Jeweled (29 page)

The gates were open wide to receive visitors; not a guard was in sight. She supposed they weren’t needed anymore. Everyone had what they wanted and there was no longer any reason to storm inside and start murdering people. She wondered if the commoners were bored now that the fun was over.

She averted her gaze from the palace steps, the one place she wasn’t yet ready to confront. Anatol seemed to understand that, and he guided her away. Considering his own experience with those steps, she was sure he didn’t want to travel up them either.

They entered through a side door that led into the main foyer of the palace. It still looked the same, she mused, yet it was so different. The high, arched ceiling was still painted with a fresco of the temptation of Joshui, in glittering golds, greens, and silvers. The walls were still a burnished gold and the floor still polished marble.

But all the rich furniture that had been present before was now gone. The paintings that had hung on the walls had been taken down. All of it looted, she was sure. The commoners had killed all the human beings in the palace that they could, yet the artwork and furniture she was sure they had treated with care since it was worth so much money.

That wasn’t the most marked difference, however. The most marked difference was the silence and the immensity of the foyer when it wasn’t filled with talking and laughing people. The palace seemed now devoid of energy and life—a cold, dead thing; a museum to the time when the royals ruled the country.

Cold fingers of dread crawled up her spine and she resisted the urge to turn and walk back out. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a good idea, after all. Maybe she wasn’t ready.

“Blessed Joshui,” Anatol breathed beside her, sounding just as amazed and as appalled.

“Can I help you?” said someone from the right, making Evangeline jump.

A tall black-haired man dressed in dark colors stood from where he’d been sitting near the wall. A guard? Both she and Anatol had been so busy staring at the changes in the foyer that they’d failed to notice him.

Anatol stepped toward the man. “We’re looking for Gregorio Vikhin.”

The man stiffened and shook his head. Before he opened his mouth to deny them—after all, Gregorio was now the most important man in Milzyr—Evangeline added, “Tell him that Anatol and Evangeline have brought him lunch.” Anatol held up the small case of food they’d brought with them. “We live with Gregorio. He knows us quite well.”
Intimately, in fact,
she managed not to add.
We’re on the friendliest of terms that can be imagined.

The man closed his mouth and nodded. “All right, come with me.” He walked down the corridor and they followed. Her gut churned at having to view more of the palace in its stripped down, silent form.

She gripped Anatol’s hand as they traveled up the main marble staircase that Evangeline had climbed every day from the time she’d been four. Yet she’d never been able to hear her footsteps echo on each step the way they did now. Anatol gripped her hand and she held on to it gratefully.

He led her to what had formerly been the throne room, the same place where she and Anatol had performed to become J’Edaeii not very long ago. She could faintly hear raised voices coming from beyond the sealed ornate double doors.

“Wait here,” said the man. He disappeared within the chamber.

Evangeline wandered down the empty hallway, looking at the walls and wondering what had become of their things. Was some farmer’s daughter now wearing her beautiful tailored gown to muck out the horse stalls? Evangeline tried to feel outrage, but found she couldn’t summon it. That was a long time ago, another life, in which she’d been another person. That Evangeline was gone.

Maybe she never should have existed.

“Evangeline, Anatol.”

She turned at the sound of Gregorio’s surprised voice. He stood in front of the double doors, their guide now disappearing down the corridor the way they’d come.

His gaze was fixed on her. “It’s so good to see you. A sight for sore eyes.”

She smiled, blushing a little. Amazingly, he could still render her shy despite the intimate acts they’d shared. “I hope it’s all right we came.” She walked toward him. He looked very handsome in his dark suit, red cravat tied at his neck. She had a sudden urge to loosen it and press her mouth to the warm skin of his throat so she could feel his pulse against her lips and breathe in the scent of him. She gave him her hands, instead, and then went up on her tiptoes to buss his cheek.

“Of course. In fact, I’m very happy you came. Your faces are a pleasant sight on a tense day.” Gregorio’s eyes traveled to the case. “And you brought food.”

“Are you hungry?” Anatol asked.

“I am.” He pressed his lips together for a moment, as if in thought. “But first, would you like a tour?”

Evangeline looked at Anatol. That’s what she’d wanted when they’d first come, but now she wasn’t so sure. Anatol made the decision for her. “Yes, we would,” he answered.

“This would be a great time for it.” Gregorio looked a bit more relaxed. Apparently he must have been worried about their reaction to the changes in Belai. “The representatives are all arguing about setting proper protocol.” He grinned. “The same thing they’ve been arguing about for the last two weeks. Visitors will interrupt their arguing and give them a chance to cool down a little.”

“Representatives?” she asked.
Proper protocol?

“Yes, representatives from every province in Rylisk have been selected. They are supposed to speak for their people, act as their voice and body in this new government. They represent their interests. Come with me. I’ll explain things as we go.” His voice and mannerisms had gone from exhausted to excited as soon as he’d started to explain the new system of governance. Clearly, he lived for this work.

He opened the double doors and ushered them through. Immediately a swell of angry voices hit them and then ebbed away as soon as they entered the large room. Instead of the graduated dais where Czz’ar Ondriiko, Czz’arina Prademia, and the rest of the Edaeii family had once sat, there were a series of long tables and chairs forming a
U
shape. The entire surface of the table was scattered with paper and pens. Old white men stood or lounged, appeared animated or bored—all of them gave them their attention when Evangeline and Anatol walked in with Gregorio.

“These are the representatives.” Gregorio swept his arm to encompass the room. “It depends on the population of the given province how many representatives have been appointed, but it’s about two for each one, on average.”

“They’re all men.” Evangeline immediately thought of the late, great Prademia. She had been a woman, but a woman with a keen mind and a strong hand. “And none of them are a part of any ethnic or minority group. How can they be representative of their people?”

“Ah, Evangeline,” Gregorio whispered near her ear, “how I want to kiss you right now for observing that. We are currently setting the proper protocol for upcoming elections. These men are only temporary selections. When the elections are held, I hope to see a more diverse crowd in this room.”

Gregorio walked them toward the men, who had gone back to bickering among themselves, though on a less violent level. “Representatives of the Council for the People,” said Gregorio in a raised voice. “I wish to introduce to you Anatol Nicolison and Evangeline Bansdaughter, two people who occupied these halls for far longer than you have, though during a different time. They are both formerly J’Edaeii and I think we have a lot to learn from them.”

She stiffened, and Anatol did beside her as well. Neither of them had expected Gregorio to tell the Council who they had been. After a moment of wanting to back away to protect herself, she lifted her chin and coolly gazed at the gaggle of wrinkled old white men in the room. She had magick and they didn’t. It was something they’d never be able to take from her, even if they decided to lop off her head right now.

Gregorio wouldn’t let them.

The reactions of the men were varied. Some glowered at her and Anatol, others beamed and looked interested, still others looked as if they were about to expire from boredom.

“They survived the revolution massacre and are now trying to create lives for themselves in this new world. I’m giving them a tour of the re-created Belai today and presenting them with an intimate look at the way the political system will function in the future.”

One man tapped the bottom of his cane on the floor. “We are happy to have you here!” he declared, rising to his feet and clapping.

Several others followed his lead. Then more. Soon many of the representatives were on their feet, clapping for her and Anatol. Even the men who’d glowered at them were finally compelled to at least rise in their honor.

“Markoff Tolison,” whispered Gregorio in her ear, his hand twined around her waist. “He’s one of the representatives from Ameranzi Province and is one of my staunchest allies.”

Befuddled at the standing ovation when she’d not even lifted a magickal finger, Evangeline took a step back. She sampled the emotional currents of the air and found them high with feelings of regret, anger, sympathy, and guilt.

She backed away another step, wanting to get away from it. Her feeling about this place, these people and their purposes, was yet undecided in her heart. The memory of the revolution and the beheadings were still clear in her mind. The last thing she wanted was to become a way to help these men assuage their guilt for what had happened.

Markoff seemed to realize that she was becoming overwhelmed. The smile fading on his handsome and distinguished face, he reached out a hand. “It’s all right.”

But it wasn’t. She barely even knew it when she’d reached the hallway and stood beyond the double doors, breathing in as much of the empty, dead air as she could take in.

Anatol was right behind her with Gregorio on his heels. Gregorio touched the small of her back when she nearly hyperventilated. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, pressing a hand to her abdomen. Forcibly, she gained control of herself. “I’m fine, but maybe it was a mistake to come here. Too many emotions, too many memories.”

Anatol drew her into his arms. “Gregorio, is there somewhere we can go to be alone?”

He nodded and led them down the corridor to another room. It had once been someone’s apartment, but now it seemed to serve as Gregorio’s office. Evangeline glanced around, taking in the sitting area with couches, chairs, and tables, as well as a large, polished wood desk scattered with papers. So this was where Gregorio spent so much of his time.

Anatol guided her to a chair and Gregorio poured her a glass of water from a pitcher, which she accepted from him gratefully.

“I apologize,” said Gregorio, sitting down next to her. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you in there.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s just that things have changed here so drastically. I thought I was ready to see it, but maybe I wasn’t.” She took a sip of water. “The guilt and anger coming off those men, that was what truly bothered me. I couldn’t gate all of it and I had my own emotions to deal with.” She smiled shakily. “I’m all right now.”

Gregorio kissed her temple. “I hate that I must, but I need to get back to them. If I’m not there to watch them, they’ll tear one another’s throats out.”

“It’s all right,” said Anatol, “I’ll stay with her.”

Gregorio nodded, hesitating a moment, then left the room.

Evangeline let out a long, slow breath and looked around at the room they were in. Once upon a time Czz’arina Prademia had held teas in this room. She recognized it now. Her face twisted in anguish.

“She’s still alive.”

She looked at him. “Czz’arina Prademia?”

“Yes. They were loathe to execute the females, so they waited. She was exiled when you intervened that day on my behalf and they ceased the beheadings for good.”

She nodded, sipping her water. The Czz’arina was likely penniless and living in squalor, but at least she’d kept her head. That was more than most of the royals could say. She’d always respected Prademia. She’d been one of the few strong, intelligent women in Belai.

“I don’t miss it here.” Anatol glanced around at the room. “I don’t mind the changes. I welcome them, in fact.”

“Anatol, all the bloodshed—”

“Of course. That was tragic. But this place?” He motioned to the room with his hand. “This never felt like home to me.”

She looked around at the elaborately painted ceiling, thick area rug, and the gold encrusted table and chairs. Home? She’d never really thought of Belai that way. Truly, the palace had never felt like home to her either. The room she’d shared with Anatol,
that
had felt like home—at least, eventually. Gregorio’s town house felt like home. She surmised that home was where the people you cared about dwelled. She’d never cared about anyone but herself at Belai and so it had never felt like home.

Anatol stood and walked around the room, looking at the painted frescoes on the walls and ceiling. “This place will never be what it once was.”

She blinked, remembering the falseness and the insecurity. She remembered the way people had used one another here and the sights and smells of the world outside the palace walls—the poverty of the general populace that she’d always ignored. She remembered how one was nothing here if one didn’t have money. How she’d had to prostitute herself to position herself well in Court culture because of that.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she murmured, taking a sip of her water.

Anatol turned toward her. “Oh, yes, it is. Now this place is filled with possibility for a bright future for
everyone
. The road ahead may be bumpy and chaotic, occasionally bloody and unfair, but it’s leading us to a place that’s better than where we were.”

He was right. Though the revolution had been tragic for some of them, though good people had died alongside those who weren’t, and
none
of them had deserved such a violent end, it had ushered in what hopefully would be a shining time for Rylisk.