The Pearls (11 page)

A Crimson war cry rose up. Lea saw Sergeant Taime coming at a gallop, his face blood-smeared and frantic. She saw the rest of the Crimsons shouting and spurring their horses faster. Too late, she thought, her heart clutching in despair.

Her captor laughed, low and bleak, and as the grinning centruin spurred his mount through the opening, its hooves crunching over gravel, the commander lowered his hand and spoke a word unfamiliar to Lea. It hurt her to hear it, however, hurt her with the same spikes of pain she'd felt before.

It was as though a veil closed over the world, slowly shutting out the sight of the falling snow, the disorderly halt of charging horses, and the horrified faces of the men entrusted with Lea's safekeeping. Their shouts grew fainter and fainter, until there was only silence, and a black wall shut them from her sight.

The sense of evil lay thick around her in the darkness, and she felt as though she were drowning in it.

Then a pale, unworldly light began to glow before them, illuminating this place they'd entered. It was sickly gray, not true light, and contained nothing life-affirming or wholesome. Glowing dim and small, it left thick pools of gloom where wickedness could lurk unseen. It was light to see by, nothing else. No plant could take nourishment from it. No heart could take hope from it.

Lea trembled, trying hard not to lose her courage completely, and refused to cry. She told herself that she must stay strong, must regain her necklace and find a way to escape as quickly as possible.

Around her, the men were laughing and cheering, slapping each other on the back and raising clenched fists in triumph.

“Mission accomplished, eh, Commander?” the centruin said hoarsely.

“Not quite.”

Before Lea could wonder what he meant by that, her captor touched her back.

A clammy wave of weakness sucked her down. She fought it, to no avail. It was like sliding into a bottomless chasm where she heard no more, saw no more of that evil place.

“No!” she whispered, unable to scream.

Then there was only silence and the terrible dark.

I
n
New Imperia, Bronzidaec hurried along the broad loggia of the inner palace courtyard, keeping well away from the hot sunlight that could betray him, keeping so close to the shadows that his shoulder brushed the wall stones. He pattered along, hurrying, hurrying so fast he panted. His heart thudded rapidly.

Never before had he taken such a risk, not at noontime, not in bright daylight, not among so many people.

The crowds ignored him as they sauntered along in the cool shade that gave them respite from the autumn heat. Their garments fluttered briefly against his arms and face as he pushed past. Now and then, an individual would glance down at him in surprise, perhaps even swat at him in disdain. Dodging, Bronzidaec hurried on.

Even under the loggia's shade he felt exposed. His enchanted disguise was thin at best, and he feared the sun might shine straight through him. The old palace, he thought wrathfully, had been full of crannies and deep shadows, but the new palace was filled with sunlight all day and blazed with candles at night. He loathed it here. He told himself that perhaps Master would be so pleased with his news that Master would release him.

You are a fool to believe it,
he thought. A century of bondage stretched before him like an eternity.

But perhaps Master would be pleased. Master
must
be pleased. Bronzidaec had great hopes of being rewarded with more food and permission to sleep on a fine cushion in Master's quarters instead of having to stay in the women's pavilion.

But Master would
not
be pleased if news came to him slowly. Time to hurry, hurry, hurry.

It seemed a very long way to run along this loggia that bridged the women's pavilion to the central portion of the palace, but at last he reached the end of it and hopped over the threshold and under the arm of a guard who glanced at him indifferently. Officials and courtiers wandered about, conversing in low voices. A pair of men in the bright hues of merchants had cornered an official, talking to him earnestly while he shook his head. Farther down the corridor stood a pair of centruins in full armor over their red tunics, their helmets tucked under their arms. The sight of them made Bronzidaec very nervous. A moment later, an elderly man wearing the emblem of praetinor appeared. He was bowed to by minor officials and ushered away with much courtesy. The centruins saluted and fell into step at his heels, and Bronzidaec felt he could breathe again as he watched them go.

Sniffing the air, he searched for Master's scent, and found a trace of it. But just as he started off in that direction, there came the tramping of booted feet, and a tax collector strode into sight, his gaze keen and purposeful. He was followed by servants wheeling a small, stout cart stacked with leather bags of coinage, each labeled and wired shut with the Imperial Seal. A company of predlicates marched with the money, guarding it.

Hastily, Bronzidaec darted out of sight behind a marble column. He waited there until the sound of them faded away. Only then did he venture forth. No one seemed to be paying him any attention. Still, he was shaking as he forced himself onward. His small bare feet pattered across the cold stone floors as he flitted from one column to another. He skirted the huge mosaic laid in the symbol of Gault, making furtive signs of defiance as he went, and followed Master's scent down a long corridor. At the end of it, he dashed through the chancellor's vestibule and on into a small narrow room beyond it, where Master's scent was strongest.

But Master was not here.

Hissing in disappointment, he peered everywhere, running to each corner to be sure. But Master was not here.

Lit by a meager window, the room held a long, stout table of wood much stained by ink and littered with parchments and fingers of sealing wax. Three clerks sat hunched at the table, busy making small black squiggles across large, pale sheets of parchment. Bronzidaec had eaten parchment once and disliked the taste of it. But the ink sent twitches of curiosity through his nostrils. Someday, he would very much like to drink some.

But not now, not today when he'd broken Master's commands and violated every rule to come here. How, he thought angrily, was he to bring Master this important news if Master was not here to receive it? Now he had been disobedient and caused himself much trouble. And all for nothing.

Hesitating near the doorway, he hopped a little to gather his courage, then darted back to the table and stole a piece of sealing wax.

Only one clerk noticed. “Stop that! Give that back!”

Bronzidaec jumped over the threshold and got entangled in some heavy curtains lining the walls of the vestibule.

A huge shadow loomed over him, and a hand closed on his small shoulder, its grip cruel. Emitting a squeak, Bronzidaec twisted and sank his fangs into flesh.

There were few things sweeter than the taste of human blood. In that moment, Bronzidaec was flooded with great delight.

Swearing, the man released him, but by then Bronzidaec had recognized Master's voice, inhaled Master's scent. Horrified, he pulled himself into a small knot and went to the floor.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he whispered, so frightened by his offense that he could not truly speak.

Master yanked him bodily to his feet. “Stand up, you fool,” he muttered in an almost inaudible voice. Anger poured off him in waves, radiating against Bronzidaec, who swallowed hard. “What are you doing here?”

“Must speak. Must tell!”

Master glanced around swiftly. “This won't do—”

“What have you there?” A portly man in a heavy robe of office came up, looking curious. “Someone's
jinja
? Extraordinary.”

“Yes, it is,” Master said, glaring down at Bronzidaec fiercely. “The wretch has bitten me, too.”

“Well, don't suck at it,” another man said sharply as Master lifted his finger to his mouth. “They have venom, you know.”

“Nonsense,” the portly man said, chuckling. “Saeyd, you have a head of leather and wits of wool, believing an old wives' tale like that. Best have the bite seen to, Jafeen, just the same. It can grow sore if neglected.”

“I shall,” Master said. Ignoring Bronzidaec, he bowed to the other men and exited the vestibule.

Shooed out by a servant, Bronzidaec licked his fangs and followed Master's scent to a dim corner away from the tall windows. Behind a plinth supporting a stone bust, he found a servant's door standing ajar. Skittishly he slid behind it.

Grateful to be enfolded in the gloom, he bumped into Master's bulk, and Master closed the door, plunging them into complete darkness. But Bronzidaec could see in the darkness, much better than he saw in daylight. He sighed happily.

It was a small, cramped space, a landing of sorts with steps leading down inside the thick palace walls.

“You fool!” Master said very softly. “How dare you seek me out, and at this time of day, when the place is full of every—”

“Master, forgive, forgive!” Bronzidaec said hurriedly, driven to interrupt.

Master's hand swung at him, and Bronzidaec was so rattled that he ducked.

A moment of ominous silence fell over them. “You dare avoid my punishment? You dare—”

“Please listen!” Bronzidaec said, desperate to tell. “I bring news.”

Master lowered his hand. “Say it, then, and be quick while I think of how best to flay your miserable hide.”

Bronzidaec gulped, but dared not plead for mercy. “I bring news of the lady empress—”

“I know the empress isn't going to Gialta. All our plans and waiting are for nothing. The creature will not leave her husband's side. Bah!” He kicked Bronzidaec. “You bring me nothing but aggravation.”

“Wait, Master.” Bronzidaec rubbed his aching side. “I have other news. Useful! Useful! The Lady Lea has been taken captive.”

“What?”

Groveling on the floor, Bronzidaec dared reach out and grip Master's ankle. “True.”

“Are you sure? There's been no news of this at court.”

“Very sure, Master.”

Master pulled away. “What do I care about her? We wanted the empress, not—”

“There are many ways to achieve the same objective, Master, yes?”

Master kicked him much harder this time, knocking him into the wall. “When I want an imbecile's opinion I'll ask for it. This is useless!”

“But, Master—”

“Get back to the women's pavilion and stay there. And next time wait until I send for you.”

Bronzidaec pressed his hot face to the gritty floor. “Yes, Master,” he whispered.

“It's the empress you're to watch. Do you understand? The empress and no one else! How many times must I repeat this to you?”

“But—”

“Shut up! Never do this again!”

With another kick, Master whisked himself through the hidden door and left Bronzidaec seething in the darkness, rubbing his sore spots. To console himself, he ate the sealing wax. He did not like it when Master was angry with him, but now he was angry with Master. Master had not listened. Master blamed him for news he did not want. Master did not want the opportunity Bronzidaec had brought him at such risk. No one else in the palace knew about Lady Lea. Master should have been pleased to hear such news first. Master, Bronzidaec thought resentfully, was not a very good spy.

For a while he crouched there, letting his anger grow. It was tempting to go and bite Master again, but that was foolish. It was even more tempting to sneak into Master's private chamber and sick up this sealing wax on his bed. Sealing wax, Bronzidaec decided, was very tasty, but it did not sit easily in his stomach. Yes, he would like very much to sick it up on Master's bed.

But Master would punish him.
I must be more clever,
Bronzidaec told himself. He dared not defy Master openly, dared not risk Master removing the spell and exposing him for what he really was, not here where there would be much woe and death for Bronzidaec. But there were ways, sneaky ways, to harm the new emperor and harm Master, too, Bronzidaec thought. Yawning, he turned around three times, quick, quick, quick, for luck before baring his fangs and hissing to himself.

“I am good spy,” he muttered aloud. “I am very good spy. Better spy than Master. I think I should have been made Master and Master into
jinja
.”

He hurried, yes, yes, he hurried here and there, busy, busy, busy, until he found Lady Avitria, chief attendant to the empress. She was in the linens room, quietly berating a maidservant.

Tall and slender, with a graceful throat and long, tapering fingers, Lady Avitria had married well and been widowed young, or so the gossip went, leaving her the advantages of independence, wealth, and high position at court. Although she was said to have the empress's confidence, there was nothing warm or appealing about her.

She had cornered a Ulinian woman, new to court, new to service, working in the palace as part of Ulinian annual tribute. The servant was sullen and quiet, possessing dark, hostile eyes. She had no friends here. Everyone whispered that they were Ulinian spies, which they were, but in Bronzidaec's opinion, very inept and too obvious. Bronzidaec liked the Ulinians, chiefly because they smelled of spices and a general lack of washing, but also because they incurred so much suspicion he found it easier to eavesdrop unnoticed.

“Who assigned you to launder Her Majesty's stoles?” Lady Avitria was saying angrily. She flung a handful of brightly colored fabrics at the maidservant. “Look what you've done to the pleating! A botched mess, which must be redone immediately. Her Majesty will be dressing for the banquet shortly, and these must be ready.”

“No time,” the Ulinian said in very poor Lingua. “Have other duties. No time.”

“You will do as I say, or I'll see you lashed for stealing.”

“No steal!”

Avitria gave her a very cold smile. “Will the guards believe me or you if a brooch is reported missing?”

Loathing darkened the Ulinian girl's eyes. She bundled the stoles together and tossed them across her shoulder. As she hurried away, Bronzidaec sidled up to Avitria and hopped for attention.

She flinched. “Get away from me.”

“I have news, big news for Empress,” he said slyly, dodging the smack she aimed at his head. “Grant me audience.”

“Get away! You have nothing to interest Her Majesty, or anyone else.”

“I do! I have big news. It must be told.”

“Palace officials convey news to Her Majesty, not odious little fiends like you.”

Stung, he moved closer. “I know where to find sister of Empress.”

“Sister?” Lady Avitria's gaze suddenly grew wary. “Lady Bixia? What do you know? Speak quickly!”

“Not Bixia,” he said impatiently, shifting back and forth. “Who is Bixia? Lea, Lea, Lea!”

A frown creased Lady Avitria's brow. The two of them glared at each other in silence before she said, very slowly, “Lady Lea is on her way to Trau to officiate over the—”