“This is a meager welcoming party,” Calan said. “A threadbare steward, my fop of a brother and…” He stared at Rema. “What exactly are you?”
“This is the imperial diplomat, my lord,” said Yorin. He held Rema’s wrist, and she shifted uneasily. Apparently he wanted to guide the conversation.
“Truly?” Calan leaned over his saddle and scrutinized Rema. “But it’s either a woman or the most absurd dandy I’ve ever seen.”
“She is a woman, my lord. Her name is Remela.”
Calan tugged on his horse’s reins, causing the animal to snuff in irritation. “Just what this court needs. Another woman pretending to be a man.”
“Better than a beast pretending to be a man.” Elise’s voice rang resonant and high, and every head turned toward her. She stood midway down the stairs with her hands on her hips, her hair wild and her eyes aflame with silver fury. Her black dress uncovered both shoulders and was slit on either leg, and as she descended, it moved to expose her considerable thighs. Rema drew a soft intake of breath—now this was beauty.
“Oh, sister,” said Calan. “You know how I hate you wearing those sluttish dresses. We don’t need to see your flabby body.”
“The more you try to cover me, brother, the less I’ll wear.” Elise took another step, her head held high. “Perhaps one day you’ll learn not to be frightened by female flesh.”
“Perhaps one day you’ll understand when a woman ought to speak.” Calan was poor at hiding his emotions; he wanted to appear as if he were enjoying the contest with his sister, but irritation was evident in his narrow eyes and the twitching of his lips.
“So boast to us of your triumphs. I assume you slew plenty of dangerous infants and grandmothers. We’re all so proud of your courage.”
“If the war offends your sensibilities, you should use your magic to end it. Or perhaps you should return to the only thing you’re good for and mix me a cream for my blisters.”
“It’s you that offends my sensibilities, Calan.” Elise sniffed. “I notice your horse is fouling the courtyard. It seems you still enjoy spreading excrement through the palace, just as you did as a child.”
Talitha’s irate voice cut through the tension. “Enough, please,” she said, moving into the court with Cedrin lumbering at her side. “Calan, must you bring that animal in here?”
“It’s not my fault,” said Calan. “She came down the stairs by herself.”
“I expect you to show Elise her due respect.”
“Oh, but I have.” Calan’s chuckle was deep and satisfied. “And there you are, Father, looking rounder than ever.” He offered the King a mock salute, and Rema’s blood chilled. An ambitious heir with no love for his parents was a dangerous thing, as she knew too well.
Calan dismounted, his boots colliding heavily with the flagstones. “Somebody take this horse away.” He lifted a finger toward the guards. “And somebody else clean away this filth.”
“There’s no cleaning away your filth,” said Elise. “You contaminate the air you breathe.”
“I do believe I heard the horse whinny.” Calan joined Cedrin and Talitha, looming over his bent parents by a full head. “My majestic parents. Tell me, has little Loric lost the power of speech? He’s not even said hello.”
Elise descended the stairs and put her arm around Loric, whose face was pinched in silent misery. “He knows better than to waste breath on you.”
Calan laughed. “He needs his sister to stand up for him! Elise is more man than you, brother. But that’s no surprise, given that she’s fucked more women.”
Talitha gasped, and her face flared crimson. “Calan, enough,” said Cedrin, putting his hand on Calan’s shoulder. “Tell me how the war goes.”
“Things are on the mend.” Calan tilted his head, arrogance written on his every feature. “We’re outnumbered, true, but the Lyornans have become complacent. Like the rest of you, they foolishly assume victory is theirs. This week we gave them a few bloody wounds, reminding them that Danosha still has her claws.”
“You mean you’ve been razing villages,” said Elise. “Murdering travelers and torturing peasants.”
“And what have you been doing for our family?” Calan’s lips spread in a leer. “When they write the history of our triumph, historians will note that Calan fought and won the war while Elise was busy licking cunts.”
“Calan!” Talitha glanced at Rema, shame hot in her eyes. “Not here!”
Elise walked up to her brother, her face charged with tightly-wielded fury. Calan towered above her in height, yet in her awe-inspiring indignation, Elise entirely overshadowed him. “Historians will note a monster,” she said. “They will describe a man who shamed a kingdom with his atrocities. History will condemn you, Calan, and until then I shall condemn you, as everyone else here is too afraid to do.”
Rema stared as if enchanted. Elise was sublime, fearless in her conviction, tempestuous in her outrage and defiant in her femininity. Rema had once challenged Ormun with as much spirit, decrying his excesses, challenging his cruelties and begging him to fight his growing darkness. The more she had been forced to comply with his will, the lower that torch of defiance had burned, until she barely felt it wavering. Watching Elise now, that old fire rekindled in Rema’s heart—along with something more.
“Histories are written by men,” said Calan. “Not whimpering women.”
“I knew my letters at four years. I’m not convinced you can write even now.”
“But I’d wager I claimed my first maidenhead sooner. How old were you when we first caught you rutting? Fifteen? Sixteen? The girl was older, I remember that much.”
“You always come back to that, don’t you?” Elise’s eyes remained steady and unashamed, and Rema’s cheeks heated. “You’re so predictable when you’re outmatched. First, you mock me for being a woman. Then you insult me for loving women—yes, Father, turn purple. I don’t care who knows it. Finally you beat me until I can taste my own blood.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “That part will escape the histories, for as you so rightly point out, they are written by men.”
“Elise,” said Cedrin, his voice harsh. “Do not speak of such things before the Emperor’s emissary. Your personal shame belongs behind these walls.”
Elise gazed at Rema as if challenging her to speak. Rema opened her mouth, and Yorin’s hand tightened on her arm. Ah, yes—that little thing called diplomatic tact, an art she had once known so well. She remained silent, and Elise’s lips trembled.
“All I want to do is love, and all he wants to do is hate,” Elise said, her voice catching with emotion. “Yet you all think me the abomination.” She turned and began to ascend the stairs.
Shame writhed through Rema’s stomach, and she blinked away tears. As Elise reached the final step, Calan called out to her, his tone triumphant. “I’ll have to pass by your room later. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Elise paused, and her hand tightened on the balustrade. She flung back her hair and disappeared from sight.
“You can all go to hell,” said Loric, and he followed his sister up the stairs. Yorin bowed his head, while the Queen and King stayed silent.
“Well, enough of this sideshow,” said Calan, seemingly unaffected by the trouble he’d caused. “I must apprise you of the current situation, Father.”
“Yes.” Cedrin spoke as if his thoughts were returning to him from a distance. “And we must bring the imperial diplomat to talk with us. She has strategic information regarding the Emperor’s contribution.”
“Just be sure she doesn’t try to arm my warriors with knitting needles.”
“They could hardly fight more badly than they do now,” said Rema. “Perhaps it would be an improvement.”
Yorin’s hand slipped from Rema’s arm. “It speaks,” said Calan, not turning to look at her. “And with a touch of venom. Not very diplomatic, but certainly very female.”
“Not diplomatic? On the contrary. I held my tongue while you made a fool of yourself in fr
ont of this court.”
Calan inclined his head in Rema’s direction. “Is there a purpose to your interruption?”
“I’d like to talk to you. Privately.”
“I’m sure you’d love to have me all to yourself.” Calan surveyed the unsmiling faces around him and sighed. “God, I forgot what prigs you all are. Yes, fine. Let’s get it out of the way so that I can have something to eat. Yorin, take us to my chambers.”
“Yes, my lord.” Yorin looked to Cedrin, who nodded, and Talitha, who looked away. Surely the Queen was mortified by the display between Elise and Calan, but Rema had no sympathy for her. Talitha had been so righteous in her condemnation of Ormun, yet had said nothing as her own son treated Elise with contempt…just as Rema herself had said nothing. Shame flooded her again, turning her stomach and tightening her throat.
Yorin directed Rema and Calan to the prince’s chamber. Calan brushed past the steward without a word, his boots tracking mud onto the stone floor. As Rema made to follow him, Yorin caught her arm. “I’ll be right outside. Don’t test him.” Rema nodded, and he released her. She stepped into the chamber and shut the door behind her.
Calan folded his arms and gave Rema a long examination. A trace of interest entered his cold eyes. “A woman with a man’s job and a man’s uniform. It’s obscene, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t.”
Calan’s nostrils widened as he inhaled a quick breath. “I should warn you, I’m not used to women speaking to me in this way.”
“I’m not surprised you’re unused to women. A man like you is ever one of two things: a virgin or a rapist.”
Calan’s eyes showed as much surprise as if Rema had slapped him. “You’re a sharp-tongued bitch, aren’t you? I suppose that’s how you try to compete with men.”
“I wouldn’t lower myself to compete with you.”
“Get to your point.”
“If you touch Elise again, the deal between you and the Emperor is over. Ormun wouldn’t appreciate you beating his future wife.”
“No doubt. Why deprive him of the fun of doing it himself?”
Rema flinched, and Calan’s eyes lit. Damn it, he’d caught her off guard. “What else have you done to her?”
“I’ve never tried to fuck her, if that’s what you mean. She disgusts me, the fat, mewling bitch.” Calan moved closer to Rema, and she stepped back from the heat of his breath. “You, though. I’ve never had a woman in trousers.”
“You’ve never been drawn and quartered either. Do I need to explain to you the concept of diplomatic immunity?”
He laughed, and she cringed as his spit flecked her cheek. “You vastly overestimate your position. Let me explain something to you. My parents are feeble, and my brother may as well have never been born. I am the power and authority here. Forget whatever deals you thought you’d struck in my absence. The man of the house has returned.”
“Boast all you like. You’re still losing your war.”
“I’d like your Emperor’s troops as much as any general would. I also want to be rid of my sister as much as any man would. But where you and I diverge, little diplomat, is your interpretation of the state of affairs.” Calan leaned close enough that Rema was able to see the dark pores scattered upon his nose. “You believe I’m going to lose this war without help. So does my father, Yorin, everyone else. I know otherwise. I’m going to win it with or without you. The difference is only the quantity of blood spilt.”
“What you believe is irrelevant. Your father already agreed to my terms.”
“Did my mother agree? No? Then you have nothing.” Calan sneered. “My father is a weakling who allows his woman to jointly rule. For once, that absurdity works in my favor. He remains free to change his mind as I see fit.” He gestured dismissively. “You can leave now. When you join us later to pretend you understand the ways of war, I’ll explain to you and my father what exactly is going to happen next.”
Nobody dismissed her in such a fashion, least of all this cretin. Rema remained standing, her arms folded. “You’re more foolish than I thought. We know the size of your army relative to your enemy. Not even Ormun himself could overcome such odds.”
“Then Ormun is softer than I imagined. You’re dismissed. Run off and console my sister if you want.” Calan’s smug smile became a leer. “Yes, I saw the way you were looking at her. I wonder what your master would make of that?”
Taken aback by the mention of Elise, Rema struggled to find a rejoinder. “Until we next meet,” she said, and she closed the door on his laughter.
That had gone poorly, to say the least. Though she’d outwitted far shrewder men than Calan, she was distracted by the question gathering in her soul, one she was afraid to answer. To defeat this foolish prince, she would have to betray a woman who echoed every chord and matched every sentiment in her own heart. Gods, how she wanted to run to Elise and bask in the heat of her ardor, to confess to weakness and find passionate redemption…
“Rema,” said Yorin. In her daze, she had forgotten he had been waiting in the corridor. “Are you listening?”
“I’m sorry.” Rema pressed her fingers to her temples. “I wasn’t at my best. He thinks he’s winning the war and wants to conquer Lyorn, not come to terms with them.”
Yorin glared at the door before taking Rema’s arm and leading her further down the corridor. “If that’s so, then who knows what madness he has in mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if Calan never wants this war to end. He’s reveled in the bloodshed ever since it began.”
Rema smiled wryly. “I suppose approaching the Queen is bad idea right now.”
“She’d be furious. Humiliated too. Angry at Calan and ashamed of Elise.”
“And what about you? Are you ashamed of her?”
Yorin shook his head. “I’m an ordinary man with a wife and two sons. I go to our local church, for the good it does me. I know the prejudices I’m expected to hold. But Rema, I helped raise that girl. We may fight because of her damned temper, but she’s grown into a brave and honest woman. She deserves to love as she wills.” He sighed. “It hurts me to see her plight, I assure you. Nothing in this court goes unseen by me, but unbeknownst to her, whenever she gets entangled with some servant woman, I do my best to keep their union hidden. Her father always finds out eventually, but never from me.”
Rema looked at him with a new appreciation. “Talk to Talitha for me, Yorin. Persuade her that after today she has no choice but to let Elise go.”
“A clever thought.” Yorin rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’re not the confident woman you were when you arrived. Do you know why I stopped you there in the court, when you were about to speak up in her defense?”
“Because you didn’t want me to offend anyone.”
“No. Because you would have betrayed the secret that’s clear already to those watching you closely.”
Rema lowered her eyes. How could she deny his implication when her tongue would surely stumble on the falsehood?
“The King and Queen are inattentive. I’m not, and neither is Calan. You need to take your mind off her. Go have lunch. Muhan is taking lunch in the main kitchen, and if you hurry, you might catch him.”
“Thank you.” Rema pressed Yorin’s wrinkled hand between both of her own. He shrugged his shoulders before stumbling down the corridor, hunched in thought.
The front court proved to be abandoned but for a servant woman on her hands and knees, scraping manure from the flagstones. As Rema strode toward the kitchen, she heard the sound of feet running and turned to see Alys rushing closer, flapping her small arms.
“Rema!” Alys wobbled to a sudden halt. “I have a letter from the lady Elise for you. Gosh! I ran so fast!” She shoved an envelope into Rema’s hand and stood bent and panting.
“Thank you, Alys,” said Rema. Alys gave her an exhausted smile, spun on her feet and ran off the way she’d come.
Rema opened the envelope where she stood. Elise’s handwriting was as endearingly eccent
ric as before.
R. You are cruel. When you blew me that kiss in the banquet hall, I dared to hope…but then you abandoned me to Calan and my father. Despite everything, I still want so badly to believe that you’re here to save me. You’re a torment, R, an intoxicating torment. I hate you. Helplessly yours, E.
Elise had ended the letter with a scarlet kiss, the pigment of her adorned lips pressed against the page in a full pout. Rema closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her chest. How could Elise expect her to abandon a diplomatic career that had spanned thirteen years and saved countless lives, all for the sake of a woman she didn’t know? Yet Elise’s frustration was sensible. After a lifetime of fighting for independence, she was doomed now to suffering submission, and to make matters worse, Rema had brought hope even as she delivered catastrophe. She had consigned Elise to darkness while showing her a glimpse of impossible, unexpected light.
Rema put the letter in her coat pocket and walked blindly into the dining area. Muhan sat at a table, slicing into a pie. “Good afternoon, Rema,” he said in Ulat. “Did you enjoy my performance?”
Rema managed to return his smile. Muhan was the only person in the palace who pronounced her name with the proper trill on the r, and trivial though it was, the effect evoked the memory of her home and the friends who awaited her there. Some of her anxiety departed, though her heart still trembled. “I felt sorry for your monkey. Or monkeys, as I suppose there must have been two.”
Muhan pressed a finger to his lips. “Some secrets must remain so.”
“So tell me. Are you a dye merchant or a conjuror?”
“There’s little difference.” Muhan impaled the pie with his fork, and purple juice oozed from its sides. “To sell dye is to sell a spectacle. Wherever I travel, I try to impress upon people the wonder that is living color. When I do, they are suddenly more inclined to purchase my wares.” He winked. “You see, dye is not in itself a particularly useful thing. You won’t be warmer in winter if your coat is red instead of white. But you may feel so if you come to believe that red means warmth.”
The Diplomat Page 10