empress of storms (27 page)

Her body was present at all these events but her mind was far away, soaking in the elemental magic that was her birthright. The removal of each restraining band had opened her senses in incremental steps, but now the world seemed more vivid, colors brighter and sound more exquisite. She watched with rapt fascination as a bead of sweat formed on Darius’s brow, the perfect crystal drop throwing off the tiniest of rainbows from the light of the oil lamps.

Finally, Ife had to squeeze her hand to get her attention. “I think you’re a bit overwhelmed, majesty. It might be best if you retired early and got a good night’s sleep,” she said in an amused murmur.

“Sleep. Yes, that sounds wonderful.” As if gliding on a cloud, Danaë made her apologies and wafted from the dining hall. She couldn’t wait to stretch out naked on her bed and feel the silk of the sheets and the warm sea air caressing her skin. It would be even better if Matthias was with her, but he wasn’t likely to return before tomorrow.

She stopped outside her chamber door as a wonderful idea came to her.
You can use the sea to find the
Aegis
now. Perhaps he’s peering over the side, or standing in the bow looking up the stars. You can watch him all the way home.

Grinning, she nodded to the guard, who opened the door. Head full of plans, she sailed through her now-tidied audience room and into her bedroom, noting that the bed was turned down and ready for her. For some reason one of Matthias’s nightshifts had been laid out on it, and she marveled at the fineness of the weave and the way it bore the faint imprint of his body. Shedding her clothes, she stepped nude into the adjoining bathing room to clean her teeth before bed.

And saw Matthias lounging in her tub.

****

Matthias had every intention of finding Danaë as soon as he arrived at the palace, but when one of the royal guards informed him she was at dinner with guests he decided to go up to their room and sluice off the worst of the salt and sweat from the day first. Mohrs was in full agreement with this, chivvying him through the audience room into the elegant royal bedroom.

“What you need more than anything is a bath,” his valet grumped. “Begging your pardon, majesty, but I can smell you from here.”

Matthias sniffed his armpit and winced. “Gods, that’s rank. All right, bath first.” He turned, locating the only other door in the bedroom. “Through there, perhaps?”

“One would think so,” Mohrs said, long-suffering. He preceded Matthias through the door and stopped. “Oh, my!”

Matthias peered over his shoulder.
Oh my
was an understatement. The royal bathing chamber was a palace of sybaritic delights. One long wall featured a tiled booth with an odd silver flower suspended overhead. Next to it was a wooden door that Matthias recognized as a sweat room. The other side of the room contained a long counter with two deep sinks and a staggering array of unguents, oils, and other cleaning implements that Matthias didn’t recognize. At either end of the counter was a plain white door. Grinning, Matthias opened one. Inside, as he expected, was a solid marble stump. It had a large hole running vertically through it, and the top of the stump had been carved to fit the outlines of a human bottom. A pipe ran up along the wall to a gold-chased water box, and a handle on a chain dangled from the box.

In his last letter from Cresus, the man had been raving about his new sanitary convenience and how it was a huge improvement on a garderobe.
I’ll have to ask Danaë how it works.

The far end of the chamber was taken up by a huge octagonal tub carved from veined marble. It had been sunk into the floor, and steps constructed from the same marble allowed easy access to the tub. Two taps in the shape of swan’s wings and an arching faucet in the corresponding shape of a swan’s head and neck jutted over the tub, and a veritable garden of greenery hung suspended from the ceiling around its periphery. Matthias could imagine lounging there, breathing in the freshness of moist greenery and the sea air that streamed into the room from cunningly constructed windows that would allow those in the tub to look up and out without being exposed to curious eyes.

He jumped a bit when Mohrs leaned past him, twiddling one of the golden wings. Water spouted from the faucet into the tub. He tried the other wing and the water ran faster now, steaming. “Oh, this will be a treat,” the valet said, satisfied. “Right, then. Let’s get you clean, sire.”

Twenty minutes later Matthias was half-floating in warm water that no one had had to haul up from the kitchens. Mohrs had shaved him with precision, discovered that the tiled booth was a kind of indoor waterfall, suggested delicately that Matthias use it to cleanse the dirt and salt from his body, then shooed him into the tub. “I’ll lay out one of your nightshirts on the bed, sire,” the valet said. “Will you need my services after you finish bathing?”

Matthias climbed up the stairs and began lowering himself into the heated water with a grateful sigh. “No, you can go. And thank you, Mohrs. For everything.”

A small but genuine smile of pleasure creased the valet’s face. “It’s an honor to serve you, sire. I wish you a good night.”

He left and Matthias relaxed further into the warm water. Oil lamps situated in niches around the room had been lit by one of the palace servants, and their mellow glow lent the room a rich topaz light.

The door opened, and a naked Danaë stepped inside. Matthias’s heart, battered from the events of the day, swelled with love. “Hello, little bird,” he called.

She stopped, face lighting up like a beacon as she spotted him. “You’re back! When did you get home?”

“About an hour ago. I thought I’d wash off the stink of dead fish before I came to you, but since you’re here now….” He held out a wet hand. “Join me?”

“Oh, yes,” she said softly, padding to the tub and slipping in. “Yes, I will.”

11

THE MORNING ROAD

The next morning they shared a light breakfast in the audience room while Danaë explained the day’s schedule. “It’s traditional for Hellenes to get married in the afternoon, so we have the bulk of the morning to get prepared,” she said, nibbling on some fruit as she read from the scroll that the Master of Ceremonies had delivered that morning. 

Matthias leaned over, taking the opportunity to nuzzle her shoulder, bared by the slipping shoulder of her robe. He stopped in mid-nibble, focusing on what had been written on the scroll. “Do we really need three hours to dress?”

“Mohrs should be able to dress you in an hour, but I’ll need the whole three hours. Just wrapping my gown will take at least an hour.”

His eyebrows crept up. “Wrapping?”

She chuckled, giving him a brief but sweet kiss. “You’ll see. Then we’ll be presented to the people afterwards, and two chariots will take us to the Fisherman’s Chapel to make an offering to Lis. After that, we’ll head to the cathedral for the wedding ceremony proper, after which will be the triumphal parade through the city where you’ll look besotted with your new bride.”

“That’ll be easy enough,” Matthias murmured, brushing his lips over her shoulder and up along her neck. “I’ll be the most besotted groom in the entire world.”

Their joining the night before in the tub had been slow and sweet, with a banked need that burst into fire at the end. Afterwards, Matthias had dried them both before sweeping Danaë into his arms and carrying her into their bedroom. Tucking her into the massive bed, he had climbed in beside her and held her close.

He’d told her Lukas’s story quietly, without fanfare. She’d cried into his shoulder, both from grief for the little boy who’d been so ill used and rage at the woman who had stolen his innocence and turned him into a weapon against Matthias.

“I can’t kill her, that’s the worst of it,” he’d said. “I want to, but she didn’t kill Lukas, and there are some who would even argue that he wasn’t harmed by the experience. The best I can do is have her stripped of her title and banished to the coldest, bleakest matriarch house I can find. The blow to her ego might even be worse than actual execution.”

“One can hope,” Danaë said fiercely. 

“And then there’s Hanne.” He had told her about the revenant ghost of his first queen, asking if there was some way to lay her spirit to rest. Danaë promised that she would speak to Ife about it. After hearing Matthias’s story she had been reluctant to share her good news, but he’d noticed the absence of the gold band on her wrist. At his gentle demand she’d recounted the story of Pelas’s challenge, Ife’s true identity, and Luna’s new status.

He’d sat up at that, incredulous. “My granddaughter is a mage?”

“A powerful one at that,” Danaë confirmed. “And I suspect Ife’s taken an interest in her if she wants to help pick Luna’s tutor.”

Matthias fell back on the pillow. “My gods,” he said. “Are you sure you still want to foster her?”

“Who better to foster a mage than another mage?” Danaë had snuggled close again. “Besides, I’m tempted to give her a duchy for what she did to Pelas.”

Matthias had cupped her cheek, gazing at her. “Did I remember to congratulate you, Magistra?”

“No, but we were rather busy.”

“Mm. Congratulations, Magistra Aqua Danaë of Hellas.”

“Thank you, your majesty. Now come here.”

Smiling, Danaë turned her thoughts back to the morning. “You’ll make a superb besotted groom,” she said, kissing Matthias on the nose. “As soon as Schrader confirms that your ceremonial guard is ready, however, you need to start getting dressed.”

“And the nagging begins,” Matthias said good-naturedly. “I think—“

He stopped as someone pounded on the audience room door. Frowning at the abrupt intrusion, Danaë called out, “Come in.”

****

The door opened and a grim Schrader stalked through it. “Majesties, we have a situation,” he said without ceremony. “A courier just arrived from Commander Bardahlson. Lady Pauwels has ordered the gates of Mons closed. She holds the capital, sire.”

The goblet Matthias had been holding clattered to the tabletop. “What?”

Schrader held out a folded piece of parchment. Matthias snatched it, recognizing Bardahlson’s scrawl;

Majesty:

I regret to inform you that your sister-in-law Lady Margot Pauwels has declared martial law in Ypres and has closed the gates of Mons. Count d’Vrengny sent word that she began her campaign as soon as you left for Hellas. She laid claim before the royal council that her majesty Queen Danaë had tried to kill you with the bespelled mirror, and that she was responsible for Queen Hanne’s death. She also claimed that you had fallen under a spell and were now in Queen Danaë’s thrall. Chief Councilor Verheyen supported all this, and enough members of the council (I’m sure you can guess who) voted to give Margot regency until you can return and prove your freedom from a Hellene spell.

Needless to say, both your people and your military remain loyal to their king, despite Lady Pauwels’s demand that all military commanders above the rank of captain present ourselves at the palace and swear fealty to her. D’Vrengny will continue to monitor as best he can and keep us informed.

The greatest danger right now is to Patriarch Reniel. Pauwels had him apprehended and tried by a star chamber for treason against the crown. She charged that he worked with Queen Danaë first to lure Prince Lukas, and then you into her wiles. He was found guilty and is condemned to die on the wheel.

You must return at once to Ypres, sire. I will have a battalion of cavalry waiting for you at Armede to escort you to d’Vrengny’s estate, where we are planning how to take Mons back.

Ferdal Bardahlson,

Royal Army Commander of Cavalry

Matthias shot to his feet, tossing the letter onto the table. “The military are still loyal to me?”

“Yes, sire. Bardahlson got out of Mons in time and headed to Verdun to rally the troops. Lady Pauwels has sent out proclamations for all military commanders to swear loyalty to her, but none have done so.”

“That twisted bitch,” Matthias growled. “She can’t use Lukas anymore so she’s launching her endgame now.”

Danaë had picked up the letter, scanning it. “Oh, no. She can’t be insane enough to execute Reniel. The Church will never stand for it.”

Matthias started pacing. “Not necessarily. Reniel’s always been the independent sort, and he’s ruffled more than a few feathers over the years. If Margot has him executed the Church will undoubtedly complain, or even excommunicate her for it, but that might be the limit of their involvement.” He stopped in front of Schrader. “Do you know when he’s scheduled to be executed?”

The cavalry officer nodded unhappily. “It’s this evening, your majesty. It’s to happen during your wedding.”

Matthias’s gut clenched. There was a week’s travel between the kingdoms. The courier must have ridden multiple horses to exhaustion to get here so swiftly. There was no way they would be able to get to Mons in time to stop Reniel’s execution. 

Danaë had gone pale. “How do you execute traitors in Ypres?” she asked, the parchment crinkling in her grip.

“They’re broken on the wheel,” Matthias said. “The traitor is staked out on the ground, and the executioner bring a massive sledge down on each joint, crushing it. Once the traitor’s arms and legs are,” he grimaced, “flexible enough, they’re threaded through the spokes of the wheel and the traitor is hung upside down until he dies.”

His wife’s hand sprang to her throat. “That’s barbaric!”

“It’s meant to be, to dissuade the spread of treason. But it hasn’t been used in over two hundred years, and never on a prince of the Church.” Matthias shook his head. “Margot’s a clever bitch. Her faction will rejoice to see one of my strongest allies dead, and those who are still loyal to me will consider his death laid at my feet.”

Color flowed back into Danaë’s cheeks. “‘One who is uncrowned and closer than you know will set you on the road to calamity,’” she murmured.

“What?”

“The Tsinti seer. She told us this would happen. We thought the uncrowned one was Lukas, but it’s Margot. She’s striking at us from Mons.”