by Scott Rhine
She shook her head no. “I told you, I say what I mean.”
Turning to his men, Onira said, “The emperor said he’d grant me anything I wanted. Who thinks I should press my luck?”
Every man among them burst out with variations of, “I would,” or “We’re behind you all the way, Governor.”
“Governor?” Jolia asked, confused.
“Yes, and soon to be Regent to the heir of Zanzibos,” a ferret-faced man in Kragen uniform bragged for him.
“This is General Navarra, Lady Kragen’s chief intelligence officer and strangely, a friend of mine,” Governor Onira said by way of introduction.
Navarra bowed his head to her hand as well. “I was forced to befriend him, because there are so few men cut of his cloth to associate with on the frontier.”
“And because every time he falls in shit, Onira comes out smelling better than before. If you want to survive, hold on to his coattails,” said the adjutant. All the men nodded agreement.
She couldn’t stop laughing for a full minute. When she did, Jolia said, “That sounds like an outstanding plan. General Navarra, expect to be offered a promotion soon. Your predecessor, the Viper, has just died under supernatural circumstances. In exchange for your assistance with my delicate past, I could see my way clear to tell you soooo many things about this city and recent events that no one else in the empire knows.”
“The good governor offered you our protection. I would be a fool to gainsay him,” said Navarra, eager for information that he could use to impress his employers.
“Very well, then,” Jolia said, still giddy. “Are all you boys ready to have the time of your lives and turn this town on its ear?”
Then the governor shouted, “First Company!”
To which the others replied, “Kicks Ass!”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, feeling like the new company mascot.
Before they departed, Navarra asked, “Have you decided their punishment, Lady Jolia!”
Looking down at the two hapless attackers, she said, “Sure. Have them be the ones to tell Empress Humi that I’m going to have a front row seat at her wedding.”
“As you wish,” said Navarra, snapping his fingers to make it happen.
When the all the other travelers were well ahead of them, the general whispered to his adjutant, “How should we best benefit from this?”
His assistant Bunji answered, “Sir, it was your brilliant plan all along. You used your peerless skills to find the concubine, a woman that you knew Lady Humi wanted.”
“In a few hours, when all others failed for a week. Go on.”
“You’d successfully captured her, and then a comment from your men about her assets reminded you of how lonely the governor’s been.”
“He’s known to be a breast man,” Navarra noted.
“But without a family, Onira’s hard to pressure into things. Then you discovered a way to fix this lack and indebt him to the emperor on a personal level,” Bunji said, making his boss sound as clever as possible.
“We can’t kill the concubine, but putting her in the retinue of a powerful provincial noble achieves two goals: it eliminates her availability and posts her at the far ends of the realm where the emperor and empress will never see her again. You’re right, I sometimes amaze even myself.”
“Did you stage the rescue scene yourself?” asked the adjutant.
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
The rest of the journey was spent ironing out the details.
Chapter 34 – Ladies’ Underwear
Jolia was in heaven.
Now, instead of being locked in the harem rooms, she could g
o anywhere in the metropolis except her former cell. She gave them the grand tour on the way to the palace. She’d needed to clean up her language a little because Onira was such gentleman. Nonetheless, from time to time, her outbursts would make the scouts roar with laughter. Even if the Viper had ordered her death, no one could’ve penetrated her constant escort of doting muscle.
After Navarra masterfully handled the Imperial couple, the Keepers arrived in their guest suite with all her old dresses! She decided to narrow the choices to four formal and two travel outfits. The rest would be impractical to store, let alone carry. She gave them all a brief fashion show to help decide.
“Why do we care?” grumbled one as she changed.
“Because we’ll pick the accent colors on your accessories based on what I’m wearing,” she explained. The seamstress nodded when the men looked to her for confirmation. “Here’s the first one. Too much?”
The leviathan-bone corset helped to display her assets to their fullest. The crowd roared. Jolia felt like she was in the circus again. She had a family, and they all had opinions. Only Onira was restrained in expressing views about the gowns. But when she found a winner, she could tell by the increased color in his face.
Then she dragged the scouts out shopping for themselves. After making sure that each man had at least two sets of clean, presentable clothes, she took Onira to a fitting at the best tailor available.
Once he was pinned and chalked firmly in place, Jolia announced, “I need to pick out new silken undergarments.”
“I’ll go!” clamored the scouts. Onira playfully cuffed the nearest in the back of the head.
Smiling, she said, “It’s just across the street.”
Shyly, the governor argued, “But you said you’d give your opinion on my outfit.”
“That uniform will suffice for any wedding, as long as you don’t gain too much weight,” she said cryptically.
“Why now?” the governor asked, having grown accustomed to her constant companionship.
“In the harem, I seldom needed such items; however, in public appearances they’re a necessity.” The men debated this amongst themselves until she broke through the din with, “Onira, do you prefer buttons or bows for the release?”
All the scouts turned to him, eager to hear the choice. Their leader fumbled verbally until she sighed, “I’ll make it a surprise and whisper it in your ear during our last dance.”
He swallowed hard as she swirled out of the shop, jingling the bell over the door.
She flounced across the street, avoiding mud holes. Two of the scouts tailed her, lifting her onto the clean boardwalk on the other side. They folded their arms and stood outside the doors by ten other Imperial bodyguards. Penceworth’s Silk Emporium was all the rage with the highborn ladies attending the events. Her guards were shorter, but she’d bet on them in a dogfight any day.
Inside, the walls were lined with cedar. The noises of the street outside were muffled by the stacks of silk dresses, cloaks, and gloves lining the walls. The scent of potpourri wafted through the air, relaxing her. The store seemed strangely empty as she made her way to the back room labeled ‘Unmentionables.’ She snorted at the sign. “Well you just mentioned them, didn’t you?”
She helped herself to a glass of wine and a chocolate. When Jolia pushed through the curtain into the underwear room, she stopped chewing and froze. Humi Kragen was sitting in a padded chair, surrounded by sweating, panicked clerks. The dragon symbol on her robe made her identity unmistakable.
The pale owner himself was in apologetic conversation with the lady. Perhaps if Jolia pretended to be a shop girl, she might live. “Want some wine?” she asked when Humi noticed her.
“There’s a limit to what I’ll share with you,” Humi said coolly.
“You’re busy; I’ll go,” Jolia offered, trying to turn.
“Stay!” Humi commanded. “Perhaps an expert like yourself might know something these men have missed.”
Penceworth stammered, “Lady, these undergarments were not designed for pregnant women.”
Humi raised an eebrow. “The logic being that once I’m with-child, the fancy silks have done their job?”
None of the men dared say a word. Jolia struggled to avoid laughing. She strode over to the wall where several black garment
s hung. “Wear this for comfort. You’re bound to be running to the bathroom a lot. This will make your week easier. An hour before the unveiling, have your maids help you into the second one.”
“It’s. Too. Tight,” Humi said, enunciating each word.
“Look, they don’t exactly make things my size either,” Jolia said with her hand on her hip. “What you do is have the seamstress in the back room snip the buttons and lace them together with a thin ribbon. After you let Sandarac see the effect for about ten seconds, pull the ribbon out for the reveal. He used to be a magician, so he appreciates a little showmanship.” Despite herself, the dread Lady of the Deep smiled. “The only thing missing is some trumpets sounding when the silk hits the floor. But after he sees you, that won’t matter.”
“You really are cheerful and kind all the time,” Humi admitted.
“I try,” Jolia agreed, a little confused.
“Leave us,” Lady Kragen ordered the men. “We have matters of state to discuss.”
The men shuffled out, grateful. Penceworth took the two items Jolia had suggested and whispered, “Anything you want, on the house. Just keep that smile on her face.”
Humi walked over and looked Sandarac’s former lover over from every angle. “Well, I’ll never be able to give him that.”
“You have assets of your own, Lady. He clearly chose you over me—that should tell you something,” the former consort said, her voice trailing off with melancholy.
“He’s courting a large piece of real estate. I’m under no illusions,” said Humi. “I’ve heard the fire mage talking.”
“Urgot thinks that way because that’s how he got his title. His poor wife lives alone in Intaglios. He never visits her,” said Jolia. “Sandarac, on the other hand, is the envy of the court. Everyone talks about how young and gorgeous you are. And your chest will fill out with the baby. Trust me, you’ll wish it was small again.”
Humi shook her head. “After everything that’s happened to you, your stepfather, it’s amazing. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. Wishing you ill is like kicking a puppy.”
“He told you?” the consort said softly.
“We agreed—no secrets,” announced Humi.
“Ahh . . . so what do you want to know?” Jolia said, having a seat on a floor cushion.
“What does he like?” asked the empress-to-be. “I want to be a real wife to him, at least on our wedding night.”
With a smile, Jolia began to tell her everything. “Okay, let’s back up a little. Before we get to the fireworks, there are some special mechanics involved in bedtime with a man with his tendons cut.” She went through bathing rituals, where pajamas were kept, slippers, lighting, andheating. “Most importantly, only the sergeant at arms or his lover can touch him to lift him. Since you’re pregnant, that could be a bit of a problem for you. With my size, I could carry him anywhere I wanted. I put a ladder in by his bed so he can climb in by himself, but he doesn’t like to use it while you’re watching. So plan ahead for any romance.”
“You’ve taken good care of him,” Humi said magnanimously.
Jolia chuckled. “Speaking of which, now we can talk about the fun stuff.” The consort laid out a veritable recipe book of all the emperor’s favorites. After an hour, the Lady’s guards and one of the scouts came into the back room to check on them. Humi had a pillow propped under her fully dressed body, and Jolia was standing behind her with a feather duster announcing, “Number seventeen can be trickier, but you’ll enjoy it more.”
“State secrets,” repeated Humi. After the stunned guards left, she giggled, “That’s going to start rumors.”
“Do you want me to stop?” the former consort asked.
Humi said, “No. You could write a book on this, a pillow book. You’d be rich.”
Jolia shook her head. “This is for one man only. I’ve never spoken anything he’s shared with me, not one of his secrets, to anyone.”
The empress-to-be sat up and looked her in the eye. “Now that we’ve met, I believe you. I didn’t before. Why are you helping me?”
“Because someone recently did the same for me, and Sandarac was very generous.” When Humi reacted slightly, Jolia hastened to add, “Don’t worry; I’ll be at the far end of the empire, hopefully in the arms of a gentleman governor.”
They talked for another hour before they both came out with tall bundles of clothing. The guards on both sides were nervous, and the governor in question had been sweating in his new shirt. The empress-to-be approached Onira and whispered, “She is a gift who brightens any room. Do not cast her aside crudely.”
Onira bowed to Humi’s hand, “Such was never my intention, Lady.”
“So how was your shopping?” Jolia asked lightly.
When they were back at the palace, all the men asked her, “What were you doing with the feather duster?”
Onira raised an eyebrow when she responded, “State secrets.”
****
Three days after Queen Lavender left the Vale, the south-eastern alliance clashed with the High Gardener. His attack force was outnumbered three to one. Desperate to save his capital, he committed too much. Since the Prefect of Bablios had enough battle experience for both sides, he schooled the Gardener in the use of higher ground. While the High Gardener’s troops tried to recover from the massacre, the queen’s archers hit them from cover of the woods. However, Lavender made several youthful mistakes of her own. The High Gardener had her in a vise at one point, but the commander on his flank retreated prematurely. The priest was forced to leave the field of victory in order to follow.
The emperor’s orders to wait for Garad caught up to the High Gardener in those woods. He was faced with an inopportune choice. If he obeyed the emperor, he risked losing the capital. If the alliance won, his branch of the church would be pruned. The High Gardener might be hunted as a heretic himself. The other choice was to slow the invaders against orders. He would lose most of his men in the meat grinder and could end up captured himself. If he survived, the emperor would behead him for treason. Either choice spelled his political doom. He decided to pray and wait for the Imperial army, hoping for a long siege at Semenea to delay the enemy. He could still extinguish the fires of rebellion and save some portion of the orchards entrusted to him.
When Queen Lavender and her allies arrived at the gates of Semenea, her younger brother, Renald, was terrified. He had no idea that the High Gardener and all of the emperor’s might were only about two days behind. The boy folded without firing an arrow, on the condition that his own life be spared. The alliance occupied Semenea and began digging in for a long fight.
The first night, some rake put ladies’ underwear on the statue in the town square. Queen Lavender gave a victory speech to an anxious crowd. “As part of the transition agreement, civil changes in the country will be slow. My brother wanted me to assure you that my reign won’t result in the loss of life, his or any other law-abiding citizen. There is no reason for children of our great green mother to harm one another, apart from the urgings of the Pretender. The only real change in our kingdom today is that Semenos can finally be herself.” She pointed to the statue and everyone laughed. “To that end, I appoint Bishop Harkan to the senior post in the church.”
Bishop Harkan, for his part, acted to halt the collection of extra taxes because the kingdom no longer needed to pay for the regency and armies of the former High Gardener. The people cheered. “For the duration of the civil war, all church personnel who cling to the male version of Semenos will be sent to the Pretender for care and feeding.”
By the next morning, the statute had miraculously transformed into an attractive woman dressed in a toga. That sign settled the issue for all but a few diehards. As promised, the hundred or so retired priests and other men who refused to acknowledge the female deity were sent to join the attackers with nothing more than the clothes on their backs.
This additional burden, more than anything, undermined the Imperial siege. All t
he Prefect had to do was wait. In an ideal world, within a month the Kiaterans would be attacking the Imperial camp from behind. Even without Prince Legato, time was on the side of the southeastern alliance.
Chapter 35 – Reconnaissance
The first thing Pinetto did the next morning was have the smith save the empty kegs. Some they’d fill with water and others could be used t
o hide weapons when they drew closer to the mine. “If anyone asks, our band can masquerade as merchants traveling by a caravan.”
The merchant who’d sold them the wagon actually joined their caravan for protection, as did some gamblers, prostitutes, and assorted locals who’d been displaced by the war.
After a week of travel toward Crystal Springs, Legato could walk comfortably again for short distances without reopening his foot wound. To Sajika, he said, “That wine of yours is powerful stuff. We could use it on all our injured.”
The ambassador shook her head. “That one wineskin cost more than I earn in two years.”
“Talk about an expensive habit,” Legato coughed.
“Why are you pushing your injury so hard today?” asked Sajika. At the mention of injuries, the prince examined the damage she’d sustained fighting asassins at her post in the Great Library. Her cheekbones weren’t as symmetrical as before, but the swelling was down. Her eye patch was gone, and she could see with frightening clarity.
“We’re about four days from Crystal Springs. Between us and the grotto, the scouts are reporting some kind of special forest that has Imperial lookouts in wooden towers,” said the prince. “The road passes right under one of them.”