The Diplomat (13 page)

“Yes, my lord.” Yorin looked to Cedrin, who nodded, and Talitha, who looked away. Surely the Queen was mortified by the display between Elise and Calan, but Rema had no sympathy for her. Talitha had been so righteous in her condemnation of Ormun, yet had said nothing as her own son treated Elise with contempt…just as Rema herself had said nothing. Shame flooded her again, turning her stomach and tightening her throat.

Yorin directed Rema and Calan to the prince’s chamber. Calan brushed past the steward without a word, his boots tracking mud onto the stone floor. As Rema made to follow him, Yorin caught her arm. “I’ll be right outside. Don’t test him.” Rema nodded, and he released her. She stepped into the chamber and shut the door behind her.

Calan folded his arms and gave Rema a long examination. A trace of interest entered his cold eyes. “A woman with a man’s job and a man’s uniform. It’s obscene, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

Calan’s nostrils widened as he inhaled a quick breath. “I should warn you, I’m not used to women speaking to me in this way.”

“I’m not surprised you’re unused to women. A man like you is ever one of two things: a virgin or a rapist.”

Calan’s eyes showed as much surprise as if Rema had slapped him. “You’re a sharp-tongued bitch, aren’t you? I suppose that’s how you try to compete with men.”

“I wouldn’t lower myself to compete with you.”

“Get to your point.”

“If you touch Elise again, the deal between you and the Emperor is over. Ormun wouldn’t appreciate you beating his future wife.”

“No doubt. Why deprive him of the fun of doing it himself?”

Rema flinched, and Calan’s eyes lit. Damn it, he’d caught her off guard. “What else have you done to her?”

“I’ve never tried to fuck her, if that’s what you mean. She disgusts me, the fat, mewling bitch.” Calan moved closer to Rema, and she stepped back from the heat of his breath. “You, though. I’ve never had a woman in trousers.”

“You’ve never been drawn and quartered either. Do I need to explain to you the concept of diplomatic immunity?”

He laughed, and she cringed as his spit flecked her cheek. “You vastly overestimate your position. Let me explain something to you. My parents are feeble, and my brother may as well have never been born. I am the power and authority here. Forget whatever deals you thought you’d struck in my absence. The man of the house has returned.”

“Boast all you like. You’re still losing your war.”

“I’d like your Emperor’s troops as much as any general would. I also want to be rid of my sister as much as any man would. But where you and I diverge, little diplomat, is your interpretation of the state of affairs.” Calan leaned close enough that Rema was able to see the dark pores scattered upon his nose. “You believe I’m going to lose this war without help. So does my father, Yorin, everyone else. I know otherwise. I’m going to win it with or without you. The difference is only the quantity of blood spilt.”

“What you believe is irrelevant. Your father already agreed to my terms.”

“Did my mother agree? No? Then you have nothing.” Calan sneered. “My father is a weakling who allows his woman to jointly rule. For once, that absurdity works in my favor. He remains free to change his mind as I see fit.” He gestured dismissively. “You can leave now. When you join us later to pretend you understand the ways of war, I’ll explain to you and my father what exactly is going to happen next.”

Nobody dismissed her in such a fashion, least of all this cretin. Rema remained standing, her arms folded. “You’re more foolish than I thought. We know the size of your army relative to your enemy. Not even Ormun himself could overcome such odds.”

“Then Ormun is softer than I imagined. You’re dismissed. Run off and console my sister if you want.” Calan’s smug smile became a leer. “Yes, I saw the way you were looking at her. I wonder what your master would make of that?”

Taken aback by the mention of Elise, Rema struggled to find a rejoinder. “Until we next meet,” she said, and she closed the door on his laughter.

That had gone poorly, to say the least. Though she’d outwitted far shrewder men than Calan, she was distracted by the question gathering in her soul, one she was afraid to answer. To defeat this foolish prince, she would have to betray a woman who echoed every chord and matched every sentiment in her own heart. Gods, how she wanted to run to Elise and bask in the heat of her ardor, to confess to weakness and find passionate redemption…

“Rema,” said Yorin. In her daze, she had forgotten he had been waiting in the corridor. “Are you listening?”

“I’m sorry.” Rema pressed her fingers to her temples. “I wasn’t at my best. He thinks he’s winning the war and wants to conquer Lyorn, not come to terms with them.”

Yorin glared at the door before taking Rema’s arm and leading her further down the corridor. “If that’s so, then who knows what madness he has in mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if Calan never wants this war to end. He’s reveled in the bloodshed ever since it began.”

Rema smiled wryly. “I suppose approaching the Queen is bad idea right now.”

“She’d be furious. Humiliated too. Angry at Calan and ashamed of Elise.”

“And what about you? Are you ashamed of her?”

Yorin shook his head. “I’m an ordinary man with a wife and two sons. I go to our local church, for the good it does me. I know the prejudices I’m expected to hold. But Rema, I helped raise that girl. We may fight because of her damned temper, but she’s grown into a brave and honest woman. She deserves to love as she wills.” He sighed. “It hurts me to see her plight, I assure you. Nothing in this court goes unseen by me, but unbeknownst to her, whenever she gets entangled with some servant woman, I do my best to keep their union hidden. Her father always finds out eventually, but never from me.”

Rema looked at him with a new appreciation. “Talk to Talitha for me, Yorin. Persuade her that after today she has no choice but to let Elise go.”

“A clever thought.” Yorin rested his hand on her shoulder. “You’re not the confident woman you were when you arrived. Do you know why I stopped you there in the court, when you were about to speak up in her defense?”

“Because you didn’t want me to offend anyone.”

“No. Because you would have betrayed the secret that’s clear already to those watching you closely.”

Rema lowered her eyes. How could she deny his implication when her tongue would surely stumble on the falsehood?

“The King and Queen are inattentive. I’m not, and neither is Calan. You need to take your mind off her. Go have lunch. Muhan is taking lunch in the main kitchen, and if you hurry, you might catch him.”

“Thank you.” Rema pressed Yorin’s wrinkled hand between both of her own. He shrugged his shoulders before stumbling down the corridor, hunched in thought.

The front court proved to be abandoned but for a servant woman on her hands and knees, scraping manure from the flagstones. As Rema strode toward the kitchen, she heard the sound of feet running and turned to see Alys rushing closer, flapping her small arms.

“Rema!” Alys wobbled to a sudden halt. “I have a letter from the lady Elise for you. Gosh! I ran so fast!” She shoved an envelope into Rema’s hand and stood bent and panting.

“Thank you, Alys,” said Rema. Alys gave her an exhausted smile, spun on her feet and ran off the way she’d come.

Rema opened the envelope where she stood. Elise’s handwriting was as endearingly eccentric as before.

R. You are cruel. When you blew me that kiss in the banquet hall, I dared to hope…but then you abandoned me to Calan and my father. Despite everything, I still want so badly to believe that you’re here to save me. You’re a torment, R, an intoxicating torment. I hate you. Helplessly yours, E.

Elise had ended the letter with a scarlet kiss, the pigment of her adorned lips pressed against the page in a full pout. Rema closed her eyes and pressed the letter to her chest. How could Elise expect her to abandon a diplomatic career that had spanned thirteen years and saved countless lives, all for the sake of a woman she didn’t know? Yet Elise’s frustration was sensible. After a lifetime of fighting for independence, she was doomed now to suffering submission, and to make matters worse, Rema had brought hope even as she delivered catastrophe. She had consigned Elise to darkness while showing her a glimpse of impossible, unexpected light.

Rema put the letter in her coat pocket and walked blindly into the dining area. Muhan sat at a table, slicing into a pie. “Good afternoon, Rema,” he said in Ulat. “Did you enjoy my performance?”

Rema managed to return his smile. Muhan was the only person in the palace who pronounced her name with the proper trill on the
r
, and trivial though it was, the effect evoked the memory of her home and the friends who awaited her there. Some of her anxiety departed, though her heart still trembled. “I felt sorry for your monkey. Or monkeys, as I suppose there must have been two.”

Muhan pressed a finger to his lips. “Some secrets must remain so.”

“So tell me. Are you a dye merchant or a conjuror?”

“There’s little difference.” Muhan impaled the pie with his fork, and purple juice oozed from its sides. “To sell dye is to sell a spectacle. Wherever I travel, I try to impress upon people the wonder that is living color. When I do, they are suddenly more inclined to purchase my wares.” He winked. “You see, dye is not in itself a particularly useful thing. You won’t be warmer in winter if your coat is red instead of white. But you may feel so if you come to believe that red means warmth.”

“I’ve always liked you dye traders. You’re an odd breed.” Rema eyed a berry as it slid from his pie. “My parents were traders too. My father dealt in incense, but he was more interested in his poetry. I remember how as a child I’d fall asleep amid a haze of oak and velvet scents, listening to him reading poems aloud by lamplight.”

“And your mother?”

“She had a merchant’s blood. She adored haggling and making money, and she’d trade in most anything. She drew the line at slaves, but she did once get the notion to trade bears. That almost ended very badly.”

“Perhaps it’s a coincidence.” Muhan stared into the distance, his brown eyes thoughtful. “I once stopped at a trade encampment somewhere in the north of Amantis. The plains were wide and the distant mountains broken. There I met a poet who smelt of roses and smoke. He sold incense, and he spoke often of a wife whom I never met.” Muhan nodded. “Yes, a strange man. He was one of those poets who never break from their poetry even in daily speech.”

Rema inhaled a wondering breath. Of all the chances…“That could have been him. My father was Ajulese. I take after him in my complexion and features.”

“I can’t remember his face very well.” Muhan shrugged. “Perhaps he was Ajulese.”

A warm, pleasant sensation spread through Rema’s chest as her thoughts turned to her parents. “I loved them both intensely. I left them when I was fifteen, seeking to make my fortune in Arann, and they never questioned my decision. I only saw them four times more afterward. Three years ago, I learned that they’d died of the plague while traveling through Urandal. They were buried in each other’s arms, just as they had always lived. I’ve never known two people more in love.”

Muhan’s face softened. “Go find some food. I’ll wait here.”

After giving Muhan a grateful nod, Rema went to the pantry and procured a wedge of cheese, a small pot of strawberry jam and a thick-crusted loaf. She returned to her seat and spread her bounty in front of her. “Will you be leaving us soon?” she asked as she sawed at her bread.

“Surprisingly, I have been asked to stay another night. Our young prince was so impressed that he insisted on seeing the performance again. I suspect he wishes to figure out how it was done.”

Rema laughed. How enthralled Loric had been by that performance. “And have you sold much dye?”

“The people here can hardly afford my dye. It almost makes me feel guilty about taking their custom. But what merchant can refuse money?”

Rema watched his face as he talked. His flat, dark cheeks were deeply seamed, and the corners of his mouth were dimpled, giving him a perpetual expression of dry humor. It was reassuring to know that he would be staying in the palace longer. Their conversations in Ulat reminded her of Amantis, the great western continent to which she had been born, and the city of Arann, her home and a place of diverse traditions. How she hated Ostermund, this eastern patchwork of arrogant little feudal kingdoms, each incapable of expressing more than a single idea: one skin, one language, one angry god. She longed to wander between the tall and uneven stalls of Arann’s marketplaces, to smell the sweetness of the palms, to sit in a circle of friends and eat rice from her hands, to look over the endless summer sea…

“I know those eyes,” said Muhan. “I suppose even diplomats can become homesick. Tell me, is there a man awaiting you in Arann? A husband or a lover?”

Rema licked jam from her lips. “Not quite. My best friend will be missing me, and the gods know my heart yearns for her. We share everything, including our beds. She’s a sweet, playful woman, a singer with a voice that angels envy.”

Muhan’s mustache twitched. “How interesting.” He dabbed juice from his lips. “I must confess to being at a loss for words.”

“I’ve been encountering that feeling myself. It’s far from pleasant.” Rema tested the corner of the cheese and grimaced as its thick skin resisted her teeth.

“I’m curious. A woman watched my performance from the doorway. Am I correct she was the princess you have come to abduct for Ormun? She had pale grey eyes and dark hair, the look so characteristic of this family.”

“I never told you the purpose of my mission. You’re as wantonly investigative as I am.”

Muhan flashed his painted teeth. “You’re not the only one who can charm servants, o great mouth of the Emperor.”

“Yes, that was her. Elise.”

“I noticed the little moment between you two. A look, a blown kiss. I would think a skilled diplomat might know better than to grow close to the woman she is supposed to wrap up and deliver to her master.”