Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams (32 page)

Windsday night, during the first course of the feast, the members of the magic class chatted with Pinetto. Only five of the men, plus Komiko, had succeeded in their homework—visualizing the shape while energizing their three-point ward.

The wizard commented, “I like Komiko’s idea of using slabs of the Emperor’s Road from the museum. It’s a great magic conductor. Maybe your class could do more experiments. Be sure to keep careful notes so we can find out why only half were successful . . . for the sake of science.”

“I have smaller, round stones in my zoo that the animals slept on . . .” Pagaose continued the dialogue, but his guard was distracted by a flutter on his hand.

Nightglow passed a note to Niftkin under the table: ‘Want to be lucky number seven?’

Pagaose caught him reading the note. “What’s our good dancer have to say?”

Panicked, the head guard stood up and clinked his glass. He ad-libbed. “Hear ye, hear ye, Lady Nightglow Evershade wishes to present her gift to his highness Pagaose.”

Nightglow clapped her hands and a servant brought a box bundled to look like a sofa cushion and then tied with several bows.

“I won’t be official till tomorrow,” Pagaose insisted.

“You already rule my house, sire,” said the young woman, bowing.

He opened the elaborate wrapping to reveal a central, amber soup bowl surrounded by six amber teacups, which were hooked to it. He unscrewed a cap of the same material and replaced it. “A punch set?”

“The arrangement represents the sun, sire, your symbol. The material is called Sacred Amber, and like your reign, it is unbreakable. Try it with your rod of office.”

He clinked the steel against a cup with no cracks. “Impressive.”

“Alchemy, sire. Elements mixed and transformed to something more than the sum of the parts.”

He smiled, and the audience applauded. “It’s a bit large to wear around my neck.”

“Because this isn’t for decoration, sire,” explained Komiko. “It’s for sex magic. There’s one cup for each kingdom and the bowl for the Inner Islands.”

Nightglow added, “These are the largest pieces of this material we could find, sire. The gift is from all of us and represents our unity in wishing you a long and fruitful reign.”

The emperor inclined his head in thanks. Lady Evershade ground her teeth and tried to escape out the back door to rage in solitude. However, Niftkin signaled the guards to prevent her because Pagaose rose from his seat to address the crowd. No one was permitted to turn their back on his majesty when he was speaking. “I thank you all for your support. I strive ever to be worthy of your tribute and trust. I take as my model the Evershades, who have taken in Majah and a hundred little ones cast out of the north. I am humbled by their example.”

All eyes turned to the noblewoman as Pagaose gestured to her. She plastered a smile on her face.

“I discovered today that the Dance is more than a marriage rite; it is a demonstration of the give and take between the ruler and the ruled. One is incomplete without the other. Only together can they give birth to the future. Tomorrow morning, I take the empire as my bride.”

Lady Evershade clapped loudest of all.

Nightglow and Niftkin volunteered to carry the valuable gift back to the royal bedchambers and didn’t reappear until the very end of the three-and-a-half-hour meal. Only Pagaose noticed that the girl’s traditional face veil was missing, with a smile taking its place.

****

That night, the emperor could not sleep. He paced the throne room, wondering for the hundredth time if he was smart enough and powerful enough to pull all of this off, to challenge the gods. Hours past midnight, Sarajah tapped at the door. “Permission to approach, highness?”

Pagaose waved her in. “My robes tomorrow will weigh more than those orphans who hugged me yesterday. I shall feel as if an orangutan is riding my shoulders.”

She grinned at the analogy.

“Are you ready for your trip?” he inquired.

“No, but the others are. I have no idea what orangutan will be in my own kingdom. This is for you, from all of us who fought with you at the Battle of the Falls.”

She offered a thin book, bound with a simple ribbon.

“More early presents? Should I wait to open it with the others?”

Sarajah shook her head rapidly. “This is a private gift. The writing is Pinetto’s, attempting in the dullest manner possible to explain his theory and practice of the six-point ward. He calls it the hexagram. Tashi calls it the sexagram.”

The emperor chuckled.

“Tashi purchased the highest-quality material for us and gave me the time to draw. The illustrations of the suggested positions are mine.”

He opened the pages and instantly recognized the naked, female model. On a loose-leaf page, he saw her face tipped back in pleasure—Lady Evershade. He couldn’t speak the name, but his finger caressed her neck on the page. “Thank you, Queen Sarajah. This shall be one of my most treasured possessions. How did you do this so quickly?”

She smiled. “I was sketching her as a card even before I knew who she was.”

The caption at the bottom of the page read: ‘The Secret Heart.’ The likeness was so realistic it made him shiver. “But it is not to be.”

He stared at the sketch for a long time, admiring it.

Sarajah waved her hand between him and the page. “Are you prepared for Serog?”

He shook his head to clear it. “I only need to stall her long enough for the grain ships to arrive on Midrea, the farthest island to the southeast. They will travel all day tomorrow. I only need to hold the dragon nine hours and we will have won this leg of the competition.”

“How will you stall her that long?”

He laid a finger aside his nose. “Leave an old man his secrets. Now, we must both get our requisite four hours’ sleep. Tomorrow will be long.”

When he lay in his bed, clutching the pillow book, dreams came quickly. Lady Evershade stood on the floor of the ballroom in her folded, gold dress and fans. He strode up to her in his regalia and asked, “What would you have from me tonight? You have given so much. What would you have?”

“To dance with you in the flesh, just once.” Her pale-blue eyes pinned him.

“Can’t here in the antechamber be enough?” he asked, ashamed.

“If it must.”

At her will, music played. “You’ve been practicing dream weaving,” he noted.

She moved closer to him and placed his hand on the small of her back. “It’s time for you to practice the dance.”

“What’s your name?”

“Evershade.”

“That’s your dead husband’s name. Who were your before he chose you?”

“Corrie.”

“Like the seashell?”

“No, like the ancient word for heart.”

Now the caption on the card made sense to him: the Secret Heart. He placed his face next to hers and knew it to be true.

She showed him an old dance called the Peacock: a slow box step with a few hand movements and a dip at the end.

Holding her halfway to the floor, he asked, “There is nothing more I can offer?”

She licked her lips. “With such a tiring event tomorrow, you will need rest before sailing. I have heard that an afternoon nap is just the tonic to invigorate a man.”

“Yes,” he said not wanting to release his grip. “I have heard so myself.”

He bent for a kiss, and as their lips parted, she vanished, leaving him holding an origami dress on a giant chessboard. On the dress was a single word: ‘rest.’

****

The coronation itself was fairly brief. As a sovereign and high priestess, Sarajah placed the crown on his head. Unfortunately, the crown had been worn by Myron III. An avalanche of lust swept over him as the corrupted metal whispered depravity in his ears. The innocent, new girl, Majah, smiled dazzlingly at him. Nightglow gazed at him adoringly. Beautiful, willing women were not helpful in this state. Only locking eyes with Lady Evershade helped. Remembering the pillow book and planning his nap kept him sane. He focused on the diagrams and the steps to construct what Pinetto viewed as the ultimate protective construct. He stressed that interlocking self-similarity, the repetition of the pattern within the pattern, made the hexagram strongest.

The speeches that followed were interminable. Every member of Council rambled on about how they knew Pagaose was the right man from the start. People he’d never met stood up and praised his name. Even a child from the orphan ship presented him with a gift, and the boy kept forgetting his lines. It stretched on forever. He had to smile and wave to all of them, repeating the word ‘jam’ to himself. He had to be careful not to speak the word aloud because Scribbles stood ready to transcribe every decree and promise uttered on this momentous day.

Then came the long line of well-wishers and hand-kissing from the nobles, Fortunately, Pagaose wore gloves. When Komiko touched his hand to kiss his ring, she slipped him what could have been a folded handkerchief. “Our chaperone said you were sweating and thought you might need something to wipe your brow.”

He peeked and saw the distinctive bow of a pair of Lady Evershade’s frillies, and they were warm. His heart nearly exploded. He glanced over to the noblewoman on her palanquin. She nodded slowly. That meant she wasn’t wearing any protection over her virtue.

He tucked the silk underwear into his left glove as deeply as possible. When the fabric touched the back of his hand, a wash of pure devotion and admiration swept over him. He choked in relief. “Convey my dee-deepest thanks.”

“Would you like another pair?” Komiko asked, throatily.

He was certain she and Ember had generated their own emotional imprints on her underwear. “No, but I appreciate the offer.” Then handlers tried to move her along. Pagaose held up a hand. “She is here on behalf of another of my dancers as well, and both have my gratitude for services rendered. She may stay for as long as she likes.”

The witch smiled and bowed her head in humility for the first time since he’d met her. She said, “Nightglow did all the legwork on the Sacred Amber. Ember and I wanted to give you something from just us.” She handed him a single pearl floating in the center of a wire cage. “We charged the pearl as part of the experiment. These wire shapes were a pair of old-style ward earrings and a matching necklace I had. Ember bent them into a ball. We wanted you to wear this as a symbol to show everyone what you’ve accomplished in the field of magic.”

He tied the necklace chain to his belt so that all the supplicants could admire it. “You are always welcome in my house, ladies. I have arranged for you to be acting dean until Lord Pinetto’s return. We’ve discussed his plans and, after this quest, he has requested a long sabbatical to celebrate the birth of this first child . . . and every child thereafter. In the meantime, you may oversee the construction of and reside at his private estate. Feel free to name your own research assistants.”

Komiko bowed, unable to speak. She literally kissed his feet.

Uncertain what to do, he looked to Niftkin, who stood like a statue at his side. The guard gestured to Nightglow, and the two of them guided the overwhelmed witch away.

The calm brought on by the lady’s gift helped him make innocuous comments and call each supplicant by name. Considering the pearl on his belt, he wondered about placing this object inside the amber bowl at the center of a hexagram. The sphere-in-a-sphere model made him wonder what would happen if he added a third level of similarity, a set of six hexagrams with a large one at the center. What extra-dimensional shape might that describe? If two layers of similarity made the ward last fourteen times longer, how long might three layers last? This topic filled his thoughts as the river of inanity washed by.

The representative from the church of Osos wanted to know if people reading the
Book of Dawn
should be excommunicated. Pagaose asked, “Does this change the color of their eyes?”

“No, sire.”

“Does it dim the Compass Star?”

“No, highness.”

“Doesn’t it say in the book that Archanos served five hundred years as guardian of the shrine because Osos demanded his restitution?”

“I have heard, sire.”

Pagaose shrugged. “Then I see no conflict with the Church of Osos. Their adherents still acknowledge Osos as supreme. The author of their book is my trusted wizard, and their queen crowned me. Truth only strengthens a holy people.”

The bishop dipped his head in acceptance.

The Mandibosian Ambassador seemed the most nervous. “Sire, the grain you requested has been sent. I beg your forgiveness for my daughter’s crude behavior—”

Pagaose raised a hand. “I have discussed this issue with the magistrates and issued you a formal apology.”

“Me, an apology? Whatever do you mean, sire?”

“A child of fifteen may not be accepted for the Dance or enter into any legal contract, no matter how much I desired her wit and enthusiasm. Nonetheless, she will be eligible for next year’s celebration. By way of recompense, she may continue to assist the other girls. Her aid is greatly appreciated because our chaperone is impaired. If Lady Evershade had been able to catch your daughter at the event, she might not have fallen.”

“You wrote this in a letter?”

“To your king. I sent a copy to your home and another to the military commander who arrives soon from your homeland.”

“His majesty is merciful.”

“Your nation is most valued, and the girl is an excellent game player.”

As the lowest-ranking and most recently named noble, Pinetto bowed before him last. The guards closed the doors and servants rushed about like scene-changers in a play between acts. For several minutes, Pagaose was able to discuss meta-ward theory with the young wizard. “His majesty’s idea is sound, but there’s no way one couple could do all the remote points. There would also need to be a similarity link to tie them all together. Maybe you should start with a set of three triple-wards at the points forming a meta-tetrahedron.”

“But to get the reinforcement loop, we need the male triangle overlaying the female,” Pagaose said.

Pinetto smiled. “Highness, you can’t know how much it means to me to have someone argue with me in math constructs I created. People have been calling me crazy for months.”