The Forbidden Heir: A Novel of the Four Arts

by M. J. Scott

  It was difficult not to walk over to him and do some rumpling of her own.

  But that would have to wait until the end of the evening.

  When they walked down to the carriage that was waiting to take them to the Imperial Palace, Sophie was relieved to find Maistre Matin waiting for them at the foot of the stairs, also dressed in formal clothes. His were black and silver and blue, and suited him well.

  “Maistre, are you coming with us?” He hadn’t mentioned it before. Maybe so she and Cameron would pay closer attention in the protocol lessons they had been subjected to. Those plus the fittings plus the several hours trying to learn the fundamental principles of Illvyan court dances had turned the past few days into a nightmare of activity. They had both missed several of their classes, a fact neither of them was happy about.

  With any luck, after the ball, things could return to some semblance of normality. They would meet the emperor, hopefully convince him that they offered no threat, and go back to their studies at the Academe.

  She could hope but, in truth, she knew it was unlikely that things would be so simple. Henri’s spies—or whatever they were—at the court had not been able to discover any information on what had triggered the emperor’s sudden desire for this ball and this impending meeting between them.

  Whatever the reason, it was a very well-guarded secret. A fact that made her wish the dress didn’t fit quite so well. A few deeper breaths than she was currently able to draw might have quelled some of the nerves chilling her skin.

  Or maybe that was the presence of Martius in the carriage with them. He had taken his physical form and sat with Henri opposite her and Cameron.

  It had seemed rude to ask whether it was usual for sanctii to appear at court with the creature right before her. The chill in the air emanating from the demon was disquieting. As was contemplating exactly what might occur at the ball that would require Henri calling upon the assistance of his sanctii.

  And that was before she considered that, other than the driver, the men riding at front and back of the coach were all blood mages.

  To distract herself, she pulled the thick fabric covering the window of the coach door aside and peered out at the passing streets. It was near dark, the last of the light of the sun barely visible over the tallest of the buildings, and lanterns were blazing to life from tall poles lining the street. Some of them seemed to be the oil lanterns she was used to back home, but others were the same strange lights used in the Academe. A few were earth stones, she thought, but the carriage moved past too fast to be certain.

  Maybe they marked a temple of some kind?

  The map Cameron had purchased and the more detailed ones they’d found in the library had indicated that there were several temples dedicated to the goddess and several other deities she had never heard of. She had to assume they were imports from some of the countries annexed by the emperor. The largest of the temples to the goddess was by the palace, the others scattered throughout the city. But she was yet to see a devout or a prior anywhere near the Academe. She hadn’t spotted any when on their trips back and forth to the Designys.

  Would there be any at court? She couldn’t imagine that the priestesses of the goddess were completely excluded from palace life here.

  Though, if any were to be in attendance, she wasn’t looking forward to crossing paths with the temple again.

  The main road that led to the Imperial Palace bisected Lumia neatly. It also, judging by the dull throb of power she could feel far below the carriage, ran along the path of a ley line.

  Which would explain why the main temple was near the palace, and at least provided some comfort that if she needed to use her powers tonight, she would be able to.

  The road grew wider, lined with houses rather than businesses and tall trees spaced between the metal lampposts. As the houses grew larger and more ornate, it became clear they were nearing the palace.

  Sophie’s hand tightened on the fan the Designys had sent with the dress, but she was determined not to let the anxiety churning through her get the better of her.

  This was not her first time at court. She might be a stranger but she was not a salt-shallow country girl new to the ways of nobility. The emperor’s court would be large and the courtiers unknown, but people were not so different here. Likely the politics wouldn’t be either.

  Abruptly, the houses ended and the carriage slowed to pass through the gate of a high stone wall. Beyond lay not the forecourts and outbuildings of a palace but parklands.

  The throb of power beneath her feet faded as they drove through the gates, which suggested the road they now followed had diverged from the ley line. The loss of the connection was unnerving, making her feel exposed. She stared at the window, watching for any signs of trouble.

  Lamps still lined the road. More ornate but spaced farther apart so the carriage moved through darker stretches between the pools of light. At first the light from the lamps made it difficult to see what lay beyond the paved edge of the road, but gradually her eyes began to adjust to the pattern of light and dark.

  In the dimmer patches between the lamps, glimmers of light winked in and out, suggesting that more lamps existed in the depths of the grounds, perhaps lighting whatever paths crossed the ground shaded by the darkened shapes of trees several degrees taller and larger than those that grew in the city streets.

  The carriage slowed to a more stately pace, the horses’ hooves crunching sedately along the graveled road. Obviously not the done thing to rattle along the emperor’s private roads at the same pace one might a public thoroughfare.

  When they reached the boundaries of the park, the land abruptly opened out, free of the trees, and instead tamed into far more formal terraces and flower gardens. The horses’ pace slowed again as they reached the end of a long tail of carriages circling up to the palace to deposit their distinguished occupants at the entrance. The line was long enough that Sophie couldn’t make out where it ended when she chanced leaning her head outside the window.

  She sat back onto the carriage seat, snapping her fan open and closed with impatience.

  She would just have to wait. Neither Henri nor Cameron offered any conversation, and the silence, combined with the weight of the fathomless black gaze of the demon opposite her, weighed on her. She didn’t want the quiet. It would only allow her nerves to multiply anew as they waited to reach the palace steps. But it seemed if the quiet was to be filled, she was going to have to be the one to fill it. “How many people will be attending tonight?”

  Henri stirred at her question, his expression changing from distant to alert. “Five hundred. Maybe six. That seems the likely upper limit at this time of year. There will be those who are at their country estates and who will not choose to return at such short notice. If the emperor had announced his reason for the ball, or your attendance, I imagine that number would be higher. As it would be if he’d waited to summon members of the other imperial courts.”

  Five or six hundred? It was hard to imagine so many people gathered for a ball. And that wasn’t even the full number of the court? The court at Kingswell probably numbered two hundred and fifty people when all the nobles and the courtiers were in one place. Eloisa’s coronation had been larger as it was also attended by members of the Red Guard not on duty, those who held senior ranks in the various bureaucracies that formed around the court, and representatives of the three Arts. Not to mention the wealthiest merchants and traders and guild heads. But she doubted it had been more than four hundred at most.

  Six hundred and not at full capacity. And this was just one of the imperial courts. The largest, of course, but it was beginning to sink home just how large the empire was. And how many people must be involved in the business of administering it.

  “I guess we can be thankful that he wasn’t willing to delay,” Henri said. “If the emperor had decided to gather nobles from the other courts, the crush would be unbearable. The palace is large but it isn’t truly designed to host a ba
ll for several thousand people.” He spoke almost absently.

  Was such a number really nothing for him to be impressed by?

  Perhaps not when he was master of a school of nearly a thousand students. Though it was easier to a rule a school than it would be to preside over so vast a court, particularly one filled with nobles from countries that had been subjugated by force.

  The emperor must be formidable.

  She should remember that.

  The maistre’s answers to her casual question had quelled her desire to ask any more. She stayed silent as their carriage slowly progressed in the queue. At one point, Cameron reached for her hand and she let him take it, the warmth of his skin a small antidote to the rapidly widening sea of nerves chilling her. Or maybe that was just the cold she felt from Martius sitting opposite.

  The sanctii gave no indication that he was at all interested in the proceedings. He didn’t speak to Henri. He barely moved, even when the carriage shifted beneath them. The stillness only made him more disconcerting.

  After a small eternity, the carriage halted. The door opened and one of the blood mages extended a hand to assist Sophie in her descent. Her feet had barely settled on the paving stones before a servant of some kind dressed in magnificent silver and gold livery came bustling up to them. Tall, his brown hair clubbed back in a neat braid, he positively gleamed in the lamplight, the embroidery on his long jacket and down the sides of the black trousers glittering under the lights, the pattern of suns and stars shining like the real thing.

  He clicked his heels and bowed to Sophie, then straightened and waited, his posture hardly concealing his impatience, while Cameron and Henri also climbed out of the carriage. Martius didn’t join them.

  The man bowed low to Henri. “Maistre. Welcome this evening. His Imperial Majesty wished me to greet you. He offers his regrets that he cannot see you immediately. But I will escort you to the ballroom so you can enjoy the festivities.” He straightened, looking past Henri to Sophie, green eyes flashing a hint of curiosity before he concealed it again with a carefully neutral expression.

  Festivities. Not her choice of words. Tonight would be a trial to be endured, not a lighthearted evening. Too many possible missteps lay before them for her to relax.

  “Maistre?” Cameron queried softly.

  Henri smiled reassuringly. “Everything is well, Lord Scardale. Let us proceed.”

  Apparently in the palace they were returned to being Lord and Lady Scardale. Well, perhaps that would help. She knew how to behave as Lady Scardale. Or as a court noble, at least. She actually hadn’t had all that much time to become accustomed to Lady Scardale before they’d fled Anglion.

  But she knew how to pull formality around herself like armor, even if she did not have the sure grasp of protocol here that she had in Queen Eloisa’s court.

  She and Cameron moved after Henri and the servant, past a steady stream of people walking up a central carpet laid over the marble stairs rising to the entrance to the palace.

  The servant moved swiftly, taking them to the right of the queue. Other liveried servants and nobles alike melted out of their way. Whoever this man was, he was no mere footman or usher. The difference in the quality of his livery versus some of the others they passed confirmed it. The other servants were also splendidly outfitted, but the layers of gold and silver in the cloth of their clothes weren’t quite so excessive, the embellishments simpler.

  Nor did anyone else wearing the white and gold sport the jewels that dangled from each of their escort’s ears and encrusted the buckles of his shoes.

  Sophie tried not to crane her neck and gawk like that very salt-shallow girl she had told herself she was not.

  The palace was huge, the ceilings vaulting something like forty feet above their heads. The floor was white marble laid in massive square tiles, softened by carpets that whispered like silk under their feet. She suspected the walls were marble as well, but they had not been left bare.

  Illvyans didn’t seem to approve of bare walls. Here, like the Academe, the walls were decorated. But not merely inlaid with painted tiles. That would be far too simple. Instead, they were gilded and adorned, the gold and silver and carved wood and jewels picking out fantastical scenes of flowers, plants, and animals twining up the walls toward the ceiling arches.

  Lamps hung from golden brackets set at a height about two feet above Cameron’s head. As they passed each one, the brackets dipped slightly, dropping the lamps lower to better light their way. Sophie flinched at the first one but then stopped to study the second as it lowered toward her. It had a faint feel of magic about it but she couldn’t tell exactly how it was done. She stepped back and the bracket rose again. It was a neat trick. Though, given that there were also huge crystal chandeliers hanging above them, she wasn’t entirely sure why they were needed. Still, the combined light spilling down from both walls and ceiling made the scenes on the walls sparkle and glisten.

  It was a setting designed to make whoever walked its halls feel small and insignificant, a mere grain of wheat in the vast fields of the empire.

  Sophie had to admit it succeeded. But she was determined not to let her discomfort show. Arranging her face in an expression as perfectly serene as she could manage, she followed the maistre to their destination.

  Chapter 9

  She’d never walked onto a battlefield but as Sophie walked into the foyer of the ballroom, waiting with Cameron and Henri so they could be announced, she wondered if the uneasy mix of fear and feigned bravado and trying to remember all the things she was supposed to do was similar to what a soldier might feel taking his place in the ranks before a battle.

  Cameron would know, but if any of this was at all familiar to him, he gave no sign. He seemed to be perfectly at ease, his forearm steady under her hand.

  Though there were some limits to his charade. Men trained to fight, as he had been, were rarely truly relaxed, and this was not the environment to foster that. His back was poker straight, his expression somewhat watchful, as he studied the vast room before them with practiced eyes.

  It was not permitted to come armed into the presence of the emperor, a fact that Cameron had not been pleased to discover when Henri had told him. If Sophie had to guess, she would say that Cam was busy identifying any objects in the room that could be used as potential weapons. Possibly those worn on the bodies of the people thronging below as well. He could probably tell her where all the exits and entrances were by now as well.

  His watchfulness was more than a little comforting. Cameron always said she was more powerful than him, but she was still untrained. He might be the lesser mage, but he was far more likely to be of use during any trouble that may arise than she was.

  And now here they were. Entering the fray. Where there was little way of knowing what may happen. Victory or disaster. Either seemed possible. And the latter seemed more likely. Not wanting to borrow trouble, she resolutely put that possibility out of her mind and focused back on the scene before her.

  Henri had not exaggerated the numbers. The ballroom was huge, yes, but it was also heaving with people. Women in gowns every color of the rainbow and men in a similar range of hues. Perhaps the majority of the men wore black—to stand out all the better against the silver and gold and white walls, perhaps—but everywhere she looked, long coats in many other colors stretched across broad and less broad shoulders.

  She supposed the mirrored panels lining the lower ten feet of the walls were intended to add to the sense of space in the room, but with so many reflections moving and shifting in them, it only increased her sense of being completely surrounded. It was all she could do not to clutch at Cameron’s arm as they moved forward. If he could pretend to be calm, so could she.

  They reached the top of the long staircase that curved down to the main part of the room and paused while the servant announcing the guests boomed their names across the room. She fancied that the noise rising from below hushed slightly as the words “Scardale of Anglion�
�� floated into the air.

  Certainly there were numbers of curious upturned faces watching their descent. Henri murmured low-voiced comments, putting faces to some of the names they’d been busy memorizing since the emperor’s invitation had been delivered. Senior courtiers, mid-level nobles. They didn’t encounter anyone with a more exalted status. The length of the staircase gave her a chance to take in the entirety of the room. It sprawled off to the either side of the stairs, so large it was hard to take in.

  To the right, people were dancing, pairs spinning and turning under the chandeliers. To the left, people were strolling or standing, conducting conversations or flirtations or goddess only knew what. There were low sofas and tables scattered around but far too few to accommodate all the people here. So most people gathered in small groups, the women’s fans waving against the heat so many bodies in one place were sending forth.

  From their vantage point on the stairs, the heat below was palpable. The heavy red satin, already warm, suddenly felt far too weighty. Then again, even the thinnest of muslins would be too much in this room. She snapped open her own fan, trying to raise a breath of a breeze. She supposed she should be grateful that there was no fashion for wigs in Illvya. She’d worn one to a costume ball thrown by King Stefan once in high summer and had never felt so uncomfortable in any other piece of clothing in her life.

  Just the memory of it made her head itch. Which was a distraction from the heat, at least.

  In the distance, beyond where the courtiers were mingling, there was a sudden oasis of space. The white marble floor changed abruptly to black and gold, the pattern like a rayed sun, fanning forth from the raised dais near the very edge of the room where an unmistakable throne sat in solitary splendor. The dais was framed in gold that seemed to melt down to join the sun pattern on the floor. Between the curved lip of the dais and the edges of the black marble where the long spokes of the sun design reached their limits, two long tables stood draped in blinding white and gold linens, set with sparkling crystal and golden flatware so they glittered like the rest of the room. They were set to either side of the throne so they—and whoever might sit at them—formed a gauntlet of a kind for anyone approaching the throne to pass through. Though currently no one occupied any of the chairs.