At last Rikard glanced up.
“I will,” he said, grimly.
She nodded and released him, heading back out into the hall.
* * *
The farewell concert was held in Echelles’ Royal Opera House. Traditionally the Mareaux would hold a ball, but the queen was doing her best to adapt tradition to an ambassador who barely moved and refused to take off his mask in public.
A concert required only that he sit and listen.
Queen Iancais had invited them to her royal box, which had a dark, gauzy curtain drawn across the front.
“Nobody can see us, as long as we keep the lights low,” the queen said, gesturing to a servant to light only one of the gas candelabrae on the walls. After he’d bowed and withdrawn, Lieutenant Amcathra locked the door.
“Thank you, your Majesty,” Taya said, untying her husband’s mask. “You’re very thoughtful.”
“I would like Ondinium’s exalteds to feel welcome in my country.”
“You’ve made me very welcome, your Majesty,” Cristof said, bowing and lifting one sleeve-covered hand to his forehead in an Ondinium bow. Like the sight of his bare face, the bow was an honor no foreigner had the right to receive. “I appreciate your generosity.”
“Please, sit. That robe looks as heavy as the one I wore during my coronation.”
“Thank you.” Cristof waited for Taya to help him into the chair, arranging the jewel-encrusted fabric around him. Keeping his feet and hands covered didn’t matter in front of the queen, of course, but Taya thought the richness of his robes demanded extra attention. She laid the ivory mask on his lap and slid his glasses onto his face.
“Take the chair beside him, Icarus,” the queen directed. “You can’t stand for the entire concert.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.”
“I regret that you’re leaving under such circumstances.”
“I hope you understand that this isn’t my preference,” Cristof said. “My lictors are under orders to return me to Ondinium if my life is threatened.”
“One might construe your departure as an insult.”
“The security lapse was our own.”
“Your lictors have been less than subtle about casting suspicion on the Alzanan contingent.”
“…I apologize on their behalf. I’m afraid lictors aren’t trained in diplomacy.”
“Indeed. I find myself in an awkward position, Ambassador. The Mazzolettis are offended by your men’s insinuations. They feel unjustly accused, as we did not, in fact, find any evidence to suggest that they were involved in either incident.”
Cristof hesitated. Taya silently sent up a prayer to the Lady that he wouldn’t air his own suspicions.
“I have the utmost confidence in Mareaux’s investigation,” he said. Taya breathed a silent ‘thank you.’ “And I will convey that to the ambassadors this evening, if we may be allowed a private room at the reception.”
“Mareaux would be happy to facilitate a sense of goodwill between its two valued allies,” the queen said, formally.
“And Ondinium wants nothing more than to strengthen its ties to Mareaux,” Cristof replied, just as formally.
“Then I shall see that the Mazzolettis are told that you’d like to say a personal good-bye,” the queen said. She turned toward the stage, a shadow-show through the translucent curtain. “Are you familiar with our national composer, Ambassador?”
By the time the two-hour concert was over, Taya was in love. In Ondinium, she’d heard musicians play in the theater and at parties, and of course at weddings and funerals and holy days, but she’d never been exposed to the power and passion of a full orchestra before.
“Did you enjoy the concert, Icarus?” the queen asked, smiling as Taya finished applauding.
“It was wonderful!” Taya turned to Cristof, her eyes shining. “Wasn’t it wonderful?”
“Magnificent,” he agreed, gazing affectionately at her. “Should we have some of the compositions sent to Ondinium, so we can hear them played again?”
“I shall see that you receive the best,” the queen said. “It would please us to have Mareaux’s music played for Ondinium’s exalteds.”
The farewell reception was held at the palace. The Ondinium professors clustered in one corner, talking shop and working their way through several bottles of wine. The Big Three mercates mingled more comfortably with the foreign courtiers and ambassadors, although Taya suspected that they were also talking shop. Mareaux’s aristocracy had no caste prohibitions to prevent them from chatting with mercates. The Mazzolettis were conversing with the elderly mercate Auguste Macerain, who smiled and nodded pleasantly as he held a glass of wine. Trade with Alzana was strictly regulated by the Council, but she assumed Ondinium First Standard Mining Co. did some business with the country.
“The queen has set aside a private salon, Ambassador,” Pomeroy said, joining them. “If you’ll follow me?”
The salon stood just off the reception room, spacious and glimmering in the warm light of candles rather than the harsher glare of gas. One of the palace guards stood by the door. “He’ll make certain nobody of lesser rank intrudes on you, Ambassador,” Pomeroy explained as he shut the door behind them.
“That’s perfect.” Taya untied Cristof’s ivory mask and set it on a small mahogany console table.
“Yes, thank you,” Cristof agreed, starting to lift one heavily jeweled sleeve to his forehead before changing his mind. He gave Taya a look of appeal. She pulled out her handkerchief, drying his forehead. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all,” Pomeroy replied. “Please, make yourself comfortable. Can I pour you a glass of wine?”
“Not right now, thank you. But I’m sure I’ll need a drink soon.”
Pomeroy smiled slightly. “Icarus, is there anything I can provide you?”
“No, thank you.” Taya moved a chair to ensure that Cristof’s back was to the door.
“Then I’ll make certain everyone knows where to find you,” Pomeroy said as he left.
“Meaning the Mazzolettis,” Taya murmured, straightening her husband’s robes.
“Well, I promised,” Cristof said. “Would you please stop that?”
“I want you to look your best in front of them.” She made sure the jeweled outer robe was turned to reveal the gold embroidery on the inside. “Do you want your spectacles?”
“No. I hate wearing them while I’m decked out like a holy-day centerpiece.”
“Oh, that reminds me. Rikard bumped into Lord Mazzoletti today and wasn’t fast enough with an apology,” Taya said, pulling up a chair so she could sit by his side. “Lord Mazzoletti was ranting, so I made Rikard apologize again.”
“I suppose I’ll have to apologize, as well.”
“Just say whatever needs to be said to get us all out of here without any trouble.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Remember, you’re a diplomat.”
“The worst diplomat in the history of Ondinium,” he muttered, as someone knocked on the door.
The other ambassadors and courtiers visited in small groups, seeming more comfortable around Cristof when his mask was off. He remained seated while they clustered around him, helping themselves to wine and gossip. Soon the small room grew crowded as those privileged to see the Ondinium ambassador’s naked face moved from the reception area to the salon. Taya began to worry that somebody was going to knock over a candle and set them all ablaze.
The crowd’s tone suddenly changed. She turned to see the Alzanan ambassadors entering.
As usual, the Mazzolettis looked as though they’d walked to the reception directly from their servants’ care rather than from the same two-hour concert and bumpy carriage ride back that everyone else had endured. They glittered in militant blue and gold, Lady Fosca’s hair pinned and swept up in a style almost as e
laborate as Cristof’s.
“Ambassadors.” Taya stood and curtsied, taking solace in the fact that their finery was beggared by the shameless ostentation of Cristof’s robes.
“So nice to see you again, Taya,” Lady Fosca said, making a perfunctory curtsey before sweeping around to plant herself on the chaise lounge opposite Cristof’s chair. The Tizierian ambassador already sitting on it politely shifted to one side. “Exalted! It’s so lovely to see you without your mask. I wish you didn’t wear that thing in public all the time.”
“It’s not my choice, Ambassador,” Cristof said, more honestly than Taya thought was proper. “The Council insists I obey the traditions of my caste.”
“Of course it does,” Lord Gaio said, following his sister at a more sedate pace. Taya rested a hand on the back of her chair but stayed on her feet. “Ondinium is mired in tradition. Its lack of social progress is what doomed it the first time.”
“Every country has traditions,” Cristof said mildly. “They’re what give us our national character.”
“Is it tradition for an Ondinium ambassador to flee at the first sign of trouble?” Lord Gaio asked. Taya’s hand tightened on the chair. Small gasps and murmurs traveled through the onlookers.
Lady Fosca tapped her brother’s leg with a look of mild disapproval.
“Come, Gaio, don’t be rude. The exalted isn’t obliged to stay in a country that is inimical toward him.”
“We don’t believe Mareaux is behind the attacks,” Taya said quickly, sensing the danger in Lady Fosca’s phrasing. The last thing they needed was for the other ambassadors to think Ondinium was turning against its long-time ally.
“No, you believe Alzana is behind the attacks,” Lord Gaio said, his expression barely escaping a sneer.
“If anything my staff or I have said or done has given you that impression,” Cristof replied, “I apologize. My lictors and the queen’s guard have investigated, and we have no idea who was behind the attempts. As for myself, I wouldn’t expect Alzana to carry out such inadequate attempts on my life.”
Taya cringed as she struggled to maintain a neutral, pleasant expression.
“No,” Lord Gaio agreed with a small smile. “Those attempts were particularly inept.”
“I’m sure you’ll be safe once you’re home,” Lady Fosca said, brightly. “Everybody knows how securely Ondinium keeps itself locked away in its mountains.”
“Do we seem isolationist?” Cristof asked, mildly. “If so, I hope to change that impression. The Council hopes to strengthen the alliances we already have, such as with Mareaux, and build new alliances elsewhere.” He glanced at the Tizierian ambassador, who straightened up, his kohl-rimmed eyes widening.
Taya felt a surge of pride. For all his self-deprecating remarks, Cristof wasn’t so bad at the diplomatic game. Tizier might hesitate to ally with Alzana if it thought Ondinium were open to negotiations.
“And yet you are still leaving so soon?” Lady Fosca pressed. “The queen of Mareaux must fear what news you’ll report to your Council.”
“I plan to take back nothing but the highest praise for Queen Iancais and the rest of my kind hosts and colleagues.” Cristof inclined his head to indicate the ambassadors and nobility around them, who murmured with satisfaction. “I assure you, Ambassador Mazzoletti, Ondinium prides itself on being a staunch friend to its allies… and a perilous foe to its enemies.”
“And what has Ondinium done for its allies lately?” Lord Gaio murmured, almost too softly to be heard.
Almost.
“I’m sure the queen will be relieved,” Lady Fosca added. “It can be quite nerve-wracking whenever Ondinium deigns to notice any of us lesser nations.”
“‘Lesser’ is an unusual word to use, when Ondinium is the smallest of the nations represented here,” Cristof said, still doing his best to retain a pleasant tone. “I am the one who has been honored by the welcome I’ve received. I hope,” he glanced again at the Tizieran ambassador, and then up at the others who stood around them, listening intently, “I may visit all of your countries someday.”
Lady Fosca smiled and leaned forward, touching his arm.
“We would love to have you in Alzana, Exalted.”
“Perhaps this spring,” Lord Gaio agreed, surprising Taya.
“If the Council permits,” Cristof demurred, even as the other ambassadors spoke up, inviting him to their countries.
Chapter Seven
Clouds of ash-imbued steam billowed from the locomotive, coating the platform and everyone on it in light gray soot. Uniformed porters bellowed back and forth as they loaded the delegation’s trunks into the ambassador’s car. A brass band played, the train’s engine rumbled, and passengers milled to and fro, stretching their legs, looking for seats, or craning their necks to gawk at the assembly at the rear of the platform. An early morning storm pounded on the glass-and-iron canopy that arched over the vast, sprawling length of Echelles Central Station.
The formal farewells were over, but the informal goodbyes seemed interminable. Taya had slipped away, leaving her husband with Lieutenant Amcathra. The palace translator could handle whatever was left to be done; her job was to watch as her wings and the chest containing her ondium counterweights were loaded into their private carriage and locked to the heavy rings bolted to the walls.
Rikard had been ordered to guard the delegation’s luggage during the farewell ceremonies. Now he stood next to Taya, one hand resting on the air rifle that hung from his shoulder by a leather strap. The Mareaux porters gave the forbidding young lictor a wide berth as they worked.
“Are you going to fly after us?” Rikard asked.
“Not in this rain,” Taya replied, securing the armature. The tips of its metal wingfeathers tapped against the carriage ceiling. Rikard looked out the window.
“Someone is shouting,” he said, swiveling his rifle around. He frowned. “It’s that Mareaux lictor. The inspector.”
Taya yanked on the armature’s chain to make sure it was tight. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know. He’s shouting for missus Forlore. What does missus mean? Is it Mareaux for exalted?”
“Oh, Forgefire!” Exasperated, Taya turned and leaned out the passenger car door. Chief Inspector Gifford stood there, breathing hard, his oilcloth coat streaming water and creating great, murky puddles of ash on the platform by the stairs. He was carrying a leather suitcase.
Taya hiked her skirts over her ankles and stepped down to the platform, maneuvering well away from the muddy puddles.
“Chief Inspector,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Um, Missus Forlore?”
“Just Taya, please. Icarii don’t use last names.”
“I’m sorry… I’m not accustomed to calling noblewomen by their first names.”
“I’m not noble. I didn’t become an exalted just because I married one, Inspector.”
“Oh.” He looked mystified. “Caste is complicated, isn’t it?”
“Not really.” Taya wondered why he’d think so. One was born into one’s mother’s caste and stayed in it unless one took the Great Examination and qualified for another. Of course, nobody could qualify for the exalted caste except through birth.
Simple.
Complicated was figuring out social rank in countries where it could change according to birth and death and marriage and royal decree. Other countries’ systems of precedence struck Taya as completely irrational.
“How may I help you, Chief Inspector? If you’re looking for Exa— no, you aren’t, are you?”
“I was looking for you. I know the exalted is busy.” Gifford glanced at the diplomatic party, then back at her. “This is a bit awkward, but I didn’t know whom else to ask— Lieutenant Amcathra’s busy, and I’m not well acquainted with the other members of your delegation….”
“Ask me whatever you want, Inspector. I’m the exalted’s liaison with the public.”
“Then maybe you can tell me… are Ondinium and Mareaux going to war?”
Taya started, surprised.
“No, of course not. Why? What have you heard?”
Gifford studied her intently. “People are saying someone tried to assassinate the exalted and that his sudden departure means Ondinium is angry with the queen.”
Taya stepped closer, lowering her voice.
“There have been a few suspicious events that may have been assassination attempts. That’s why we were interested in Guisnard’s murder, in case it was connected. But the Council’s not going to declare war on its strongest political and economic ally over a few failed attacks that we can’t even prove were aimed at the exalted. Exalted Forlore is leaving because he must; Ondinium has strict security protocols that demand his return to the capital. But that has nothing to do with war. Please let others know that.”
“They say you’re taking our aerostats with you so you can improve them and turn them against us. They say the trade negotiations didn’t go well, and that Ondinium plans to annex our land to increase its power.”
“‘They’ have an active imagination, don’t they?” Taya made a face. ‘They’ did in Ondinium, too. “Chief Inspector Gifford, Ondinium prides itself on rational governance. The Council would never go to war without first calculating all the pros and cons and modeling dozens of alternative strategies and outcomes, first. Even if Cris — if the exalted went back in a huff, offended by his treatment here, as long as the Great Engine calculated that a war wasn’t in the country’s best interest, the Council would ignore him. And the Engine won’t advise war — it would be strategically stupid for Ondinium to attack Mareaux. You’d simply team up with Alzana and we’d end up fighting on two borders. That’s the last thing Ondinium wants.”
Gifford studied her face.
“You sound convincing.”
Clockwork Lies: Iron Wind (Clockwork Heart trilogy) Page 9