The Spacetime Pool (10 page)

* * * *

The emperor’s company
rode hard during the day, with stops only to change and rest the biaquines.
They continued into the night, lighting their way with torches. Maximillian had
Janelle sit in front of him on his biaquine. At least he changed his saddle to
an animal skin with fleece against her legs. Smells saturated her senses:
leather, sweat, musky animals. Maximillian’s armor jabbed her back and his
thighs pressed against her hips. Her chafed skin burned.

“You know Dominick
has five children,” Maximillian said when they slowed to rest the horses. “He
loved their mother. He hasn’t touched another woman since. If it wasn’t for
that godforsaken prophecy, he wouldn’t touch you, either.”

If he expected to get
a rise out of her, he would be disappointed. When she didn’t respond, he spoke
tightly. “Dominick will be uncle to your children. Not father.”

She made herself stop
gritting her teeth. “How noble of you, to rape your brother’s wife.”

He leaned near her
ear. “You will regret that.”

It no longer
surprised her that his men had inflicted such cruelty at the palace. A leader’s
personality was reflected in those who followed him. Yet she also saw Dominick
in the emperor; they moved alike, gestured alike, spoke alike. Maximillian led
his men with the same natural authority and intelligence, and he obviously had
their respect. Both he and Dominick exuded an ingrained arrogance, though in
Dominick it was softened by a sense of humor that suggested he took himself
less seriously than his brother.

Some time after the Moon
began its descent, an officer rode up alongside them, a husky man with
well-kept armor. “A messenger has arrived, Your Highness, from the scouts you
left to watch the palace.”

Maximillian didn’t
look surprised. “Has Dominick come, then?”

“I cannot say. Shall
I bring the messenger?”

“Immediately.”

As the rider fell
back, Janelle’s mood lifted like a tentative bird uncertain whether or not to
take flight. Although it seemed unlikely Dominick had already gathered
sufficient forces to come after Maximillian, she could hope.

The officer soon
reappeared, accompanied by a red-haired man on a biaquine. Janelle could better
tell the difference now between Maximillian’s soldiers and the outlaws he had
hired to augment his company. This man had the scuffed armor worn by the
raiders.

“What is your
message?” Maximillian asked.

“It’s the bride.” The
redheaded man nodded toward Janelle. “The wedding never took place.”

Janelle silently
swore.

Behind her,
Maximillian tensed. “She has his jewels.”

“They reversed the
ceremonies,” the man said. “He gave her the jewels this morning.”

Maximillian took
Janelle’s shoulders and turned her until she could look up at him. “Then you
are not yet his.”

She met his gaze. “Dominick
and I are married.”

“My messenger says
otherwise.” He glanced at his officer. “Go get Brother Anthony.”

“But you must have a
proper ceremony,” the officer protested. “One fit for an emperor. That takes
time.”

“And give Dominick
time to rescue her?” Maximillian said. “I think not. Get Anthony.
Now.
”

* * * *

Brother Anthony
turned out to be another warrior. He rode with Maximillian, and the emperor’s
aides surrounded them, all on biaquines. The torches cast stark shadows,
leaving the faces of the riders half in darkness and half lit by wavering
orange light. Anthony wore an unadorned cross, but Janelle couldn’t tell if he
was a monk, a priest, or a cleric that didn’t exist in her universe. She just
wished she were somewhere else. Anywhere. Like on the Moon.

Fleeing the specter
of Dominick’s pursuit, Maximillian didn’t even stop for his own wedding. He let
them slow enough so Anthony could speak, and then they held the ceremony on the
run, as the army rumbled across the plains.

“Each day the Sun
rises,” Anthony droned. “Each night the Moon graces the sky in one of its
myriad phases, during the ices of winter and the droughts of summer. In the joy
of spring or the fertility of autumn, so shall you cleave to each other.” He
glanced at the emperor. “Maximillian Titus Constantine, do you accept this
woman, Janelle Aulair, as your wife?”

“Yes,” Maximillian
said.

“No,” Janelle said.

“No one asked you,”
Maximillian told her.

“The hell with this,”
she said. “I’m married to Dominick.”

Anthony cleared his
throat awkwardly. He produced a scroll and handed it to Maximillian. “I’ve
already signed it.”

Alarm surged in
Janelle. “That’s
it?
”

“It is done,”
Maximillian said. “You are Empress of Othman.” His voice cut like steel. “And
you will learn to respect me, wife, or you will find out just how thoroughly
that title can be a curse.”

* * * *

VI

The Fire Palace

The stars glittered
as soulless witnesses to the passage of the army. Here in the plains, the night
never cooled; even hours past midnight, the air felt like a steam bath. Lines
of riders bearing torches wound across the land in rivers of fire.

Janelle dozed,
leaning against Maximillian. When she opened her eyes, bleary and confused, the
sky had turned crimson. Silhouetted against the horizon, a palace dominated the
view. It dwarfed Dominick’s home. The central onion dome was surrounded by
smaller domes that clustered like great water droplets, gold-plated and
glistening. Bridges arched from tower to tower, glowing in the dawn as if they
were flames. The palace shimmered in the morning’s fire.

“Do you like it?”
Maximillian asked.

“It’s spectacular,”
she admitted.

“It is my home.” He
sounded tired but satisfied. “And now yours.”

* * * *

The stairway wound
around the tower, circling a central shaft of air. Janelle could see over the
railing all the way to the bottom, many stories below. They climbed
single-file: two guards, Janelle, Maximillian, and two more guards. She could
barely walk, she hurt so much from the ride. Only the unwelcome prospect of
being carried kept her from collapsing. Maximillian was a foreboding presence
at her back, threatening in his silence and unstated intent.

At least he had no
time for her now. The moment they arrived, people had sought to see him:
officers, clerks, servants, aides. His advisors were at the bottom of the
tower, sorting out what needed to be done, but he obviously had to return to
his duties.

Their climb ended at
a landing with a heavy wooden door. One of the guards lifted its iron bar and
pulled the handle. With a creak of protest, the door swung ponderously open.

They took Janelle
into a circular stone cell with a high ceiling and four small windows, one each
looking north, south, east, and west. A wheel across the chamber was wound with
a thick chain, which then snaked up the wall and across the domed ceiling to
its highest point, held in place by iron rings. From the top of dome, it hung
halfway to the ground. A pair of leather shackles dangled from its end.

Two guards went to
the wheel, and one tapped a combination into some mechanism there. Leaning their
weight into their work, they cranked out the chain. It rattled up along the
wall, pulled by its own weight as the shackles descended. A stench of oil
permeated the air. The guards let the chain down to Janelle’s height and locked
it in place. Another guard pushed her forward, and she stumbled into the
shackles, which swung away, then came back and thwacked her shoulder. The
entire time, Maximillian watched with an avid gaze.

While Maximillian
watched, two guards came up on either side of Janelle, towering over her. They
stank like sweat and biaquines. They lifted her arms, and they tightened their
hold when she tried to pull away. Then they shackled her wrists above her head.

“
Why?
” she
asked Maximillian. “I’ve done nothing to you.”

“Nothing?” he said,
incredulous. “You’ve torn apart my life and destroyed my bond with my brother.
That prophecy has brought us nothing but endless grief.”

“That may be true.
But I have nothing to do with it.”

“Of course you do.
You
are
it.”

“I’m here
only
because Dominick looked for me. If Gregor had never said anything, you would
have never known I existed.” She suspected Maximillian and Dominick would have
been antagonists anyway; they were too much alike, two conquerors in a land
that had space only for one.

“You would have come
anyway,” he said. “When you were seventy.”

Janelle doubted it.
By that time, he and Dominick would be close to ninety, if they lived that
long. Age added a great deal to a person, maybe the serenity of a long life or
a cynicism steeped in discord, but whatever happened, surely they wouldn’t
still be locked in this duel of fates half a century from now. Far more likely,
Gregor or the “seeress” had misread whatever evoked this miserable prophecy.

The guards at the
wheel cranked out the chain, and the shackles rose until they pulled Janelle’s
arms tight over her head. She had so far hidden her distress, but as the chain
continued to rise, lifting her into the air, it was too much. She groaned, and
a tear ran down her face. When they finally locked the chain in place, she hung
painfully by her wrists in the center of the cell.

Maximillian came over
and stood eye-to-eye with her. “My brother thought he could take my title and
my life. He will pay for that.” He lifted his riding quirt in front of her. “I
shall send him this. Soaked with your blood.”

She wanted to spit at
him. “I don’t care how great your title. What you’re doing is sick.”

Janelle expected him
to deny it. But he only said, “A man in my position can never show weakness.”
Fatigue saturated his voice, revealing far more pain than he probably realized.
“For our entire lives, Dominick and I have been pitted against each other. He
must learn I will never tolerate his betrayals. It is true, you will pay the
price. But that is the way of life.”

She regarded him
steadily. “He would never do this.”

He answered bitterly.
“Dominick and his ‘moral imperatives.’ It is easy for him to preach when he has
never had to serve as emperor. He grew up flawed by a mother’s softness, and
now he presumes to suggest I lack a conscience. But inside, he is just like me.”

“If he chooses
compassion over cruelty, so can you.”

“You confuse weakness
with compassion.”

Her anger sparked. “Brutality
is easy. It takes no strength.”

A muscle twitched
under his eye, and his voice hardened. “I will see you tonight.” He went to a
small table by the door and set down his whip so she would be staring at it.
Then he regarded her with an unyielding gaze. “While you are waiting, my
empress, it would behoove you to think long and hard about how you speak to me.”

Sweat gathered on
Janelle’s forehead. She was having trouble breathing, and her wrists burned
from supporting her weight. “You can’t leave me like this.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll suffocate.” She
strove to keep the fear out of her voice. “If I die, so do you, according to
the prophecy.”

He raised an eyebrow,
but he didn’t refute her statement.