A few more smiled at that, and Sir Calvert choked off a snort of laughter.
Arbuckle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Is the Great Hall in order?”
Tennison nodded, with a reassuring smile. “All is in order, milord, and the guests are entering as we speak.”
Arbuckle glanced around the room. The footmen had gone, and only his trusted cadre of guards and attendants remained. “And Master Keyfur?”
“He’s with us…in spirit, milord.” Tennison winked.
Arbuckle jumped as something unseen brushed his shoulder.
“More than in spirit, milord,” the mage whispered. “My simulacrum is in place with the rest of the Retinue of Wizards. It should fool Duveau. I’ll be at your side throughout this.”
“Good.” Arbuckle allowed Baris to place the robe of his office on his shoulders. The chain and clasp had been replaced with gold-painted wood, but the garment weighed heavily on him. There were no more reasons to delay. “Ready then.”
They proceeded through the palace in precise formation: knights in the van, Arbuckle with Tennison and Verul centered within a cordon of imperial guards. The sedate march seemed to take an eternity, and Arbuckle looked at things as he never had before. The palace had been his lifelong home, though he’d more often felt like a prisoner than a resident, always under guard, never allowed to leave except with a detachment of protectors, relegated to meeting only those deemed safe and appropriate for a crown prince’s company. Only the last few weeks had opened his eyes to the lies he had been fed his entire life about what he should be, what being noble meant, and why his father considered him a failure.
I may have failed him, but no more than he failed the empire, Arbuckle thought. If he survived this day, the prince would become emperor, and the empire would change for the better. If he did not…
The crown prince winced. If he died today, Duke Tessifus—who had argued so vehemently against Arbuckle’s reforms—would assume the throne. The laws would not change, the commoners would not receive the justice they’d been promised, and they would revolt. Martial law, oppression, violence, death… An empire of slaves, beaten like curs when they dare to bite their masters...
I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. A cold resolve settled over Arbuckle as they descended the final flight of stairs to the main level of the palace. I must survive this day. If I fall, Tsing will fall.
As the procession turned into the narrow corridors that would bring them to the small corner entrance to the Great Hall, the weight of the mantle on Arbuckle’s shoulders suddenly and unexpectedly felt lighter. He straightened and squared his shoulders. Every measure they could think of had been taken to insure his survival. His fate now rested in the hands of the gods and the intrepid souls who had pledged their lives to protect him. He had placed his trust in both, and would live, or die, with that decision.
The entourage paused at the door, and Tennison checked his pocket watch. “Just a few minutes here, milord.”
“I’m ready, Tennison.” Arbuckle realized with a start that he was telling the truth. He was ready to become emperor…or die trying.
Mya stepped out of the carriage into the inner court of the Imperial Palace, and another world. Never had she seen such grandeur, such a cacophony of color, light, and noise. A thousand people flowed like a river of rainbows, resplendent in colorful gowns and doublets. A low murmur of constant chatter dampened the occasional higher exclamation of wonder and delight. Perfumes and powders filled the air, cloying her senses and making her eyes water. Around the throng of courtiers, imperial guards stood like statues carved of marble, resplendent in spotless white dress uniforms. Servants in imperial blue and gold helped the guests from their carriages and guided them into the flow in an orderly fashion.
Don’t stare, Mya! Reining in her awe, she scanned to evaluate her surroundings on a more professional level. Guards with gleaming halberds edged the immense courtyard. More stood atop the inner wall armed with bows. A few knights and squires stood at the gate and flanked the towering doors to the palace proper, gleaming in burnished armor. Of the nobles involved in the conspiracy, she saw nothing. Fingertips brushed her shoulder, and Mya suppressed the reflex to knock them away.
“Put your hand on my arm. That tells everyone we’re related.” Lady T held her arm out and smiled graciously. “And try not to gawk, my dear. People will think you’re provincial.”
“I am provincial.” Mya fluttered her lace fan and tried to look overwhelmed, which wasn’t difficult.
“Just don’t embarrass me.” Their carriage rumbled away, and they joined the flow of color, noise, and fragrance.
“Lady T!” A woman hurried up to greet Mya’s escort with a fingertip embrace and kisses that didn’t come anywhere near to touching skin. “You look lovely! And who’s your guest? I thought you were bringing your new beau!”
“This is my niece Moirin, from Twailin.” Lady T presented her with little aplomb, her face set in a neutral mien. “Please forgive her rather stunned expression. It’s her first time to the city, let alone the palace. Moirin, this is Countess Grenfield.”
“Milady.” Mya curtsied and beamed as if thrilled to meet the woman.
“A lovely gown.” The countess scrutinized Mya’s dress. “Unusual, with all that lace. Is that the latest style in Twailin?”
“No, I had it made here.” Mya made a show of turning. “I thought modesty best in the presence of our new emperor.”
“No doubt.” Countess Grenfield sneered and thrust out her daring décolletage before nodding to Lady T. “Tara.”
“Countess.” Lady T curtsied, and the countess moved on.
“If your shoulder had been any colder, the countess would have frozen to the cobblestones,” Mya whispered.
“Politics, my dear. The countess may out rank me, but she has nothing I need. If I gushed, it would seem suspicious. If you intend to remain in Tsing, you would do well to remember that.”
Mya glanced sidelong. “Don’t have many friends, do you?”
“Lady T!”
“Baron Remson! Lovely to see you!” Lady T beamed and curtsied to a dashing man in a crimson and gold doublet.
“You’re looking especially beautiful today.” The baron kissed Lady T’s hand, then turned to Mya. “And who’s this lovely creature?
“Let me present my dear niece, Moirin.” Tara nudged Mya forward, glowing with well-feigned adoration. “She’s hoping to catch the new emperor’s eye, of course. Her first foray into nobility is proving rather overwhelming.”
“Well, she certainly caught my eye! Delighted!” The baron lingered over Mya’s hand, eying her like a wolf deciding which portions of a lamb might taste best.
“I’m honored, milord.” Mya curtsied and tried to look demure.
“Will you be in Tsing long, Miss Moirin? I would love to take you to an amusing little restaurant I recently discovered.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
“She would be honored!” Lady T gushed. “Please send your card to my house, Baron, and we can arrange the details.”
“I will.” He smiled to them both, perfect white teeth flashing before he turned away.
Mya dug her fingers into Lady T’s arm. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing?”
“I’m introducing you to society,” the lady said. “If you’re my niece, it’s expected for me to present you as a marriageable prospect. You’re the one who insisted on accompanying me, so you’ll have to play the part.”
A continuous parade of carriages deposited more and more overdressed nobility, until the enormous courtyard began to feel crowded. Finally, the entire throng moved like a rising tide toward the towering open doors of the palace.
Mya smiled and curtsied as required, but never stopped scanning the crowd for the assassination conspirators. She would only recognize a few of them, but if they saw her with Lady T, there might be problems later. Soon, the crowd was too thick for her to scrutinize every face, whic
h was both frustrating and comforting. If she couldn’t spot them, they couldn’t spot her.
As they approached the doors, and the crowd narrowed to a single file, Lady T suddenly turned to her with a worried expression and whispered, “Are you armed?”
“No, but—” Before she could ask why she wanted to know, they reached the door and were greeted by a tall woman in a tight red gown.
“Lady Monjhi! How nice to see you.” The woman touched the guildmaster gently on the arm in greeting. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“Mistress Jeffreys, this is my niece, Moirin, from Twailin.”
“Such a pretty young lady.” The woman brushed Mya’s cheek with one warm hand. “Welcome, Moirin. This must be a big day for you.”
“Oh, yes! I’m very excited.” Mya couldn’t recall ever being touched like that, but the woman seemed so sincerely delighted to see them, she didn’t find it untoward. It seemed almost motherly.
“Lovely, truly lovely!” Mistress Jeffreys waved them on and greeted the next guests in line.
“Well, that was close.” Lady T eyed Mya with a cocked eyebrow. “Stepping out of line would have been…awkward.”
“What do you—” Mya glanced back to see the woman greeting each and every guest with a casual touch. Lady T’s question and the woman’s curious manner clicked into place. “She’s frisking everyone?”
“Magically, yes. She’s one of the Imperial Retinue.”
Thank you, Dee. His instincts had been spot on, as usual.
They passed through the foyer and an adjoining antechamber, both so grandiosely decorated that Mya found herself gaping once again. The sketches in her tour book didn’t even start to convey the grandeur. “Will there be seats or pews in the Great Hall?”
“Not with this many guests. It’ll be standing room only, I’m afraid.” She looked askance at Mya. “Do your feet hurt already?”
“No, I just want to be as close to the front as possible.”
“You and everyone else, my dear.” Lady T smiled and exchanged pleasantries with yet another acquaintance.
Mya fidgeted as they shuffled forward. They’d never get through to the front of the hall at this rate. She leaned in close and whispered, “We need to get farther forward.”
“Through all these people? You’re dreaming.”
“Work along the edge!” Mya couldn’t believe she had to tell the Tsing Guildmaster how to work her way through a crowd. “What faction were you before you made guildmaster, anyway? Alchemy?”
Lady T’s eyes narrowed disdainfully. “Inquisition.”
“I should have guessed.” She’d get along great with Bemrin. Mya had always considered the Master Inquisitor of the Twailin guild a pretentious fop. He and Lady T seemed to be cut from the same bolt of cloth. She pushed her way along the fringe of the crowd, dragging Lady T with her.
When they finally entered the cavernous Great Hall, Mya caught her breath once again. A jousting tournament could have been held in the room with floor space to spare. Two rows of columns marched the length of the chamber, fluted at top and bottom and inscribed with runes and symbols the like of which she had never seen. The columns soared a hundred feet to a ceiling of mosaic porcelain tiles that glittered in the blazing light of myriad chandeliers and sconces.
At the far end, above and behind a gilded dais, a balcony seemed to float before the legendary stained glass windows, which in turn soared almost to the ceiling. Sunlight ignited the glass and threw colors into the room that rivaled even the assembling crowd. Mya caught glimpses of the dais through the throng, a golden throne and small side tables at the back flanked by intricate scrollwork of gold and gems, all lit with glow crystals.
Torghen would faint dead away…
Mya and Lady T worked their way along the right-hand side of the room, then angled in toward the center, apologizing and excusing themselves as they displaced indignant nobles. When they could progress no further, Mya snugged up against one of the pillars, resting her back against the cool stone as she focused on where the coronation would take place.
Imperial guards stood at rigid attention along the walls and balcony, and knights in gleaming armor ringed the dais. High priests of the six Gods of Light lined up before the gilded steps, ready to bestow their blessings upon the new emperor. Mya cringed when she noticed the crimson-robed high priest of Demia, instantly reminded of Hoseph. Could he have infiltrated, posing as the high priest he once was?
No, he’s not that stupid.
She whispered a silent prayer that the priests would have a chance to perform their duty today.
“It’s something, isn’t it?” Lady T had to lean in close to Mya’s ear to be heard over the buzz of excited conversations, her voice vibrant with something Mya couldn’t quite put a finger on: ambition, awe, or maybe even reverence?
“It is.” Mya couldn’t disagree, but saw the opportunity to make a point. “Wouldn’t you rather have someone sane on that throne, or in charge of your guild for that matter?”
“Our guildmaster wasn’t insane.” Lady T glowered at her. “He was…unusual, but invaluable. He empowered our guild as it never had been before.”
“He perverted the guild into something it was never meant to be. I saw what he did to a young woman who had displeased him, Tara. He flayed her alive, and enjoyed it.” She eyed the woman critically. If she had been an Inquisitor, perhaps she had the same predilections. “Tell me you don’t think that’s vile.”
“There’s an intoxicating power in the dominion over others, Mya. Eliciting an utter surrender is a heady thing. You may not understand it, but it exists.” Her eyes glinted. “And that power can be addictive.”
Mya couldn’t restrain a look of disgust.
“Provincial and naïve...” If Lady T hadn’t been born with a noble’s air of superiority, she certainly had adopted one. “Did you know there are people who derive sexual pleasure from the infliction of pain, and those who derive it from having pain inflicted upon themselves?”
“No, I didn’t.” Mya swallowed. “Torture for pleasure is abhorrent.”
“Even if the one being tortured submits willingly?”
“Perhaps not then, but the Grandmaster’s subjects were not willing.” She stared into the lady’s eyes. “Have you ever lain on a slab and felt a finger probing for the most sensitive spot to cut, knowing that the pain would come, and that there was nothing you could do to stop it? I’ve endured the blades of a sadist. I watched the gleam in his eyes as he cut me open. Have you?”
“No.” Lady T wrenched her gaze away. “But he made me watch him do it to others. He…instructed me in inquisition.”
“And that’s why you feared him. You knew you could end up under his knife.” And that was why Tara had become his guildmaster. He knew he could control her through fear, just as he controlled the rest of the empire.
“Yes.”
“That’s one thing that will never happen to you if you work for me, Tara.” Mya met the guildmaster’s renewed gaze openly. “If I ever kill you, you’ll never know what hit you, and you won’t feel the pain.”
“That’s such a comforting thought.” Lady T’s whisper dripped sarcasm.
“After working for your last Grandmaster, it should be.”
Tara pursed her lips. “Perhaps I could—”
A fanfare of trumpets split the air, reverberating through the room and cutting off all conversation. The time for talking was over.
The coronation of Tynean Tsing III had begun.
Chapter XXVIII
Arbuckle started at the peal of trumpets. The stout shot of whiskey had set his mind wandering to the few truly joyous memories of his youth: chasing butterflies through the palace gardens…a favored book with pictures of dragons…listening to stories of knights in armor slaying evil ogres… The fanfare shattered his pleasant recollections and jolted him back to the real world and his duty to the empire.
“Milord, it’s time.”
“Of cour
se, Tennison.” Arbuckle watched his secretary bow and join the line of senior palace staff filing into the Great Hall.
Verul bowed and said, “I look forward to many years of recording your words, milord,” then quickly followed Tennison.
“Thank you.” Arbuckle swallowed a lump in his throat at the loss of the two men’s company. The servants had become his closest confidants, friends, even, in the last few weeks. Something he’d never truly had before.
Another peal of trumpets, more prolonged and elaborate this time, announced his entry. Checking his accoutrements, Arbuckle nodded to the knights in the fore. “Gentlemen and ladies, let’s be at this.”
“Yes, milord!” They ushered him forward.
“Are you still with me, Keyfur?” Arbuckle whispered just before stepping through the door.
A hand rested on his shoulder for a moment, comforting in its solidity. “Yes, milord.”
“Crown Prince Arbuckle, Heir to the Throne and the Empire of Tsing!” The herald’s voice reverberated throughout the hall.
The prince entered to a rumble of polite applause from the assembled crowd. The knights surrounding the dais snapped to attention and saluted, and the high priests and priestesses bowed. As Arbuckle mounted the steps, his guards peeled away and took up their stations. Only the emperor-to-be continued to the highest platform, where he could be viewed by all.
An easy target.
Turning at the prescribed spot in the center of the dais, Arbuckle swept the room with his gaze. To his left stood the senior palace staff, Tennison and Verul among a half dozen others. Some he knew by name, others only by sight, but all glowed with pride.
To his right stood the Imperial Retinue of Wizards.
It struck him as odd to see Keyfur’s simulacrum standing among the other wizards, attentive and smiling, when he knew the man actually stood at his side. Arbuckle made certain his gaze didn’t linger overlong on Duveau. He wondered how many of the mages’ smiles were sincere. Duveau’s seemed so. Not for the first time, the prince wondered if the warning he’d received was genuine or some elaborate fabrication to discredit his archmage.
Weapon of Fear (Weapon of Flesh Trilogy II Book 1) Page 39