by Sarah Zettel
Lord Master Hraban bowed his head. “I am most content, believe that, my Mistress Imperial.”
For which I thank the Seven Mothers. Ananda took a swallow of beer. You mean to do it, don’t you? You mean to overthrow the imperial family and set me on the throne. The worst part of this tale is that I may have to let you. Her hands suddenly lost the strength to hold her flagon and she set it down with a clumsy thud.
“Is something the matter, Mistress Imperial?” asked Lord Master Hraban earnestly.
Ananda let her head droop a little. “I find I am unwell, Lord Master Hraban. A headache. I will retire a little and surely it will right itself.” She rose, and Kiriti and Behule were at once beside her. “I do not wish to miss the entertainments you have planned this evening.”
The men all rose at once, but Ananda waved them back to their chairs. She did not want to have to face them one instant longer. “My ladies will accompany me. I shall see you at dinner, my lords master, Captain.” She reverenced briefly while Kiriti caught up her train. Lord Master Hraban himself hurried forward to open the door for Ananda and her ladies, reverencing deeply as they passed.
Yes, let me out of here. I want nothing to do with your plans and ambitions. I want Mikkel’s freedom. I want my freedom. I want … Mothers help me, I want to go home.
They reached the door to her rooms and Behule opened it. As she did, a flash of color fell from the latch. Ananda bent down to retrieve a slender thread of scarlet that had been woven into a small circle.
Ananda smiled broadly and stepped into the rooms. “Behule, send the others to their dinners. I only need you and Kiriti.”
The ladies took their orders with only a brief murmur. They filed back out through the door, bobbing their reverences as they passed. She acknowledged them impatiently until Behule closed the doors behind them all. Then, Ananda’s gaze swept the room and, as she expected, she saw faint movement behind one of the tapestries.
“My father would be shocked, sir, shocked, to know you were creeping surreptitiously into a lady’s chamber.”
The tapestry lifted aside and a masquer, one of the many brought in for the evening’s entertainments, stepped out. He wore silks of red and green. A creation of ivory and feathers made to resemble a parrot’s head concealed his face. The masquer knelt and removed his headdress to reveal a dark-skinned man well past his youth, but not yet at middle age. His black hair was bound in elaborate braids and eyes that drank deeply of everything they saw.
“Your father would be even more shocked to find his eldest daughter had sent her ladies away when she knew an unescorted man waited for her.”
“Agnidh Sakra.” Ananda crossed the room swiftly and raised him to his feet. She kissed both his eyes in greeting. “How is it with you?” She sat on the edge of the nearest chair and motioned for him to sit as well.
Sakra set his mask on the chair and himself on the footstool so his head would not be higher than hers. “My body is well, Princess, but my mind is far from easy.”
Ananda nodded. “Kalami has not been seen in court for three weeks at least.”
“Kalami has not been seen anywhere for three weeks at least. I have worked every weaving I know and I still have no sign.” Impatience creased his brow. “I thought I had eyes in this frozen waste, but I am as blind as a kitten.”
“What does it mean?” Ananda threw out her hands. “It is not possible that he should abandon his mistress. Has she killed him for some offense?”
Sakra shook his head. “No. If the dowager Medeoan were to take that course, she would take it openly. He would have been publicly arrested and disgraced. No, he has gone somewhere on some errand for her.” His gaze strayed across the tapestries, as if he could see the answer in their threads. Recollecting himself, he brought his attention back to Ananda. “I have made a bargain with the crow’s stepchildren. They have sworn to find him for me.”
Ananda felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “Oh, Sakra, no, the powers of this place, they are not as those of home …”
“I know it well, Princess.” His voice was firm and his eye clear, but for once, his confidence failed to lend her strength. “But we must know where he has gone. Half-measures will not serve us.”
She closed her fist around his words and kissed her hand to indicate her faith in what he said. “If he can be found, you will find him, Sakra.” She paused before her next question could tumble out. She felt almost selfish that her mind skipped so swiftly from Sakra’s danger to her own trouble.
“Is there any news to help Mikkel?”
Sakra straightened his shoulders. A smile lit his deep eyes. “There I hope we may be close.”
Sudden hope warmed Ananda’s heart. “Tell me,” she said, leaning forward eagerly.
“I spent the week in the far hills with an old woman they call Mother Robber. She’s half-blind, and half-mad, but I’ve seldom met so much raw power and old cunning.” The smile spread down to his mouth, as he remembered savoring the presence of a true and unexpected power. “She heard the symptoms of Mikkel’s distress. This is an ancient weaving, she says, not one new. It cannot have been worked from afar. It must be on the emperor’s person. He’s wearing his chain, Princess.” Sakra pressed his palms together, pointing his fingertips toward her. “Think. Is there any weaving you have never seen him without? A cap, or a brooch, anything that has threads of some substance intertwined?”
Ananda shook her head. “Unless it be his rings of state, there is nothing else he wears daily.” She drew back. “Surely not. Such a spell in the symbols of imperial rule?”
“Where better?” Sakra spread his hands. “Spells in metal are hard to work, but they will last the centuries through. Mother Robber told me a tale of one of the child emperors from their Wars of Consolidation. It was said his father stole his heart and kept it bound in a silver girdle, which might truly be …”
“A ring.” Ananda leapt to her feet. “Kiriti, send my regrets to Lord Master Hraban. I am most unwell and must return home. Summon our train and have all make haste.”
Sakra rose swiftly. “Ananda, Princess, this may not be the right guess.”
She waved his words away. “It is the best we’ve had in an age, Sakra, and better than any other you’ve brought me since Mikkel became lost to himself.”
“All I say is take care when and how you test this latest theory. You have waited this long, Princess.” He reached for her, his hand touching the air just over her shoulder. “A day or two more for care will do no harm.”
“No harm?” repeated Ananda, aghast. “No harm when I’m surrounded by spies searching for any weakness? No harm when I must shut myself up with a loom each night so that the dowager continues to think I’m a sorceress and not just a mere mortal who can be dispatched with slow poison or fast horse?” The force of her words caused her body to tremble. Her hands felt suddenly ice cold, although her cheeks burned like fire. “You wish to condemn me to a day or two more of scheming, and watching, and fearing for my life and Mikkel’s, when it all may be because his vile, vile mother put a ring on his finger!” Tears, long suppressed, ran down her cheeks.
“Forgive me, Princess.” Sakra dropped to his knees before her. “I meant only — ”
“No, no!” Ananda fell beside him, gripping his shoulders. “Forgive me, Sakra, it is only that I am so tired.”
He held her then, as he had when she first saw Mikkel’s mind gone from behind his eyes and he let her weep herself dry on his shoulder while her ladies turned away and pretended not to see.
“All will be well, child,” he murmured. “All will be well.”
At last, Ananda composed herself enough to blot her face with her kerchief and draw back from Sakra’s shoulder. “One day I will find a way to repay you for all you have done for me.”
“Your long life and happiness are all I ask.” From anyone else that might have been a platitude, but from Sakra it was the plainest truth. “Now, before you leave, tell me, did you deal with the Lady
Taisiia?”
Ananda sat back on her heels. “I sent her away with a shocked face and the fear of my foreign wrath.” She smiled tiredly. “Once again we prove what a mighty force is Ananda tya Achin Divyaela, Empress of Isavalta, the Moon’s Daughter Who Is First Princess of Hastinapura.” She raised her clenched fist.
Sakra covered her fist with his great, callused hand. “Once again we prove how wise is Ananda tya Achin Divyaela of Isavalta and Hastinapura,” he said gently. “And how brave is she.”
Ananda’s smile grew wan. “May the Seven Mothers grant me soon a day when I can be a coward again.”
“May it be so.” Sakra dipped his eyes reverently.
Ananda got to her feet. “But I will go, Sakra. I cannot stay here. Lord Master Hraban again importunes me to take the throne and I do not feel up to sparring with him any more today.”
Sakra bowed until his forehead touched the floor. “As the princess wishes.”
No, as the princess, as the empress, must do. Ananda suppressed her sigh. Or she will surely run mad.
• • •
Two of the pages rode on ahead, so that when Ananda and her train returned to Palace Vyshtavos, there were lighted lanterns and warm drinks to greet them, as well as a meal to replace the one they missed at Lord Master Hraban’s. Ananda ate in her rooms with her ladies by the light of fire and candle. The short winter day had long since faded into night and all the household was preparing for bed.
When the meal had been finished and the last of the dishes cleared away, Behule and Kiriti rose, ready to accompany Ananda behind her screens to start changing her out of her day clothes, as was usual.
Instead of rising immediately, however, Ananda touched Behule’s hand. “Run now and see if you can find out whether the emperor has retired or not. If he has not, bring me news of where he is.”
Behule reverenced and hurried away. Sruta took Behule’s place with Ananda behind the screens, and she and Kiriti got Ananda out of her visiting clothes and into a nightgown lined in fur and trimmed in silver with a pair of matching slippers.
By that time, Behule had returned. Reverencing before Ananda, she said. “The emperor has not been put to bed yet. He is in the Portrait Hall with only three of his men.”
Ananda touched Behule’s shoulder gratefully. “A robe, Kiriti, and a light.”
Kiriti threw a thick robe of dark green velvet over Ananda’s shoulders and tied the woven belt around her waist while Behule fetched a candle. But when they tried to accompany her out the door, Ananda waved them back.
“This is my errand,” she said before they could protest.
There were times when the palace Vyshtavos felt as if it went on for miles. Holding her candle low and to the side, so it left her face in shadow, Ananda padded through the galleries, the reception chambers, past the rooms for music, for sunning, for reading, for sewing, for taking counsel, for drinking wine before meals and for nibbling dainties after meals. Servants whose masters had not yet permitted them to seek their beds passed her once or twice, but none stopped to bow. They assumed that the lone figure was another like themselves, up late and running for a cup of tea or another blanket, or whatever it was the noble ones wanted.
The Portrait Hall was just that — a hall that angled itself to make the northwest wall of the courtyard — and instead of tapestries had been hung with portraits of great ancestors and famous battleplaces. Ananda had spent hours diligently learning the history of each of the paintings in their gilded frames, back when she thought she might still be able to please the dowager.
Mikkel stood in front of the central fireplace, staring into the flames as if they held the whole world for him. Three of his servants sprawled behind him in overstuffed chairs. One took a swig from a clay crock and passed it on to his fellows. Engaged in their drinking, they did not see the small gleam of her candle, which she quickly snuffed out.
“Perhaps the emperor should take a step closer to the fire,” said one servant.
“Perhaps he should, he looks cold.” The man lifted his voice. “Emperor, take a step closer to the fire.”
Mikkel, unhesitating, did.
“Nah, nah,” said the one who currently held the crock. “He’ll get a spark on his fine velvets, and then where would we be? Waiting on imperial toast is where. Emperor, take a step back.”
Mikkel did as he was told.
“I want to see — ” began one.
“How dare you!” thundered Ananda.
All three of them shot to their feet. One dropped the crock, spilling clear liquor all across the stone floor. Ananda strode down the gallery as fast as she could without breaking into a run. “Is this how you treat your master imperial? Is this how you serve the dowager and your realm?” she demanded, anger nearly choking her by the time she reached them.
“Mistress Imperial.” They all reverenced shakily. The boldest of the trio spoke up. “How come you here alone, mistress? You should be — ”
“You dare to tell me where I should be?” shouted Ananda. “You should be hanging over a fire with weights around your ankles for what I have seen! Get out of my sight! Go!”
That sent them off in a mad scramble for the nearest door. Trembling with fury, Ananda turned to Mikkel. Despite all the commotion, he had not turned once from his contemplation of the flames. Ananda laid her trembling hands on his shoulders and turned him gently around. His sapphire eyes blinked at her, unknowing and unconcerned.
“They will not return, my love,” she whispered. “I’ll find some way to tell the dowager. They …”
“Ananda?” whispered Mikkel.
Ananda seized his hand. “Yes, yes. Ananda. Mikkel, do you know me?”
His eyes searched her face for a moment, but then they wandered away, looking at the portraits, at the fire, at the reflections on the polished wooden panels. “I thought I … It might be.” His hand did not move in hers.
“I am here to help you, my love. Bear with me just this little while.” She spread his fingers out against her palm. He did not resist.
Mikkel wore three rings on his fingers. Two had bands of braided silver; one was surmounted with a ruby and one with an emerald. The stones had each been etched with soaring eagles. These were the rings of the emperors. The third ring was gold and pearl. That was her gift. Her promise to him of her faithfulness and her love.
Ananda tugged the first ring free from Mikkel’s limp hand. She searched his face anxiously, but saw no change. She removed the second ring, and the third.
A door slammed open. Lantern light spilled across Ananda, dazzling her eyes and making her cringe.
“What are you doing!” cried the dowager.
Ananda drew herself up tall and met Mikkel’s eyes. But those eyes had not changed. They remained restless and dull. All Ananda’s hope fell away and confusion swept through her. How could the dowager be here already? There had been no time for the drunkards to have summoned her. She must have been waiting. She must have known what Ananda meant to do. That meant she had been told. That meant, as she had suspected, there was a spy among her servants that Ananda had not yet caught. Ananda felt no joy at being once again proved right.
That also meant the dowager had stood there and let those three drunken wastrels make a puppet of her son.
The realization sent Ananda reeling against a stone column. Every day, I believe I have seen the worst. Every day I believe she can do no more than she has done. Ah, Mothers! How often will you prove your too proud daughter wrong?
The dowager stayed where she was, trembling, though from what emotion Ananda could not guess. “It is not enough,” the old woman’s voice cracked, “that you steal his soul from him, you must rob his body as well.” Candlelight sparkled against tears streaming down the dowager’s cheeks.
Ananda glanced down at the rings in her palms. The dowager’s ladies stood behind their mistress, there faces stony as they stared at Ananda. They were there as witnesses, Ananda was certain, and they would speak of what th
ey saw. So, now there would be a new tale of her iniquity to circulate. Another battle in their little war of words. She looked despairingly at Mikkel. Mikkel stood in his place, bored, indifferent.
Ananda bit down hard on her lip to keep back her own tears. She pressed the rings into Mikkel’s hands. He took them without comment and looked at them without interest.
Then she turned, her anger pounding against her temples, and walked up to the dowager. She leaned close to the false, weeping, foul old woman and spoke straight into her ear.
“I will find it, you demon. I will free him.”
“You will fail, little girl,” murmured the dowager in return. “Your cousin could not win my realm from me, and neither shall you win it from my son!”
Ananda drew away and met the dowager’s gaze. The woman’s eyes were black holes in her face, reflecting no light, no thought. They simply watched, and waited.
Ananda could do nothing but retrieve her candle and walk the long, slow way back to her rooms. Kiriti and Behule rose as she entered, but took one look at her face, and sensibly remained silent. They simply removed her robe and led her to her bed. There, behind the carved screens, the sheets and coverlets were turned down, the candle was taken away, and her hair was unbound, except for the three spell-braids. Ananda accepted their ministrations without comment. She laid herself on the bed, and her ladies smoothed the blankets over her and let the bed-curtains down.
Alone in the darkness, Ananda let her tears stream down her cheeks until, worn out from shock, sorrow and anger, she fell asleep.
Ananda dreamed, then, that she was back in the Foxwood with her grey horse running panicked beneath her while she fought to control the animal. Three small, sleek foxes streaked along beside her. Isha, obedience utterly lost to panic, reared high. Ananda fell crashing to the ground, all breath knocked out of her. Dizzy, she pushed herself to a sitting position.
Three men surrounded her. They had thin, pointed faces and shining green eyes. Two had red hair, one had grey. They were dressed in tunics and hose of fur that exactly matched the colors of their hair.