by Scott Rhine
He stared at the sketch for a long time, admiring it.
Sarajah waved her hand between him and the page. “Are you prepared for Serog?”
He shook his head to clear it. “I only need to stall her long enough for the grain ships to arrive on Midrea, the farthest island to the southeast. They will travel all day tomorrow. I only need to hold the dragon nine hours and we will have won this leg of the competition.”
“How will you stall her that long?”
He laid a finger aside his nose. “Leave an old man his secrets. Now, we must both get our requisite four hours’ sleep. Tomorrow will be long.”
When he lay in his bed, clutching the pillow book, dreams came quickly. Lady Evershade stood on the floor of the ballroom in her folded, gold dress and fans. He strode up to her in his regalia and asked, “What would you have from me tonight? You have given so much. What would you have?”
“To dance with you in the flesh, just once.” Her pale-blue eyes pinned him.
“Can’t here in the antechamber be enough?” he asked, ashamed.
“If it must.”
At her will, music played. “You’ve been practicing dream weaving,” he noted.
She moved closer to him and placed his hand on the small of her back. “It’s time for you to practice the dance.”
“What’s your name?”
“Evershade.”
“That’s your dead husband’s name. Who were your before he chose you?”
“Corrie.”
“Like the seashell?”
“No, like the ancient word for heart.”
Now the caption on the card made sense to him: the Secret Heart. He placed his face next to hers and knew it to be true.
She showed him an old dance called the Peacock: a slow box step with a few hand movements and a dip at the end.
Holding her halfway to the floor, he asked, “There is nothing more I can offer?”
She licked her lips. “With such a tiring event tomorrow, you will need rest before sailing. I have heard that an afternoon nap is just the tonic to invigorate a man.”
“Yes,” he said not wanting to release his grip. “I have heard so myself.”
He bent for a kiss, and as their lips parted, she vanished, leaving him holding an origami dress on a giant chessboard. On the dress was a single word: ‘rest.’
****
The coronation itself was fairly brief. As a sovereign and high priestess, Sarajah placed the crown on his head. Unfortunately, the crown had been worn by Myron III. An avalanche of lust swept over him as the corrupted metal whispered depravity in his ears. The innocent, new girl, Majah, smiled dazzlingly at him. Nightglow gazed at him adoringly. Beautiful, willing women were not helpful in this state. Only locking eyes with Lady Evershade helped. Remembering the pillow book and planning his nap kept him sane. He focused on the diagrams and the steps to construct what Pinetto viewed as the ultimate protective construct. He stressed that interlocking self-similarity, the repetition of the pattern within the pattern, made the hexagram strongest.
The speeches that followed were interminable. Every member of Council rambled on about how they knew Pagaose was the right man from the start. People he’d never met stood up and praised his name. Even a child from the orphan ship presented him with a gift, and the boy kept forgetting his lines. It stretched on forever. He had to smile and wave to all of them, repeating the word ‘jam’ to himself. He had to be careful not to speak the word aloud because Scribbles stood ready to transcribe every decree and promise uttered on this momentous day.
Then came the long line of well-wishers and hand-kissing from the nobles, Fortunately, Pagaose wore gloves. When Komiko touched his hand to kiss his ring, she slipped him what could have been a folded handkerchief. “Our chaperone said you were sweating and thought you might need something to wipe your brow.”
He peeked and saw the distinctive bow of a pair of Lady Evershade’s frillies, and they were warm. His heart nearly exploded. He glanced over to the noblewoman on her palanquin. She nodded slowly. That meant she wasn’t wearing any protection over her virtue.
He tucked the silk underwear into his left glove as deeply as possible. When the fabric touched the back of his hand, a wash of pure devotion and admiration swept over him. He choked in relief. “Convey my dee-deepest thanks.”
“Would you like another pair?” Komiko asked, throatily.
He was certain she and Ember had generated their own emotional imprints on her underwear. “No, but I appreciate the offer.” Then handlers tried to move her along. Pagaose held up a hand. “She is here on behalf of another of my dancers as well, and both have my gratitude for services rendered. She may stay for as long as she likes.”
The witch smiled and bowed her head in humility for the first time since he’d met her. She said, “Nightglow did all the legwork on the Sacred Amber. Ember and I wanted to give you something from just us.” She handed him a single pearl floating in the center of a wire cage. “We charged the pearl as part of the experiment. These wire shapes were a pair of old-style ward earrings and a matching necklace I had. Ember bent them into a ball. We wanted you to wear this as a symbol to show everyone what you’ve accomplished in the field of magic.”
He tied the necklace chain to his belt so that all the supplicants could admire it. “You are always welcome in my house, ladies. I have arranged for you to be acting dean until Lord Pinetto’s return. We’ve discussed his plans and, after this quest, he has requested a long sabbatical to celebrate the birth of this first child . . . and every child thereafter. In the meantime, you may oversee the construction of and reside at his private estate. Feel free to name your own research assistants.”
Komiko bowed, unable to speak. She literally kissed his feet.
Uncertain what to do, he looked to Niftkin, who stood like a statue at his side. The guard gestured to Nightglow, and the two of them guided the overwhelmed witch away.
The calm brought on by the lady’s gift helped him make innocuous comments and call each supplicant by name. Considering the pearl on his belt, he wondered about placing this object inside the amber bowl at the center of a hexagram. The sphere-in-a-sphere model made him wonder what would happen if he added a third level of similarity, a set of six hexagrams with a large one at the center. What extra-dimensional shape might that describe? If two layers of similarity made the ward last fourteen times longer, how long might three layers last? This topic filled his thoughts as the river of inanity washed by.
The representative from the church of Osos wanted to know if people reading the Book of Dawn should be excommunicated. Pagaose asked, “Does this change the color of their eyes?”
“No, sire.”
“Does it dim the Compass Star?”
“No, highness.”
“Doesn’t it say in the book that Archanos served five hundred years as guardian of the shrine because Osos demanded his restitution?”
“I have heard, sire.”
Pagaose shrugged. “Then I see no conflict with the Church of Osos. Their adherents still acknowledge Osos as supreme. The author of their book is my trusted wizard, and their queen crowned me. Truth only strengthens a holy people.”
The bishop dipped his head in acceptance.
The Mandibosian Ambassador seemed the most nervous. “Sire, the grain you requested has been sent. I beg your forgiveness for my daughter’s crude behavior—”
Pagaose raised a hand. “I have discussed this issue with the magistrates and issued you a formal apology.”
“Me, an apology? Whatever do you mean, sire?”
“A child of fifteen may not be accepted for the Dance or enter into any legal contract, no matter how much I desired her wit and enthusiasm. Nonetheless, she will be eligible for next year’s celebration. By way of recompense, she may continue to assist the other girls. Her aid is greatly appreciated because our chaperone is impaired. If Lady Evershade had been able to catch your daughter at the event, she might not have falle
n.”
“You wrote this in a letter?”
“To your king. I sent a copy to your home and another to the military commander who arrives soon from your homeland.”
“His majesty is merciful.”
“Your nation is most valued, and the girl is an excellent game player.”
As the lowest-ranking and most recently named noble, Pinetto bowed before him last. The guards closed the doors and servants rushed about like scene-changers in a play between acts. For several minutes, Pagaose was able to discuss meta-ward theory with the young wizard. “His majesty’s idea is sound, but there’s no way one couple could do all the remote points. There would also need to be a similarity link to tie them all together. Maybe you should start with a set of three triple-wards at the points forming a meta-tetrahedron.”
“But to get the reinforcement loop, we need the male triangle overlaying the female,” Pagaose said.
Pinetto smiled. “Highness, you can’t know how much it means to me to have someone argue with me in math constructs I created. People have been calling me crazy for months.”
“The gods have trained humanity to suppress what they do not already know, to mock what they cannot control. Their system survives only if things stay the same. Do you know what I value most about you?”
“I blow things up?” guessed the wizard.
“You ask questions.”
“What good does that do?”
Pagaose whispered, “The right question answers itself. A good question tells you something another has hidden. And the best question challenges you where you have been blind in your own preconceptions.”
Then came the feast—twenty unending courses. How many types of soup and bread and aspic were there? He laughed and nodded at all the right places. Yet the crown weighed more with each passing bit. After the first dessert, Lady Evershade excused herself due to her pain.
Sarajah also bid Pagaose good-bye. She warned him, “Don’t trust Majah. Until I saw her talking with her hands, I didn’t see the resemblance. But now, the nose, the voice patterns . . . I think she’s related to Vinspar.”
“The Imperial general? Clever,” the emperor noted. “That makes her family third-tier. My enemy snuck a pretty she-wolf in with the sheep. To what end?”
“I didn’t press her because I didn’t want to show your cards.”
“Thank you for your warning. Are you sure I can’t see you off?”
“With everyone in the world watching you? It’s best you not tip off the spies.”
Pagaose laid his hand on her forehead. “May you and your people find success in your mission as well as happiness.”
She gave him a brief kiss on the cheek. “Tashi says you were like a father to him. I just wanted you to know that you did a good job.”
The Archanos expedition returned to the palace for one last check of their rooms and to collect the prisoners.
When Majah left the room to lead one of the orphans to the privy, Pagaose followed. She held the child’s borrowed dress jacket while she waited for him in the hall. The emperor looked the girl over: wholesome, simply dressed, with a ponytail and a ring of white flowers in her hair. Other than height and a slight regal bearing, her features may have been average in her homeland; however, the bloom of youth made her glow with promise. He sighed and gestured to the guards that he wished a word in private. Having cornered his quarry, he approached for a word. “Why would a daughter of a northern lord come to my court?”
Majah’s hand trembled so much that the child’s jacket slipped from her grasp. The emperor retrieved it. “P-pardon?” she stammered.
“Your father is Lord Vinspar, is he not?”
She knelt and extended her arms for the shackles.
He shook his head. “Failure to choose the proper parents is no crime.”
“I didn’t know their plans for sinking the ship, sire.”
“Hmm. Then answer truthfully and we might come to an arrangement. What are your goals?”
She breathed so rapidly he feared she might pass out. “My mission had three steps. First, I am to determine whether you are a good ruler. Second, I should verify the authenticity of your copy of the Book of Dominion. If you pass these two tests, my father would be willing to defect to your camp . . . given certain assurances.”
“And how do I fare so far?”
“No one speaks a word against you except those who want the throne for themselves. In my opinion, this only improves your report.”
He gave a polite bow. “I try to displease at least one member of the aristocracy with each action.” She covered her face to hide the giggle. “If I let you examine the Book, will you tell me his terms?”
Her mouth dropped open. “You’re serious?”
“Tomorrow morning, I can have Lord Ashford escort you to peruse it. One page in five should be enough evidence.”
“It should, and more than I hoped. Why, highness?”
“There doesn’t need to be blood and suffering.”
“You give your word?”
He nodded.
“Then I shall tell you his terms now. My father wishes a retirement home, a royal pardon, ten thousand gold weeks, and . . . for the emperor to marry his daughter.”
He sighed. “How do you feel about this requirement?”
“His majesty is most handsome and kind, but in honesty, making me full-blooded Imperial would be enough to secure my . . . hand.”
“How many men does he bring with him in this moral awakening?”
“A full ship’s worth of Sandarac’s troops.”
“Tempting,” he said, gazing at the girl’s flawless face. “Would first wife be a requirement or would a lesser title do?”
The girl looked down. “We have heard that his highness favors the widow Togg. Your first wife, you may choose for love. My father will understand this, as he did the same. But after her, my child must have first claim to the throne. I should bother you for no more than one . . . unless it pleases you to do so.”
“The money is too much. I will double whatever he has saved from his tenure with the Pretender, no more. I am not a rich man, but there will be plenty of opportunity for profit in the reunified empire.”
“His officers’ bribes must be paid from his tribute.”
“If I double their savings, and throw in a spot at the Dance for the unmarried officers?”
“It seems fair, but he is the final arbiter. I would gladly relay such a counteroffer.”
“Lady, however my negotiations with Sandarac turn out, I will keep your offer foremost in my mind. How would I indicate to your father my acceptance of his terms?”
“I will whisper this in your ear once you have taken my virtue.”
****
After the third dessert, which included a fire juggler, the emperor rose from the banquet table. “I implore you to enjoy these festivities and celebrate the restoration of our empire. Sadly, no one gave me the day off. Tonight, I sail to confer with Sandarac at sundown in an attempt to avert a civil war. Since I will need my wits about me well into the night, my physicians have advised a nap.”
Upon entering his palanquin on the street, Pagaose immediately removed the offending crown and the onerous fur cloak. Through the open curtain, he said to Scribbles, “I need a lining for this crown before I leave. Bare metal or fabrics worn by another shall not touch my brow again.”
The scribe nodded and accepted the crown with gloved hands. “As you will, sire.”
Pagaose waved patiently to all the commoners that he passed in the street. They cheered and called his name.
When he reached his bedroom, the curtains were already drawn and a guard placed at his door to prevent interruptions. He scribbled some ideas on the form and materials for his meta-ward experiment and placed the note in the back of his pillow book. The moment he saw Lady Evershade’s picture, he couldn’t delay a moment longer. He slid the lady’s gift from his glove and inhaled its perfume. Waves of acceptance and adoration s
wept him into bed. He closed his eyes, wondering how he could sleep with such anticipation. The dream training provided by Sarajah helped him enter the antechamber to eternity.
Lady Evershade waited for him in dream, reclined on his throne, under the corona of the magical light from the Door. When he appeared, she stepped to the side and patted the throne. “Sit here where you belong.”
Pagaose obeyed and asked, “Are you going to give me your personal present?”
She smiled. “There is a page Queen Sarajah didn’t have time to illustrate and a source of royal embarrassment. If you hold perfectly still, all will be explained.”
Lady Evershade placed her well-manicured hands on her hips, red-and-gold painted nails pointed down. The slow-dance music from the night before played in his mind as she gradually pushed the skirt down, an inch at a time. When the skirt puddled around her feet, he was frozen, spellbound. No frillies there. She stalked forward like a leopardess, naked from the waist down. She placed one cream-pale foot on the padded arm of his throne and he could see every pore and hair. “This is your female anatomy lesson.” She then described, in detail, what each part was called, inside and out, and how it functioned.
When the noblewoman finished, she asked, “Any questions?”
He searched her light-blue eyes. “You risked your virtue for me.”
“A magic assistant must trust her wizard completely.”
“Thank you for that gift. I shall add it to my list of honored firsts.”
“Now for the male anatomy lesson.”
“I don’t think . . .”
She knelt in front of his throne, opened his trousers, and the object of the lesson presented itself. She touched each part, starting at the lowest and rearmost. Her explanations stretched on, but he watched with rapt attention. When she touched the tip, he gripped her hair tightly to avoid reaction.
“Thank you,” he gasped. “You teach me the mysteries of my own body. My debt to you increases by the moment.”
Still kneeling before him, she chuckled wickedly at his difficulty with speech. “For the next part of the demonstration, where I label the phases, you may wish to maintain your grip on my hair.”