The Diplomat (12 page)

“Now, behold!” Muhan took a ribbon from the ground. With a subtle movement of his hand, he wrapped it into a ball. He tossed the ball in the air, picked up a second ribbon and similarly balled it, and caught the first ball before it hit the ground. In this way, he began to juggle and fold the ribbons until he had no less than twenty such balls soaring above him, forming a dazzling arc of colors. The servants applauded again, and Cedrin hollered a throaty bravo. Affection touched Rema’s heart as she noticed Loric leaning forward, enrapt as a child.

The ribbons fell with a light patter to Muhan’s feet. He tugged on his mustache, winked and lifted his hands in fists. He opened his right hand to reveal a dove with red wings, which flew to the ceiling and perched on a beam. His left hand opened, and a blue-winged dove rose to join it. Rema clapped with the others. When had he performed that sleight of hand? His craft was excellent, worthy of a palace performer.

Rema looked over her shoulder, curious to know if Alys was enjoying herself, only to see Elise standing in the doorway. As their gazes met, Rema shivered. It would have been best to turn away, pretend not to notice, but Elise seemed so solemn, so sad…

Impelled by a surge of desires—to show affection, to demonstrate courage, to be forgiven—Rema held Elise’s eyes as she blew a kiss, a warm whisper of air across her fingertips. Elise blushed and grasped the doorframe, looking as disoriented if she had been physically struck.

“You’re missing the finale,” said Loric. Rema spun, reeling from the realization of her own folly, to find that Muhan had revealed a box containing a monkey.

“Where did he find the monkey?” she said. Loric hushed her.

Muhan draped a multicolored patchwork blanket over the monkey’s cage. He bowed three times, pulled on both ends of his mustache and whipped the blanket away. The monkey had vanished. The servants gasped, and Alys cried, “That poor creature!”

Shaking his head at the audience, Muhan flipped the blanket with a twist of his wrist and draped it again over the box. He bowed as before and lifted the blanket, revealing the monkey again. This time, however, its fur was dyed bright green. It glared at the audience, obviously unhappy to be part of the act.

The applause broke Rema’s spell, and she turned in her seat. The doorway was empty. Rema hurried from the hall. A survey of the corridor confirmed the unhappy truth—Elise was gone. Rema stared into the distance, her thoughts incoherent and her heart unsteady, until a hand touched her shoulder and she gasped.

“Sorry!” said Loric, withdrawing his hand. “What’s got you so nervous?”

“Elsie was…” Damn it all, she was falling to pieces. With effort, Rema regained her usual poise. “Your sister was watching the performance from back here.”

“Really? I knew she couldn’t resist a show. How do you think he does it?”

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t want to be one of his stage animals.” Rema glanced through the door toward the stage, where Muhan was accepting the applause with grace. “I’m glad his show went well. Your father seemed delighted, though your mother’s expression never changed.”

“She’s amused. If she hadn’t been, she would have left.” Loric’s smile became rueful. “It was good to have fun while we could. Soon Calan will be here, and we won’t be laughing for quite some time. It’s so nasty and dispiriting when he’s about. I’m glad that all I have to do is sit around, read books, and drink wine; it distracts me from the horrors. And I know how feeble that makes me sound.”

“You’re far from feeble, Loric Danarian. Your passion in defense of your sister is rarer than you realize, as is the respect you show for the movings of her heart. Calan may be a fiend, but in you she has been blessed with a brother beyond all others. Hold yourself with pride.”

Loric reddened and stared at his hands. He seemed about to respond when they were interrupted by the distant sound of a trumpet. “Speak of the devil. He’s here.”

Yorin joined them in the corridor, his face agitated. “Already! And why does he insist on announcing himself with those ridiculous trumpets? They frighten the horses. You lot in there!” He waved at the servants inside the hall. “Come on! One last check of the Prince’s room!” The servants hurried past, the memory of the performance still radiant on their faces.

“Cheer up, lad.” Yorin patted Loric on the back. “Let’s go see your brother home. With any luck, he won’t stay long.”

“If luck were with us, he would be dead.” Loric spoke with a savagery unsettling in such a gentle young man. “And even the worms would have better sense than to touch him. Yorin, if he lays a finger upon her…”

“I know.” Yorin seemed to have aged into infirmity, and as he drew his robes around him, he fixed Rema with a look of immeasurable weariness. “You were curious about our eldest prince. Well, you’ll not have to wait long now to see the measure of him. I only pray that he is able to see the measure of you.”

Chapter Nine

A trumpet blared again, and Yorin pressed his hands to his ears. “God help us,” he said as he, Loric and Rema hurried through the archway to the front court.

The peasants had been driven from the court, presumably by the two rows of guards who flanked the room at either side. They stood at attention as a man on a stallion rode through the open doors and into the court. A ragged soldier ran beside him, holding the dreaded instrument. He lifted it toward his lips, and Yorin cursed. “Someone ought to arrest that man.” The note blew again, toneless and shrill.

Calan pulled his reins, and the animal whinnied in protest. It seemed that the character of each royal sibling was reflected in the subtle variations of their silver eyes: Elise’s smoldered with temper, Loric’s were soft with melancholy and Calan’s were cold with arrogance. His dark hair was tamed close to his scalp, and he had the same tender lips and rounded features as his brother and sister. His nose was his mother’s, broad along the bridge and upturned at the tip. Rema couldn’t have thought him less handsome if his head were a mass of boils.

“This is a meager welcoming party,” Calan said. “A threadbare steward, my fop of a brother and…” He stared at Rema. “What exactly are you?”

“This is the imperial diplomat, my lord,” said Yorin. He held Rema’s wrist, and she shifted uneasily. Apparently he wanted to guide the conversation.

“Truly?” Calan leaned over his saddle and scrutinized Rema. “But it’s either a woman or the most absurd dandy I’ve ever seen.”

“She is a woman, my lord. Her name is Remela.”

Calan tugged on his horse’s reins, causing the animal to snuff in irritation. “Just what this court needs. Another woman pretending to be a man.”

“Better than a beast pretending to be a man.” Elise’s voice rang resonant and high, and every head turned toward her. She stood midway down the stairs with her hands on her hips, her hair wild and her eyes aflame with silver fury. Her black dress uncovered both shoulders and was slit on either leg, and as she descended, it moved to expose her considerable thighs. Rema drew a soft intake of breath—now this was beauty.

“Oh, sister,” said Calan. “You know how I hate you wearing those sluttish dresses. We don’t need to see your flabby body.”

“The more you try to cover me, brother, the less I’ll wear.” Elise took another step, her head held high. “Perhaps one day you’ll learn not to be frightened by female flesh.”

“Perhaps one day you’ll understand when a woman ought to speak.” Calan was poor at hiding his emotions; he wanted to appear as if he were enjoying the contest with his sister, but irritation was evident in his narrow eyes and the twitching of his lips.

“So boast to us of your triumphs. I assume you slew plenty of dangerous infants and grandmothers. We’re all so proud of your courage.”

“If the war offends your sensibilities, you should use your magic to end it. Or perhaps you should return to the only thing you’re good for and mix me a cream for my blisters.”

“It’s you that offends my sensibilities, Calan.” Elise sniffed. “I notice your horse is fouling the courtyard. It seems you still enjoy spreading excrement through the palace, just as you did as a child.”

Talitha’s irate voice cut through the tension. “Enough, please,” she said, moving into the court with Cedrin lumbering at her side. “Calan, must you bring that animal in here?”

“It’s not my fault,” said Calan. “She came down the stairs by herself.”

“I expect you to show Elise her due respect.”

“Oh, but I have.” Calan’s chuckle was deep and satisfied. “And there you are, Father, looking rounder than ever.” He offered the King a mock salute, and Rema’s blood chilled. An ambitious heir with no love for his parents was a dangerous thing, as she knew too well.

Calan dismounted, his boots colliding heavily with the flagstones. “Somebody take this horse away.” He lifted a finger toward the guards. “And somebody else clean away this filth.”

“There’s no cleaning away your filth,” said Elise. “You contaminate the air you breathe.”

“I do believe I heard the horse whinny.” Calan joined Cedrin and Talitha, looming over his bent parents by a full head. “My majestic parents. Tell me, has little Loric lost the power of speech? He’s not even said hello.”

Elise descended the stairs and put her arm around Loric, whose face was pinched in silent misery. “He knows better than to waste breath on you.”

Calan laughed. “He needs his sister to stand up for him! Elise is more man than you, brother. But that’s no surprise, given that she’s fucked more women.”

Talitha gasped, and her face flared crimson. “Calan, enough,” said Cedrin, putting his hand on Calan’s shoulder. “Tell me how the war goes.”

“Things are on the mend.” Calan tilted his head, arrogance written on his every feature. “We’re outnumbered, true, but the Lyornans have become complacent. Like the rest of you, they foolishly assume victory is theirs. This week we gave them a few bloody wounds, reminding them that Danosha still has her claws.”

“You mean you’ve been razing villages,” said Elise. “Murdering travelers and torturing peasants.”

“And what have you been doing for our family?” Calan’s lips spread in a leer. “When they write the history of our triumph, historians will note that Calan fought and won the war while Elise was busy licking cunts.”

“Calan!” Talitha glanced at Rema, shame hot in her eyes. “Not here!”

Elise walked up to her brother, her face charged with tightly-wielded fury. Calan towered above her in height, yet in her awe-inspiring indignation, Elise entirely overshadowed him. “Historians will note a monster,” she said. “They will describe a man who shamed a kingdom with his atrocities. History will condemn you, Calan, and until then I shall condemn you, as everyone else here is too afraid to do.”

Rema stared as if enchanted. Elise was sublime, fearless in her conviction, tempestuous in her outrage and defiant in her femininity. Rema had once challenged Ormun with as much spirit, decrying his excesses, challenging his cruelties and begging him to fight his growing darkness. The more she had been forced to comply with his will, the lower that torch of defiance had burned, until she barely felt it wavering. Watching Elise now, that old fire rekindled in Rema’s heart—along with something more.

“Histories are written by men,” said Calan. “Not whimpering women.”

“I knew my letters at four years. I’m not convinced you can write even now.”

“But I’d wager I claimed my first maidenhead sooner. How old were you when we first caught you rutting? Fifteen? Sixteen? The girl was older, I remember that much.”

“You always come back to that, don’t you?” Elise’s eyes remained steady and unashamed, and Rema’s cheeks heated. “You’re so predictable when you’re outmatched. First, you mock me for being a woman. Then you insult me for loving women—yes, Father, turn purple. I don’t care who knows it. Finally you beat me until I can taste my own blood.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “That part will escape the histories, for as you so rightly point out, they are written by men.”

“Elise,” said Cedrin, his voice harsh. “Do not speak of such things before the Emperor’s emissary. Your personal shame belongs behind these walls.”

Elise gazed at Rema as if challenging her to speak. Rema opened her mouth, and Yorin’s hand tightened on her arm. Ah, yes—that little thing called diplomatic tact, an art she had once known so well. She remained silent, and Elise’s lips trembled.

“All I want to do is love, and all he wants to do is hate,” Elise said, her voice catching with emotion. “Yet you all think me the abomination.” She turned and began to ascend the stairs.

Shame writhed through Rema’s stomach, and she blinked away tears. As Elise reached the final step, Calan called out to her, his tone triumphant. “I’ll have to pass by your room later. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Elise paused, and her hand tightened on the balustrade. She flung back her hair and disappeared from sight.

“You can all go to hell,” said Loric, and he followed his sister up the stairs. Yorin bowed his head, while the Queen and King stayed silent.

“Well, enough of this sideshow,” said Calan, seemingly unaffected by the trouble he’d caused. “I must apprise you of the current situation, Father.”

“Yes.” Cedrin spoke as if his thoughts were returning to him from a distance. “And we must bring the imperial diplomat to talk with us. She has strategic information regarding the Emperor’s contribution.”

“Just be sure she doesn’t try to arm my warriors with knitting needles.”

“They could hardly fight more badly than they do now,” said Rema. “Perhaps it would be an improvement.”

Yorin’s hand slipped from Rema’s arm. “It speaks,” said Calan, not turning to look at her. “And with a touch of venom. Not very diplomatic, but certainly very female.”

“Not diplomatic? On the contrary. I held my tongue while you made a fool of yourself in front of this court.”

Calan inclined his head in Rema’s direction. “Is there a purpose to your interruption?”

“I’d like to talk to you. Privately.”

“I’m sure you’d love to have me all to yourself.” Calan surveyed the unsmiling faces around him and sighed. “God, I forgot what prigs you all are. Yes, fine. Let’s get it out of the way so that I can have something to eat. Yorin, take us to my chambers.”