“Yes, please. Anna fetched it from the milliner’s this morning and likely left it in the empress’s bedroom.”
“And how about I bring a bite for you to eat, my lady? You haven’t had anything all day.”
“I can’t eat.”
“As you wish. I will be back as soon as I can.”
Amilia went to the window. From this vantage point, she could just see the east gate, through which scores of people poured. Men, women, and children of all classes entered the outer portcullis. The gathering throng emitted a low murmur, like some gigantic beast growling just out of sight. There was a knock at the door and in stepped the seamstress with the gown in her arms as if it were a newborn baby.
“That was fast,” Amilia said.
“Forgive me, Your Ladyship, it’s not quite done, but the royal tutor just stopped by and said I should finish up here, where I can size it to Her Eminence’s neck. It’s not how things are done, you see. It’s not right to make the great lady sit and wait on me like some dress dummy. Still, the tutor said if I didn’t do as he said, then he—” She paused and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He said he’d have me horsewhipped.”
Amilia put a hand over her mouth to hide a smile. “He was not serious about the whipping, I can assure you, but he was quite right. This is too important to worry about inconveniencing Her Eminence. Get to work.”
They dressed her once more in the gown and the seamstress worked feverishly, stitching in the rest of the collar. Amilia had begun to resume her pacing when there was another knock on the door. With the seamstress and maids occupied, Amilia opened it herself and was startled to find the Earl of Chadwick.
“Good evening, Lady Amilia,” he said, bowing graciously. “I was hoping for a word with Her Eminence prior to the commencement.”
“This is not a good time, sir,” she said. Amilia could hardly believe she was saying no to a noble lord. “The empress is indisposed at the moment. Please understand.”
“But of course. My apologies. Perhaps I could have a word with you, then?”
“Me? Ah, well—yes, I suppose that would be all right.” Amilia stepped outside, closing the door behind her.
Amilia expected the earl would make his issue known right then, but instead, he began to walk down the corridor, and it took a moment for her to realize he expected her to follow.
“The empress is well, I trust?”
“Yes, my lord,” she said, glancing back at the door to the dressing room, which was getting farther and farther away.
“I’m pleased to hear that,” the earl said, and then suddenly added, “How rude of me. How are you feeling, milady?”
“I’m as well as can be expected, sir.”
If Amilia had not been so consumed with thoughts of the empress, she would have found it funny that an earl was embarrassed by not immediately inquiring about her own health.
“And it’s beautiful weather for the festivities today, is it not?”
“Yes, sir, it is.” She forced her voice to remain calm.
Nimbus, Anna, and the cobbler all appeared and rushed down the hall. Nimbus paused briefly, giving her a worried look before entering the dressing room.
“Allow me to be blunt,” the earl said.
“Please do, sir.” Amilia’s anxiety neared the breaking point.
“Everyone knows you’re the closest to the empress. She confides in no one but you. Can you—Have you—Does the empress ever speak of me?”
Amilia raised her eyebrows in surprise. Under ordinary circumstances, the earl’s hesitancy could have seemed quaint and even charming, but at that moment, she prayed he would just get it out and be done with it.
“Please, I know I’m being terribly forward, but I’m a forward man. I would like to know if she has ever thought of me, and if so, is it to her favor?”
“My lord, I can honestly say she has never once mentioned you to me.”
The earl paused to consider this.
“I’m not sure how I should interpret that. I’m certain she sees so many suitors. Can you do me a favor, milady?”
“If it is in my power, sir.”
“Could you speak to her about gracing me with a dance this evening at the ball after the banquet? I would be incredibly grateful.”
“Her Eminence won’t be attending the ball or the banquet, sir. She never dines in public and has many matters that require her attention.”
“Never?”
“I’m afraid not, sir.”
“I see.” The earl paused in thought as Amilia rapidly drummed the tips of her fingers together.
“If you please, sir, I do need to be seeing to the empress.”
“Of course. Forgive me for taking up your valuable time. Still, if you should perhaps mention me to Her Eminence and let her know I would very much like to visit with her …”
“I will, Your Lordship. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”
Amilia hurried back and found that the seamstress had finished the collar, which was tall and did indeed keep her chin up. The addition looked horribly uncomfortable. Modina, of course, didn’t seem to care. The cobbler, however, was still working on her shoe.
“What’s going on here?” she asked.
“The new heel he put on was taller than the other,” Nimbus told her. “He tried to resize, but in his haste he over-compensated and now it is shorter.”
Amilia turned to Anna. “How long do we have?”
“About fifteen minutes,” she replied gloomily.
“What about the headdress? I don’t see it.”
“It was not in the bedroom, or hall, my lady.”
Anna’s face drained of color. “Oh dear Maribor, forgive me. I forgot all about it!”
“You forgot? Nimbus!”
“Yes, my lady?”
“Run to the milliner and fetch the headdress, and when I say run, I mean sprint, do you hear me?”
“At once, my lady, but I don’t know where the milliner shop is.”
“Get a page to escort you.”
“The pages are all busy with the ceremony.”
“I don’t care! Grab one at sword point if necessary. Find one who knows the way and tell him it’s by order of the empress and don’t let anyone stop you. Now move!”
“Anna!” Amilia shouted.
“Yes, milady.” The maid was trembling, in tears. “I’m so sorry, milady, truly I am.”
“We don’t have time for apologies or tears. Go to the empress’s bedroom and fetch her day shoes. She’ll have to wear them instead. Do it now!”
Amilia slammed the door behind them and gave it a solid kick in frustration. She leaned her forehead against the oak as she concentrated on calming down. The gown would cover the shoes. No one would know the difference. The headdress was another matter. They had worked on it for weeks and the regents would notice its absence. The milliner’s shop was out in the city proper, and she had left it to Anna to pick up. She could really blame only herself. She should have asked about it earlier and was furious at her incompetence. She kicked the door once more, then turned around and slumped to the floor, her gown ballooning about her.
The ceremony would begin in minutes but there was still time. Modina’s speech was scheduled to be last and Amilia was certain she would have at least another twenty, perhaps even thirty, minutes while the others addressed the crowd. Across from her, Modina sat stiff and straight in her royal gown of white and gold, her long neck held high by the new collar. There was something different about Modina. She was watching Amilia with interest. She was actually studying her.
“Are you going to be all right?” she asked the empress.
Immediately, the light in her eyes vanished and the blank stare returned.
Amilia sighed.
Regent Ethelred spoke for nearly an hour from the balcony, which was decorated in colorful bunting, although Amilia hardly heard a word of what he said. Something about the grandness and might of the New Empire and how Maribor had ordained that it would unite all of
humanity once again. He spoke of the New Empire’s military successes in the north and the bloodless annexation of Alburn and Dunmore. He followed this with the news of an expected surplus in wheat and barley and an end to the elven problem. They would no longer be allowed to roam free, and instead of being turned into useless slaves, they would simply disappear. The New Empire was gathering wayward elves from all over the realm. How they would be disposed of, he did not say. The massive crowd below cheered their approval and their combined voices roared.
Amilia sat in the staging room, her arms wrapped about her waist. She could not even pace now. The empress herself appeared unconcerned by the approaching presentation and sat calmly as ever in her shimmering gown and massive headdress, which mimicked a fanning peacock.
Nimbus had managed excellent time reaching the milliner, although in the process he had apparently terrified a young page with threats. They also had good fortune in that the ceremony had started late due to a last-minute dispute about the order of speakers. Amilia had managed to secure the headdress on Modina just minutes before the first started.
The chancellor had spoken first, then Ethelred, and finally Saldur. With each word, Amilia felt it harder and harder to breathe. Finally, Ethelred’s speech concluded and Saldur stepped forward for the formal introduction. The crowd hushed, as they knew the expected moment was at hand.
“Nearly a thousand years have passed since the breaking of the great Empire of Novron,” he told the multitude below. “We stand here today as witnesses to the enduring power of Maribor and his promise to Novron that his seed will reign forever. Neither treachery nor time can break this sacred covenant. Allow me to introduce to you proof of this. Welcome with me now the once simple farm maid, the slayer of the elven beast, the Heir of Novron, the high priestess of the Nyphron Church, Her Most Serene and Royal Grand Imperial Eminence, Empress Modina Novronian!”
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Amilia could feel the vibration of their voices even where she sat. She looked at Modina, pleading and hopeful. The empress’s face was calm as she stood up straight and gracefully walked forward, the train of her dress trailing behind her.
When she stepped upon the balcony—when the people finally saw her face—the noise of the crowd did the impossible. It exploded. The unimaginably boisterous cheering was deafening, like a continuous roll of thunder that vibrated the very stone of the castle. It went on and on and Amilia wondered if it would ever stop.
In the face of the tumult, surely Modina could not endure. What effect would this have on her fragile countenance? Amilia wished Saldur had allowed her to use the rope or accompany her onto the balcony. Amilia’s only consolation was knowing that Modina was likely frozen, her mind retreating to that dark place she had so long lived in, the place she crawled to hide from the world.
Amilia prayed the crowd would quiet. She hoped Ethelred or Saldur would do something to silence them, but neither moved and the crowd continued to roar with no end in sight. Then something unexpected happened. Modina slowly raised her hands, making a gentle quieting motion. Almost immediately, the crowd fell silent. Amilia could not believe her eyes.
“My beloved and cherished loyal subjects.” She spoke with a loud, clear, almost musical voice that Amilia had not heard at practice. “It is wonderful to finally meet you.”
The crowd roared anew, even louder than before. Modina allowed them to cheer for a full minute before raising her hands and silencing them again.
“As some of you may have heard, I have not been well. The battle with Rufus’s Bane left me weakened, but with the help of my closest friend, the grand imperial secretary, Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale, I am feeling much better.”
Amilia stopped breathing at the mention of her name. That was not in the speech.
“I owe Amilia the greatest debt of gratitude for her efforts on my behalf, for I should not be here at all if not for her strength, wisdom, and kindness.”
Amilia closed her eyes and cringed.
“While I am feeling better, I am still easily exhausted and I must keep my strength in order to devote it to ensuring our defense against invaders, a bountiful harvest, and our return to the glory and prosperity that was Novron’s Empire,” she finished with an elaborate wave of her hand, turned, and left the balcony with elegant grace and poise.
The crowd erupted once more into cheers, which continued long after Modina had returned inside.
“I swear I didn’t tell her to say that.” Amilia pleaded with Saldur.
“Because the empress publicly named you her friend and the hero of the realm, you’ve become famous,” Saldur replied. “This will make it almost impossible for me to replace you—almost. But don’t worry,” he continued thoughtfully. “With such a fine display, I would be a fool to do anything other than praise you. I’m once more impressed. I wouldn’t have expected this from you. You’re more clever than I thought, but I should have guessed that already. I’ll have to remember this. Good work, my dear. Good work, indeed.”
“Yes, that was excellent!” Ethelred said. “We can now put the fiasco of the coronation behind us. I can’t say I approve of the self-aggrandizement, Amilia, but seeing what you’ve done with her, I can’t begrudge you a little recognition. In fact, we should consider rewarding her for a job well done, Sauly.”
“Indeed,” he replied. “We’ll have to consider what that should be. Come, Lanis, let’s proceed to the banquet.” The two of them left, talking back and forth about the ceremony as they went.
Amilia moved to the empress’s side, took her hand, and escorted her back to her quarters. “You’ll be the death of me yet,” she told her.
CHAPTER 16
THE BATTLE OF RATIBOR
Hadrian sat in the rain. Heavy chains shackled his ankles and wrists to a large metal stake driven into the ground. All day, and throughout the night, he waited in the mud, watching the lazy movements of the Nationalist army. They were just as slow to decide his fate as they were to attack. Horses walked past, meals were called, and men grumbled about the rain and the mud. The gray light faded into night and regret consumed him.
He should have escaped, even if it had meant shedding blood. He might have been able to save Arista’s life. He could have warned her that the Nationalists would not cooperate and would have her call off the attack. Now even if she succeeded, the victory would be short-lived and she would face the gallows or a beheading.
“Gill!” he shouted as he saw the sentry walking by in his soaked cloak.
“Ah yes!” Gill laughed, coming closer with a grin. “If it isn’t the grand marshal. Not so grand now, are you?”
“Gill, you have to help me,” he shouted over the roar of the rain. “I need you to get a message to—”
Gill bent down. “Now why would I help the likes of you? You made a fool out of me. Sergeant Milford weren’t too pleased neither. He has me running an all-night shift to show his displeasure.”
“I have money,” Hadrian told him eagerly. “I could pay you.”
“Really? And where is this money, in some chest buried on some distant mountain, or merely in another pair of pants?”
“Right here in the purse on my belt. I have at least ten gold tenents. You can have it all if you just promise me to take a message to Ratibor.”
Gill looked at Hadrian’s belt curiously. “Sure,” he said. Reaching down, he untied the purse. He weighed it in his hands. The bouncing produced a jingle. He pulled open the mouth and poured out a handful of coins. “Whoa! Look at that. You weren’t joshing. There’s really gold in here. One, two, three … damn! Well, thank you, Marshal.” He made a mock salute. “This will definitely take the sting out of having to stand two watches.” He started to walk away.
“Wait!” Hadrian told him. “You need to hear the message.”
Gill kept walking.
“You need to tell Arista not to attack,” he shouted desperately, but Gill continued on his way, swinging the purse, until his figure was obscured by the
rain.
Hadrian cursed and kicked the stake hard. He collapsed on his side, lost in frustration. He remembered the look on Arista’s face, how hopeful she had been. It had never crossed her mind that he could fail. When he had first met the princess, he had thought she was arrogant and egotistical, like all nobles—grown-up brats, greedy and self-centered.
When did that change?
Images flooded back to him. He remembered her hanging out her wet undergarments at Sheridan. How stubbornly she had slept under the horse blanket that first night outside, crying herself to sleep. He and Royce had both been certain she would cancel the mission the next day. He saw her sleeping in the skiff that morning when they had drifted down the Bernum, and remembered how she had practically announced her identity to everyone when drunk in Dunstan’s home. She had always been their patron and their princess, but somewhere along the way she had become more than that.
As he sat there, pelted with rain and helpless in the mud, he was tormented with visions of her death. He saw her lying facedown in the filthy street, her dress torn, her pale skin stained red with blood. The Imperialists would likely hoist her body above Central Square or perhaps drag it behind a horse to Aquesta. Maybe they would cut her head off and send it to Alric as a warning.
In a flash of anger and desperation, he began digging in the mud, trying to dislodge the stake. He dug furiously, pulled hard, then dug again—wrenching the stake back and forth. A guard spotted him and used a second stake on the chains connected to his wrists to stretch him out flat.
“Still trying to get away and cause mischief, are ya?” the guard said. “Well, that ain’t gonna happen. You killed Gaunt. You’ll die for that, but until then, you’ll stay put.” The guard spat in his face, but the effect was hardly what he sought, as the rain rinsed it away. It crushed Hadrian to know that it was Arista’s rain washing him clean. Lying there, he saw the first sign of dawn lightening the morning sky and his heart sank further.
Emery could see the horizon as the faint light of dawn separated sky from building and tree. Rain still fell and the sound of crickets was replaced by early-morning stirrings. Merchants appeared on the street far earlier than usual, pushing carts and rolling wagons toward the West End Square. They neglectfully left them blocking the entrances from King’s Street and Legends Avenue.
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