empress of storms (23 page)

The outermost chamber was a sitting room-cum-office that could double as a private audience chamber judging from the size, and was far brighter and more luxurious than his own chambers back in Mons. Large tapestries worked in glowing jewel tones hung on the walls, and Han rugs with rich patterns of vines, fruit and flowers had been laid over spotless white marble floors. The long wall to the left featured arched windows that looked out over the sea, and two doors on the far end led to other rooms, presumably the royal bedroom and privy room.

“This is quite splendid,” Matthias said, hoping he wasn’t gaping at the room like a shepherd on his first trip to the city.

“The queen had it redecorated after she took the throne,” Nidas informed him, pride in his tone. “She’s always had an excellent eye for color.” He rubbed meaty hands together. “I’ll have refreshments brought for the two of you. Is there anything else you need?” 

“No, thank you.” 

Nidas left, the guards taking up their positions outside the doors. Alone, Matthias ran a finger along the back of an Illian beech divan inlaid with strips of turquoise and coral. A carved desk sat at an angle to the windows, so that the person behind it could look up and out at the sea (and the ship traffic on it). A stacked pile of scrolls sat to one side next to a chased gilt ink pot and matching cup full of quills.

He could imagine Danaë sitting at the desk, quill in hand while she studied reports and reviewed proposals from her council. For the first time it truly struck home that he had married a queen, someone who was as responsible for the wellbeing of her country and people as he was for his. And after their second wedding and ceremonial tour of the major islands in the archipelago he would return to Mons and his own work while she remained here, separated by the Arpinnes and a week of travel.

For a moment he wished he could scoop her up and bring her back to Mons. Hold her in his arms every night, dine with her every day, talk to her about the latest political maneuverings, make her laugh. He would be able to rest easy knowing that she was at his side.

But I can’t do that.
She had her own responsibilities, ones that she was more than capable of carrying out. Ones that she was born to do. To ask Danaë to leave her country behind and move to Ypres would be like cutting off one of her limbs. And he cared about her far too much to injure her in such a way.

I love her. Gods above, I do.

His hands clenched. He ached with the need to touch her. To take her through whichever door led to her bedroom, strip her of her finery, then lay her out on what was undoubtedly a large and comfortable bed and worship her until she cried out his name. But even more he wanted to hold her close, skin to skin, and give her his heart. And if he was very, very lucky, she would return the gift.

And then he would leave without her, to see her only a few times a year when one or the other of them had the time and wherewithal to make the trip over the mountains. His heart felt as if it had been torn from his chest and deposited on the polished surface of the desk.

I never thought I would love again. And now that I do, I have to ride away from her. The gods must have needed a good laugh, because I can hear them chortling at me.

“Majesty?”

He turned. Schrader stood there in the open doorway, breathing hard. “I just received a message from the customs house in Armede. They know where Prince Lukas is.”

****

Even with Akrolos doing her best to keep things short, the debriefing had taken longer than Danaë anticipated. Afterwards, the prime minister had taken her to one side for a quiet update about Grand Magister Pelas and his whispering campaign.

“You need to do something about him, majesty,” Akrolos said. “His current topic of discussion is how your marriage to King Matthias will turn Hellas into a satrapy of Ypres.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Of course it is, but his majesty’s age and experience is working against us in this case. The grand magister has been suggesting that you’ll fall so far under your new husband’s influence that you’ll do anything to make him happy, including hand over the throne of Hellas.”

Danaë rubbed her eyes, now gritty and aching. “How far has this gotten?”

“The usual disgruntled nobles, and there’s been concern from a few of the council members.” Akrolos held up one slender hand. “I’ve already dealt with that. But a show of strength during the wedding wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Such as?”

“Make it clear during the ceremony that King Matthias is your consort, not your ruler. Would he accept that?”

The hell of it was, Danaë suspected Matthias would. He’d been on the throne too long not to understand the importance of public gestures. “He’ll understand the politics, but I have no interest in insulting my new husband in order to bow to Pelas’s whispering campaign,”she said firmly. “The wording of the ceremony stands as is. We can release a declaration afterwards in which he pledges his support as consort to Hellas and its queen.”

Akrolos nodded. “As you wish. Now, a word about the Han silk goods tariffs…”

The additional meeting had run another half hour before Danaë was able to escape. Heading to her quarters as quickly as she could without running, she planned on a bath, a glass of wine, and the comfort of Matthias’s arms around her, not necessarily in that order.

Her hopes of seeing him lounging in one of her chairs or even stretched out over the massive bed were dashed. Instead, he was pacing back and forth, holding a sharp conversation with Schrader.

“Good, you’re here,” Matthias said when she entered. “We have news about Lukas.”

“Has he been found?”

“We think so.” He nodded at Schrader.

“We received a report from the Armede customs office,” the lieutenant commander said. “They record all Ypresian citizens who cross over into Hellas, and they have a standing order to track all men who resemble the prince. When we passed through yesterday I had my men instruct them to recheck their records for the last eighteen months for men who had been scarred or injured somehow. It turned up a possible sighting.”

Matthias glared at his officer. “That was a particularly poor choice of words, Schrader.”

Schrader bowed his head, discomfited. “My apologies, majesty.”

Danaë felt her stomach go cold. “What do you mean?”

The lieutenant commander’s expression turned solemn. “A little over a year ago a Ypresian man showed up half-dead at the custom office. The report said that he looked like he’d been mauled by something with razor sharp talons. What they could see of his face and hands had been badly lacerated, and he’d lost an eye. He begged for help, so they sent him out to an island called Atredes. Apparently they take in injured sailors and indigents there.”

“At the Abbey of Lis, yes,” Danaë confirmed. “And you think this is Lukas?”

Schrader glanced at Matthias, then frowned. “The general coloring and height was correct, although the report said that the man was wearing rags and half out of his head with fever from his wounds. He gave his name as Jonas Baird.”

“That was the name of Lukas’s first tutor,” Matthias added. “He was one of the few people Lukas would listen to. It could be a coincidence, but—”

“You don’t think it is,” Danaë said, reviewing a mental map of her kingdom. The timing was tight, but it could be done. “Atredes is one of the most eastward islands, about a day’s sail from here. If you leave now Andros can get you there and back before the wedding.”

Matthias’s expression cleared. “Then—you won’t object if I go now?”

She did object. The last thing she wanted was to watch him leave on a boat, the way her father had a year ago. Especially as she had no choice but to stay behind and conduct the various public and events that had been planned around the ceremony. But she couldn’t deny him access to this last piece of the puzzle that was his son’s betrayal. “My love, you’re jittering. I wouldn’t put it past you to swim out there if necessary,” she said, trying for a light tone. “I’d go with you if I could, but one of us needs to stay here and deal with the wedding fuss. Your absence will be noted, but I’ll come up with some excuse for it. Go and see if Lukas is on Atredes.”

“Thank you.” Matthias caught up her hands, kissing them. “Thank you, my queen.”

Over the king’s shoulder, Danaë could see a faint tightness about Schrader’s jaw. It was clear the man dreaded more time on the royal trireme. “If I may make a suggestion, I’ll send Kostas with you. He can smooth over any issues that may crop up on Atredes. You can leave Schrader with me,” she said. “He can be your official representative at events until you get back.”

Matthias glanced at his officer. “I take it you have no objection to this?”

“None at all, majesty,” Schrader said with a relieved bow.

“Good. Danaë, if you can send word to your captain I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Of course.” She gave him a bright smile, praying that he wouldn’t see the fear underneath. “Come with me.”

****

“The queen!”

At the guard’s shout Danaë entered the palace banquet hall, head high. A diadem set with a single large pearl gleamed against her dark curls, which Flavia had pulled back and dressed with a royal blue ribbon to match her gown. Smiling and nodding to the guests who had been invited to the evening’s feast, she strode to a couch that formed the apex of an upside down U and settled on it. Other couches spaced along the arms of the U were occupied by nobles and powerful merchants. At the back of the hall a low colonnade divided the large room in half. On the other side of the colonnade rows of trestle tables had been set up and loaded with food, and commoners were welcome to come and dine with the queen and her guests. It was a tradition begun by Cresus to share his largesse with his people, and one that that Danaë had been happy to continue.

No one could see the red crescents dug into her palms, or could tell she’d spent the last hour on her balcony watching the blue and white striped sail of the
Aegis
fill with the wind as it left the harbor for the eastern islands.
Andros is the best captain in Hellas and the weather bids to be fair and calm. Matthias will be back in time for the ceremony. Nothing is going to happen to him.

She refused to imagine a rogue wave rising from the sea, slapping the
Aegis
amidships. The great trireme foundering, pulled under by the weight of its own sails, desperate bodies in blue water clawing for the air they would never reach.

He will come back to me. He must.

The consort’s couch to her left seemed to mock her with its emptiness. She had considered filling it with one of the Ypresians, but Ife had decided to go straight to the Order library and do research on their Tsinti prophecy, and Schrader had begged off pleading continuing stomach upset. Darius was in his usual position two couches down on the right, deep in conversation with a noble and his wife. She knew she would have to explain her solitary entrance. Waiting until the serving girls had filled all the guest goblets, she raised her own for silence. 

The conversation stilled as all eyes turning to her. “Thank you all, honored guests, for joining me tonight,” she announced. “I know many of you were looking forward to meeting King Matthias, and he has asked me to give you his apologies for his absence. He is a pious man, as I’m sure you know, and decided to make a brief pilgrimage to Atredes to make an offering of thanks at the abbey there before our wedding ceremony.”

Darius’s lips twitched at her description of Matthias’s “piety.” The rest of the guests’ reactions varied from surprised to amused. Halfway down the table, Grand Magister Pelas took a delicate sip of wine, not bothering to meet her gaze. Tonight the mage was dressed as usual in a tailored tunic and chlamys in sea green. The color was beneficial to his complexion, which was good because his wide, froggish mouth and flat brown eyes needed all the assistance they could get. He had a habitual tendency to look pleased with himself, and tonight was no different as his eyes flickered briefly to the empty throne at her side, then away. A subtle lift of his brows indicated his amusement at her solo hostessing.

Danaë indulged herself in an image of Pelas lashed arse-up across a beached skiff while she used a handy paddle to beat him silly as she turned to the nobleman seated next to the consort’s couch. They made small talk about the public entertainments that would be held throughout the archipelago in celebration of her wedding. 

The nobleman was in the middle of an amusing anecdote about a chariot race when a voice from the commoner’s hall shouted, “How did King Cresus really die, majesty?”

Danaë’s head snapped around. The burble of dinner conversation died as she stared around the hall, trying to find the speaker. “Who said that?” she demanded. “Stand forth.”

The people in the commoner’s hall fidgeted and shuffled, but no one came forth to repeat the question—or accusation.

Controlling her temper, she called, “Stand forth. I give you my word you will not be punished.”

A second, and then a bluff-faced man stepped forward, giving her a mulish look. “There’s been talk, majesty,” he said. “Talk about what you were doing on the cliffs the day King Cresus died.”

Danaë didn’t have to look at Pelas to know the grand magister was smirking. She schooled her expression to calm. “And what has that talk been, citizen?”

The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “That you cast a spell on the waters.” His jaws clamped shut.

Oh, you clever little toad.
There was no need for Pelas’s cat’s paw to come out and accuse her patricide and regicide. All he had to do was say the truth, that she had cast a spell on the water. Everyone would draw the desired conclusion from there.

All eyes in the hall were on her. She opened her mouth to reply.

Prime Minister Akrolos cleared her throat. “This matter has already been brought to the attention of both the Royal Council and the Grand Magister Aqua,” the minister said calmly, making sure that her clear alto carried throughout the hall. “After much questioning and investigating, it was determined that her majesty had nothing to do with his late majesty’s death.” The rangy woman leveled a look at Pelas. “Isn’t that correct, grand magister?”