by Moira Katson
“Up,” Baradun murmured under his breath. He dropped into the low bow he used when confronted by those who outranked him in the unspoken hierarchy of the court. He was a practical man, Alleyne had learned, willing to bow and scrape if that was what he needed to do. When he came up this time, there was a genial smile on his face. “Lord Nicolaides. A pleasure to see you at court.”
“Ah, if only it were pleasure that brought me here. I have a small matter to discuss with you, if you have but a moment.” His eyes lingered on Alleyne and he nodded, almost a duelist’s nod. “We need not go far, but it is a matter of some delicacy.”
“But of course.” Baradun gave a meaningful nod to Margery and a smile at Alleyne. “I will be back shortly, my dear.”
“My lord.” She dropped into a curtsy. She was certain she had never seen this Lord Nicolaides before, so she was not afraid; still, it did no harm to continue the charade of humility and good manners.
She sat once more as the two strolled away together, heads close in conversation, and looked back at Margery. “Who was that?”
But the maidservant wasn’t paying attention. Her eyes focused behind Alleyne and she swallowed hard before dropping into a deep curtsy.
“Might I join you on the bench?” The voice was sweet and warm, unaccountably intimate.
Alleyne turned her head and felt her mouth drop open. This was one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, though as she searched the woman’s face, she could not put her finger on what it was, exactly, that made it so arresting. She was acceptably pretty, but her nose was a touch too large, with a slight bump in it, the mouth a touch too thin. Deep-set eyes, hair a pleasant but hardly exceptional shade of brown.
There was something in those eyes, though, that said she saw only Alleyne, and the gentle smile on her lips invited immediate trust. She sat next to Alleyne, the deep blue silk offset perfectly by the marble bench, and gave a brilliant smile.
“I hope you don’t mind the deception.” She smiled over to where the young man was still in deep conversation with Lord Baradun. “I had my brother draw Lord Baradun away. I just had to speak to you, you see.”
Alleyne found herself smiling as well. Something about the woman’s humor was infectious. She looked over, and marked the same nose, the same infectious smile. Who were this brother and sister, then, so young and happy, and yet so powerful at court?
“Why would you wish to speak with me?”
The woman laughed, a musical sound. “Why, to learn more about you, of course! You are the woman the Regent himself says might become Empress Consort.” For the first time, something beyond good humor stirred in the woman’s eyes. “You are Melisande, yes?”
“I … yes.” Now was not the time to be wondering why a man who had threatened to kill her was now singing her praises. “And you, my lady? I apologize, I am not knowledgeable about the lords and ladies of the court.”
“I know, my dear.” The woman’s smile was perfect, it did not waver in the slightest. “I am Nerea.”
Chapter Twelve
Alleyne froze. Nerea. This was the woman everyone had believed would become Empress Consort.
The woman’s smile was rueful. “Not so unknowledgeable, then. I see you know my name.”
“I … “ Alleyne tried desperately to think what she might say. “Yes,” she finished lamely. “My lady. I did not know until I came here that—”
“Let us not speak of it.” It was a command.
Alleyne looked down at her lap. “Yes, my Lady.”
“Look at me.” Another command.
Alleyne lifted her eyes unwillingly.
“You are wary now,” Nerea observed. “You wonder at my purpose. Simple curiosity, I assure you.”
Nothing about this woman was simple; Alleyne would stake her life on that. There was a storm behind Nerea’s eyes, however serene her smile. As Alleyne trembled, the woman reached out and drew Alleyne’s veil up, baring her face to the world. Caught out, knowing she must protest and yet terrified that a lord or lady might look over, might see, Alleyne trembled. Brown eyes took in every detail of her face before Nerea, blessedly, let the veil drop.
“You see,” the noblewoman said lightly, “should you wear the crown, you and I will be bound together, is that not so?”
“I … “ … never expected to be here long enough for that to matter. She was still trembling in the wake of having bared her face to the court, and she clenched her hands to keep them still. Had Nerea seen her fear? “I hadn’t thought it, my lady.”
“No?” Nerea’s eyes assessed her. “The court will measure us against one another, you know—it will try to set us at each other’s throats. Ask them, and they will tell you that we are the most elegant, refined court there has ever been in the world. Watch them, and you will see there is nothing they like more than scandal. They are no different than the lords of Hessed, watching dog fights on long winter evenings.” Whatever else the woman might say, her distaste now was undeniably truthful. She was gazing out at the gardens, a bitter twist at the corners of her mouth. “They revel in my downfall, some seeing a chance to rise, themselves—others for the simple excitement of it. They watch me, wait for me to disgrace myself with tears and tantrums.”
“Surely that is not so.” Her mouth was dry. There were only rote pleasantries for her to say. What could one say to this?
Not for the first time, she fought the belief that this had been a terrible mistake, that she should have stuck to the initial plan. How could she possibly pretend to be a noblewoman? The court was watching her eagerly for any misstep, and who knew what they might see?
“You know it is true,” Nerea said simply. She looked over at Alleyne. “Believe me when I say you will not survive here if you expect the best of intentions from the nobility. I lied when I told you I was here for curiosity’s sake, alone. I am curious, of course—how could I not be? But some of it is no more than spite.” She looked over with a satisfied smile.
Alleyne felt her blood run cold.
“I will be damned,” Nerea said softly, “if I give them a moment’s amusement.” She reached out to brush her fingers along the side of Alleyne’s face. “Smile, my dear.”
Alleyne smiled reflexively, but she was aware that she was trembling.
“Afraid?” Nerea asked. Her eyes took in the smile through the veil.
“Yes.” Alleyne’s answer was almost defiant. She lifted her chin. “I don’t know why I’m here.”
“Yes,” Nerea said pleasantly. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” She stood gracefully. “I will be marking your progress, Melisande.”
Anything is worth it to keep Aiqasal out of the hands of some baseborn populist Would the Regent welcome Nerea back to her place as Darion’s presumed consort, welcoming the rival he knew over the one he did not? Was Nerea the standard against which Alleyne was to be measured?
“My lady, if none of us is selected … “ Alleyne heard her voice trail away, but she did not know what her question was.
“I will not plan for that,” Nerea said simply. Her eyes focused over Alleyne’s head. “Lord Baradun. A pleasure, as always. I have been delighted to make Melisande’s acquaintance. Nico, leave Lord Baradun in peace, now.” She held out a hand to her brother, who came to offer her his arm. For a moment, two identical pairs of brown eyes studied Alleyne, and then the two of them swept away, the blue in their robes matching perfectly, both of them elegant, self-assured.
“What did she say?” Baradun’s voice was urgent. “What did you say?”
Alleyne looked back at him, and saw the worry in his eyes. Nerea, once a powerful voice in the court, was now a powerful unknown.
“Why did he set her aside?” The question was impolite, and she bowed her head. “I apologize, my Lord.”
“It’s a natural question, under the circumstances.” He was smiling wryly. “Come, walk with me. It’s time for you to practice a bit more, I think.” He smiled at Alleyne’s expression and stood to offer
her his arm. “It will get easier in time, my dear.”
Biting back the sentiment that this was not the sort of skill she wanted to learn, and little more than an infuriating pastime until she got her shot at the Emperor, Alleyne stood meekly and looped her arm through his. It was a little easier this time to swing her legs so that the heavy skirts swirled out instead of catching around her ankles, but as soon as she allowed herself a moment of self-congratulation, her careful momentum fell apart.
She bit back an oath.
“Pause a moment,” Baradun suggested. “As if you’re enjoying the flowers.”
No one watching her face was going to think she was enjoying the flowers, but thankfully, the veil meant that no one could see her face from a distance. Alleyne looked around herself dutifully before beginning to walk once more.
“No one knows why the Emperor set Nerea aside,” Baradun said quietly.
It was all Alleyne could do not to trip again. She had not expected an answer to this question.
“Trust me when I say a great many people are asking the question, however.” Baradun stared straight ahead, a smile on his face as if he were discussing nothing more than the weather. He reached up with his free hand to brush at the dark green leaves of an orange tree. “Some say he tired of her, others say it is the magic.”
“She’s a mage?” Alleyne looked over in interest.
“Yes, but it hardly matters.” Baradun was still lost in thought. “It was Remus who abhorred magic, not Darion. To my mind, they’re missing a rather more important question, one I would guess Nerea, herself, is well aware of: why hadn’t he already married her? If not that, why had he not taken her as a lover?”
Alleyne blinked. “I … she seems as if she would make a fine Empress Consort.”
“Indeed,” Baradun agreed blandly. “She is beautiful, and well-mannered, and famously intelligent. I’ve no doubt that she was taught by the very finest tutors. The Mikandros family is quite proud, very … serious. One really must ask what reservations he held. Surely it must be a very important flaw, if it is to be measured against the rest of her character.”
It could be nothing. It could be something. Lost in thought, Alleyne hardly heard the words coming out of her mouth: “I don’t remember her.”
She froze. Baradun had looked over at her curiously.
“… Family crest,” Alleyne finished, her mind racing. “I don’t remember her family crest. I unloaded cargo for many of the noble families, but I never saw that seal.” She swallowed. “Perhaps I should not speak of unloading cargo.”
Baradun was, thankfully, diverted. “Let others spend their time trying to pretend that the commoners they bring aren’t common. The Emperor requested a common-born bride.” The man laughed. “I assume he’s aware of what the word means.”
“Mmm.” Alleyne tried to calm her racing heart. She was half-tempted to slip away now, try to make her way into the Emperor’s quarters and do what she’d come to do. Now was the time—now, before she was any further turned about by this court. Every day, every moment, was no more than a chance to betray herself.
“And let others worry about Nerea’s influence on Darion,” Baradun added. “I do not think she has it any longer. What worries me is wondering what she might do if she believes the same.”
Alleyne was nodding when she felt the sudden stillness. Even the garden itself seemed to have hushed with that dire prediction, as if every person present had heard Baradun’s words. Panic seized her—were they listening to her, as well? What had they seen, what did they know?
She smiled wryly at the stab of superstition. That was impossible.
But the hush was real, and she felt almost a chill in the air. The silence had swept through the garden like the breath of Lycoris and now the place seemed to hold its breath, waiting. Alleyne looked around herself. The prickle on the back of her neck told here that there was a hunter here. She had learned that lesson as a child: to watch the currents in the people around her, use them to judge threats rather than relying solely on herself.
There was a hunter.
Her brows raised when she saw the source of the disturbance. It was only a young man, his handsome features arranged in a smile. There was no genuine courtesy there—cynicism, perhaps—but there was amusement. The humor, at least, was real. His robes were a brilliant green, long-sleeved despite the heat, and his belt was gold, with the wheat sheaf of Elius.
Alleyne frowned, trying to remember what green meant. The priests of Elius wore white, and their belts were hempen rope.
Who was this man?
His gaze swept the garden and came to rest first on Lady Dianne and the potential consort, and then on Baradun and Alleyne. Just for a moment. And then he turned and strolled down one of the paths with his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of a careless midday jaunt.
“Who is he?”
Baradun’s eyes followed the man. “That is Jarin, His Majesty’s truthspeaker.”
He never goes anywhere without that godsdamned truthspeaker of his. She looked at the man with new appreciation. “He’s young.”
“He is.” Baradun nodded. “Prodigiously talented, or so they say. One assumes those sayings must be true, for him to be where he is.”
“And the green?”
“All truthspeakers wear it.” He tilted his head. “Did you not have any beyond the third wall?”
“What secrets did we have that anyone would want?” The irony was not lost on her.
Baradun nodded. “Well, then. You should know he’s feared—though I’m sure you saw that. All truthspeakers are feared.”
“They look at him as if he could see their secrets at a glance,” Alleyne observed.
“Perhaps he can. The Truthspeaker’s art is carefully guarded. I must say, however, that I doubt he has that particular skill—or if he has it, he does not use it.”
“Why d’you think so?”
“He doesn’t have the look of a man who has seen so many secrets.”
Alleyne considered this, watching the Truthspeaker from the corner of her eye. The more time she spent with Baradun, the more she found she admired him. He was a man who watched more than he spoke, who drew careful conclusions and had a keen eye for humanity.
It was dangerous for her to admire someone like him, she remembered. He was a danger to her, whether he knew it or not.
And she was here to learn all she could of the court. Any detail might be the one that tipped events in her favor. “I had not thought truthspeakers followed Elius,” she said simply.
“Most of them don’t. Almost all of them align with Alogo or Lycoris, but it isn’t a skill learned in the temples. They can choose any god they wish—or no god, I suppose.” He lifted his shoulders. “It’s one of the reasons he isn’t trusted, however. ‘What kind of truthspeaker follows Elius?’” He smiled wryly at the sentiment. “As if any of us knew about their ways.”
“I should think bringing the truth out requires a certain dedication to the light.”
Baradun looked at her with renewed interest. “Yes, I should imagine so. An interesting thought, Melisande, most interesting. But …”
She knew where this led. She smiled. “Another one I should not speak out loud in mixed company?”
He smiled. “Just so. Shall we go in? Mind your skirts, now.”
Chapter Thirteen
In the wake of Darion’s edict, there was silence. Two days after Alleyne met Nerea, the women who arrived at the Gate of Zuaba were sorted, as were some who had come from the farms close to the city. They were brought into the palace in the dead of night, placed in chambers set aside specially for their use, and the court waited.
And waited.
There was no announcement from the Emperor. What his plans were, no one knew, or, if they did, no one would say.
The days wore on, and Alleyne, to her great frustration, was given no chance to see Darion, much less be alone with him. She had come to dread the moment when she would co
me face to face with him at last. The fear consumed her like a sickness, nausea stabbing through her when she remembered her purpose. She was not sure how long she could bear it, and when Baradun patted her hand and counseled patience, she had to work not to snap at him.
He was right to counsel it, for the selection of the Empress Consort was not the only matter occupying the palace. Preparations for the ambassador’s visit, now little over a month away, continued apace. Various sections of the palace were closed off for renovations and cleaning, much to the disgust of the servants.
“How are the cooks supposed to prepare the Emperor’s food, then?” Margery asked one morning, as she poured a cup of strong black tea to accompany Alleyne’s breakfast. She tapped at the map Baradun had given Alleyne, pointing out the Emperor’s kitchens.
“I’m sure he’ll have a plan,” Alleyne pointed out. She chewed at her thumbnail as she studied the maze of corridors and audience chambers. “Surely he has to be involved in deciding what gets shut down and what doesn’t.”
“You think the Emperor spends his time on that?” Margery gave her a look. “No. It’ll be the steward, or one of the lords trying to curry favor, and in the meantime, the servants’ll be running from the other kitchens.” She gave a snort. “As if the ambassador was going to do a tour of the Emperor’s private kitchens. I ask you.”
Alleyne smiled and sat back in her seat, wrapping her fingers around the cup of tea.
“You keep practicing.” Margery pointed to the dinner set laid out on the table, and jerked her head at the door of Baradun’s receiving room. She picked up her tray and rolled her eyes. “I’m off to give them their tea.”
A low, curious murmur, a constant from the past two days, emanated from the doorway as she left. Safely concealed behind a door and carved screens, Alleyne watched and considered. Having received the Regent’s approval to present Alleyne to Darion—whenever the Emperor should deign to inspect the women personally—Baradun apparently felt no compunction to sate the other nobles’ curiosity. That didn’t stop them from trying to wheedle their way into his favor, however. They had been arriving in a steady stream since the day Alleyne had met Nerea in the garden, an incident Margery told her was the subject of intense gossip, with stories ranging from mundane to implausible to outright insanity. Unless I just didn’t notice her sprout wings and speak with the voice of a demon, Margery had said prosaically as she reported one of the tales.