“Well, that was quick,” Eirie noted as she watched him approach the edge of the bathing pool. “Did the little tramp sign her rights away?”
He smiled even though the topic was a sore point with him at that moment.
Eirie smiled back. “I told you she wouldn’t,” she said. She picked up some of the petals floating near her and rubbed them together between her fingers. “I certainly wouldn’t if I were her.”
“Call me an optimist. I thought after all those years of exile she might be grateful for an escape clause.”
“I suppose it all depends on a person’s nature.” She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes on him. “So what do you plan to do now?”
“I sent her to the wet rooms, where she can rot for all I care.”
“Hmm.”
Balkin knew her well enough to know that those noncommittal sounds meant she thought he had made a tactical mistake or that she would have done something differently.
“Why? What would you have me do with her? I can’t have her running around out there. Someone like Prelate Kitsos or Paxor Morick will find her in exile, prop the bitch up, and start a civil war behind her.”
“I am aware of that. But imprisoning her could make her an object of sympathy.”
“I am willing to take that risk. But no one even knows she was here.”
“Oh, so you brought her in secretly? Not through the main receiving room where everyone could see her? Whether they know her face or not, they need only see all of that hair of hers and they would know who she is. The law is clear, no one may have hair longer than the blood princess.”
Balkin shifted, giving himself away easily.
“Ah, I see. And I’m willing to bet she didn’t bind her hair up. She wore it down and long and fully on display so no one would mistake her identity.”
“By the Great Being’s balls, she did exactly that!”
Eirie chuckled. “She’s a clever one. And she’s outmaneuvering you, Balkin.”
“But she didn’t even know her father was dead. There was no fabricating the shock on her face when she saw her brother standing there in state. She fully expected to see her father today. The emperor’s death hasn’t even been announced to the press yet. She’s been living in isolation. She couldn’t have plotted these things on purpose. No. These are my mistakes, not her victories.”
“Perhaps.” Eirie turned up a hand to dismiss the servants. Once it was just the two of them, she gave him a slow, luscious smile and an inviting look from sly eyes. “Why are you still dressed?”
“Eirie, I have a busy day ahead of me. My princely puppet is, to be kind, a moron. He hasn’t the slightest clue as to how to manage this realm.” He coughed when his stomach soured at the thought of spending all the rest of his days subservient to an idiot who would likely be completely dependent on him for every single move he made.
“So you will manage it for him. You will make certain everyone knows who it is exactly they are dealing with. They will learn very quickly who the real emperor is.” She prevaricated, “Unless …”
“Unless?”
She moved across the bath to him, pushing through the water like some kind of divine creature too beautiful to bear, and stood up slowly. She tilted her head all the way back so she could see him, her long neck so elegant, her oiled hair shining and curling down her back.
“Unless,” she said softly, “the new emperor was to fall ill. Be victim of some terrible accident. These things happen all the time. And then you would be next in line.”
He squatted down before her, reaching to encircle her neck with a single hand.
“I would be the first person they would suspect in just such a mysterious happening. Especially since I was by my brother’s side when he died.”
“Bad luck that. Bad luck tends to run in streaks.” She stretched up to brush a butterfly kiss against his cheek. “You’ve spent all your life in your brother’s shadow. Here is fate whispering to you the opportunity to take your turn in the sun.”
“My brother’s son and his succession was everything to him. He made me regent because he trusted me implicitly to protect Qua. To guide him. What would that make me if I were to betray my brother’s desires after all he has done for me?”
“I think it would make you wise. Self-respecting. Not to mention it would be for the good of the country. Benit is beyond this realm now. He is beyond caring about the machinations of this country and his family. You paid him allegiance when he was alive, and no brother could ever do more. But you cannot be beholden to him forever. Even into the Great Beyond? That asks too much.”
“Eirie, you are much too ambitious, I think,” he warned her even as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her with the fire only she had ever inspired in him. She had been in his bed every night for the past five cycles, ever since she had been nineteen cycles old. But still every moment with her was new and like a fierce dream that never ended. He no longer wondered when he would find her boring. He was convinced it was impossible. The worry was, when would she become bored with him? He was nearly twice her age, far from being a young, vigorous man in spite of how she made him feel. She was vital and vivacious and, as he had just pointed out, very ambitious. “And you forget, I am not next in line for the throne should something happen to Qua.”
She scoffed at that, pushing back from the side of the bath and gliding through the water. “Oh. Her again.”
“Yes, her.”
“She is easily taken care of. Poison her food. People die in prison all the time.”
“Poison can be discovered.”
“Not if it’s done well.” She smiled wickedly. “I have learned a great many things from socializing with the emperor’s concubines. I must say, they are some very clever, vicious bitches. Did you know there is a potion of easily gettable herbs that prevents conception just as well as modern medicine can? It can be administered on the sly, in a simple glass of nectar or lemon water and the person drinking it would never know she was taking it.”
“Are you telling me that they were poisoning one another of their ability to conceive?”
“Why do you think the emperor had so few children? A child meant power. Successive children would put the heir in threat. A concubine’s power is attached to her abilities as a lover and mother. Rob them of motherhood and what is left? A skilled lover can hold her own in the emperor’s favor for only so long before he would become disgusted with her inability to conceive. You know your brother. His barren concubines infuriated him. He threw them over for something fresh the way one might discard a dress that has gone out of fashion. The only reason the princess was born so quickly to him was because he had only two concubines at the time. Not so much backbiting. Not so much danger.”
“It’s a wonder the prince was ever born,” Balkin said, his astonishment clear.
“A wonder indeed. There is also a potion to purge a womb. Anyone could have slipped this to the prince’s mother at any time during her pregnancy. But your brother had the foresight to isolate her, remove her from the House of Concubines. The story goes that Irinia, the prince’s mother, would drink only from fresh running water sources and only eat whole fruits and vegetables—methodical practice designed to avoid all attempts at poisoning her.”
“Clever indeed. I don’t know if I should be fascinated or disgusted.”
“The point is, there’s always a way. A drop of poison, the slip of a knife, or perhaps catching a trifle of a cold.”
He laughed at her then. “Germ warfare now? Will you stop at nothing?”
“Nothing,” she assured him vehemently, standing once again so he could see the water rushing down her voluptuous body, the stark darkness of her nipples compared to her otherwise fair flesh. “You are the mighty Balkin Tsu Allay, brother to the most revered and most feared emperor of all time. His blood is in your veins and his temperament runs through you just as strongly. Why should you have to play second to an idiot boy or be held back by a scrubby little
redheaded black-blood? You could be emperor,” she said passionately. “Emperor.”
“And you empress, I suppose.” Eirie could see that he was toying with the possibilities.
“If you but command me,” she said with a gracious lowering of her eyes.
“I have asked you to wed me all of twenty times, Eirie, and you’ve always said no. Yet if I were emperor, suddenly then I would be worthy of you?” His tone was sharp and bitter.
“You are not emperor now, and you cannot command me to wed you. However, as your lowly citizen I would have to submit to your demand. You would be ruler of all. I could not expect to say no and leave with my life intact. I am not a foolish woman.”
“No,” he agreed. “You are too clever by far.”
The metal clang of the door shutting at her back made Ambrea cringe inwardly, but she showed none of that fear to the gaoler. She knew very well that he would be ordered to report every move she made, every reaction she had. Her uncle would be looking for any sign of weakness, any sign that she would crumble or cave to the demands being made upon her. And as strong as she was in that moment, she knew she was not without weaknesses. She knew, as they did not know, how oppressive and terrifying she found being locked in a small room to be. It had been that way ever since her first imprisonment. She remembered how confused she had been, how utterly panic-stricken. She’d been ripped away from her governess, the only woman she’d ever known as any other child might truly know a mother. Blay-ana. Blay-ana had taught her everything. From her first letters to her first clumsy steps into womanhood. Although the governess had not been affectionate by any stretch of the imagination, she had been wise and steady and the only friend and confidante the exiled princess ever had. Ambrea was too “common” to be deemed a worthy and worthwhile friend to her peers, yet too royal to be allowed a common companion. So it had been just her and Blay-ana.
Then her father had gotten it into his head that her burgeoning womanhood went hand in hand with some ephemeral power to command and coax factions to her side. He had severed her from Blay-ana, making sure they never saw each other again. They never even had the chance to say farewell to each other. He had thrown Ambrea into the catacombs, keeping various weak charges hovering over her so he could justify the long term of her imprisonment.
It was well over a year later before she was released and given back her own household. All the faces had been strange, though, and for the longest time she had not dared to trust anyone.
“Ah, hello my old friend,” she said wryly to the cell around her. She gave her uncle credit for consistency. She’d been given the same cell as her last time there, as well as the time before that. She could tell by the little waterfall dribbling along the cracked, mildewed stones in the far left corner. The cell was now a little older, the wearing of the water paths a bit deeper, but it had little charms that made her certain it was the same cell. There were no windows, since the entire catacombs were just as the name suggested, completely underground. The cot against the wall made her bed at home look luxurious. As poor as her household had become over the years, she had never thought to complain. She had always known it could be worse. And even these accommodations were probably considered highbrow. She knew well that there were deeper levels to the catacombs. Darker levels. Though torture was outlawed in the IM’s charter, the emperor, her father, had made a poorly kept secret of his dealings with those he considered enemies of his throne. He had imagined himself above the laws of the IM, merely by privilege of his exalted birth.
Feeling eyes on her back, knowing that the guard was peering at her through the small window in the door, she lowered herself to her knees, closed her eyes, and said a hasty prayer for her delivered safety. Futile or not, the Scriptures taught that she should never give up hope, because that was tantamount to losing faith. Even if her uncle did manage to find a way to justify her future death, even if she were to be murdered by his hand for all to see and revel in, she could never lose hope. Not even in those last moments could she forsake her belief in the Great Being’s power.
She glanced up at the cameras that were trained on her from either corner of her cell. Holding her book of devotionals close, she opened to a worn, familiar spot. But instead of the prayers that filled the book on every other page, this one held a sheet of paper-thin Vid. The Vid was a rotating picture, three images only, of the woman who had given birth to her.
Ambrea knew little of Junessa Vas Allay that had not been told to her with vicious condescension from her peers or those who had raised her after the concubine’s downfall. However, while Blay-ana had been one of those strident, rote voices who spoke of Junessa’s ill qualities and the pridefulness that had led to her downfall, she had also been the one to slip this Vid to Ambrea on a seemingly innocuous night when they had been alone in the gardens where no surveillance could reach them. Then she had softly said:
“Do not take all that is said about your mother too much to truth. While it is true she was willful, and her own actions led to her fall from grace, there were many who plotted against her and desired to see her fall. There are some who believe your mother’s worst crime was her ambition. She wanted to win the sole love of the emperor and to be made empress at his side. She thought she had charms enough to coax your father into one day sharing his ultimate power with her. And, indeed, your father was much enamored of your mother from the first moment he caught sight of her. As you can see, she was quite beautiful.”
Ambrea had seen very few images of her mother over the years because her mother’s name was forbidden to be spoken and her image had been struck and outlawed from public records in Allay. To have this Vid was a high crime. Blay-ana could have lost her life for giving it to her, and Ambrea could suffer for it should she be caught. But she had more of a desire to treasure the images of the fine-boned brunette than she had a fear of being caught with them. Although it was uncanny how much she looked like her mother in the pretty, feminine contours of her face and the regal elegance of her neck and shoulders, the brilliance of her fiery red hair and the strength and height of her body were all obvious gifts from her father. The teal shade of her irises was a perfect blend of her mother’s stunning green and her father’s cerulean blue eyes.
It was hard to believe he was dead. As hatefully as he had treated her, she had always held him in her mind with a measure of awe and respect, her sharp intellect recognizing that he had wielded his absolute power with a magnificence that equaled his tyranny. His reign had fathered a great deal of prosperity for the country of Allay. He had wrought new trade agreements that should have the governmental coffers overflowing. Allay was a jewel in the crown of the planet Ulrike, and her father had made it shine very brightly.
But he had been young—not even fifty cycles old. How had he died? What sickness was there that modern medicine had failed him at such a young age? Had there been a violent accident? Or perhaps an assassination?
Ambrea closed away her mother’s images. She pressed the book to her heart and wondered, as she had many times before, what her mother’s true flaw had been. Had she really been a traitor, as everyone insisted she was? Or had she simply displeased a spoiled man who wanted his way in all things and resented anyone gainsaying him? If that was the case, what had been the terrible boundary that she had overstepped? What had she done that had warranted her topple from first lady of all Allay to its most despised criminal?
There was a loud clang behind her as the bolts of the door snapped open and the portal gave way with a pneumatic hiss. She stood and turned to face whatever destiny was coming toward her.
There was a gliding sound, a rustle of fabric, and suddenly Suna was there.
“Suna!”
Pride and bearing were forgotten as relief washed over Ambrea, and she rushed to clasp hands with her trusted friend. This was her companion who had stayed with her these many years, even through her last imprisonment, even though no glory or riches were to be found as the companion of a fallen, destitute prince
ss. It was customary for a prisoner of great station to be allowed a companion, provided one volunteered. Suna had been left behind at Blossom Palace when Ambrea had been called before her brother. The guards must have returned to her and informed her of her mistress’s fate.
“Oh, I am so glad to see you,” Ambrea breathed. But in the next instant she released the hands of her best friend and gave her a stern frown. “You can’t be thinking of staying with me. I forbid it absolutely.”
“And I refuse to obey your command,” Suna said firmly. “We have been jailed before. It is of little consequence to me. I will always serve you as best I am able, my good lady.”
“Oh, Suna,” Ambrea sighed, turning away from her as sadness weighed all around her. “I am afraid that there will be no freedom for me ever again. Not unless I do as they ask.”
“I have already been told what they asked of you. I’ve been commanded to ‘work’ on you, to make you see sense and the errors of your ways. I am to talk you into freedom.”
“Hush now,” Ambrea warned, glancing up at the cameras. “Don’t give them fodder for taking you away from me. Your disrespectful tone could be seen as traitorous.”
“Forgive me, Princess, but if I farted it would be seen as traitorous.”
Ambrea laughed in a sharp, undisciplined burst. She covered her mouth and took in a breath through her nose, regaining her composure. Her eyes shot warnings at Suna, and her companion nodded in acquiescence.
The two women took their seats across from each other at the rickety old table provided for them in one corner of the room. There was only the one cot between them; her servant was expected to sleep on the floor. In a day or two, when things had settled a bit, Ambrea would be able to make small demands. Suna would get a decent bedroll, perhaps even a cot of her own. It would all depend on where the guards’ politics stood.