Bride by Command (23 page)

“She is very well. The cream you suggested worked wonders.”

“Lovely to hear.” She looked Blane in the eye. “Where is Jahn today?”

Blane turned slightly red. “With the emperor, of course.”

“Of course.” Morgana had often wondered why Jahn’s friends could find the time to walk with her and visit over lunch while he could not. She also wondered how he had arranged lodging in the palace, a favor which was not shared with the others sentinels. She’d thought he’d been teasing when he’d said he was the emperor’s favorite, but perhaps there was more to his job than he’d let on.

Blane did not stay with her for very long. He waited until she had almost finished her meal, then he surveyed the quiet, walled area filled with lines of sheets and crimson robes drying in the sun above a carpet of green grass. He said goodbye and went back in the same direction he’d come from.

Morgana rose from her seat on the ground and brushed a few crumbs from the linen shift she wore for working in the laundry. Before she could return to the laundry room for an afternoon of mending, a slightly shrill familiar voice called her name.

“I thought that was you.” Two well-dressed ladies rushed toward Morgana as fast as their pointy-toed slippers would allow. “See, Anrid, I told you it was the sentinel’s wife. Ana, isn’t it?” Melusina asked.

“Yes,” Morgana answered, happy to see that they continued to take her advice. Though there was no way to disguise their large bosoms, at least those attributes were now more covered than not. Neither of them wore face paint, and their hairstyles were simple and flattering. “Are you here to see the emperor?”

Anrid snorted, and Melusina shook her head. “No. We’ve come to collect a few belongings we left behind when we moved out.”

“You no longer live in the palace?”

“No,” Anrid answered. “The emperor found us husbands and made us leave.”

If he planned to marry in a few days, that was likely a very good idea!

“Brothers,” Melusina said. “They’re both involved in trade.” She stuck out her hand to display a huge red ring. “My husband, Haydon, deals in gems, many of them from the Turi Mountains. He trades in only the finest.”

Anrid added, “My Jarold is in fabrics.” She plucked at the sleeve of her elegant and tasteful frock. “I have never been so well dressed.”

“So, it’s going well?” Morgana asked.

The women looked at one another, and their expressions softened. “Yes,” they answered as one.

“I did not expect to like being married,” Melusina said. “But Haydon is handsome and sweet and generous, and I do not have to share him.” She smiled. “He rather adores me.”

“Jarold was very quiet in the early days,” Anrid revealed, “but he’s coming around.” She, too, smiled. “He’s coming around quite nicely. When we are alone, he isn’t shy at all.”

“I’m happy for you,” Morgana said.

“We wanted to thank you,” Melusina said. “Our husbands are well respected businessmen who would never have approved of our former manner of dress and adornment.” She leaned in. “They know of our former positions here, of course, but they also think we’re fine, well-bred ladies. Most of the time.”

Nattie called, and Morgana turned to the open door. “It was lovely to see you. I’m glad to hear your lives are going well.”

“We should visit one evening!” Anrid suggested.

“Certainly,” Morgana said. Strangely enough, she had more in common with these women than she did with those she worked alongside. “Jahn and I are living on Level Seven.”

The women looked at one another. “The witches’ level?” Anrid said.

“There are no witches left on Level Seven,” Morgana said. “Unless I am a witch!”

The women laughed, and Nattie called again—with less patience than before. Morgana waved and hurried back to her mending.

 

 

DANYA
finally had a chance to get close to the emperor, just before dinner was to be served. He never ate with the rest of the palace residents. She supposed he was afraid of being poisoned. He did, however, make frequent and all-too-brief appearances. Usually she was unable to get near. Tonight, she was determined to make her way to his side. They barely knew one another! The hooded man’s assurances aside, how was the emperor supposed to know to choose her if they had never spent any time together?

She made her way toward the tall, crimson-clad man. He was handsome enough, she would give him that much, and he wore his smallish gold crown well, as if it were as much a part of him as the oddly streaked hair. A minister’s chubby wife stepped in front of Danya, and almost without thinking, Danya elbowed the woman aside and placed herself before the emperor.

“My Lord Emperor,” she said, curtseying and thrusting her bosom forward so he would be sure to appreciate the wares she had gone to so much trouble to show. “I do hope you will be joining us for dinner this evening.”

He stared at her strangely, with an air that seemed to her almost like pity. Pity and annoyance. “I’m afraid I will not be able to do so, Lady Danya.”

She looked him in the eye, determined to evoke something other than pity. “I was so hoping we could get to know one another better, before the First Night arrives.”

“I will see what I can do to clear my schedule,” he said in a tone of voice that screamed of dismissal. There were others waiting to speak to him, others clamoring for his time. Danya did not step aside.

She tried to imagine seducing the emperor, either before or after the night came for him to make his decision. She tried to picture herself kissing this powerful man, stripping for him, opening herself for him in all ways . . . and she could not. When she imagined giving all of herself to any man, she saw only Angelo Rainer. This was a disaster.

Danya curtseyed again and stepped aside. After returning to her assigned table she barely ate her dinner, and she was quite sure she managed to insult all those sitting around her, though later she would not remember precisely what she said. Something about the deputy minister’s daughter eating too much and threatening to burst out of her ordinary little frock, and perhaps something else about a man laughing too harshly and gratingly. Rainer was not here tonight; he often ate alone, before or after they met to talk and she allowed herself to relax in his company.

She left before anyone else at her table had finished their meal, hurrying for her room. Angelo would be there, she imagined, or else he would join her very soon. He always waited for the maids to finish their jobs for the day, and since Danya had told the servants that she did not need help getting ready for bed, they finished their work early. They put out water and soap; they turned down the sheets on her bed; they lit the oil lamps and the fire . . . and then they left her alone.

Though she had enjoyed Angelo’s company in the past few days, she finally realized she had to let him go, too. He was too close. She should’ve been able to make the emperor aware of her intentions, to concentrate completely on him, and instead she had seen only Angelo!

He was waiting in her anteroom on this night, and when she slammed the door to her bedchamber, he joined her. He looked glad to see her, happy for this short time they had together.

“You again,” she said, walking with purpose toward the fireplace as if she needed the heat on this warm night, holding out her hands to suck up the warmth of the flame.

He walked up behind her. “Yes, me again,” he said calmly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong.” She turned to face him, even though she did not relish the idea of looking at his face while she did what had to be done. “I spoke to the emperor tonight.”

Finely shaped eyebrows arched slightly. “Did you?”

“Yes. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“You have not given him reason, have you?”

“No. I was hoping that perhaps you could help me gain entrance to his bedchamber before he makes his decision.” She smiled. “I know of only one way to sway the emperor, and I can hardly do it in a crowded dining hall.”

Angelo’s face fell. “Danya, you can’t . . .”

Danya thought of her son, she thought of the hooded man and felt his chill upon her neck. She silently chastised herself for allowing Angelo Rainer to get so close that he clouded her reason. “I will do whatever I have to do to become empress,” she interrupted. “If you can’t help me, then get out.”

“Danya . . .”

“I thought if I pretended to be nice to you, you might help me, but I can see that’s not going to happen. Just leave, and don’t come back. I don’t need your help to do what has to be done. I will find my own way into the emperor’s bedchamber.”

By the firelight, she could see Angelo’s face change. It fell; it was filled with disappointment and hurt and perhaps even a touch of hate. No, not hate. Angelo Rainer did not hate, not the way she did. All the more reason to let him go. To
make
him go. “Get out.”

He bowed crisply and did as she commanded.

 

 

 

JAHN
glared at an angry Minister Calvyno. This was a disaster of major proportions. He did not believe that his brother, Alix, was capable of what he’d been accused of . . . No, that was not entirely true. Jahn knew full well that there was a part of Alix which was capable of anything, but the younger twin had always had such control over his volatile emotions and his deeply seated anger.

Lady Verity of Mirham dead in an accident, and now this. His contest had turned decidedly fatal, and he could not allow himself to believe that it was coincidence that two of his potential brides were dead.

“The foreigners from Claennis are being entertained,” Calvyno said, “but I do not expect them to remain charitable for very long. They want justice, as do the Tryfynians.”

One of the potential brides had been murdered, ostensibly by Alix, and everyone expected Jahn to handle the matter immediately. Until he knew more, there was nothing he could do. He would have to hear from Alix’s own mouth that he’d done murder before he would believe.

Jahn had thought rejecting a princess and a few well-bred ladies would be the worst of his problems, but that was not to be the case. The very real possibility of war between Tryfyn and Columbyana now existed, and Jahn did not want to be an emperor who led his country into battle. General Hydd would be pleased to have the opportunity to enter a time of warfare once again, but that was not what Jahn wanted for Columbyana. War was sometimes necessary, but if it could be avoided, he would do so. He certainly didn’t want to go to war over a misunderstanding.

He refused to condemn his brother on the word of a handful of hotheaded men looking for revenge. “See that the foreign guards are well entertained.” Jahn looked at Calvyno, free to speak his mind when they were alone. “Keep them intoxicated and well laid.” That should buy a few days, at least. “Tell the Tryfynians that I am studying the matter and will meet with them when I’ve come to a decision.” Where was Alix? Jahn could not come to a decision until he knew what had happened on the trip from Tryfyn.

Calvyno was a fine, loyal minister, one who did not hesitate to speak his mind. That was a trait Jahn respected—but it wasn’t always convenient. “My Lord, you have been too often absent in weeks past. I sometimes look for you late at night and you are nowhere to be found.”

“I’ve been ill,” Jahn said halfheartedly.

Calvyno bowed. “There are a mere ten days until the start of the Summer Festival, and we will have much to do in those days. This new turn of events makes it imperative that you be
present.
I’m glad to see you looking well and hope that if I look for you on any evening in the near future, I’ll find you where you are supposed to be.”

“Yes, yes,” Jahn said with a wave of his hand. “You will find me.” Arrangements would have to be made for someone to fetch him if the minister of foreign affairs came calling.

The harried minister left the imperial office properly reassured. When Jahn was alone, he sat in a large chair and dropped his head into his hands. In the beginning he had imagined studying an eager gathering of beautiful, appropriate women, weeding out those whose appearance did not please him, asking questions to discover who among them might have some intelligence, studying their smiles to see who among them was amiable, and then choosing. The worst part of that scenario, of course, was sending away the rejects.

He had never imagined this. Two women were dead, and he could not help but grieve, knowing that if he had not called them here, they would be alive and well in their homes. The one potential bride in residence—Lady Danya—had been annoying the other ladies of the palace with her arrogance and her coldness, and on the few occasions he had been in her company, he had not found her to be at all suitable or pleasant. Another, his own Ana, had already been chosen, though she remained ignorant of that fact. She had been taken into his bed, and by the laws of many in the country was already empress. What of the other two? How had his simple plan gone so wrong?

It was a frightening possibility, but Jahn had to ask himself if it was possible that all the brides were in danger. Even Morgana.

 

 

ON
this particular day Morgana had stabbed her fingers more times than she could count. Her stomach roiled, just a little bit. She was hungry. She needed a nap. A pretty young girl, one of Nattie’s nieces, also saw to the mending, and four others washed. Morgana drew a drop of blood, and it fell upon the linen shift she wore. The shift was plain and quite unattractive, but she was happy to have it. At least she would not ruin either of her own everyday dresses in this work, not even if Nattie set her to scrubbing sheets and stained shirts.

Would she ever have the opportunity to wear the beautiful gown Jahn had bought for her? At this rate, it was unlikely. If she was with child, as she suspected, she might outgrow the gown in a matter of weeks. It was still too early to be sure, and she would not say anything to Jahn until she was positive.