Tigana (59 page)

And she stood very still, not flinching at all, as the riselka rose up on tiptoe and kissed her, soft as the wing of a butterfly, upon the lips. There was no hint of desire this time, in
the giving or receiving. This was the aftermath, the consummation had come and gone. The riselka’s mouth tasted of salt. The salt, Dianora knew, of her own tears. She no longer felt any fear at all; only a quiet sadness like a smooth stone in the heart.

She heard a ripple of sound and turned back to the pool. The cypresses were reflected again, their images ruffled and broken now by the movement of the water in the wind.

When she looked away again, pushing her hair back from her face, she saw that she was alone.

When she came back out to the open space before the palace doors d’Eymon was waiting for her, dressed formally in grey, his Seal of Office about his neck. He was sitting on one of the stone benches, his staff resting beside him. Scelto hovered by the doors, and Dianora saw the flash of relief he could not hide when she came out from among the trees.

She stopped and looked at the Chancellor allowing a slight smile to show on her face. It was artifice of course, but an act she could do unconsciously by now. In d’Eymon’s normally inscrutable expression she read edginess and anger, and other signs of what had happened yesterday. He would probably be spoiling for a fight, she guessed. It was difficult, amazingly difficult, to switch back to the manners and affairs of state. It was also something that had to be done.

‘You were late,’ she said mildly, walking towards him. He had risen, with perfect courtesy, as she approached. ‘I went walking in the garden. There are anemones beginning already.’

‘I was precisely on time,’ d’Eymon said.

She might once have been intimidated, but not now. He would be wearing the Seal as an attempt to reinforce his authority, but she knew how badly yesterday would have unsettled him. She was fairly certain he would have offered to kill himself last night; he was a man for whom the old
traditions mattered. In any case, she was armoured against him: she had seen a riselka this morning.

‘Then I must have been early,’ she said carelessly. ‘Forgive me. It is good to see you looking so well after yesterday’s confusions. Have you been waiting long?’

‘Long enough. You wanted to talk about yesterday, I gather. What is it?’

Dianora didn’t think she had ever heard an inconsequential remark from d’Eymon, let alone a pleasantry. Refusing to be rushed she sat down on the bench he had just vacated and brushed her brown robe smooth over her knees. She clasped her fingers in her lap and looked up, letting her expression grow suddenly as cold as his own.

‘He almost died yesterday,’ she said flatly, deciding only in that moment what her tack would be. ‘He would have died. Do you know why, Chancellor?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. ‘The King almost died because your people were too complacent or too slovenly to bother searching a party of Ygrathens. What did you think? That danger could only come from the Palm? I expect yesterday’s guards to be dealt with, d’Eymon. And soon.’

The use of his name and not his title was deliberate. He opened his mouth and closed it, visibly biting back a swift retort. She was pushing things, Triad knew how hard she was pushing with this, but if ever there was going to be a chance for her to do so, this would be it. D’Eymon’s face was white with anger and shock. He took a deep breath to control himself.

‘They have been dealt with already,’ he said. ‘They are dead.’

She hadn’t expected that. She managed, with an effort, to keep her discomfiture out of her eyes. ‘There is more,’ she went on pressing her advantage. ‘I want to know why Camena di Chiara was not watched when he went to Ygrath last year.’

‘He
was
watched. What would you have had us do? You know who was behind yesterday’s attack. You heard.’

‘We all heard. Why did you not know about Isolla and the Queen?’ This time the bite she put into the words was real, not merely tactical.

For the first time she saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. He fingered his Seal, then seemed to become aware that he was doing so and dropped his hand to his side. There was a brief silence.

‘I did know,’ he said finally. His eyes met her own, a question in them like an angry challenge.

‘I see,’ said Dianora a moment later, and looked away. The sun was higher now, slanting across most of the clearing. If she moved a little along the bench its warmth would fall upon her. The harsh, unspoken question in d’Eymon’s eyes hung in the air: Would
you
have told the King, knowing these things about his Queen?

Dianora was silent, tracking implications to their endings. With this admission, she realized, d’Eymon was hers, if he hadn’t already been so after his failure yesterday and what she had done to save the King. She was also, she thought, in fairly immediate danger as a consequence. The Chancellor was not a man to be treated lightly, ever. Most of the saishan had their suspicions as to how Chloese di Chiara had died ten years ago, and why.

She looked up, and let her rising anger keep the anxiety from showing. ‘Wonderful,’ she said acidly. ‘Such efficient security. And now, of course, because of what I was forced to do, your pet courtier Neso simply
has
to receive the posting in Asoli, doesn’t he. With a wound of honour earned saving the life of the King. How marvellously clever of you, d’Eymon!’

She had miscalculated. For the first time he smiled, a narrow, mirthless expression. ‘Is
that
what this is about?’ he asked softly.

She bit back a swift denial. It was not inconvenient for him to think so, she realized.

‘Among other things,’ she admitted, as if grudgingly. ‘I want to know why you have been favouring him for the Asoli posting. I had been meaning to talk to you about this.’

‘I thought as much,’ he said, a measure of his usual complacency returning. ‘I have also been keeping track of some—not all, I have no doubt—of the gifts Scelto has been receiving in your name these past weeks. That was a splendid necklace yesterday, by the way. Did Neso’s money pay for it? In an attempt to have you win me over to his side?’

He was immensely well-informed, and he was shrewd. She had always known these things. It was never wise to underestimate the Chancellor.

‘It helped pay for it,’ she said briefly. ‘You haven’t answered my question. Why do you favour him? You must know what sort of man he is.’

‘Of course I know,’ d’Eymon replied impatiently. ‘Why do you think I want him out of here? I want him posted to Asoli because I don’t trust him at court. I want him away from the King and in a place where he can be killed without undue inconvenience. I trust that answers your question?’

She swallowed.
Never, ever underestimate him,
she told herself again. ‘It does,’ she said. ‘Killed by whom?’

‘That should be obvious. It will be put about that the Asolini did it themselves. I expect it will not take Neso long to give them cause.’

‘Of course. And then?’

‘And then the King will investigate and find that Neso was guilty of gross corruption, which we need not doubt he will be. We execute some man or other for the murder but the King declares his firm renunciation of Neso’s methods and greed. He appoints a new Taxing Master and promises
fairer measures in the future. I think that should quiet affairs in north Asoli for a time.’

‘Good,’ said Dianora, trying to ignore the casual indifference of that
some man or other
. ‘And very tidy. I have only one thing to add: the new officer will be Rhamanus.’ She was taking another risk, she knew. When it came down to bedrock, she was a captive and a concubine, and he was the Chancellor of Ygrath and of the Western Palm. On the other hand, there were other ways to measure the balance here, and she fought to focus on those.

D’Eymon looked coolly down at her. She kept her gaze on his, her eyes wide and disingenuous.

‘It has long amused me,’ he said at length, ‘that you so favoured the man who captured you. One would think you hadn’t minded, that you
wanted
to come.’

Perilously, uncannily near to the mark, but she could see he was baiting her, not serious in his thrust. She forced herself to relax, and smiled. ‘How could I mind being here? I’d never have had a chance at pleasant meetings such as this. And in any case’—she let her tone change—‘I
do
favour him, yes. On behalf of the people of this peninsula I do. And you know that that will always be my concern, Chancellor. He is a decent man. There are not many such Ygrathens, I’m afraid.’

He was silent a moment. Then: ‘There are more than you think.’ But before she could manage to interpret either his words or the surprising voice in which they were spoken, he added, ‘I seriously thought of having you poisoned last night. Either that, or suggesting you be freed and made a citizen of Ygrath.’

‘What extremes, my dear!’ She could feel herself growing cold though. ‘Didn’t you teach us all that balance is everything?’

‘I did,’ he said soberly, not rising to her bait. He never did. ‘Have you
any
idea what you’ve done to the equilibrium at this court?’

‘What,’ she said with real asperity, ‘would you have preferred me to do yesterday?’

‘That is not at all the point. Obviously.’ There was a rare spot of colour in his cheeks. When he resumed, though, it was in his usual tones. ‘I was thinking of Rhamanus for Asoli myself. It shall be as you suggest. In the meantime, I very nearly forgot to mention that the King has sent for you. I intercepted the message before it reached the saishan. He will be waiting in the library.’

She shot to her feet, as agitated as he must have known she would be. ‘How long ago?’ she asked quickly.

‘Not very. Why? You don’t seem to mind being late. There are anemones in the garden, you could tell him that.’

‘I could tell him some other things as well, d’Eymon.’ Anger almost choked her. She fought for control.

‘And so could I. And so, I suppose, could Solores. We seldom do, do we? The balance, as you have just pointed out, is everything. That is why I should still be very careful, Dianora, despite what happened yesterday. The balance is all. Do not forget it.’

She tried to think of a response, a last word, but failed. Her mind was whirling. He had spoken of killing her, of freeing her, had agreed with her choice for Asoli, and then threatened her again. All in a span of minutes! And all the while the King had been waiting for her, and d’Eymon had known.

She turned, abruptly and dismally conscious of her nondescript robe and the fact that she had no time to go back up to the saishan and change. She could feel herself flushing with anger and anxiety.

Scelto had evidently overheard the Chancellor’s last remarks. His eyes above the broken nose were vividly concerned and apologetic, though with d’Eymon intercepting the message there was nothing he could have done.

She stopped by the palace doors and looked back. The Chancellor stood alone in the garden leaning upon his stick, a tall, grey, thin figure against the bare trees. The sky above him had turned overcast again.
Of course it has,
Dianora thought spitefully.

Then she remembered the pool and her mood changed. What did these court manoeuvres matter, in the end? D’Eymon was only doing what he had to do, and so now, would she. She had seen her path. She found herself able to smile, letting that inner quiet descend upon her again, though with a stone of sorrow at its centre still. She sank low in a very formal curtsey. D’Eymon, taken aback, sketched an awkward bow.

Dianora turned and went through the doors that Scelto was holding for her. She went back down the corridor and up the stairs, along a north–south hallway and past two heavy doors. She stopped in front of the third pair of doors. Out of reflex and habit more than anything else she checked her reflection in the bronze shield that hung on the wall. She adjusted her robe and pushed both hands through her hopelessly windblown hair.

Then she knocked on the library doors and entered, holding hard to her calm and the vision of the pool, a round stone of knowledge and sorrow in her heart that she hoped would anchor it in her breast and keep it from flying away.

Brandin was standing with his back to the door looking at a very old map of the then known world that hung above the larger of the fires. He did not turn. She looked up at the map. On it, the Peninsula of the Palm and even the larger land mass of Quileia beyond the mountains running all the way south to the Ice, were dwarfed by the size of Barbadior and its Empire to the east and by Ygrath to the west overseas.

The velvet window curtains of the library were drawn against the morning light and a fire was blazing, which bothered
her. She found it difficult to deal with flames on an Ember Day. Brandin held a fire-iron in one hand. He was dressed as carelessly as she, in black riding clothes and boots. His boots were muddy; he must have been out riding very early.

She put the encounter with d’Eymon behind her, but not the riselka in the garden. This man was the centre of her life; whatever else had changed that had not, but the riselka’s vision had offered her a path, and Brandin had let her lie alone and awake all last night.

She said, ‘Forgive me, my lord. I was with the Chancellor this morning and he chose to only just now tell me you were waiting here.’

‘Why were you meeting with him?’ The nuanced, familiar voice was only mildly interested. He seemed engrossed in the map.

She did not lie to the King. ‘The Taxing Master question in Asoli. I wanted to know why he favoured Neso.’

There was a faint hint of amusement in his voice. ‘I’m sure d’Eymon told you something plausible.’ He turned finally, and gazed at her for the first time. He looked exactly the same as he always did, and she knew what always happened when their glances first met.

But she had seen a riselka an hour ago and something seemed to have changed. Her calm did not leave her; her heart stayed home. She closed her eyes for an instant, but more to acknowledge the meaning of that change and the passing of a long truth than anything else. She felt that she would weep, for many reasons, if she were not extremely careful now.