Golden Daughter (46 page)

Somehow he knew he must have the answer to the riddle this evil vision presented. He must have it soon or . . .

No. He would not contemplate the consequences. They were probably nothing more than wild fancies brought on by his sleep-deprived mind anyway.

He shifted on his throne and fluttered his fan more vigorously to cool his face. A polite argument was taking place down below between two of his lords, moderated by three of his viziers. Something to do with the building of a bridge. Or was it a wall? He couldn’t remember and wasn’t interested in any case. But here he must sit until they had quite run out of thinly veiled insults to hurl with utmost delicacy at each other’s faces. It was all so dull.

But then something interesting happened.

One of the two great doors at the end of the throne room opened just a crack. Through it slipped a small person, surprising the emperor, who had expected to see one of his many red-armored guards sidling into the room. This person was no guard and wore no armor. And she certainly did not sidle.

At first he thought she was a child. But she moved with a confidence that was not at all childlike, though neither was it particularly womanly, at least not in the conventional fashion. She was dressed in gold-trimmed red robes tied with a silken sash, and she wore chrysanthemums in her hair.

She crossed the room, drawing the surprised eye of every lord, vizier, servant, slave, ambassador, chancellor, and guardsman crowded into that great chamber. For women did not come here, certainly not dainty ladies unchaperoned by the appropriate army of handmaidens and eunuchs! But she wore the gold-paint cosmetics of a princess on her eyes and lips. And those lips were turned up in the most brilliant smile any man in that room had ever seen. None dared put out a hand to stop her until she was halfway across the hall.

Then the captain of the guard suddenly barked an order and four burly lancers leapt into action, surrounding her with the points of their weapons. She deigned not to look at them, nor did her smile slip from its place. Facing the emperor, she tilted her head quite far back and directed her smile at him.

The Anuk Anwar stood, dropping his fan. “Ah!” he cried, delighted. “I know you, don’t I? Aren’t you one of mine?”

“I am Masayi Sairu, one of your Golden Daughters, Beloved Anuk,” she said in response. And every man in the room gasped at this bold declaration.

“Of course, of course!” said the emperor, and when he beckoned her to approach him the captain of the guard, however unwillingly, was obliged to call back his men. Sairu offered each of them in turn a grin then hastened her steps—still short, ladylike steps, but faster than before—to the emperor’s dais and on up to his throne. There she dropped to her knees and knocked her forehead three times against the tiled floor.

“Rise, daughter,” said the emperor, looking her up and down as she obeyed. “Hulan’s shining crown, how you have grown! But I suppose that is the way of it with children. I do not remember the last time I saw you, but I seem to recall you were a just a bit of a chick then.”

“Indeed, Beloved Anuk,” said Sairu, “I was small enough to fit upon your knee.”

“So small as that? Not that you have any bulk about you now! But if I remember, your mother was diminutive as well. Is she still alive, I wonder?”

“Yes, Beloved Anuk. And well too, I believe.”

“Oh, that is good to know.” He smiled. It was not often that anyone spoke to him with such open sweetness as this girl did, and he liked her smile. It reminded him of one of his wives, one he had liked particularly well some years before. “And my sister Safiya? How does she fare these days?”

“Quite well indeed,” Sairu assured him. “She sends her regards to you, her Ascendant Brother.”

“Kind of her, I’m sure.” The emperor sat back upon his throne then, grinning in response to her grin. He wondered if he might give her a gift, for she was such a darling, quaint little thing, and he liked the memories she called to mind. “Now tell me, my dear . . . um . . .”

“Masayi Sairu,” she supplied.

“Tell me, my dear Sairu, what can I do for you?”

“It is not what you can do for me, Beloved Anuk,” said she with another very pretty bow, this time bending at the waist so that her sleeves just brushed the floor. “I beg leave to serve you, for rumor has reached me of your suffering and I would relieve it, if I may.”

“My suffering? What do you mean?”

Her eyes flashed behind their gold-painted lids with more intelligence than a man might want to see in a maiden her age. “I have heard rumor that my blessed emperor, favored Son of the Sun, has offered great wealth and still greater honor to the man who can interpret the evil dreams under which he suffers.”

The emperor’s smile slid from his face, replaced with a not-unkind frown. “Ah,” he said, nodding solemnly. “So even you have heard of this, have you? Are you then an interpreter of dreams?”

“I am not,” she said. “However, I know of one who may serve you well. One who has walked in the Dream, even unto the Gardens of Hulan. One who is a master of visions beyond anything we have ever seen from our blessed priests in the Crown of the Moon.” Something about the way she said “blessed” implied something very different. The emperor snorted. Sairu, however, merely blinked and continued in the same sweet voice. “This man will end the suffering of my emperor and bring him the insight he so craves. And so my heart will be satisfied, knowing my emperor’s heart is eased.”

“Is that so?” said the emperor, raising his perfectly plucked and charcoaled eyebrows with interest. “And who might this man be?”

“His name is Juong-Khla Jovann, Beloved Anuk.”

“A Chhayan?”

“Yes. And a prisoner in the dungeons below the Crown of the Moon.”

The Anuk Anwar rubbed his long mustache thoughtfully between his thumb and index finger, studying the girl before him. She met his gaze with such serene candor that he half-felt he should be on his guard. But no. She was one of his Golden Daughters. If he could not trust her, he may as well take his own life then and there!

“Very well,” said the emperor. “If you think he can put those fat priests of mine to shame, who am I to deny him the chance?” He turned to his captain of the guard and ordered with a wave of his hand, “Bring this Chhayan prisoner to me at once.”

Sairu stood outside the throne-room door, her back against the wall, her hand on her heart. She was breathing hard, for her exhaustion was great and the pain in her shoulder greater still. Sweat beaded her upper lip, but she dared not wipe it away for fear of smearing the carefully applied cosmetics which were, she felt, her one remaining shield against the worlds. She was as tired and worn as the waning light of Anwar through the tall palace windows.

“
Prrrrlt?
” said the cat, appearing from behind a pillar.

She glared and motioned him back into hiding. Cats were not permitted this far into the sanctity of Manusbau. By nature audacious, they tended to gaze upon the emperor at ceremonially unsound moments or to wash impolite bits of themselves while in his presence, so they were forbidden from coming near the favored Son of the Sun at all.

The cat rolled his eyes but slid back behind the pillar so that Sairu could only just see his shadow. She turned her shoulder on him and gazed down the long passage. Hearing footsteps and the clank of armor, she knew that the escort sent for Jovann even now approached.

They came into view, and although she had expected it, it still gave her a start to see the face of a handsome older man, dirty and bedraggled, led by his chains. The bizarre enchantment which seemed to have taken Jovann into its clutches was strong indeed. But it was he; she was certain of this no matter what face he wore.

His expression was that of a man on his way to execution.

Jovann, dragged up from the darkness beneath the Crown of the Moon, expected at any moment to see the gallows rise before him. Even when escorted beyond the temple grounds and into the magnificence of Manusbau, he continued searching for the noose and the hangman. Perhaps they intended to string him up on the outer walls of the palace, as did barbarians of the west. Perhaps they intended to chop off his head in the very presence of the emperor.

At this thought his heart gave a lurch. His face and voice may no longer be his own, but the imp could not touch his heart. And he was no longer afraid. Indeed, his eyes took on a new light, and he began to look ahead with a certain fixation of purpose. Because it was true—they might bring him before the emperor. They may even now be dragging him into the presence of the man he had been brought up to hate above all other men.

He had no weapon. He lacked even his former strength. But he had his Chhayan heart deep down beneath this false exterior. And it beat with a sudden driving force. He was bound, he was helpless, but if they did indeed bring him into the emperor’s presence, he would spit his hatred into the evil usurper’s face. If he could not do that then he would spit at his feet. They would cut him down immediately, but he would die his father’s true son.

Even if his father could no longer recognize him.

So passionate were these beating promises he made with each footfall, and so intent was his gaze upon the corridor and the great door which he knew by its intricacy and glory must lead to the emperor’s throne room, that he did not see Sairu until she stood right in front of him and the guards.

The guards drew up short. Jovann, in his weakness, lost his footing and fell. He did not fall far but hung sagging like a scruffed kitten held by a strong hand. His chin sank to his chest, and it was with effort he raised his eyes to look at her. Even then it took several seconds for him to recognize the face of Sairu behind the elegant cosmetics and the elaborate hair tucked with flowers. But her smile could not be disguised.

At the sight of that smile Jovann’s heart lurched again, this time with a very different emotion. Sairu! She always knew what to do! She was always there with sharp words, with comfort behind those sharp words. She was confident, she was careful, and she would save him!

Of course this was foolishness. The imp in his mind laughed at these thoughts as they whirled through his brain. She was a handmaiden, a lowly handmaiden standing in the center of the greatest, most heavily guarded palace in all the known world. What could she possibly do?

Besides, another part of his mind whispered, she was Kitar. She too was his enemy.

So Jovann stifled the hope her face first inspired in his heart, and his eyes were full of suspicion as he watched her. She did not look at him but addressed herself to those who held him.

“A word with the prisoner, if you please,” she said.

The guards looked grim, and Jovann felt their fingers tighten on his arms. But Sairu’s smile grew, and they both shifted uneasily. Then quite suddenly they dropped their hold on their captive, stepped back three paces each, and left him to try to find his footing on his own. He could not and fell to his knees.

Sairu did not bend to him. She found his strange face too unsettling, and her belief in his identity faltered despite herself. So she waited with her hands folded as he slowly recovered his balance and pulled himself upright. But even as she stood there she whispered, and her words fell down to him in quiet secrecy.

“Do not speak to the Anuk,” she said. “I do not want them hearing your gibbering and believing you are mad. I will tell him you are mute, and I will pretend to interpret for you.”

Jovann gathered his strength and slowly stood. He could not hold himself with the poise of a Chhayan prince anymore—slavery and imprisonment had taken that from him. But he was still a man of the Khla clan. He had not lost the Tiger’s spirit. He could not control the muscles on his face, but he could stand tall and still.

Sairu tried to read him but found herself unable to do so. She turned her head to one side, uncomfortable beneath that stern gaze. “If you do as I say,” she said, “you will live. The Anuk is capricious, but he does not lie. He has promised great wealth to the man who can interpret his dream. I have told him that you can do so, that you can walk in the Realm of Dreams.”

Once more Jovann felt his heart move with hope. But he drove this hope away. He could not accept freedom at such a price. He could not accept wealth and favor from the man he hated more than any man. But he made no attempt to communicate as much to Sairu. For if she knew what he intended, she would surely send him back to the dungeons and he would lose his chance.