Emperor Mage

by Tamora Pierce

  Daine’s jaw dropped; she turned to look at the throne. He sat there, too, a figure identical to the one beside her. “Simulacrum,” he explained. “A living puppet. I’m uncomfortable at state occasions. They really don’t want me in attendance, just something to awe the empire’s guests. I mastered the art of magical copies so that I might be able to move around. May I sit down?”

  “It’s your couch,” she replied. For a moment she had spoken to him as she might have to King Jonathan or Queen Thayet, monarchs who insisted on informality. Belatedly remembering her instructions on proper behavior with the emperor, she said, “I’m sorry, Your Imperial Majesty. I should bow, or stand, but I’d upset Zek and the fruit and all.”

  “Then let us not upset Zek,” said Ozorne, looking at the marmoset in Daine’s lap. “He is the creature you dived so impetuously into the river to save?” The girl blushed and nodded. A smile tugged the emperor’s lips. “It was a kind deed. We need more of them.”

  Embarrassed, Daine changed the subject. “About the copies of you—can’t the mages tell it’s only sorcery?”

  Ozorne snapped his fingers, and a shimmering curtain of light enveloped the dais, hiding the other emperor from sight. “No. I am very good at them. Practice, you see—plenty of state occasions that require the emperor’s image, not the man. I tried to teach your master, the former Arram Draper, how to make them, but he was never as adept as I am.”

  She ignored the jibe about Numair. “Can it do magic or look like it has magic? The sim—”

  “Simulacrum.” He put his chin on his hand, amber eyes thoughtful. “No. The fabric of the copy won’t hold the chain of spells that would give it the seeming of my magical Gift.”

  Numair can do it, she thought. If the emperor hasn’t heard it, though, I’m not going to tell him. “Why did you pardon Numair and let him come back, if you’re still angry with him?”

  He smiled. “My dear girl—no, you don’t care for that, do you?” he asked, correctly interpreting the look on her face. “Then I shall call you Veralidaine.”

  “Daine, please, Your Imperial Majesty.”

  “Daine? What is the point of so beautiful a name if it’s not used? Veralidaine. At the risk of destroying your illusions, I must tell you I have little control over what is done in this kingdom.” He offered his hand to Kitten. The dragon shook her head, and crouched to examine his toe rings.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, but of course you do. It’s your kingdom, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed, but—does my royal cousin Jonathan have complete freedom to order what he likes? I assume he has councils and nobles and law to answer to, does he not? I believe Sir Gareth the Younger is the head of his private council, to which Master Numair and Lady Alanna also belong. Duke Gareth leads the Council of Lords, which numbers also Lord Martin of Meron, and Harailt of Aili is head of his Council of Mages. Such men are the real power in any realm, Veralidaine.”

  “But they’re just advisors. The king can do as he wants, surely.”

  The emperor shook his head. “Alienating one’s nobles is a sure way to put a nation into chaos. There are always those who think they can do a ruler’s job better. They need little encouragement.”

  Daine thought of Yolane of Dunlath, who had planned a rebellion in Tortall with this ruler’s encouragement, and bit her tongue. Her orders from the king and queen had been specific. She was not to mention the emperor’s attempts to weaken Tortall, no matter how much she might want to.

  Zek, unconcerned by the emperor’s nearness or his scent, a mix of amber and cinnamon, picked his way through the bowl of fruit. When his stomach bulged with his discoveries there, he offered Daine the next grape he found.

  “No, thank you,” she said. “Perhaps His Imperial Majesty would like it.” Zek held the grape up for Ozorne.

  He accepted it gravely. “Thank you, Master Zek.”

  Watching him eat the grape, Daine said hesitantly, “I—heard your birds are sick. It’s why I came, but—are they better? Do you not need me to look at them?”

  Ozorne’s face brightened. “No, but I thought—after your journey, and all this—when do you wish to see them? I can arrange it for the morning tomorrow, if you don’t mind.”

  “Um—if they’re sick, I’d like to see them now. If you can have a servant show me the way—”

  “Servants don’t go near my birds, except to prepare their food. Are you certain? It seems too much to ask, to have you look at them the night you arrive.”

  She grinned. “Keeping me here when you have sick animals is asking too much.”

  He got to his feet, and she followed. “Do you mind if I veil us?” he asked. “Otherwise we will be followed; my ministers will want me to stay . . ”

  Daine looked around. “I really should tell the others.” The problem was that she could spot no one else from her company. While she had been in conversation with the emperor, the crowd had moved away from them to watch dancers in the garden. All she could see were richly dressed backs.

  Ozorne raised a hand, and a slave appeared at his elbow. “Inform Duke Gareth of the Tortallan guests that Mistress Veralidaine has gone to look at our birds. And send the mage Lindhall Reed to us in the aviary.”

  The slave bowed deeply, and the emperor offered Daine his arm. She didn’t see how she could refuse without being rude, and surely the slave would obey the order to tell Duke Gareth where she was. Carefully she rested her palm on Ozorne’s forearm, as she had seen court ladies do at home. The emperor gestured, and a copy of him split away from them to walk back to his throne. The shining barrier that hid the raised seat vanished when the copy reached the dais, and the illusion blended with the copy on the throne. Daine watched it, fascinated, as Ozorne led her through a small door at the back of the antechamber and into a narrow hall. Kitten followed, while Zek settled himself comfortably on Daine’s shoulder.

  Globes like those in the room they had just left were placed at intervals along the hall. Passing the first, Ozorne gestured. It lifted free of the clawed iron foot that held it up and followed them, lighting their way through a maze of corridors and empty public rooms.

  “I’ve tried everything,” he explained. Since the humans they passed bowed to them, Daine realized he must have dropped the invisibility spell once they’d left the reception. “The new quarters were finished this spring, and after we moved them in they seemed fine. Then some of my birds took sick. I noticed a palsy in their heads. They became listless; their appetites fell off. Within two weeks of the first signs, the victims die. I know a great deal of bird medicine, and Lindhall Reed has made a study of it, which is why I asked him to join us. Indeed, there he is now.”

  Lindhall awaited them in front of a pair of broad white doors on which green flowering vines had been painted. He bowed low to the emperor and smiled at Daine, then turned and opened both doors, thrusting them wide. He clapped twice. Light-globes in the hall that lay before them came to life, to reveal a wonder. On the walls, birds had been inlaid with gold strips. Tiny gems served them as eyes, while craftsmen had used pieces of bright, colorful stone for their plumage. Kitten trilled her appreciation.

  “Oh, glory,” breathed Daine. “Your Imperial Majesty, this is—wondrous.”

  “It is well enough,” the emperor said coolly, surveying the inlays. “We thought it pretty when we designed it, but no image can take the place of a living bird.”

  She couldn’t disagree, but the walls still had to be the finest thing to come from human hands.

  At the end of the hall stood another pair of doors, these made of long glass panels. They were frosted and set in a network of metal pieces enameled a bright, emerald green and shaped like vines.

  “I am a fool.” Ozorne was upset. “They will be asleep. We can have light-globes—they are used to that; I often read here at night, but to disturb their rest, even to care for sick ones . . .”

  “You must leave that to me,” Daine told him. “I won’t frighten them, and I won’t let
the ones who are well interrupt their rest. It’s more important to start work now.”

  “Master Lindhall, will you remain and get whatever Veralidaine needs?” inquired the emperor. When Daine looked at him curiously, he tried to smile. “To see them ill, and to be helpless—do you think less of me? I cannot watch.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think less of you, sire. I know what it’s like to be helpless when a creature you love is ill and you can’t do anything.”

  Lindhall sketched a rune in the air with a glowing finger. When the design was complete, the glass doors opened. He bowed deeply to the emperor, holding the posture, until Daine realized that both of them were waiting for her to do the same. Again she’d forgotten that she was not dealing with King Jonathan! She curtsied, wobbling a bit, as Zek squeaked and hung on to her curls. Kitten sat up on her hindquarters and bowed, too.

  Emperor Ozorne nodded and left, vanishing in plain view as he passed the white doors.

  Lindhall went into the aviary first, using finger-snaps to wake two small light-globes near the entrance. They illuminated the area around the door, revealing a marble bench and walks that led between banks of large, thick-leafed plants. Daine looked up and saw the shadows of trees overhead. In the darkness she could hear the murmur of fountains and brooks, and the brush of damp greenery. In her mind, she could hear the whispers of sleeping and waking birds, both well and ill.

  Lindhall closed the doors behind them.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she said quietly. The number of birds in this chamber was surprising, and the thread of ill health weaving through her senses made her feel slightly ill herself. She was starting to regret the last grape she’d eaten. “It’ll be fair boring.”

  “I believe I will stay in any event,” he said, breathy voice kind. “Partly because I should like to see you at work, but also partly because I know Numair will feel better if I am with you.”

  Daine nodded. “Would you mind holding Zek, then?” she asked. To the marmoset she explained, “I’m going to need that shoulder.”

  Resigned, the tiny animal climbed down her outstretched arm and onto Lindhall’s immense palm. Zek was beginning to realize that his new friend had her own ways of doing things. Lindhall sat on the bench, stroking Zek’s many-colored fur with one finger, while Kitten leaped up beside him and settled down to wait. “Daine, may I give you a word of warning?”

  Looking around, the girl saw the immense bole of a tree nearby. “About what, sir?” She settled into a fold between two large roots, resting her back against the tree.

  “The emperor.” Lindhall’s pale eyes were troubled. “He shows his best side in regard to his birds, and to animals in general. He possesses—other sides.”

  She smiled at him. “I’ll keep it in mind.” She didn’t think she had needed the extra warning—not after two years of finding imperial claws hooked into all parts of Tortall. Closing her eyes, she called her patients to her.

  The ones in the best condition came first, heads bobbing on weakened necks. Some barely had the strength to fly, a result both of the disease and of the appetite loss that went with it. Daine looked deep inside herself until she found the pool of her magic. She drew it up not in threads, but in ropes, sending fibers of it into each of the birds resting on her shoulders and legs.

  If they had a disease, it was like none she had ever seen. To her inner eyes, it shadowed the dab of copper fire that was each bird’s wild magic, leaving a film that grew until it blotted out the animal’s fire, and its life. She burned the shadows away in every bird that could reach her, then rose to find those that couldn’t. She ached all over, particularly in her joints. She ignored it and felt her way into the shrubbery that concealed the rest of her patients from her. Many were on the ground, too weak to move. Three had died since the last time the place was cleaned. She stubbornly went after each flickering life light she could sense.

  Some had made it to aboveground nests. The thought of climbing the large trees of this indoor enclosure was daunting, but she found a stair that followed the walls in an upward spiral. Using it, she searched out the rest of her patients. At last she had seen to all of them. Lindhall must have heard her coming down the stair: he, Kitten, and Zek met her at the bottom.

  “How did it go?” the man asked.

  “They’re healed—for now, at least. Oh, dear.” Now that she was in somewhat better light, she could properly see that her hands, arms, and dress were coated with heavy, white droppings. Before coming down, she’d scraped the worst off with leaves and twigs, but her splendid gown was ruined. Even one of Kitten’s magical sounds wouldn’t save the cloth.

  “Perhaps I should continue to hold Zek,” Lindhall said tactfully. “Would you like me to show you to your room?” She brightened, looking up at him, and he laughed. “My dear, I’ve lost more garments to animal droppings than I can count. Clothing is not worth a candle when placed against what you have done here. Come. We’ll go through the gardens, where no one will see you.”

  Kitten, following them down the hall with the bird inlays on the walls, whistle-croaked. The stone birds lit up. Lindhall grinned with pleasure as lapis, jade, and citrine shimmered in their natural colors. Once that had faded, they went out into the gardens.

  “What was wrong with the birds?” he asked, navigating the tangled paths.

  “It’s not a disease. Could they have eaten moldy seed or anything like that? I think they were poisoned somehow.”

  “It’s possible, though the slaves are vigilant with the food that goes to those birds. They have to be. Do you think the poisoning was deliberate?” They passed a large, many-tiered fountain lit from within by glowing stones.

  “I don’t know. If they get sick again, I can check their food and things like that. Should I mention poisoning to the emperor?”

  “Please don’t. He would kill the slaves. It wouldn’t matter to him if the poisoning were deliberate or not—only that it happened. He might torture them first, to see if it was deliberate, but it wouldn’t do much good. All his personal slaves are mutes.”

  Daine shivered as they entered another wing of the palace. Now she knew their surroundings: the guest quarters, near the wing set aside for the Tortallan delegation. A slave dozing in the central area onto which the rooms opened jumped to his feet and held the door to Daine’s room, trying not to stare at her.

  “She will be going out to bathe in a few moments,” Lindhall said. The slave nodded without looking up. “Daine, will you be all right? Shall I have Lady Alanna look in on you?”

  She smiled up at him. “I’m just tired, and I need to wash, that’s all. Thank you, Master Lindhall. Numair said you are very kind, and he was right.”

  To her amusement, the lanky mage blushed. “Well, good night, then.”

  About to enter her room, she said, “Oh, wait—if it’s possible, can the birds be left alone all day tomorrow? They can be fed as long as food’s left quietly.” She had seen food trays and water bowls somewhere in the aviary. “If there’s a way to keep it dark in the aviary for half of the day, I’d use it.”

  He looked interested. “Of course—I can manage it, actually. Glass walls conduct magic well, and it’s no great matter to make them dark. You want the birds to sleep? Even the healthy ones?”

  “It won’t harm them, and the rest will get the sick ones over their reaction to the healing. Birds are funny.” She yawned. “When they’re up and alert, their bodies use energy faster than any other animals. The magic sticks better if they can sleep for a while after I’m done.”

  “I shall take care of it. Try not to fall asleep in your bath. Good night, Veralidaine—and welcome to Carthak.” He closed the door for her.

  “I like him,” the girl told Zek and Kitten drowsily.

  So do I, replied the marmoset as Kitten also nodded agreement.

  Slowly, half asleep already, Daine began to gather her bathing things.

  She woke early, with no ill effects from the previous night’s work.
By the time she dressed and left her room, a large breakfast had been laid out in the area common to the bedchambers occupied by the Tortallans. The others were emerging from their rooms to eat there.

  “It went quite well last night,” Duke Gareth said once they were settled. “Some of the imperial ministers are more forthcoming than others, but that is to be expected. I am particularly happy with the reports I’ve had of you, Daine.”

  Startled, the girl looked up, her teeth halfway into a bite of melon. Blushing crimson, she put the forkful onto her plate again. “Me, Your Grace?”

  “Emperor Ozorne heard from Master Lindhall that you cured his birds in one session,” explained Harailt of Aili. “The emperor is very pleased—says he has to think of a proper way to express his thanks.”

  “It’s like that with some men in high places,” commented Gareth the Younger, buttering a roll. “Things that would impress us have no effect on them, but a kindness done to creatures they love, they never forget.” He looked at Daine, brown eyes uncomfortably keen. “I hope you’ll continue to stay on his good side. The ministers’ definition of concessions they will and won’t make changed to our benefit after the emperor thanked us for bringing you.”

  Daine frowned as she passed a roll to Kitten. That didn’t sound much like the way Ozorne had described himself—as a ruler whose lords told him what to do.

  “Which reminds me,” Numair said, feeding Zek as the marmoset sat on his lap. “We’re scheduled to have a tour of the imperial menagerie after breakfast.”

  Daine gulped. “A menagerie?” King Jonathan had possessed rare, caged animals when she first came to Tortall. Even going near it had been a torment until the king began to change it, making it into enclosures that resembled the captives’ original homes.

  “Ozorne would never ill-treat his animals,” said Numair, seeing the discomfort in her eyes.

  “Don’t slight him by staying behind,” added Gareth the Younger.

  Alanna hugged Daine around the shoulders. “She wouldn’t think of it, Gary. Leave her be.”