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"You are most gracious." Ramirus' expression was impassive— unreadable—but his tone was
dry. "And I shall consider your advice for what it is worth." He waved his hand toward the
door and it began to open. "In the meantime, try not to destroy too much of my property on
the way out, will you? I should hate to have to send you a bill for it."
Indeed. And how much does one pay for a three-headed moat monster these days? "I shall do
my best," Colivar promised. "Assuming of course that your property does not get in my way
again."
"It will not stop you from leaving," Ramirus promised. And a spark of cold humor glimmered
in his eyes. "In fact, Colivar, I feel confident in promising you that no sorcery of mine will
ever keep you from leaving."
Nevertheless, it was not until he saw his visitor fly over the enchanted forest, demon-hounds
howling at him from below, that he returned to the lamplit comfort of his library to continue
with his research.
Chapter 5
A MONTH AGO, the Queen of Sankara might have been pleased by the success of her
gathering.
The heads of all twenty-six Free States were in her grand atrium now, accompanied by such
spouses, advisers, and, in some cases, courtesans as had traveled with them. Servants in
flowing silks moved among the guests, silent and graceful, offering silver platters heaped with
the costliest delicacies of the region: fresh peacock hearts, marinated lark tongues, date
pastries topped with shavings of gold leaf. Music played softly in the background—a sensual
melody from the southern deserts—and a delicate incense warmed the air, carefully chosen to
complement the perfumes in vogue.
If anyone had questioned in the past whether a Grand Council meeting should be held in
Sankara, they did not question it now. Other princes might provide a meeting room where the
leaders of the Free States could hash out policy issues, but who else could host such a fete as
this afterward?
"What a delightful gathering," the Duke of Surilla gushed to her. He had found a young man
among the attendants that suited his fancy and had spent the last hour eating his fill of
whatever delicacies the boy was serving, to keep him from wandering away. Other hosts
might have simply
provided the duke with a promise that the servant would join him in his bed later and prided
themselves on a job well done. Silly fools! Pleasure was not simply about hunger fulfilled, but
a multicourse feast in which seduction was merely the first remove. And so the good duke
must stumble about the task of asking her if later that evening the boy would be, ah, free, to
attend to his desires. And Siderea told him that her attendants were free to do as they pleased,
and so the boy might meet with him after hours if it pleased him to do so. Now the duke must
wonder and worry each time his blood grew heated, and continue to eat from that one
particular tray until his stomach could hold no more, and offer up flattery and flirtation and
perhaps even some expensive gift to earn the night's ending that he desired. Which was all as
it should be. Siderea's servants were well versed in such games and took a genuine pleasure in
manipulating her guests. And why not? The boy was free to keep whatever gifts he might
earn, while the duke drank deeply of the illusion of conquest. Far more fulfilling for him than
if she had merely told him the truth—which was that her servants would of course
accommodate his sexual needs. What kind of a hostess would she be otherwise?
Yes, by all her normal measures, it was a most successful party.
But while her guests laughed and flirted, and she moved from one to another with wine in her
hand and a smile on her face that made each guest feel absolutely certain that he was the one
person the Queen of Sankara really cared about, her heart was cold. The joy on her face was
no better than a mask, and even the pride she felt at the success of her party was a pale
shadow of what it should have been. Empty pleasures. The one thing she wanted most was
beyond her reach, and no man here could provide it. Which made all other pastimes seem cold
and futile.
Could her guests see the weakness in her? Could they sense the doom that hung about her like
a shroud? Or was she hiding it artfully enough?
Don't think about that, she ordered herself. Focus on the business at hand.
The council meeting had been peaceful enough, but ultimately unproductive. As she had
expected it to be. She was not one of those Free Lands monarchs whose head was in the
clouds, nursing dreams of political unity and cooperative enterprises. She was a realist. The
Free States had banded together to face down the threat of the High Kingdom and to keep
Dan-ton Aurelius from claiming the valuable trade ports of the Inner Sea one
by one. Individually the twenty-six tiny nations might have fallen to him, but together they
had proven strong enough to fend off his military attentions. No one dared leave the alliance
because to do so was an invitation to certain conquest.
But now Danton Aurelius was dead. That threat was gone. In his absence the so-called Free
States were likely to devolve into what they had been before his reign: a bunch of squabbling,
disorganized municipalities, more interested in warring with each other than in serving any
common interest. Oh, there were a few exceptions. The ruling houses married their children to
one another to establish alliances by blood and sometimes that actually worked for a while.
Sometimes a whole generation might pass without overt aggression between two particular
states, although the shadow war of corruption and assassination continued on unabated. And
of course Sankara itself was prosperous enough—and strong enough—that it had never
needed to fight with its neighbors over land or gold. But on the whole, the lords of the Free
States were a fractious lot, more interested in who owned what particular stone along their
common shoreline than in any dreams of mutual prosperity.
Danton had been the Other. Fearing him, they had united. Who would fill that role for them
now? Salvator Aurelius wanted peace, she'd heard. A Penitent monk who hated war,
inheriting a warmonger's throne! That was of no use to anyone.
"My compliments, Lady Queen. A most impressive gathering."
Lost in reverie, Siderea had not seen or heard anyone approach her. She masked her surprise
with a delicate laugh of pleasure. Never mind who was talking to her; they would read into
that sound whatever message they most wished to hear. "You are too kind," she purred,
turning to face the source of the words.
The speaker was a stranger to her, a man of indeterminate age, thin and hard, with black hair
that fell in a sharp-edged bowl cut above lean, angular features. His jawline was without any
hint of shadow, which made it likely that no more than a handful of hours had passed since his
last shave. On a day when both lords and servants had been bustling about since dawn without
a moment to spare, that seemed .. . odd. His long robes hinted at wealth in their fabric, but not
in their styling, and they offered no clue as to his origins. Garnet silk: the color of
pomegranates and blood.
His words had a foreign flavor to them, but it was not an accent she recognized. That was odd
as well; the great port city of Sankara was favored by merchants and travelers from all the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]