She blinked at me. “But . . . but, I am the fourth-highest-ranked woman in the Dasnarian Empire.”
“You can slap a crown on my head and call me High Queen, but if I can’t even decide for myself who I want to fuck, where I want to live, and what I want to do with my life, what in three hells does a title matter?” I’d raised my voice and was waving my hands, but I didn’t care. “Line a cage with embroidered satin and shiny jewels, but it’s still a cage. Even animals know that. Why can’t you all see it?”
“When you’re born in a cage and live in it all your life, you don’t see it for that,” Helva said, finally moving around to sit with us. “You call this a cage and we see safety. You speak of freedom and we hear only warnings. Terrible things befall the fairer sex in the larger world.”
“Terrible things befall them here, too.” I may have said that too sharply, because Helva flushed and couldn’t meet my eyes. Oh, well, I had no stake in convincing her. “Tell me, Karyn—do you enjoy your life?”
“I have everything I need. A beautiful home, a royal husband, wealth, servants, rank.”
“That doesn’t answer the question. Are you happy with your life?”
“How do I answer such a question?” she retorted, eyes snapping with impatience. “I don’t even know how to assess that.”
I pointed a finger at her. “Exactly!”
She and Helva regarded me with identical expressions of bemusement.
“What do you mean?” Helva finally asked. “How is a person even to know what might make them happy if they’ve never done it?”
“That’s why I say ‘exactly.’ No one can discover what feeds their soul, what truly makes their life complete, until they’ve tried things. That’s what freedom is about—being able to make mistakes, to screw things up and get hurt. Because only then do you figure out what works right for you, what feels wonderful and joyful. How can you know what makes you happy if you’ve never done anything at all?” Belatedly I realized I’d ended up with pretty much Helva’s same question. A great orator I’d never be. Kral had made that crack about the relatively long speech I’d given about what I respected. Apparently when I got wound up by my topic, I could go on at length, even if I didn’t say it particularly well.
Though, in my defense, it was notably difficult to address the subjects of personal happiness and freedom of choice in the Dasnarian language, particularly in the feminine forms. I’d defaulted quite a bit to male terms, Hákyrling style, not horrible formal-court version. Which no doubt accounted for the knitted brows and worried finger knotting of the other two women.
“Anyway,” I finally wound up, far from a brilliant finish, “it’s your choice, Karyn. If you decide on divorce and freedom, I’ll help you in any way I can. I’ll go with you, give you advice, protect you, hunt for food—whatever we need to do.”
“Why would you do that?” She found her tongue at least, though still completely perplexed.
“I’m not staying here. I have to go home sometime. You might as well travel with me.”
“I understand why you work to remove me as Kral’s wife, but not why you’d then abandon your prize.”
“Believe me, honey, he’s no prize.” I said it reflexively, a joke. General Lunkhead, a prize indeed, but she stood, fists clenched at her sides in impotent fury.
“His Imperial Highness Prince Kral is a great man!” she declared. “Handsome, noble, brave, intelligent, kind, honorable. How dare you besmirch his reputation!”
I rose to face her, holding peaceable palms out to quiet her, making sure not to crack a grin. If I hadn’t already known she’d barely spent any time with the man, that summation of Kral’s character would have given it away. “No one is besmirching anyone. I simply meant he’s a man. One I happen to be fond of, but he’s not a trophy in some tournament we’re all fighting in. Whatever you decide—and allow me to reiterate that this is your choice—I’m not staying here. His Imperial Highness is up for grabs to any taker, so far as I’m concerned.”
“I’m to decide this, in only a few hours? How do I know what to choose?” Karyn looked on the verge of tears again, fragile, and Helva put a supportive arm around her.
So spoke a woman who’d never made her own decisions. My temples throbbed. I should never have dragged her into this. She had no foundation for this, no ability to critically examine her options. I’d been learning to decide between stay or go since my mother first put a dagger in my hand and taught me how to be predator instead of prey.
“You don’t have to decide,” Helva told her, giving me a dark look. “Simply go on as you always have been.”
I heroically refrained from pointing out that deciding not to decide counted as a decision, too.
“I’m the fourth-highest-ranked woman in Dasnaria,” Karyn told her, as if we all didn’t know that.
“Yes, you are.” Helva squeezed her shoulders. “You never know. Sól preserve His Imperial Majesty and all his line, but should the unthinkable occur, you could be Empress someday.”
Meanwhile the current Empress never left the seraglio, and even her own son hadn’t seen his mother, the previous Empress, in years. But at least Karyn had stopped crying. “That’s right.” She turned on me with a defiant tilt to her chin. “And you are nothing and no one. Not even a concubine, or a proper female at all. I will tell my husband tonight that I will fight to keep him. I will not approve you as a second wife or in any capacity. You might think me young, stupid, and innocent, but I come from a line of Emperors. I was born for this and I won’t let you take it from me.”
Inexpressibly weary, I nodded. So be it. That decided my path. At least it gave me more time to hunt for information on the Star, dig up what I could of Kir’s plans. Maybe I’d come across a reasonable escape plan.
For the first time it penetrated my own thick skull that I would lose my bet with Kral and he could claim any favor of me. He’d promised not to request anything that would make me unhappy, but his stubborn belief that I could be happy locked up on one of his estates might make him pick that. Horrifically shortsighted of me.
Heh, maybe if I could get a message home, I could request they carve that on a memorial plaque for me.
I left Helva and Karyn to console each other and discuss what they planned to wear to the reception that evening. From what I’d heard, it would be held in the hall where the concert had been, which at least meant I could observe from behind the carved screen. Maybe I could assassinate Hestar for Kral as my favor. I couldn’t see my way to killing his sons. They were innocent of action, if not thought, so far as I knew. Kral would be on his own there.
Somehow I didn’t think Kral would be a child killer either.
Were those boys here somewhere? It sounded like male children left the seraglio after a certain point, and none of the boys I’d seen looked older than ten or so. Not that I was much of a judge of children’s ages—and I had no idea how old Hestar’s heirs were, for that matter. Immaterial. I’d be willing to kill the Emperor and I could do it. Maybe in return for the assist, and the sacrifice of my life, Kral would be willing to get a message back to Her Majesty for me.
Would they have a wake for me and toast my noble death in the service of the Crown? That would be gratifying. Maybe I could send instructions that the toasts be made with Branlian whiskey.
It made me feel better to contemplate that party. Maybe I could pen a little farewell speech. Or write a glowing tale of my heroic deeds for someone to read. Surely my old friends would see to that much.
I rounded the bend of a little lagoon, following my mental map to where the stairs to above should be. Up ahead, a woman sat trailing languid fingers in the water, an icy fall of bone-straight hair hiding her face. My short hairs stood on end, my scalp prickling with warning, even before she looked up and looked at me with coal-dark eyes.
“What have we here? A little mouse,” she crooned, her voice so quiet I should not have been able to hear her as clearly as I did. “Did you crawl through
these walls also?”
I stopped, not going any closer to her, my instincts clamoring at me to run. Old chills coursed in my blood. The smell of the dry cave, the rumble of the waking bear. Run. Run! But running only led the bear back to the people you loved. I’d learned that lesson the hard way. At least one mistake I’d never make again.
“Priestess,” I greeted her, proud of my even tone. Might as well inform the bear that I knew she was awake.
A smile tilted the woman’s mouth. “Are you a follower of Deyrr, little mouse?”
“No. The goddess Danu holds my spirit in Her hands.”
“An interesting choice of words. Do you imagine your spirit safe there? I think you recognize something of who I am. If so, you know that I can pluck your will—and your slender reed of a soul—from the uncaring hands of your feeble mockery of a goddess.”
“Danu is the goddess of wisdom and the bright blade. These are shining strengths. Perhaps you are the fool to think Her feeble.”
The priestess laughed, the delighted sound of a sensual woman. It should not have turned my stomach as it did. “You call me a fool. How amusing. I am not the one who believes in something that does not exist. Danu is a fabrication. A figurehead assigned certain moral qualities to guide people too stupid to think for themselves. You seem like a practical woman, if not a very intelligent one. Why do you put faith in a story made up to soothe children?”
“I’m not the one who believes in her religion so strongly that she became a priestess. Through that glass, that makes you the greater fool.”
She cocked her head, tucking the stream of hair behind her ear. A beautiful face, nearly poreless, but repellent as a venomous snake with those dead black eyes. Otherwise she looked like any Dasnarian woman. What foul magic turned her eyes so dark?
“Deyrr is not a god or goddess. It’s as real as the magic that clings to you. Where do you come from that you have this shine of magic? It’s not ours, but it tastes somewhat like.” She flicked out the tip of her tongue, licking at the air between us. “What is that flavor? I know it from somewhere.”
I shouldn’t have any magic. Firmly a mossback in all my blood. Unless living within the umbrella of magic had left something of it on me. Not unlike rolling in an old carcass could leave a distracting stink on the wily hunter. Or the Tala healing had stuck to me. That must be it.
“I can easily find out, you know.” She trailed her fingers through the water, smiling at me with closed, curving lips. Something nudged at the back of my skull. “So you might as well tell me. Everyone tells me what I like to know, and then they forget I’m here.”
“Why waste my breath on you, then? Ask someone else.”
A bright, avaricious light filled her eyes as she narrowed them. “The Star of Annfwn. You’ve seen it. Touched it.”
Had I? I supposed I’d handled Ursula’s sword from time to time, holding it for her when she borrowed my knives or some such.
“Yes. Right there,” she breathed. “I see it through your eyes. In the hilt of a sword all this time?” She shook her head, laughing again, and flicked the water from her fingers. “How rich. And I’m the one to discover it. I knew I bided my time here for a reason. That fool priest gave us nothing useful, but you, my little mouse, you walked right up and nibbled at the cheese.”
“What do you want with the Star?” My thoughts clunked with muddy feet, but I retained enough sense to recall that part of my mission, even though I lacked the wit to be subtle in asking.
“Everything.” She smiled, sunny, full of lethal charm. “If you don’t understand its power—as surely neither does your mistress or she wouldn’t wear it in a mundane weapon—I’m not going to enlighten you. I’m so glad I didn’t kill you last night. I knew there was a reason not to. Now, run along, little mouse, and forget about me while I follow you back to your hole. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you again soon.”
I walked along the lagoon, smiling at a group of towheaded young boys who dashed past, laughing and tossing a ball. Could Hestar’s heirs be among them? I didn’t even know how old those princes were, but I wouldn’t kill them for Kral, even if I’d happily assassinate Hestar for him, to repay the favor I’d owe now that I’d lost our bet. Had he asked me to, though? I didn’t recall him actually saying so, but the thought felt so familiar. I reached for it, my fingers brushing the tip of the memory before it vanished like a cat’s tail around a corner.
No, a mouse going into its hole.
Never mind. Chasing memories never worked well. I’d lie in wait for it to stick its nose out again. Little mouse. The image made me shiver when it shouldn’t have. Mice could be a nuisance, but I’d never harbored a fear of them, as some did. And why in Danu was I strolling along the lake in the seraglio thinking about mice? I needed to—
“Ambassador Jesperanda.” Inga stepped into my path, speaking in the tone of a woman who’d repeated herself several times already. Not good, for me to be so unaware. I put away the twin daggers I’d drawn without thinking and rose from the fighting crouch, Inga observing with wary amusement.
“Apologies, Your Imperial Highness. You startled me.”
“Now I understand why my brother refers to you as a porcupine.”
I blinked at her, reassessing. “You’ve discussed me with him?”
She fluttered fingertips, dismissing the relevance of the question. “The Dowager Imperial Majesty requests that you attend her in her rooms.”
It took me a moment to sort through the chain of Dasnarian honorifics. The former Empress? As in Kral’s mother? Daughter of a powerful family and schemer for the throne of the empire. Oh, no, no, no. “Actually, I have a number of meetings to . . .” What? My mind was so strangely blank.
“Jepp,” Inga interrupted, not unkindly, and quite easily because I lost the thread of my thought. I’d been on some errand but couldn’t quite recall what. “This is not an invitation even you can refuse.”
This was a fine reason I’d avoided romantic entanglements. I’d never yet had to face a lover’s mother. Not that Kral and I were entangled in exactly that way, but somehow I’d ended up dealing with both an angry wife and now his mother. Danu kill me now. Not really, I hastily added in a sincere prayer to the goddess. She might not be any more real than Hestar was a god, but it never paid to . . . Wait, since when didn’t I believe in Danu? After the session with the Dowager Empress, I’d do a bit of a workout in my rooms, get myself centered again.
Inga had already slipped her arm through mine and guided me companionably back the way I’d come. A pretty blonde with very straight hair and dark eyes lolled by the water’s edge. She smiled and fluttered her fingers at me, and I nodded vaguely back, though I didn’t recognize her. Had she been at lunch?
“You handled Karyn most kindly,” Inga was saying. “Not many in your position would have.”
No secrets in the seraglio. Something to remember. “I’m not sure sending her into hysterical tears counts as kindness,” I muttered.
Inga waved that off. “She is young and lacks experience. Her family has kept her quite sheltered. Their estate is rich in its bounties, and she’s like a pampered, spoiled child still. It’s to their advantage, you know, for her not to grow up and see the world critically. She’s their link to the royal household. A bargaining chip. It’s led her to believe she has more influence on the world than she does.”
I glanced at Inga, but she kept her gaze ahead, face serene. Inga was no fool, and she played a deeper game than perhaps even Kral did. “Whose side are you on?” I asked her bluntly, a surprise strike under her guard.
“The one that wins.” She flicked me a sideways glance, aqua eyes guileless. “It’s always best to be on the side that wins, I’ve found. Your Imperial Majesty,” she called through an ornate doorway, with pale yellow curtains drawn back on either side, held in place with silver chains. “I’ve brought Ambassador Jesperanda to see you, as requested. I’ll just leave you ladies alone to chat.”
She backe
d out with a sly smile, undoing the chains so the curtains closed.
“Ambassador Jesperanda.” The gravelly voice came through a doorway. “In here, if you will.”
Nothing to do but follow through. Bryn never look back. They follow you back to your hole. A wave of illness passed over me, for no reason whatsoever. Maybe I’d eaten something bad for lunch. Cheese. No, there’d been no cheese. Why in Danu was I thinking about cheese? Surely I wouldn’t pass out.
“Are you all right, child? For all that your skin is darker than svasshnut, you look quite pale. Here, sit. Have some tea.”
Svasshnut again. I still hadn’t seen, much less tasted, the stuff. Must be a family thing. At least it wasn’t cheese.
I lowered myself to the knee-high table and took the cup she pushed toward me. Not glass, not metal, it seemed made of something in between. Like the fired clay mugs from the fens, only infinitely thinner and more delicate. Fortunately, the heat of the liquid through the fine shell slowed me from gulping, as the “tea” contained more mjed than anything else. Still, the potent burn caught me unawares, and I nearly choked on it. At least my stomach settled somewhat, and the wave of dizziness passed. Also, cupping the fragile vessel in my hands gave me the opportunity to collect my wits and study Kral’s mother over the rim—a basic habit of observation I normally would have done the moment I entered the room.
Her hair, intricately braided and coiled, gleamed the platinum of age, though her pale skin remained perfectly unlined. She had to be twice my age, likely more, but it didn’t show in her face. I could see Kral in the sensual line of her lips, in the long, clever fingers, and in the remorseless ice blue of her eyes.
She studied me in turn, seeming most interested. “I see why my son is drawn to you, Ambassador Jesperanda.”
Because he went for witless women who became faint and ill at the least provocation? “Please, Your Imperial Majesty,” I said, unable to think of a better response to fill her expectant silence. “Call me Jepp.”
The Edge of the Blade Page 28