The Will of the Empress

by Tamora Pierce

  Sandry looked down, tracing the brocade pattern of her overgown so she could hide her face from those around her. If my cousin has her way, I might just have to stay here to keep seeing my sisters and brother. What will I do? What will I do if I have to choose between them and Uncle Vedris?

  A tear dropped onto the brocade.

  With the court dazed after a day in the sun, they were given the evening to themselves. Sandry invited her sisters and brother to supper in the elegant small dining room that was part of her suite. She would have asked Rizu as well, but Rizu had gone with Berenene to a meeting. Sandry wasn’t sure if Briar and Tris knew what was going on, or if they would appreciate Rizu’s presence at a dinner that was confined to their small family.

  Gudruny was still setting the table when Briar arrived. He carried his mage kit and a shakkan from the imperial greenhouse. “I thought I’d work on it later,” he told Sandry, placing the shakkan on a side table. “Hullo, Gudruny. Did you see your kids and Zhegorz?”

  The maid nodded. “Zhegorz asked me to tell you and Viymese Tris, he followed one single conversation all the way to the green market today. He says to say it was real, bargaining between a cherry seller and a potter. He said he did it after he took out just one ear bead—whatever that means. And I think Wenoura is spoiling my children.”

  Briar chuckled. “Good cooks do that. If you worry about this sort of thing, once we get to Summersea, keep them away from Gorse at Winding Circle. Otherwise you’ll have kids that roll, not walk.”

  Sandry had inspected his miniature willow while Briar talked to her maid. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked when she had the chance.

  Briar grimaced. “See how it’s shaped so it’s bent almost clean out to the side? The bleater that shaped this beauty actually thought the tree ought to be trained up in the full Cascade style. She properly needs the Windblown style, with the trunk more upright. Anyone can see that. The empress had the eye to see it, even if she hadn’t had the time to get to work on her yet.” He caressed the tree’s slim branches, which twined gently around his hand. “Nobody ever asks the tree, do they, Beauty?”

  Sandry shook her head. “If only you found a human being you loved enough to talk that way to.”

  “Isn’t one of us in love bad enough?” Briar asked.

  Sandry knit her brows. “You know, then. About Daja. And Rizu.”

  “Couldn’t hardly miss it,” Briar replied, pinching off tiny new leaves. He glanced up at Sandry. “How’d you know?”

  Sandry blushed and looked down. “Daja and I reopened our bonds with each other a little while ago.”

  “Interesting way to find out,” Briar murmured, his concentration on the tree again. “Don’t hold your breath for me to throw myself down in a heap of contriteness and beg you two to include me in all this joy.”

  “I wasn’t going to,” retorted Sandry, her eyes flashing. “Of all the selfish, rude, impertinent boys—”

  Briar grinned at her. “Well, I am family.”

  Sandry couldn’t help it. She had to laugh as Gudruny admitted Tris and Chime.

  “Good to see you two getting on,” the redhead remarked. She came over to look at the miniature willow. “Reshaping her?” she asked Briar. Chime stretched out from Tris’s shoulder, her head at the same angle as Tris’s as they eyed the tree.

  Briar nodded. “No willow tree bends over on itself. That was pretty decent of you today, taking some of the load from the sailors.”

  “Too bad it only made them uncomfortable,” Tris replied drily.

  “It’s just that weather magic and anyone who can do more than control a wind here and there are so uncommon,” explained Sandry. “If you’d brought up a big wave that just rolled us toward shore, they might not even have noticed.”

  “But the shore would,” Tris said. “Besides, Her Imperial Majesty and her pet puppy dogs wanted a wind. Can you imagine how His Grace your uncle would react if every time he asked for something, everyone around him asked for the same thing?”

  Sandry winced. Uncle Vedris had expressed his opinions of such fawning behavior very forcibly in the past. “They wouldn’t do so more than once,” she said as Gudruny responded to a knock on the door.

  Daja came in, looking oddly uncertain. Rizu stood by her shoulder. “I—I told Rizu it would be all right if she joined us.”

  Sandry beamed at the pair. “Of course you may,” she told Rizu, glancing back to make sure neither Briar nor Tris was about to make a liar out of her. Briar’s eyebrows were slightly knit; Tris had that same politely interested expression she had worn that afternoon while talking with Quen and Ishabal, but neither one said anything. Sandry continued, “You never asked permission to join us at Landreg Castle, Rizu—why start now? Gudruny?”

  The maid was already rearranging chairs and settings for a fifth person at the table. As soon as she finished, they all sat down to eat.

  To Sandry’s relief, everyone relaxed once they were eating. They talked about the ball for the Lairan ambassador in two weeks’ time and that day’s sail. Now that they knew more people at court, Rizu could tell stories about them that the others would understand. She and Daja remained for a while after the footmen cleared away the plates, then excused themselves and left.

  There was a long silence once Gudruny had retreated to her own room. Briar concentrated on the willow shakkan. Gently he urged it up from its ugly, bent-over stance, raising it to the limit the trunk could handle even with his magic to make it more flexible. Once it was as straight as he could make it for the time being, he fashioned a sleeve of heavy wire to help it keep from folding down again. Tris petted Chime as the glass dragon gave off her singing purr. Sandry peered at her embroidery and waited for one of the others to say something.

  At last, Briar sat up. “Just because she has a partner now doesn’t mean the partner is one of us,” he grumbled. “You don’t see me dragging a girl everywhere.”

  Tris looked at him steadily. “Have you cared enough about a girl to want us to accept her?” she asked.

  Briar couldn’t meet her level gaze. “Well, Evvy,” he mumbled.

  “Evvy is your student,” Tris replied quietly. “Face it, Briar, you don’t like any of your bits of entertainment enough to worry if we know who they are.”

  “At least I don’t pretend Caidy ought to belong to our circle,” protested Briar.

  His words were like a needle’s jab. Sandry looked up. “We’re not a circle,” she said tartly. “Daja and I reopened our bond. You two don’t even care, so why does it matter if Daja brings Rizu?” Her mouth trembled. “They’re in love. You should be happy for them.”

  “In love enough for Rizu not to tell everything she’s heard if the empress asks it?” Briar demanded hotly. “I think not. Rizu’s all right, but I think she belongs to Berenene first and anyone else second.” He looked down at his hands. All the flowers on both had sprouted tiny black roses. “Face it, Daj’ won’t be coming home with us,” he went on. “For that matter, will either of you? I’ve seen that Shan look at you when Berenene isn’t around, Sandry. And you can’t tell me they didn’t offer you good coin to stay on, Tris.”

  Sandry glared at him. “The empress isn’t offering you the moon to stay?”

  “The whole palace is talking about how you alone have her permission to enter the greenhouses at any time,” added Tris. “The gardeners say she’s never let anyone but herself recommend pruning, but they have orders to take such direction from you. And I’ve heard she’s offered you a bottomless purse and the post of imperial gardener if you stay.”

  “You hear too festering much,” complained Briar. “How would you know, when you always hide?”

  Tris looked at him over the rim of her spectacles, and tapped one ear.

  “Oh.” Briar grimaced.

  “These halls are chimneys for drafts and chatter, dolt,” Tris informed him firmly. “Leave Daja and Rizu be. They’ll do as they need to.”

  “Daja won’t thank you for
saying anything against Rizu,” Sandry reminded him.

  “It’s not against her,” protested Briar.

  “Is that how Daja will see it?” Sandry wanted to know.

  Suddenly she felt the touch of Tris within her magic. Calm down, she said. Sandry could feel that Briar heard Tris as well, though his bond to Sandry herself was still closed. We four will always be one, whether we live together in Emelan or not, Tris told them both. You ought to have more faith.

  The next two weeks were a whirlwind for all four mages, not just Sandry. The empress seemed determined to woo them with entertainment and splendor. They were caught up in a myriad of hunts—for unusual flowers and tucked-away picnics, since Lady Sandrilene did not like to hunt game—card parties, rides, breakfasts, and voyages on the Syth. Sandry noticed that even Tris could not evade them all, though she was better than the other three at vanishing. Daja and Rizu were glued together. They hardly seemed to care what they did as long as they did it in each other’s company, as Briar pointed out more than once. Occasionally they joined Sandry, Briar, and Tris for a private midday or supper. Sandry noticed that, despite his grumbles, Briar voiced no objections to Rizu’s company when Daja was present.

  To Sandry’s relief, Fin said nothing about her desertion of him that night at the welcoming party. Knowing his tendency toward passion and uproar, Sandry was sure that he would kick up a fuss. She was surprised instead to find he seemed to have forgotten all about it. He continued to court her along with Jak, without making any particular effort to get her alone.

  I suppose I’m inconsistent to be miffed that he doesn’t much care, she thought ruefully. Really, it would be a pain if he did get all offended, but he could at least pout a little.

  She carefully did not think about Pershan fer Roth at all. It wasn’t that she didn’t see plenty of Shan—she did. He was always at Berenene’s side, or at her back, bringing her delicacies, carrying her falcon until she chose to fly it to hunt, helping her to dismount. Sandry tried not to begrudge her cousin the feel of Shan’s big hands on her waist as she slid down from the saddle, or the way he bent over the empress to feed her a cherry, but the bile of envy was very hard to ignore. If Shan remembered that he had kissed Sandry, he did not show it. The smile he gave her when she caught his eye was the polite one of one noble to another.

  Serves me right, she told herself one night, punching her pillows into a more agreeable shape. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Shan and Berenene practicing Lairanese dance figures that day, particularly the one in which Shan lifted the empress high in the air. The man kisses me—punch, punch—and I run like a scared kitten. I bet the empress doesn’t run!

  Sandry growled and stuffed her coverlet in her mouth. Now I’ll have to think of a good lie for Gudruny, she told herself. And it has to be really good, because I think Gudruny suspects far too much as is. Not that she would say anything, but she’ll just tell me some bit of woman’s wisdom about how some men are just out of a person’s reach. I don’t want to hear woman’s wisdom, or any wisdom. I just want Shan to kiss me again so I can tell if I got all wobble-kneed because I knew about Daja and Rizu or if it was the way he kisses!

  The day of the Lairan ambassador’s ball, the entire palace was in chaos. Dodging servants with their arms full of burdens, Sandry and Gudruny fled the palace. Landreg House was far more peaceful. Sandry could take her midday with Ambros, Ealaga, and their girls while Gudruny visited her children.

  Before she left, Sandry went in search of Zhegorz. She found him seated on the balcony outside Tris’s window, facing into the breeze that came over the walls. He had one of his metal ear beads in his hand and his strange metal spectacles on his face. “Don’t trouble yourself about me,” he said with a cheerful smile. “Viymese Tris visits once a day for my lessons.”

  “That’s good to know,” Sandry told him. “Are they going well?” He seems so much calmer now.

  Zhegorz, who had been sitting on a tall stool, was getting to his feet. He was frowning as he turned this way and that, the ear with no bead in it facing into the wind. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “Why would sailors be prepared for a midnight getaway?”

  Sandry had to smile. “For as many reasons as there are sailors, I should think,” she replied. “I shouldn’t worry, Zhegorz. Unless you know the name of the ship or her captain, there’s nothing you can do.”

  Returning to the palace, she napped, then ate a light supper. There would be a larger banquet that night, but Sandry knew she would collapse before then without something in her belly. Afterward, she bathed, then let Gudruny dress her and arrange her hair. After that, she sat down to read. Berenene had said a courtier would bring her to the Imperial Hall, where the ball was to be held.

  A rap on the door announced Sandry’s escort. Gudruny opened it to reveal Fin, gloriously handsome in navy velvet and silver. He might have chosen his clothes to complement Sandry’s own pale blue and silver. He grinned at Sandry. “I hope you appreciate all the begging and pleading I did to get Her Imperial Majesty to agree I could escort you to the ball,” he said. “You look glorious, Lady Sandry.”

  She smiled and let him kiss her hand. “Careful,” she warned.

  Fin raised his brows. He knew what she meant. “Flattery?” He looked at Gudruny. “Do I flatter? Is she not beautiful?”

  Gudruny blushed and curtsied. “You do look so lovely, Clehame.” She curtsied again, and opened the door for them.

  Fin placed her hand on his arm and guided her down the hall.

  They turned inside the lobby that connected the three wings of the palace and walked until Fin led her through a door into a back corridor.

  “But the Imperial Hall is that way,” Sandry protested, stopping.

  Fin smiled down at her. “We’ve had a change of plans. Her Imperial Majesty has asked me to take you by a side route to the entrance she uses—she wants you beside her when she greets the ambassador.”

  “But isn’t that properly where her heir should stand?” asked Sandry, letting him pull her along.

  Fin nodded. “Except Princess Maedryan lives in the eastern empire,” Fin explained. “You will act as her stand-in tonight.”

  Sandry frowned. “I hope the princess understands I’m only holding her place,” she said, troubled.

  “It’s common,” Fin explained. “You see, after two kidnap attempts, Her Imperial Majesty sent her to live in secrecy. Others have served in her place before, but no one is silly enough to believe that anyone but the princess holds that place in reality. This way.” Fin steered Sandry around a corner.

  Sandry turned with him and walked into a damp cloth. Whatever was on it swamped her mind, letting her sink into black sleep.

  Somewhere nearby was the living world.

  I fell asleep…when? I did it sitting, with my knees drawn up? Why in Mila’s name would I do that? And when did it get dark?

  My head aches so! I must be dreaming yet, because I think my eyes are open, but it’s still pitch-black.

  Everything above my chin is throbbing.

  Sandry tried to press her hands to her eyes—the throbbing was at its worst there—only to find she had little room to move her arms. When she did touch her eyes, she could feel her eyelids move. The brush of lashes against the inside of her fingers told her that her eyes were wide open…and it was still dark.

  She searched for light, her breath coming faster. I cannot, cannot be in the dark, she told herself. Everyone knows. Gudruny, Briar, Daja—everyone knows I must not be left in the dark, alone. Not ever. Just breathe, Sandry. Slowly. This is all easy to explain if you collect your wits and don’t panic.

  There—a faint glimmer: magical signs, written just inches away, over her head, to either side, and on what she could see underneath her. Sandry put her hands out and explored her surroundings. There was a solid barrier some inches before her knees and under her. Her back pressed it. It was inches from her sides and above her head. The silver gleam came from spells that covered it. A
s she squinted at them, forcing herself to think, to see what they were, she began to recognize them. These were signs to unravel and undo. They had been written in combinations and materials to keep a stitch witch’s power weak and confined. They cast no light. They did nothing to dispel the darkness.

  The dark. She was trapped in pitch darkness with no light and no crystal lamp.

  With complete understanding came real, uncontrolled panic. She gasped, unable to breathe. Suddenly she was ten years old and trapped below a palace, the dead strewn through the building above her. The only person who knew where Sandry was, who had locked her in this cellar, had been murdered within earshot.

  Now Sandry was alone again, and she had no light.

  Sandry screamed. She shoved all of her magic outside her skin, fighting to call light to the very fabric of her clothes, only to have her power dissolve. She screamed again, begging for someone to let her out, to light a lamp, to find her. Shrieking till her voice cracked, she hammered at the wooden trap with feet and fists, ripping her delicate dancing slippers, bruising her hands, banging the back of her head against the unforgiving wood. Again and again, ignoring the pain that shot through her muscles and veins, she dragged at her power, trying to thrust it through her pores. Silk, silk had worked before, it had held light for her before, she was wearing all kinds of silk, but the magic would not come. She finally stopped screaming and wept, shuddering in terror.

  She had not been silent for long when someone outside said, “My bride-to-be awakes.”

  I know that voice, she thought slowly. I know it…Fin. Remembering his name started a slow flare of rage in her chest. Finlach fer Hurich. My escort. That “special entrance” he guided me to.