Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
The dining room that the palace steward led them into was not the great hall where the emperor normally entertained.
It was a smaller room off the main corridor, panelled in dark wood with a coffered ceiling painted in ochre and terracotta, and candelabras were set at intervals along the walls.
A single long table ran the length of it, set for thirty people, intimate by palace standards, which she suspected was deliberate.
Borgine wanted them close enough to watch.
This was not a celebration but an inspection.
Maps of the empire's provinces hung on the walls; their borders marked in gold leaf. A sideboard along one wall held decanters of wine already poured, and servants offered drinks to the arriving guests. A fire burned at each end of the room, taking the edge off the autumn chill.
There were thirty-one at the dinner: the nine house heads and their partners, and senior advisers, a handful of palace officials, and two high-ranking military men.
She read her name card on a table and looked for Thom’s. "Where are you?" she asked quietly.
"Far end, left side," he said. "They didn’t put us together."
"Why am I not surprised," she muttered.
Since they were within earshot of the steward, Thom merely gave her a warning shake of his head.
Verna took her place at the table, noting Lord Bain’s card was on her left.
He arrived moments later. The emperor’s eldest son was in his mid-thirties, broad-shouldered, with his father's heavy jaw, dark hair worn close and a neatly trimmed beard. Not like his boorish brother, who was the emperor’s champion in the Trials, he was a handsome man and smart.
He was also vicious and cruel, a man to be feared.
It was rumoured that he’d beaten up many whores in the brothels.
When he reached his chair, he smiled at her. It was the smug smile of a man looking at something that would soon belong to him.
"Lady Verna," he said, settling into the seat beside her. "I was hoping we'd be placed together."
She nearly rolled her eyes. As though he hadn’t arranged it. "Lord Bain," she said pleasantly.
As he reached for his wine, he looked her over in a way that was a hair’s breadth off leering. "You look very well."
"Life has been good. We had an excellent harvest."
He turned slightly toward her, one arm resting on the table with the relaxed way of a man entirely at ease. "My father has always admired your Eclipsian estate." He shook his head with what appeared to be genuine appreciation. "There's nowhere finer in the Empire."
"No," she agreed. "There isn't."
"I rode past it not long ago," he continued. "Even from a distance it has a particular quality. You've done well with it."
The phrasing grated on her nerves. She had not just done well with it. After she had inherited it, she’d expanded the vines and managed it with considerable skill for over a decade. His patronising tone implied it had been handed to her on a plate and she managed not to ruin it.
She kept her expression neutral and merely said, "It keeps me busy."
The first course arrived: cold dishes set along the centre of the table by servants who moved like ghosts. Around them the room settled into the low, careful conversation of competitors who watched each other closely.
Bain started out better company than she expected, which was more annoying than if he had simply been unpleasant.
He had genuine knowledge of viticulture, asking questions about her pressing methods and the new drainage channels that were specific enough to suggest he’d researched the subject.
She answered honestly, finding no particular advantage in evasion on the wine industry.
Then he moved to the subject of her champion.
"An unusual choice," he said, with the assurance of a man accustomed to getting answers. "A woman fighter from the auction house of all places. The whole city is talking about it."
"Good," Verna said pleasantly. "I'd hate to be boring."
He blinked, clearly off-put, but then the smile returned. "I admire your confidence."
"Do you," she said, in a tone that suggested otherwise.
He leaned back in his chair and studied her with the expression of a man who had revised his approach mid-conversation and was deciding on the new one. "I want to say something to you, Lady Verna, and I hope you'll receive it in the spirit it's intended."
"I'll do my best," she said.
"The Trials," he continued, lowering his voice as if he was sharing a confidence, "are going to produce a particular result. My father is skilled at arranging outcomes. If your house comes last, there will be consequences. You're an intelligent woman. You already know what they are."
Verna raised an eyebrow. "Do enlighten me."
"My father has decided you should marry.
He has chosen me to be your husband. I'm telling you now, frankly, because I think you deserve to know, and because I want to assure you the arrangement needn't be unpleasant.
The estate would remain yours to manage.
I have no interest in vineyards." He smiled. "Only in the woman who grows them."
Verna reached for her wine, took a long sip, and set it down.
"You’ve been frank," she replied, holding his gaze.
"So, I'll give you an honest response. My father was the emperor's nephew, as you well know.
Which makes me royal." She smiled, though it contained no goodwill.
"The Imperial succession laws are quite clear… a woman of royal blood can’t be made to marry without her consent.
It's been on the statute since your great-grandfather's time, even if you choose to ignore it, Cousin. "
Anger and surprise flashed across Bain's face. "Blood ties to the imperial family don't exempt you from—"
"From what, exactly?" she asked, with the same pleasant tone. "From the law your family wrote? I'd be intrigued to hear that argument made in open council." She tilted her head. "Wouldn't you?"
A silence settled between them that was considerably less comfortable than the one before it.
Then Bain picked up his wine and drank, and when he set it down the easy smile had returned, though it sat slightly differently on his face now. It was the smile of a man making a tactical retreat while declining to acknowledge it as such.
"You've done your reading," he said.
"I always do if it’s important," she replied curtly.
He turned his cup slowly on the table. "Be as it may, Lady Verna, but should your house perform poorly my father will find a way to make you conform to his wishes."
"No doubt," Verna replied. "Fortunately, I don't intend to perform badly.
" She set down her cup and looked at him with the full attention of a woman who had been managing difficult men for twenty years and had grown rather good at it.
"Now. Tell me about the horsemanship course.
I understand it's been designed specifically for this competition. "
The flicker of dislike crossed his face, which he quickly suppressed. He settled back in his chair with the arrogant confidence of a man who could do anything he liked.
"Of course," he said, and began to describe it.
She listened carefully, and asked questions so humbly that by the time the emperor rose at the head of the table to speak, she had learned two useful things: the format of the Trials, and Bain intended to marry her, one way or another.
Borgine spoke briefly. The rules would be announced formally in the arena tomorrow morning. Tonight was for fellowship between the houses. He hoped everyone would eat well and compete with honour. He said it with the benign authority of a man who had already decided how everything would end.
She found Thom at the door when they rose to go, pulling on his coat in the corridor. She took his arm without ceremony and they walked out together into the cold night air.
"Bain?" he said quietly, when they were clear of the entrance.
"Yes," she confirmed.
They crossed the torchlit street toward the inn, the arena rising dark and enormous ahead of them.
"And?" Thom asked.
She looked up at the high stone walls and the imperial flags snapping in the dark.
"Kalen had better not come last," she said quietly.
Verna slept badly in the inn and was up early, watching the arena across the street emerge in the early morning light.
In the grey pre-dawn, it looked less intimidating than it had the night before; just now a stone structure built to hold a crowd. The imperial banners hung limp in the still air and a guard walked the upper perimeter.
She thought about the conversation with Bain last night.
Not the condescension or the proprietary smile, but his absolute certainty that he would get what he wanted. He hadn’t been threatening, but simply stated what he thought was inevitable. In a way, that was more chilling than any open hostility would have been.
After waking Marleen an hour later, she gave her instructions to pack up the carriage, then she was to breakfast with the guards and be ready to go by eight.
Thom was sitting already at a corner table with a plate of bread, meat and cheese, when Verna went downstairs.
He looked up when she appeared. "There’s enough here for two," he said, and pushed a plate across the table.
As they ate, they talked quietly about what the evening had told them.
Thom had been seated next to a man who was firmly in the emperor's circle and had spent the meal listening more than talking. He confirmed what Bain had said that they all expected Verna’s champion to come last. And the surprise event on the final day was supposed to be unpleasant, but that the emperor was keeping it close to his chest.
Neither of them mentioned Bain. They didn't need to.
When the bread was finished and the cups were empty, Thom walked her out to the yard where her carriage was waiting, with Marleen aboard and her guards mounted.
He held her hand briefly before she stepped up. "Be careful going back," he said quietly.