Did he believe his own words or was it all part of his game? “I should begin the tour as soon as possible. I wouldn’t want a single sight to be missed.”
Ormun offered Elise a curt bow. “My bride, it has been a joy to see you again. And please do fix your hair before the ceremony, sweetling, you look like a walking hedge.”
“Yes,” said Elise.
“Now, Rema.” Ormun turned his back on Elise as if she no longer existed. “I need a word alone. Do you have the time?”
“Of course,” said Rema. “Elise, if you wait in the courtyard, we’ll begin our tour shortly.”
Elise trotted obediently from the room. Only three days in which to save her? It seemed impossible, but perhaps—Rema broke off her thoughts as Ormun put an arm around her shoulders. “I noticed she said nothing but yes.”
“And I noticed you’d forgotten her name again.”
Ormun gestured to the window. “The city is in an odd mood lately. People are having trouble forgetting the disorderly ideas of my father. Everyone remembers that only a few years ago, a man might work himself free of slavery or a woman might divorce her husband for adultery. Silly little memories.”
“It’s foolish to give rights and then take them away. What did you expect for it, praise and adoration?”
“Now, now, don’t bite. Haran has been agitating, dear. He’s brought to me a proposal that I’m obliged to consider seriously. He believes that people in the streets talk ill of me and instead speak fondly of my father. The appropriate response, according to our judge, is to declare such speech a crime punishable by death.”
“Why even raise that barbarity with me? You already know what I’ll say.”
“I know. But I’d like to hear the way you have to say it.”
Rema hardened her tone as much as she dared. “I’ve traveled to most cities in the world. There are none as diverse and vital as Arann, and it’s a city I have no shame in calling my home. Haran’s proposal would banish the life from it. Yes, we need laws to condemn citizens when their actions do harm, but thoughts are something else entirely. Do you really want to end all debate, stifle thought and create a condition under which there’ll never be any reform or progress?”
Ormun made a brisk, dismissive gesture with his hand. “Progress is a dangerous thing. Look at the rebellious people of Urandal. They once had a king. They overthrew him. Now they rule themselves—or did, until I came along. Everyone referred to that regicide as progress and reform, but it seems to me the king came off rather poorly.”
“Your father didn’t want to command the people. He wanted to unify them and organize in them the power to direct themselves. He wasn’t any less effective an Emperor for that.”
“He came to your notions late in life. He built all of this the same way I’m building the further Empire, on the backs of slaves and at the tips of swords.”
“Were you asking my advice, or did you just want to gloat?”
“Dear Rema.” Ormun tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Not everyone appreciates your candor as much as I do, alas. You should know that Haran and Betany are calling for your head.”
“And how is your sister?”
“Unhappy, as always. She’s a peculiar one. She wants me to make sexual deviation a crime punishable by death, and she even has Haran putting the idea to me formally. I think Haran is enamored with my sister, isn’t that a funny idea?”
Rema frowned. “And what exactly is a sexual deviation?”
“You, dear. And your male counterparts.”
“Is she really such a prude, or is this just another convoluted way of getting me executed?”
“A little of both, I suppose.” Ormun dropped his arm and leaned forward on the sill, squinting into the sun. “If Haran keeps lobbying me unopposed, I’ll have to do what he says. So you’d better get back into the game! More time at your desk, less time playing with your pretty toys.”
“I’ll see to it.”
“Go on then! Take my bride on a tour.”
Rema walked toward the door, filled with the tense certainty that he had something left to say. Sure enough, when she was halfway across the room, he spoke again. “Are you in love with her?”
Keeping her face still required all the diplomatic discipline in her possession. “Why are you asking?”
“Ugly rumors spread by our ugly lawmaker. Nothing but the products of his scaly little mind, I’m certain! It’s interesting, though. I’ve been told there are rumors from her own court that she is…well, to borrow from my sister, a sexual deviation. Do you think so?”
“I’ve seen no indication.” Fear rattled Rema’s heart, and she took a slow, calming breath. He was only playing with her. He knew nothing.
“I suppose you’d be able to tell. There must be a trick to it, mustn’t there, identifying those women who are amenable to your advances?” Ormun rubbed his hands, a dark satisfaction in his eyes. “I’ll have to make sure my wedding night is vigorous. No offense to yourself, Rema, but I need my wives to have a healthy lust for men. She’ll understand the virtue of masculinity by the time the night is through.”
“Is that all?” Rema was no longer able to keep the coldness from her voice.
“You’ve been offended. A thousand pardons.” Ormun rested his hand on the whip at his belt. “I shouldn’t have raised Haran’s dirty innuendos. Unlike him, I’m not about to pry into the secrets of your heart, dear sister.”
“Good day, Ormun.”
The moment she was in the courtyard and away from his gaze, her hands began to shake, and she clasped them together to keep them still. How could it be that she’d once sat at Ormun’s desk and helped him struggle through his lessons? How he could be now so unlike the boy who’d crept with her into the orchards to pick apples, figs and oranges, and who had laughed and joked as they feasted on them late into the night? She’d been delighted when Ormun had first called her “sister.” The two of them had once conspired to court lovers, thinking of ways to win the heart of an elegant harpist or kitchen maid. Now he tormented women, and she had grown to fear him.
Her reverie broke as she made a realization—the courtyard was empty. Where was Elise? Rema entered the hall and found her standing further down the corridor, inspecting a portrait of the Emperor Togun. It was a painting from late in life—not by chance, as Rema had arranged for the older, more warlike portraits of him to gradually disappear from the palace. He’d been depicted in one of the gardens, a hand on a stack of books and the other on the head of a child. It was a close likeness, faithful to all of Togun’s muscular presence. The artist had made his face stern, but with some magic of the brush had captured the witty kindness in the eyes and the corners of his mouth. Yet the quality she had loved the most, his sonorous voice, was forever beyond the painter’s brush.
“That’s him, isn’t it,” said Elise. “The good Emperor. The one who believed in you.”
“I still miss him, Elsie.” Rema’s eyes blurred as she gazed at the painting, and she blinked several times to clear them. “Especially on days like this.”
“Did you sleep with her last night? Jalaya?”
For once, Rema’s experienced tongue proved perfectly inept. “I…Elsie, I, ah…”
“Don’t stammer at me. I left you and that impossibly exquisite woman huddled together on your bed. Don’t tell me nothing happened.”
“What do you mean?” Rema grimaced at her own clumsiness. Of all the stupid, inadequate responses.
“I know it’s idiotic of me to be jealous. I know it’s pathetic of me to care. Whatever you do with her is your own business. After all, she’s sweet, beautiful and kind, and I’m just a stubborn, selfish bitch who wants what she can’t have. All I do is get you beaten.”
So Elise wasn’t oblivious to her shortcomings, but felt them as acutely as Rema did. She softened her tone. “Stop blaming yourself for that. It’s my fault you’re here, enduring this terrible marriage. Protecting you was the least I could do.”
/> “You’re so stupid sometimes!” Temper blazed in Elise’s eyes, a silver fire. “You think that’s supposed to console me? I’m terrified that what you feel for me is guilt, not love. You say you love me, you protect me from danger, but I fear it’s because you want redemption for what you’ve become: a cold-hearted schemer, like everyone else behind these gilt walls.”
“Elsie…”
Elise slumped as if the flame in her were nearly extinguished. “Last night, you let me be sent away as though I were a child past her bedtime. It was my first night in this monstrous palace, the home of a man who wants to hurt me and who did hurt you. I was bereft, Rema. I needed you. I was alone. You brought me here, you gave me your promise…and you chose to be with her…”
Rema pushed Elise to the wall, holding her face in one hand and pinning her wrist to the marble with the other. As their bodies met, Elise’s soft breasts pushed against Rema’s chest, a contact thrilling enough to warrant tempting death—and to finally meet those pouting lips, which proved as soft and heated as Rema had anticipated. After a second of surprised submission, Elise returned the kiss with greater passion while stroking Rema’s neck and face.
Their heads tilted, and Rema kissed more deeply still, touching Elise’s tongue and feeling the delicate tips of her teeth. She could see nothing but those eyes, their silver glinting behind half-lowered lashes. By the time Rema pulled back, Elise was breathing rapidly, her cheeks in full blush and her gaze bright and wondering.
“I love you,” said Rema. She kissed Elise again, harder than before, and her hip pushed into Elise’s groin. Elise moaned as she clutched Rema’s behind and pulled her closer still. They were moments away from losing control, and Rema broke the kiss while she could. Elise was still shaking, her full breasts heaving, and the desire to return to her lips was near unbearable.
“Don’t stop,” Elise whispered.
“You have to trust me.” Rema touched a fingertip to Elise’s mouth. “I won’t lie to you. Last night I was hurting, and Jalaya consoled me. But this morning, I told her we couldn’t love that way again. I want you, as fiery and moody as you are. I want to know what I may yet become if I have someone like you at my side.”
Elise blinked, and tears fell from her lashes. “Why are you telling me this only now?”
“Because I’ve realized my fear of him is nothing beside my fear of losing you.” Rema laid her fingers against Elise’s damp cheek. “Elise Danarian, our breath is one breath. Our heart is one heart. Our life is one life.”
“More poetry. I wish I could say something pretty back.”
“It was my parents’ wedding vow.” Rema took Elise’s hands and twined their fingers together. “I’m yours, my love, from this day until the last.”
Footsteps rang in the corridor, and the women disentangled and turned in disarray. Artunos was standing midstride, bewildered. “Have you both gone mad?”
“Yes, and I’m glad for it,” said Rema. “And don’t look at me like that. You have no right to.”
Artunos glanced behind him. “What if somebody sees you? Rema, you should know better!”
Rema moved a sweaty strand from her forehead. “I suppose I’m a little disheveled.”
“Not nearly so much as she is.”
It was true enough; Elise looked exactly like someone recently ravished in a hallway. Her hair was stuck to her flushed cheeks, and her dress had ridden up nearly to her thighs—how that had happened, Rema couldn’t even remember. “What do you want me to say? I love her, Artunos. I’m not going to let that madman have her.”
“Rema, he’ll have you killed!”
“So be it. At least I’ll have died for the sake of something I believe in.”
Artunos’s voice, usually so strong, now trembled with agitation. “This isn’t the time to chase martyrdom. Our position is tenuous. We need you clear-headed, to direct and guide us…”
“I’ve guided us nowhere. I’ve only helped us bleed out rather than die on our feet.” Rema smiled, unable to share in his fear—the truth of love was with her now, Jalaya’s parting gift. “This is the right path to follow, old friend. Trust me.”
“Whatever conversion you believe you’ve undergone, we can discuss it tonight. I came to tell you that a man is here in the palace to see you. A colorful trader by the name of Muhan.”
In the drama of the last few hours, Rema had forgotten, and as the magician returned to her thoughts, an elegant, implausible plan began to form. “Of course, Muhan. Where is he?”
“The outer court. I had someone bring him a flask of wine.” Artunos continued to glare at her. “I still can’t believe you were so reckless. There are countless beautiful women in Arann. Why throw your life away over this sour-faced foreigner?”
“You’ve either forgotten that I can understand you, or you’re ruder than I thought,” said Elise. “Have you never loved anyone?”
“Love isn’t as simple as you think. I have two wives, and one of my wives has another husband. Does that surprise you, easterner?”
“Do you think that because I come from over the sea, I’ll be shocked by every little thing you say? You just caught me kissing another woman. Do you really believe I’m scandalized by you having two wives?”
“I don’t have time to listen to you two fighting,” said Rema. “Elsie, did you want to come with me to see Muhan?”
“Send him my greetings. I have something else to attend.” Elise tugged down her skirt and adjusted her hair. “You,” she said, pointing to Artunos. “Fetch me my belongings from wherever they are now, as many of my books and crates as you can. They need to be here by this afternoon.” She hesitated before adding, with obvious reluctance, “And can you show me the way back to my room?”
“Whatever you say, Princess,” said Artunos. “Rema, I’ll see you this evening. For the love of the gods, tread carefully.”
Elise winked. “And for the love of me, tread however you please. I’ll count every breath from now until I see you again.”
Artunos strode away, and Elise sauntered in pursuit, a satisfied wiggle to her hips. Rema closed her eyes and collapsed against the wall, still dazed by the audacity of their kiss and the feeling of liberation that had followed. It was as if she had thrown herself over a terrifying edge but fallen into happiness rather than death. And had her father not told her this would happen?
“I feel that I am light again,” she said in a murmur somehow not her own. “And I know that I am saved.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The outer court was crowded but quiet. An emissary from Kataris was sitting cross-legged at the edge of the fountain, his hands folded in his lap as he listened to two of Rema’s junior diplomats. Beside a column, a musician plucked the strings of a silver-necked lute. Some distance away, a handful of traders whispered together under an ornamental tree. They would be at court to seek favors from Ferruro, either to mitigate some levy or impose one on some competitor.
Rema found Muhan sprawled on a wrought-iron bench, his eyes closed and his mustache puffing into the air as he breathed. “Good morning,” she said.
Muhan opened his left eye and smiled. “There you are. I had a most excellent breakfast this morning. Grapefruit. You’ve no idea how many years it’s been.”
“And wine, I’m told. Arann is spoiling you.”
“Yes, well.” Muhan stretched his arms back while yawning. “Luck is a finite thing. No doubt you’re here with a warrant for my execution.”
“On a charge of cruelty to monkeys.” Rema sat beside him. “Is this your first time in the palace?”
“Indeed, and before you interrogate me, I’ve a question. I have a keen interest in colors—you may have noticed—and I observe there are two colors of guards here, some silver and some gold.”
Rema nodded. “The golden guards are protectors of the imperial officials—that is, me. The silver guards protect the house—that is, you.”
“So if you were to attack me, the silver ones would join my
defense, and the golden ones would leap at their throats?”
“Something like that. We can find out, if you like. I’m feeling savage today.”
“Oh?” Muhan raised his colored brows. “Is there a reason for your bloodlust?”
“Your brothers who were killed in the invasion of Ulat Province.” Rema spoke in Ulat, the curling melodies vibrating easily off her tongue. “Do you think of them often?”
Muhan’s smile vanished. “Why do you ask?”
“Are you a vengeful man, Muhan?”
“I would hope not.”
“I’m not usually a vengeful woman. But I can’t go on like this. Ormun will marry Elise three days from now. This whole farce of his, the wars, butchering and stolen wives. I’ve endured it too long, thinking that I can do some good by remaining at his side. And I’ve endured too much.”
Muhan bent closer. “Are you sure nobody around us speaks Ulat? These are dangerous words.”
“Nobody in this palace speaks it but me. Ulat Province is only so much primitive soil in the eyes of the Empire. Your language isn’t taught, your people are rarely welcomed. There’s a prejudice against the Ulati, as I hardly need tell you. But I learned your languages and customs as a child when we traded among your people. I remember drinking handfuls of goat’s milk and eating from steaming bowls of lentils while listening to the Ulati singing and talking around me.”
Muhan exhaled. “Tell me what you need.”
“I want you to meet with some of my friends tonight, here in the palace. If you return to this court in the late evening, someone will meet you here. What I’m planning will be dangerous, but if we succeed then your homeland could be free again. No imperial garrisons to plunder your herds and harass your women.”
“I’m not so provincial as to be moved only by the plight of my native people, or, least of all, to be concerned about the fate of herds.” Muhan leaned back, his fingers clasped against his chest. “I’m a traveling magician and dye trader, not some brave Ulati rebel or irate shepherd. But—” He raised his hand to interrupt Rema’s objection. “I’m also a man who can recognize when fate is beckoning him to become something larger. For you and the lady Elise, I will do this.”
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