The Diplomat (32 page)

“Whatever conversion you believe you’ve undergone, we can discuss it tonight. I came to tell you that a man is here in the palace to see you. A colorful trader by the name of Muhan.”

In the drama of the last few hours, Rema had forgotten, and as the magician returned to her thoughts, an elegant, implausible plan began to form. “Of course, Muhan. Where is he?”

“The outer court. I had someone bring him a flask of wine.” Artunos continued to glare at her. “I still can’t believe you were so reckless. There are countless beautiful women in Arann. Why throw your life away over this sour-faced foreigner?”

“You’ve either forgotten that I can understand you, or you’re ruder than I thought,” said Elise. “Have you never loved anyone?”

“Love isn’t as simple as you think. I have two wives, and one of my wives has another husband. Does that surprise you, easterner?”

“Do you think that because I come from over the sea, I’ll be shocked by every little thing you say? You just caught me kissing another woman. Do you really believe I’m scandalized by you having two wives?”

“I don’t have time to listen to you two fighting,” said Rema. “Elsie, did you want to come with me to see Muhan?”

“Send him my greetings. I have something else to attend.” Elise tugged down her skirt and adjusted her hair. “You,” she said, pointing to Artunos. “Fetch me my belongings from wherever they are now, as many of my books and crates as you can. They need to be here by this afternoon.” She hesitated before adding, with obvious reluctance, “And can you show me the way back to my room?”

“Whatever you say, Princess,” said Artunos. “Rema, I’ll see you this evening. For the love of the gods, tread carefully.”

Elise winked. “And for the love of me, tread however you please. I’ll count every breath from now until I see you again.”

Artunos strode away, and Elise sauntered in pursuit, a satisfied wiggle to her hips. Rema closed her eyes and collapsed against the wall, still dazed by the audacity of their kiss and the feeling of liberation that had followed. It was as if she had thrown herself over a terrifying edge but fallen into happiness rather than death. And had her father not told her this would happen?

“I feel that I am light again,” she said in a murmur somehow not her own. “And I know that I am saved.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The outer court was crowded but quiet. An emissary from Kataris was sitting cross-legged at the edge of the fountain, his hands folded in his lap as he listened to two of Rema’s junior diplomats. Beside a column, a musician plucked the strings of a silver-necked lute. Some distance away, a handful of traders whispered together under an ornamental tree. They would be at court to seek favors from Ferruro, either to mitigate some levy or impose one on some competitor.

Rema found Muhan sprawled on a wrought-iron bench, his eyes closed and his mustache puffing into the air as he breathed. “Good morning,” she said.

Muhan opened his left eye and smiled. “There you are. I had a most excellent breakfast this morning. Grapefruit. You’ve no idea how many years it’s been.”

“And wine, I’m told. Arann is spoiling you.”

“Yes, well.” Muhan stretched his arms back while yawning. “Luck is a finite thing. No doubt you’re here with a warrant for my execution.”

“On a charge of cruelty to monkeys.” Rema sat beside him. “Is this your first time in the palace?”

“Indeed, and before you interrogate me, I’ve a question. I have a keen interest in colors—you may have noticed—and I observe there are two colors of guards here, some silver and some gold.”

Rema nodded. “The golden guards are protectors of the imperial officials—that is, me. The silver guards protect the house—that is, you.”

“So if you were to attack me, the silver ones would join my defense, and the golden ones would leap at their throats?”

“Something like that. We can find out, if you like. I’m feeling savage today.”

“Oh?” Muhan raised his colored brows. “Is there a reason for your bloodlust?”

“Your brothers who were killed in the invasion of Ulat Province.” Rema spoke in Ulat, the curling melodies vibrating easily off her tongue. “Do you think of them often?”

Muhan’s smile vanished. “Why do you ask?”

“Are you a vengeful man, Muhan?”

“I would hope not.”

“I’m not usually a vengeful woman. But I can’t go on like this. Ormun will marry Elise three days from now. This whole farce of his, the wars, butchering and stolen wives. I’ve endured it too long, thinking that I can do some good by remaining at his side. And I’ve endured too much.”

Muhan bent closer. “Are you sure nobody around us speaks Ulat? These are dangerous words.”

“Nobody in this palace speaks it but me. Ulat Province is only so much primitive soil in the eyes of the Empire. Your language isn’t taught, your people are rarely welcomed. There’s a prejudice against the Ulati, as I hardly need tell you. But I learned your languages and customs as a child when we traded among your people. I remember drinking handfuls of goat’s milk and eating from steaming bowls of lentils while listening to the Ulati singing and talking around me.”

Muhan exhaled. “Tell me what you need.”

“I want you to meet with some of my friends tonight, here in the palace. If you return to this court in the late evening, someone will meet you here. What I’m planning will be dangerous, but if we succeed then your homeland could be free again. No imperial garrisons to plunder your herds and harass your women.”

“I’m not so provincial as to be moved only by the plight of my native people, or, least of all, to be concerned about the fate of herds.” Muhan leaned back, his fingers clasped against his chest. “I’m a traveling magician and dye trader, not some brave Ulati rebel or irate shepherd. But—” He raised his hand to interrupt Rema’s objection. “I’m also a man who can recognize when fate is beckoning him to become something larger. For you and the lady Elise, I will do this.”

“If we succeed, you’ll never have to trade dye again.”

“Gods forbid. How drab a life that would be!”

Rema smiled. “I can’t talk to you much longer. Those around us will wonder why I’m speaking at such length in an unfamiliar tongue.”

“Then we’ve spoken enough. I’ll be here tonight, as requested. Shall I trouble to have dinner first?”

“There’ll be food, if you want it.”

“I’ll wait to gorge myself up to the very tip of my mustache.” Muhan rose and clasped his hands. “Give my regards to our enchantress. Has that brute laid his hands on her yet?”

“I’ve stood in his way.” Rema returned to her feet and copied the gesture, her fingers locked in respect. “She’s fierce and undaunted. We’ll survive this together.”

Muhan gave his mustache a pensive stroke. “The Ulati forbid women to lie with women. As do Danoshans, I believe.”

“As do many other people, but it is permitted in Arann. There were laws, but they were rarely enforced, and Togun and I repealed them.”

Muhan nodded. “I only mention it in order to note that, to my great surprise and wonder, I believe you two were intended for each other. That’s the joy of being a traveler: every day your eyes open a little wider.” He bowed and walked to the gates, his lean body swaying as he hummed beneath his breath.

Rema took a deep breath and adjusted her collar. Now to deal with the skulking beast she’d seen from the corner of her eye. She walked around a thick marble column and confronted Bannon. “How long have you been hiding here?”

“Not long. I was only admiring this pillar. Crafty detailing, isn’t it?” Bannon lowered his hood, revealing his downy blond hair and protruding ears. If it hadn’t been for those unnerving eyes, he might have had a boyish charm. “I’m surprised you saw me. I thought you were tied up in conversation with the Ulati.”

“You’re not as sly as you imagine.”

“Oh, no, I am.” Bannon flicked a speck of dirt from his fingers. “You’re just a very clever woman.”

“If you’ve come to serenade me, it won’t work.”

“Believe me, I know.” It was unnerving how Bannon’s gaze gave the impression he was watching somebody else through her. “Shall we take this discussion to your office?”

“Fine. This way.”

Rema directed Bannon toward an archway and between two silver-suited guards, who scowled as Bannon passed. “Everybody always assumes I’m guilty of something,” he said in a low tone of amusement.

They entered a corridor decorated with alcoves containing jade and onyx statuary. Bannon admired the chiseled objects as he walked by them, at one point stopping to run his finger along the engraved wings of a bird captured in flight. “Why do I have the feeling this statuette will be gone in the morning?” said Rema. Bannon responded with an expression of mock innocence that could have made her smile, had its owner been anyone else.

Their path took them into a small garden courtyard. To Rema’s irritation, Haran and Betany were sitting on a bench beside an artificial lake. Perhaps sensing Rema’s animosity, Betany lifted her head and glowered. The movement startled Haran, who had been talking closely into her ear.

Rema approached them, forming her most insincere smile. Betany looked very much like Ormun, with the same short brown hair, delicate features and long, thin-tipped nose. She was a year older than Rema and attractive, if she was considered without regard to her personality. When that was taken into consideration, she was nothing short of repulsive. Her smile in particular was repellent—a bitter curl with no warmth whatsoever.

“You shouldn’t be in the garden,” said Betany. “A face like yours will scare away the birds.”

“It seems I’ve already scared a pair of lovebirds.”

Bannon chuckled, and Haran drew himself to his full height, his lips pursed. “Lady Betany and I were in rational and sensible discussion,” he said, rubbing furiously at his wrist. It was a common tic when he was annoyed; Rema had fond memories of the day she’d frustrated him so much he’d broken the skin. “She is the sister of our Emperor, and you’d be wise to treat her with respect.”

“Oh, so that’s who this woman is! For years I’d believed she was some poor beggar who had wandered into the palace and gotten lost.” Rema bowed. “My apologies. I’ll stop telling the guards to watch for you.”

“What have you brought in with you?” said Betany, pointing an indignant finger in Bannon’s direction. “Some kind of ogre?”

Bannon stepped forward before Rema could answer. “My name is Bannon.” He gestured dramatically to himself with both hands. “As for what I am, dear sister of the Emperor, I am the monster that ogres flee from in their nightmares.”

Betany looked as if someone had thrown water over her, while Haran tucked his hands into his sleeves, becoming a slender apparition of disapproval. “I would like to know the business of your visitor.” His peevish eyes blinked. “For my official records.”

“Bannon helped me in my diplomatic mission, and I promised to compensate him,” said Rema. “May I now inquire about your business here in the garden, for my official records?”

“I dislike your tone.”

“Let’s not start listing things we dislike about one another. We could be here until evening.”

“Damn you, Remela,” said Betany. “How you can continue to be so insolent and keep your head is beyond me.”

“I believe I keep my head precisely because of my insolence.” Rema widened her smile—nothing infuriated Betany more than people smiling, especially those people she detested. “Speaking of which, I’ve heard that you’re again agitating to have me executed. I can’t understand this obsession of yours. Are you secretly in love with me? If so, come out with it already.”

“You’re disgusting.” Betany wrinkled her nose. “You shame this court, cavorting so openly with that singer of yours.”

“I’d rather cavort openly with her than with Haran. I mean, really. You might as well be consorting with a hyena.”

Bannon snickered. “Laugh while you can, merchant’s girl,” said Betany. “The world you know is almost ended.”

“We finally agree on something. Good day, turtledoves.”

Her adversaries remained silent. As they exited the courtyard, Bannon bid them farewell with a low, mocking bow, and Rema frowned. Amusing as Bannon could be, it wasn’t an entirely pleasant feeling to have him on her side.

Upon returning to the palace’s decorated corridors, Bannon fell into a relaxed saunter. “That man, the one who looked like he was talking through a lemon. What’s his story?”

“That was Haran, imperial lawmaker and supreme judge of the Empire.”

Bannon gave an exaggerated gasp. “I do hope I behaved myself!”

“Here.” Rema stopped by a solid mahogany door. She unlocked it and directed Bannon into her office, which was among the largest in the palace. Its front half was a comfortable meeting area, strewn with large cushions, while her study took up the rear half, the floor of which was slightly raised. Behind her desk, a large window oversaw one of the prettier sections of the gardens. The view was a mixed blessing, as being near the scent, splendor and teeming color also meant enduring the endless surging of the waterfall and the irritated calls of the wildlife that lived in the menagerie.

Bannon explored the room, admiring the paintings and carvings that decorated its walls. He rested his hand on a marble bust. “Lots of naked women in those paintings. Breasts or buttocks, what’s your preference?”

“It’s art. Appreciate it, don’t leer at it.” Rema sat behind her desk and gestured to the low seat before it. Bannon swaggered across the rug, glancing down once to inspect its intricate overlapping pattern, and dropped into the seat. His limbs hung loosely, and he tilted his head lazily back, looking like a discarded marionette. Rema folded her hands on the desk and watched him with—she hoped—contempt in her eyes.

“I mentioned to you once that my job is solving problems.” Bannon swung a boot up on her desk, and Rema held her tongue. She’d put her own boots up there often enough. “You’ve a lot of problems, Rema.”

“Is that so?”

“Let’s see.” Bannon extended a fist to count with. “One, you want that woman for yourself. Two, you don’t much like this Emperor of yours. Three, you have to watch your back from that charismatic couple we met earlier. Four, whatever it is you spent so long talking to the Ulati about.”