Closing my eyes, I wondered how I’d come to this. Maybe I’d get lucky and my own soldiers would lob vurgsten at the tower and kill me quickly.
17
“Arise, Your Highness. The realm awaits the sun of Your presence.”
I swallowed my groan of protest. Though I’d woken when the rising sun hit my eyelids, instead of the meditative dreamthink, I must’ve fallen into sleep again. At least the nightmares hadn’t returned with it. If I’d hoped capturing the rebels—Conrí, Sondra had called the man—would banish the dreaded torment of nightly hauntings, I’d been not only wrong, but grievously so. If anything, the dreams had worsened, doubling in length and intensity. I felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. Now that I had the sound of his voice and the sense of his physical presence, the man had been that much more vivid, his pain enough to break a heart I’d thought incapable of sympathy.
As long as I lived, I only hoped I’d forget that look in his eyes when he vowed never to wear chains again. I had to get him off Calanthe before I forgot my priorities. I wished I could fall asleep and stay there—dreamlessly—for a hundred years.
“Euthalia—are You awake?” Tertulyn whispered in my ear. “It’s past the usual hour.”
I opened my eyes and stretched my lips into a serene smile. Perfectly dressed, her hair adorned today with blossoms of the deepest blue, Tertulyn stepped back, folding her hands over her heart and bowing. The other five bowed also, their delighted smiles appearing as authentic as on any morning.
I sat up, my weary body protesting. The sun had indeed risen high. Tertulyn had let me sleep far too long.
“Good morning, Tertulyn, ladies,” I said, looking from the sun to Tertulyn. She only gave me an apologetic smile, making me wonder if I hadn’t been the only one to oversleep. The parties celebrating Calanthe’s triumphant capture of the Slave King and his minions had been in full swing when I retired to my solitary bed, riddled with guilt and remorse. And unable to do anything to save either of us.
Now that I looked closely, I could see shadows under the artfully applied makeup of several of the ladies. Late nights all around apparently. “Who is our guest today?” I asked. As always, resorting to unthinking ritual saved me.
The Morning Glory curtsied when Tertulyn beckoned to her. The sky blue of the gown and wig suited this one, with her dusky skin and unusually light eyes.
“Welcome, Glory,” I said. “Assist Me from My bed.”
She only hesitated a moment before offering me her gloved hand. I took it with my left, giving her an extended opportunity to study the orchid ring. The wizard, Ambrose, had certainly been interested in it. And not in the way of most men. Ambrose hadn’t seemed acquisitive or curious—he’d acted more as if he knew something about it. More than I’d dared hope for—I’d found a wizard at last, and he’d recognized the magic of the ring.
If only I could figure out how to keep Leuthar from finding out about Ambrose. He hadn’t been named as a wizard in court—which at least showed circumspection and partially explained how he’d survived—so it was possible Conrí didn’t know Ambrose’s true nature. After all, Anure declared magic to be a silly superstition, therefore wizards couldn’t possibly exist. I’d never been able to discern if Anure believed his own edicts on magic or made them entirely to hoard magic to himself. If the former, he’d carelessly destroy the wizard; if the latter—worse for us—he would ruthlessly employ Ambrose’s abilities.
No matter what, I needed to find a way to keep the wizard on Calanthe.
If I had a prisoner condemned to death handy, I could dress him in the wizard’s garments and ship him off with Conrí and the Lady Sondra. Would they be happy to see their companion saved or would they protest and betray the subterfuge? If I could persuade Leuthar to separate the three, they might never know of my trick until it was too late. Still, I wouldn’t condemn even the worst miscreant to Anure’s brand of justice, even if I had one available, which I didn’t.
And truly, if I could keep the wizard, I could perhaps keep Lady Sondra with the same trick. She wouldn’t fare well in Anure’s grasp. Her face might not meet his standards, but plenty in his court wouldn’t care when her body promised pleasure. That might salve the eroding guilt that plagued me. Save two, and sacrifice one. If Conrí loved Sondra—as a lover or as his second—then perhaps his shade would haunt me less if I saved her.
Whatever I planned to do, I’d best do it quickly. Even if Delilah had seduced Leuthar into more excesses, he’d soon be up and about, eager to play emperor’s dog and retrieve the prize. And take the credit. Right now he had only reports of what my prisoners looked like. If I wanted to take advantage of that, I needed to act. Ejarat curse me for sleeping in.
I’d save the wizard and soon forget the man with the wolf’s eyes. I only wanted to wash my hands of the whole business. Ridiculous to feel any sense of guilt. Once I bathed and rid myself of the oily nightmare sweats, I’d feel better.
I touched my feet to the stone floor and used the leverage of the Glory’s hand to rise. She seemed surprised—I’d likely been too abrupt—so I swept off my head scarf and handed it to her, turning away so I wouldn’t have to witness her reverence. My bath awaited, so I strode for it. My impatience would hopefully be interpreted as haste due to the late hour of my rising.
While soaping my bare scalp, Tertulyn murmured, “Tonight we should set aside some time to shave Your head. It’s beginning to show.”
I doubted it would happen that night or the next. Not until I had Anure’s prize off Calanthe. Then life could return to normal. At least, as normal as serving under Anure’s tyranny could ever be. I supposed that, in my own way, I was a queen of slaves also, and a prisoner myself, with only the illusion of freedom. Would Conrí find that amusing? Somehow I doubted it.
They’d washed, oiled, and dried me, and I wore only my silk shift, sitting while the ladies tended to my nails and makeup, when one of the palace maidservants begged admittance. Curious.
“Calla, please see what she wants and send her on her way,” Tertulyn directed, not pausing in smoothing the foundation paste on my cheeks.
“No,” I said. Such an unusual request in unusual times might require my personal attention. “I’ll see her.”
Tertulyn quirked a brow ever so slightly, retrieving a long-sleeved robe for me, tying it high around my neck. Once I’d been covered, Calla went to admit the maid. The girl entered, wearing the uniform of the lowest serving staff and curtsying low.
“Yes, dear.” I spoke softly so as not to frighten her, as I would to a Glory. “You bring a message for Me?”
She didn’t rise, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on the floor. “Your Highness, I work in the detention tower and … and, Your Highness, the guards asked me to pass along that the prisoners are requesting baths and clean clothes.”
I processed that with some astonishment. “Why under Sawehl are you asking Me?”
“Please, Your Highness.” Her voice trembled. “The guards, they say that Your Highness gave orders that the prisoners be given every comfort, but You did not specify whether baths and new clothing counted, and…” She trailed off at my silence.