Warlords, Witches and Wolves: A Fantasy Realms Anthology

by Michelle Diener

  She looked up at Jean-Paul. He was watching the Andalyssians, paying attention to their interactions. She had to learn to enjoy this, she realized. If she married Jean-Paul and joined the court, she had to find meaning in the politics, a way to work for good with it, or she would go mad. Perhaps a start would be to view tonight as an exercise the tutors in the Diplomatic Corps had set her to study. How to meet an emperor, the embodiment of an old failure, and your future father-in-law all in one night, and emerge unscathed.

  She rather thought that seemed an unfair degree of difficulty for one night. But there she was. Still smelling smoke and ash, still not ready to meet the Duq of Saint-Pierre and somehow manage to convince him she would be a good match for her son.

  But then Jean-Paul looked back down at her and smiled, and she remembered why she was doing this. Which made her want to roll her eyes at herself even as she acknowledged the emotion.

  "Would you like to dance again before I find my father?" Jean-Paul murmured. "Encounters with the Ashmeiser require a palate cleanser, I find. Normally I would choose ilvsoir, but it's early in the evening to start drinking hard liquor." He smiled again. "Besides, you are far more intoxicating than ilvsoir in that dress."

  As he was intoxicating in his evening clothes. But she wouldn't have said no to a slug of the sharp sweetness of ilvsoir to take the sting of smoke out of her throat either. Why was it lingering? The Ashmeiser really hadn't smelled so strongly of it.

  A memory twinged. A religious service in Deephilm. Priests of earth performing magic and ritual she hadn't understood. She'd tried to watch what they were doing, but the power was blurry to her eyes, half hidden in fog. But she remembered how sharp the taste of ash had been in her throat as they’d worked their rite.

  Wait.

  She swung back toward the Ashmeiser, opened her eyes to the magic, reaching for the ley line beneath the palace. The Ashmeiser blurred before her eyes, as though there was a veil of smoke around him. Was he using magic? Here, so close to the emperor?

  Even as she watched, he stretched an arm toward Aristides, hand held at a peculiar angle.

  "Stop!" Imogene yelled, fear spiking through her. And before she could even form the next thought, Ikarus appeared, wrapping one large hand around the Ashmeiser's arm and dragging him away from the emperor.

  Everything dissolved into chaos. Guards appeared from every angle. People started yelling, the Ashmeiser one of them. The emperor, she noticed, had moved first to put himself between the empress and the rest of the room, though his gaze was on the Andalyssians. Other than that, the details grew distance as she stared at Ikarus, feeling as though she was witnessing something not quite real.

  Until Jean-Paul said, "Imogene, could you ask Ikarus to let the Ashmeiser go, please."

  As she did so and Ikarus vanished from sight, everyone turned and began shouting at her.

  Chapter 23

  "What were you thinking?" Jean-Paul said, raking a hand through his hair until long strands broke free of the ribbon confining it. He'd stood by Imogene’s side as the storm had broken over her head, but after the emperor had eventually said, "Enough," and turned to start placating the Ashmeiser, he hustled her out of the ballroom and into another of the endless small meeting rooms lining the corridors. The silence in the tiny room was startling. Her breath rang in her ears, and she could hear Jean-Paul breathing hard, too.

  "Imogene?" he repeated. "Answer me."

  Imogene bristled. "I was thinking that the Ashmeiser was using magic in the emperor's presence. And he was hiding it." Her cheeks were hot, but the rest of her was ice. Shock, she supposed. She'd called a sanctii into the emperor's presence without permission. The Ashmeiser had put on a grand show of outrage that he'd been treated so badly. There was no evidence he'd done anything at all, nothing to warrant the emperor pushing the boundaries of diplomatic protection. She'd made a mistake, it seemed. A terrible mistake. In front of the emperor. In front of Jean-Paul. Who, instead of trying to help her, was yelling at her as all the others had. Her eyes stung, and she gritted her teeth. She would not compound her error.

  "Their magic is different," Jean-Paul said. "It feels different."

  Was he actually going to lecture her on Andalyssian magic? "I know," she said, wrestling her voice to calm with an effort. "I have been to Andalyssia. I have studied their ways. So perhaps you could grant me the courtesy of not talking to me like I am a child, Major."

  His brows drew down. "I'm not—"

  "You are," she said. "And I don't appreciate it."

  "You made a mistake," he said. "Even if he was using magic, calling Ikarus was...hasty."

  He was trying to be calm, it seemed. To talk rationally. But she could see the muscle clenched at his jaw and the fire in his eyes. He was angry. And somehow his emotion only amplified hers.

  "Perhaps. I breached protocol, certainly, and I'll wear the consequences of my actions. But I won't be condescended to by you. If you want a wife to talk down to, then I am not the woman for the job."

  He scowled at that. "You called a bloody sanctii in the middle of the emperor's ball. You assaulted a diplomat. Allow me a moment to catch my breath."

  "No," she said sharply. "I won't. Because you haven't allowed me to catch mine. You said you protect what's yours. So do I. I'm sworn to protect the emperor. Maybe I made an error of judgment tonight, but I'd do it again if I had to. I made a mistake, yes, but I would remind you that I wouldn't have been in the position to make that mistake if you hadn't pushed me to be here tonight."

  Part of her knew that was an unfair charge to bring against him. But part of her also knew there was truth to it. He was pressing her. Hurrying her. Attempting to sweep her off her feet, to shape the world his way.

  "You're saying this is my fault?" It was close to a shout, disbelief and frustration warring in his voice.

  She threw up her hands. "I don't know! But you're pushing too fast. And I can't think. And I won't make a choice this way, Jean-Paul. It's not fair of you. Or to you. Or to me."

  "What are you saying?"

  "That I need some time. Alone. I need you to leave me alone."

  "You cannot be serious about that girl." Andre du Laq stepped into his son’s path as Jean-Paul reached the entrance to the ballroom.

  "Father, now is not the time." He was in no mood for a lecture, still reeling from watching Imogene stalk away from him after their fight, fury clear in the rigid line of her back and the swish of her skirts. And getting into an argument about her with his father would only make this night more of a disaster.

  "It is," Andre said tightly. "I was willing to indulge you in this, to meet with this lieutenant who seems to have snared your attention somehow, but I must put my foot down. The girl has no control. A duquesse needs finesse. Tact. Judgment."

  "Imogene has all those things."

  "Yet she called a sanctii in the midst of the emperor's ball?" Andre sounded incredulous.

  Jean-Paul hid a wince, thinking of how he'd said as much to Imogene only minutes ago. "She's young. She's only just bonded the sanctii. You know that can be difficult to navigate."

  "Yet you thought it was wise to bring her here tonight. Maybe she's not the only one who lacks judgment." Andre frowned. "Did she tell you she intended to bond a sanctii?"

  "No. And that is irrelevant." She had thought they had no chance when she'd made that choice. Perhaps she'd been right.

  "Do you want a wife so impulsive? One who is a stronger mage than you? That's a dangerous thing, Jean-Paul."

  "I want a wife who is a partner," Jean-Paul said. "Whose strengths complement mine. And one who I hope I would never inspire to use her strengths against me."

  "Best try not to startle her, then," Andre snapped. "I need you to use your brain here, my son. Stop thinking with your cock and consider your legacy. The responsibilities of a duquesse are vast. Noblewomen are educated from birth to take on such positions. What does an ingenier's daughter know of running a great house? Of duty and trad
ition? Of politics? You need a girl like Celadin. And yes, I understand that she may not be the one for you, but she is not the only suitable girl at court. Be smart, Jean-Paul. Pick one of them."

  "And if I don't? What will you do, Father? Disown me?" He was trying to rein in his temper, but he could feel it sliding from his grasp. He curled a hand into a fist at his side, trying to calm himself. Imogene had left. He had said stupid things. She had done something reckless to incite them, yes, but he could have handled it better. Because she'd left. And she'd asked him not to follow her. Or speak to her. So why was he even fighting with his father at all? Why risk fracturing this relationship, too, when Imogene may have just taken herself out of his life entirely? He didn't know.

  His father didn't seem to know either. Andre hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "Don't force my hand, Jean-Paul. Use your brain. And go in there and clean up the mess you made."

  Chapter 24

  Invisibility was tiring. Imogene, having endured close to a week of it already, was growing thoroughly sick of the whole thing. She'd taken the lectures on her stupidity, she'd taken being temporarily removed from any duty other than her continuing lessons with Ikarus and the rest of the time was to stay in the barracks, and she'd taken the not-so-subtle avoidance of her classmates who only now spoke to her if it was part of one of the lessons, as though they were worried that screwing up might be contagious.

  The army, apparently, had decided that the best place for her was out of sight. Colonel Ferritine had given her a lecture on responsibilities that made her ears ring. But he'd followed it up with more gentle advice to just wait for things to pass.

  Which she was doing. For the second time. The first time, after the mission to Andalyssia, her disgrace hadn't been her fault. This time, it was. That didn't make it any easier to bear. She wondered if it had been the sheer boredom of being punished that had led Alexei Berain to resign after Andalyssia.

  She could take that option. Give up her commission. Go and work with her father. Build a different life. Ikarus would be useful to her as an ingenier, too. They couldn't take him away from her, at least, though she was under strict orders to keep him under control. Which was unfair. He had done precisely as she had asked in the ballroom and then stopped and left as soon as she had asked again. Her control over her sanctii was fine. It was her control over herself that was the issue.

  Jean-Paul, too, it seemed, had taken her at her word. He hadn't contacted her. Which left her in the increasingly irritating position of being annoyed by getting exactly what she'd asked for. She would have to make the first move. Which she might do if she was surer that he hadn't just wiped his hands of her entirely, thanking the goddess for a lucky escape from a bad choice.

  Even if she hadn't been full of doubt, she hadn't been given permission to leave the palace grounds.

  So she was dutifully making her way back from the training halls to her quarters once more, thinking of dinner in her room and more study before she slept, when she passed the gate to one of the palace gardens. One that was technically not off-limits to anyone living within the palace’s boundaries. And technically still on the way back to the barracks.

  Surely no one would begrudge her a few minutes’ peace admiring some flowers and drinking in the afternoon sunshine before she returned to her punishment? If they did, they could hardly make things worse unless they did decide to kick her out. She'd never heard of anyone being cashiered over flowers, though. So she grasped the gate and pushed it open.

  She was admiring a bank of bright pink roses when a voice from behind her said, "Lieutenant Carvelle?"

  A female voice. One she recognized. Heart sinking, she turned and saw her suspicions confirmed. She sank into a curtsy at Empress Liane's feet, cursing her luck in her head. The empress was the last person—except perhaps the emperor himself—she wanted to see.

  "Get up. It's too hot for that," Liane said. She fanned herself with one hand. "Don't have babies in summer, Lieutenant. I've done it twice. Learn from my errors."

  "Do you need to sit, Your Imperial Highness?" Imogene asked, alarmed. Bad enough that she had run into the empress—an encounter that would no doubt bring her more lectures if anyone from the barracks saw them—but it would be worse still were she to have some sort of complication to her pregnancy with Imogene in her presence.

  Liane grimaced, still fanning. "I've been sitting half the day. I wanted to stretch my legs."

  "Where are your guards?" Imogene scanned the garden. The empress was alone. Not so much as a lady-in-waiting accompanying her. That had to be rare.

  "I told them to leave me alone. I'm sure there are half a dozen sanctii nearby"—Liane waved a hand at the air irritably—"but apparently I was fierce enough to chase everyone else out of eyesight. Rank is useful sometimes. And rank plus pregnancy is also useful. Remember that, too." She rubbed the pale blue silk of her dress where it stretched over her belly.

  "I will leave you alone," Imogene said, taking a step backward. The empress had private gardens she could walk in, of course. But if she wanted this one, well, Imogene might be willing to risk the wrath of her commanding officer but not her empress.

  "No, stay. I keep asking Aristides about you. To make sure you were being treated fairly. So far the only answer I get is 'it's an army matter.'" She shook her head. "Men. They are irritating when they get pedantic about stupid rules." She linked an arm through Imogene's. "Walk with me. And tell me they haven't been too hard on you."

  "I'm fine, Your Imperial Highness. I did break the rules, after all. I can take my punishment."

  "You acted to protect my husband and myself," the empress retorted. "I would prefer to see such behavior encouraged in the court. But I will not interfere if you prefer to play by their rules." Bright green eyes twinkled at her. "But if they grow tiresome, you are welcome to let me know."

  Imogene imagined how well that would go down with Colonel Ferritine. Having strings pulled in her favor would probably ensure she got sent to the dullest post in Illvya for a year. If not two.

  "I am fine, Your Imperial Highness" she repeated. "Let's admire the flowers."

  Chapter 25

  They walked, the empress moving slowly, her movements awkward when she bent to sniff a bloom here and there. "What about Jean-Paul?" Liane said. "Aristides said he thought you might be our next Duquesse of San Pierre. Before all this fuss. Jean-Paul is a good man. Don't let this nonsense scare you off if he is the one you want."

  "It's a big decision to take on something like that," Imogene said slowly. "We still have only known each other a short time."

  Liane laughed. "Well, I can understand that. I almost ran away before my wedding. But I'd known Aristides a long time. And I loved him. So I stayed. And became an empress. Which sometimes seems ridiculous, even now. But we adjust. And love is worth the adjustment, my dear." She rubbed her belly again. "And a little discomfort." She paused, pressing her hand into her back. "I swear this boy is kicking my kidneys on purpose."

  "It's a boy?"

  "So the healers tell me." Liane smiled. "I wouldn't have minded either way." She squeezed Imogene's arm. "I think he's telling me that I’ve walked far enough for now. Come, walk with me back to the rose garden. We can have tea. It's nice to talk to someone new."

  "I'm supposed to return to my barracks."

  The empress grinned wickedly. "Imogene, I outrank every one of your commanding officers. Tell them to come and see me if they wish to complain about you being late."

  Put that way, she couldn't argue. "The empress made me do it" was an excuse no one could argue with. She laughed at the thought of the look she would get from Colonel Ferritine at that one. "Thank you, Your Imperial Highness. Tea would be lovely."

  When they reached the rose garden, there was already a small table set for two, a linen half tent set to shade it from the sun. It seemed the sanctii guarding the empress could also relay her desire for tea to the palace servants.

  Liane sat with a grateful si
gh. "At least the Andalyssians are leaving the day after tomorrow," she said. "That will stop all the tedious dinners we've been holding for them. I don't mind the balls—I can avoid them at the balls—but the Ashmeiser Elannon is not my idea of a sparkling conversationalist at dinner."

  "No," Imogene agreed. "He is not."

  "You've been to Andalyssia, I understand. What's it like?"

  Imogene told her about the court and the country while they waited for tea.

  Liane listened and asked intelligent questions in the right places with an ease that made Imogene feel envious. The empress had obviously honed the skill of making people feel at ease and welcome as well as any diplomat. But then the nobles had to work the tools of politics too. Imogene might not have been born to be a duquesse but maybe—if indeed she was still to be one—her training in the corps would give her some small grounding on which to build.

  By the time the servants arrived with a tea service and a trolley laden with more food than the two of them could possibly eat, Liane had deployed her charms so well that Imogene was halfway to forgetting Liane was the empress and just enjoying her company.

  The servants moved everything to the table with efficient grace, then faded back out of eyeshot.

  Imogene reached for the teapot. It was her place to serve the empress. Her hand brushed the silver and her nose filled with the scent of moss-laden smoke. She jerked her hand back instinctively.

  "Imogene?" Liane said, "Is something wrong?" She reached toward the teapot, and Imogene knocked her hand away.

  One of the servants sprang forward but Liane said. “Wait.” The servant stopped by the empress’s side. Both of them stared at Imogene, who was frozen with horror.