The Will of the Empress Page 12

  “Because I need you to go north first, then east,” Tris whispered to it. “Now, go. I’ll tug when you’re to take your rightful path. You have sails to fill and boats to send home.”

  That satisfied her wind. It liked to fill sails. North it went, Tris keeping a light tension on her airy reins. She moved both into her right hand, then searched her head to find a braid with a hurricane’s force bound up in it. Unraveling only a third of it, she thrust its power north, straight at the onrushing storm. The lesser hurricane raced ahead of her east wind, spreading as it flowed high over the masts of the fishing fleet. Tris gave it a fresh shove north, then tugged on the east wind’s reins. The wind found its natural path at last, slowly, as Tris dragged on its reins, until it struck the limp boats’ sails with a strong punch. The sails filled to the cheers of the court, watching through Ishabal’s spell. The fishing boats scudded through the rough lake water, headed for the shore.

  Tris ignored the fleet. She had released the east wind. All of her will was fixed on that quick-moving storm and its battle with her lesser hurricane, as the force she had turned loose fought to keep the storm from advancing. Sweat trickled down her round cheeks. Making even part of a hurricane obey was hard work, particularly when its biggest need was not to halt a storm, but to join in and help it along.

  They don’t want me anymore, her east wind seemed to say. Now what?

  Tris risked a glance at the fishing fleet. They had made harbor safely and were furling their sails as the ships drifted toward their docks.

  “Thank you,” Tris murmured. She released her east wind, setting it free of any future claims. She could always braid up another. “Now for the interesting part.”

  She let one end of her small hurricane feed into the storm. It plunged in gleefully. The storm, though, was another matter. If I let it loose, with my bit of hurricane in it, there’s no telling what other fleets or even villages it’ll destroy, she told herself. And I knew I couldn’t hook it with anything weaker than a piece of hurricane. Oh, curse it all. I’ll have to take the whole thing back in before it does any harm.

  She took a deep breath, wishing she had a moment to pray. Quickly the hurricane struck sparks that turned to lightning as it wove itself among the thunderheads. Tris leaned on a stone merlon, letting it hold her on the wall, then reached with her magic to grip the hurricane’s tail. Sweating, she dragged on it with all of her strength, drawing it toward her as Sandry might draw a fine thread from a mass of wool.

  Once Tris had brought that storm thread to her, she jammed the end into a coin from her pocket. Once it was secure, she twirled it until the thread of storm began to spin. All storms were drawn to spin, as Tris knew very well: The trick was in keeping them controlled, not allowing them to break free to become a cyclone or full-sized hurricane. Around the wind spun, dragging the storm into the funnel that ended in her thread. Out stretched the stormparts woven in with her bit of hurricane, twirling under Tris’s magical grip. She kept the air moving, shaping it as a fine web so that its natural strength could never overwhelm her once it reached her. If she had looked up, she would have seen the long funnel of cloud that stretched from the storm to her, narrowing until it became her thread.

  On and on she spun, making the thread into a ball of yarn, a skill she drew from part of Sandry’s magic still mingled with hers. Finally she had turned the entire storm into a ball the size of her hand. She broke it free of the coin, then attached the ball to her partially unraveled hurricane braid. Eager to get out of her hold, the storm sprang into her braid, feeding itself into the many hairs as if it raced along a thousand streets. Once it was absorbed, Tris tied off the braid with a special ribbon that would hold no matter what, and tucked it back into the net with the other braids. Into her pocket went the coin.

  She swayed. Hands grabbed her and helped her sit in a crenel. Tris looked up.

  It was Briar who had helped her sit as the court stared at her. Sandry came over with a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from Tris’s face. Daja grinned as she leaned on her staff, watching. Ishabal looked thoughtful, as did the empress herself.

  Tris lurched to her feet to curtsy, Briar holding her by her elbow. She looked at her brother, her eyes pleading. She didn’t want to have to explain, not to these well-dressed strangers. Better still, she didn’t want to talk at all, not until she got all those storm powers inside her calmed down.

  Briar winked at her and turned to the empress, though he continued to brace Tris. “So, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said cheerfully. “Might we go back to those refreshments? She’ll be fine once she’s got some food in her.”

  7

  The refreshments had been set on a terrace tucked out of the wind. Most of the courtiers filled their plates from long tables laden with food. Two of the empress’s ladies brought selections to her and her companions, who included Sandry and her friends. The black-haired Jak maneuvered himself into a seat on Sandry’s right, while the redheaded Finlach—Fin, he had told Sandry to call him—sat on Sandry’s other side.

  While pretending to listen to Jak’s talk of northern hunting, Sandry kept an eye on Tris, who had taken longer to walk to the terrace after juggling storms. She had obviously meant to sit with Daja and her new friends, but then she balked when some young women flinched away from her. Apparently they were unnerved by Tris’s magical working up on the wall—never mind that it saved lives! thought Sandry.

  Seeing their reaction, Tris turned to lean on the terrace rail as if that was what she had intended all along. Sandry was about to go offer Tris a seat when Briar, who had helped Tris to walk, stepped in. He turned her around and lifted her up to sit on the wide, flat rail, then went to get food for the redhead. While he did that, Quenaill sat beside Tris, smiling at the scowling girl. Ishabal stopped to speak with the two of them, touching Tris on the shoulder before she moved on to sit with the empress.

  So even here, mages stick together, Sandry thought with satisfaction as Briar brought a full plate to Tris. That’s good to know.

  She returned her attention to Jak just in time to say, “Oh, but I don’t care for hunting very much.” Jak’s handsome face fell. Sandry smiled at him. “Did you want me to lie about liking it?” she asked meekly.

  “I ask only that you make me miserable,” he replied, and let his shoulders sag.

  Sandry took a second look at him. Was that a joke? “I’m not amused,” she said in warning.

  “I didn’t think you would be,” Jak said with a sigh. “The words just slipped from my mouth on the wings of truth.”

  Sandry deepened her scowl. That’s the problem with growing up with Briar, she thought irritably. It makes you inclined to like every jokester who comes along. “That was just plain bad,” she said tartly.

  “I know,” he replied, still in that mournful tone. “I can’t help but lose ground with you.”

  After most of the dishes were cleared, servants brought around one last series of treats: strawberries, cheeses, sweet and salty biscuits, and marzipan candies shaped to form the Landreg family crest, a compliment to Sandry. She shook her head over them, bowed from her seat to the empress, and took a few. Servants carried the tables away as the palace clocks began to chime the hour.

  Sandry took a deep breath. The previous night, after Briar had gone to bed, Ambros had persuaded her not to put off visiting the lands of her inheritance any longer. Sandry had agreed: She had come to see her lands, after all, not to socialize. She had not mentioned it to Berenene all day, but time was passing. It’s midafternoon, she thought. If we’re to leave early for Landreg tomorrow, it’s time to go back to the town house and pack. And it’s time to say, oh, Cousin Berenene, so nice to stop by for a day, but after I’ve ignored my obligations for years, I’ve promised Ambros I’d actually attend to them, so we’re going away again for a couple of weeks.

  Her rebellious self muttered, And so much for you parading all these would-be husbands for me! Maybe now you’ll realize I’m not interested!

&
nbsp; She nibbled her lip. Sometimes the only approach is the direct one, she told herself. It’s not like Berenene can say she herself hasn’t been telling me to mind my lands. Excusing herself to Jak and Fin, Sandry went over to the cluster of nobles that had formed around the empress. They noticed her and turned, opening the path between Sandry and Berenene.

  “Sandry, we’ve been discussing some entertainments for you,” Berenene said with a smile. “Of course, there are parties, but which do you prefer for daytime: picnics, hunting, rides?”

  Sandry dipped a curtsy. “Forgive me, Cousin, but I must beg your indulgence and ask you to reconsider your plans,” she said quietly. “I have promised my cousin Ambros that I would inspect my home estates as soon as I had recovered from our journey here. My friends and I will be leaving for Landreg tomorrow morning.”

  Briar, Daja, and Tris, who were nearby, traded looks. This was news to them.

  The tiniest of frowns knit the empress’s chestnut eyebrows.

  “I do apologize,” Sandry continued, “but I really had no chance to mention it earlier. If I don’t go soon, it will be a slap in the face to my cousin, who has worked so long and hard in my interest, as well as to my tenants and servants. You yourself, Imperial Majesty, have told me that I have neglected my estates. To come to Namorn after so many years away, and not tend to my obligations immediately…I know you would not like me to further shirk my duty.”

  For a very long moment no one spoke or moved. They’re afraid, Sandry realized, listening for clues from the people around her. They’re afraid of Berenene when she loses her temper. I’d better keep that in mind. She’s all sweetness now, but that’s not how she’s remained the sole ruler of Namorn for twenty-odd years.

  “What can I say?” asked Berenene with a gentle shrug. “Duty is duty. I can hardly reproach you for making the visit I urged you to make in my own letters. But please, return to us soon, dearest cousin. We have weeks of delights to share. And of course we hope that your friends share in them, too. I certainly would like to avail myself of Viynain Briar’s expertise in my gardens.”

  She extended a soft, ivory hand. Sandry kissed it and curtsied deep, hearing Tris’s skirts rustle and Daja’s and Briar’s tunics whisper as they bid their own farewells.

  “I know!” said Berenene, a broad smile on her lips. “We shall send some of our young people with you, to guard you and entertain you. Jak, Fin, um…” She bit her lower lip in thought, then added, “Rizu and Caidlene. I can surely spare the four of you. Yes, even Rizu,” she told the smiling maid. Berenene waved off any protests Sandry was about to utter. “I insist. They will be agreeable company for you. Caidlene is a cousin by marriage of Ambros fer Landreg—I’m certain he will not object. They will meet you tomorrow morning.”

  “Your Imperial Majesty, I mean to leave at dawn,” argued Sandry. Wonderful! she thought. There’s no way I can refuse without being thought rude, and now I have two of her husband-candidates to pester me! Illogically she wondered, Why didn’t she add that nice Shan? She continued aloud, “We’ll have guards, and Cousin Ambros to guide us—”

  “Then you certainly need livelier people for your party,” Berenene interrupted. “Saghad Landreg is a wonderful man, but…sober. And my young people will be there at dawn.” She looked at each of the four nobles she had named. “Will you not, my pets?”

  What can any of them say? wondered Sandry as the men bowed and the two ladies curtsied. And what can I say? If I kick up any more of a fuss, she will get angry. There’s no sense in picking a fight this early in the summer. Aloud, she said, “Cousin, you are too generous. Of course I will welcome your friends.”

  A footman guided them to a courtyard where hostlers stood with the horses, talking with Shan. He, too, held a horse’s reins, a glossy black stallion’s. When he saw them, he grinned. “I thought I’d accompany you home, so you wouldn’t get lost.” Since they had only two miles of High Street to ride, this was clearly a joke. “I wish I could go with you, but we have hunts scheduled for a delegation from Olart and one of the empress’s cousins from Lairan. It would be nice to get home for a visit.” When Sandry raised her eyebrows in a question, Shan explained, “My parents’ estate is only ten miles south of Landreg.”

  “She can’t spare you even for a visit home?” Sandry asked as a hostler helped her mount. “She’s sparing Rizu, and Rizu is in charge of her clothes.”

  Shan chuckled as the others swung into their own saddles. “She could spare us all if she chose—the servants take over if we’re needed for social duty, after all. But she likes us to have the illusion we’re useful.” He mounted his horse and maneuvered the stallion so that when their group rode out of the courtyard, he fell into place on Sandry’s right. Daja rode on her left, leaving Tris and Briar in the rear.

  “Besides,” Shan continued as they passed the first set of inner gates, “most of what I have I owe to Her Imperial Majesty. The least I can do is lend a hand. That cousin from Lairan can be an imperial-sized pain.”

  “We’ll be back before you know it,” Sandry told him shyly. “All ready for whatever my cousin throws at us.” She turned in the saddle to point to Briar and Tris. “Daja you know, but I don’t believe I introduced you to my other friends, Briar Moss and Trisana Chandler.”

  “Pershan fer Roth,” Shan called back with a nod. “Shan. I know I saw Viynain Briar with Her Imperial Majesty, but I don’t recall seeing Viymese Trisana before midday.”

  They clattered through the last set of gates in the outermost wall, where the guards came to attention as Sandry rode by. Their party rode down to where the broad palace street met High Street. By now it was bustling with traffic of all kinds, traffic that made it a point not to linger in front of the road to the palace. The guards there kept a sharp eye on it all.

  “Are all of my cousin’s troops so very attentive to their duties?” Sandry asked Shan when they were out of earshot.

  “She likes to keep them sharp, so she rotates in some of the frontier units every three months or so,” he explained. “They still have their edge from fending off border raids and the odd rebellion, and they get easier duty, so they’re grateful. Kidnap attempts aren’t unheard of, so it’s nice to know the gatekeepers are on their toes.”

  “Kidnapping?” asked Daja, obviously skeptical. “In the palace?”

  “Near the palace. It’s a west Namorn tradition, in a way,” explained Shan. “See, the custom is—”

  A lean, wild-eyed white man dressed in a ragged green robe over even more ragged clothes lunged in front of them, almost under the feet of Sandry’s horse. She drew up hard to save him a kicking, while Shan dragged his infuriated stallion’s head away from the man’s outstretched arms.

  “Game pieces, game pieces,” the stranger cried, grabbing the bridle of Sandry’s mount. “See the pretty game pieces, the ladies and the mages, two in one, a nice long game of capture the pieces.” He had bright, dark eyes, and dark, wiry hair that looked as if it had been cut with a cleaver. “Who will play the game, and who will keep the lady trophy? You, huntmaster, a pretty heiress for your mantelpiece? Best two out of three? Best man wins? So many games to play!”

  Daja couldn’t believe her eyes. “Wait!” she called as Shan dismounted. From the look on the nobleman’s face, she didn’t think he meant to send the scarecrow along with a coin and a kind word. “It’s all right!”

  “It is not!” barked Shan. “He mocks a member of the imperial family—”

  “No,” Daja said impatiently. “I’m pretty sure I know him, and he’s just addled.” She guided her horse around Sandry until she had a clear look at the man. “Do I look like a game piece to you?” she demanded. “Take a good look. I was dressed a little differently, the last time we met.”

  The man stared up at her, wide-eyed, then covered his gaping mouth with bony hands.

  Daja sighed. Trader guide me, it’s him. The last time I saw him, I was about to walk back into a burning building, and he’d just helped me get a c
lutch of crazy people out of it. “Is that the robe I gave you?” she asked him.

  He nodded, hands still covering his mouth.

  Daja looked at the rest of their group. “Go on. I’ll look after my friend, here.”

  “You know this man?” demanded Shan, startled.

  Daja smiled, though she hadn’t taken her eyes from her crazy helper. “We met when I lived in Kugisko,” she replied. “We did rescue work together in a big fire.” She looked at the others. They still remained motionless, staring at her. “We’ll be along. Shoo. You’re frightening him.”

  “Not as bad as he frightened us,” grumbled Briar. Sandry looked at Shan and nodded. With a grimace the nobleman swung back into his saddle and rode with her, Briar, and Tris on down High Street. All around them the foot traffic that had come to a halt resumed, though they kept well away from Daja and her new companion.

  Daja swung out of the saddle and waited until her friends were out of earshot, holding her mount’s reins in her metal-plated hand. “Sandry is the empress’s cousin,” she told her companion softly when the others could no longer hear. “You’re lucky that Shan didn’t cut you in two with his sword.”

  “I know she’s the cousin, but she’s a game piece, you’re all game pieces, and the great lady thinks she knows the rules to play with you. She doesn’t, she doesn’t at all, and I went to see you in Kugisko but the servants made me leave because you were ill.” He spoke quickly, but his voice was crisp and his eyes were clear and direct.

  I don’t understand what exactly he’s trying to say, but I know a genuine warning when I hear it, she thought. She looked him over. He’s ragged and dirty, but his nails aren’t bitten down, and he’s only trembling a little. “They never did tell me your name,” she remarked.

  “Zhegorz. I had a last name once but my family doesn’t like me to use it, because they say I don’t belong to it like they do so I never even remember it now it’s been so long—”