The Diplomat (11 page)

Alys nipped at her breakfast again before answering. “Of course. I don’t think he sleeps at all! He’s having Prince Calan’s bedroom cleaned out now, I think.”

“How are the other guests?”

“Well, the painted man was quite happy with his dinner last night. He impressed the King with a conjuring trick, and he’s going to give us all a show in the banquet hall today. Also, the head maid used all her savings to buy one of his pink scarves. I thought it very frivolous of her.”

Rema swallowed a mouthful of bread. By the Gods, it was dry. “And the Narandane?”

“Their scary leader talked with the King. He came out looking very satisfied with himself. He dined with the King and Queen too, and we didn’t hear the sound of plates breaking or raised voices, so it must have gone well.”

“And the hooded man you don’t like?”

“He slept upstairs in a chamber near the King’s. We’re not allowed to help him move his possessions or clean his room. I don’t know where he goes for dinner either. For all I know he stalks the halls at night and drinks people’s blood.”

“Do you know where he might be now?”

“He’s not supposed to leave the palace until the Prince rides out in a few days, so he must be near. Perhaps he breaks his fast in the gardens. He’s been seen skulking there before.”

Nothing good ever came from a person with a reputation for skulking. Rema consumed her last mouthful and swept crumbs from the table. “Thank you, Alys. Can you tell me where Yorin is?”

“You’ve so many questions for me!” Alys beamed. “You make me feel clever. Anyway, we’re both done eating, so I’ll take you to him.” She skipped to her feet. “Come on!”

Rema followed the lively Alys through the court, up the stairs and down a long corridor filled with unhappy servants. Yorin was standing before an open door, shouting and waving his arms.

“Never a moment’s rest,” said Rema, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Yorin’s irritated look softened. “Good morning, Rema. Alys, now that you’re here, go get those cobwebs.” He shook his head as Alys darted through the door. “That room is filthy. Calan will go wild if we don’t get it clean. He seizes any excuse to berate us.”

“I’ll need to talk to him later. I was wondering if you could tell me more about the man.”

A servant approached Yorin with a flask of water. “About time,” he said, gulping from the flask. “Sorry, it’s just the dust, it plays havoc on the throat…so, you’re curious about Calan. I suspect you know quite a bit about him already.”

“I’d like to know your point of view.”

Yorin wiped his lips and shook the empty flask. “I’ve known the royal children from birth. Elise and I may not get along, but I respect her. She’s endured a great deal with dignity. Loric’s a good boy, always has been. Calan, on the other hand, is a difficult man to like.”

“He tormented Elise growing up, I assume.”

“The day he turned fifteen, he tried to kill one of Elise’s kittens. When I went to flog him, he said that he was a man now, that if I tried to punish him he’d order me beaten instead. That was the last time anyone dared raise a hand to him, and his cruelty has only increased with age. He should arrive around midafternoon. You’ll know he’s here, believe me.”

Rema shifted to make way for a frantic servant waving a broom. “I wonder what he’ll think of me.”

“Speaking frankly, he’ll despise you. That’s if he doesn’t just ignore you. You have diplomatic immunity, but you may not want to be alone with him all the same. Like his sister, he has a temper. Unlike his sister, he doesn’t loose his fury with words alone.”

“I’ll not be bullied by some arrogant prince. He’ll be shown where he truly stands in the court of the world.”

“You’re too brave for your own good. If you do talk to him, be on your guard. And now, if you don’t mind, I have to find out what the hell that man is doing with his mop…”

Rema left Yorin to his affairs, returned down the hallway and stood in a quiet alcove, running her fingers absently through her hair. Her tongue was still musty from the dust she had inhaled outside Calan’s room. Some fresh air seemed called for. To the garden, then.

The air outside proved cool and damp, and a sheet of dark clouds extending to the horizon signaled an approaching storm. Rema walked across the grass, weaving between the hedges. Muhan was standing behind a hedgerow, peeling an orange, and Rema headed toward him.

“Good morning, Muhan,” she said in Ulat as she clasped her hands in welcome.

Muhan returned the gesture, his mustache bobbing as he smiled. “Rema. A fine morning to you. I’m curious, how many languages do you speak?”

“More than twenty. At a certain point, you stop counting them and just start speaking them.”

Muhan stripped the orange and dropped the peel into the grass. “I wouldn’t think your Emperor had need of any language but the sword.”

“I first served his father.”

“A different man. Of course, from the perspective of an Ulati, the difference was not so great. But measured in lakes of blood and mountains of skulls, well…” He bit into the orange, spraying juice, and his eyes crinkled. “A tremendous flavor. You can always trust a fruit named for its color.”

Rema chuckled as her nerves eased. It was pleasant to hear a poetic language of the West spoken here in the East, where even the birdsong sounded less lyrical. “Is it true that you’ll be holding a performance today?”

“Indeed. Yorin told me to be sure that I did it before this crown prince arrives. I gather he’s not one for joy and wonder.”

“I’ve heard nothing good about him.” As she watched Muhan eating, Rema’s stomach growled. She should have stolen more from the pantry. “By all accounts, he’s a violent and unpleasant man.”

“On the subject of unpleasant men,” said Muhan, his voice wet with orange pulp, “there’s someone else in the gardens with us. I greeted him and he gave me a look like something out of the grave.”

“Oh?” So the time had finally come to meet this fabled apparition. “Where did you see him?”

“See that dark corner over there, where the trees tangle together into a little grove?” Muhan nodded toward it. “He slunk back into there. The gloominess suits him.”

Rema stared at the sinister grove. It was impossible to see through the tightly-woven branches to determine if anyone was still inside. “I’m going to talk to him. If I don’t come out, fetch the guards.”

“You might ask him if he’s interested in dye. Be sure he knows that I have every color under the sun!”

Rema laughed and crossed the garden to the knotted clump of trees. Their roots tore the earth and snaked together, and their close-knit branches formed gnarled walls. It would have been a perfect place for clandestine meetings if it weren’t so obvious. She pushed aside the dark foliage and moved into the clearing.

A man stood among the trees, tearing at a hunk of jerky. His hood rested low against his shoulders, exposing a head of thin blond hair. “Good morning,” said Rema.

The man lifted his face. His eyes had earned their fearsome reputation. They seemed too large for his face, and their swollen whites were stark: hungry, patient eyes, better suited to some scaled beast living in a shadowed crevice. Otherwise he appeared unremarkable. He was broad-shouldered, about Rema’s height, and muscular. His face was broad and wide-jawed, and if not for his eyes he could even have been handsome.

“So you’re the imperial diplomat.” Instead of the monstrous rasp she’d expected, he spoke in a pleasant baritone. “Calan’s in for a shock.”

“My name is Rema.” Rema took a step closer. “And your name is?”

“Look at you, creeping up like a mouse. Don’t worry, though, I’m used to it. My name’s Bannon.”

As it appeared unlikely he planned to leap at her and drain her blood, Rema strode to stand before him. Up close, his eyes were even more unsettling. He rarely blinked, and it seemed as if he were looking through her. “You work for Calan, don’t you?”

“That man has a lot of problems. Sensibly, he’s employed me to handle them.”

“Did you really kill children and put their heads on pikes?”

“You shouldn’t listen to rumor.” Bannon winked. “On the other hand, if the situation called for it…”

“So you don’t deny that you’re a butcher?”

“Why should I? Word is your Emperor staked two thousand men, women and children during the siege of Molon. We should be bosom companions, you and me.”

Contempt constricted around Rema’s heart. “We are nothing alike.”

“True. For one, you’re prettier.” Bannon’s smirk widened. “Tell me, diplomat, why are you talking to me if your heart quails from dark things?”

“You have a notorious reputation. I wanted to see if any of it was true.”

Bannon glanced down at her body, but she saw little lust in his pallid eyes. “So you’ve heard all the stories, yet you still sauntered right up to me, that cocksure look on your face.”

“I don’t frighten easily.”

“I can see that.” Bannon tugged a string of meat from his teeth. “Take some advice from a man well-situated to give it. Wrap up this business and get on your way. You’ve come to the wrong place at the wrong time.” He tossed the remaining jerky to the ground, pulled down his hood and pushed past her, moving with the measured balance of a practiced swordsman.

Rema stayed in the thick, shaded grove long enough to arrange her thoughts. She was interrupted by Muhan, who poked his lurid mustache through a gap in the branches and peered at her. “Rema. The Gods are generous. You’re alive.”

“So it seems.”

“I saw him slink away like a satisfied spider and was concerned when you didn’t emerge.”

“Sorry. I needed time to think. He’s an unsettling character.”

“Surely you’ve met many in your time.” Muhan clasped his hands. “I have to prepare for my show. It’s in the banquet hall, if you hadn’t heard. Will you be in attendance?”

“I’ll do my best.” Rema gestured in return, and Muhan departed, his colorful tunic streaming behind him.

What to make of this unnerving meeting? First Elise had given her a warning, and now Bannon. Could they be referring to the same threat? It was hard to imagine any connection between the white-eyed killer and the silver-eyed enchantress. Elise’s parting plea still echoed in Rema’s thoughts, accompanied by a deep and impossible desire to offer consolation. But when the price was a kingdom…

She took her time walking to the banquet hall, pausing to chat in the corridor with bored servant women. They griped about their work, their husbands and the antics of their children, and she returned half-formed advice that they clung to as if it were divinely inspired. The stories of their lives provided a welcome distraction from her worries, and by the time she arrived at the banquet hall, Rema had managed to put behind her the memories of Bannon’s unearthly eyes and Elise’s unhappy ones.

A small group of lucky servants sat on stools just inside the banquet hall. The ever-present Alys was among them. Yorin stood beside her, his arms folded. “I’m surprised,” Rema said. “You’re letting servants take time off?”

“It’s a reward to those that have worked hard,” said Yorin. “Save for Alys, who is a lazy little creature. She’s only here because I know you’re fond of her.”

“Lucky Alys. I suppose you want me to repay you with more paperwork.”

Yorin ran his fingers over his face, disarranging the leathery folds under his eyes. “Don’t say that accursed word. I feel I need to be sanctified every time I hear it.”

Rema turned her attention to the banquet hall. At its far end was a wooden stage meant for entertainers. Muhan busied himself upon it, arranging boxes and erecting colored banners. Cedrin and Talitha sat together at one of the banquet tables, and Loric hunched before a table closer to the stage, his head resting on his fists. Elise, however, was nowhere to be seen. The fact caused Rema pain, but why? Why did that absence disappoint so deeply?

She crossed the hall and tapped Loric on the shoulder. He raised his head and smiled. “This should be fun,” he said. “He juggles and conjures, apparently.”

“Is Elsie not coming?”

“I wanted her to, but she wouldn’t. She said she didn’t need to see fake magic, and also that she had a headache, and also that conjuring was childish. In other words, she thought you might be here, and she can’t handle seeing you right now.”

“It’s that bad?”

“You can’t imagine.” Loric lowered his voice to a whisper. “Late last night, she knocked on my door, choked with tears. I’d never seen her weep that way before. She kept telling me how she’d made a fool of herself again. She was so heartbroken that it was all I could do to keep from crying myself.”

So Rema’s necessary cruelty had reaped its harvest. She avoided Loric’s reproachful stare. “Is it likely Calan will hurt her while he’s here?”

“He hurts her whenever he feels like it. She should put a spell on the bastard.”

“Why doesn’t she?”

“She says that whenever a hex is cast, it hurts the wrong people. Rema, I don’t understand why you’re being so cold. She’s starved for any indication of affection from you.”

“If you could understand how much remorse I feel…”

“I’m sorry. I know she’s being absurd. You’ve only been here a few days and she expects you to love her, when no doubt you already have some lover of your own back in glorious Arann. Yet I still wish you’d go to her. She’s been lonely for so long. Perhaps you should tell her what Ormun did to you. It might help her understand.”

“It’s better that she doesn’t know. And promise me that you won’t tell her. After all, she might end up married to this man.”

Loric closed his eyes. “Right.”

Muhan clapped his hands, interrupting the conversations all about the room. “My royal majesties! Princes of the court, ambassadors from distant lands and noble servants of the realm! What you are about to see will amaze you unto the tenth generation.” He began to pull a chain of ribbons from his sleeve, each one tied to the last and each a different color. By the time the fiftieth ribbon had emerged, even Rema was thrilled.

Muhan finished extracting the immense ribbon and flicked his wrist, sending its colorful tail high above his head. “Every color known to man is here. When they gather, they impart a mysterious power to their owner. Theirs is a magic known only to masters of the ancient art of color, like myself.” He flicked the ribbons again and they unknotted, falling about his head in a drifting chromatic rain. The servants broke into applause, and Cedrin thumped his fist in appreciation.