impact—since I have two more hours to collect stones and plenty of room in the bag. So listen, the plan is to play scared and get the guards to come after us.”
“No, no, please! Don’t make me go,” Sondra chimed in, pitching her voice high and piteous. I grinned at her.
“Once one or two guards come in to drag us out, we shut the trapdoor behind them and one of us stands on it while the other disables them. Or the other two, if you want to help.” Merle squawked and flapped his wings. “Other three then. We take their weapons and escape this palace. We can steal some of those coracles and make it out to Kara. Once we’re aboard, we’ll regroup and make a new plan.” Gather my army and go straight for Anure like I’d wanted to in the first place, and Ejarat could swallow Ambrose’s prophecy.
I glanced at Sondra, who nodded in satisfaction. The odds were against us, but at least if they killed us we’d have gone down fighting. That’s all she needed, in truth. I felt more myself for the prospect, too.
“The middle part of the plan sounds vague,” Ambrose noted.
I knew it, too, but I shrugged, chipping at the mortar. “We’ll be spontaneous and seize opp
ortunities as they present themselves. It’s worked for us before.”
“And may Sawehl and Ejarat watch over us,” Sondra added fervently.
“Maybe you can do something to cover our tracks,” I suggested to Ambrose without much hope.
“Yeah.” Sondra perked up. “Do that invisibility thing until we’re well away and you’re safe.”
“Oh, that.” Ambrose shook his head. “Anure’s emissary, a most obnoxious Syr Leuthar, barged in while I was talking with Queen Euthalia. She wouldn’t be able to substitute someone else for me now.”
“How did he know who you were?” Sondra demanded.
Ambrose blinked at her. “I introduced myself.” He shrugged and held up his palms for the inevitability. “It was only polite.” Merle muttered an agreement.
I just shook my head, continuing to pry at a nice big stone—the center of a flower—that gleamed with opalescent shades of purple that reminded me of Lia’s gown, and the orchid on her hand. “Then you’ll have to come with us. Better that way, as we need your help.”
“To escape?” Ambrose asked.
“To take the attack directly to Anure’s citadel at Yekpehr.”
Sondra pumped a fist in the air. “Praise Ejarat—finally!”
“It’s an unassailable fortress, Conrí,” Ambrose said.
“And yet assail it we will,” I replied grimly, changing the angle of my prying. I wanted that stone. “Enough with prophecies and marriages and efforts at diplomacy. I’m going back to what I’m good at.” Utter destruction. A man should know his strengths. And his limitations.
Voices lifted in the room below, accompanied by barked orders and the sounds of deferential salutes.
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Did I mention Syr Leuthar was coming to interview you, Conrí? He wants to inspect the prisoners personally. And take us to his ship for transport immediately after.”
“What? Fuck!” The stone popped free on my curse. I added it to the bagiroca and began knotting the thing closed. It would have to do as it was. Sondra had already moved into position behind the trapdoor.
“You might’ve warned us,” I growled, swinging the bagiroca to get a feel for its heft. Not as heavy as I wanted, but it felt familiar and should be effective enough, especially with all the skill I’d acquired at slinging it with elastic force, all the weight of my body behind it. I’d gone back to those early days when we plotted to escape the mines. I only needed my rock hammer to feel like I had then. Nothing left to lose and all the vengeance in the world ahead of me. Vengeance I would take with my own two hands and the weapons that fell easily to them.
“I did warn you.” Ambrose sounded injured. “He never listens to me,” he said to Merle, who made a sympathetic series of soft caws.
I ignored them both, listening for the telltale scrape as the bar slid away. The lock would be next.
“Go lie on the bed and look weak,” I ordered him. Ambrose smiled, the enormous emerald capping his staff scattering light in all directions. His own staff. Sawehl take me that I hadn’t immediately noticed he had it back. Had Lia given it to him? In exchange for what? No time to ask because the lock snicked. I moved to the farthest wall. No reason the plan couldn’t still work. Guards would come ahead of the emissary, surely. If the emissary came first, then we’d have a hostage. “Get back!” I hissed at Ambrose.
“You can’t leave her,” Ambrose replied, pinning me with eyes gone dark with magic. It raised the hairs on my arms. Sondra cursed quietly and stepped onto the trapdoor, once again holding it down with her weight. “I won’t assist unless you promise not to.”
“Leave who?” I demanded.
“Queen Euthalia.”
“The hell I can’t. Do you want us all to die?”
“Anure has summoned her to become his bride,” Ambrose continued.
“Fantastic. She’ll get exactly what she wants then.” Though not what she deserves, some traitorous voice whispered. Someone tried to lift the trapdoor. Cursed roundly when they couldn’t. You’d think they’d learn.
“That is not true, Conrí.” Ambrose shook his head. Merle flew to the staff, landing neatly on the jewel. “A bargain: I’ll help you with the emissary, but only if you promise to stay and marry the Queen of Flowers.”
“I asked. She refused,” I gritted out, the pain oddly not all in my throat. What did I care what that capricious woman did or didn’t do? She’d orchestrated everything so she could marry Anure. I’d given her an out and she hadn’t taken it. I washed my hands of her. You couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved. “I can hardly drag her to the altar.”
“I’ll buy you time,” Ambrose said. “If you promise me. Escape the prison, but not the island.”
Thumping and shouts. The trapdoor lifted Sondra up. She stepped one foot back, braced, then jumped onto it, slamming it shut again to shouts of pain from below. “Slow learners,” she commented. “Next time they’ll put their backs into it. Decide fast.”
Ambrose looked at me. I spun the bagiroca, sorely tempted to brain him with the thing. “Fine,” I bit out.
“Specifics, please.”
“I won’t escape Calanthe without talking to Lia,” I said as fast as possible, hoping that equivocation would be enough.
“‘Lia’?” Sondra instantly caught that lapse. “You already have a pet name for the Queen of Flowers? Maybe that private audience went better than you let on.”
Ambrose smiled happily. “Excellent. We have a deal. If you please, Lady Sondra.”
She jumped off the trap, coiling down with her improvised knife at the ready. Ambrose moved across the room. He didn’t lie on the bed, but he did lean heavily on his staff, appearing terribly weary. A massive thud hit the trapdoor, and it flew up hard enough to twist the hinges. Sondra’s lips curved in a feral smile of satisfaction as a soldier in the uniform of the Imperial Guards flailed, barely catching the edge, while one out of sight apparently wasn’t so agile and fell with a yelp, a series of thumps, and then went ominously quiet. If we were lucky, that had been Syr Leuthar, though I doubted he’d risk his Personage without knowing the prisoners had been subdued.
The Imperial Guardsman climbed farther into the room, glared at me, then at Ambrose. “Where is the third—the woman?” he demanded.
“Right here, honey,” Sondra chirped from behind him, her forearm shooting around his throat before he could turn. She jerked his chin up and drove the glass blade into the hollow beneath his ear. He spasmed, reaching for her, but she arched him back with a knee to the spine, sawing a long slice down the blood vessels in his neck. Blood spurted and he subsided with a gargle.
Another Imperial Guardsman popped through the open hatch, sword at the ready, his focus on me. With two strides I was on him, knocking the blade aside with the bagiroca and seizing him by the throat with my free hand. I caught him across the temple with a circled backswing of the bagiroca, and he dropped back down the hole like a bag of rocks himself.
Sondra kicked the trap closed, dragging the soldier’s corpse across it.
“That didn’t go as planned,” I pointed out.
She shrugged, unapologetically. “It was the uniform. I couldn’t help myself.”
“I thought you were helping,” I said to Ambrose.
“Shh. Don’t distract me.” He had a focused look, turning the staff in a slow pivot, Merle picking up his feet and setting them down again as the jewel spun, so he remained facing forward. “There. Next man through the door will be Syr Leuthar. Decide what you want to do with him quickly.”
“How soon?” I asked, deciding not to ask how Ambrose could be sure—or that the emissary would be so stupid, knowing we had to be armed.
“Two minutes. Maybe three. He’s not one to move with alacrity.”
“Capture, disable, or kill?” Sondra asked, almost philosophically, relieving the corpse of several blades. His sword, too heavy for her, she sent sliding across the floor to me, hilt-first. “He’s Anure’s man,” she added, “so I
say kill.”
I took up the sword in my left hand, testing the balance. Not great quality, but adequate. I kept the bagiroca wound in my right fist. It might be makeshift, but it worked just fine. “Capture,” I corrected. “I have questions for him. And a hostage might be useful.”
“You think he’ll answer questions and then cooperate as we drag him down that ladder?” Sondra scoffed. “Disable, torture, then kill. I’ll do it.”
“Any advice?” I asked Ambrose, just in case.
He opened his eyes. “Each path has complications.”
“Brilliant. Thanks so much,” I muttered.
“You’re welcome.” Ambrose smiled at me in real pleasure.
I nodded at Sondra and she dragged the corpse off the trap, crouching again at the ready. The soldier’s blood had soaked the gown on one side, so the silk went from bright crimson to a streaked edge that faded into pink, decorated with sprays of red. Blood spatter marked her face, and one of her long, blond tresses had been dipped in blood, too. With her smile of anticipation, she looked like an avatar of Ejarat, a creature out of some tale of female vengeance. I suppressed a shudder, sending thanks to Sawehl that I wasn’t on the receiving end of that—and offering sympathies to Him on his dealings with such a wife.
If Sondra reminded me of Ejarat’s avatar, then Lia would be the goddess herself. How would she take the news that we’d killed her men and Leuthar? Not well at all. Not that I cared, but I’d promised Ambrose I’d talk to her.
“Disable only,” I hissed at Sondra as the trap opened, hoping I wasn’t too late.
A tall feather of bright turquoise elevated through the hole, followed by a “helm” that would be useful only in a child’s battle of soap bubbles. The emissary climbed into the room, looking around in bemusement. Sondra leapt for him, simultaneously slamming shut the trapdoor and throttling him with her forearm, just as she’d done with the other guard. The dagger she’d appropriated flashed up in a lethal arc for the man’s throat.
The Orchid Throne Page 22