He signaled to a handful of North guards to follow him as he and Burgess passed through the North wing. They scrambled to catch up, but Jeffrey didn’t slow his stride. The more he thought about the situation, the angrier he became. There was a plot, yes, but if Imogen was innocent, that meant Burgess was the guilty one. But guilty of what? He didn’t have enough facts, damn it, and when it came to foreign policy, Burgess was the one he went to for information. He had no choice but to go along as if he believed Burgess and hope he solved the mystery before whatever Burgess had set in motion came to fruition.
Imogen and Elspeth were both in the east wing drawing room when he arrived, soldiers in tow, Burgess panting heavily from the exertion of keeping up with Jeffrey in a rage. “Jeffrey! And Mister Burgess,” Elspeth said. “Jeffrey, I’m starving—does this mean you’re ready for dinner?”
“Not now, Elspeth,” Jeffrey said. All his attention was on Imogen, who was dressed in a lovely muslin gown and held an embroidery hoop loosely in one hand. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, but then it had been some time since the two of them had been able to act naturally around each other. He loved her, and he was about to betray her. His lips pinched into a thin, angry line. Burgess would have to do it. Jeffrey couldn’t guarantee he could keep the charade going if he spoke.
“Madam ambassador,” Burgess said, “would you stand, please?”
Imogen stuck her needle in her fabric and laid the hoop down. “What is this about?”
Burgess took a step forward and raised his chin high. “Madam ambassador, you are accused of espionage against Tremontane for having given confidential military information to the Proxy of Veribold.”
Imogen’s rosy complexion paled. “I do not understand,” she said.
Burgess removed the telecode tape from inside his coat. “Madam ambassador, did you receive communications detailing Tremontanan troop movements from the Kirkellan camp?”
Now she looked at Jeffrey, the swiftest glance. He kept the hard, cold expression on his face out of sheer willpower. “I did,” she said, “but I did not—”
“Following your first meeting with Bixhenta, you used the palace telecoder to send this message to the Kirkellan camp. You met with him a second time after receiving an answer.”
“How do you have that? I burned it.”
“The palace telecoders keep a duplicate of all messages sent and received,” Jeffrey said, speaking in a low, angry voice. “The message you carefully concealed from the operator wasn’t hard for our translators to decipher.”
Burgess said, “The message is a request for information about troop movements in the occupied territory. The reply clearly states the Tremontanan border with Veribold is undefended and there is no one in the area who could raise an alarm when Veribold invades.”
Imogen stared at Jeffrey, fear growing in her eyes. “Bixhenta told me to investigate the truth and not to just believe his words,” she protested. “I did not tell him what I learned. He want me to, but I do not.”
The look she gave him made his heart ache. She was afraid, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Burgess that Jeffrey believed him. He would have to twist the knife deeper. “Investigate the truth of what?” he asked. “That Tremontane lies open and ready for invasion? I fail to see what need you had of that information.”
“Bixhenta refuses to speak to us,” said Burgess. “I take that for confirmation. If he were innocent, he wouldn’t need to hide in his embassy; he would want us to know the truth.”
Imogen looked from Jeffrey to Burgess. “It is a mistake,” she insisted. “I did not tell him.”
“And there’s this,” Burgess said. He took Imogen’s crystal pendant in his hand and yanked on it to break the chain. It cut into her neck and she cried out in pain, making Jeffrey clench his teeth harder to keep from protesting. “We asked Ghentali about his ‘gift’. He confirmed it is a ten-carat diamond and he gave it to you ‘out of friendship.’” His sarcastic emphases made Jeffrey’s heart beat more painfully. “I wonder what secrets you sold to him to deserve what I can only call a princely gift.”
She shook her head. “It is his birthday,” she said. “He say he gives gifts to all.”
“I didn’t receive a gift. Neither did your escort, Mister Weatherby, who confirmed Ghentali’s account. It seems very few of the Eskandelic ambassador’s guests received a gift from him, and none were given anything nearly so valuable as this.” Burgess tucked the telecode tape and the diamond into his coat. “Madam ambassador, I am placing you under arrest.”
“No!” Elspeth exclaimed, grabbing Burgess’s arm. “Imogen would never do anything like that. You’re wrong!”
“Don’t interfere, Elspeth,” Jeffrey said in a flat, hard voice. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“But—”
“I said enough!” he shouted, turning his glare on her. She flinched and dropped Burgess’s arm. That was another thing Jeffrey intended to make Burgess suffer for, forcing Elspeth to cringe before her brother.
“Jeffrey—” Imogen pleaded.
“I don’t want to hear anything from you,” he said, maintaining that cold, horrible voice. “You may have helped Veribold invade my country, which makes you my enemy.”
“But I did not do this—”
“Shut up. I’m done talking to you.” He turned to Burgess. “Have her taken to the prison. I’ll interrogate her later. We might be able to contain the damage if we find out exactly what she told Bixhenta.”
“Madam ambassador, I would prefer not to bind you. Will you agree to go quietly?” Burgess said.
Imogen looked at the four guards. Jeffrey could see her assessing her chances against them and prayed she would be sensible, because if she got into a fight with the guards, he would defend her, and everything would fall apart. “I will go quietly because I am innocent and I will show you,” she said.
As the guards led her away, Elspeth burst out crying. Jeffrey ignored her. “Max, I want a full report on my desk in one hour. Every detail, everything we even suspect Veribold knows. Elspeth, stop crying.”
“You bastard,” Elspeth said between tears. “How could you do that to Imogen? I know you care about her!”
“I care about this country,” Jeffrey said. “Imogen is a traitor, and traitors mean nothing to me.” The words tasted like bile, and he sent up another prayer, this time that Imogen would forgive him. “Don’t wait dinner on me. I have work to do.”
He spent the next several hours reading Burgess’s reports, teasing the meaning from between the lines. A picture began to form. Everything Burgess told him focused on one thing: bringing the troops south to defend against a Veriboldan invasion. The more he read, the more convinced he was that Burgess was acting on someone else’s behalf. That chilled him more than the thought of treason did. Treason by Burgess was one thing; treason by some unknown force was terrifying.
He sent Burgess on an errand that would keep him out of the office for an hour or two and spent the time going over possibilities. Frame Imogen. Draw the troops south. The two were incompatible as far as a coherent plan went. Burgess was Diana’s good friend, and if Jeffrey postulated that Burgess wasn’t the loyal man Jeffrey had believed him to be all these years, he could see Burgess going along with a plan Diana concocted to discredit or harm Imogen. But pulling the troops south wasn’t necessary to frame Imogen, and Jeffrey couldn’t imagine who aside from Hrovald would benefit from that. And Jeffrey had seen no evidence that Burgess was working with Hrovald.
He picked at the supper brought to his desk, a headache conspiring with his emotional turmoil to kill his appetite. He’d learned as much as he could squeeze out of Burgess without alerting the man that his plot was uncovered. Time to let him stew, wondering why Jeffrey hadn’t given the order to move the troops. It was too late to visit the prison, though he wanted more than anything to see Imogen and beg her forgiveness. First thing in the morning.
He slept poorly, waking from incoherent dreams to memories of how Im
ogen had looked at him with that expression of betrayed trust, and dragged himself out of bed half an hour after dawn when it was clear he would get no more rest. He called for breakfast to be brought to his bedchamber and ate rapidly, not tasting the excellent meal. He hadn’t seen his mother since Imogen’s arrest and had no desire to find out what she thought of his behavior by eating in the dining room.
After a quick visit to his office to see whether Burgess had cracked yet, he left for the cells. He hadn’t been there before, though he knew where they were because the path to the Judiciary led past them. He walked down the long, long corridor, fruitlessly going over things he might say to Imogen. She might know some detail that would tie the whole plot together. Or she really was as innocent as he believed, and knew nothing. She would be furious with him, probably wouldn’t want to hear anything from him, and maybe this was pointless. Maybe he should leave her alone until he could release her and reveal everything.
He shook his head to clear it. No. He owed it to her to explain, even if all she did was scream at him for abusing her trust. He would explain, and then he would return to his office and give his notes one last pass. And then he would drag Burgess in for questioning and make him suffer.
The guards at both ends of the prison cell corridor saluted him and let him through without argument. The corridor smelled of stale smoke, though the lights on the walls were modern Devices, and of someone’s supper. The cold light of the Devices turned his skin chalky and greenish, and the dark skin of the guard who waited beside the cells looked dull purple.
“Your Majesty,” she said, “how can I help you?”
She was unexpectedly well-spoken for a guard, which startled Jeffrey. “I, ah, I’m here to speak to the Kirkellish ambassador,” he said, regaining his poise with some effort.
The guard nodded. She walked down the row of oak doors, their windows small and barred with iron, as if anyone could possibly fit through them. Tiny sliding doors at the base of each slab of oak mystified him; again, they were too small for anyone to fit through, so what was the point?
Imogen’s cell was the fourth on the left. The guard unlocked the door and opened it for him. “Leave her to me,” Jeffrey said, glaring at the guard though she hadn’t said anything. She swallowed, nodded, and backed away. Jeffrey entered and shut the door behind him, and heard the lock turn.
Imogen sat on a low iron cot that almost had to be too short for her. She looked disheveled, as if she’d slept in her clothes—of course she’d slept in her clothes, it wasn’t as if prisoners were allowed nightwear. She sat hunched slightly, drawing in on herself for protection. Her expression was so miserable he had to turn away. She didn’t make a sound, but he held a finger to his lips to silence her anyway as he listened for the retreating footsteps of the guard. He was certain the guard was circumspect, but he couldn’t risk anyone overhearing this.
After nearly a minute, he judged they had as much privacy as was possible in the cells. He turned to face Imogen, whose expression had become confused and angry. It broke his heart. “Imogen, I am so sorry,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”
“I am innocent,” Imogen insisted.
“I know.” He took a step in her direction, then stopped, his fists clenched at his sides. Going to his knees before her and begging her forgiveness was a stupid idea his heart insisted was essential. “Somebody wants me to believe Veribold is on the verge of invading us, so I’ll draw the troops south. They want it badly enough they drew you into the plot, made it look like you were working with Bixhenta. Max was so insistent…” He blew out a deep breath. “I had to pretend I believed him, Imogen, because I need to find out why he’s so desperate for me to believe the lie.”
Imogen shook her head. “It is Burgess who planned this because Diana hates me.”
“I thought of that, but the plot Max ‘uncovered’ goes much farther than you. He might be working with Diana, but honestly, I don’t see what she’d gain from this.” He began to pace, came up almost immediately against the cell wall, and stopped. “I think you looked like a good candidate to pin it on because we’re…friends, and I’d be off balance thinking you’d betrayed me.” He laughed, one short mirthless sound. “Max’s bad luck that he picked the one person outside my own family I’d never believe it of.”
Imogen’s shoulders relaxed. “You believe me.”
The hope in her eyes should have reassured him, but it only made him feel worse. “Imogen, I would sooner doubt myself. I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have warned you even if I’d had time. I couldn’t count on you reacting properly. I didn’t mean anything I said to you in the drawing room. It was all part of the plan.” He took another step toward her, then returned to pacing in a tight circle. “I swear I’ll make Max pay for this.”
“You are certain he does this?”
“I’m certain. He’s smart, but he’s sloppy. Why didn’t you give the diamond back to Ghentali? That’s more damning than Max’s claim you colluded with Bixhenta.”
“I do not know it was a diamond!” Imogen shouted, jumping to her feet. Jeffrey gestured to her for silence, but she ignored him. “It was present from nice man and I think it is crystal and it would hurt his feelings to give it back! You—”
He clapped his hand over her mouth. “I’m supposed to be interrogating you,” he hissed. “I don’t want anyone coming down here—ow!” He yanked his hand away and examined the place where Imogen had bitten him.
“You do not touch me,” she snarled, and backed away to sit on the cot. “You say cruel things and you let them put me in this tiny room with walls that curve in and then you tell me it is all your plan. I hate your plan. I hate—” She buried her face in her hands and shook with the effort of suppressing her sobs.
Watching her struggle not to weep was too much for his aching heart to bear. In two quick strides he was beside the cot and sinking onto it beside her. It groaned under their combined weight, but held firm. Without a second thought, Jeffrey put his arms around Imogen, desperate to ease her pain even as his whole self cried out that it was a mistake, that she didn’t want him and he had no right to behave as if she did.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It took all the discipline I had to watch those guards take you away and do nothing. I wanted to kill Max for forcing me to do that to you. He’s going to suffer for this, I swear it.”
She leaned into him, and for a moment they were just two people giving each other comfort. It felt so wonderful to hold her again. “I am sorry I bit you,” she said.
Jeffrey smiled. She hadn’t sounded entirely sincere, and the reaction was so perfectly like her it lightened his heart. “It was my own fault for underestimating you,” he said, and lightly kissed the side of her face before he knew what he was doing.
Imogen drew in a sharp, startled breath. Jeffrey’s heart plummeted again. What a fool he was. “I’m sorry,” he began, and Imogen turned, put her arms around his neck, and kissed his lips.
Desire rushed through him, sweeping away conscious thought as he returned her kiss. Her lips on his were fierce and passionate, filled with a desperate longing that matched his. He tugged at her hair, pulling it loose from what was left of its arrangement until it fell across her back and he could tangle his fingers in its softness. He’d relived the memory of their first and only kisses so many times since that night, but this was so much better than memory—touching her and feeling her arms around him and kissing her until he almost forgot to breathe.
She pulled him closer, close enough that her body was pressed against his, and the sensation was so intense he groaned and slid his hands from her hair to her waist so he could pull her even closer. His awareness of where they were receded until all he knew was that he wanted to lie with her, there on the creaky cot—and with that thought, the cot groaned louder than he had, and the two of them froze, breathing heavily, until it subsided.
Imogen’s eyes, enormous in the strange light shed by the fixture in the c
eiling, focused on him. She said nothing. Jeffrey brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and said, “So much for impartiality.”
Imogen let out a deep breath. “I was not impartial even when we do not court,” she said. “I do not care about impartial anymore. I do not care about the other men. I care about you.”
He felt as if he could run through the halls of the palace, singing and leaping like a moon-witted fool. A moon-witted fool in love. He smiled and ran his forefinger along the line of her cheekbone. “You gave a good impression of being interested in them.”
Imogen’s eyebrows went up. “I think—thought you do not care who I court with. You seem…indifferent, I think is the word.”
“Hardly. I suffered the most agonizing jealousy whenever you accepted an invitation from one of those men who, I should point out, are not worthy of you.”
“I liked some of them. Darin Weatherby was nice.”
Jeffrey thought back to the reports Burgess had produced for him. “Darin Weatherby,” he said, “told Max you knew Ghentali had given you a diamond and you refused to give it back even though you also knew it was an inappropriate gift.”
Imogen’s color rose, and her eyebrows furrowed almost to a point above her nose. “I think I must find him now and beat him until he bleeds.”
Jeffrey laughed. “I probably shouldn’t let you enact vigilante justice on people, but the idea has some appeal.” He kissed her again, relishing how her lips curved to shape themselves to his. Staying here forever would be bliss. Unfortunately, he was still the King, and he still had a traitor to find. “I wish I could stay longer, but I think Max is starting to suspect I don’t believe him, and I don’t want him running.”
“You cannot leave me here again,” Imogen protested. “I cannot bear it.”
“Imogen, it’s just for a little—”
“No, you cannot, the room is getting smaller and I do not want to be crushed!” She tried to stand, but Jeffrey pulled her down and held her until her breathing returned to normal, ignoring the cot’s protests.
Tales of the Crown Page 28