Imperial Spy (5 page)

Maintaining a serene visage, Femke breezed through the crowd, turning heads wherever she went. It was easy to play the Lady looking as she did. She silently blessed Rikala again. With subtle
curtsies to the more senior Lords and nods to the junior ones, Femke walked the length of the Great Hall identifying groups that looked to be brewing trouble. Several looked hostile to the
forthcoming coronation, but her knowledge of those characters gave her confidence that they would not do anything foolish. Despite the fact that enough bile flowed amongst the Nobility to spawn a
thousand assassination attempts, Femke started to relax.

‘Maybe I’ll get to enjoy the occasion after all,’ she muttered.

It was the old-school Noblemen who worried Femke most; those Lords who believed nobility came from one’s bloodline. They would never welcome an Emperor born out of the military –
even if he were a General. Surabar had no Noble lineage and no ‘House’ to back his claim to the Emperor’s Mantle. The old school did not care about Surabar’s fitness to
rule. To them he was a pretender to the Mantle, and they were unlikely to rest until one of true Noble blood held it in his stead.

Despite the pockets of bad feeling, Femke felt no air of imminent action within the Hall. The announcement of the coronation had been too sudden and surprising for any attempts at plotting.
Surabar’s plan of keeping the Nobles off balance was starting well.

When Femke spotted Lord Danar moving through the crowd towards her she groaned inwardly. There was nowhere to escape to and he was homing in on her like a moth drawn to light. ‘Of all the
venues for him to single me out at!’ she cursed silently. There could be no quick excuse here, followed by a swift exit. Femke would have to politely negotiate his inevitable advances as
diplomatically as possible. Danar was a notorious womaniser. He was also the eldest son of Lord Tremarle, one of the most powerful Lords in Shandrim. Therefore, despite an insane urge to kick him
between the legs, she curtsied and met his sparkling blue eyes with appropriate respect for his rank. His sweeping approach and ridiculously low bow for one of such seniority set her teeth on edge
before he had even opened his mouth to speak.

‘Well met, my Lady,’ he said, flashing a smile that was clearly reserved for the ladies.

‘Indeed, Lord Danar, it is an auspicious day for meetings, is it not?’

‘You have me at a disadvantage, my Lady. Whilst you obviously know my name, I do not yet have the pleasure of knowing yours.’

‘Come now, Lord Danar, you’re not trying to tell me that amongst the notable group of young Lords you were with as I entered the Hall, not one could tell you my name? I find that
hard to believe,’ she said, with a tone of gentle reproof. ‘I would have thought Lord Sharyll at least would have remembered me, for we had a lengthy conversation not six months
ago.’

‘Unmasked as a rascal from the start,’ he admitted with a shrug, employing the boyish grin that he knew to be devastating. ‘Alas, I merely wanted to hear the name from your own
lips, my Lady, for I did wonder if they were setting me up. It’s not uncommon for my friends to play practical jokes, and I’m sure that if you look at the group you mentioned,
you’ll see eyes that follow us closely.’

Femke looked. Sure enough heads turned away rapidly, causing her to laugh aloud. She also used the moment to sweep the crowd with her eyes again, but there was no sign of imminent trouble. Femke
returned her focus to Lord Danar, and despite her irritation at his interruption to her task she felt a flutter of attraction. Under other circumstances, Femke knew she would have enjoyed being
courted by Danar – even though she knew him to be a philanderer. But Femke would not risk her cover identity to pursue a frivolous flirtation on this occasion.

‘I am Alyssa,’ Femke said, deliberately dropping the ‘Lady’ title as was appropriate when speaking to a more senior Lord.

‘Lady Alyssa,’ Danar acknowledged with another polite bow. ‘Curious. It seems that Sharyll not only remembers you, but he chose to tell me your real name. Do you think he was
double-bluffing me? Or maybe . . . oh, whatever! The connivances and games of the young men of the Court are unlikely to interest a beautiful young Lady like you.’

‘“A beautiful young Lady like you?” And what exactly does that mean, Lord Danar?’ Femke asked with raised eyebrows, her focus slipping over his shoulder for a second to
observe the groups of Noblemen behind him before meeting his gaze again.

‘Oh, nothing sinister, I assure you,’ he replied easily, not noticing her split attention. ‘I merely observed that you didn’t seek out those of your own kind on entering
the Hall. Indeed, seldom have I seen someone so at home with her own company.’

‘Very perceptive, my Lord, but why then did you choose to invade my comfort space? I’m not known for my love of male company, so you must have a reason other than your own
loneliness. A bet, maybe? A wager with those conniving friends?’

Danar was thrown by her keen insight, but was careful not to let his discomfort show. Alyssa was sharper than the women he usually courted and that would make an interesting change. To spend
time with a woman who was both attractive and quick-witted would be a rare pleasure, he decided.

‘Not at all, Lady Alyssa! I’ll not deny the others told me of your lack of interest in courtiers, and that this did pique my interest. But it was not the challenge of a potential
conquest that drew me to you. It was my eternal quest to find a soul mate. My perfect partner, if you will. I’ve been searching most of my life, but alas, I have not yet been successful . . .
unless . . .’

For a second, Femke was tempted to ram a finger down her throat to display what she thought of that line. Then her instinct was to lash out verbally, but she controlled it and kept her reply
deceptively mild.

‘Ah, the perfect woman for Lord Danar! From what I’ve heard, that lady would be a find indeed,’ she said, taking the opportunity to circle around him, as if inspecting an
animal in the marketplace, but actually creating the opportunity to scan the crowd again. Danar was making her assignment far more difficult than it needed to be. ‘Somehow, I doubt I would
fit the mould for that particular role,’ she added, completing her circuit.

‘Really? On what do you base that opinion?’ Danar asked, his voice brimming with curiosity.

‘Extrapolation. You have been notably particular in your choice of young women in the past, my Lord. I could point out that many of them possess considerable physical assets, which I lack.
Also, most have a similar outlook on their status in society – to marry well and to procreate. I can say with all honesty that I have little in common with those ladies.’

Danar laughed aloud at her honesty and pointed observations. ‘Granted, you’re different. But different is not necessarily a bad thing. Who’s to say that I’ve not been
searching amongst
completely
the wrong sort of women? You’re attractive, single, and have your wits about you – why shouldn’t I want to get to know you better?’

About a dozen sharp retorts sprang to Femke’s mind, but at the precise moment she opened her mouth to give her chosen riposte, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye that made
her blood run cold.

‘I’m sorry, Lord Danar, I don’t wish to be rude, but much as I would love to continue this conversation I’ve just noted that Lord Kempten is here. If you would please
excuse me, I have urgent business to discuss with him that cannot wait. Maybe we could meet up some time and continue our chat?’

Femke instantly wished she could swallow those words. Why had she opened the way for Danar to call on her? What was she thinking of?

‘Well . . . certainly. If you wish,’ Danar replied, virtually lost for words. He had thought he was making good progress with her, yet suddenly she was brushing him off. What had he
said? Their conversation had been harmless, and Lady Alyssa had appeared warm in comparison with the picture painted by his friends. Now she couldn’t wait to get away. ‘You intend to
conduct business now, my Lady? The ceremony is about to start. Couldn’t you just . . .’

But Femke was already moving and did not stop to hear him out. Lord Danar’s parting observation about the ceremony was correct. Trumpets blared out a triumphal fanfare, announcing the
arrival of Surabar. It also heralded the arrival of his armed guard. A great column of soldiers swept through the doors ahead of the General, marching straight up the middle of the Great Hall
towards the dais at the far end, clearing a central path through the crowds as it went. The column split smoothly as the soldiers marched. One man after another peeled away from the front of the
column to take up a predetermined position. With slick, inch-perfect precision, two tight, inward-facing ranks were formed in a mesmerising display of parade drill. This created a clear walkway
about three paces wide for the General to proceed along.

‘Not now, my Lord – hold that thought until we next meet,’ Femke said firmly over her shoulder, and she swept away with the barest of curtsies. Her eyes were firmly fixed on
Lord Kempten and she silently prayed she could reach him in time without creating a disturbance that attracted his attention. It was not certain that he would make an attempt on Surabar’s
life, but the brief glimpse Femke had caught of his face had filled her with foreboding. She had long since learned to trust such instincts.

Femke was the wrong side of the forming ranks of soldiers to intercept her quarry. If she did not get to the other side of the Great Hall before the human walkway blocked her path, then she
would be powerless to intervene in whatever Lord Kempten attempted. Ducking and weaving through the crowds of Nobles, Femke apologised and excused herself at virtually every breath, but did not
pause in her progress. For a moment it looked as if she would be cut off by the line of soldiers, but with a final ducking manoeuvre past a group of ladies, seemingly mesmerised by the precision of
the military men and their gleaming armour, Femke managed to slip ahead of the column and cross to the other side of the Hall.

‘Damn! Where’s he gone?’ Femke muttered. During the final part of her eel-like progress through the crowd, she had been forced to concentrate on getting across the Hall rather
than tracking Lord Kempten. ‘He can’t be far away.’

Stretching up on tiptoes, Femke scanned the crowd for any sign of him – without success. What she did see, though, was General Surabar entering the Hall and moving along the still-forming
human walkway of soldiers at a regal pace.

Femke’s mind raced through possibilities. What would I do in Kempten’s place? she thought, trying to calm her heart. It was thumping so loudly in her chest that she would not have
been surprised if those around her started commenting on the noise. He hasn’t had time to plan anything elaborate, and by the expression on his face earlier he’s both nervous and
determined. Come on, Femke – think! He’s a traditionalist with a reputation for being honourable in all his dealings with others. Whatever he’s doing, he’s acting alone
– he’s not the type for conspiracy. It’s possible that others are involved, but I’d give long odds on that. If I were going to try to kill Surabar, and if I were a man like
Kempten, how would I do it?

There were too many soldiers present. Lord Kempten had few options unless he was willing to martyr himself. Bells suddenly rang in her head.

‘Oh, the fool!’ she exclaimed softly, and she started to weave her way through the crowds to get as close as she could to where Surabar would pass. That’s it, she thought
frantically. He’s going to martyr himself. A dagger attack most likely, and he’ll have poisoned it to make sure. No wonder he looked nervous!

What to do? The question burned in her mind. If Lord Kempten was going to attempt a suicidal attack on General Surabar, how could she prevent it from happening? Femke could hardly justify
killing him on the basis of intuition. She did not want to kill him at all. Yet if she failed to act and Lord Kempten did make a successful attack on Surabar, then she would be responsible. It was
a tough dilemma made worse by her having lost sight of him.

Suddenly that part of the problem was solved. Femke spotted Lord Kempten nearby. Sure enough, he was at the front of the crowd. His face was a waxy pale grey with tiny beads of sweat just
visible at his temples. The instant she saw him, Femke knew her instincts were well founded.

Surabar was not far away. There was no more thinking time. Femke had to do something – and it had to be now. At that instant she realised killing Lord Kempten was not an option. Even if
she managed it undetected by those around her in the crowd, she had foolishly told Lord Danar she was going to talk to Kempten and he was likely to be still watching her. Danar might be an
irritating flirt, but he was not stupid. He would put two and two together if Kempten dropped dead in the crowd.

Without pausing to consider her next move, Femke removed a comb from her hair and wormed her way quickly through the crowd until she was directly behind Lord Kempten. She pressed one end of the
comb lightly against the kidney region of his lower back and whispered quietly into his ear. ‘Don’t move, my Lord, or I’ll kill you where you stand. Concealed within the comb at
your back is a spike tipped with deadly poison. Please don’t make me use it. If I do, then your death will have served no purpose at all.’

‘What . . .
?
How . . . ? Lady Alyssa?’ he spluttered.

‘Shhh!’ Femke hushed, her whispered admonition in his ear barely audible. ‘Stand still until Surabar has passed. Then we’ll take a little walk.’

They did not have long to wait, for the General was approaching. As Surabar stepped past them at a measured, stately pace, Femke grinned as she realised that the General had taken the bold step
of accepting the Mantle in his full military regalia, including the armour. A wise precaution, she mused. It would infuriate the old-school Lords by rubbing their noses in his background, but that
could not be helped.

‘All right, my Lord,’ Femke whispered, leaning close on Lord Kempten’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go now. Make all your movements as smooth as you can, please. I don’t
want to jab you with this by accident; poisoning you here would prove embarrassing. Neither of us want that to happen, do we?’