The Usurper's Crown (17 page)

“Really?” Kacha sounded both impressed and wary. “How would it work?”

Medeoan shrugged. “I don’t know that it can work yet, Kacha. I need some study in the library. Come to me tonight, and I will tell you all, I promise.”

His fingertips brushed her chin. “I shall look forward to it.” He raised one finger in admonishment. “But we must not neglect the ambassador. I will not have it reported back to my uncle that I have forgotten courtesy here in the north.”

Then, slowly, as she gazed at him, the realization came over her that she did have a knife to use against him. She was the empress of Isavalta. She could have Kacha arrested and killed, or simply killed, and no one could question her. She could do it this instant, she could raise her voice to the men-at-arms who waited outside her door.

“What are you thinking, beloved?” asked Kacha suddenly.

“I’m thinking of you,” said Medeoan honestly. “And how you have surely forgotten nothing so vital as courtesy.”

His lips were warm, soft, and loving as he kissed her brow. She felt the smile in that kiss and closed her eyes, hoping he would not see the pain that racked her.

And if she had him killed, what would Hastinapura do? What would his uncle who sat on the Pearl Throne do? Emperor Samudra would surely declare war. He would have to. Could Isavalta withstand such a war? She did not know. She had not spoken with the Master of War in … How long? She could not remember.

“Let me see to my study and to my wardrobe, husband,” said Medeoan, keeping her smile about her mouth. “We will speak again tonight.”

“That we surely will.” He reverenced to her with a wink and left then. Medeoan found she had to work hard for several moments just to continue breathing.

Fool
, she cursed herself.
Fool! Now you have but a handful of hours, and what will you tell him at the end of them? What can you do?

She looked around her chamber and the busy ladies, bent over their needlework or their books, pretending not to notice her until she gave an order. Any one of them might be a spy, or all of them. She did not truly know a single one. She was surrounded by strangers. She did not know her own council anymore. She had allowed them all to be taken from her.

She had to get away from here, from this pit of spies, before Kacha could steal her mind. She had to find a way to hide herself and a place where he could not reach.

A plan came to her then, formed from old learning and the fog of desperation. A way to escape, a way to hide and a place to go.

But she could not do it alone. She would at the very least need one other ally. But who? Who was there?

For the hundredth time, her heart reached out to Avanasy, wishing desperately she had let her anger cool, that she had known he had remained in Isavalta, even to the end, even to the day of her wedding. If she had known, perhaps in her joy on the day she could have forgiven him, and he would be with her now …

Another memory came to her. A memory of the commander of the House Guard standing before her, and telling her that Avanasy had not only defiantly stayed until the moment of her marriage, but that he had help leaving the palace. A guard named Peshek. Did Her Imperial Majesty wish the man put to death?

No, no
, she had replied, regally.
Let him not be punished. Today is a day of amnesty to all
.

Kacha had not been pleased when he heard, but he had let the matter lie.

So where was this Peshek, this man who had risked death to help Avanasy?

“I am repairing to the Red Library,” announced Medeoan to her ladies. “Let the commander of the House Guard attend me there.”

She whisked out of her apartments in their untrustworthy company, silently planning her escape.

The Red Library was housed in a much smaller chamber than the Imperial Library that stood beside the god house. Its chamber was a blunt wedge lined with oaken shelves. Pillars of garnet-colored marble stood between them. Three arched windows overlooked the courtyard and let in the summer daylight. The ceiling had been painted with a replica of the astrologer’s chart that was supposed to have predicted Medeoan’s grandmother’s rise to empress, and the floor was inlaid with stars in colored woods.

Like the room that held the Portrait, the Red Library was a place she could enter alone without arousing suspicion. Here she could study in private among the grimoires, the books of shadows, the manuals of necromancy, and the ancient scrolls that the Isavaltan court sorcerers had collected or captured down the years.

Medeoan lifted a particular volume from the shelves. It was bound in white leather edged in blue ink. She laid it gently on one of the oaken tables. She had studied this book for months, with Avanasy at her shoulder. It was a book of spells that might be worked in cloth and thread. She began to turn the vellum pages, scanning the thick black lettering and the precise drawings for the one she needed.

A knock sounded on the door.

“Come,” called Medeoan, hastily shutting the book.

A man in the blue coat and gilded armor of the house guard marched into the room. One sweep of his eyes took in her solitary presence and at once he reverenced, not merely the soldier’s bow from the waist, but the full reverence to the imperial presence, down on both knees, his head bowed before her.

Medeoan rose. This was the man she had ordered the commander to find. As he was, however, she could see nothing of him but a pair of broad shoulders under his uniform coat and his bowed back. “Captain Peshek,” she said.

“Imperial Majesty,” he replied in acknowledgment, but without looking up, as was proper.

It was a propriety that did not help her at all now. She needed to see this man’s eyes. She needed some hint as to how to judge him. “Stand up, Captain. Look at me.”

Captain Peshek hesitated, but only for a heartbeat, and then did as he was bidden. He had a good face under his helmet, Medeoan decided. It was lined by smiles as well as by wind and weather, and his eyes were open and cheerful. But handsome looks could blind the observer. She knew that too well now.

She did not have time to hedge or to engage in any sort of verbal dance. “You are a friend of Lord Avanasy’s, I believe.”

Would he admit it? His whole face went wary. “Yes, Imperial Majesty.”

“Still? Despite his exile?”

He might well be answering for his position, if not his life, and the way he pulled himself to attention said he knew that. Would he deny the friendship in hopes of saving himself? Or would he acknowledge it and accept the consequences of his honesty?

“Yes, Imperial Majesty,” said Captain Peshek.

He said it without flinching or hesitation. Medeoan felt at least some of her knotted muscles loosen. “I know he trusted you.”

Peshek said nothing. He just stood at rigid attention, his eyes straight ahead, waiting for orders, like the soldier he was.

“Because of that, I also will trust you.”

Peshek laid his hand over his heart. “I live to serve, Imperial Majesty.”

Now she had to speak the words out loud, and once the words left her, it all became real and she could not explain away what had happened anymore. Medeoan clasped her hands in front of her to keep them from trembling.

“I am in danger, Captain Peshek.”

That startled him. He stared at her, confusion giving way rapidly to anger in his eyes. “How, Majesty? From who? I’ll have …”

Medeoan shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. The less you know … it’s my own fault … I …” She pulled herself together. “Do you know where Lord Avanasy is?”

For the first time, Peshek hesitated. Why would he not? She had decided to trust him, but who was she? The one who had exiled Avanasy, who would have had him killed if she had caught him. Peshek had to decide how far he trusted her.

In the end, Peshek shook his head. “No, Imperial Majesty. I don’t know where he is. I’m sorry,” he said and Medeoan judged his regret to be sincere.

Medeoan bit her lip. “He told you nothing of where he planned to go?”

“No, Imperial Majesty.”

“I see.” Medeoan circled the reading table. It had been a slim hope, but it had been all she had. The white grimoire lay on the table’s polished surface, looking no more nor less dangerous than any other history or poem. Yet, in there lay her salvation, her promise of life. For that promise, however, she must ask for a sacrifice.

And you must do this now. You have only three days
. In three days the household moved to the summer palace of Vaknevos. In three days she would be constantly in Kacha’s company while they traveled, and her hopes for escape would come to nothing. That thought sent a chill through her bones.

Medeoan steeled herself. “Captain,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “I need for you to bring me a girl, a drab, one newly brought into service, if possible. This must be done quietly. The Mistress of the House must not know.”
No one must know. There must be no rumor, no gossip that can reach my husband’s ears before I can have all my answers ready for him
.

Medeoan watched the question “Why?” form in Peshek’s eyes, but he did not speak it. Instead, it seemed to Medeoan that he turned his mind to the logistics of his assignment. Peshek, she knew, had lived in Vyshtavos for almost as long as she had. He was familiar with its ways, in some areas more familiar with them than she, whose provinces were only great apartments and grand halls.

“The Mistress of the House spends the first part of every day in her pantry reviewing the inventories,” said Captain Peshek, again laying his hand again over his heart. “If that meets with Her Imperial Majesty’s approval, I shall bring the girl then.”

“In the morning, in two days’ time,” said Medeoan. “I will be walking by the canal. Bring her to me then. I remind you once more, this must be done quietly. No one must know.”

“Imperial Majesty.” Peshek pulled himself up to a posture of formal attention in acknowledgment of her orders.

Medeoan opened her mouth. She wanted to say something of her fear, of her fledgling plans. She wanted so much to have another heart beside her, as she thought she had with Kacha, and as she truly had with Avanasy. But Peshek, for all she must trust him, was not Avanasy, and would never be. So, all she said was, “Thank you, Captain Peshek. You may go.”

This time, he gave her the soldier’s reverence, a deep bow with his hand over his heart. But he did not leave at once. “Imperial Majesty?”

“Yes, Captain?” Medeoan rested her fingertips on the reading table, as if she might need to steady herself.

Peshek ventured a glance toward her face, but quickly recovered his discipline and dropped his gaze again. “You may also trust Keeper Bakhar. He too is a friend of Lord Avanasy’s.”

Bakhar. Thank goodness. I don’t know if I could bear it if the attendant of the gods turned against me
.

A thought struck her. Peshek would be a great help, but he could not provide all she needed. Nor could Keeper Bakhar. There would have to be a third. “What of the lord sorcerer?”

Captain Peshek shifted his weight. “Understand, Majesty, I am only a soldier, an unimportant member of the guard …”

“I understand, Captain.” Medeoan felt tired. She did not want to have to ask these questions.

“I do know Keeper Bakhar believes him to be loyal to you,” finished Peshek quickly.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said again, and again he reverenced. This time, however, he turned smartly on his heel and left, as protocol dictated.

Just this once, let me have judged a man rightly
. Medeoan bowed her head.
I
cannot do this alone
.

Two days. Only two days, and yet all of two days. It was just one more space of time to endure, she tried to tell herself. She had endured more and for longer than this, playing her part as required. She could do anything for just two days.

Kacha held himself still while his waiting gentlemen stripped the heavy Isavaltan finery from him, replacing it with a linen nightshirt and a plain, if voluminous, indigo velvet robe. The formal reception and subsequent feast for the new ambassador had lasted until well after dark, but he was not yet tired, which was just as well. There was more work to be done tonight.

On the whole, the reception had gone well. As Yamuna had predicted, Uncle Samudra had sent Girilal to act as the new ambassador. Girilal was a concession to old wounds at court, as he was known to have disapproved of the disruption of the succession Samudra had initiated. This disapproval could be worked on much more easily than Tanmay’s loyalties. It had been a constant struggle to keep Tanmay from realizing that Harshul, Kacha’s bound-sorcerer and Uncle Samudra’s spy, had not reached Isavalta alive. That was not a report which could be permitted to reach the Pearl Throne.

Soon Kacha would find time to be alone with Girilal. He would make the new ambassador understand the situation here in Isavalta, and show him all the benefit his plans would bring to Hastinapura, including restoring the rightful line of succession. Ambassador Girilal would see the truth, and Kacha felt sure it would not take him long to do so.

Despite Kacha’s confidence in his new ambassador, worry still gnawed at him. Medeoan had been too quiet, too with-drawn, this evening, as if she had something on her mind. But she had confided nothing to him. He must have this matter, whatever it might be, out of her soon. If she was ceasing to speak her whole mind to him, it might be the first sign she was slipping from his control, as Yamuna had said she might. If that were so, he would need to make use of the artifact Yamuna’s magic and his bribery had ferreted out. The best time for that would be during the change of households, a time at which the empress could become ill for so many different reasons, and during which the fewest number of people would have their eyes on her.

It must be done
, Yamuna’s voice had whispered to him.
It is better that it be done sooner. You have done well in cementing your alliances, my prince. The lies are in place, and her power wanes. It is better it be done before she realizes what she has lost and struggles to regain it
.