The Usurper's Crown

by Sarah Zettel

  “Do you believe what I’m telling you, Ferin?” asked Peshek finally.

  The night wind blew cold against his cheeks, and Ferin inhaled the scents of wood smoke and pine resin. “I don’t know.” It was the only answer he could give.

  “I think you do.” Ferin did not turn to look at him. He did not want to see Peshek’s face right now. He did not want to hear these words anymore. But Peshek continued. “And I’m going to prove it to you. At the Padinogen passage, my men and I are going to attack the baggage trains. If you don’t believe me, warn your commanders. Send out search parties. If you do believe … come away with us, and let it be known why you’re going.”

  “Start a camp rumor for you,” he snorted. “And then desert.”

  “Yes. Because it won’t be desertion. It will be returning to the proper service of the empress.”

  Ferin said nothing. He did not know what reply to make. His head swam with the implications of what he had heard, and of the fact that he had been willing to stand here and listen.

  “I’ll take my letter back now.”

  Ferin turned, startled. He had forgotten he still held the thing. He stared at the pale paper. He could no longer make out the words. He should keep it. Show it to his commanders. It was a forgery. It must be. What Peshek told him was ridiculous. It would mean Isavalta had been conquered by Hastinapura, without anybody knowing the thing had happened.

  Ferin folded the paper and handed it back to Peshek, who took it without a word and stowed it in his sash. The two men looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Ferin knew Peshek saw all the disquiet inside him. Peshek, on the other hand, looked back at him with nothing but calm certainty.

  The sound of tramping boots and crackling scrub broke the moment. Peshek drew his hood down and plunged back into the woods.

  “Vyshko’s balls,” growled a familiar voice. S’t’pan. His relief was here. The big man loomed in the darkness. “What was all that racket?”

  Ferin blinked and straightened up. Peshek was already well out of sight. “A fox,” he said. “Nothing more.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “The Revered Person of the Dowager Empress, Dieu Han, requests the company of the Lady Ingrid in the Autumn Garden.”

  Ingrid shook herself to avoid staring. She had not realized until they spoke that the person clad in black armor and sashed in saffron, bowing deeply before her, was a woman.

  She glanced back at Avanasy, who sat at one of the room’s low tables where he was, to all appearances, puzzling through a silken scroll recounting Hung Tse’s recent history. Avanasy raised his brows, somewhat in surprise, and nodded, which was the gesture she expected.

  “Of course I will come,” Ingrid told the woman soldier. “When should I be ready?”

  “Her Revered Personage requests that you accompany me as soon as is convenient.”

  Which, of course, could not mean anything but now. “Certainly,” said Ingrid, self-consciously smoothing down the jade-and-black robe she wore. “I am ready.”

  Ingrid exchanged a parting glance with Avanasy. They had not spoken much during the past day. Avanasy had been absorbed in delicate magics, trying to find some way to reach out past the room they were in without alerting the Nine Elders. Ingrid, in an attempt to give him the freedom he needed to concentrate, had roamed the little space of garden outside their rooms, and watched the guards walk by on the walls, and tried hard not to feel trapped.

  They had heard nothing from the emperor, or the Nine Elders.

  Now, the woman soldier led Ingrid across the garden to one of the wall’s arched doorways. She produced an iron key and unlocked the portal. The wall, it seemed, was actually a pair of walls that made a cool, dim tunnel. She could hear the footsteps of the patrols overhead. She stood back as Ingrid entered, locking the door behind them. Ingrid felt her heart speed up, and hoped her sudden attack of nerves did not show in her face.

  “This way, Honored Lady.”

  The soldier led her off to the right, so they were following the sound of marching. Ingrid could see nothing except her escort’s yellow sash. Even as her eyes adjusted, there was little to make out but beige stone and a dusty floor. The dust tickled her nose and she suppressed a sneeze. It seemed a strange way to take an honored guest, and Ingrid’s unease grew stronger.

  Nothing was made better by the occasional ghost standing beside this or that door. They drew to attention as her escort passed them, and saluted her with pale hands. Ingrid tried to keep her eyes on the living woman’s heels.

  At last, she stopped them in front of one of the doors in the left hand wall. Two ghosts stood on guard here, big and grim, pale and hollow-eyed, surrounded by the smell of old dust. Ingrid could discern nothing from them. Was this a trap? What truly lay beyond that door?

  Her escort produced a second key, this one smaller and more highly polished than the first. She unlocked the new door smoothly, and a shaft of sunlight shot through. She stepped back and bowed again, and Ingrid, blinking, walked out into the welcome daylight.

  When she could see clearly again, she knew why this place was called the Autumn Garden. The carefully trimmed trees had leaves the color of burgundy and rich brandy. Gold, orange and claret chrysanthemums bloomed in profusion. Tiny yellow flowers of a sort similar to those her mother called “eggs and butter” bloomed in the grass. White lace blooms and tall stalks tufted with purple swayed above beds of low red-leafed plants around the garden pools where herons and storks stood tall and graceful in the brown water. One blue heron looked at Ingrid and stretched its great wings, flapping them in the gentle breeze, but it did not fly, and Ingrid realized those wings must have been clipped.

  There was no question as to where she was supposed to go. Toward the center of the garden, a great pavilion had been erected. In keeping with its surroundings, it was made of burnt orange cloth that Ingrid suspected of being silk.

  The woman soldier accompanied her across the neat lawn to the pavilion. In its shade, a sienna cloth had been spread, and some of the low, dark furniture in which the people of Hung Tse seemed to delight had been set up. Serving women glided gracefully to and fro, laying out dishes, taking up cloths, brushing away the occasional leaf or insect that had strayed into the tent.

  In the tallest carved chair sat the woman who must be the Revered Person of the Dowager Empress Dieu Han. She was thin and straight, like a willow wand, and something in her dark eyes told Ingrid she was just as tough. Saffron embroidery ornamented her white-and-sapphire robe. Combs of jade and gold decorated her lustrous black hair. Her face had been made up white and red, but Ingrid could see the faint wrinkles around her mouth and on her brow that no cosmetic could hide. The woman was not nearly so young as she was being made to appear.

  As soon as she entered the pavilion’s shadow, Ingrid began the deep bow with her hands held before her that she hoped was a polite and appropriate greeting, but she was not permitted to finish it. The dowager rose swiftly and grasped both Ingrid’s hands, a familiar gesture that seemed so out of place among these formal people that Ingrid started.

  “Honored Lady Ingrid, I am so glad you have come.” The dowager drew Ingrid back with her and set her into a low, curving seat next to her own chair. “I apologize for the dirty route you had to take to come here, but I needed to speak to you at once, and I wanted as few eyes as possible to see you arrive.”

  Ingrid’s gaze flickered to the serving women. The dowager did not miss the gesture.

  “All my ladies are bound to silence by more than oaths,” she said gravely. “They can say nothing without leave.”

  In many ways this was not a terribly reassuring statement, but Ingrid said nothing of it. “What is so urgent …” she groped for an appropriate title. “Majesty?”

  The dowager had obviously heard the hesitation, but she nodded in what Ingrid hoped was approval of her choice of words. “I am afraid, Lady Ingrid.”

  “Afraid?” was all Ingrid could think to say. Here? In th
is walled place surrounded by soldiers?

  “The emperor, my son, is speeding the doom of Hung Tse.”

  Is he? Ingrid knew her shock showed plainly on her face. “I don’t understand, Majesty.”

  “He holds the empress of Isavalta in humiliating captivity.” The dowager breathed the words as if afraid after all they might be overheard. “He will not give her up. He violates the order of nature and the laws of man by so treating a fellow monarch. No good can come of this.” She trembled, just a little. “No good at all.”

  Ingrid licked her lips, trying to compose herself. She badly wished Avanasy were here instead. This was not the sort of conversation she was adept at.

  “But, Majesty, why is he doing this?” she asked. “Surely the empress Medeoan told him what was happening in Isavalta.”

  The dowager ducked her head. “He is doing it because he can. It pleases him to be able to hold so powerful a person to his pleasure.” She glanced up, shamefaced. “My son is new to the throne, and he is in love with his own power. I did not guide him well enough when he was young. I …” She glanced away, but not before Ingrid saw the tremor around her mouth. When she collected herself, she went on. “I want only what is right for Hung Tse. I fear that if Empress Medeoan is not released soon, she will have her own reasons for continuing the war against us when she regains the throne. Indeed, she has ample cause now.” The dowager swallowed. “But if you and your lord tell her it was only the whim of a young man, that Hung Tse itself is not her enemy, then perhaps you may cool her blood and avert what can only bring disaster to both our countries.”

  Ingrid sat silently for a moment, trying to absorb all that had just been said. The scents of the Autumn Garden wafted around her. The gowns of the serving women rustled like the leaves of the trees as they moved about their tasks.

  “But how can we tell her anything?” she asked at last. “We cannot even reach her.”

  The dowager leaned forward, clasping Ingrid’s hand again. “Peik Shing, who brought you here, is one of my personal guard. She has found out where your empress is secreted. She can take you there. It will have to be done swiftly, tonight if possible. Rumors fly faster than wrens in the Heart. I have taken all the precautions I can, but they will not be enough. The whispers will begin soon, and then the guard will be changed, or the empress will be moved.”

  And if we’re caught? Ingrid did not ask that question. She said. “Very well. I must speak to … Lord Avanasy.” It was the first time she had used the title in something other than jest, and the words sounded strange to her ears. “How may we get a message to you?”

  “You cannot,” said the dowager flatly. “Peik Shing will come to your windows at midnight. If you are not ready then, this will not happen. There will be no second chance.”

  Ingrid nodded, and despite the heat of the day, goose pimples pricked her arms. “Thank you for this, Majesty.”

  Again, Dieu Han dipped her gaze. “I want only what is best for my land,” she murmured to her hands where they lay in her lap. “And for my son.” She looked up and around, but not at Ingrid. “Peik Shing will take you back now.” The dowager gestured over Ingrid’s head.

  Peik Shing marched up smartly and bowed to her mistress. Ingrid got to her feet and she also bowed, both grateful for what the dowager had told her and frightened for what was to come. But there was truly no choice. Unless Avanasy had formed some other plan, this was their chance.

  Ingrid found herself so thoroughly distracted as Peik Shing led her back through the walls, she barely noticed the soldiers’ ghosts as she passed. Her mind was too busy turning over the conversation she had just had, turning it over and over, trying to find what might lie hidden beneath it.

  She had made no progress on this task by the time Peik Shing opened the door that led to the bit of garden off which she and Avanasy had been housed. The woman bowed and shut the door before Ingrid could stammer her thanks. She heard the iron key turn in its lock, securing the door to what Ingrid could only think of now as their cage.

  “What happened?” asked Avanasy behind her.

  Ingrid whirled around to face him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me.”

  Ingrid did. They sat on one of the stone benches that had been set beneath the willows and she described her encounter with the empress, repeating the dialogue as accurately as she could. When she was finished, Avanasy’s face remained quietly grave, but Ingrid could feel the tension humming through him.

  “Could it be as she says?” Ingrid asked.

  “It could be,” Avanasy acknowledged. “But it could also be a trap of some kind. For who, and for what purpose, I cannot begin to guess.”

  She watched the way his fingers slowly curled into fists, quite sure he was not even conscious of the gesture. “But we have no choice, do we?” she said, knowing the words were true as she spoke them. “This is our single chance to find her, trap or no.”

  Avanasy turned his face away. “I should have left you with Lien.”

  “I would not have stayed,” she answered him simply. “We are well past that sort of wishing, Avanasy.”

  That brought a smile to him. “I think I was past it when I first met you, despite all I knew.”

  “So then.” Ingrid took his hand and smoothed his fingers out until they lay gently in hers. “We wait.”

  Time did not pass easily. Avanasy went back to his scrolls, and Ingrid joined him, listening to him read, and taking in some elementary lessons in deciphering the language. Despite this, it seemed an eternity until the servants carried in the evening meal. Still no message came from the emperor or his ministers. The dowager sent no fresh word, which Ingrid took to be a sign that their plan remained unchanged and, hopefully, undiscovered.

  Gradually, the light outside dimmed and the servants returned to light the lamps, screen off the windows and ready them for bed. One fortunate consequence of Ingrid and Avanasy being lodged together was that the servants, men for Avanasy and women for Ingrid, chose to retire modestly to the outer rooms where they would not have to observe a custom they found uncomfortable.

  Night deepened. The moon rose over the walls, highlighting the patrols that continued across the tops of the walls without stopping for so small a thing as darkness. Avanasy extinguished the lamps, and they lay in the bed, side by side, with no chance of sleep coming to either of them.

  Then, as Ingrid was watching the moonbeams creep across the floor and wondering how much longer midnight could be in coming, something scratched softly at one of the wooden window screens. Avanasy was on his feet in an instant. He carefully folded back the screen and Peik Shing entered the room, little more than a shadow in her black armor.

  She carried a bulky package in her arms. “You must put these on, Lord, Lady, and quickly.”

  Avanasy slit open the knot that tied the package and its cloth fell open to reveal two identical coats of plain black cloth, with black sashes and round black caps. Ingrid wanted to ask questions, but Peik Shing was already glancing about anxiously, first at the door leading to the outer room where the servants slept, with one ear alert for any call from within, and then at the darkened wall where another patrol would soon be passing by. Seeing this, Ingrid held her tongue and managed to struggle into her coat. Avanasy tied off her sash and she performed the same service for him. Fortunately, the pillbox cap was large enough for Ingrid to bundle her hair underneath it, allowing her to pass for a young man at a casual glance, in bad light.

  Peik Shing silently beckoned them to follow her. One by one they slipped out into the garden. Avanasy took a minute to fold the screen back into place behind them. Then, casually, they strolled across the lawn. Ingrid felt precious time crawling like ants across her skin, but she knew that should there be eyes watching now, hurrying figures were more likely to raise suspicions that those that might simply be out for a stroll due to sleeplessness.

  Once again, Peik Shing opened the door in the wall.
It would have been pitch black inside, but every few yards had been hung small lanterns which gave a dim light. This time, she turned to the left, and in another few feet turned again, leading them down an earthen staircase into a completely different set of corridors. The air around them grew damp and there was no smell but that of old earth. Peik Shing walked rapidly, navigating the twists and turns of the place without hesitation.

  The place is a rabbit warren, Ingrid realized as she hurried behind Avanasy. If she means to lose us down here, she’ll have an easy job of it.

  Soon, however, they came to another, longer staircase, this one of the same beige stone as the walls. They climbed its length to reach yet another door. This one Peik Shing did not unlock. Instead, she gave the same soft, scratching knock as she had outside the window. Only silence followed and Ingrid’s heart hammered hard. Then came a muffled reply that Ingrid could not make out.

  “Friend,” rasped Peik Shing. “Open up, Ayd.”

  There followed the sound of sliding bolts and heavy hinges. The door swung open, and another soldier, this one a man, squinted at Peik Shing.

  “What are you doing?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper. “Who are these?”

  “Heart’s business, I promise you, Ayd.” Peik Shing held up her right hand to swear. “Let me through?”

  Ayd looked at Ingrid and Avanasy, and then back at Peik Shing. “All right, as it’s you,” he growled. “But if aught of this comes back, I’m not giving up my ass for yours, understand?”

  “Perfectly. Come, friends.” Peik Shing slid past the other soldier, and Ingrid and Avanasy followed suit.