As Percy had promised, we parked the Last Resort at a slip reserved for nobles in favor with the Imperial Toad, conveniently close to an ostentatiously magnificent bridge to the main gate. Nice for getting in, but terrible for getting out again. Even if we could evade capture long enough to escape the citadel, we’d never make it to the Last Resort—or get the yacht out of the harbor.
Which Percy had to have known when he suggested the tactic. His last sacrifice, for sure. The guards balked at Vesno coming along, but no way was I leaving the wolfhound behind, since we wouldn’t be back to the yacht. To deal with the guards, Percy pointed out—at blistering length—that they were not the ones to be attempting to negotiate such a piddling issue, especially when my affection for the dog acted as another leash on my good behavior. They finally capitulated, maybe out of sheer exhaustion.
It was definitely a faster entrée to Anure’s stronghold than the Slave Gate had been, the phalanx of guards escorting us past the long line awaiting entry, through the massive maw of the main gate, then down the dark stone hallways. I studied the walls and branching halls and stairs, attempting to place myself from my previous visit, but I didn’t recognize much. Or rather, everything looked the same and thus far too familiar. I could only guess that there must be markers indicating the various towers—Agatha had seemed to know the system—and I hoped our other team had all infiltrated their towers and had the captives ready to evacuate as we began our distraction. Ambrose had been confident he and Merle would know of our movements, but I hadn’t caught a glimpse of either of them.
As we drew nearer the throne room, I was able to place it from Lia’s re-creation on the model. We stepped into the huge hall, and I imagined myself on that sand table. The small figure of myself—sadly without the rock hammer I’d left with Lia, or even my sword or bagiroca, as Percy had taken possession of those—being marched by a child’s hand through the encircling ring of courtiers. I resisted searching their faces to see if I could spot Rhéiane. If all had gone as it should, my sister wouldn’t be in the room. Ambrose and Merle should be already posing as Anure’s generals, moving the captives out to whatever ship Brenda and Kara had decided was best for stealing.
So many moving pieces I knew nothing about. I began to understand Lia’s frustration at being out of control. There was something to be said for lone-wolfing it.
Just outside the throne room, the captain of the guard halted at the closed doors. His men swiftly surrounded Percy, relieving him of the chain to the fuse, and detaching the bag from my belt. The captain grinned at Percy’s dismay. “You didn’t really believe we’d let you carry a bomb before His Imperial Majesty, did you? We’re not idiots.”
Percy protested that it wasn’t a bomb. I concentrated on looking mean and stoic. The guards laughed and marched us in—one taking the bomb away, the fuse unlit.
They deposited us on the wide apron at the foot of the imposing throne. I’d been grateful that Lia had pushed herself to re-create the throne room for us because we needed the information. Now I found myself glad in a way I hadn’t expected that I’d seen Lia’s model of the throne itself, and heard her and Sondra discuss the optical illusion of the thing. If I hadn’t known, I might’ve been intimidated by the vast scale, the awesome height, and the piles of treasure mounded on the steps. As it was, I had been braced for the sight of Anure seemingly so far above me—and I could smile inside at the ridiculousness of a man so desperate to feel superior.
Also as Lia had described, the four wizards stood on the steps of the throne. The one in black stood nearest Anure, only two steps down, the two in blue and purple midway down on each side, and the one in red nearly at the bottom.
The guards retreated a few steps behind us, blocking our retreat. Percy bowed gracefully to Anure while I—true to my expected character—refused. Returning Anure’s stare without flinching, I put all my disgust and hatred on display. Make him think all you care about is defying him.
“I should declare this an imperial holiday,” Anure said in his smoothly cultured voice. “My prodigal cousin returns to Me and brings Me two gifts: the wretched rebel Slave King and something else of note. A special piece of jewelry, I understand?” The avid greed leaked into his tone, his fingers twitching in his longing to grasp and take.
At his words, the red wizard tipped back his cowl to reveal black eyes in a curiously smooth face. He should be able to sense the magic of the case and Lia’s enchantment on the orchid, but the spell wouldn’t stand up to close inspection, she’d said, not for long. He didn’t look at the case, though. Instead the red wizard stared long and hard at me, then smiled, not at all nicely. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a page and bent to whisper some message, sending the page off again.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Percy had been saying during this little scene, oozing obsequious charm, “I greet you. It has been too long since the joyful days of our youth.”
“I thought you were dead, Percival,” Anure said, sounding unpleasantly surprised to discover he was wrong. “I can’t imagine why you aren’t—nor why you’re here.”
Percy shrugged. “Aekis was boring. I helped you before, and you shared your wealth and position with me. I want that again. So I brought you gifts to demonstrate my sincerity.”
Anure’s lip curled, and he tapped twitching fingers on the arm of his obscene throne. “And you, Slave King, I’m astonished you didn’t kill yourself rather than be dragged to face justice in my court, given all you’ve stolen from Me.”
I laughed at that, loudly and heartily, for once not self-conscious at the harsh burr of it, like a dog choking on its collar, even enjoying how the courtiers in my peripheral vision flinched at the sound.
“Do I amuse you, dog?” Anure sneered.
“Well, yeah.” I tipped my chin at the treasure dripping down the steps of the throne. “It’s pretty fucking funny to hear a thief sitting on a pile of stolen jewels accuse someone else of theft.” I couldn’t help scanning the hoard, wondering if the crown of Oriel lay in there somewhere, if I’d even recognize it after all these years. “I’m also surprised you can even say the word ‘justice.’ Did it burn your tongue on the way out?”
“I could have you killed where you stand for such insolence,” Anure shouted, thumping his fist on the arm of his throne.
I glanced around, raising a dubious brow at his guards. “I am chained and unarmed,” I noted. “So you might have a shot at it. I’m sure you realize that’s the only way you could beat me—since I’ve defeated you in every other battle.”
People behind me gasped and muttered, a hint of titillation in their voices. Anure ignored them as beneath his notice, and I finally got Lia’s point about the false emperor being lax about his court. Lia would’ve played to their reactions. As it was, Anure had lost that opportunity and I was going to snatch it up.
“What about Cradysica?” Anure retorted, a greedy smile devouring his face. “It seems you lost there, Slave King.”
“Really—that is what you call a victory?” I snorted in disbelief, glancing to a cluster of courtiers at the edge of my vision, shaking my head and inviting them to join in my incredulity. “You lost more than two hundred ships, the best of your fleet—we’re not sure how many since most of them are at the bottom of the sea. Thousands of your best sailors and soldiers died. And we successfully repelled you from Calanthe, which is now forever beyond your reach. I’m not clear on how you figure victory, but we must have different definitions.”
Anure leaned forward from the edge of his throne, precarious in his perch, clawed fingers hanging on to the arms of the chair as if loosening his grip would pitch him headlong down the steps. “I won!” he gritted out. “I captured the only prize worth having, and everyone here witnessed that. Queen Euthalia, so celebrated and honored—your wife—humiliated and broken right where you stand.”
“You didn’t manage to keep her long, though,” I pointed out sympathetically. “Her escape must’ve stung, huh?”
Anure stilled, and I worked hard to look casual, not holding my breath. “Her Highness is My prisoner,” Anure declared. “When she has reconsidered the error of her ways, I might readmit her to My presence. Of course, since you so foully raped an untouched blossom, I can no longer marry her, but perhaps she will be pleased to see her abuser tortured.”
Beside me, Percy relaxed, just enough for me to notice—hopefully imperceptible to anyone else. The wizards didn’t so much as twitch, but I liked to think I’d made them nervous. Lia might be right that they held Anure’s leash, but the guy sitting on the throne still gave the orders.
“Are you sure of that?” I asked, making it clear he shouldn’t be. “Because I just saw Queen Euthalia on Calanthe. I even kissed Her Highness goodbye, after fucking her all night. You missed out on a prime piece there, Anure.” My deliberate crudeness sent renewed murmuring through the court. The black wizard made a complicated hand gesture, turning his face in the direction of Calanthe.
A high whining sound skittered off the marble walls, silencing everyone, a rime of fear stilling all movement. “Lies,” Anure hissed, the acute pitch nearly painful. “I shall make you suffer, Slave King. You might have raped and defiled My beloved fiancée, but I rescued her from your unclean hands. She is Mine now. You’ll never touch her again.”
I made a face of dramatic regret. “You’re wrong, Your Imperiousness. But let’s make a bet. Send for Her Highness. If you can produce her, I’ll give you the Abiding Ring.” I held up the glass case in demonstration.
“We can take it anyway, just as we divested you of that bomb.” Anure sat back, considering. “Besides, I see through your trick. You hope to deceive Me into releasing Her Highness from My prisons in an attempt to recover her. You must care about Euthalia very much.” His keen gaze rested on me, seeing into my heart.
“My spoils of war belong to me and no one else,” I replied. “I already recovered what you attempted to take and weren’t strong or clever enough to keep. Look closer at this,” I said, allowing a smirk of triumph as I held the case aloft for all to see. “The hand and finger you severed in this very room. When I reclaimed my bride, I took those, too. Along with the Abiding Ring.”
The black wizard descended the steps to confer with the red wizard, both eyeing my trophy. The other two wizards seemed oddly still. I kept an eye on them, most of my attention on Anure. “Queen Euthalia hasn’t been your guest for some time now.” I tipped my head meaningfully at the wizards. “Maybe these guys lied to you?”
Anure looked to the wizard nearest him, the blue-robed one, gesturing impatiently. The blue wizard suddenly stirred, bowed, and spoke to Anure at length, but quietly. The purple wizard seemed not to notice anything, the red and black wizards still in their private conversation, occasionally glancing my way as if trying to see the contents of the case better.
Then the blue wizard’s words apparently penetrated Anure’s thick skull. As if his fuse finally burned through, Anure exploded. “Dead?!” he thundered. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
The red wizard tore his gaze from the case I held to assess Anure. “Your Imperial Majesty,” the red wizard said, bowing deeply. “Her Highness, the queen of Calanthe, did indeed perish of blood loss from the injuries You ordered done to Her. But the Abiding Ring remained blooming and fresh. The ways of magic are mysterious. We had preserved Her corpse in the hope of resurrecting Her. If She has indeed been brought back to life, this is cause for celebration, indeed.”
Anure wasn’t mollified. “This is akin to treachery! Explain yourselves to Me.”
The black wizard opened his mouth, but the red wizard held up a hand to silence him. “Perhaps Your Imperial Majesty will accept some information as an apology. This Slave King is someone you know.”
Anure swung his attention to me, all temper vanished, that penetrating intellect focusing. “I knew it. Who is he?”
“Conrí,” the wizard said with some satisfaction. “Former crown prince of former Oriel, son of your old friend King Tuur.”
Shit. This wasn’t good. But I held my head high, hiding all reaction.
Anure smiled as if he’d won a great prize. “Is that so? I have someone you might like to meet, Slave King. Summon Lady Rhéiane.”
“Your Imperial Majesty,” the red wizard replied with a like smile. “I already have.”
“Good.” Anure steepled his fingers together. “Now that all the stakes are on the table, we can discuss the terms of our bargain.”
In the early morning, I left Ibolya to her tense waiting and—somewhat disoriented from spending so much time in someone else’s head—I returned to my rooms, walking with Zariah and discussing my wardrobe for the day. I needed to look impressive, just in case. My other ladies were waiting for us, so I sent Zariah off to sleep, demurring at their suggestions that I rest also. Though I’d been awake all night, I knew that sleeping at all would only make me groggy, taking my edge off.
I was going to need that edge by the end of the day, I suspected. Everything had gone well so far—and I could only hope it had gone that well for Sondra and Agatha, too—but the trickiest parts had yet to be executed.
My natural hair didn’t do regal well. It better suited looking like a dryad emerged from a forest pool, as Con had noted. But I also wanted my nature, fully embraced, on display for all to witness. I had my ladies leave my hair down, Orvyki pulling some of it back from my face to be pinned under the crown, then coaxing the increasingly long fall of it into rolling waves.
Otherwise, to create a regal impression, I went with jewels. Nahua found a collar of diamonds, fastening it around my throat and adding successive strings of pearls and diamonds, covering my bare breasts and draping to the top of my pubis. Calla added epaulets of more diamonds and pearls affixed to my shoulders. Suspended from those, strings of jewels brushed my arms where the patterns of barks, leaves, stems, and flowers roamed over my skin with growing abandon.
A girdle of sapphires and emeralds draped low over my hips, the larger jewels hanging in thicker panels that thinned to dangling strands of glittering gems that swirled around my thighs. Zariah had returned, refreshed and in a new gown, declaring herself unable to sleep. I suspected she simply wouldn’t take rest if I wouldn’t. The heels she found for me were jewelry in themselves—made of strands of silver chains studded with diamonds.
By the time they finished, I wore a good portion of Calanthe’s treasury—and was more weighed down by it than I had been by some of my old gowns.
I’d canceled court for the day, so I’d be free to do what was needed, and I returned to the map tower along with my ladies. It took two of them to carry Con’s rock hammer for me, Nahua and Orvyki nearly staggering under its weight, but they protested so fiercely when I suggested a guard could carry it for me that I acceded.
Once we reached the map room, I had them set the rock hammer gently in the center of the map, where I’d once lain spread open, naked to my soul, and vulnerable to Con. It had been a beginning of sorts for us, and I would use that connection, since I no longer had the marriage bond.
“You may go,” I told my ladies once I was satisfied with the hammer’s placement. “I have no more need of you for the time being.”
Several of them exchanged glances, then all curtsied deeply and Calla stepped forward, curtsying also. “I beg Your pardon, Your Highness. We have no wish to disobey You, but it’s clear that You intend to embark on some sort of personal battle in the next hours. We failed Your Highness in the past by not staying to protect You. We’ve all been practicing, as You asked, and while we are not yet as proficient as we’d like to be, we beg leave to remain, to guard Your back and Calanthe, as is our sworn duty.”
I regarded her with some surprise, seeing the same resolve on all their faces. The blossoms of the Flower Court, displaying their thorns in fine style. Emotion moved through me, fine and sweet. I’d perhaps learned something about not rejecting the love offered to me, like a child flinging away a toy that proved less shiny than initially thought.
“Please rise. I welcome your protection and support,” I told them. “Thank you. Though I cannot vouch how this particular battle will appear to you. It may be quite strange.”
Orvyki smothered a giggle, and Calla smiled with genuine humor. “We are rather growing accustomed to strangeness, Your Highness.”
I smiled back. “No doubt. If you would each take one of the cardinal directions out on the balcony.” They hastened to oblige. Instead of going to the sand table, I went to the center of the map of Calanthe, smiling wryly at myself for lifting my weight off my heels so as to tread lightly. I’d observed to Con in the past that it amused me to see how tentatively visitors moved over the glittering mosaic, though we had no such qualms about treading on Calanthe Herself. Even I was not immune from the nicety, however.
Standing in the midst of Calanthe, my foot touching the haft of Con’s rock hammer, I gathered the dreamthink to me, simultaneously stretching my senses to the vast circle that was my realm, from her boundary waters to the geographic heart of the island—and into the sleeping mind of Calanthe, my mother goddess. She murmured dreamily to me, and I soothed Her. I wouldn’t need Her might. Not just yet.
I checked with Vesno first, the wolfhound greeting me with overwhelming joy. Con and Percy were still aboard the Last Resort, the citadel looming closer so that the smoke increasingly obscured the bright morning light, but they were some distance away yet. So I went on to Ibolya’s mind, finding her amid a bustle of preparation. The atmosphere in the tower room was tense, a grim determination in the faces around her, with a sharp edge of hope.
They wouldn’t move until Ambrose came for them—when Con reached the citadel—so I went back to Vesno. I ended up pacing in circles as I watched their interaction with the harbor guard, and the gambit with putting Con in chains. “Idiot wolf,” I muttered at him.
I wasn’t surprised he hadn’t told me about that part of his plan—as I would’ve argued strenuously against it, along with the incredibly foolish tactic of actually chaining himself to the bomb—but I also marveled at his courage. I knew well of his vows never to be chained again. Except for a brief time when I’d taken him prisoner, he’d managed it, too.
“Never again, my wolf,” I murmured to him. “After this, never again.” If he survives. I banished the traitorous doubts.
It took some time for them to sail into the harbor and negotiate with the guards to bring Vesno, then to travel to the throne room, so I checked back with Ibolya. Just in time, too.
A knock at the door had them all scurrying to hide their preparations as a guard opened the door and stuck his head in. “Syr Wizard here to see you. Behave yourselves now.”
A tall wizard in a deep purple strode into the room. Ibolya tried to hide herself from his view, her heart climbing into her throat with acid fear, but his amber eyes fastened on her. Tipping his hood back, he gave her a narrow smile, the granite cast of his long face altering very little, but lighting his eyes. He reached up into his long black hair and withdrew a raven’s feather, twirling it briefly and letting it fall—and Ibolya breathed a sigh of relief.
“By order of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of All the Landss,” Merle declared to the group, “you are to be moved to a place of safety. You will be peaceful and compliant.”
A few of the nobles looked nervously at Ibolya, but she nodded reassuringly, then turned to Merle. “We will comply, Syr Wizard.”
With a nod to her, Merle commanded the guards to round up the captives. They extracted the occupants of the other two rooms on that floor, then descended in a closely guarded queue to the next floor, and the next. With thirty-two captives, plus Ibolya, Merle, and six guards, they paraded down the main stairs of the tower. Each set of guards that challenged them were recruited by Merle to guard the evacuation of the captives.
At the intersection of hallways where they’d parted company hours before, Ibolya’s group reunited with Agatha’s. They had a similar number of captives and guards, and Agatha nodded in confirmation of their success—though she looked tense and anxious. Ambrose wore his blue wizard’s robes instead of his Lord Ryder guise. He looked somewhat the same as he had on Calanthe—and not. Not so youthful, but worn down, aged and gray, leaning heavily on his staff.
He instructed the guards to count heads and prepare the prisoners to be moved to a ship in the harbor, then he and Merle briefly conferred. Ibolya sidled near, and Ambrose beckoned her to come closer. “We have a problem with Sondra’s lot,” he said quietly. “They were fine when I left them, but there’s been a complication.”
“I knew I should’ve taken the far tower,” Agatha noted, joining the conversation with a grim face and shadowed eyes.
“I thought you did,” Ibolya said, and Agatha grimaced, shaking her head.
“I let Sondra talk me out of it. Her dedication to Rhéiane is fierce—and she persuaded me against my better judgment.”
“The Lady Sondra is formidable that way,” Ibolya commented quietly.
“Indeed,” Ambrose said. “Your Highness, we need Your assistance.”
“Her Highness?” Ibolya asked, startled. “But I don’t know that—”
“She is lisstening now,” Merle informed her gravely, setting a hand briefly on Ibolya’s arm to soothe her. “Be not alarmed.”
“Oh,” Ibolya breathed. “Her Highness said She might listen through me, but I thought I’d feel it.”
“In time, with practice, perhapss,” Merle replied. “You have much native magic that you can train to use.” Ibolya smiled, pride and excitement filling her.
“For now, Your Highness,” Ambrose said to her, to me, “would you go to Sondra? We dare not release this group from our control. We’ll move them to the ship, then one of us will return to assist you. Can you stall them?”