The Will of the Empress (37 page)

Sandry shook her head and took a folio of advocate’s papers from the bed. She gave it to Ambros. “They’re properly witnessed and sealed. The advocate filed copies with the clerks of the Court of Law here and for Landreg district. It’s what I said I’d do. You’ll never have to send me a set allowance every year again. Before you send a coin to me, you’ll see to any repairs and improvements on the estate.”

“The empress will still tax me. I’m not the landholder, so I cannot contest the taxation in court. And I won’t be able to free other brides like Gudruny, because I am not her liege lord,” Ambros pointed out.

“Do as the advocate suggests in there”—Sandry pointed to the folio—“and double-list all the unmarried women of my estates on your own lands, so
you
can declare yourself their liege lord. He says it should withstand a challenge in
a court of law. It’s expensive, but you can take the money from what you would send to me for that purpose, with my blessing.” Sandry twisted her handkerchief. “Cousin, if I put off my escape, sooner or later the empress will find a way to keep me here. I can’t allow that. I have duties in Emelan, as she well knows. I’ve told her I will not stay. I will not give way to that famous imperial will. Uncle needs me, and you are a far better landlord than I could be. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

Ambros was about to reply when a maid rapped on the open door. “Forgive me,
Clehame, Saghad
, but a man has come to call on the
clehame.
He says to tell her only that it is Shan.”

“
He
plays a risky game,” Ambros murmured as he stood to go.

Sandry got to her feet, shaking out her skirt. “I will see him in the small sitting room,” she ordered. As the maid went off to do as she was told, Sandry went into the dressing room to inspect her appearance. Her gowns were an arrangement of two shades of blue that made her eyes brighter. She tucked a strand of hair away and pinned a sheer white veil over her head, then bit her lips gently to make them look redder.

I don’t know why I’m doing this, she thought. After the way he’s lied to me. Making me think…well! I’ll at least give him a piece of my mind!

Shan stood by the window when she came in at a
bustling pace, her chin up, her hands folded in front of her. When he turned and bowed she caught herself admiring his broad shoulders and warming to his kind smile. Stop that! she ordered herself. He’s played you like a fish on the line—start acting less, less
damp
!

“Sandry, they told me you’re leaving.” Two steps brought Shan up to her. Before she realized his intentions, he wrapped his strong arms around her and kissed her, slowly and sweetly. When she tried to pull away, he simply deepened his kiss. Finally, when they were both breathless, he drew back to whisper, “Don’t go. Stay here. Marry me. You like me, you know you do. I think I would make a wonderfully amusing husband.”

That brought her to her senses. When he moved in for another kiss, she got her hands up to his broad chest and shoved. It was like trying to push a marble statue.

The bang of wood on wood outside reminded her that servants were stowing their luggage for their departure tomorrow. Shan held her tighter and ran his lips over her ear. Sandry gasped, her treacherous knees going weak, then ordered his clothes to move away from her.

Shan could hardly fight his own clothing as it dragged him back. He clung to Sandry until she summoned a cushioned chair. Since the cushions were firmly nailed to the seat, the entire chair slammed into Shan’s knees. He yelped and let go of her. His clothes yanked him down onto the chair and wove themselves into the cushions.

“Don’t try to get up,” she warned, her voice trembling. “If you do, I swear it by Shurri, you will go home with a chair as part of your breeches. You’ll be the laughingstock of all Dancruan,
and
your precious court.”

He stared at her as if she had lost her wits. “What is going on?” he wanted to know. “You like me!” He smirked. “And I know you like kissing me.”

“Kissing isn’t all there is to life,” Sandry retorted, repeating something her uncle’s mistress had once said. “I
did
like you—before I found out what a two-faced liar you are! You sneak around to see me because you have all you can handle at night, in Berenene’s chambers!”

Shan shook his head. “That has nothing to do with you and me, Sandry. Yes, I’m her lover, but it’s not like I really have a choice. She holds my purse strings.”

“I’d say that’s not all she holds,” Sandry snapped, blushing for her own vulgarity.

“And I repeat, that has nothing to do with you or me, or our getting married. Once we’re married, I’ll be yours completely. I’ll be a faithful husband, and a good father,” he said, reaching out to her. “We can make a wonderful life together.”

“You’ll have more than that,” said Ambros. The door was open a crack. Now Ambros opened it all the way to come in. Meticulous as always, he closed it behind him. “Did Pershan ever mention that the Roths were the second most powerful family in the empire, until his father and
uncles gambled most of the estate away?” Ambros inquired, testing the cushion of a chair as if to make sure it would not attack him. “They have fifty acres where once they had twenty thousand. From twenty seats in the Noble Assembly, they have one.” He sat gingerly and continued: “I think Pershan came to court thinking that he could woo the empress into marrying him. It might even have worked—his family is so reduced, he presents no threat to the lords who might reject a more powerful man as Imperial Consort. If she had set that marriage before them, they might well have approved it.” Ambros looked at the captive, ice in his pale blue eyes. “But he knows Her Imperial Majesty better now, don’t you, Shan? She means it when she says she will not share power. When she tires of him, he returns to being nothing, instead of a man who wields influence over her. And she will tire of him. Quenaill can vouch for that.”

Ambros turned his gaze to Sandry as she sank down in a chair. “But you come along. If you cared to, you could wield real power in the empire. You are a kinswoman of the imperial house, vastly wealthy in your own right, with plenty of rich farmland, tenants, mines, fishing grounds, and forests as your inheritance. Married to you, Pershan fer Roth would be a great noble. He would no longer fear the day when the imperial smile vanishes. Even Berenene would have to treat him with respect.”

“Sandry, why do you even listen to this dried-up bookkeeper?” Shan begged. “Love isn’t a requirement for marriages
in our class, but I know we would come to love each other. You’re so beautiful, you’re charming, you’re intelligent, you have a sense of humor—how could I not love you? I would treat you with the respect and affection you deserve. And any man who offended you would be my enemy. Moreover, I’ll wager your mage friends would stay if you did. Rizu would be overjoyed if Daja changed her mind—”

Sandry held up a hand to stem the flood of persuasion. When he shut up, she asked, “Did you tell her?”

“What?” asked Shan, baffled.

“Did you tell Berenene you were going to ask me to marry you?”

“Her Imperial Majesty? No. I didn’t want to come back to her in shame if you refused me.”

“Did you tell anyone?” Sandry asked. “Any of your friends at court?”

“Of course not. You know how they laugh at failure—”

“Is it their laughter you fear? Or the chance they might tell Berenene what you’re up to?” Sandry got to her feet, unweaving his bonds to the chair under him. “You’re so afraid of her, you sneak behind her back to even talk to me. I bet the next thing on your list was suggesting a nice,
private
wedding. Intimate, just a few friends, no fuss—maybe out in the country?”

“Assuredly out in the country,” murmured Ambros.

“And then we get to the business of baby-making, and return once I’d begun to show. Because you’d want to come
back to Berenene only after there’s absolutely no way she can break the marriage without looking foolish. This is about her, not me. You want to throw it in her face that you could be politically powerful without her.”

“Sandry, you’re taking this all wrong,” protested Shan.

“Get out,” she said coolly. “Go on, stand up.” Carefully Shan stood, and dusted his backside. Sandry continued in an even tone, “When and if I marry, it will be to an honest man. Please go now, before I lose my temper.”

“My dear, think this over,” Shan said. “We could truly be happy together.”

“My temper is fraying, and so are your clothes,” she replied evenly. “Good-bye, Pershan fer Roth.”

Ambros opened the door. Shan risked a last look at Sandry, then fled. Ambros closed the door. “Will his clothes really come off?” he asked. He saw that Sandry was silently weeping. Walking over, he held her as he would one of his daughters. “He was unworthy of you, Cousin.”

“I just hate being made a fool of,” she explained.

“Love makes fools of us all, and desire does far worse,” Ambros explained. “Forget him. You deserve better, and you will find it.”

Sandry hugged him tightly, then pulled away, searching for her handkerchief. She blew her nose and said mournfully, “But he probably won’t be as handsome.”

Ambros chuckled. “He will be if you love him. Come along to supper. You’ll feel better for some beet soup.”

Tris stirred. It was near midnight. She remembered saying farewells to her friends earlier, though the spells and drugs the healers used to keep her still made her memory a bit fuzzy on exactly when. She knew she was not alone. There was a maid stitching by lamplight in one corner. From the way she jerked her thread through the cloth, she was angry. From the frequent glares she cast at the corner to the left, the cause was the person who huddled there.

“Zhegorz,” croaked Tris.

The man sat up. The maid put her sewing down and came to Tris’s side. “
Viymese
, I’m sorry, but he wouldn’t go away.
Viymese
Daja said to leave him be, but he’s been here for an hour at least—”

“Thank you,” Tris said, her voice still rough. “I needed to talk to him. I would like some cold water, if you don’t mind.”

The maid leaned down and whispered, “Are you certain? He is so very
odd.
”

A smile struggled on Tris’s battered face. “So am I. It’s all right.”

The maid left them, muttering. Zhegorz inched closer to the bed. “I was thinking,” he explained. “I ought to stay here. I’ll travel with you. They don’t need me, not even
Viymese
Daja—”

“Pavao,”
Tris said rudely if softly. “They’re
going
to need you, heading south.”

“Need me.” For a moment, Zhegorz’s voice was so dry
that he might well have been completely sane. “They need
me? Viymese
Tris, it’s clear the healers must take the magic off you. You’re starting to imagine things.”

“They need someone who can see and hear things on the wind,” Tris said. “I won’t be there to do that for them. That leaves you. You can warn them of danger they don’t expect.”

“But I can’t control it,” Zhegorz protested. “It comes and it goes!”

“You can control it more than you did,” Tris reminded him. “You have your ear beads and your spectacles. Any little bit of warning will help them. Please, Zhegorz.”

He shook his head.

Tris sighed. “Zhegorz, you’re a mage. What’s the point of being a mage if you don’t do something useful with your magic? Something most people can’t do for themselves?”

He stared at her, nonplussed. Tris met his eyes firmly.

Finally he mumbled, “I’m fit to work as a mage?”

Tris smiled and winced. “More fit than I am,” she reminded him. “Come on, old man. It’s time to go to work. Keep doing your exercises, mind. If you have questions, Daja or Briar or Sandry can send them on to me. May I count on you?”

He hung his head, trembling. “No one’s ever counted on me before, except to be crazy.”

Tris’s eyelids were fluttering. “Then this will be a new
experience. That’s a good thing.” Her eyes closed. From her slow, deep breathing, she was asleep already.

Zhegorz gently patted her unsplinted arm. “I hope I don’t let you down,” he whispered.

Sandry, Briar, and Daja said their good-byes in the predawn light, though not to Tris, who was still sleeping under the healer’s spells. They had seen her during one of her brief waking periods before they had gone to bed, and they could always speak with her from the road. They would be close enough still. Only separations of thousands of miles, as in previous years, could cut their ability to speak together.

As they rode through the city gates, Sandry straightened in the saddle. Watching her, Briar thought, It’s like having thick walls between her and the empress sets her free. Through their bond he said,
She’s got a thousand tricks, and she hasn’t played one of them yet. Don’t get to feeling
too
comfortable.

She turned and wrinkled her nose as if she had smelled something bad. “As if I would!”

The sergeant in command of the Landreg men-at-arms looked at her. “
Clehame
, at the hostel near the inn where we stop tonight, there will be merchant caravans. Some of them will be going south. If we might join one…?”

Sandry shook her head. “A caravan is slower. Stop fussing, please. We can move faster and take care of ourselves as
a small party. And we number three mages among us. Four, if you count poor old Zhegorz.”

“‘Poor old Zhegorz’ sure isn’t himself today,” murmured Briar. Zhegorz, to everyone’s surprise, had requested a horse. It wasn’t hard to see exactly how much experience as a rider he possessed. His mount insisted on wandering sidelong over the road each time he tugged the reins. Now he rode up beside Briar, a scarecrow in strange, brass-lensed spectacles, on a blue roan gelding that could tell his rider was uncertain. The madman’s insistence on riding in the front was also unusual, particularly when Briar could see it made Zhegorz nervous.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer keeping to the rear?” asked Briar, jerking his head toward the luggage cart, where Gudruny talked to the driver and her children hung out the sides. “That way you’re not all out in the open.”