The Will of the Empress

by Tamora Pierce

  Daja sighed. “If she knew, why would we be talking to you?” she inquired reasonably. “Where were you last night? You didn’t even come to say hello to us. And now there’s a story going around the palace that Fin’s been arrested.” She kept her voice soft. She knew this look of Sandry’s, though she had only ever seen it a handful of times. Whatever had brought Sandry to her boiling point, she required careful handling, or she would explode.

  Sandry threw a gauzy overgown to the bed. “Fin crated me up for shipment last night. Crated me up like a, a cabbage, only you don’t need unraveling spells to keep a cabbage from misbehavior. I got this”—she rubbed her throat—“from screaming for someone to let me out. She had him arrested? I thought she would applaud his boldness. He certainly thought she would, or he never would have dared try.”

  “Not in her palace!” cried Rizu, shocked. “Not when there are so many women who look to her to keep them safe inside her walls. Sandry, how could you even say such a thing?”

  “Because Fin kidnapped me inside these curst walls!” cried Sandry. She turned on Daja. “I tried to call you for help, but you were occupied.” There was a cruel tone in Sandry’s voice that cut Daja like a whip. “Luckily there are others who don’t shut me out of their new lives.”

  “That’s not fair,” retorted Daja, her eyes stinging.

  “Isn’t it?” demanded Sandry, hugging herself around the waist. Her eyes dripped tears onto the discarded overgown. “Maybe not, but it’s true all the same. Well, I’m not staying in this oversized cage one night longer. I’m not staying in this festering kaq cesspool of a country for so much more as a week. We’re going back to Landreg House today. Briar, Tris, and I are going back to Emelan as soon as we can pack up. You do as you like.” She glanced at Rizu and looked away. “You may come with us, Daja, and anyone who chooses to accompany you is welcome, but you had best decide fast.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “You’ll always be my sister-saati,” she added more softly. “You’ll always be welcome in my home, wherever the trade winds take us both. But just remember: They won’t care if you prefer women to men if they can still isolate you and force you to sign a marriage contract written to bind a mage.” She glared at Rizu. “And since you’re a foreigner, Daja, I suppose you wouldn’t even have a liege lord to appeal to. You’d be trapped until the end of your days.”

  Daja heard the door slam. Rizu had left the room.

  “She didn’t know,” Daja said, defending her lover. “You didn’t have to be nasty.”

  “Then I’ll apologize later,” Sandry replied. “If she comes.”

  “Of course she will. I suppose she’ll take forever to pack,” Daja whispered, hoping that if she said it, it would be true. She looked at Sandry. “Would you please tell me what happened?” she asked, taking a load of folded scarves from a chair so she could sit down. “And don’t insult me anymore, Sandry. I didn’t turn Namornese just because I fell in love.”

  An hour later, Daja slowly walked to Rizu’s rooms. She felt as if she had aged a hundred years. Suddenly all of the elegance around her looked like a mask for some cruel beast. She had to eye every man who passed her, asking herself if he had ever kidnapped a woman—or if he would, given the chance. Were all men like this?

  No, she told herself firmly. Never Briar. Or Frostpine. Or Tris’s teacher Niko, or our sometimes teacher Crane, or Duke Vedris, or Dedicate Gorse, the temple cook. She doubted Ambros or Zhegorz would consider it, either. No, Daja, don’t be a fool. You know plenty of men who would never even think of pulling such a vile trick.

  But here, well, I can’t be surprised at Fin. He’s always had the air of a horse fighting the rein. Some of the others I’ve met might do the same, if they dared to kidnap a mage. But they wouldn’t do it in the palace, for fear of the empress. Though somehow Fin thought she might actually turn a blind eye to it, if he succeeded. Who is a bigger idiot than the man who believes the lies he tells himself?

  Quen might try such a kidnapping. He’d succeed if he did, but I don’t think we have to worry, because he’s obviously in love with Berenene. Jak, maybe? No, Jak’s too good-hearted at bottom. What a heap of ash this court is, and most of it clinkers at that. I guess Rizu’s too close to the empress to have ever looked over her shoulder for kidnappers.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. It’s trying to drown out that question in my mind. I thought I’d have all summer to work on her before having to ask. I thought we could build something solid in that time, when all we have is something new. I wish we’d had more time to fuse together!

  Wishes are toys your mind plays with while pirates sneak up behind. That had been one of her aunt Hulweme’s favorite sayings, ghost words from an aunt seven years dead.

  Daja shook her head to clear it. I never liked Aunt Hulweme, she thought as she rapped on Rizu’s door.

  “It’s open,” she heard her lover call.

  Daja bit her lip and entered Rizu’s room.

  As Mistress of the Wardrobe, Rizu had two of the tiny rooms set aside for those in the empress’s service. Only imperial guests actually have room to breathe, she had joked on the ten-odd nights she’d spent in Daja’s suite. Now Rizu sat at the desk that took up a corner of the sitting room, writing something. She looked at Daja and tried to greet her with her usual sunny smile. Her lush mouth quivered at the attempt.

  Daja looked into the bedroom. It was neatly made up. There were no signs of packing. She went in and sat on the bed, smoothing wrinkles out of the airy coverlet with fingers that shook as much as Rizu’s mouth had.

  “You could stay.” Rizu had come to stand in the doorway. “Stay here, with me. Be a jewel in the imperial crown. All your work with living metal would earn you a place among the great mages. I want you to stay. I need you to stay.”

  “Why won’t you come with me?” Daja asked, her voice cracking. For the first time in her life, she understood all the love poetry, all the passion that described a lover’s kiss and a lover’s touch. I always thought magic had burned that kind of excitement right out of my veins, she thought as she traced an embroidered rose with a fingertip. I always thought that was why boys’ kisses left me feeling odd, not faint, and boys’ hands didn’t make me feel anything but distant. Now I know I wasn’t looking at the right people. Now I’ve found someone who’s right for me, and that’s her. “How can you feel this way and not want to come with me?” she asked. “Don’t you love me?”

  “I do,” whispered Rizu. “You’re so strong, and sweet. You make beautiful things, you sing me songs from distant places… I do love you.”

  Daja looked up and saw the rest of the answer in her friend’s averted eyes and pale lips. “You love the empress more.”

  “Not the way you mean,” Rizu protested. “Not in bed. I would never feel that way about her. But don’t you see? She is all that is bright and beautiful in Namorn. She saved me from a marriage I didn’t want. She made me a gift of lands and income of my own, so I didn’t have to rely on my family—or obey my family’s wishes for me.” Rizu sat next to Daja and took her metal-gloved hand in both of hers. “I have power in her household. I’m part of something splendid. She builds bridges, hospitals, libraries, dams, you name it and she has built it, for the glory of the empire. How can you not want to belong to that?”

  “She does all these things, and yet she lets the empire’s women be preyed upon,” Daja replied, yanking her hand free.

  “I’m not preyed upon,” Rizu said. “Not me, not Caidy, not Isha, not any of the women of her household. You would be safe, too, Daja. And we’d be together.” She leaned forward and kissed Daja, promising love with the kiss.

  Daja got to her feet. “Do you know, I even believe I’d be safe in her household,” she told Rizu. “But Sandry isn’t. She won’t ever be, as long as the empress wants her bound to Namorn. And Sandry is my sister. We are closer than you can begin to imagine—Sandry, Briar, Tris, me. We are the same person in a way you have never heard of.”

  Rizu
looked up, reaching a hand for Daja. “It doesn’t have to be settled like this. Persuade Sandry to finish the summer, at least. Then we’ll all understand one another better.”

  I understand well enough, thought Daja. I understand as much as I need to. So I should talk Sandry into staying—if I even could, which I doubt—so that other men may have a chance at binding her to a marriage contract? Biting her lip so she would not cry in front of the kaqs who walked the halls, she went back to her bedroom to pack.

  The news that Sandry meant to leave for Emelan within the week made Landreg House buzz like an overturned beehive. The servants soon learned that when the normally kind Sandry was this angry, it was best simply to get out of her way. Ambros and Ealaga were made of sterner stuff. Their discussion with her ended in a shouting match that drove Briar out into the rose garden. He had little to pack now that his things from the palace were bundled up. He placed his personal shakkan on a stone bench so it could soak up sunlight while not moving and proceeded to give the garden a last inspection.

  Ambros found him while he strengthened the roses against parasites. “I had thought she would finally see it is her duty to stay and represent her people,” Ambros told Briar without preamble. “To represent them in the Noble Assembly. You must reason with her.”

  “She’s in no mood for reason, or didn’t you notice?” Briar asked, viewing one rose’s leaves and stems from every angle. “Besides, she’s got duties at home, too. Didn’t she tell you? She’s one of His Grace’s two top people. She keeps his castle for him and advises him as he governs the country. If he goes out of Summersea, she stays there in his place. There’s rumors he’s going to make her his heir. She doesn’t believe that one, but I do. His Grace’s heir is bleat-brained.”

  Ambros sat hard next to the shakkan. “She never mentioned it.”

  Briar gently fed the rose a little extra power. “Probably because she doesn’t think he’ll disinherit Franzen to put her in his place. The rest of it she calls ‘just helping Uncle out.’ His own seneschal gets her signature for plenty of things, rather than pester his grace. But just because she talks it down doesn’t mean she doesn’t think it’s important. She loves Emelan. Maybe she could’ve loved it here, but there’s no chance of that now. Once Sandry hates something, she puts all she’s got into it.”

  Covering his face with his hands, Ambros groaned. “The Landreg women all have this mulish streak,” he said, his voice muffled.

  “Do you think?” Briar asked a little too innocently. Moving to one of the trees, he called, “This is the last year you’ll be getting apples from this old woman. She’s tired.” He stroked the tree’s trunk. “But let her stand, will you? She’s got plenty of good years as a tree left.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of cutting her down,” Ambros said, dropping his hands. “I’ve had plenty of good apples from her, and hid out from my relatives in her branches. I only wish you’d had time to go over all our fields at Landreg Castle.”

  Briar looked at him. “There’s no saying I might not come back,” he informed the man. “But on my terms. Without all this glitter and flash. I’m just a plain lad at heart.”

  Ambros’s grin made him look like a boy for a moment. “Well, plain lad, you’re always welcome in my home, wherever I make it.”

  As soon as they reached Landreg House, Tris abandoned her packed trunks and bags to the care of servants. Saying the briefest hellos to Sandry’s cousins and to Zhegorz, she went to her room to lie down. She had expected that playing with storms would give her a sound night’s sleep. That was always a treat for a light sleeper like her. Working with the Syth to block up that hidden entry to the palace would have been a guarantee not just of sound sleep, but of late sleep. Doing both, then waking at dawn to pack, left her feeling as if someone had put gravel in her joints and plaster in her skull. She needed to rest for a while, to ease her aching limbs. That took longer than she had expected. It was late afternoon when she opened her eyes.

  “Oh, cat dirt,” she muttered. She clambered down from the high bed, stripping off her overgown and undergown. She traded them for a plain blue gown in the Capchen style, then washed her face and hands. At least her braids did not look tatty. The forces she kept in them made each hair cling to the others. It was a side effect that not only looked tidy, but it spared her the need to rebraid her hair every day. Tris hated repeat work.

  After smoothing her stockings and putting her shoes back on, Tris went to see if Zhegorz needed help in his packing. There’s no telling how far he’s gotten, given how easily distracted he is, she thought as she knocked on his door.

  There was no answer. Tris knocked again, then consulted with the draft that slid into the hall from his room. “You’d best not be naked,” she called through the keyhole, and opened the door.

  Zhegorz was fully clothed. He had jammed himself into the corner between his bed and the wall, where he had curled into a knot, his arms locked around his drawn-up knees. Chime clicked anxiously at him from the bed, her clear wings half-outstretched to keep her balanced. Tris looked around with a scowl. Zhegorz’s scant belongings were still in the cupboard where he kept them.

  “Were you planning to leave everything you own behind?” she asked, her voice tart. “Were you going to count on the wind to keep you warm in the mountains? They get very cold this time of year. You’re going to need the woollens we got you.”

  “I’m not going.” The man’s voice came from inside the tangle of arms and legs. “Viymese Daja told me to go away. If she’s leaving and she wants me to go away then I can’t come. And she’s the one who speaks for me, because the fire is hers. If she goes away and tells me to go away, then I have to stay here.”

  Tris propped her hands on her hips. “In case you haven’t noticed, and it seems you haven’t, I’m the one who’s been looking after you lately—well, Briar and I. We’re the ones who said you were going to Winding Circle.” With dreadful patience she continued: “To go there, you have to leave here. If I have to show you the kind of fire I handle, Asaia witness it, you’ll be too scared to think. And since you’re not doing so well at thinking right now, maybe that’s for the best. You forget about Daja’s fire and worry about mine.”

  Zhegorz looked up at her, his eyes haggard. “You’re confusing me. I only know Viymese Daja says I can’t be around her. She’s going, so I can’t.”

  Tris turned on her heel, ready to do battle. “Gods save me from madmen and their notions,” she muttered. “As if my temper hasn’t been tried enough lately.” She stalked down the gallery to Daja’s room and knocked, then turned the doorknob. The door was locked. “Daja!” she cried, letting a wind carry the call through the keyhole so she wouldn’t startle the household.

  “Go away!” a harsh voice shouted in reply. “I don’t want to talk to anyone!”

  You don’t get off that easily, thought Tris.

  She went to the bay at the end of the gallery and opened the windows. As far as she could tell, no one on this floor had taken advantage of the narrow terrace that wrapped around the building on this level. Tris knew it was there because she had looked down on it during her time in the house. Now it gave her a second way to get to Daja, one that Tris was irritable enough to use. Whatever mood she’s in, she had no right to upset Zhegorz, thought Tris angrily. Daja of all people should know how fragile our crazy man is!

  Walking past the long sets of windows that formed doors into the rooms beyond, Tris reached the pair that would open into Daja’s room. They were unlocked. She yanked one open and walked into Daja’s sitting room. “Daja, I want a word with you!”

  A silver goblet flew at her head from the shadows. Tris ducked out of the way. She knew a warning shot when she saw one. Preparing for a flying piece of metal that would hit her, she twirled on one foot. The still breezes that were as much a part of her clothing as her shift twirled hard around her and continued to twirl. They made an airy shield that would knock the next missile aside.

  Daja’s power
shone from the bedroom. Determined, Tris went to the door. “If you were just going to be a brute to me, I would have stood for it, because when itch comes right down to scratch, you Traders don’t know how to act,” she said cruelly. Tris knew from early experience that sharpness spurred Daja harder than kindness. “But you had no right to frighten poor old Zhegorz out of what wits he’s got. You’re some kind of talisman for him, and when you tell him to go away, he thinks it means he can’t travel with us. Now you get off your behind and go tell him you wouldn’t think of leaving him!”

  “Later!” Daja cried. She lay in bed on her belly, raising her face from her pillows to talk. “I’ll talk to him later, Tris, and I won’t talk to you at all right now, so go away! And insulting my Trader blood won’t work, either, you rat-nosed, pinch-coin, gold-grubbing merchant.”

  Tris was about to blister the other girl when she caught the ragged tones in Daja’s voice. With a frown she walked over and plumped herself on the bed, reining in her whirling breezes until they were still again. Daja turned her face away from Tris too slowly.

  “Oh, dear,” Tris said, understanding. Daja’s eyes were puffy and wet. Her nose ran. Tris dug out a handkerchief and stuffed it into Daja’s hand. When Daja tried to pull the hand away, Tris grabbed her wrist.

  Did you really think she would come? Tris asked through their magic. Give up her own place at court, at the empress’s side, to live on your generosity? Rizu’s proud, Daja. She has every right to be. As Mistress of the Wardrobe she decides what every guardsman and servant in the palace wears. She chooses the imperial wardrobe. What would she have in Summersea compared to all that?

  But I love her! cried Daja, accepting the renewed connection between them without a struggle. I thought she loved me!