The Diplomat
Page 3
Rema’s good mood faltered. “There’s no such thing as a war that goes well.” She met Yorin’s somber eyes. “Don’t worry. My head isn’t easily turned. My purpose here is to see peace between you and your enemies.”
Yorin’s lips knitted together as he brooded for several seconds. “So be it,” he said. “Your meeting with his grace is a way off. Are you hungry? I can arrange your lunch.”
“Please do. Something simple.”
Yorin’s chuckle proved every bit as gloomy as the man himself. “You’ll find little around here that isn’t simple. Well, except for Elise, but I think you’re a match for her. Come along, then.”
Chapter Three
The red-bricked kitchen swarmed with servants, many of whom stood between long wooden counters kneading dough, sifting flour and pouring batter into trays. They stopped their work to stare at Rema. Yorin shook his fist at them, scaring them back to their duties. He led her past the ovens and into a low room containing several rough-hewn tables. “Take a seat, and I’ll bring you some food,” he said.
Rema chose a seat against the wall and pressed her back to the warm stone, which had been heated by the ovens on the other side. She relaxed, the heat moving through her muscles, and was on the verge of dozing by the time Yorin returned with a platter of food. “Thank you,” said Rema, eyeing the meal: a mug of water, a dark-crusted lump of bread, a flat wheel of cheese and an unhappy apple. Not quite a banquet.
“Enjoy the feast,” said Yorin without a hint of irony. He nodded farewell and left the room still tugging at his sleeve.
Rema gnawed at the edge of the cheese. As she ate, curious heads popped through the archways that connected the room to the kitchen, accompanied by muffled giggling and conversation. Ignoring the servants, she tasted the water and gazed at the plain stone wall in front of her. Her meetings with Talitha and especially Elise remained vivid in her memory. Two powerful women, both tied by their circumstances. Would the King offer any further surprises?
A polite cough preceded the entry of a young man, who looked to be in his late teens. Judging by his shaggy mop of black hair and the silver shimmer of his gaze, he was one of the two surviving royal sons. His beautiful eyes and arched lips contrasted painfully with the rash of pimples along his jaw and the gangliness of his young body. He’d probably grow to be attractive, but he had some adolescence to pass through yet.
As he wandered into the room, his eyes lit with humor. “So this is the famous diplomat! You have the servants in an uproar. The head waitress has been telling all her girls about the handsome young man who arrived today. Now she can’t look anyone in the face.”
Rema brushed her bangs from her eyes. “I have that effect. Would you care to join me, Prince?”
“Prince. Ugh. Just call me Loric.” Loric dragged a chair to her table and lolled on it with the inelegant laziness of someone used to spreading themselves across furniture. “And what do I call you besides divine?”
“Just call me Rema.” Rema offered him a piece of cheese, but he waved his hand.
“I think I’d lose a tooth on that thing.” Loric grinned as he scrutinized Rema’s face. “Our Elsie’s going to adore you.”
“We’ve met already. She had no complaints. Does she prefer to be called Elsie?”
“Oh, it’s only me who calls her that. It’s my duty as a little brother.” Loric laughed, sounding uncannily like his sister. “She’s spent weeks ranting about her intention to tear the imperial ambassador apart the moment he arrived. I’ll bet you dazzled her. God, does everyone look like you where you come from?”
“Exactly like me.” Rema sipped her water. “The confusion is tremendous.”
Loric laughed again, this time with even more enthusiasm. “You’re going to charm the sandals off everyone here, aren’t you? And it’s not going to help you one bit.”
“You really ought to hope that I succeed.” Rema lowered her mug and stared at him over its rim. “That’s if you want a kingdom left to inherit.”
“Inherit! My least favorite word. It’s a terrible dilemma for me, you know. If my elder brother Calan manages to get himself killed on the battlefield, I’ll have to become king someday. Heaven forbid.” Loric locked his hands behind his head and swung his feet onto the table. “On the other hand, if my brother manages to get himself killed, huzzah, huzzah! He’s a devil.”
“Perhaps you should be more worried about the soldiers dying in their dozens.”
“Yes, well. I care about the people being killed, really, but what I care most about is Elsie. You might be able to convince my father that she needs to go. You’ll certainly not have any resistance from Calan, who hates her. But my mother loves Elsie, and so do I, most of all.” Loric’s silver eyes were calm but pleading. “I don’t want to lose my sister, Rema.”
“I don’t want to take her from you. But I do want to save you and your people. Diplomacy isn’t easy.”
Loric sighed. “Tell me about Arann. Is it as big as they say?”
“Bigger. They haven’t invented words large enough to do it justice. Each day it grows larger, a city of white stone spread across the Pale Plains. At night its torches seem to outnumber the stars.”
A childlike glow of excitement crept into Loric’s eyes. “They say the imperial palace is one of the biggest buildings in the world. Is it really so large?”
“It’s seen better days. Even so it’s impressive. Columns of gold and jade, tapestries embroidered with silver and candelabras studded with rubies.” Rema smiled at the youthful wonder spreading across his face. “The gardens are especially beautiful. The air is as intoxicating as perfume, and there are trees, fruits and flowers from every country in the world.”
“So what do we get in exchange for Elsie? Seven-foot men with swords of diamond? A sapphire ship that shoots molten gold from its cannons?”
“No. We don’t loan those out. Just soldiers and supplies that’ll win your war.”
“I don’t know. Lyorn’s rich. They say that when their soldiers march, their spears blot out the sun.”
“They say that about every large army. Me, I’ve never seen a spear tall enough to do that. The reality is that Ormun has more soldiers than any ruler alive.”
“He’s committed more atrocities too.”
“Not least the murder of his own father.”
“So you admit it then!” Loric straightened in his seat. “You admit that he’s a monster!”
“Of course he’s a monster. He’s a brutal, savage tyrant who crushes his enemies without remorse. It’s hardly the sort of thing that we can keep secret.”
Loric clutched his head. “I didn’t expect you to be so frank. God. Is there any wine down here? How can you just drink water?”
“I’m not touching a drop until I’ve dealt with your father.” Rema leaned forward. “Will you tell me about your sister?”
Loric scratched at his pimples, and Rema struggled not to wince. “Well, you say you’ve already met her. A few seconds with Elsie and you know what you’re in for. She’s got a temper and she sulks, but she has a good heart. Unlike some others around here.”
Someone sniggered, and Rema turned in time to see the pudgy face of a pageboy, who squeaked and darted out of sight. “It’s my clothes, isn’t it?”
“It’s everything. The way you talk. Your stunning golden skin. I’m in love.”
“Then you’ll want to answer my every question to win my affection. Tell me about the people here who don’t have good hearts.”
“Calan.” Loric’s spotted skin flushed dark. “He’s determined to win this war no matter how much blood is spilled on either side. He commits atrocities on our enemies, and he forever rages about how he’ll cut apart every Lyorn general who’s beaten him in the past. He details it all for us, limb by limb.”
Rema kept her face composed, but unease stirred within her. A familiar-sounding variety of man, and not the kind to respond well to diplomacy. “And he doesn’t like your sister?”
Rema gave a noncommittal nod. “Tell me about your father.”
“He’s a decent man.”
“I hear that often. It usually means the speaker is too polite to say what they really think.”
“He really is!” Loric laughed. “He’s just indecisive. He thinks our problems will solve themselves. He waves his hands over the peasants and believes he’s actually helping the sorry bastards. Worst of all, he doesn’t listen to anyone except Calan, who rides roughshod over him. He’s afraid of my brother. We all are, except Elsie, even though she has more reason to fear him than anyone.”
“So your father doesn’t listen to Yorin?”
“My parents overrule him more than they should. I think he tries to get things done behind their backs. Yorin doesn’t much get along with Elsie either, but to be fair, she’s terribly cheeky to him.”
“He wants this deal to work. Why not take his advice and support what’s best for you?”
“Because I don’t want what’s best for us.” Loric’s smile faded. “I want to keep my sister. She’s the only beautiful thing in this moldy palace. You’ll understand if you get to know her.”
Rema drained the last of her water. “Thank you for your honesty.”
“I didn’t have much choice. I’m terrible at lying.” Loric gave her a rueful look. “You’re not like any of the diplomats we usually get. They’re fat and gruff and slam their fists on the table.”
“I can easily slam my fist on the table, and if I finish this cheese, I’ll be fat. Gruff is something I’ll work on.”
Loric rested his head in his hands. “Why does the Emperor want her? It seems like such a pointless addition to your demands.” His voice cracked. “Why our Elsie?”
“Because Ormun is an obsessive tyrant who won’t be happy until he has a wife plucked from every region of the world.”
“What does that make you, then?”
“A diplomat.” Rema met Loric’s accusing gaze. “I arrange for peace before he sacks the cities. I persuade rulers to surrender rather than fight a battle they can’t win. I prevent kingdoms like yours from becoming consumed by their neighbors.” She raised her empty mug. “That’s how I justify my career. A thankless job, but the uniform is attractive.”
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“I hate to say it, but no.” As Rema stood and gazed down at the defeated prince, compassion gripped her heart. If only these people hadn’t proven so decent. “Where might I find Yorin now?”
“Out in the court, trying to get the guards to do as they’re told.” Loric managed a feeble smile. “Even though you’re going to ruin our lives, it’s nice to have met you.”
“We’ll talk again soon. I’m sure I haven’t satisfied your curiosity about the sights of the world.” As Rema moved to the door, Loric stared at the half-eaten cheese, his face so glum she could scarcely bear to look upon it.
In Rema’s absence, the kitchen had grown even more hectic. Cooks shoveled food into ovens while serving boys ran to and from the cellars. Amid the chaos, a broad-chested woman shouted orders to the other servants. As Rema neared her, an atmosphere of joyful, expectant malice became palpable from the crowd. Surely this was the head waitress who had so embarrassed herself, a fact confirmed by the woman’s slack-faced horror as her gaze rested upon Rema.
“My lady, I heard tell of your flattery.” With exaggerated grace, Rema took the stunned woman’s hand and kissed it. “My fondest regards.” The kitchen fell into disorder, and the laughter of the servants remained audible even after Rema had entered the cool hallway outside.
The corridor bent twice and rejoined the front court. The twilight beyond the windows indicated it was late evening, and the wide space was empty of peasantry. Instead the court was occupied by harassed guards, who marched in ragged lines while Yorin reprimanded them. As Rema watched the parade, she learned from Yorin’s abuse that their uniforms were dirty, their swords were held at the wrong angle and that they had insolent jaws.
She touched Yorin’s sleeve. “You’re a hard master. What exactly is an insolent jaw?”
“You’ve got one yourself,” said Yorin. “To be honest, I don’t give a damn about their uniforms, but if they knew that, they wouldn’t bother to wear them.”
“I just met Loric. He spoke well of you.”
“Loric?” Yorin’s brows wriggled, leaving Rema no clearer as to what emotion they were intended to signify. “He’s a good lad, but he’s not worth your time. He has no influence here, and he’s hopelessly devoted to his sister.”
“My time was far from wasted. Now, King Cedrin. How long until I get to see him?”
“You may as well see him now. If you go through the big archway behind us, you’ll find the corridor runs straight to the throne room. Identify yourself to the guard.”
“He’s going to talk to me from his throne? That’s not wise for a monarch in need. It seems aggressive.”
“I told him as much. But it’s all he’s ever done, and his mind works in well-worn tracks. Hurry off with you. I’ve got to berate that man for having his jacket on inside out.”
“In my court, that crime is punishable by death.” Rema left Yorin shuffling his brows, apparently unsure as to whether she had been joking, and walked through the colonnaded corridor to the throne room.
Her journey ended at a broad double door with curling ornamental hinges. A single guard was standing before it, his halberd propped behind him and his eyes vacant behind his coif. Rema tapped her heel, and the guard leapt to attention. “May I help you, sir?” he said, resting one hand on his halberd.
“Will you tell his majesty that the Emperor’s diplomat is here?”
The guard turned crimson. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I meant no offense.”
“Actually, I quite like being called ‘sir.’ Whenever someone says ‘my lady,’ I feel like I’m expected to curtsey and simper.”
The guard rubbed his chin. “I, uh…I’ll let them know you’re here.” He pushed the doors ajar and whispered through the gap. A voice muttered in assent. Rema waited, her hands folded before her, until the door opened wider and another guard called her through.
The throne room conformed well to the general aesthetic of the palace—that is to say, it was grim. Numerous lanterns were fastened to the walls, but they were losing their battle against the shadows, and much of the open space was shrouded in darkness. The room itself was bare, and even the floor was uncarpeted. Mud and grass smeared the worn stone and clung between the slabs. At the far end of the room, a simple wooden throne sat on a plinth. A large man was slumped upon it, his eyes on Rema. A king, it appeared, and not the jolly sort beloved by bards and poets.
As Rema approached, Cedrin gestured to the guards. They retreated into the darkness, leaving nothing in sight but the gleam of their swords. Rema strode across the room, her footsteps echoing, and stopped at a respectful distance from the throne. Cedrin continued to stare at her, his hand massaging his clean-shaven chin. His eyes contained the same silver as his children’s, but their steel was dulled by age and worry. The slump to his bowed lips seemed permanent.
Rema bowed. “Your majesty. I am Remela. I have been sent by Emperor Ormun of the Pale Plains—”
“Heir to the Wide Realms, Lord Master of the City States of Urandal, King of the Lastar, Lord of Goronba, Tyrant of Dujandal.” Cedrin took a breath. “Emperor of Molon, Ruler of Ulat Province and Lord of the Tahdeeni.”
“I’m impressed. I usually stop at about four.”
“It was all on the letter. I think it took up half the missive.” Cedrin touched a finger to his temple. “Why has Ormun sent me a woman? I had hoped to discuss strategy.”
“I doubt discussing it with a woman could cause you to fare any worse in battle than you alre
ady are.”
Cedrin’s eyes widened, exposing creeping red veins. “You are impertinent for a diplomat.”
“On the contrary, I’m very pertinent. Without my help you’ll lose this war and your kingdom. A good reason to watch your tone.” Rema watched his face as it passed through irritation and doubt to arrive at grudging admiration—a transformation she had witnessed many times before.
“God, but you’re well-forged, aren’t you? I suppose women are different where you come from. Here they would never be trusted with matters of war or treaty. They don’t have the right heads for it.”
“After meeting your wife and daughter, I find that hard to believe.”
Cedrin chuckled, his broad shoulders heaving with the effort. He was unwell, then, perhaps not sick with any ailment but nonetheless suffering the decline common to monarchs. If his body had once been muscular, it had long since gone to flab, and the damp palace air seemed to have affected his lungs. “I’ll concede that some women have a spark of manhood in them. Like yourself, for instance.”
“If that’s so, I must have it removed.” Rema took a step closer, deliberately shifting from a conciliatory distance to a more aggressive one. “Did you understand the terms of our proposal?”
“You’ll give us material and martial aid. Soldiers and supplies by sea. In return, we promise not to take any more territory from Lyorn than that which we’ve already lost.”
“And?”
“And my unwed daughter in marriage.” Cedrin pinched his brows together. “Which is clearly an unnecessary and provocative addition to your requirements.”
“Ormun insists upon it. He would like your families to be closer.” It was disconcerting how easily the diplomatic language skipped from her tongue, how sincere it seemed.