“And yet you neglected to inform me.”
Domin shifted in his seat. “The others made me swear on my rank. It was the only way they would allow me to take the Governorship of Idair after my father died.”
Even though he’d only been fourteen and not of age yet—they certainly hadn’t afforded Eda the same courtesy on her parents’ deaths. “Tell me now,” she said, trying to keep the anger from her voice. “The whole plan.”
“They were going to take the Empire for themselves, divide it among them—at least that’s what they claimed, though I’d swear on the gods’ graves that Rescarin and Lohnin at least had an eye on the crown.”
“Don’t make such reckless oaths!” said Eda sharply before she could stop herself.
He looked at her quizzically, but went on. “The Emperor was sickly. He had no heir. It was the ideal time for a transference of power. And they thought that a peace treaty with Enduena’s greatest enemy would go far toward easing the people’s minds about the change. So they set it in motion, before you announced yourself as the Emperor’s heir last year.”
“And the marriage alliance?”
“That was Rescarin’s idea,” Domin confessed.
Eda frowned, tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair. “He isn’t even the heir.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Prince Ileem. He’s last in line for the throne, apart from his sister. They couldn’t have sent a more complimentary suitor?” Vow to Tuer aside, such a low-ranking prince was a horrific insult.
Domin squirmed. “Prince Ileem and his sister spent the last year in Halda on a religious pilgrimage, but the whole truth is they were sent away from Denlahn for causing trouble for the rest of their siblings.”
Well, that was unexpected. “What kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty. But a Denlahn ship collected them earlier this year and brought them here instead of taking them back home.”
“So his own family is trying to get rid of him and sent him to try his hand at being Emperor?”
Domin shrugged. “Perhaps an oversimplification, Your Majesty, but … it seems so.”
Or perhaps Tuer himself had had a hand in it, though Eda didn’t particularly want to pursue that line of thought. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it all. “And when do treaty negotiations commence? Or was I to be included in them at all?”
Domin flicked his eyes briefly up to hers. “Tomorrow morning, Your Majesty.”
She rose from her seat and he did too. He shrugged. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. They made me swear. And you should know …” He shifted his feet, wary and uncomfortable. “The Barons are questioning your legitimacy. If the marriage alliance isn’t realized, they’ll investigate. Turn the people against you. Take the throne, one way or another.”
“My legitimacy? I have my father the late Emperor’s documents, signed in his own hand. I have the ring he gave me.”
Domin avoided her glance. “Documents can be forged, rings stolen. There are some who don’t believe the Emperor died of a natural illness.”
“Who doesn’t believe that?” she demanded.
He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. “Rescarin,” she said. “Damn him.”
“He also finds it suspect that the attendants who supported the claim of your rival, Miss Dahl-Saida, have all vanished.”
“She was a traitor and I sent them away.”
“What proof do you have of her treachery?”
“She was conspiring with Denlahn—”
“Your Barons had dealings with Denlahn all along,” said Domin carefully. “Don’t you think they would have known if Miss Dahl-Saida did, too?”
Eda had no answer for that. She reined herself in, giving Domin a smile and lightly brushing her fingers across his wrist. “Thank you for the warning, Domin. You’re my most faithful supporter, and I will continue to repay you handsomely.”
Domin grinned, suddenly all boyish relief. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
She offered him another smile. “Until the morning.”
She left his room via the balcony, and climbed back onto the roof the way she had come, quickly, before he saw how angry she was. She told herself none of the Barons, not even Rescarin, could prove the Emperor’s death had been at her hand. Nor could they prove that she wasn’t the Emperor’s daughter. She didn’t even know if she truly was or not, a fact that haunted her during many a sleepless night. She’d told herself, over and over, that he was her father, that all the evidence pointed to it, that he would have told her so himself the night he died.
That is, if he hadn’t already been so weak when she administered the final dose of poison.
Chapter Four
EDA ARRIVED EARLY TO THE COUNCIL CHAMBER, wearing a light green skirt sewn with hundreds of tiny, flashing mirrors, and a sleeveless top embroidered with gold thread. Her crown sat once more upon her black hair, and she wore a gold cuff on her ear as a complement to Ileem. She hadn’t slept for even an hour, but she wasn’t tired in the least, refreshed by a cool bath and a bracing pot of cardamom tea.
Her Barons were clearly unhappy to see her, but not surprised. Eda had expected Domin to tell them about their meeting, so she hadn’t been counting on her presence being a shock.
The lower-ranked courtiers were absent, including Niren. This would be a private session, only the governors of provinces having a say in negotiations.
Eda took her rightful seat at the head of the table, and beckoned to one of the attendants hovering outside the door. “Tea, at once,” Eda instructed. “And wine and cakes. And breakfast, while you’re at it.”
The attendant bowed and went to carry out her commands.
The Denlahns arrived, Ambassador Oadem leading the way with Prince Ileem and Princess Liahstorion just behind. Two of their guards entered and stood at attention by the door.
Eda gave them her most brilliant smile and waved the prince and princess into the chairs on her right and left hand, displacing Rescarin and Lohnin. Ambassador Oadem insisted on sitting next to Prince Ileem, which forced Rescarin to move farther down still. Eda could barely contain her delight.
Opposite Rescarin and Lohnin were the Barons Tuell and Dyar of the provinces Duena and Irsa, respectively. Tuell was as ancient as the mountains and had been with the late Emperor from the beginning of his reign. He was already beginning to doze, his weathered chin tipping forward onto his chest. Dyar had been Baron only for a year; Eda had awarded him the province of her former rival Talia Dahl-Saida in exchange for his immense support leading up to and during her coronation.
With the arrival of breakfast, Ambassador Oadem opened negotiations, speaking Enduenan out of respect for his hosts. “Many thanks for receiving us, Your Imperial Majesty, Your Graces.” He nodded to Eda and then to each of her Barons, in turn. “We’ve come here to discuss how Denlahn can serve Enduena and Enduena, Denlahn.” He drew a packet of papers from beneath his robes and handed it to Rescarin.
Eda struggled to suppress her impatience. If she’d wanted to spend the morning reading she could have wandered into the palace’s labyrinthine library and lost herself among centuries of paper and dust. She didn’t suppose the Denlahns’ treaty would be any less dull.
Rescarin glanced through the papers briefly and frowned. “There is no mention of a marriage treaty.”
Eda had to remind herself yet again why she couldn’t execute him. “You forget yourself, Your Grace. If a marriage treaty is ever to be discussed, I will be the one to draw it up. Until that day comes, if it does, it is neither your business nor your concern. This morning we will discuss the possibility of a peace treaty, and that is all we will discuss.” She held out her hand for the papers and Rescarin, after a moment, handed them over.
She took her time with them, making the others wait, making it clear exactly who was in charge. When she was finished, she passed them down to Domin, who nervously met her eyes and gave the papers a cursory glance before handing them on to L
ohnin, whom he clearly thought was further up in the hierarchy of control than himself. Baron Tuell started audibly snoring, and Baron Dyar jiggled his knee, obviously annoyed the papers hadn’t gone to him next.
“You want reparations,” said Eda to the ambassador before anyone else could finish reading, “for a war fought forty years ago?”
Princess Liahstorion glared at her, tension all throughout her frame. “You brought battle and death to our shores, then sailed away as merrily as you please without suffering any consequences. You maimed our king, my father. You set our country back decades.”
“No consequences!” said Eda. “The soldiers who actually made it back to the ships barely escaped with their lives. The rest you slaughtered like swine and left to rot on your cursed beaches. Don’t you dare demand reparations for that.”
Liahstorion jerked up from her chair, her dark eyes flashing. “You deserve to die for what your father did to mine! We should be demanding your crown, not just gold. You’re not fit to be Empress, and if the rumors are to be believed, you’re not even of royal blood.”
Eda stared her down, not letting it show how close Liahstorion’s words cut to her deepest insecurities. “I had understood, Your Highness, that these negotiations were to be civil. If they’re to be otherwise, I suggest we end them immediately before I get very angry and decide taking you as my hostage would be a better way to proceed.”
Ileem stood and reached across the table, taking his sister’s hand, gently drawing her down into her seat again. He was wearing a deep green robe this morning, with an elaborate collar that looked like it was made of silver-plated brambles. He met Eda’s eye. “Forgive us, Your Majesty. We are here in peace, no matter how hot my sister’s temper runs.”
“Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty, there is no need for such steps,” said Ambassador Oadem all in a rush. “Her Highness spoke out of turn. Perhaps we can discuss reparations a little later on in our proceedings.”
Three hours later, Eda called an end to the session, her head swimming with fatigue and irritation. She’d decided to add the ambassador and Princess Liahstorion to her Baron stew. She hadn’t yet made her mind up about Ileem, vow or no vow—he was quiet, severe, only speaking up occasionally, but always spouting extreme good sense. She didn’t trust him at all.
Her guard attached himself to her heels as she swept from the council chamber, and a few moments later, footsteps echoed behind them. She didn’t pause or slow down, forcing whoever it was to nearly run to catch up.
“Your Imperial Majesty.”
She glanced back—Ileem. She scowled, thoroughly tired of political conversation. “Negotiations are finished for the day, Your Highness. I’ve nothing more to say to you.”
He grabbed her sleeve and she wheeled on him almost as quickly as her guard, who already had a saber at Ileem’s throat. “You dare touch the Empress?” the guard demanded.
Ileem scrambled backwards, hands raised in the air, a spot of blood showing bright against his dark skin. “I mean Her Imperial Majesty no harm.”
“Withdraw your saber,” Eda ordered the guard. And to Ileem: “What do you want?”
“To have a word with you, Your Imperial Majesty. In private. It won’t take long.”
Eda massaged her temples. “Fine.” She commanded her guards to follow at a distance and beckoned the prince through an archway that spilled out into an enclosed courtyard.
The sun burned white-hot overhead. Eda led Ileem to the only shade: a stone bench by the back wall underneath a trellis of honeysuckle. It was a little cooler there, the air dripping with the sweet scent of the bright orange blossoms. Eda sat, but Ileem did not. The warm wind rifled through his robes.
“First of all, I want to apologize for my sister’s behavior, Your Imperial Majesty. Whatever her temper would suggest, we have come in peace. I will keep her from attending future council sessions.” His words were passive, but an intensity lurked in his eyes that belied him.
Eda leaned against the wall, the still-cool stones pressing into her shoulder blades. A honeysuckle flower fell into her lap and she brushed it dismissively onto the ground. “I appreciate your sister’s passion, Your Highness—and her honesty. Do you truly harbor no ill will against Enduena, or are you just playing a part to infiltrate my palace?”
Ileem smiled, quick and confident as a lion. “You don’t trust me at all, do you, Your Majesty? I’m glad.” He ducked under the trellis and sat down beside her, closer than was appropriate—his knee bumped hers, and she could feel his heat through the thin material of her skirt. “Only an immense simpleton would trust me, especially seeing as your Barons arranged our visit without your knowledge or consent.”
Eda opened her mouth to object, but he held up a hand to forestall her. “Please, Your Majesty—extend me the courtesy of the truth, as I am doing to you.” Ileem imitated her posture, lounging back against the stone wall and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He was near enough she could see the markings on his ear cuff: they were words in an ancient Denlahn dialect, engraved in a flowing script. She knew enough to recognize the language, but couldn’t read it.
Eda glanced to her guards, who were watching from a few paces away, their hands on their saber hilts. “All right, then. What’s the truth?”
He turned his face to hers, and she saw there were flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “The truth is, ever since I was a child, since before I pledged myself to Rudion, I was taught that Enduenans were monsters from the lowest Circle of the world, without souls or hearts. I wanted to grow into a man, so I could come here and slaughter you all, wielding the vengeance of the gods. When my father died—” Ileem swallowed, his eyes shifting away. He pulled an orange blossom from the vine and twirled it in his lap. He stared at it, his voice growing husky. “It broke me, Your Imperial Majesty. My father was the best man to ever live. I wanted to board a ship and sail to Enduena. I wanted to burn you to ashes in your beds. I wanted all of you to suffer, as I had suffered.”
“What changed?” Eda’s eyes fixed on the orange flower. From over the wall, she heard the parrots calling from the aviary.
“Rudion came to me in Halda. He gave me a vision.”
Eda grew very still. “What vision?”
“Of my city in ashes, the stones tumbled down into the dust, my mother and brothers and sister bloodied and dead, lying in a pit of bones. Of warships filled with Enduenan soldiers, death in their eyes. Of the whole world, consumed with war, weeping, dying. Of winged spirits from the void, devouring the sun. And then Rudion himself spoke to me.”
She tried to appear calm, though her every nerve was on fire. “What did he say to you?”
Ileem tucked the honeysuckle blossom behind Eda’s ear. “That if I followed the path of my vengeance, the vision would come true. That I would destroy the world with my anger, that there was a better way.” He touched her cheek with his hand, his fingers calloused and warm. “Once more I swore myself to my god. Once more I made a vow to him: a vow to forsake my anger. To continue to serve him with the whole of my being. To forge peace, instead of war. I want a better world, Your Imperial Majesty. In the name of my god I want peace. With you.” He let his hand fall. “I want to help you. Let me prove to you that you can trust me. That the vow I made to Rudion was in earnest.”
Her ears buzzed, her skin burned where he’d touched her. She saw the truth of his words, but she trusted him less than before. He was volatile, a flame burning too close to a vat of oil. A needle of jealousy pricked through her that Tuer spoke to him so freely, when she was left grasping at shadows. “What are you proposing?”
Casting a swift glance at her guards, Ileem gingerly folded Eda’s hand into his. “Let me help you solidify your power. Let me help you put your Barons in their place. And when I do it, when we do it …” She could feel his pulse, sharp and quick, in his wrist. “Marry me.”
Eda jerked out of his grasp, gaping.
Ileem didn’t move to take her hand again, he just watche
d her, the sunlight filtering through the honeysuckle vines and tracing lacy patterns on his skin. “We could be so strong, together. Stronger than your Barons—stronger than anyone. You would be under no one’s rule.”
“I am Empress of half the world,” she spat at him. “I’m under no one’s rule now.”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m handling my Barons,” she said huffily, though both of them knew very well that wasn’t true.
She felt horribly exposed before him, like he could see all her darkest secrets. She rose from the bench, and he did, too. “I feel it only right to return honesty for honesty: I have no intention of adding a marriage clause to our treaty. I will work toward peace with Denlahn, in the name of the god we both serve, but that is all.”
Ileem bowed low. “Perhaps you will allow me to change your mind, Your Imperial Majesty. In any case, I thank you for hearing me.”
Eda strode quickly from the courtyard, trying to shake the knowledge that Tuer had indeed sent Ileem and that he might be her best chance at permanently subduing her Barons.
She refused to admit to herself that he might be her only chance.
Chapter Five
“SO WHAT HAPPENED?” SAID NIREN, WITHOUT LIFTING her head. She was bent over her drawing table in the center of her sitting room, an illuminated manuscript opened before her. Light flooded through the glass dome of the roof, pooling soft and golden all around her, like she was a goddess from the very book she was slowly copying out. She used swift, bold strokes, replicating the work of whatever unnamed scribe had first written and illuminated the book. Niren couldn’t bear to be idle, and had inserted herself into the rotation of apprentice librarians and scribes who routinely copied manuscripts for the palace library. The head librarian had welcomed her gladly, because even though she’d had no formal training, Niren’s skill was unmistakable.
Eda had watched Niren copy manuscripts many times—it was horribly boring until Niren put down her pen and picked up her paints to fill in the color. Right now she was still at the dull black-and-white phase, but a glance at the original made Eda’s breath catch momentarily in her throat: between and around the neat square letters that made up the text, a petitioner knelt before the god Tuer, who had a mountain for his throne and a crown made of stars. Ileem’s voice ran through her mind: Once more I swore myself to my god.
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