18
So it came to pass that I found myself dressed in the most exotic approximation of my normal clothing no one from home could have dreamed up.
Calling in a virtual army of rekjabrel, the Imperial Princesses had examined my usual fighting leathers, along with the ruined bits of my best ones, then culled through a virtual mountain of silks, velvets, satins, and even dyed leather. Telling the story of the fish-bird attacks that caused the ruination of my best leathers at least kept them entertained—and allowed me to speak freely. The story also helped to accomplish two more things I hadn’t managed thus far: convincing them of both my fighting skills and the existence of magic.
All because the rents in my formerly best leathers could not be mistaken for anything but something resulting in wounds, so saturated with my blood and so neatly shredded. The women held the leathers against me for comparison, smoothing soft fingertips over my skin beneath, noting no matching scars. I caught Inga watching me consideringly after that, perhaps with a revised opinion of my relative foolishness. Little did she know.
It took hours, but the ladies worked wonders, creating a formfitting version of standard fighting leathers—but made in crimson leather, scarlet silk, and satin decorated with bloodred daggers. Several of the rekjabrel, including Sunniva, embroidered the fabric, examining my smaller knives and replicating their delicate, lethal curves with great artistry. Helva thought they should be in silver thread, but Inga insisted on subtlety. In my opinion, they’d left subtlety behind several hours before when they settled on shades of red for me. I’d liked the forest greens—far better camouflage—but the Imperial Princesses overrode me with breezy ease, Inga finally pointing out that it was far too late for me to expect to hide from notice.
Bryn never look back. But I regretted some of my past choices. Not that regret did me a thriced bit of good at that point.
They sent for food, and we ate, drank, and exchanged stories, while the rekjabrel sewed, trying pieces out on me and whisking them away again to tailor the outfit even more perfectly. By the end of the evening—well past midnight—they’d performed a miracle, even transforming my boots to fit their vision. The soft leather and embroidered satin pants fitted me like a second skin. A crimson silk shirt with flowing split sleeves mimicked the drape of the women’s klút but gave glimpses of my arm and wrist sheaths, also recreated in embossed crimson leather. An embroidered satin vest hugged my waist and ribs, lifting and emphasizing my breasts. My boots had been decorated and bejeweled much like the Imperial Princesses’ bare feet, an echo of their artful designs.
The various sheaths dripped silken scarves and ribbons, ones I meticulously adjusted to keep my draws clean and unfettered, the roomful of women watching in glowing-eyed fascination as I checked each one. My mother’s jeweled belt would have matched perfectly, a thought I put aside with equal precision.
“Good,” Inga finally pronounced, exchanging a satisfied nod with Helva. “You are dressed as a man, and yet completely feminine. No one can mistake that you are, indeed, a woman, but with the personage of a man.”
I cast a rueful eye at my cleavage—much more of it than I’d ever thought to have—and had to agree. “But . . . aren’t these awfully close to Kr—His Imperial Highness’s personal colors? I don’t want to seem too closely aligned with him.”
“Jepp . . .” Inga hesitated, choosing her words, but Helva stepped in with an impatient shake of her head.
“You may not wish to admit to the nature of your relationship with our brother.” She held up a painted and bejeweled hand to stop me from saying anything. “That’s your prerogative. However, it’s obvious to anyone with wit that there is a relationship, and, besides, you walked into His Imperial Majesty’s court on his arm. He may not have officially declared you to be under his protection, but he did enough to give everyone pause. I don’t know what game he’s playing, and I think you don’t either. Suffice to say that—”
“That you’re already aligned with him in the minds of everyone here, including his, is my guess, and you might as well use it to good effect,” Inga finished. “Now we’ll let you rest and we shall see what the morning brings. Send Runa to me should you need anything, not Baerr Lars, understand?” She waited for us both to acknowledge, then bade us to rest well and be ready for whatever was to come.
They determined I should attend breakfast—a formal meal in the Imperial Palace, apparently—as only family would be present, and not the Emperor, so it wouldn’t violate his edict that I stay out of his sight. And so, barely hours after I’d finally been released to sleep, Sunniva and Runa awakened me to bathe yet again and dress, yet again.
Seriously, the campaign trail made for an easier life than this silken world of women.
Kral had not visited—though how could he with my rooms packed with people?—nor had he sent any message. I assumed if Hestar had executed him, the network of gossip that had me in its bosom would know all about it. Inga and Helva, who appeared at my door with bright smiles and wearing colorful klúts, brought no news to that effect.
We three walked together, the Imperial Princesses bracketing me as they chatted about absolutely nothing at all, retracing our way through the series of locked doors. It would make me crazy to live behind so many walls, so thoroughly contained. Maybe it made them crazy, too.
The Dasnarians might all be a bit mad. It would explain a great deal.
Speaking of madness, some surged through me as we entered the large dining hall. Glazed but uncovered windows looked out over the lake in three directions, with glimpses of the road. Mountain peaks rose in the far distance, ones that had been screened from view when I’d traveled under the canopy of the evergreen forest but now clearly visible from this particular vantage. The sight of them gave me a pang of homesickness and made me want to smash the glass, leap from the window, swim for shore, and run for the dense woods as fast as my fancified boots could take me. Insane thoughts, indeed, that tempted me to disregard all the obstacles that made the fantasy impossible.
“Good morning, Ambassador,” a rough-warm voice breathed over the nape of my neck, raising the short hairs and tightening my nipples. Speaking of fantasies.
I turned, putting my back to the window ledge and the far-too-tempting view, to take in the sight of Kral, alive, well, and more handsome than I cared to admit. Someone had shaved him and trimmed his hair. Probably some of his rekjabrel. An irritating thought. He looked good, though, wearing the deep blue of the highest-ranked nobles, glittering with silver stitching and icy blue jewels that matched his hard eyes—just as the dark uniform echoed the shadows under them.
Looked like he hadn’t gotten any more sleep than I had.
Ridiculous that I wanted to stroke that newly shaven cheek, to lean against him both to give comfort and be comforted. For all I knew, he planned to throw me to his wolf of a brother in order to save himself. He could have already done so. Somehow, though, it didn’t bother me all that much that he might be my enemy. After all, I’d known that about him the first time my scouts brought me word that he approached Ordnung, with his battalion of one hundred men under his toothy-fished banner. Amid this barrage of the exotic, knowing him for that familiar man became a steady rock in a stormy sea.
He would likely laugh at the comparison. Even as I smiled at the thought, it occurred to me to wonder why Kral had approached—and sailed the Hákyrling—under his own banner and colors instead of under the blue and silver of the Konyngrr fist.
Kral looked me over in turn, actually taking a step back to do so. His gaze flicked to Inga and Helva, chatting nearby with several other noblewomen, judging by their finery, staying close to me without hovering. His haunted expression cracked to show a glint of that feral smile that meant he was thinking of sex, the hard, vicious kind in particular. Danu help me that my body responded instantly. I’d missed the cursed man. We’d gone barely a full day and night without fucking and I was starving for him.
“You look good,” he murmured under his breath. “Both deliciously edible and also dangerous. I see my sisters have been at you.”
“Inga and Helva have been most kind.” There. I sounded all polite.
Didn’t fool him. “I thought Baerr Lars wouldn’t put you in the seraglio, that you might be given rooms in . . . neutral territory.”
“That is indeed the case, as I understand it. Not in the seraglio, but not far from it. Your sisters came to me. They had many interesting tales to convey—ones I’d never heard before.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Such as?”
“Oh, you know.” I accepted a steaming beverage a servant handed me. Sweet, creamy, with a cinnamon bite. “Brothers, sisters. Family squabbles are fascinating, don’t you think? So many parallels across cultures.”
“Why are you talking like that?”
I’d been trying to use more formal Dasnarian, badly, but still. “I’m being ambassadorial, Danu take you.”
“Ah. You are still you inside that exotic getup.” He cut a menacing look to Inga and Helva, who smiled, giving him coy sideways glances, and growled in the back of his throat. “You play a dangerous game, taunting me with family secrets.”
“Yes.” I met his eyes defiantly. “A game you started. Don’t blame me if I choose not to be the bynde for you any longer.”
“What does that mean?”
“How did your private audience with His Imperial Majesty go? I’m available to discuss the treaty you signed with the High Queen any time he wishes.”
Kral took my elbow, moving me a short distance away from his sisters, just far enough to be out of earshot. “Don’t listen to everything the gossiping biddies tell you. You and I need to talk. Not here.”
“This is your territory. Plus I’m going to guess that you are not being kept behind locked doors. Tell me when, where, and, most important, how to get there, and I’m happy to meet with you. To talk, of course.” Okay, I shouldn’t be flirting. The man brought out the worst in me. I couldn’t seem to help myself.
“Stop smiling at me like that. People will get ideas.”
Smiling like what? “Your sisters already suspect we have a . . . connection. They seem to think your behavior toward me is unusual.”
“They are women,” he dismissed, but he also dropped his hold on my arm, putting ceremonious distance between us, and folded his hands behind his back. “Women are forever preoccupied with imagining love affairs, arranging marriages, and such.”
“I’m a woman,” I pointed out. “A fact I believe has been validated and transmitted to the Emperor.” Inadvertently, I glanced at my own cleavage again and looked up in time to catch Kral’s avid gaze there also. I took a deep breath, just to torture him. Gratifyingly, he followed the movement, then wrenched his eyes to my face.
“I sent a messenger to my wife this morning,” he said in a more conversational tone, though his jaw had tightened, the blue of his eyes fulminous. “I’ll expect her tomorrow.”
Why had he agreed to that bet? Knowing what I did now about his history with Harlan and Jenna, it seemed increasingly unlikely that it had been entirely because I’d challenged his honor. “I look forward to meeting her.”
“You shall. In the meanwhile . . .” He cleared his throat and straightened. “Good morning, Sister. I understand you’ve been making the acquaintance of the ambassador. Yours was ever the generous heart.” He managed to make the supposed compliment sound like an accusation.
Inga threaded her arm through mine, affectionately squeezing me to her side as she did, glancing up at Kral sideways. “Indeed I have, Brother. Such an interesting woman. It’s not fair for you to monopolize her company.” Her voice oozed with insinuations. “Did I hear you say that Karyn will be paying us a visit?”
“You’ve always had excellent hearing, as well,” Kral replied without other inflection. “I was just about to offer the ambassador a tour of the Imperial Palace after breakfast. She’s traveled a great distance to learn more about us, and His Imperial Majesty wishes the ambassador be completely educated in the might of the Dasnarian Empire.”
“A reflection of his favor, then, that you are tasked to do so.”
The air between them hung so heavy with barbed words, I wanted to draw a dagger to deflect them. Instead a male servant broke the tension, calling the group to sit and eat. Kral inclined his head, not quite a bow.
“Until after breakfast, Ambassador.” He turned on heel with military precision and headed to a long table where the men gathered. Inga led me to another table, round and low, with silken pillows to sit on.
“Women don’t get chairs?” I eyed the men’s table, their voices boisterous as they passed platters of food.
“There will come a time for you to make that play, but not yet,” Inga soothed. “Besides, it’s good for our shark to taste a bit of blood in the water and be unable to eat.”
“Word is,” said one of the ladies I didn’t know, giving me a thorough side-eye as I settled myself, “that His Imperial Highness refused his rekjabrel last night. There was much disappointed weeping.”
I sipped the warm, spicy-sweet drink, selfishly pleased at the disappointed weeping. At least Kral hadn’t gotten laid either.
“And he’s sent for Karyn,” Inga announced to the table, sending a flurry of astonished expressions my way. The ladies gave up all pretense of casting their eyes down once the men moved away, eyeing me with bold assessment.
“She won’t get Karyn to approve,” one said to her neighbor.
“Maybe she will. Karyn won’t care.”
“His Imperial Majesty, however, certainly won’t approve,” the first replied with a decided sniff in my direction.
“Approve of what?” I asked, tired of the giggling insinuations.
Helva, seated on my other side, patted my hand. “Our brothers’ wives assume that you seek to become Kral’s second wife, a role that requires the approval of the first wife. Why else would our brother send for she who’s never been sent for?”
I groaned mentally. Either Kral was oblivious to female politics—entirely possible—or had factored this in when he agreed to my foolishly proposed bet.
“I do not seek to become anyone’s wife.” I stated it clearly, as a man would, without any apologetic embellishments. “I’m here to do a job and go home again. Alone. And unmarried,” I added, just in case any doubt remained.
“Tell that to my brother.” Inga tilted her head toward the men’s table. Following the direction she indicated, I caught the hot blue flash of Kral’s eyes on me before he looked quickly away. “Be very careful, Jepp,” Inga continued under her breath. “You may be fierce, but you are only a woman, which means you have no power here, despite your foreign queen. Learn from the stories we’ve told you. What a man, particularly an Imperial Prince, no matter how out of favor, chooses to take, he may also choose to discard. Your best lawful security would be in gaining status as his wife. I would not be so quick to dismiss the honor.”
As promised, Kral claimed me after the meal—one that had been so enormous, I nearly cried with relief at the opportunity to walk some of it off. Not anything like a real workout, but after nearly a full day and night of doing nothing but sitting, I craved movement of any kind. Treating the excursion as a formal tour, Kral took me through all the public areas of the Imperial Palace, explaining their functions within the Dasnarian court and the peripheral government. He’d shrugged on the persona of His Imperial Highness, with that remoteness of the man I’d met in the carriage, so unlike the lover I’d come to know on the Hákyrling.
He took me through a vast series of meeting halls, bordered by smaller rooms for more intimate conferences. “These are where new laws are debated and signed into effect,” he explained. “The studies are for those wishing to influence those laws one way or the other to meet and attempt to persuade those with voting power.”
“Doesn’t His Imperial Majesty have absolute power, then?”
Kral lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “It is a balance. The Domstyrr contains representatives of all the subject kingdoms who are in good standing. As a condition of that standing, they tithe to the empire and enjoy the opportunity to influence the laws that govern us all.”
“Why couldn’t the Domstyrr decide to elevate one of their own as Emperor instead?” I thought of Kral’s mother and her machinations to make her son Emperor over Hestar.
“The Emperor is no fool.” Kral laughed, an indulgent smile for me with it. “Anyone so presumptuous as to put forward a law without His Imperial Majesty’s sanction would find himself out of favor at best and summarily executed at worst.”
So not that much opportunity to influence the laws. More of the figurehead sinecures, such as Kral being general of nothing in reality. The tour continued along those lines, with ample demonstration of how the Domstyrr operated under Hestar’s aegis.
I put up with it all for some time, at first curious to determine what agenda Kral followed, then increasingly bored. Understanding the Dasnarian judicial system had not been on the list of what Her Majesty wanted me to find out, and I seemed to be no closer to the things that were. No sign of the Temple of Deyrr or High Priest Kir, nor any way of researching the Star of Annfwn. If only someone would draw me a map.
“Are there any temples on the Imperial Palace grounds?” I asked, hoping to sound casually curious.
Kral flicked me a glance, my question an interruption of his theme of law and the passing of judgments in an amphitheater currently empty but capable of holding tens of hundreds. Tiered benches looked down on a central platform with a pole, large enough to hold one person. The accused, presumably, who would be tethered.
“All temples are in Jofarrstyr proper. In the Imperial Palace, only His Imperial Majesty holds divine right on these grounds. Though other gods may be elevated above him, it would be an insult to do so in his presence. Why? If you seek a temple of your goddess, Danu, you won’t find one in Jofarrstyr. I’ve told you, she is considered but a minor deity.”
And Danu’s followers didn’t build temples to her anyway, other than those of our bodies. “Ah, I see. I shall have to observe her upcoming high holy day on my own, then.” A total lie, as the Feast of Danu occurred at midsummer and involved mostly feasting, drinking, and—for the celibate—an unusual amount of licentiousness. For those of us who regularly indulged in the more carnal side of life, the day became simply an excuse to have fun. Kral didn’t know that and, shrugging in agreement, continued the stultifying tour.
At least it gave me the opportunity to better learn the grounds of the Imperial Palace. What parts connected, what did not. Dead ends, blinds, and improbable bridges. By matching up my mental maps, I determined which tower held my rooms. A tall, isolated one. Not helpful knowledge yet, but perhaps someday.
“Kral,” I finally said as we walked over an exterior bridge that arced dizzyingly high above a stone courtyard where soldiers drilled with rigid precision, the solitude my first opportunity to speak frankly with him, “why this tour?”
He glanced down at me, an eyebrow raised. “So that you can be educated in the—”
“Yes, yes, the might of the Dasnarian Empire.” I stopped at the high point of the bridge. A chill wind tore at my silk scarves and flowing sleeves, ripping the words from my mouth, but we could not be overheard. “You said we needed to talk, Kral, so say something worthwhile already. What’s going on? What did Hestar say about the treaty?”
Kral set his jaw, temper in his eyes. “You have such a lovely mouth. How do I forget so quickly the sort of words that come out of it?”
“You seem to be excellent at self-delusion,” I retorted. “You promised to help me. You can start by telling me what’s going on.”
“There is no treaty,” he ground out. “I was not empowered to sign any such document, not to save myself or my men. The Emperor does not believe in the barrier and suspects me of making up the story to prevent him from acquiring the Nahanaun archipelago and your Thirteen Kingdoms.”
Aha. Verification that Hestar knew perfectly well where I came from.
“What treasure did you seek there, Kral?” I asked it softly, but the question surprised him still. “Were you looking for Jenna?”
He snapped back as if I’d slapped him, recovering quickly, fingers flexing as if he longed to lay hands on me. “If you value your neck, don’t throw that name around. I don’t care what my meddling sisters told you.”
“I’m not flinging it around. Only you and I can hear.” I gestured at our isolated eyrie. Though the wind bit sharper than a fish-bird beak, it felt better to be outside, out of the cloistered warmth of the stone palace. “What was your plan—to find her and drag her back to her husband?”
He laughed, bitter, a shadow of something in his eyes. “Is that what they told you? What you must think of us and our family scheming. With Harlan cast in the role of loving brother and greathearted hero, while I am . . . what? Ever the shark. Circling the water. Tasting for blood. Going for the kill. Yet another reason for you to withhold your respect.”
He leaned in as he spoke, not touching me, as the eyes of the wary guard were ever upon us, but face lined with tension and silent violence.
“I only have one side of the story,” I said evenly. “Tell me the rest of it.”
“Forgive me if I decline to confide my greatest pain.”
Fine, then. “All right. Confide something useful. If there’s no treaty, what’s the upshot here? Does Hestar intend to wage war on the Thirteen?” If so, that would take precedence in the mission. I’d also owe it to King Nakoa KauPo to warn him that Hestar’s eye wandered in the direction of complete conquest. He’d treated us as guests, aside from the whole business with Dafne.
Kral was staring over my shoulder, jaw muscles working, gaze hard as glaciers. “When I know, I’ll attempt to tell you. Though you won’t be able to do anything in that case.”
“I can travel home, pass along the message of Dasnaria’s might that your Emperor so clearly wants me to perceive.”
“You can send a letter.”
“And that will get through the barrier how?”
“Hestar doesn’t believe in the barrier, I told you.”
I threw up my hands. “Does his belief change your knowledge of reality, Kral? You know the barrier exists whether your idiot of a brother listens to you or not.”
His jaw clenched, eyes icy as the wintery sky beyond, midnight cloak snapping in the whipping wind. “Shut up, Jepp. Don’t be so cavalier about His Imperial Majesty.”
“Or what? Will he strike me down in his divine and righteous wrath? I owe your Emperor no loyalty, no vow. I have made vows to Danu’s service, several of which I’ve managed to violate in rather spectacular fashion, and she has yet to visit punishment on me.” Though it occurred to me that this entire fiasco of a mission could be Danu’s final attempt to teach me a lesson.
“You are a fool,” Kral gritted out. “After all I’ve shown you these last hours, how can you not be cowed? Observe the might of Emperor Hestar as a man, even if you don’t have the wit to recognize anything else. Your goddess might not strike you down, but His Imperial Majesty surely will if you continue to provoke him. What will it take to get through to you?”
Ah, at last! An explanation for the tour in all things penitential. And a glimpse of the Kral I knew best. Perversely, his furious lecturing turned me on. “I’m not sure I can be cowed. But if you can find us one of those private spots you mentioned, you are welcome to try.”