Chapter Thirty-Four The Minister and the Domitian She-Devils
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The Minister and the Domitian She-Devils
The Emperor beckoned Pio over. “Come spill poison in my ear.”
“It is my honour to advise you, sire.”
His Imperial Majesty gave Pio a mocking smile. “That’s what I said.”
In truth, which Pio would never speak to another soul – he was, after all, a politician – he hated the young god even more than he hated minstrel songs and stories. But they had no alternative to accepting the Emperor’s rule. Where could they find another god?
Time of Lies, ANONYMOUS
How better for a queen to show her true heart than by acting as political advisor to her future husband? He had trained his niece in diplomacy from the cradle. Pio was confident Ninell could win the final round of the Queen’s Trials.
Unfortunately, the Emperor had no notion of political discretion. He had decided he would hold court for all his subjects, rather than sensibly hearing the wisdom of his lords.
A servant girl came before the throne, complaining of liberties taken by her liege lord. Pio could not believe she was bothering the Emperor with such trivialities.
Ninell wisely chose to show womanly solidarity. “My dear, you are right to come to our Emperor with this. First, Your Imperial Majesty, shall we interview other members of the household, to see what they say about the characters of the accused and accuser?”
Her voice was clear and reasonable. The likelihood of any other servants speaking up against their lord was, of course, non-existent.
Lady Rahela slipped through the throne room doors, hopelessly late and trying to move soundlessly. Pio was glad the lady got to see Ninell’s moment of triumph.
Then the Emperor said brightly, “No need to hear from witnesses. The matter is being dealt with. Care to have a look from the balcony?”
The gold-masked dead had dragged Lord Barbas out into the centre of the courtyard below. They lifted their gold masks to bare the lower half of their rotten faces and lunged for him, teeth first, hands tearing him apart as though the lord was a roast chicken.
Almost every day the palace maids had to clean blood and entrails from the cobblestones. This was the price of being ruled by a god.
“The Barbas family controls Loneliness Harbour,” Pio warned tightly. “They have powerful friends.”
The Emperor raised a brow. “More powerful than me?”
“No, Your Imperial Majesty. You are all-powerful.”
Every monarch, god or not, thought he was all-powerful. Until people decided he wasn’t.
Half the court had turned sick and pale at the bloody spectacle. The servant girl who had brought her complaint to the throne clasped a hand over her mouth as if she might spew her breakfast on the gold tiles. The Emperor gave her a puzzled look, as if he had expected gratitude for his savagery.
Even Lady Rahela gazed at the sight below with dismay, as if she imagined the Emperor might have changed overnight into a hero, merciful and wise.
The Emperor brightened at the sight of her. “My lady. Just in time.”
“In fact she is very late,” said Pio sharply.
Unlike his Emperor, he found the sight of Rahela displeasing.
Her dress showed signs it had been put on in haste and her hair was falling down in wispy disarray.
She yawned even as Pio spoke, rumpled and flushed, as though flaunting that she had risen just now from bed, and anyone could guess the bed was not her own.
The whole court knew Lady Rahela had no shame, but had she no maid?
The Emperor apparently had no fault to find with the lady’s appearance. “You come at the right time to receive your surprise gift. It should be arriving now.”
“While we impatiently await its arrival, Your Imperial Majesty, may the maidens of the tower continue the Trials, and show you their true hearts?”
At times Pio didn’t know why he still tried, except he had always striven and knew not how to do anything else. The ministers filed away from the grisly spectacle at the window. The Emperor did not again assume his throne.
“Our noblewomen could counsel you on the matter of the ice raiders. Had their delegates deigned to appear in court today.”
Ninell took his cue, and took advantage of the fact the Emperor was in their midst rather than upon his throne by curtsying low enough that her pure-blue skirts spread across the gold floor.
“Your Imperial Majesty, I have spies in the Tagar camp. King Ivor spends his days studying books and machinery as the east and west factions fight among themselves, and their general does nothing to stop it. Count Merac drinks in his tent day after day. A drunk fool is not fit to lead an army nor stand in your presence.”
The Emperor smiled, looking at her face, as well he might. Clearly, the Emperor liked an intelligent woman. It was the one point of sympathy between Pio and his monarch.
“You’re right, Lady Ninell. As usual,” the Emperor added Ninell beamed. “What do you advise?”
“Send a final message to the Ice King himself,” said Ninell. “His envoys failed. His attack on our walls failed. You have his sister hostage. Her good health depends on his submission.”
“Very well.” The Emperor nodded to Pio. “Have the message sent as Lady Ninell outlined.”
Finally, matters were going according to plan. Pio bowed exceptionally low to indicate his full agreement. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Rahela watched them with her face unguarded and openly pained, finding her own plans in disarray.
The Emperor sauntered back to his throne, giving Ninell a last nod of approval. His eyes lingered on Rahela, but he didn’t call upon her next.
Instead, he called upon Rahela’s preferred candidate. “Lady Glacia, approach the throne.”
A gold-masked guard attended Glacia to the foot of the throne.
Watching Glacia venture hesitantly forward, Pio couldn’t imagine what about her had attracted the attention of the Emperor.
Perhaps it was only that she was so unremarkable, so clearly shy and scared, that it won sympathy.
Even the gold-masked guard caught her hand as she stumbled upon the steps to the throne.
One might take his attentiveness as forbidden yearning for a noble lady, if the guard were alive.
Glacia pressed the offered arm, and lifted her head with a poor attempt at boldness. “This situation reminds me of a book, Your Imperial Majesty. Do you like to read?”
As soon as she spoke, her pale face flooded with red like a snowfield at sunrise. Even the Emperor’s face briefly froze, as though he could feel something as human as embarrassment. Pio suppressed a scoff. Where would a peasant learn to read?
“I am very fond of reading.” Glacia, finding herself in a pit, continued to dig. “If you wished, I could read the book to you.”
This seemed to please the Emperor. “I’d like that. What wisdom is in this book?”
“The book describes the meeting of two powers who chose a neutral place at which to meet,” Glacia offered. “Perhaps if you summon King Ivor somewhere that isn’t the throne room of Eyam, King Ivor might attend you.”
It was a simple enough suggestion, but nobody had made it before. Pio studied the Emperor’s expression. By now, Pio would have known another man well enough to guess what his reactions might be. This ruler, wayward and whimsical as wind, remained unpredictable.
When the knock on the door came, Pio realized he must wait for his answer.
The guard at the doors announced: “The Lady Dian and her daughter, the Lady Katalin Domitia, have arrived from Shroud Valley at the command of the Emperor.”
It seemed the Emperor’s gift for Lady Rahela had arrived.
The court erupted into astonished whispers. The Domitian women, back at court? Had they not fled the court under the cover of night and in a cloud of disgrace? There had been talk of treason and mysteriously dead husbands. Only the king’s favour protected Lady Rahela from needing to flee with them.
Now the Emperor’s favour brought them back.
It seemed Rahela didn’t appreciate her lover’s gesture. Her bejewelled hand flew to her throat, which was for once bare of the Abandon All Hope Diamond. She breathed as if choking upon the air.
The Emperor addressed his ungrateful lady. “During the first round of the Trials, you called out that you wanted your mother. Here she is. Have I failed to please you?”
The question sounded like an accusation. This, it occurred to Pio, was a test.
Anyone could see Rahela had failed, and was still failing. She should have made haste to thank him. Instead, she watched with horror that seemed to grow like a shadow at every step her mother and grandmother took across the golden floor to her side.
The court had ever considered Lady Dian and Lady Katalin as a magnificent pair.
The countryside had not dulled their charms. Several men sighed as they watched their progress.
Clothed in mourning black with daring red skirts, half scarlet women and half black widows, throwing smiles to the assembly as though tossing flowers and favours. The Ladies Domitia.
Lady Katalin, Lady Rahela’s mother, was considered the great beauty of a generation.
The lady had tumbling dark hair that ever looked wild and never untidy, and lips that promised much but said little, which all agreed was the ideal for women’s lips.
Rumour whispered Lady Katalin was the only lady ever to charm the icy Lord Marius.