“The first dish of the third course is salmon,” said Star. “Will my Lord have some?”
He did his best to suppress a scream.
As he sat there, unable to eat, barely able to drink, as the voices around him grew boisterous and more mocking, as he realized that others around him had had their helmets removed, and could see he had not, he tried to get words out past the knot in his throat, and choked on them.
Then the Earls were unBlinded.
Then the Counts.
And finally . . . “The fourth course is completed,” said the voice. “The Barons will be unBlinded.”
And now the helmet was removed from his head, and he sat there, his face pale and sweaty, his hair matted, taking in the mocking smiles, the sneers, his placement at the table.
He was nearly at the head of the table. Above him, seated at his table for one, on a dais, was the Emperor, looking down, looking at him, and smiling a hard, cold smile.
Think, think, think, think!
Kordas rubbed at his stinging eyes, hiding the expression of panic he felt cramping his face. He breathed too quickly. His shoulders violently spasmed, staying cramped and making it impossible to lower his hands. Finally out of nowhere, the words came. Words suited to a buffoon, a clown. “Oh, thank the gods!” he said, plastering a weak, false smile on his face. “Valdemar is too small to be a Duchy! There is too much paperwork, and too many things to think about. Oh thank you, glorious Emperor! Thank you for relieving me of this terrible burden! I can never, ever thank you enough! Next year I shall send you four Valdemar Golds to thank you for your understanding and your wisdom!”
The smile on the Emperor’s face flickered for a moment, and then faded.
“Of course, Baron Valdemar,” the yellow toad said. “Your new title will be stamped after the Feast, then we’ll be all done with your future.”
Stay the fool. Stay the part. Hold together.
“I would never dare to ask for a moment of your attention during the Regatta,” he replied, casting his eyes down as he tried not to choke.
“Directly after the Feast,” the Emperor replied in a hard voice. “Your Duke will be Merrin now. Well done, Merrin.”
As he stared at his plate, feeling faint and wondering if he was going to be able to keep from throwing up, there were murmurs of congratulations all around him.
And—
“Congratulations for getting what you deserve, Valdemar,” said his right-hand neighbor, someone he didn’t even know, in a falsely hearty voice. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” he managed to get out. “Thank you. I’m a lucky man.”
“Oh, that’s true. Duke Merrin probably had you kept on as a Baron because of your way with horses. Good moods prevailed. If you’d been completely useless, you might be in the Sacrifice Fights tonight!”
A couple more people laughed, commenting on how it should be a good show tonight.
“Sacrifice . . . fights?” Kordas gasped out.
“Hah! Wars don’t win themselves, you know, and Abyssals don’t get fed just anything. Deals are respected here, and paid in full. Sacrifices are made. Bulls and rams weren’t enough after the first decade, and we always have prisoners to execute anyway. So we give them a chance; last one alive lives another year. Makes for great fights! Mouthpiece goes in, three pellets are loaded between the jaws, and off they go.”
“Shows traitor protestors what shooting their mouth off really means!”
Laughter erupted again, sounding very far away and hollow, while Kordas dry-heaved.
This place—this place—
It was only with Star’s steadying hand on his shoulder that he was able to remain in his seat for the rest of the interminable meal.
19
At least I’m still a Duke for the moment. But I’m not going to have the authority to do things now . . . now what do I do? His thoughts ran around in his head like frantic little mice, as he and Star left the Dining Hall and headed for the Hall of Gates. He dragged his feet, moving as slowly as he could. The Hall of Gates was echoingly empty. Probably everyone back in the Dining Hall was still enjoying the joke played at his expense. Except maybe the Emperor.
At least I spoiled that fat toad’s fun.
“Star, when I’m not a Duke anymore, are the orders I’ve already given going to be carried out?” he asked forlornly.
“Of course they will,” Star replied promptly. “They are on paper, with the proper seals of authority. They will keep on being carried out, regardless.”
And it was then that he heard someone behind him, the sharp staccato of dress heels on the marble floor, someone heading his way. He looked back over his shoulder.
It was Merrin.
Merrin, who, once he saw that he’d been spotted, slightly raised his hand. “I say, there, Valdemar—”
Fury erupted in him, and he didn’t even stop himself. He turned and rushed the bastard, plowing into him at full speed, seizing the lapels of his coat and running him into the wall behind the Gates so hard that Merrin’s breath was forced out of him in an “oof.”
With the strength of too much pent-up rage, he raised Merrin off his feet by his lapels, jamming him against the amber paneling of the wall.
“Come to gloat, have you, you little weasel?” he snarled. “Was this your plan all along? Did you know this was going to happen when we met at the Gate in Valdemar?”
“Valdemar—” Merrin wheezed. “Wait—”
“Wait for what?” He went hot and cold all over, then hot again. “Wait for you to drain my people and my lands dry? Wait for you to abuse them like a cheap mule? I know what I should do! I’m challenging you! You have your Spitter, I have mine. Right here! Right now!”
“Valdemar, man, please—” There was real pleading in Merrin’s face, and, strangely, no fear. He hung in Kordas’s hands, completely unresisting. “Put me down, man. Let me explain.”
“Why should I trust you as far as I can throw you?” Kordas growled.
Merrin jerked his head at Star. “Ask your Doll. It’s a vrondi. It can tell I’m speaking the truth.”
The unexpected words made his jaw drop and his hands loosened involuntarily, and Merrin slid down the wall, catching himself before he fell. “How did you know that?” he demanded, as Merrin self-consciously shook his coat into place, smoothed down his lapels, and brushed the skirt of the garment.
“Because the first time I was here, some idiot decided he was going to lie in a petition in front of the Emperor, against one of the Emperor’s favorites, and the Emperor asked the Doll attending him if what the idiot was saying was the truth.” Merrin shrugged. “The Doll told him, of course. It didn’t end well. The Emperor ordered him to be fed to the Abyssal. Then the Emperor got a good laugh out of it, reminded everyone that the Dolls were vrondi, and ended the Court early. But ask it,” he continued. “Ask it if I’m telling you the truth.”