The Usurper's Crown

by Sarah Zettel

  Then, the emperor turned away, making signs to his Voice. Medeoan wished fervently her tutors had thought to teach her this language of the emperor’s hand, so that she might know for certain what was being said.

  The Voice spoke. “I hear the words of my Sister Empress of Isavalta and they are grave and worthy of much thought. I ask that she accept the hospitality of the Heart of the World while I take council with the Nine Elders so that I may give to her a worthy answer.”

  Hospitality. A bed, a bath, a true meal. Medeoan kept her face still and solemn. “I accept willingly. I only ask that my Brother Emperor understand that this matter is most urgent, and delay for leisurely debate only allows the treacherous to further their plans.”

  “I assure my sister that I am quite aware of the urgency of her words, and she will not have to wait long for my answer.”

  Medeoan reverenced, and the emperor bowed in acknowledgment. The Minister of Air left his fellows and walked her back to the inner gate. All the time, she felt the eyes of the others on her, and she could almost hear the air whispering around her. What were they thinking? What were they planning? Medeoan’s jaw tightened. She needed to find out.

  Medeoan expected to be conducted to the foreigners’ palace, but instead, she was taken to the Palace of the Autumn, and there was greeted by the dowager empress, Dieu Han, as soon as she stepped through the gilded doors.

  “Ah! My Daughter, how pale you look! It is a shame upon my son and my house that he left you talking so long!” She wagged her head to express the strength of her emotion. “Come, come, let me show you your rooms. Let me summon your attendants. You must be faint from all your trials!”

  Or, at least, that was what Medeoan could make out from her speech. The woman talked fast and moved constantly, and if she was old enough to have mothered the emperor, she did not look it. Her face appeared only gently lined and her hair was as black as his. She looked more like his sister than his mother, and Medeoan found herself wondering if the woman was a sorceress. She did not know. She could not remember her father, or anyone else, talking about the dowager.

  Dieu Han took Medeoan’s arm with comfortable familiarity and steered her through the scarlet-and-sienna corridors, sending servants scurrying in every direction with rapid-fire orders, so that by the time they reached the “poor, very poor,” as she called it, chamber set aside for Medeoan, the room was open to the warm sun and fresh air of the early afternoon. Fresh flowers bloomed in the basins, a cold meal of roasted meats and chilled rice was waiting along with tea and wine, and even a small pot of coffee. “It is much favored in your country, is it not?” asked the dowager anxiously. “There is so little comfort here to offer such a visitor.”

  In truth, her activity and her orders left Medeoan a little dizzy. But, at last, she was satisfied that Medeoan had all the food she could possibly desire beside her, and that the water for washing was just the right temperature, and the robes laid out were of sufficiently good quality. Medeoan was used to being waited on, but not like this. Her hair and body were washed for her. She was swiftly dressed in rich silken robes. Her plates were prepared and served to her by servants who knelt with each offering. Even her cups were held for her so that she could sip from them.

  The dowager sat beside her, supervising the service, and making small talk about the weather, the history of the palace and the silliness of waiting ladies, but Medeoan soon found herself less and less able to answer without suppressing progressively energetic yawns.

  “But there, you are tired,” said Dieu Han at last. “I am as guilty as the emperor of keeping you talking.” And she sent the women running to ready the teakwood bed with its smooth sheets and coverlets, and herself escorted Medeoan to its side. Medeoan lay down, and her eyes closed at once. She was asleep so fast, she did not even hear Dieu Han order the ladies out, nor did she see the woman searching her clothing before it was handed over to the serving women to be stored away.

  Medeoan woke to an oddly familiar scene. Around her hung the curtains of a great, carved bed. Beyond them she could see a peaceful and well-organized apartment with the waiting ladies bowed over their sewing and their letters. So much the same, and so much utterly different. Medeoan had grown up with stone and darkness. This place, palace though it was, was so airy and filled with light she wondered briefly how it did not fly away when the winds were strong. The light had reddened to evening, and Medeoan realized she had been asleep for hours.

  “Ah, good, you are awake.” Medeoan sat up as Dieu Han rose from her place by a low rosewood table and bustled to the bedside. “First, you must eat, then we must talk.”

  Medeoan’s stomach grumbled, despite its also tightening at the tone the dowager gave her final words, but she only nodded her agreement.

  More tea and wine, and another light meal of rice, cured fruit and fish was laid out by the silent, efficient ladies, with many orders by the dowager. Medeoan ate and drank hungrily, learning quickly that she was not to reach for the dishes or the cups, but indicate with a flick of her finger what she wanted. It seemed excessive to her, but she was not going to show herself to be any less sophisticated than this silk-clad and lacquered woman in front of her.

  “Now then, my dear child,” said the dowager. “I must tell you, the emperor has taken me much into his confidence on matters concerning you, quizzing me most closely on your behavior and demeanor.”

  Medeoan felt the muscles in the back of her neck begin to knot up. “As to be expected. I should surely do the same if my guards brought my Brother Emperor into my great hall, alone and dressed in a peasant’s clothes.”

  “To be sure, to be sure.” The dowager patted her hand. “But there is more to it than that. He does not like Isavaltans, and never has, and looks on you with suspicion, be your face and heart ever so open.”

  Now Medeoan’s eyes narrowed. “And what would he say to you if he knew you were telling me these things?”

  The dowager waved Medeoan’s words away. “What could he say? He has given me charge of you, to house as I see fit. I may hold such conversation with you as I choose, and I choose to advise you that undue discretion may jeopardize all you would accomplish here. You must be open, and confident. The emperor will in no way support a usurper unseating his Sister Empress, but he must be convinced yet that that is what has happened here.”

  “I assure you, Mother, I mean to be nothing but honest with my Brother Emperor.”

  “Good.” She pronounced the word with firm satisfaction. “I told him it would be so.”

  Medeoan picked up her porcelain wine cup again, and studied the letters written in red and gold on its side. They had been cleverly drawn to resemble a field of waving grasses. She couldn’t read them all, she only saw the occasional character that made sense, such as “truth,” or “peace,” or “heart.”

  “Forgive me for asking such a question, Mother,” she said. “But if the emperor has these reservations, why do you not share them?”

  The dowager sighed. “Perhaps I should. Perhaps I would be wiser if I did, but I will tell you, in the last year, my daughter, Mei Lin, was given in marriage to a king in the southern states. It was a good match for Hung Tse, but less so, I fear, for my daughter. I can do very little to help her, but in her place, my mother’s heart urges me to help you.”

  The older woman spoke with such feeling that Medeoan’s tired heart longed to reach out to her, but she held it in check. She had no proof, no reason to believe anything Dieu Han said, and she had lived too long among sycophants to immediately accept protestations of sympathy. Most of the time. Once upon a time.

  A plan formed in Medeoan’s mind.

  “Mother,” she said, setting her cup down. “It grieves me to hear of your daughter parted from you. You have been very good to me, and perhaps I can now return your courtesy.”

  Was that wariness that flashed past her dark eyes. “In what way, Daughter?”

  Medeoan chose her words with care. “I am sure you know that I h
ave some humble gifts of spirit,” Medeoan used Hung Tse’s phrase for sorcery. “If you can give me something of your daughter’s, and a mirror, I can show you how she does at this moment. It may ease your worries for her.”

  The dowager hesitated. “Thank you, Daughter. Your offer is gracious. But you may put yourself in danger with the Nine Elders, who will surely be aware of any such casting within the Heart of the World …”

  Now it was Medeoan’s turn to wave words away. “Should they inquire, you will be able to reassure them. Indeed, they will be able to make their own examination of all I do. It is not a complex working, nor, in truth, a very subtle one.”

  Yes, she looked wary. She was not entirely the worried mother then. How far would she persist in that game?

  The dowager reached her decision. “I will return in a few moments.” She rose, and swept from the room, surrounded by her gaggle of ladies.

  That surprised Medeoan; she had expected some of the ladies to be sent running. Did the dowager need to alert the Elders as to what was about to happen? Send a message to the emperor? Either of those things were possible. It was also possible there was some casket or drawer that needed to be unlocked by the dowager’s own hand. Such things were not common in Vyshtavos, but they were not unknown either.

  Medeoan forced herself to be patient. If she could just wait a little while longer, she would have her means for gaining real information that she could indeed trust. She wandered about the apartment, examining the blooming flowers in their bowls of water, the finely executed landscapes with their attendant poems painted on lengths of translucent paper. She exclaimed with approval over the work of the waiting ladies, who responded by clapping their hands over their faces in a way that made her think of Kacha, and caused her to turn away.

  At last, the dowager returned. With a furtive expression, she handed over to Medeoan a circular mirror of polished silver and a hair comb that had been beautifully etched with a chain of blossoms.

  “Thank you, Mother,” said Medeoan as she accepted them. “These will do admirably.” Especially since the comb still had one long, black hair entwined in its teeth. “I will need to borrow some of your ladies’ sewing thread as well, and then we may begin.”

  The ladies worked exclusively with silk, which was perhaps too fine a thread for this spell, but it would certainly serve. Medeoan arrayed the cut threads in the lap of her robe and began to weave them into a net, with red threads knotted together to make the left half and blue to make the right. All the while she breathed deeply, drawing the magic out and calling it in.

  “I stand on the isle of the world, and the sun shines down upon me. The sun sees all that is, all that has been and all that will be. Mei Lin stands on the isle of the world, and the sun shines down upon Mei Lin. The sun sees all that is, all that has been and all that will be.” The spell flowed strongly from her, and the weaving caught the words and the magic and gave them the needed shape. It felt surprisingly good. In this, at least, she was sure of what she did. “I will see Mei Lin as the sun sees Mei Lin. I will see all that is, and all that is true for Mei Lin. This is my wish and this is my word, and my word is firm.”

  With the final word, she wove the net through the teeth of the comb, and laid the mirror down in the center. She breathed across the smooth silver, all her work done for now. Now, she had only to wait and watch, along with the dowager.

  At first, the mirror reflected her face, and the dowager’s where she leaned over to see. After a few brief heartbeats, the shining surface of the mirror clouded over, as if obscured by fog. Then, the fog cleared, and Medeoan no longer saw her own face. Instead, she saw a garden of willow trees with a carefully constructed stream trickling over rounded stones and golden roots. A young woman, Mei Lin, who appeared to be perhaps a year or two older than Medeoan, sat on a curved bench on the bank. A cluster of waiting ladies laid out a picnic in a silken pavilion nearby. It was a peaceful, busy scene, but, for some reason, it made the dowager frown.

  Then, Mei Lin turned her head, probably at the sound of someone’s approach. Her face lit up, and she rose gracefully to her feet. A man stepped into the mirror’s view. He also was young, and, Medeoan supposed, handsome after the fashion of Hung Tse. His robe was of good green-and-white cloth and he smiled to see Mei Lin. Instead of bowing he folded his arms around her so they might embrace and kiss.

  Oddly embarrassed, Medeoan turned her face away.

  “The fool!” spat the dowager. “Oh, the little fool!”

  Before Medeoan could move, the dowager snatched up the mirror and hurled it across the room. It clanged against one of the wooden pillars and clattered to the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” said Medeoan softly. “I did not know …” But I do now. Your daughter has a lover, and this jeopardizes her position, and possibly yours.

  “No, you could not.” The dowager bit off the words, plainly struggling to regain control of herself. “You will excuse me. There is something I must do.”

  The dowager and her ladies swept from the room, leaving Medeoan alone with her servants. Only when the door closed did Medeoan allow the smile she had been holding in to show itself. Vyshemir bless Mei Lin in her inconstancy, she thought. The shock that delivered to Dieu Han had meant the woman left comb, stray hair, and completed net with Medeoan. She had been wondering how she might keep hold of them without arousing attention.

  Now, Dowager, we shall see in what regard you are held by your son, and in what regard he holds me.

  What she was about to do was dangerous, but she could not leave herself without information. The lies that might cover it were many and easy, but might not be easily believed. Still, she must take the risk.

  Around her, the ladies sewed or read passively. One rose to tend the small stove where the water heated for tea. By all appearances they were ignoring her, but Medeoan knew this could not be so. Like her ladies back home, they had to be ready for any soft summons. But unlike her ladies back home, Medeoan knew no way to get rid of them.

  So, to screen herself as best she could, Medeoan got up and folded the items she had been left with into her robe’s voluminous sleeves. Casually, as if she only meant to stretch her legs, she wandered out onto the apartment’s sun porch. One of the ladies immediately responded by fetching a pillow for the low wooden bench. Another placed a steaming cup of tea within easy reach. Both retired at once to the company of their fellows.

  Medeoan sat in the place that had been prepared and sipped the tea. The sun was pleasantly warm against her skin, and she would have loved to spend the day just dozing in this spot, bathed in the rich perfumes that wafted to her from the gardens beyond.

  Instead, she spilled her booty into her lap. She picked up the comb and gently disentangled the single hair from its teeth. Then, gingerly, she began to twine it into the center of her net, calling up her magic as softly as she could.

  “As daughter is bound to mother, so is my sight bound to Dieu Han,” she whispered, winding the hair around the silken strands. “As daughter’s heart is hidden from mother, so is my sight hidden from those in the Heart of the World.” She spoke the spell again, and again, as she delicately knotted the hair to bind it firmly into her net.

  Then, as she had before, she laid the silver mirror across the net in her lap and breathed across its smooth surface.

  This time when the mirror cleared, Medeoan saw the throne room. The emperor sat on his dais as before, with the Nine Elders ranged before him. But this time, the Elders faced inward, and from Medeoan’s view, it seemed she sat at their center in a chair made of some dark wood with elegantly carved arms, for she now saw through the eyes of the dowager empress, Dieu Han.

  The emperor signed to his Voice. It seemed that he could not speak aloud even to his mother. Medeoan leaned close to her mirror. Very faintly, she heard the words, “What have you to tell us, Mother?”

  Dieu Han dropped her eyes briefly. “Little, my son. I found no charms about her person, nor any one thing I co
uld easily say was enchanted. There was no possession she seemed to cling to. I found only a few coins, and no jewels at all.”

  Medeoan repressed a spasm of anger. She had in truth expected to be searched.

  The emperor nodded and his Voice said, “This is also the word of the jailer who held her.” The Voice paused thoughtfully as the emperor did the same. “Did she speak at all of her hopes or fears?”

  “Not yet, but I believe she may, if I am given time.”

  So, you are my hostess and my spy. Well, I cannot truly be surprised at that either. Medeoan bit her lip and bent closer.

  Now one of the Elders spoke. This one wore robes that gleamed with threads of copper, silver and gold. Their tattoos were all squares and angles overlaid with serpents coiled together. This was the Minister of Metal. “Time is not something we have, if what she says is true,” said the minister. From the depth of the voice, Medeoan decided this minister was male.

  “It does not matter what truth she speaks,” Dieu Han said with a dismissive wave. “What we know is that Isavalta is grown unstable and this must threaten us to the north.”

  “Must it?” inquired the Minister of Air, who had greeted Medeoan so politely when she arrived. “If Isavalta falls again into a pack of squabbling kingdoms, we may safely regard them with indifference.”

  The emperor tapped his fingers on his knee, the first stray movement Medeoan had seen him make. “Unless she speaks the truth and Hastinapura seeks to seize them all,” said the Voice.

  Another Elder spoke. This one was all in blue, as was the Minister of Air, and sparkling fishes chased the dragons on their robe and on their skin — the Minister of Water.

  “Let Hastinapura try. What matter? We are still surrounded by enemies. What matter if there are one or two? While Hastinapura strengthens itself in Isavalta, we will be able to gather our own strength to meet whatever challenge may come.”