You hope? “Thank you, My Lord,” Orhan said loudly. Trying to keep the tremor from his voice. “I fervently hope the same, and am certain Great Tanis will hear us and so grant us our hopes.”
“Thank you, My Lord Emperor,” said Darath. “I am assured Lord Tanis will hear us and feel moved to grant us peace. We mourn Lady Verneth’s loss, and Lord Emmereth’s, and rejoice that you pray such a thing shall not befall us again. You grant us the gift of peace, for the God will grant your prayers.”
“Thank you, My Lord Emperor,” said Eloise. “I am certain that you are right in all that you pray for.” She seemed almost confused. “Peace in which to raise my grandchildren. One of them so newly wedded. That is all I ask. Peace and safety for my grandchildren and their children after them.”
“A blessing, that he lived long enough to see them begun,” said Darath. “An honour, to share the wedding rites with him as bride and groom’s kin. A tragedy, that he did not live long enough to see these hopes realized.”
These absurd rituals. Twisting, writhing games. They talk like a man farting in his sleep, the great families. As Orhan had once overhead Janush say.
The Emperor made another gesture, nodded his head almost imperceptibly at Eloise. She bowed down, rose, vanished backwards out of Orhan’s vision. He heard her footsteps slow and awkward as she walked backwards to the door. A long silence while they all waited. A big room, bigger even than you’d think until you had to wait through someone formally walking out. Finally the doors must have closed. The Emperor moved again, Orhan saw him swallow, the knob at the base of the Imperial throat jumping. Site of a man’s soul, the Chatheans believed.
His knees were aching so badly. Gemstones so hard on his shins. Poor Darath’s back must be near breaking. Trying to keep looking at the Emperor’s neckbones and not at his podgy stomach or between his Imperial legs. The Emperor made some other gesture. To Orhan’s surprise and alarm the guards trooped slowly out.
The Emperor said, “Rise.”
Orhan and Darath got up painfully. The blood rushing back into Orhan’s legs hurt. Hot sand dance from toes to knee caps, skipping across his skin. Darath’s bones cracked loud. They both kept their heads respectfully downwards, still staring with fixed attention at the Imperial neck. The Emperor swallowed and the site of his soul jumped.
“Lord Emmereth. Lord Vorley.”
“My Lord Emperor.”
“My Lord Emperor.”
Another jerk of the throat. “A letter arrived this morning. From a source of reliable information, I am told. A man in Ith who was a member of Leos Calboride’s deputation to me here. A man who was also a part of Selerie Calboride’s deputation to this new King of the White Isles. A man who swears on his life that the new Queen of the White Isles is the High Priestess of Great Tanis Who Rules All Things whose body you showed me in a silver box. He saw her close up, here and there. Says that her face would be hard to forget. And then … Lord Tardein my Nithque showed me another letter, Lord Emmereth. One now quite a few days old. From the same source. One of the Secretaries showed it to him. After he had asked for it several times.”
The blood draining from Orhan’s face. Darath shifted beside him.
Darath, of course, didn’t know about the letter Gallus had shown to Orhan.
And Orhan had ordered Gallus to burn it.
“The King of the White Isles! Here! Drew his sword on me! Claims I cowered and wept at his feet! The sacred title of the Chosen of Great Tanis, on the filthy lips of an Altrersyr demon slumped insensible in his chair! And you knew! All this time, you knew!”
Trying to find anything inside him he could speak. A rock on his tongue. A worm in his belly, gnawing at his heart. Beside him, Darath seemed to burn.
Orhan said, “My Lord Emperor, I … I did read the letter, My Lord Emperor. The … the Secretary Gallus showed it to me. He was concerned. We agreed … it was lies. Absurdities. I still … I still cannot believe. My Lord Emperor—”
The Emperor’s throat jerked again. “I could have you executed for High Treason, Lord Emmereth.”
A knife blade.
And why did he think first of the child?
“I am persuaded by Lord Tardein, however, that I should in my mercy spare you,” the Emperor said. “Lord Magreth, also, believes that it would be rash to punish you. My people need stability, as I told Lady Verneth. These claims are absurd. Lies. And even if they are not—I defied Amrath when he came for my city, did I not? Drove him off. Sent him away. I protected my people against Amrath’s army once. The doings of some petty barbarian who claims descent from him are of no concern to me or to Sorlost. Are they not? If the Altrersyr king came to my palace, he did not harm me. I defeated him. I am the Sekemleth Emperor of Sorlost and thus he failed to lay so much as a finger on me.”
Orhan bowed his head. “You defeated him indeed, My Lord Emperor.”
“You are spared, then, Lord Emmereth. In my mercy, I will spare you.” That weak, foolish, terrifying voice. “But. But. Lord Tardein and Lord Magreth, they will be watching you. I shall be watching you. Both of you.” The Emperor shifted on his throne. A new idea in his voice. His own idea, a sudden flash of Imperial brilliance, Orhan thought. “Lady Verneth will be watching you.”
Darath moved his head. The Emperor said, “Well?”
“You are glorious in your mercy, My Lord Emperor,” Orhan said.
“You are kind beyond all kindness, My Lord Emperor,” Darath said.
Orhan thought: Cam Tardein and Samn Magreth are merciful and kind beyond all things.
The Emperor said, “You will remember everything I have said to you. And you will be thankful I am a merciful man.”
They prostrated themselves again, faces pressed into the jewelled floor. Darath’s knees creaked. Orhan’s neck felt like someone was strangling him. His head was pounding, his legs shook, the sick feeling in his stomach like his entrails were full of molten lead. Silent rage radiated off Darath. Hot dry wind from which there was no possibility of relief. They remained prostrate on their faces for forever, until the Emperor bade dismissively for them to leave.
“Remember I have been kind,” the Emperor said. “The Emperor cannot be deceived, Lord Emmereth, Lord Vorley.”
Rose with another crack from Darath’s knee bones and from Orhan’s back. Walked backwards carefully, heads bent to look down at their feet. Hot sand dance down Orhan’s legs.
When they got outside the palace, Darath said, very, very slowly, “I think perhaps we need to talk, Orhan. Don’t you think?”
What could he say to that? Orhan said, very, very slowly, “Yes.” He looked away. “I’m sorry, Darath. There’s nothing else to say.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Dark room. No one else even breathing. Beams of light picked out the shutters. Raised her head. Beams of light picking out a small door. The light hurt her. Very very bright in the dark. Closed her eyes again. Rough sheets. Thick soft pillows. Her skin hurt. And too hot. She pushed a leg out of the bed. Painful. Her leg hurt. Heard herself groan. It sounded odd. Far away. She coughed. Like a dog barking. Her mouth was dry. Tried to move a hand to look for a cup of water. Her hand flailed. Couldn’t move. Hurting. A dry painful sound in her throat. Too dark.
Blind, she thought. I’m blind. Her body was clammy, like she’d been running. Sticky. Been in bed a long time. Blind. Paralysed. Bed-ridden. Bandages on her head and arms. Thirsty. Blind.
The door opened. Very bright light. A figure behind it. Wavered. Too bright. Closed her eyes, whimpering. Light burned into her eyes. The figure like a ghost. Still see it. Too bright. Blind.
She thought: Bilale? My Lady? Bilale?
“Nilesh?” Janush’s voice. Worried. Relieved.
“Janush?” Her voice was so dry. Struggling to make her mouth work. Hurting. Odd.
“Nilesh. It’s all right. Lie still.”
“Water.” Opened her eyes again. Too bright. Too dark. No vision. Just shadow. Janush, flickering. Black shadow. White
light. Hurting. Wrong.
“Here.” Hands on her head, lifting her. Drank water. Sweet. Cool. Bitter. Something in it.
“Janush—”
Sleep.
Dark room. Someone by the bed. Breathing quietly. Still. Light at the shutters. Easier to see. Dry mouth.
Hurt.
“Who’s there?” Her voice sounded funny. Not like her voice. Coming from the corners of the room. “Who’s there?” Whispery. Hurt to speak.
“Nilesh. It’s all right. Can you see?”
“Dark …”
Light. A lamp, flickering. Hands, bringing the lamp.
“Janush?”
Face. Blinked in the lamplight. She blinked. Face shimmered. Drew together. Mosaic tiles. Making a face.
“Nilesh. Are you in pain? Can you see?”
“Janush.” Coughed. “I … can see.”
“Great Tanis be praised.” Raised her head, held a cup to her. “Drink this.”
Drank. Hurting. Sweet. Cool. Bitter. Dry lips.
She spat. “No. Don’t want … to sleep.”
“It will stop the pain.”
“No!” Dry, cracked mouth. Voice sounded all funny. Coming from somewhere else. Hurting. “No. Don’t want to sleep.”
Cup at her lips. Sweet. Cool. Bitter. Janush holding her head. Thirsty. Dry mouth.
Sleep.
Light room. Shutters open. Sunlight. Breeze. Birdsong. Dusty gold sky.
“Janush?”
The figure by her bed turned his head. Been staring out of the window. Watching birds.
“Good morning, Nilesh.”
“Janush—” Sickness. She bent forward and vomited. Crying. Hurt.
“It’s all right, Nilesh.” Held a bowl under her. Vomited again. Silver. Blurred through her tears. Thin yellow spatter of bile.
“Sick …” Her eyes were hurting her, sore and hot. Rubbed her eyes, spat into the bowl. “Janush!”
“Try to keep calm.” He poured her a cup of water. Drank gratefully. Sweet. Lemon and flowers. Washing the taste out of her mouth.
Janush said, “We had to give you hatha. To help you rest. You’re suffering … after-effects.”
“To help me?” Memory coming back to her. Fighting. Bil screaming. Pain. “The baby! The baby, Janush! Bilale’s baby!”
“The baby is fine, Nilesh. Alive. Babbling. Smiling at our mistress’s face.”
“And Bilale?”
Frowned. His face sad. “Alive.”
“And?”
“You should rest, Nilesh.”
Sick again. Water and bile in the silver bowl. So violent her shoulders ached. Itching eyes. After-effects of hatha. She had seen them, the hatha eaters, vomiting and crying in the streets. Their faces running sores.
“Janush. Please. How is Bilale? Please?”
Winced. “Her hands … Her hands are … She has lost both of her hands, Nilesh.”
Oh Bilale. Bilale. She asked slowly, “How long have I been sleeping, Janush?”
Janush sighed. “You were wounded in the head, Nilesh. I thought you were dead. Then I thought you were going to die. Then I thought you might stay … as you were. Sleeping, and waking, and screaming. All day and all night. In pain. Blind. Our mistress could not bear it. The sound you made. I gave you hatha, to keep you asleep.”
Eyes itching. Heaviness in her. Tired. Hatha. Janush gave me hatha. Screaming all day and all night in pain. “How long, Janush?”
He said slowly, “A month, Nilesh. You have been sleeping and drugged for almost a month.”
She wept. A month! And other things came back to her. “Lord Emmereth. The Emperor. We went to the Temple.” Her head felt so heavy, confused. “We have not been burned, then. We are … we are safe?”
Almost laughed. “The girl Dyani died in the attack, and two of the guards. The assassins also. Lord Emmereth sent their bodies back to the House of Silver with bags of gold talents and garlands of copperstem around their necks. Lord Emmereth sits in his study, writing long lists of plans. Then he burns them. He has borrowed money from Lord Vorley, to pay the guardsmen’s fee. Lord Vorley came yesterday to demand some of his money back The cetalasophrase was reported to have blossomed early. We celebrated the Festival of Sleeping Eyes. Lord Tardein’s daughter Zoa married Lord Magreth in a gown sewn with a thousand yellow diamonds. The dead High Priestess was crowned Queen of Ith in a gown sewn with human skin. The Lord of Empty Mirrors held a party last night, they say he served wine spiked with hatha while his lamps burned rose oil.” He tried to smile. “But yes, Nilesh. We would seem to be safe.”
“That’s good, then.” So much of everything she did not understand. Why should she understand?
“It’s good.” Janush got up, roughly, choking on his words. “Now that you are awake, I’ll see that some food is sent up to you. You may vomit it up, at first. But you must eat. The sickness will ease, as the hatha leaves you.”
Nilesh thought: but the itching. The feeling in my head. That won’t leave, will it? Everyone knows that, about hatha eaters. Her hand jerked, as she thought it, to her eyes.
“Try not to scratch, Nilesh,” said Janush. “I will see if I can find anything, to soothe the skin. Keep the scratches from becoming inflamed.”
She dozed. Empty. A pounding needing clouded feeling in her head. Craving hatha. And exhausted. The vile sticky feeling of her limbs, that had lain so long in the bed. Jumpy, wanting to run around. She pissed and shat in a bowl in the corner. The effect of getting up made her vomit again. Her head hurt. Her arms hurt. Felt strange to walk.
They brought her some food: bread and creamy cheese and soft red fruit. She ate and felt a little better. Then vomited again. Hatha cravings. Her body jittery, like a fly buzzing round and round a room. Two body servants came to help her wash herself. Change her clothes. She felt better. Ate again. Kept it down. Slept a little, afterwards. Didn’t remember her dreams. Woke in the night, sat up listening to the silence. Been used her whole remembered life to hearing Bilale breathing in her sleep.
Janush didn’t come the next morning. He no longer felt guilty, perhaps, now she was awake. Ate and kept it down, drank water, her lips and skin feeling less dry. Another wash. More clean clothes. Itching madly around her eyes. Already scratched and bleeding. Janush had forgotten the lotion he had promised to send.
It was strange, not having Bilale to tend to. Just lying down. She kept starting up in panic, thinking there must be something she should do. Janush had said something about that … About servants, and masters … But she couldn’t remember. Some things were hazy. It was hard to think, anyway, with the itching pain in her eyes. And her body ached, where the wounds were. Her legs shook from the effort of walking across the room to the pot.
She was lying on the bed staring at the ceiling. The door opened. Janush came in.
“Nilesh. Nilesh. Get up, Nilesh.”
She sat up. Too fast: her head swam and she felt her eyes burn. Sick feeling coming up in her. Fought it down. Janush hanging around the doorway. Disappeared. She went to lie back down again and suddenly the door opened again and Lord Emmereth was there.
He sat down by her bedside on the chair Janush had sat in. Looked at her but didn’t speak. His face was tired. More grey in his hair. Heaviness around his eyes, a thinness to his cheeks. It shocked her. He looked like a tired servant. Not like Lord Emmereth at all.
Still he was silent. He shifted and stirred in his chair, seemed about to speak but said nothing.
“My Lord?” she said at last. A servant of a household should never speak to her Lord without first being spoken to. Never. She should be whipped for it.
He shifted in the chair. “Nilesh. I …” Looked away at the window, ran his hands through his hair. “I am sorry. I owe you great thanks. You and Lady Emmereth, and the child—and our child. I ordered candles lit at the Temple, prayers said for you. Any good a healer or a magic worker could do you. But your head was injured. You may not … You may not entirely recover, Nilesh. Janush
and I … we both fear that.”
Lord Emmereth was the master of her world. If he spoke a thing, it was true.
Lord Emmereth had studied medicine and the mysteries of the body. He would know.
“And Lady Emmereth … Your mistress. She … As you perhaps can understand, she does not wish to see you again.”
No.
Bilale had burned the litter. The green one. After they had been spat on. Nilesh saw the green before her eyes, cool and lovely, like being in the garden after rain.
Burned.
“It reminds me of what happened,” Bilale had told Lord Emmereth. “I cannot look at it. I will not have it in the house.”
Lord Emmereth said, “And so I do not know what to do with you, Nilesh. The proper course for an unwanted servant would be to have you thrown out on the street. But that … as you were harmed in Lady Emmereth’s service … I do not think … I can find you a room somewhere, give you some money. A pension. I did that, after all, for others who were injured on my account.”
A room? Some money? Nilesh said, “Thank you, My Lord.”
“You almost sound as if you are thankful, Nilesh. Curse me, if you want.”
Her eyes were hurting. She rubbed her eyes. Lord Emmereth winced as she did so. Frightening, to see him look so sad and weak. Like Janush did when he’d been drinking. Like he wasn’t the great strong centre of the world.
She jerked her hand down.
A tap on the door. The door keep. Familiar. She should know his name. She couldn’t remember his name.
“My Lord? Forgive me, but you wanted to be told at once, you said. Lord Vorley is here.”
“Darath?” Lord Emmereth got up. His face was changed. More and even less himself. Eager and frightened, both together, light flashing in his eyes. He left without speaking. The door was still open. She heard the clatter of men’s footsteps. His guards.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
They moved her into a room in a lodging house over to the south of the city, a long way from the House of the East, in an area she had never seen before. She went in a hired litter, small and cramped, a bag of her clothing in her arms. The curtains were tightly closed, so she couldn’t see where they went. To stop people seeing her, she wondered, or to stop her seeing the way back? As she left the house she had heard the baby crying. Bilale singing it a song. Janush sat beside her, trying not to press his legs against hers. Awkward and hot, his face dripping sweat. Airless. He fanned himself with his hand.
The Tower of Living and Dying Page 25