Emperor and Clown (49 page)

Two
nights before Winterfest came the grand finale, the imperor’s ball. The guest
list ran to thousands, although there were several categories of invitation and
the festivities covered many precincts of varying opulence. The main affair
alone included twelve ballrooms, seventeen orchestras, a continuing circus of
performers, enough fine food to feed all Zark, and a hundred thousand candles.
Eigaze had been absolutely right-the Kinvale affair was a child’s birthday
party compared to this.

Guests
and strayed sheep had been pouring in to the capital for days, and they
included Princess Imperial Orosea and her husband, the Duke of Leesoft. Shandie
vanished squealing into a scrimmage of cousins and stayed there, so that even
he saw nothing of Rap anymore.

The
great night came, and when his Imperial Majesty took a partner on his arm for
the opening promenade, the only lady in the realm he could have chosen was the
Queen of Krasnegar. Leesoft and Orosea fell into step behind them.

The
tall old man was almost unrecognizable as the invalid Inos had first seen being
carried around like a trophy of war. Now his color was back, his face had
filled in and become more human. He was stronger than he had been for years, he
insisted, and no one doubted that his grip on the Impire was as firm as it had
ever been. The Dwanishian dispute was already settled; the legions would be
vacating Qoble as soon as the passes opened. The Senate could not have passed
the new Succession Act any faster on wheels.

His
hair was trimmed short in military style, and he wore a uniform, although it
was a designer uniform of kidskin and gold foil, not bullhide and bronze. As
was her custom, Inos wore green, and tonight a very talkative sea-green satin
that hissed and whispered all the time. The cut of her bodice was as daring as
any in the hall-well, almost-and she was perfectly aware that no one outshone
her. This was the culmination of the Hubban social season and of her year. In a
brief three weeks she had conquered the capital of the Impire, and tonight was
her night. She might go on to establish herself as Queen of Krasnegar, but even
if she stayed in Hub she could never hope to retain her present rule as queen
of the capital. In another month someone else would reign.

Honors
were transitory, youth was fleeting, but this was her night.

Half
the young men of the Impire were ready to fall at her feet, and the only man
she wanted was not there.

Emshandar
smiled approvingly at her as they began the procession. “It never ceases to
amaze me,” he said whimsically, “how feminine beauty always manages to triumph
over the worst outrages that dressmakers can commit!”

Inos
granted him a maidenly blush-she was quite good at those now. “Your Majesty is
most gracious.” She murmured an appreciation of the surroundings.

They
paraded forward, acknowledging the smiles and salutes of the company, all of
whom would in turn join on the end of the promenade. Emshandar made polite
conversation about nothing ...

“Any
sign of Rap?” he asked quietly, his expression not changing.

Inos
did not let her reaction reach the hand she rested on his jeweled vambrace. “None,
Sire.”

The
withered old lips smiled sadly. “I commanded his presence! So we see who rules
this Impire, don’t we?”

More
smiles. Nod to the new consul and his pretty wife.

“Do
you know Death Bird?” Emshandar muttered. Confidential remarks in Hub were
usually made with minimum lip movement.

“No,
Sire, I don’t think so.”

“A
goblin, the one Kalkor brought. He has some other name, but the wardens call
him Death Bird, for some reason.”

Inos
beamed at Kade, being squired by Senator Epoxague. “Then I do know him. Rap
called him Little Chicken and said he was his slave.”

Emshandar
was still looking everywhere but at Inos. “Olybino is enraged. He says the
goblin has been spying on military training camps, disguised as an imp.”

She
barely contained an unseemly snigger. “How do you disguise a goblin as an imp?
Boil him in strong tea?” She acknowledged Marshal Ithy with one of her larger
smiles.

“With
sorcery.”

“Oh!”
She apologized. Then a few implications registered and she broke the rules by
looking straight at the imperor and speaking plainly. “That’s no behavior for a
guest!” Spying, when there was a war on? Goblins and winter together had driven
the XIIth Legion back from the pass, the most humiliating setback the Impire
had suffered in years. She knew that reinforcements were being sent.

Emshandar’s
eyes twinkled, even as he nodded respectfully to the widow of a famous senator.
“Rap asked permission, and I said he could do anything he wanted. That was my
big mistake, you see! I should have excluded this evening from that sufferance.”
They had reached the orchestra. As lead couple they veered to the right ...

He
chuckled. “I also told Olybino to complain directly to Rap about it if he had
worries. That son of a mule went chalky pale and disappeared!”

The
first real dance of the evening she had promised to Tiffy, and it was a brisk
fandango, designed to clear the floor of older folk. It was also brisk enough
to produce a marked list in Inos’s coiffure. With a hasty apology to the next
promised partner, she headed for the powder room to put things to rights.

As
she was returning, sweeping along a dim corridor, she suddenly sensed that he
was there.

Rap
!

She
wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was certain. She stopped and stood still,
keeping her eyes lowered. Somehow she located him, in the shadows of a doorway.
Minutes seeped by. No one else came, there was no sound except the muffled beat
of the orchestra, and her heart was louder than that. But she knew he was
there, watching.

Very
slowly she raised her head. At first, she dared not look straight at him. It
was like meeting a wild animal, a deer or a fox. If she made a sudden move she
would scare him away. He would be gone in an instant.

He
was as well dressed as any man in the palace, better than she had ever imagined
him. Silver-buckled shoes, snowy tights-including a frilly codpiece as
outrageous as any young gallant’s-ruffled cravat and cutaway velvet coat ...

And
by all the Gods his hair was flat!

Finally
she met his eyes-wild, tortured eyes, staring at her with a mute, unbearable
longing that twisted her heart. The tattoos were missing.

He
had done all this for her, she knew. She could never have conceived Rap
dressing up like this, even if he had done it with sorcery.

Still
moving very gently, raising a hand as she might coax a squirrel to a crust . .
. “Don’t speak,” she said softly. “Just come and dance.”

He
nodded and swallowed hard. He came forward timorously, as if she were a soap
bubble vision that might vanish if he touched her, or as if he feared to waken
himself with any sudden move. She shook her head when he seemed about to say
something.

She
took out her dance card and ripped it in two, dropping the pieces. She grinned
at him invitingly, and he managed a small quirk of a smile in response, and
then she knew that she had won-it was going to be all right.

She
felt the callouses on his fingers as he took her hand.

He
led her to the ballroom.

Her
promised partner was waiting. He blanched when he saw her with a faun, and Inos
ignored him. Rap was going to dance with her!

Sorcerers
made wonderful dance partners, graceful and flawless. He never took his eyes
off Inos. No matter how complex the pattern, or who else he might be whirling
or leading, his gaze was always on her. He never spoke. He did not smile, he
just stared, with that same mute longing.

He
danced like an elf. Fingers touched fingers, hand touched shoulder, arm around
waist ... the night flew away, and she danced with Rap. Minuets and sarabands,
and she danced with Rap. Polonaise, tarantella, danced with Rap. Gavottes and
courantes and mazurkas. Rap!

She
hardly spoke, either, all night long. She smiled to wide-eyed acquaintances,
she spun around with men she knew or didn’t know, but always she was dancing
with Rap. And she knew that whatever else the Gods might do, They could not
call back this night.

Hub
did nothing except by ritual and tradition. The imperor’s partner was expected
to reserve certain especial dances for each of the consuls, and Marshal Ithy,
and some others. Inos danced with Rap and no one intruded on a sorcerer.

But
even a sorcerer could not stop the sunrise. Unbelieving, she saw candles
guttering in the chandeliers and weary footmen hauling back drapes to let the
sickly light of morn seep through high windows. The floor was almost empty.
Red-eyed musicians held the last fading chord of the final dance. Where had the
time gone? She could have danced forever.

All
over the hall, the couples were closing the evening with the traditional
embrace. She held out her arms to Rap and lifted her lips to be kissed.

He
backed off. “Rap!”

He
shook his head wildly. “Rap, kiss me!”

“No!”
he shouted. “No!” Then he lowered his voice to a sob. “Oh, Inos! Do you think I
wouldn’t if I dared?”

“Tell
me!” she said, moving toward him. “You’re a sorcerer! You overcame the
strongest of the warlocks! Who are you afraid of ?”

He
gulped. “You!”

“No!”

“No.
Me!”

And
he was gone, vanished. Plop.

Rap!
How could he be so callous? Stunned, Inos walked to the door alone, and there
found Kade. Kade, haggard with exhaustion. Kade who should have gone off to bed
hours ago.

Kade
who held her as she started to weep.

She
met him again on Winterfest Day.

The
bells were ringing, and she was accompanying the imperor to church. The morning
was all faded to gray, sky and earth grown old together, and the towers of the
White Palace in the distance were pearly-white ghosts. Frost flakes hung
glinting everywhere, as if the air had frozen around them to hold them up.
Stones and the stark, bare trees were pale with rime.

The
only color left in the world was in the long procession winding across the
cobbled court, ladies and gentlemen in their high-collared cloaks and soft
plumed hats. Reds and greens and gold shimmered when everything else was white.
The spectators were few, drab and muffled. Most folk were already at worship,
or else home with their families this day, preparing whatever feast their means
could supply. Anyone who chose to hang around the palace and watch the gentry
on Winterfest had something missing from his life.

Inos
was well back in the parade, being squired by the adoring Tiffy. His spurs
clinked softly with every step. Kade and Senator Epoxague walked just ahead,
and the royal family at the front had already passed through a columned arcade
and entered the church. The bells pealed joyously, the frosty air sparkled, and
sometimes tiny snowflakes tickled her eyelashes. In her mind she was rehearsing
all the prayers she would make. For Rap. For Krasnegar. For wisdom and courage
and dedication to make a good ruler. For the strength to trust in love. But
especially for Rap, whatever troubled him so.

As
she drew near the ancient arches, she knew he was there. Two words of power had
brought her no occult abilities that she knew of, so what she felt was a
sending from Rap.

She
peered, this way and that, and finally located the solitary figure by one of
the great weathered pillars.

She
murmured an apology to Tiffy and reinforced it with the most beguiling smile
she could muster. On him her smiles were hot coals on butter. Then she scurried
away from the procession, holding her cloak tight against the cold, clasping
its high collar up to protect her ears. She rounded the pillar.

Rap
was leaning against it, arms folded, watching her with no expression that she
could read. He was back to artisan work clothes, but spurning both coat and
hat-a sorcerer’s ears would never freeze. His hair had recovered its moorland
look, and the stupid goblin tattoos disfigured his eyes again.

“You
called me!”

He
nodded, looking surly. “Wondered what you thought you were doing.”

“I
was going to go and worship the Gods.”

“That’s
what I was afraid of.” His voice was bitter as alum.

Oh,
Rap! “I think you should explain that remark.” He curled his lip. “Sorcerers
play games with mundanes. The wardens play games with nations. What do you
think the Gods do for amusement?”

She
had never heard such rank blasphemy in her life, and for a moment it took her
breath away. “You met a God!” Rap said, his voice rising.

The
church doors thumped closed . . .one! . . . two! The bells had stopped ringing.
The knots of spectators were wandering away from the gray and white yard.

“They
told me to trust in love,” she said.

“And
what did that mean? You didn’t know, did you? Andor, you thought. Then Azak,
you thought. Now Rap, you think. `Yes, he is only a common coachman, but the
Gods have given me special dispensation-’ “

“It
meant that I must rescue you from the fire, my lad.”

He
shrugged. “Did it? You’re still not sure. Not certain. You don’t think an
ambiguous command may reflect on the competence of the commander? Or reflect on
Their sincerity, maybe? Cause a little confusion and watch the fun, perhaps?”

“Rap,
you stop this! I won’t listen!”

He
shrugged again. She spoke quickly, before he could. “You told me you were only
a mage, but the next morning you were a sorcerer. Where did you get that fourth
word, Rap?”

“Can’t
tell that.”

“Kade
told me where you got the third word, and I saw you get a fifth, but where did
you get your fourth? You begged a word from me, but I didn’t have one. Who else
had a word to share, Rap? What did you pay for that word?”