Two weeks of being Wilfreya Tedoratis’s errand runner. Two weeks of delivering messages too sensitive to be given to the post, two weeks of picking up orders, many of which were Tedoratis’s personal business and not that of the Foreign Office. Two weeks of fetching tea—he didn’t actually need to be told how to make it, because she always took it the same way, milk, no sugar. It had nearly put him off tea entirely.
The Foreign Office had its headquarters in a delicate fairy castle that stood immediately adjacent to the Dalanese palace, all white spires and towers like spun sugar. It had formerly been a residence for some royal sister or cousin, but security during the years of the war had meant housing the entire royal family within the much more defensible palace, and no one had wanted to live in the little castle when the restrictions were relaxed. Wilfreya Tedoratis had turned it into a secondary reception hall, and now most evenings it glowed with light as foreign dignitaries and Dalanine’s most prominent citizens passed within its golden doors. Foreign dignitaries, prominent citizens, and Piercy Faranter, conversing with the wealthy and noble and demonstrating his dancing skills to appreciative young ladies. He’d thought.
The first hint he’d had that things were nothing like what he’d expected was walking through the glorious entry chamber of the spun-sugar palace. The hall smelled of nothing but clean air and roses. Its red velvet carpets, gleaming brass fittings, and the crystal chandelier that lit the whole place more brightly than noonday were exactly as he’d imagined. What he hadn’t imagined was being directed to a door that led to corridors identical to those of the Ministry of Home Defense, minus the smell.
He’d discovered a warren of claustrophobic hallways and tiny offices, most of them occupied by busy people doing mysterious things with paper, then stumbled on a slightly larger room where the teapots lived, and just as he was afraid his memory wouldn’t be good enough to take him back out again, he’d come upon Tedoratis’s office. It wasn’t much bigger than the others, but had a window through which the back of the palace was visible. Piercy’s office barely had light fixtures, though at least they were magically-lit bulbs and not old-fashioned gas lamps.
Nothing about this assignment was what he’d expected. He hadn’t attended a single social event, hadn’t even been asked to sit in on a meeting in which they discussed the future of Dalanine’s relations with its neighbors. He was nothing but the best-dressed errand boy in Matra.
He glanced over the paper and ground his teeth again. Collect message from contact in Southolm. Return books to library. Pick up—
“Oh, no,” Piercy said. “No. I have my limits.” He realized he’d crushed the paper in his hand, began to flatten it out, then swore and crushed it again. In seconds he was down the hall, thrusting open the door, and saying with some vehemence, “Miss Tedoratis, I will not—”
Tedoratis looked up inquiringly. Beside her, Halen Johalter, deputy minister of the Foreign Office, broke off whatever he was saying and raised his eyebrows at the interruption. Piercy swallowed hard.
“Miss Tedoratis,” he repeated. Then, more firmly, he said, “I have done my best to satisfy your instructions, however unrelated to my position they were. I have said nothing about how I believe my talents are being wasted. But when those instructions include my purchasing a large assortment of chocolates to be delivered in the Princess’s name to her current inamorato, I must with some vehemence protest. I am not an errand runner, Miss Tedoratis, and if you were led to believe that is my greatest talent, I apologize for the misunderstanding, but if that is all I will ever be in the Foreign Office, I must regretfully tender my resignation.”
Tedoratis leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her. “Resignation, eh? You think you know better than I do what your responsibilities should be?”
“I do not pretend to understand the workings of this department. I am, however, acutely conscious of my own capabilities, and I am certain they extend far beyond making a perfect cup of tea, milk, no sugar.”
Tedoratis eyed Johalter. “What’s the date, Halen?”
“Don’t rub it in, Frey.” Johalter dug in his trousers pocket and came up with a couple of silver coins he slapped into Tedoratis’s outstretched hand. Tedoratis closed her fingers over them and smiled at Piercy, amusement lighting her eyes.
“Piercy Faranter, you do not disappoint,” she said. “Twelve days exactly. Any sooner than that, and I would have known you were too impatient for this position; any later, and I’d have known you were too subservient. Have a seat.”
“I beg your pardon?” Piercy said.
“Sit down, Faranter, you passed the test,” Johalter said. “I wagered you’d hold out for another three days. This is why you should never gamble with Frey; she never wagers where she knows she’ll lose.”
“You were testing me?” Piercy said. He fumbled behind him for a chair and sat, unable to take his eyes off Tedoratis’s smile.
“A stellar reputation is all very well,” Tedoratis said, “but this office doesn’t deal in fantasy, it deals in fact. And while you may be an excellent swordsman, a brilliant strategist, and capable of charming the birds off the trees, to succeed in the Foreign Office you must also have extraordinary patience and just the right balance of humility and confidence. You are accustomed to standing out, but sometimes we will want you to blend in. You’ll need to be able to carry out orders for which you see no reason—though that won’t happen often, because our agents are expected to operate independently, which means knowing all the details of an assignment and how it affects the larger picture.”
She stood and extended her hand. “Mr. Faranter,” she said, “welcome to the Foreign Office.”
Piercy, still in a daze, shook her hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Does this mean I will no longer occupy that oversized hatbox masquerading as an office?”
“No, I’m afraid that’s yours,” Tedoratis said. “Don’t worry, you won’t be spending much time in it anymore. What do you know of modern Santerre?”
“Modern Santerre? Ah…conquered by the Despot in the late war, overthrew the occupying forces thanks to the efforts of a strong resistance movement. I’m afraid I know little of their recent history—I’m more familiar with their past.”
“You’ll need to know more than that. Off to the library, Faranter, and to the newspaper offices. I want you intimately familiar with the recent history of Santerre, its current politics, its culture, and especially the royal family. Be prepared to report to me in the Helibater Room the morning after tomorrow.”
“Of course, Miss Tedoratis.” A real assignment! Research, yes, but with the promise of something grander, because Piercy had no doubt Tedoratis knew all about Santerre already and was preparing him for something that required the same knowledge. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for giving you work,” Tedoratis said, but she was smiling again. “And don’t enter my office so explosively again. You’re only allowed one burst of righteous indignation and you’ve had yours.”
“Certainly, Miss Tedoratis. Of course not.” Piercy closed her door carefully behind him and walked at a normal pace back to his tiny office, shut the door, and allowed himself a moment of silent cheering. Finally he could do the work he’d been promised! He gathered up his coat, matching hat, and stick and managed not to dance all the way out of the building. Library, then newspaper. This was going to be a marvelous day.
The Helibater Room, with its cream-colored walls and maple wainscoting, looked more like a drawing room plucked out of a hundred-year-old mansion than…Piercy’s imagination, fettered by how muggy the air was and how close he was to breaking into a sweat, failed at this point. He swallowed hard and resisted the urge to straighten his already perfectly-tied cravat.
“Santerre was one of Dalanine’s closest allies,” he said, “until the Despot’s occupation of the country. The Santerran government applied to Dalanine for military aid when the Despot’s armies invaded, but…” How blunt could he be, here?
He looked out over the assembled men and women who ran the Foreign Office and swallowed again. Tedoratis had implied he would be meeting with her personally; she hadn’t said the entire department staff would be there as well. He didn’t know what Tedoratis would think if he blurted out Dalanine dithered about sending the troops until it was too late, let alone to these eight strangers, any of whom might well be among the ditherers. “There was some disagreement as to what form that aid might take, and the Despot moved with rather more alacrity than expected, so we were unable to assist Santerre in their fight.”
“Very diplomatic of you,” said a portly man sitting about halfway down the table, whose shining surface imperfectly reflected the lamp hung low above it. “Go on.”
“Dalanine was not prepared to declare war on the Despot,” Piercy said, swallowing We were too timid to defend our allies, “but covertly sent arms and other material aid to the resistance movement that sprang up after the invasion. These men and women fought against the satraps installed by the Despot to rule, until—”
Now he really didn’t know what to say. He knew why the Despot had stopped maintaining his conquests, because Piercy had been involved in the discovery of the ancient parasitic entity that had taken over the Despot, as well as its ultimate destruction by Evon, Kerensa, and four legendary heroes. Tedoratis might know the truth, but if the rest didn’t, he didn’t want to be the one who revealed the secret.
“Until a year before the Despot’s defeat, when Dalanine finally went to war against him and joined forces with the Santerrans. After that, it took the Santerrans three years to overthrow the last of the Despot’s satraps—” not accepting our help, because they justifiably resented us for essentially allowing the Despot to conquer them— “and since that time they have been rebuilding their country.”
“Thank you, Mr. Faranter, you may have a seat,” Tedoratis said. “Five days ago we received word the Santerrans are finally sending a delegation to discuss relations between our countries. I’m sure you all know how important this is. We made mistakes—”
“Who is the ‘we’ in that sentence, Frey?” asked a woman seated near Piercy.
“There’s no sense dwelling on the past,” Tedoratis said. “The faction within the government that caviled at the idea of involving Dalanine in what they believed was nothing to do with us no longer has power, and the fact remains that whoever was at the helm, it was Dalanine that acted. Therefore, it is Dalanine who is obliged to extend the hand of friendship and hope not to have it bitten off. We will be polite, ladies and gentlemen, we will be generous, and we will behave in a manner that will encourage Santerre to once again open diplomatic relations with our country—all without admitting to blame in the events of the late war.”
“That’s giving up a lot,” the same woman said.
“We need their trade, Aurela, and we need them as a buffer between ourselves and Varanis,” one of the men said. He had a long, drooping mustache completely at odds with current fashion; it made Piercy’s upper lip itch just looking at it.
“Not that much of a buffer,” Aurela said. “And I don’t like the idea of bowing to them as if they were our superior.”
“We can afford to pay lip service to the idea that they’re condescending to us in sending their ambassador and her retinue,” said Tedoratis. “Especially since the ambassador is the queen’s own sister, Princess Jendaya Hathakuni.”
The men and women around the table began murmuring. “Unexpected,” said Mustache. “And indicative of a certain frame of mind.”
“They’ll expect us to believe it’s a mark of respect for us, but it’s really demanding we give them respect or they’ll withdraw from negotiations,” Aurela said irritably.
“Precisely,” Tedoratis said. “But there’s more. Halen?”
Johalter stood up from his seat at the far end of the table. “The Santerrans don’t trust us, and with good reason,” he said. “Ostensibly this embassy is to reestablish diplomatic relations between our countries, and some of that will probably happen. But its real purpose is to investigate our government to discover any hidden agendas we might be pursuing. To that end, the Santerrans are sending their princess incognito, as a member of the ambassadorial retinue. She’ll be disguised as one of the ‘princess’s’ ladies-in-waiting and in that guise will be investigating us. So we’ll want to be sure she sees us at our best.”
“I take it you know which of the ladies she is,” said Aurela.
“We do. She’s going by the name Ayane Caligwe and is purportedly a member of a minor noble house, though an old one—Mr. Faranter, what can you tell us about Santerre’s nobles?”
“Sir,” Piercy said, standing again, “Santerre’s ruling class was descended from invaders from Libeka, across the southern sea, who took control of the nation some five hundred years ago. Most of their descendants were executed during the Despot’s conquest. The current ruling class comprises the remnants of those noble families, as well as resistance fighters who were given positions in the government by the Queen when she regained her throne. While these men and women are honored because they were willing to give their lives for their country, there remains a deep-seated respect for those who can trace their lineage undiluted to the conquerors. The current ruling house is one of these.”
“‘Caligwe’ will require careful handling,” Joralter said, “but naturally we can’t single her out, because we want the Santerrans to think we believe their ruse. So we’ll be giving personal attention to each member of the ambassadorial party. This means we will be pulling agents off other responsibilities to provide this attention.”
“That is a lot of manpower,” Mustache said.
“But worth it,” Tedoratis said. “It’s not overstating things to say this is now the most important responsibility the Foreign Office is tasked with. You’ll be receiving individual instructions for your departments in the coming days, particularly for those personally assigned to the ambassador’s retinue. The Santerran delegation will arrive in ten days. Good luck, and may the Gods bless us all. Mr. Faranter, a word?”
Piercy stood and waited while the rest of the men and women filed out. He clasped his hands behind his back to still them and maintained what he hoped was an alert and helpful demeanor. When the room was empty but for him and Tedoratis, his superior said, “Sit.” Piercy sat.
“You performed well,” Tedoratis said, taking a chair adjacent to his. “But you probably realize I didn’t ask you here just to repeat what most of those people already know.”
“I had hoped so, yes.”
“Indeed.” Tedoratis leaned forward. “I’m assigning you to the princess. The real princess, not the woman the Santerrans are sending to fool us. Caligwe.”
“You are?” Piercy’s voice squeaked, and he cleared his throat. “That is, I am sensible of the honor you do me in giving me this responsibility.”
“I’m sure you are.” Tedoratis sounded amused. “We’re going to be honest with the Santerrans, Faranter, but in foreign relations it’s generally not enough to be honest. Princess Jendaya has to leave with the warmest feelings toward us, and I think you’re well-qualified to make that happen. Charm her, show her the best we have to offer, keep her happy, and Dalanine will have the treaty it wants. Do you think you can do that?”
“Of course,” Piercy said, carefully concealing his anger. They wanted him to play the ladies’ man? That was how Tedoratis saw him? “I shall endeavor to make the princess feel welcome.”
“Don’t come over haughty at me, Faranter,” Tedoratis said. “This isn’t about taking her to the theater and plying her with chocolates. Princess Jendaya is intelligent and clever and will no doubt do her best to poke around where she’s not allowed. You’ll have to be at your most alert to keep her in check without letting her know that’s what you’re doing. Or do you think that’s outside your capabilities?”
“No, Miss Tedoratis. My apologies.”
“Very well. Ten days to prepare, Far
anter. You’ll want to learn everything you can about the princess, and I’ll send you to liaise with the palace as they prepare to host the embassy. I don’t think I need to remind you we’re putting a lot of faith in you.”
“Yet you will do so nonetheless.”
“Of course.” Tedoratis stood and nodded to him. “Good day, Mr. Faranter.”
Back in his office, made smaller now by the stacks of books and papers he’d brought in, he found his little pile of notes on the royal family of Santerre. The much-reduced royal family of Santerre, after the Despot’s invasion. The old king, his wife, two of their children, the king’s two brothers and sister and four of their children—all killed when the capital city Bellema was overrun and put to the torch. All that remained were three of the king’s children, then away at school: the new queen, Cyrah, her sister Jendaya, and their little brother Nyolo.
Cyrah Hathakuni had turned out to be exactly as ruthless as a queen in exile needed to be, organizing the resistance and personally taking part in any number of raids beside her trusted ally, the legendary Kinfe Sethemba. Even the most sheltered Dalanese knew his name: the man had single-handedly killed three of the seven satraps installed by the Despot to rule Santerre in his name, had staged a daring raid to rescue over two hundred prisoners from under the Despot’s very nose, and had half a dozen other daring successes to his name as well as a hundred lesser triumphs. In the two years since Santerre had achieved freedom, his work had become more clandestine—or, rather, there were any number of incidents disavowed by the government that everyone knew were the work of Sethemba. Piercy harbored a secret admiration of the man.
He picked up a sheet of paper and turned it over. Jendaya Hathakuni. Twenty-two years old and something of an enigma. She had excelled at school until the invasion, at which point she’d been taken into hiding with her brother to protect what was left of the Hathakuni family. She hadn’t held office in her sister’s government, despite being her heir, until this appointment as ambassador, but Piercy felt it would be unwise to underestimate her. He set the page down and began tidying his desk. Evon might appreciate disorder, but Piercy believed a clean desk was a sign of one’s readiness for whatever the Gods might send, good or ill.
The God-Touched Man Page 2