“Your Highness,” Leuthar crooned, giving me a charming smile. “My sincerest apologies for my tardiness in congratulating You on Your fantastic political coup. Capturing the Slave King so handily! I only heard after You’d retired last night.” He coughed delicately into a silk hankie, waving away the unmentionable time he’d spent in a drugged haze, only waking well into the night. “Once I had the glad tidings that the rebellious dogs had been taken captive, I sent a bird to His Imperial Majesty immediately to solicit instructions. I’m sure Your Highness had already done so, but it never hurts to confirm. And good thing I did!” He blinked at me in triumph. “For the message I received just a bit ago”—he pulled an ornately folded envelope of Anure’s gray marbled stationery from his pocket—“implies Your bird may have gone astray. Of course, Your little birds are so small and fragile.”
The emperor, and his emissaries, used large messenger birds to convey their verbose messages. They never quite seemed to understand the staying power of the smaller songbirds that migrated distances vaster than the empire twice annually. Nor did they understand that our abbreviated messages conveyed much in code. Obviously, I had no intention of disabusing them of this misapprehension.
“Oh dear.” I made a sorrowful face. “I hope My poor little creature wasn’t hurt or killed.”
Naturally, I hadn’t yet sent a message to Anure. No, because I’d been wasting time and energy trying to save those who didn’t wish to be saved.
“The small things are so vulnerable,” Leuthar agreed. Merle made a series of croaks that sounded like a laugh. Leuthar jumped as if poked, and eyed the magnificent raven askance, then seemed to notice Ambrose for the first time. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said. “Nor have I ever been in this prettyish garden.” He looked about and frowned at the high walls.
“I’m Ambrose,” the wizard replied, and waggled his eyebrows. “One of the rebel dog captives.”
I had to lower my lashes to keep my eyes from rolling back in my head. Determined to destroy themselves.
“Captives? You mean…” Leuthar glanced at me, fully astonished. “I—oh my!”
“I was interrogating him,” I explained and glared at Ambrose, who—along with Merle—attempted a hangdog posture, making an absolute mockery of it. Leuthar was blissfully oblivious, but the sarcasm wasn’t lost on me.
“But why in His Imperial Majesty’s name isn’t such a dangerous prisoner chained?” Leuthar exclaimed. “Your Highness mustn’t be so cavalier with Her welfare.”
“Ambrose is physically unwell,” I explained, giving the wizard a warning look through my lashes. “And he’s a scholar, not a fighter.”
“Ah.” Leuthar looked unconvinced, and Ambrose obligingly leaned more heavily on his staff, giving up his playfulness and displaying every impression of frailty. Merle let one wing dangle as if broken and badly mended, putting the whole act over the top. Leuthar, however—oblivious to nuance—nodded knowingly. “And has Your Highness extracted anything useful?”
“Unfortunately, no.” I shot Ambrose an icy glare. “He is most obstinate. I suspect he is mentally addled.”
Merle tipped his head to the side, opening his beak and letting his tongue dangle out, forcing me to look away lest I begin laughing in truth.
“Never mind, Your Highness.” Leuthar waved the hankie, the scent of yilkas wafting from it. “His Imperial Majesty employs the very best torturers. He will soon know all there is useful from him, before he’s executed. Tell me,” he said, dropping his voice and leaning in to encourage confidences, “is the Slave King as fierce and brutish as they say, or is the talk all exaggeration?”
“He is not so fierce,” I said, speaking largely to Ambrose, who opened his eyes wide, as if shocked I could think so. “I frankly wonder if there’s much to the tales at all.”
“I imagine not, as You captured him so easily. Still, His Imperial Majesty wants him, and his companions, delivered as soon as possible. Where are the other two?”
I mentally sighed, washing my hands of the lot of them. I’d tried to help them. Intention counted for something, didn’t it? I refused to feel guilty. My primary responsibility, as my father had drilled into me, was to Calanthe. I owed these rebels nothing. “They are in the detention tower, Emissary.”
“Excellent.” Leuthar tucked the hankie away. “I’m to take them on the ship they captured on the evening tide.”
“Oh dear.” I fluttered my fingers helplessly. “I’m afraid it escaped.”
“Escaped?” Syr Leuthar paused, alarmed, hints of anger leaking through his yilkas-induced serenity.
“In the night.” I shrugged elaborately, drawing his gaze to my bosom. Unlike Con, he let it linger there and I breathed heavily, as if in distress, letting him be distracted by the show. “I don’t know how.” I gasped theatrically, widening my eyes. “Do you think they could know some of the old magic?”
Behind Leuthar’s back, Ambrose rolled his eyes at me. Then he pursed his lips and blew some inaudible words toward the emissary. Leuthar relaxed again into his haze, smiling at me.
“Oh, Your Highness. Such flights of fancy You indulge in. Magic never existed. Our beloved emperor has labored so hard to eliminate those old superstitions. Your Highness really must try to move into the modern era and think logically.”
“I shall try.” I lowered my lashes modestly, allowing the crystals to chime as I fluttered them.
“Don’t be too distressed. The ship can’t be far and we’ll recapture it in short order. I’ll send His Imperial Majesty’s navy after them. These rebel dogs won’t be able to evade seasoned warriors as easily as they did Your soft Calanthean guards.”
I smiled, closed-mouthed, swallowing my retort. I had little trouble pretending to be a silly figurehead to lull Anure and his toadies into complacency, but I found it difficult not to defend my people.
“But I have yet to tell You, Your Highness.” Leuthar drew himself up, oozing pompous arrogance, and my heart chilled. “This is my exciting news—You are to accompany us! His Imperial Majesty is so pleased with You that he intends to reward Your long and lonely, virginal vigil. Bring Your wedding gown, for You are to be married at last.”
By dint of great effort, I managed to shake my head sadly, mastering my fear. “Alas, I wish it could be so! But the laws of our ancestors preclude Me from becoming anything less than first wife.”
Leuthar smiled, not at all nicely; it was a terrible sign that he showed that face to me. “Ah, but Your Highness, to celebrate this victory over the rebels, His Imperial Majesty intends to sacrifice his current wives. They shall be burned along with the prisoners on the bonfire to celebrate Your marriage!” He nearly danced with joy. “You will be Empress—and I look forward to being Your closest adviser.”
My stomach heaved and Merle clacked his beak savagely. I only wished I could do the same.
22
The trapdoor levered up. Fortunately these Calantheans made a great deal of noise, as did their locking mechanism, so I’d thoroughly hidden my escape project and lounged innocently by the window, covering the evidence with my bulk. Also fortunate, it didn’t seem to occur to our guards to search our prison to see if we’d gotten up to trouble. Instead of sweeping the room as I would’ve had done, the guards didn’t even come in, just sent Ambrose through. Merle flew through the opening and Ambrose’s head followed.