“Has Leuthar arisen yet?” I asked, breaking a silence I realized I’d let go on far too long while I thought.
Tertulyn flicked a glance at Calla, who hurried out. “Not at last word, Your Highness,” she replied with stiff politeness. “He was well into his cups until only a few hours ago—and indulging heavily in yilkas, as well—and then took to his bed with a set of lovely young triplets, two girls and a boy, new arrivals Delilah saved for a special occasion. I doubt he’ll inform You of his intentions to review the prisoners until afternoon.”
Her perfectly formal tone began to get under my skin, as did the pointed reminder that, as emissary of the emperor, Leuthar’s authority exceeded mine as regarded the prisoners. Calla returned, moving to whisper in Tertulyn’s ear.
“You may tell Me directly,” I said, not sure why I did so, except my irritation—and sudden sense of losing control of the situation—made me speak before considering.
Calla looked briefly startled. “Apologies, Your Highness. The Lady Tertulyn’s source confirms that the emissary is still closeted with his new toys and commanded that he not be bothered until luncheon—and then only if they aren’t sleeping.”
Good. “Cancel the morning’s court.”
“Your Highness?” Tertulyn, who’d been studiously avoiding my eyes, glanced at me in full surprise.
“Cancel the morning’s court,” I repeated, taking petty satisfaction in putting command in the words. She deserved it, questioning me that way. “I will interview the prisoners privately, in My courtyard.” Away from overzealous ears. “Beginning with Conrí, then Lady Sondra, then the other gentleman. Ambrose, I believe they called him.”
I’d extract Conrí’s promise of silence in return for saving his people, then enlist Sondra and Ambrose to the game, preparing them to hide away.
I raised my brows at Calla’s hesitation and the obstinate line of Tertulyn’s mouth. “Inform the guards, please, Lady Calla.”
She bobbed a quick curtsy and set her basket of flowers aside, hastening to do as I commanded. Ibolya picked up the basket, working swiftly to stud my hair with flowers. I’d decided on an iridescent lavender today, to begin the journey away from the metaphorical bloodshed of the day before. Now I regretted it. Too insipid. I could hardly change my mind now, however. I’d already behaved oddly enough, and time grew short.
“I’ll attend You, Your Highness?” Tertulyn asked. At least she no longer assumed. Just as well.
“No, I’d rather you take yourself to Delilah’s court and keep your ears pricked for Leuthar’s movements. Send Me word immediately when he pokes his head out.” I’d need plenty of warning to make sure Leuthar never saw Ambrose’s and Sondra’s true faces.
“You can’t mean to meet with this … escaped convict alone. A man. You’ll take one of the other ladies.”
I gazed back at Tertulyn steadily, while the other ladies exchanged excited whispers at the prospect of the gossip they’d obtain. “No, I don’t think I will. There will be guards outside the walls.”
“Your Highness.” Tertulyn visibly wrestled with herself. “Please don’t put Yourself at such risk.”
“What risk?” I asked lightly, even laughing a little so the other ladies echoed it. “These people will be unarmed, escorted under heavy guard. I am not without My own defenses.”
“And Your reputation?” she pointed out. “What will Your fiancé, His Imperial Majesty, think of You interviewing the Slave King alone?”
“Well, I certainly don’t think he’ll imagine I fucked the man,” I replied, thoroughly irritated. “I’ll send him a letter giving him what information I extracted during my interrogation.” Oh, that was good. I’d definitely do that. “And reaffirming My love, et cetera.” I waved a hand.
“I don’t understand why You want to talk to this vile creature, especially at such risk,” Tertulyn muttered.
I lifted a hand to her wrist, halting the jewel she had been about to place. “I thought I’d try to discover more information about what exactly happened at Keiost.”
“Oh.” Her warm brown eyes filled with tears, and she bobbed a curtsy. “Oh, Euthalia, I’m sorry. Thank You.”
I nodded, glad to have thought of a good excuse, the guilt for that small lie a drop against the ocean of it that threatened to drown me. I could only do my best, though.
As I stood for their finishing touches, it occurred to me with some humor that I’d somehow agreed to his absurd request. It seemed that Conrí the Slave King would get his private audience.
18
When the summons to attend the queen arrived, Ambrose gave me a small salute, otherwise not budging from his lounging position on the bed he’d adopted.
“Don’t move just yet,” Sondra instructed, frowning at me.
“Darling,” I said, keeping an eye on the heavily armed guard who’d popped up through the trapdoor and had a sword ready. “While you’re holding a very sharp knife, he has a very sharp sword. I think that wins.” Ambrose had also produced a tonic to soothe my throat—and woo a queen—that worked better than anything he’d given me before. He ducked explaining where it came from.
Sondra trimmed along the comb, letting the hair fall into place. “Better. See? You still have plenty of hair.”
I stood, brushing off stray trimmed hairs from my shoulders. Not that the dark hair would show against the black leathers I’d dug out of the trunk the guards brought up, struggling to lift the weight of it up the ladder. The clothes had been packed away in layers of silk and spilled wood shavings. Cedar, Sondra had told me, to fend off chewing insects. Go figure.
Still, I wouldn’t question the gift—they were clothes worthy of a warrior and a king, whoever they belonged to—only the reason for it. The guards only shrugged and said we’d asked for clothes, here were clothes.
We had more of an argument over the manacles. “You get your audience with Her Highness Queen Euthalia,” the captain of the guard informed me. “But you won’t be allowed to bring Her harm. That’s the price. Pay it or not.”
“It’s temporary,” Sondra urged, giving me a pleading look. “And worth it, yes? You promised a chance to hold the torch.” She glanced at the guard and back to me. “You’ve never backed down from a challenge, Conrí.”
So I set my teeth and allowed the manacles to be locked on me. I couldn’t imagine how I was supposed to woo a queen when I wore chains, but then I had no idea how I was supposed to woo her at all, so the manacles didn’t change all that much.
Except that they made me feel small, weak, and worthless again. Hearing the clink of the metal, feeling the cold weight of the iron locking on—it brought back that day when we knelt in the court of Oriel for our “trial,” Anure gloating on my father’s throne.
It hadn’t been the worst thing that happened. What came later exceeded that day in pain, suffering, humiliation. But kneeling there, in our own palace, beside my father—the king of Oriel!—with my sister missing and our nobles kneeling in ranks behind us …