The Diplomat (15 page)

Yorin hesitated before speaking in a voice thick with emotion. “My eldest boy is out there in the army. Calan intends to throw his life away for nothing.”

“I will end this war, Yorin. Have no fear for your son. Tell me, how did your talk with the Queen go?”

“I observed to her that Calan and Elise plainly can’t coexist. If Elise stayed with us, Calan might do any kind of evil to her once the crown came to him. And given a choice between a daughter and an heir, well. It’s killing her, mind. Not only does she love Elise, she knows that Loric would never forgive her. She’ll lose her only two children worth loving.”

“Loric will never forgive us either. Perhaps I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Cease those thoughts. You’ll need to give Talitha the final push. She’ll want some reassurance that Elise won’t suffer too greatly, and you’re going to have to lie, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know if I can.” Rema stared at the mold as it fell away from the wall in dark chunks. “Not about that.”

“You must. It’s a truth that no parent wants to know.” Yorin sighed. “I’m tired, Rema. I’ll see to your dinner. Goodnight.”

Rema was too numb to do more than nod in response. She had reached her day’s limit, and it was time to seek rest.

To her surprise, the cool air in her chambers carried the light smell of sandalwood. Perhaps Yorin had ordered incense burned to make the room more pleasant. She sat on her bed and supported her head in her hands. The hanging scent reminded her of childhood, and her thoughts grew blurry with nostalgia.

After an immeasurable passage of time, occupied by memories of fiery sand and coiling smoke, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said, and a servant stepped through, holding a tray of food to his narrow chest. He looked around for a place to put it.

“Just leave it on the bed,” said Rema. “I know it’s a bad habit, but excuse it just this once.”

“Yes, my lady. Your other uniform has been washed and should be dry tomorrow. It’ll be placed on your bed tomorrow around midday.”

“Very good. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you, miss.” The servant lowered his head in deference as he closed the door behind him.

Rema turned her attention to the tray. A feast awaited her—potatoes roasted in their skins, a length of pale fish, a bowl of colorful jelly and a half-bottle of wine. She ate her meal, careful to avoid spilling food on the bedclothes. Upon emptying the wine, a dizziness intruded upon her, and she rested her head upon the pillow. Her eyes closed and her thoughts scattered.

She awoke still exhausted, roused by a nagging anxiety. The incense hovered in the room, faint but distinct. Its lingering presence suggested she hadn’t slept more than a few hours. Sitting upright, she tried to untangle the events of the day, but there seemed too many threads to follow. Was it possible this mission might fail? If Danosha fought alone, it would collapse within the year. Lyorn, swollen with power, would seek further gains by standing alongside Ormun’s enemies. Countless soldiers would lay broken beneath the soil, and Rema would carry every death on her conscience.

In a terrible way, Calan had been right: she did have the power to negotiate. Ormun would disapprove of her giving in to the demands of some insignificant prince, but the prospect of a few new territories might placate him. She would despise herself, but that was inevitable in any case. After the suffering she had caused Elise, it would be more difficult than ever to convince herself that her work for Ormun did more good than bad.

She cast her mind back to the young, redheaded girl who had followed her parents across plains, sands and steppes. She’d lived a carefree life, playing with the donkey’s tail, charming customers with her slender smile and sitting contented in her mother’s lap as her father read his poetry. By some wonder, that girl had grown into a stubborn, ambitious young woman, one who had never let herself be daunted by the men around her but persevered until finally she stood above them. She had fought for peace, justice and equality, as her father would have wanted, and she had lived boldly and by her wit, as her mother had always done. She had ended wars, freed slaves and protected the weak, always sensing the nearness of her father’s prophecy. But Ormun had destroyed that woman, his cruelty choking her faith and deadening her soul.

She took Elise’s letter out of her pocket and stared at the curious handwriting. How she wanted to once more have the spirit of her convictions, to taste again the righteousness that Elise still breathed…With her fingertip, she traced the imprint of Elise’s lips, and hot tears gathered in her eyes. In a chilling instant, Calan’s threat to visit his sister flashed into her mind, and the blur of wine and sleep dissolved. That she could not allow.

Rema put the letter away, moved unsteadily to her feet and looked out into the corridor. A servant swept the hall, her long-handled straw broom whisking loudly across the stones. “Hello,” said Rema.

“Can I help you, my lady?” the servant said, still sweeping as she spoke.

“What time is it? I fell asleep without meaning to.”

“Night is upon us. Most of the court has dined and gone to bed.”

Was it already too late? “I need someone to move my bedclothes. Can you do that?”

“If you command it, I can do it.” The woman rested her broom against the wall. “But where on earth do you plan to sleep?”

“I’ll lead you there.”

They piled their arms with blankets and pillows, and Rema directed the woman through the palace to the foot of Elise’s tower. The servant looked at Rema questioningly. “Just here,” Rema said. “On the stairs.”

“You want to sleep on the stairs, my lady? You’ll be awfully uncomfortable.”

“Humor me, please.”

The servant settled the blankets and pillows in the entryway. The result was a pitiful bed, barely wide enough for a person to huddle in sleep. “Thank you,” said Rema. “You may go now. Have a good evening.”

After the woman had left, Rema began to ascend the stairs to the tower. She paused before a window to let the night wind trace her face. Those same stars hung over Arann, yet she had never felt further from home.

She reached the top step and pressed her ear to the door. Two voices were audible behind it, a man and a woman, and for a moment, anxiety gripped her chest. Then laughter—Loric, that distinctive chuckle—and her fear subsided. All was well.

Rema returned to her makeshift bed and wriggled into the mound of blankets. The stone slab under her body was cold and hard, and she rolled herself in bedding to gain as much padding as she could between herself and the floor. Content in the knowledge that Calan could not get by without waking her, she closed her eyes. The impressions of the day unfolded before finally blurring together into the usual incomprehensibility of dreams.

The sound of a footstep broke through her rest. She sat upright, cold and disoriented. “Don’t come any closer,” she said, squinting down the black hallway.

“Rema?” It was Loric, standing on the steps behind her. “What on earth are you doing?”

Rema pushed her fingers into the corners of the eyes, trying to banish the exhaustion that kept forcing them shut. “Waiting for Calan.” Loric was little more than a shadow in the stairwell, but there was no mistaking that gentle voice and the silhouette of his unruly hair.

Loric knelt by her side and took her hand. His palm warmed her frozen fingers. “God. You’re even more devoted to her than I am. I was just on my way to bed.”

“Don’t tell her I’m here. Please.”

“Are you serious? She still thinks that you have no feelings for her. If she knew you were doing this…”

“Her knowing would cause nothing but trouble.”

“You don’t understand, Rema.” Loric’s voice was suffused with emotion. “You’re the answer to the prayer she no longer has the faith to speak.”

Rema freed her hand as delicately as she could. “Neither of you know anything about me. I’m just another diplomat trying to take advantage of her.”

“Like hell you are. Look at what you’re doing to protect her from my brother, even though we both know you couldn’t do anything to stop him. If you really want to protect her, go up to that tower and hold her. If you could see how she’s been weeping…”

“Please, Loric.” Rema pressed her face to the pillow. “Just let me sleep.”

Loric remained crouched for a moment, his breath slow and unhappy. Finally he grunted and rose to his feet. “I’m going. But don’t ignore what your heart knows to be true.”

“It’s too late for your bad poetry.” Rema squeezed her eyes shut. “Goodnight.”

His footsteps receded down the hallway. Despite her exhaustion, it took some time for sleep to return. Dreams enveloped her, bringing a vision of Calan on horseback. The horse’s head was a human skull, bleak and staring. Ormun stood nearby, his back to her. When he turned, she saw that his face was her own. The apparitions fled, and she dreamt of Elise, of bringing those unhappy lips to her own and kissing them until the world’s end.

Chapter Eleven

“Get up, you damn fool.”

Yorin. There was no mistaking that surly voice. Rema tried to rise, but the ache in her back and legs was unbearable, and her spine gave such a sharp twinge that she whimpered.

Yorin’s angry expression softened into concern. “That’s what you can expect sleeping on the floor. Take a second to unknot, but not too long. You’re lucky the servants let me know you were here before someone else found you.”

Rema caressed her suffering knees. “What time is it?”

“Just before sunrise. The clock in the front court says five hours after midnight, but who knows with that damn thing. So would you explain to me why you’re sleeping in her doorway like a lover thrown out of bed?”

“I didn’t want Calan to hurt her.”

“Rema.” Yorin sighed, his fingers on his brow. “I understand your frustration, but this is entirely improper behavior for an imperial diplomat, and you know it. Come on, we’ll get you back to your chambers.”

Rema stood and pressed her hand to her lower back. Yorin scooped as many blankets as he could into his arms. “Take the rest.” She obeyed, her spine complaining every time she bent, and hobbled behind him. They returned to her room, where they tossed the blankets onto the bed. Yorin rearranged them with an expert’s touch, leaving not a single wrinkled cover or loose sheet.

“You’d better lie down and stretch,” he said. “Get those snarls out of your back.”

“It wasn’t just the floor. I’ve been having pains in my knees for months.”

“I’m sure Elise has a remedy for that, but then again, I think you two have become more than close enough. You’re lucky only a handful of servants spotted you.”

“Don’t forget, I’ve been charged with bringing her safely to Arann.” As she spoke, Rema looked around the room with rising suspicion. Something was out of place, but exactly what eluded her. “Do you scold your night guards for standing sentry?”

“I would if they were making eyes at each other while doing it.” Yorin gave a grudging smile. “I can’t deny you were brave. It’s exactly the kind of thing Elise would do. But it was still an utterly foolish gambit.”

Rema opened her mouth to protest, only to be interrupted by a moment of insight into the source of her unease. “My luggage has been opened.”

Yorin frowned at the trunk. “How can you possibly tell?”

“They couldn’t get it to shut properly again. See how it’s half-open at the clasp? It doesn’t close unless you push it at the corners as well.” Rema reached for the lid.

“Wait! What if an assassin hid a spider or snake in there?”

“I’ve been in this business a long time. I don’t think anyone really tries to assassinate people that way.” Rema opened the chest, revealing an untidy jumble of clothes, bottles and papers. “It doesn’t look like anything was taken. Not a surprise, as there’s nothing worth taking.”

“None of these papers are important?”

“Of course not. I memorize sensitive information. I don’t leave it sitting in unlocked bedchambers. These are just notes of names, dates and other things to help me remember.”

Yorin pinched the flesh above his nose. “The person who opened the trunk may not have known that, however. Does it look in disarray?”

Rema gestured to the open trunk. “You can see for yourself it’s in disarray. That’s how I left it. Perhaps they just wanted to paw through my undergarments.”

“Maybe Loric, then.”

“If only it were so innocuous.” Rema closed the luggage, this time securing the clasp completely. “For someone to come into my bedchamber, they must have known I wasn’t here. That means they were creeping about at night, saw me sleeping before the tower and took their opportunity.”

“Unless they came looking for you. Perhaps they expected you to be here. When you weren’t, they went through your belongings.”

“You really think someone wanted to assassinate me?”

“We’re at war, Rema. Has anyone threatened your life while you’ve been here?”

Only enough times that she had nearly lost count. Rema touched the black pendant hidden beneath her clothes. “I’ve been given warnings. And I didn’t make a winning impression on Calan.”

“You need to start locking this door even when you’re not in the room. I did give you the key, didn’t I?”

“Of course.” Rema fumbled in her coat and retrieved the broad iron key. “Are you sure you don’t just have a light-fingered servant?”

“Who can say? You can’t know someone’s a thief until you’ve caught them once.” Yorin scratched his cheek, his eyes lost in thought. “I’ll see if the servants noticed anything. In the meanwhile, you watch yourself, and, please, stay away from Elise. If Calan can convince his father that you’re in any way inappropriately involved with her, it’ll be all over for you here.”

“Yorin, really. You’re reading far too much into my affection for her.”

“Say that I am. If I can come to the wrong conclusion, so can others. Fancy my having to tell a diplomat of your caliber that appearance matters more than reality.”

“Fine. Consider me suitably chastened.”

Yorin shook his head at her. “The Queen will see you this morning for breakfast in her chambers. Get an hour or two of rest to prepare. Meanwhile, his grace is reflecting on the advice he’s received from Calan and yourself. I’ll do my best to sway him.”