In the afterglow of ecstasy, Rema could believe anything. She kissed Elise’s forehead before closing her eyes. The dizziness returned, and this time, she offered no resistance.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rema woke to the warmth of sunlight. Without opening her eyes, she reached for Elise and felt nothing but sheets. “Elsie?” She sat up. Elise was hunched over her desk, intent on her sorcery. “What are you doing?”
“I worked on my spell while you were sleeping.” Dark impressions circled Elise’s eyes, and she wobbled as she returned to the bedside. “I’m so tired.”
The glow suffusing the room was dawnlight, but only barely; Rema would have to hurry to catch Ferruro at his breakfast. “How late is it?” she said, staring about vainly for a clock.
“The sun just came up. It’s early.” Elise toppled onto the bed and rested her cheek on Rema’s breast. “Sleepy.”
Rema kissed the top of Elise’s head. “Did you finish your potion?”
“It’s not a potion. Nothing is left over. Everything I do, the mixing, the combining, the pouring and stirring, is to harmonize myself to a certain intent. The spell is in me.” Elise yawned. “It works through an emotional conduit. When I put my spell on the prisoner, for example, I used certain vibrations that joined all three of us.”
“Beloved, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“He caused you pain. That’s an intense emotion. Anyone who harms someone binds themselves to them. Similarly, anyone who loves someone is bound to them too. Through you, the assassin and I were strongly linked. I only had to adjust the cosmos and express my will.”
“I’m still lost. How does this relate to what you were doing all night?”
“I’ve prepared some grotesque magic for Ormun.” Elise’s eyelashes brushed against Rema’s skin as her eyes closed. “It’s so strange, Rema. I can feel his love for you. It’s not like mine, it’s dark and desperate, but it’s every bit as intense. We’re all tangled together.”
“Are you suggesting you could kill Ormun as easily as you made that man stop talking?”
“The power feels awful inside me. I don’t want to use it. Not even on him. But for you, for us, I’d do anything.”
“Don’t use it. You don’t have to. I have a plan that won’t kill anybody, not even Ormun.” Rema gently tipped Elise onto the bed. “You get some sleep while I’m gone.”
“Mmm. Love you.” Elise burrowed into the pillows while Rema stood and conferred with her mirror. She washed herself at a nearby basin, put on her uniform and combed her bangs into obedience. Her coat was covered in Elise’s hair, and she spent a few minutes carefully removing the fine black strands. Before leaving, she kissed Elise on the cheek. The sleepy enchantress mumbled something incoherent in response.
Reaching Ferruro’s chambers required her to navigate a gauntlet of exquisite corridors. She passed several guards on her way and nodded to each one; the gold guardsmen nodded back, while the silver resolutely ignored her. She arrived at the impressive bronze-hinged door to Ferruro’s chamber and, after taking a breath, knocked twice.
The door opened to reveal Ferruro wearing an immense silk dressing gown. His broad face was at first stern, but noticing Rema, he brightened. “Why, an unexpected guest. Surely you of all people don’t need to borrow money.”
“Of course not, which is why you’re so fond of me. I’d like to invite you to breakfast.”
Ferruro smirked. “Oh? Have you changed your inclinations and now intend to court me?”
“You’re much more than I could handle. Just a chance for friendly conversation, Ferruro. Or would you prefer to eat with Haran and let him gripe into your ear?”
“Oh, well, when you put it that way. Who wouldn’t prefer to start the day listening to a pretty voice?”
Rema smiled. “You’re referring to mine, I hope, and not Haran’s. That man talks like a vulture being strangled.”
Ferruro boomed in appreciative laughter. “Wait there, Remela, and I’ll dress myself more appropriately.”
“In other words, you’ll put a hat on.”
“Yes, indeed!” Ferruro retreated into his room, closing the door behind him. As she waited, Rema eyed the intricate mosaic chasing the length of the wall. A stylized spear ran toward the far end of the corridor, where it nearly touched the painted image of a running man. The less militaristic decor on the other side of the palace was far more appealing.
Ferruro emerged in a golden gown and a hat with a tassel that flopped against the side of his head. “I wasn’t planning on wearing a hat, but I’d hate to disappoint you.” He locked the door behind him. “I suppose you already have arrangements, so do lead the way.”
“Tread lightly. You don’t want to wake the palace.”
They walked together through high, arched corridors until, after much turning and climbing, they came to a circular outdoor court. Orange trees lined the walls, their leaves concealing vibrant fruits and noisy parrots. Beneath the trees were arranged several benches with intricate inlaid jade patterning. Sothis was sitting on one of the benches, a breakfast tray beside him.
“What’s this cadaver doing here?” said Ferruro. “Heavens, I’ve fallen into a ruthless trap.”
“It’s too late now,” said Rema. “Surely you’ve already smelt the enticing aroma of oat and tomato soup rising from that tureen.”
“Oh, my favorite. You trickster. Well, if I’m to be manipulated, I may as well get a meal out of it.” Ferruro’s long shadow cut across the tiled courtyard as he moved toward the bench. “Sothis. What a pleasant surprise.”
“Good day, Ferruro,” said Sothis. “Why don’t you take a seat and join me at breakfast?”
“Oh, how curious. Remela was just inviting me to do the same. Say, the strangest idea strikes me—why don’t we all have breakfast together?” Ferruro took a spoon and sampled the soup, pursing his lips with appreciation. “Very good.”
Rema joined the men by the bench, though she remained standing with her back to the sun. “Be sure to leave room for all the children you have to gobble up later.”
In response, Ferruro handed her a pear. “They say the pear is the most feminine of fruits. I’m sure you’ve bitten into a few.”
Rema bit into its yielding flesh. It was a little overripe, but the juice was fresh on her tongue. “Sothis, will you have something to eat?”
“I’ll be having lime juice and nothing else,” said Sothis. “Believe me, I’m not happy about it.” Ferruro chuckled through a mouthful of soup.
“Tell me, Ferruro,” said Rema. “What exactly is going on with Haran and Betany?”
Ferruro returned his spoon to the bowl and dabbed at his lips. He lifted his mellow eyes as he replied. “They’ve always been close, haven’t they? Oh, but they are rather cozier than usual. Can you believe that Haran’s shriveled old heart might be capable of love?”
“I’d be surprised to find he has a heart at all.” It was time to switch the subject to keep him uncertain. “And how are the imperial finances these days?”
“Mmmm. Well.” Ferruro sipped at a fluted water glass. “Things have been better.”
“I’ve been moving pieces on the board lately,” said Sothis, his voice stronger in the sharp morning air. “Boats, siege towers, artillery, supplies. I don’t know anything about money, but it strikes me as looking very costly. Swords and gunpowder aren’t cheap these days, are they?”
“Quite the contrary.” Ferruro’s tone soured as he reflected on what everyone knew to be his least favorite subject: expenditure. “Is it quite settled that the legions are marching north again?”
“Ormun’s definite. My own recommendations were pointless, of course. He likes to run the wars himself, and I often feel as if my job is only to sign off on his imperatives.”
“Well, your duty would be easier if Haran weren’t always whispering in his ear,” said Rema, watching Ferruro’s face. He knew exactly what she was doing, and everything depended upon whe
ther his irritation at being manipulated outweighed his understanding that she was right. “He doesn’t have a very long-term mind, our Haran.”
Ferruro hummed and took another sip of his soup. “Oh, aren’t you sly. But you’ve never made clear how you’re going to pay for such minor things as, oh, abolishing slavery. Once we have to pay people to build things, well, you can imagine. And ending the wars—yes, they’re expensive, but they also turn a profit when properly handled.”
“Rema is the pacifist here,” said Sothis. “I’m a man of war, which is why I know best when the time for war is over. This is our chance to trade instead of battle. To grow instead of stagnate. To invest in ploughs and scythes instead of armor that gets thrown into a grave a week later. To enjoy the barter of goods rather than raze towns as we advance.”
Sothis was a canny one; his words would appeal to Ferruro’s mercantile heart. But Ferruro would also resent any point being belabored. “Enough about that for now,” said Rema. “I’m thinking on what you just said about Haran. Do you think Betany might have genuine feelings for our lawmaker? She’s never struck me as the romantic type.”
“She certainly isn’t your romantic type,” said Ferruro. “You should hear her complain about that singer of yours. Unfathomable, if you ask me. Such a sweet woman, and that voice! Even Haran has a soft spot for her.”
“Hate is Betany’s trade.” Rema hardened her voice, and Ferruro’s smile faltered. “If you had been here for the coup, you would understand. She forced Ormun to execute official after official, determined to purge disloyalty. Afterward, neither of them could fathom how to replace the talent they’d lost. You were appointed only because without a treasurer, we were steadily collapsing into poverty. Haran’s younger brother took over the role of imperial architect. He can’t even draw a circle with a compass. I’ve had to do all the work of a foreign minister without ever being officially appointed, and I’m overworked enough as it is.”
“Well, I can hardly complain at not having to pay out yet another salary.”
“Can you imagine how things would be if she’d had her way? She even tried to have Calicio executed, despite that nobody else knows the identities of his countless spies. You understand the trade advantage that they give us. And only my intervention prevented us from losing him.”
Ferruro tapped his spoon against his palm. “Dear Remela, as much as I enjoy your dulcet voice, I am eagerly awaiting your point.”
“Here’s what keeps me awake at night. Thanks to Haran’s laws, Betany would inherit the throne after Ormun. Her whims would become reality, and nobody would be safe.”
Ferruro shrugged his immense shoulders. “Oh, I can’t argue that Betany would be a terrible Empress, but Emperor Ormun, may he reign forever, is a hearty young man. One, I might add, who is very amenable to my suggestions.”
“I think Haran finds him rather more difficult than you do. Do you ever wonder whether he and Betany might have further ambitions? As Togun’s highest-ranked general, Ormun was a useful tool for the coup, but he’s unreliable. Perhaps his value to them is over.”
Ferruro narrowed his eyes. “You dance very nicely, but now I’m tired of dancing. What do you want exactly? I’m not about to cuddle up to your ragtag party of the pity-hearted. Oh, Haran is an idiot, but profit and law run hand in hand. Our mutual friend taxes and fines however I tell him to, and then I click my fingers and Ormun fills my purse with gold. This court has been very good to me.”
“Let me put it plainly. Betany wants revenge, and Haran may be lovesick enough to be her instrument. How will you profit from civil unrest? If she really does kill all of us—me, Sothis and Calicio—what will that mean for this sorry Empire?”
Ferruro leaned back, a stocky index finger pushed against his temple. “Honeyed words from our cleverest tongue. Yet witty as you are, you forget that my opinions count for very little on subjects unrelated to finance. I can hardly grovel before Ormun on behalf of your weak-kneed notions. I can coax him to spend or save, nothing more.”
Rema and Ferruro glared at each other, though their animosity was tinged with admiration. A gentle breeze swept through the court and shook the leaves, startling a fat parrot that burst cackling from the foliage. “Let’s consider a hypothetical question,” said Rema. “Imagine if you had a choice: rule by Betany or rule by a council.”
“And who would comprise this council?”
“You. Sothis. Me. Haran. Calicio. And whoever we appoint to fill the vacant roles.”
“You’d include Haran in such an arrangement?” Ferruro rocked the bench as he laughed. “Oh, how fair-minded of you! I can taste the viper venom of treason in this discussion, and I want nothing to do with it.” He raised an eyebrow. “If, on the other hand, there was a choice between Betany and anything else, no, I would not support her. That’s what you wanted me to confirm, isn’t it, you little schemer?”
“Fortunately, Ormun is so very robust that this conversation is only academic.” Rema extended her hand. “May I have another pear?”
“You may have them all.” Ferruro stood and settled the tray on the bench behind him. “I am quite satiated. Oh, but don’t think I didn’t appreciate our little conversation. As you know, I rarely see eye to eye with anyone, giant that I am. This time, however, you’ve given me much to cogitate.” He bowed to Rema and Sothis in turn. “I’ll leave you mice to squeak to each other. Good day.”
“Good day,” said Rema, and Sothis mumbled in assent. Ferruro strode out of the court, playing with his tassel as he moved.
“I think that went well,” said Sothis. “At least, he saw our point of view.”
“He’s always seen our point of view. The challenge was to make him realize his own point of view is no longer worth clinging to.”
“It was beautiful to see you and Ferruro dueling. You’re both masters of the art. Nobody in this court can touch either of you.” Sothis sipped his lime juice, and his eyes watered. “You know, before I met you, I was of the opinion that women were inferior intellectually. How foolish I was.”
Rema sat beside him and rested a hand on his thin shoulder. “If it were easier for women to be educated, you’d have realized your mistake much earlier.”
“We clashed often during Togun’s reign. The very moment a war started, you began devising ways to stop it. I resented your naivety, but I always admired your heart. You probably don’t know which end of a sword is meant for sticking, but I’ll be damned if you don’t have more mettle than my best soldiers.” Sothis laughed before pressing his hand to his side, as if the sound had pained him.
Rema gazed at his sunken face. “How bad is it?”
“The healers give me a few more years. I’d prefer to spend them with my family rather than waste them ordering more men to their deaths.”
“Perhaps you should visit Elise when all this is done. She has an uncanny gift. I suspect she could add more than a few years to those estimates.”
“I’ll never forget how you took that punishment for her. Nor the grief on her face when you were struck.” Sothis gave a wan smile. “My middle daughter recently confessed to having fallen in love with one of our maids. I told her it was inappropriate to be involved with a servant and had the maid in question dismissed. Too harsh, you may think. But I also told her that if she came to me someday as an adult, hand in hand with a different young woman who’s not paid to be in our service, I’d understand. And I’d understand because I’ve watched you, Rema, and I’ve seen the dignity and courage with which you live.”
As Rema sat dumbfounded, an unanticipated tear slipped down her cheek. Would that her father were here to see this: the master of war praising the mistress of peace. “You were just commending me for my speechcraft, yet here I am, lost for words.”
“A good morning will suffice.” Sothis stood, holding the bench until he was steady on his feet. “I hope the rest of your preparations go so well.”
He shuffled from the court, and Rema lifted her hand in farewell. S
he shut her eyes against the sun, letting it soak her body as she inhaled the scent of ripening oranges. As she rested, a bird chuckled insistently above her head. Her next step was the one she most feared: persuading Ormun to hold the celebration, an agreement vital for their plan to continue. Though he was often pliable, he was also inexplicably unyielding on some matters, and there was no telling how he would react to her suggestion.
Reluctantly abandoning the gentle morning warmth, Rema hurried to Ormun’s meeting chamber. She tried the handle—locked. It was one of those madcap days, then, when Ormun sacrificed his duties to wander the palace, visit his wives or engage in whatever else might entertain him. Rema toyed with her bangs as she pondered. There was never any predicting his movements. He could be anywhere, even in the streets for all she knew.
At a loss, she followed the corridors until she entered the grand inner court, the counterpart of the outer court in size and opulence but reserved for those who worked within the palace. Numerous skylights punctured its vaulted ceiling, and its walls were trellised with artificial vines carved from stone and embedded with fruit-shaped jewels. Around the court’s pillars and benches, small pockets of human activity ensured this was the liveliest section of the place—entertainers joking over their breakfast, Ferruro’s accountants gathering in gossip around ornamental trees, mournful generals sharing their meals with off-duty guards.
A pack of uniformed junior diplomats spied Rema as she entered, and their eyes expanded in awe. As she approached them, they tugged nervously at their collars and assembled themselves in postures of deferent welcome. One or two were immediately familiar, among them a dark-haired young woman. “You passed the test, I see,” Rema said, smiling at the girl. “Congratulations.”
The young woman babbled something unintelligibly grateful, and Rema laughed. “That’s how you communicate? Perhaps they should have failed you after all.”
The Diplomat Page 30