The Diplomat (43 page)

“I want you to make me happy, not sad.”

“I’m sorry. Let me recite it to you in Ajulai.” Rema crooned the verses in Elise’s ear, their harmonies shivering and rolling from her tongue. Elise’s body relaxed, and her sobs subsided. She sighed as the last syllable faded from Rema’s lips.

“That language makes me dizzy. But say it again in a way I can understand.”

“As you wish.” Rema touched her lips again to Elise’s ear.

“I was born alone and parted,

Caught in neither life nor death,

Blind and without understanding,

A roaming emptiness.

But when my fingers touched your face,

My eyes began to see,

And when my body felt your heat,

My blood began to flow,

And when your breath first met with mine,

My lungs began to move,

Yet only when my lips found yours

Did I begin to live.”

Elise wept, and Rema kissed away each tear as it fell. Sleep came to them in embrace, bringing dreams of Elise floating in the warm bay beside the mansion. Her hair drifted loose in the water as Rema swam beside her, supporting her and teaching her to swim. Jalaya was with them, laughing as she was splashed, her face radiant.

Rema awoke to find Elise still sleeping in her arms. It was early morning, and idle birds were gossiping to one another on the branches beneath the window. Rema sat upright, aware of a dull ache at her forehead, and touched the dried blood on her scalp. The tenderness of the skin brought back every memory of the night before, each one as articulate with terror as if she had just lived them. She shuddered, and Elise stirred and rose beside her, her face hidden beneath her hair.

“Good morning,” said Rema. “I have to catch Ormun as soon as I can. Will you visit Jalaya and give her my love?”

“Mmmm.” Elise brushed the hair from her face and kissed Rema clumsily on the lips. “I’ll go to her as soon as I’m dressed. Why do you need to see Ormun?”

“To find out what clothes he’s wearing.”

Elise wrinkled her nose. “How odd. Rema, I’m sorry if I was a little overwrought last night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. We’re going to share everything from now on, and that includes our sorrows.”

Rema opened her wardrobe, searching for a uniform not sullied by blood or neglect. As Rema hunted, Elise drew back the blankets and stretched. Her figure was so unlike Rema’s, curved where Rema was straight, round where Rema was flat. Too many of the women Rema had courted were insecure about their bodies; even Jalaya fretted about her lack of height. Not so Elise. She was all the more beautiful because of her confidence, that remarkable way she wore her body without apology.

“Stop staring,” said Elise. “Go and do your important business!”

Rema smiled. “You’re right. I’ll have a lifetime to stare.” She put on her boots, adjusted her hair and splashed her face with water. There was still dried blood on her forehead, and she sponged it off. “Ugh. There’s a nasty purple bruise here. Ormun will want to know where I got it.”

“Put on a hat.”

Rema returned to her wardrobe and took out a perky black hat with a ball of red fuzz on its peak. She donned it and presented herself to Elise, who covered her mouth as she tittered. “It’s painfully sweet on you. But it’s not very Rema.”

“It’ll have to do.” Rema peered into the mirror and straightened the hat. “I’ll come visit you and Jalaya as soon as I’m done with Ormun, so we don’t need to have a teary goodbye just yet.”

Elise walked naked across the room and kissed Rema with such force that the hat slipped over her ear. “Tonight, we’ll have to do more than sob at each other.”

“Make that a promise.”

Elise laughed as she fixed the hat. “Get out there and solve all our problems. Don’t worry about what Mel said to you last night. I have faith in you.”

“I’ll be with you again soon, enchantress of my heart.”

“Don’t say sappy things like that. You’ll get me weepy again.”

They shared a lingering kiss, and Rema headed toward the door. Elise remained standing naked in the sun, her hair draped about her body and her eyes distant with thought. Though she appeared human once more, there still seemed a touch of the otherworldly upon her. What had Melnennor’s strange prophecy meant? Had Rema fallen in love with a woman or a goddess?

It was early enough to catch Ormun in his chambers, but his eccentricity could place him anywhere in the palace. Some nights he never slept and instead walked through the menagerie, pulling faces at the animals. Some days he never rose. It was a relief to find a golden guard standing outside the door of Ormun’s room, indicating that the Emperor was within.

“My lady,” said the guard, touching his helmet.

“I need to talk with Ormun.”

Other visitors might have been questioned further, but not Rema. The guard knocked on the door, and after a moment Ormun opened it, his hair in disarray. Damn it all—he wasn’t yet dressed, only clad in a white linen tunic that reached past his bare knees. “Rema!” Ormun opened the door wide. “Come in, dear, come in!”

The ceiling of Ormun’s chamber was supported by gilt columns, and a carved depression in the floor ran toward three arched windows that opened directly into the palace gardens. Had the palatial room been tidy, it would have stunned visitors with its austere majesty. Instead, it had become a heaping ground for Ormun’s clothes, as he refused to let anyone clean his chambers and had no patience to do so himself. A woman was huddled in Ormun’s bed, her face buried in the pillow. Judging by her golden hair, she was Ormun’s seventh wife. The woman’s breath was quiet and steady; hopefully her night had been painless.

“So, you’re restless too,” said Ormun, shutting the door behind them. “It’s to be expected when we’ve such an exciting day ahead of us.”

“And yet you’re not even dressed. Or is that what you intend to wear?”

“No, no.” Ormun opened his wardrobe and gestured to the few clothes that remained hanging. “Perhaps you can help me pick something that’ll impress the court.”

Rema concealed her relief. This was ideal—she could ensure the double would be able to match his appearance. “I’d be happy to. In my estimation, you should dress simply. Elise is from a simple part of the world, and it would make her feel at home.”

“But she wears those fancy dresses, Rema! I’ve never seen anything like them outside of the most expensive brothels.” Ormun lifted a sleeve and sniffed it. “Why, I wouldn’t want to look plain beside her. What kind of message would that send?”

“It would show your humility and goodness. I know you enjoy wearing that brown tabard with the wide sleeves, and it pairs so well with black leggings.”

“It’s true, it’s a fetching combination.” Ormun scratched his head. “Fine! I concede! It’s all too much to think about anyway.” He gestured toward his sleeping wife. “Look at that thing. She’s with child, I think, but the healers aren’t clear on whether it’ll live. I have something like five babies now. I held one for a little. It gurgled. Ugly, fat little face.”

Rema had no special sentimentality for infants herself, but she wasn’t willing to humor him. “I’m sure you’ll grow fond of them as they age.”

Ormun seemed not to have heard her, engaged as he was in wrestling with the sleeves of the tabard. Rema sighed and helped him put it on. “You still dress like a child.”

“Some things stay the same.” Ormun flapped his arms, his eyes lively. “Even at twenty, I’d never have any idea what to wear, and I’d stump around trying to get some button done at the back. And of course Betany was never inclined to help. But you were, dear, always you.”

He chortled, clearly pleased with his reminiscences. Rema looked away. It was his brotherly love enfolded in malice that had made these four years such a torment. If he were more predictable, if he had simply been a woman-hater like Calan, she would have understood him more and feared him less.

A moment of desperate hope took hold of her. “Ormun,” she said. “My brother. If I asked you to remember all the years I’ve served you, been a sister to you, endured your cruelties, witnessed your atrocities and abetted your wickedness—if I asked you to remember all of this and then I begged you to let her go…what would you say?”

“So it’s true.” Ormun tugged on his trousers. “You do love her. What’s her name again?”

“Elise.” Rema took a breath, and the air carried with it a wild rush of courage. “Yes, I love her. I don’t want you to hurt her, and we both know that you will.”

“No man is perfect, dear.”

Rema took Ormun’s hand and looked into his eyes, searching through his madness for a sign of her long-missing friend. “I can’t keep doing this for you. You know what you are, and you know what I believe. You’re intelligent enough to comprehend what you’ve done to me. Let me have at least this happiness.”

“Rema, dear.” Ormun squeezed her hand. “It cannot be. She belongs to me now.” He lowered his voice. “But you’ve moved me, treasured one. What if I let you visit her once a week? For one night of seven, touch her and take her all that you please. You’re right, after all. I have so many wives, and you have none! Why shouldn’t I share one of them with my sweet sister?”

“No, you were right.” Rema’s words sounded as leaden as her heart felt. “It cannot be. Forgive me for asking.”

“What’s so special about her, anyway?” Ormun stood before the mirror and began to attend to his buttons. “I suppose she’s pretty in a funny way. It’s the eyes, mostly. She’s got an ample figure too, but she’ll be a pig in a few years. Have you slept with her? Is that why you’re so giddy for the woman?”

“Of course not. That would have been an insult to you.”

“Good. That would have been a bit much, dear. All the same, what is your fascination with her?”

“You couldn’t understand. The nature of her beauty is among those things you’ve long closed yourself to.”

“You’re very frank today.” Ormun stepped back and admired himself. “And I look positively monastic. Wonderful.” He turned from the mirror, good humor still glowing in his eyes. “Rema, you say I mistreat you. It’s true, it’s true. I’m bleeding our empire white through war, and you’re the only one who’s brave enough to tell me. Sothis will only mumble and shuffle away, and Haran says, smite them! Strike them! Yet despite all your protests, I do as I please. No wonder you’re miserable.” His smile widened. “Haran says there are rumors that I’m mad. He doesn’t mention that he and Betany say the same themselves.”

“And are you?”

“You know, I often try to imagine what our empire looks like. I don’t mean the land or the soldiers or the people—I mean what it truly is. Rema, it’s a black octopus, all huddled and twitching over this continent of ours, one long tendril stretching out into the sea. Suffocating. Swallowing. Everything under it mine. I don’t even know what to do with it! Betany told me to take it, but why? I destroy everything that belongs to me. How foolish to give me an empire.”

Ormun put his hand on her shoulder. “Yes, but there’s one thing that will never be mine. You’re the faithful angel that tells me when I’m wrong. I feel all the bolder when I disobey you.” He pointed to the woman on the bed. “Do you think I see a woman there? I see property. Flesh. Hideousness. I warned you once what my eyes were becoming. Now there’s only one thing left that’s beautiful: you. You’re the only thing in this world that doesn’t hurt my soul to look upon. Yes, sister, I’m destroying you, for I love you. A fire can’t help but long for timber.”

“What am I supposed to say to that? Is that your way of convincing me of your sanity?”

“Why, I was only returning your frankness! Don’t you appreciate it?” Ormun waved his hand dismissively. “Enough, enough. I look forward to seeing my bride again. Elise, that’s it. Can you believe, I spent all night with this one and I can’t for the life of me recall her name.”

“Lassielle. She was eighteen when one of the Dukes of Kalanis offered her to you in tribute. I can tell it’s her by the curly golden hair.”

“Ah, yes, the Kalanese girl. They’re so pale, those Kalanese. Speaking of easterners, I’d like a Narandane wife sometime. I don’t have one already, do I? Or a Nastine! It’d be amusing to have a wife with your red hair.”

“I’m not sure I see the humor. Pardon me, Ormun, but I have to make sure the entertainers are prepared.”

“Please do.” Ormun pouted. “I hope our little discussion didn’t unsettle you.”

Rema bowed before leaving the chamber. There seemed no point in trying to untangle Ormun’s ramblings—such deranged musings were nothing new—and so she focused instead on walking to Elise’s bedchambers as quickly as she could. She entered a colonnaded hall, spotted Ferruro lumbering toward her and swerved to avoid him. He frowned at her, presumably wondering why she’d deprived him of their usual morning banter. Turning a corner, she ran into a pack of Urandan diplomats. They reached for her and shouted her name, wanting to talk to the woman who had given them peace only months earlier. Rema apologized curtly and brushed them aside.

She arrived at Elise’s chamber and exhaled in gratitude. Elise was chattering to Jalaya, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “How’s your head?” said Rema.

Jalaya lifted her bangs, revealing a dark mark across her forehead. “I’m purple.”

“Don’t worry.” Rema raised her hat to reveal her own bruise. “We can be purple together.” She tried to meet Jalaya’s eyes, but Jalaya peered intently at her hands.

“She’s shy this morning,” said Elise. “She hasn’t made eye contact with me either.”

“Tell me it was a dream.” Jalaya’s lyrical voice was clouded with embarrassment. “Tell me I didn’t really sit in Elsie’s lap and try to kiss her.”

“You also told her that she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen,” Rema said. “I was offended. I thought I held that title.”

“Rema, I’m terribly sorry. It was the wine that said those things.”

“That’s not how it works,” said Elise, rearranging the supplies in her medicine box. “The wine just made you speak the truth.”

“Oooh.” Jalaya pushed her hands into her cheeks and pursed her sulky lips. “Curse that wine, stealing all my secrets.”