The Diplomat

by French, Sophia

  “If we succeed, you’ll never have to trade dye again.”

  “Gods forbid. How drab a life that would be!”

  Rema smiled. “I can’t talk to you much longer. Those around us will wonder why I’m speaking at such length in an unfamiliar tongue.”

  “Then we’ve spoken enough. I’ll be here tonight, as requested. Shall I trouble to have dinner first?”

  “There’ll be food, if you want it.”

  “I’ll wait to gorge myself up to the very tip of my mustache.” Muhan rose and clasped his hands. “Give my regards to our enchantress. Has that brute laid his hands on her yet?”

  “I’ve stood in his way.” Rema returned to her feet and copied the gesture, her fingers locked in respect. “She’s fierce and undaunted. We’ll survive this together.”

  Muhan gave his mustache a pensive stroke. “The Ulati forbid women to lie with women. As do Danoshans, I believe.”

  “As do many other people, but it is permitted in Arann. There were laws, but they were rarely enforced, and Togun and I repealed them.”

  Muhan nodded. “I only mention it in order to note that, to my great surprise and wonder, I believe you two were intended for each other. That’s the joy of being a traveler: every day your eyes open a little wider.” He bowed and walked to the gates, his lean body swaying as he hummed beneath his breath.

  Rema took a deep breath and adjusted her collar. Now to deal with the skulking beast she’d seen from the corner of her eye. She walked around a thick marble column and confronted Bannon. “How long have you been hiding here?”

  “Not long. I was only admiring this pillar. Crafty detailing, isn’t it?” Bannon lowered his hood, revealing his downy blond hair and protruding ears. If it hadn’t been for those unnerving eyes, he might have had a boyish charm. “I’m surprised you saw me. I thought you were tied up in conversation with the Ulati.”

  “You’re not as sly as you imagine.”

  “Oh, no, I am.” Bannon flicked a speck of dirt from his fingers. “You’re just a very clever woman.”

  “If you’ve come to serenade me, it won’t work.”

  “Believe me, I know.” It was unnerving how Bannon’s gaze gave the impression he was watching somebody else through her. “Shall we take this discussion to your office?”

  “Fine. This way.”

  Rema directed Bannon toward an archway and between two silver-suited guards, who scowled as Bannon passed. “Everybody always assumes I’m guilty of something,” he said in a low tone of amusement.

  They entered a corridor decorated with alcoves containing jade and onyx statuary. Bannon admired the chiseled objects as he walked by them, at one point stopping to run his finger along the engraved wings of a bird captured in flight. “Why do I have the feeling this statuette will be gone in the morning?” said Rema. Bannon responded with an expression of mock innocence that could have made her smile, had its owner been anyone else.

  Their path took them into a small garden courtyard. To Rema’s irritation, Haran and Betany were sitting on a bench beside an artificial lake. Perhaps sensing Rema’s animosity, Betany lifted her head and glowered. The movement startled Haran, who had been talking closely into her ear.

  Rema approached them, forming her most insincere smile. Betany looked very much like Ormun, with the same short brown hair, delicate features and long, thin-tipped nose. She was a year older than Rema and attractive, if she was considered without regard to her personality. When that was taken into consideration, she was nothing short of repulsive. Her smile in particular was repellent—a bitter curl with no warmth whatsoever.

  “You shouldn’t be in the garden,” said Betany. “A face like yours will scare away the birds.”

  “It seems I’ve already scared a pair of lovebirds.”

  Bannon chuckled, and Haran drew himself to his full height, his lips pursed. “Lady Betany and I were in rational and sensible discussion,” he said, rubbing furiously at his wrist. It was a common tic when he was annoyed; Rema had fond memories of the day she’d frustrated him so much he’d broken the skin. “She is the sister of our Emperor, and you’d be wise to treat her with respect.”

  “Oh, so that’s who this woman is! For years I’d believed she was some poor beggar who had wandered into the palace and gotten lost.” Rema bowed. “My apologies. I’ll stop telling the guards to watch for you.”

  “What have you brought in with you?” said Betany, pointing an indignant finger in Bannon’s direction. “Some kind of ogre?”

  Bannon stepped forward before Rema could answer. “My name is Bannon.” He gestured dramatically to himself with both hands. “As for what I am, dear sister of the Emperor, I am the monster that ogres flee from in their nightmares.”

  Betany looked as if someone had thrown water over her, while Haran tucked his hands into his sleeves, becoming a slender apparition of disapproval. “I would like to know the business of your visitor.” His peevish eyes blinked. “For my official records.”

  “Bannon helped me in my diplomatic mission, and I promised to compensate him,” said Rema. “May I now inquire about your business here in the garden, for my official records?”

  “I dislike your tone.”

  “Let’s not start listing things we dislike about one another. We could be here until evening.”

  “Damn you, Remela,” said Betany. “How you can continue to be so insolent and keep your head is beyond me.”

  “I believe I keep my head precisely because of my insolence.” Rema widened her smile—nothing infuriated Betany more than people smiling, especially those people she detested. “Speaking of which, I’ve heard that you’re again agitating to have me executed. I can’t understand this obsession of yours. Are you secretly in love with me? If so, come out with it already.”

  “You’re disgusting.” Betany wrinkled her nose. “You shame this court, cavorting so openly with that singer of yours.”

  “I’d rather cavort openly with her than with Haran. I mean, really. You might as well be consorting with a hyena.”

  Bannon snickered. “Laugh while you can, merchant’s girl,” said Betany. “The world you know is almost ended.”

  “We finally agree on something. Good day, turtledoves.”

  Her adversaries remained silent. As they exited the courtyard, Bannon bid them farewell with a low, mocking bow, and Rema frowned. Amusing as Bannon could be, it wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling to have him on her side.

  Upon returning to the palace’s decorated corridors, Bannon fell into a relaxed saunter. “That man, the one who looked like he was talking through a lemon. What’s his story?”

  “That was Haran, imperial lawmaker and supreme judge of the Empire.”

  Bannon gave an exaggerated gasp. “I do hope I behaved myself!”

  “Here.” Rema stopped by a solid mahogany door. She unlocked it and directed Bannon into her office, which was among the largest in the palace. Its front half was a comfortable meeting area, strewn with large cushions, while her study took up the rear half, the floor of which was slightly raised. Behind her desk, a large window oversaw one of the prettier sections of the gardens. The view was a mixed blessing, as being near the scent, splendor and teeming color also meant enduring the endless surging of the waterfall and the irritated calls of the wildlife that lived in the menagerie.

  Bannon explored the room, admiring the paintings and carvings that decorated its walls. He rested his hand on a marble bust. “Lots of naked women in those paintings. Breasts or buttocks, what’s your preference?”

  “It’s art. Appreciate it, don’t leer at it.” Rema sat behind her desk and gestured to the low seat before it. Bannon swaggered across the rug, glancing down once to inspect its intricate overlapping pattern, and dropped into the seat. His limbs hung loosely, and he tilted his head lazily back, looking like a discarded marionette. Rema folded her hands on the desk and watched him with—she hoped—contempt in her eyes.

  “I mentioned to you once that
my job is solving problems.” Bannon swung a boot up on her desk, and Rema held her tongue. She’d put her own boots up there often enough. “You’ve a lot of problems, Rema.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Let’s see.” Bannon extended a fist to count with. “One, you want that woman for yourself. Two, you don’t much like this Emperor of yours. Three, you have to watch your back from that charismatic couple we met earlier. Four, whatever it is you spent so long talking to the Ulati about.”

  “And you make number five. Are you just showing off how clever you think you are, or is there a point?”

  “There’s a point. You just have to tell me who to stick it in.”

  So it was going to be that kind of game. At least Rema knew the rules. “And then you’d sell me out just like you sold out Calan. Haran could pay you as much as I. Ormun even more.”

  Bannon grinned. “Difference is, Calan was an idiot. I never knew if I was going to get paid or if he was going to get us both killed. And I doubt I’ll improve my chances by working for a mad Emperor or a lawman. But you? You’d stick to your word, you’d keep my throat intact, and you’re tougher than any man I’ve met. Working for you would be a pleasure.”

  Rema frowned. A compliment from a man like Bannon was worse than an insult from a friend. “We both know that I don’t approve of your methods. I’m hardly about to give you more money to reward your butchery.”

  “Still, let’s hypothesize. I’ve explored the palace a little and talked to a few people since I got here. Oh, yes, I got past the guards, don’t raise your eyebrow like that. First interesting fact: Ormun is rarely guarded. In his meeting chambers, no guards. At dinner, no guards. Even walking the palace he’s rarely guarded. He only has guards in his throne room and one outside his bedchamber. How does a man with so many enemies stay alive?”

  “Fear, I suppose. Even if he dies, the law will outlive him, such as it is. Where can an assassin flee to when the Empire controls two-thirds of the continent? And even if they escaped, the end result would still only be that Betany takes charge, a prospect that appeals to nobody except Haran.”

  “Many assassins are fearless.” Bannon drummed his fingers on his knee. “But let’s move on. I think it interesting that one of the captains of guard is a friend of yours.”

  “I see where you’re going, but no. Just because he’s captain doesn’t mean he can order the guards to do something treasonous. There are a lot of ambitious men serving in the palace guard, and they’d happily turn Artunos over to Ormun if they thought he was plotting a coup.”

  Bannon’s laughter was improbably charming, coming as it did from such a vile source. “When I backstab a friend to get ahead, they call me a monster. When someone does it at court, they call it ambition!” He chuckled again before sobering. “Fine, fine. Tell me, why don’t you just walk out of here with the woman on your arm? Nobody could stop you.”

  “Because without me, my friends here will die. Don’t think I haven’t been tempted.”

  “Then do the noble thing and arrange for her to be smuggled off. Remain here without her.”

  The challenge in his eyes was obvious, and to her shame, Rema found herself unable to meet it. “Selfish, selfish,” Bannon said as she stared at the table. “Yes, it’s true. I could escort her to safety and you might never see her again. Is it worth it?”

  “How long would she survive?” Rema picked up an onyx paperweight and turned it in her hands. “She’d be alone and in an unfamiliar city. She’s resourceful and clever, but she’s spent her entire life in the one room of a palace. The world is bigger than she can comprehend. She needs me.”

  “An implausible response. I could take her to a safe house in the city where you could visit her.”

  Damn his relentless logic. “No use. The moment she’s gone, Ormun will suspect I’m involved, and it’ll likely end up with my execution.”

  “It’s no wonder you don’t get anywhere. You’re a terrible pessimist.”

  “Unlike your jolly self.” Rema forced herself to look again into his unsettling eyes. “Tell me what I’ve overlooked, then.”

  Bannon leaned closer. “You don’t think I started out working for Calan, did you? I’ve been around. Danosha was a refuge from a bounty I picked up in Lyorn, and I was in Lyorn because I managed to stir up some trouble in Kalanis. I’ll admit Arann is bigger than I’m used to, but I’m a quick learner. You’ve overlooked me.”

  Rema dropped the paperweight with a wooden thud. “I’ve written you a letter of credit.” She slid a piece of paper across the desk. “I’ll start discussing property with those who can arrange it—that’ll take time. As far as I’m concerned, after that, we’ll no longer need to deal with each other.”

  Bannon’s smile widened. “Your tongue and eyes disagree with each other. You’re so desperate to help her, it’s driving you mad. If it helps, think of me as a tool. Better a good woman direct me than a bad man. I’ll only hurt those you direct me to. I don’t get pleasure from killing, you know. Just pleasure from a job well done.” He gave another pleasant chuckle. “And sometimes, well, that means killing.”

  Rema lowered her head, letting his words play through her mind. The late morning sun warmed her back, and the mingled odors of the garden drifted through the window. If not for the fiendish presence opposite her, she could almost be at peace. “You should be in jail in at least three different kingdoms.”

  “But I’m not.”

  The plan Rema had in mind could easily fail, and to think of the consequences of that failure set her insides trembling. Still, she was tired of scheming and appeasing. It was time to be clear of heart and conscience once more, so that she could look into Elise’s eyes without guilt. Perhaps such moral clarity was an infantile dream, and Elise’s grand tantrums merely naivety stamping its foot. But even if that were true, Rema would love her all the same, for her strange magic, her wild appearance and her furious and undaunted will.

  “I haven’t decided on anything,” said Rema. “But I doubt you’ll hear from me again.”

  Bannon shrugged as if he’d never expected any other response. “I’ll be around. Skulking, as you all put it. Even if you turn down my offer, there’s profit to be made here. I see many people with many problems. Be sure you hire me first, Rema.”

  “I’m sure you can show yourself out.” Rema gestured to the door.

  “Indeed!” Bannon took the letter of credit from the desk and leapt to his feet. “A pleasure doing business with you. Our debt is almost settled.”

  “I’ll be sure to arrange you a house with no mirrors, lest you frighten yourself.”

  Bannon was still laughing as he closed the door. Rema sighed and poured herself a glass of wine from the cabinet beside her desk. She felt old today, every bit of her thirty years. And wasn’t she going to be thirty-one in only five months? She needed a distraction from her worries. An image of Jalaya immediately came to mind, and she sighed again. A different distraction. She reached for her quill. Two months of paperwork seemed as effective a diversion as any.

  First she had to write a report of her trip to Danosha, including any observations that might be of interest to Calicio, the spymaster. Following that was a request to Sothis to arrange troops and provisions; an accompanying letter to Ferruro, adding her name to the request for funds that would be necessary for such an endeavor; and another letter to Ferruro requesting her pay for the previous two months, as well as the bonus she was entitled to for a successful diplomatic mission. After some thought, she also wrote a letter to Haran formally protesting his proposal to criminalize speech. Only at the last line did she realize that, regardless of the failure or success of her plan, the letter would never be necessary. She grumbled and filled the rest of the page with scribbled pictures of Elise and half-remembered lines of poetry.

  By the time she was done, she had gone through half an inkwell, her fingers were clenched and weary, and the light behind her had faded into dullness. She splashed her face with
water from a bowl, and the cold touch shivered her into alertness. Seeing Jalaya and Elise together had made Rema conscious of her age, and now she peered closely at her reflection, frowning at the lines on her forehead. Her slim wrists and forearms were concerning. Was she eating enough? She’d forgotten to have lunch yet again, and soon she’d have to start thinking about dinner.

  At least there was still time to visit Elise before the evening’s conspiracies began. The thought was cheering, and Rema whistled as she walked through the winding corridors. It was all this traveling that made her so thin, surely, always marching from one room of some court to another. Perhaps Elise would be willing to take an early dinner somewhere in the palace. They would eat a grand main, followed by dessert—yogurt, perhaps, with honey and cinnamon. Elise would get some on her cheek, and Rema would lick it off…

  Rema knocked on Elise’s door as if in a dream. The door opened, and she smiled into Elise’s round, untidy features. “Rema!” said Elise, her eyes lighting. “Come in, you divinity.”

  So she was in a good mood, thank the gods. Amazing what one could achieve with a passionate kiss, a fervent declaration and a clever tongue.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Elise’s room was a catastrophe of books and open crates. Scattered among the tomes was an indecipherable assortment of odds and ends, eldritch crystals and powders of every conceivable color. Elise—strangely enough—had changed into a tight silver dress slashed at the right thigh to reveal most of her leg. Most unexpected of all, however, was Jalaya, who was sitting on a side table swinging her feet. She grinned at Rema and fluttered her long lashes.

  “What are you doing here?” said Rema. Even now, the sight of that gentle little face provoked a whirling mingle of guilt, regret and jealousy that was entirely outside Rema’s comprehension.