Restoration (38 page)

We circled low over the garden, and I examined the balconies and doorways, debating whether to fly inside the house and search for the Princess, which would leave me in a vulnerable spot while shifting back to my own form, or to shift first and go hunting as a man. The latter would have its own dangers. But the decision was made unnecessary. In the corner of the water garden nearest the house, two women were seated on a small patch of grass beside a pool that shimmered with gold in the morning light. One, fair-skinned, with long, elegant bones, was draped in a voluminous white shawl against the cool morning. Her damp red curls were spread over her shoulders as if to dry in the morning sun. A book lay open in her hand. The other woman wore a servant's plain brown tunic and skirt, and the loose white scarf preferred by traditional Suzaini women, covering the hair and the lower part of the face, leaving the eyes scarcely visible. The two were intensely engaged, the serving woman bent toward her mistress, pointing out something in the book. It appeared that the Princess Lydia was learning to read, a skill most Derzhi disdained as a menial task akin to cleaning or sewing or selling trinkets in the market. Useful, but unnecessary for a race of warriors.

While Blaise perched in the limbs of a lemon tree, I settled on a flagstone path in a secluded part of the garden and shifted back to my own form. Waving a hand at Blaise, I hurried down the winding path, hearing the art of the master gardener in the changing texture of sound as I passed: a splattering fountain, a soft, hissing spray, a gurgling brooklet. In moments I was peering into the lady's courtyard from behind a dripping wall. With no sign of watchers and only the one servant, the situation was as good as I could expect. And so, prepared for every reaction from tears to knife throwing, I stepped out from my hiding place, went down on one knee, bent my head, and cleared my throat. “Your Highness, I beg a word with you.”

The serving woman jumped to her feet. “Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“Ways lead both in and out of any maze,” I said. “I bring an urgent, private message from the lady's foreign friend.” The “foreign friend” was indeed my own self, the designation Lydia had given me when we were working to save Aleksander from the Khelid and their demons.

Oddly enough, my words elicited a sharp in breath, not from Lydia, whose only reaction was a perfect, fragile stillness, but rather from the veiled serving woman, who quickly bent down to confer with her mistress. I did not spy on what was said, and I remained about twenty paces away, hoping to seem less threatening. As the serving woman retreated and settled herself at a discreet distance a quarter of the way around the pool, the Princess said, “Come.”

I stood up again and moved a few steps closer. “May I speak freely, my lady?” I said softly.

“The answer depends on what news you bring,” she said, meeting my gaze. The fire in her great green eyes told me that her fragility was but an illusion. This woman was the Empress-in-waiting that I knew, Aleksander's worthy sparring partner. “My waiting woman will signal us if anyone intrudes. But be warned. I do carry a knife.”

I crouched down beside her, speaking low so that no one could have heard us, save perhaps the brown and white hawk that now sat on an almond tree beside the pool. “He lives, madam.”

“And you think I care about the despicable, rock-headed tyrant?” Only one who understood Lydia's temper and her passion for her husband would have recognized the moment's true emotion—the shallow breath exhaled, the quick swallow, the book tossed aside by fingers no longer clenched.

“Indeed, madam, I believe we yet share that particular affliction, although once I give you his message, your feelings may rightly change.” I hated what the Prince had asked of me.

She hunched her shoulders under her capacious white shawl as if the day had grown bitter. “Then perhaps you had best get on with it, lest I be tempted to think his sending you, of all messengers, is one of his usual sneaking ploys to regain my favor. How many exiled wives are brought messages by one that rumor names a god?”

“Ah, my lady—”

“Did you know that Edik fears that rumor more than anything? That a winged spirit favors his rival?”

I could allow no such distractions. No matter my own sympathies, I had to give her Aleksander's words just as he had said them. And then I would have to leave her without any word or gesture of my own that might dilute their cruelty. He had made me swear it, knowing that I disagreed with him on the matter. And so instead of telling her how he had clung to thoughts of her in his pain and how desperately he needed to know she was safe before he could embark on this dangerous venture, I stared at the expanding fish rings on the pool and reminded her that Denischkar heged tradition gave Aleksander the prerogative to take a new wife if the first was barren. As the terms of the marriage agreement drawn up between their houses stated that Lydia would submit to Denischkar custom, Aleksander could also command Lydia to do his will in every matter. Therefore her husband was requiring her to petition the Emperor publicly for a dissolution of marriage. “He regrets the necessity to force you to this,” I said. “But he will not have his new wife be second to a woman who cannot be trusted to defend his interests.”

“Does the ass think I will believe that he found a new woman willing to put up with him?”

“He insists that you believe it, madam. He says that he has no more time for childish games with you. If you did not believe him in the spring when he banished you from his house and his bed, then you had best come to your senses.”

Lydia's pale cheeks flushed, as if the sun were rising there instead of in the east. “And if I refuse to do his bidding and step aside?”

“Lord Aleksander will send the petition to the Emperor and the Council of Twenty himself, along with notice of the breach of the marriage agreement between his father and yours. Your father will be disgraced by your disobedience to his sworn word.”

“Edik will laugh at him and burn his petition. What does he care for Aleksander's wishes? And why would my father care, for that matter? No one would hold him accountable for me.”

“My lord cares nothing for Prince Edik. But he requires the matter to be made clear to others in the imperial court,” I said, “so that both his supporters and his enemies will see that he is committed to the succession. He prefers you handle this unpleasant task by your own doing, as he has no wish to ruin your father and brothers whose support he would like to retain. But you are in his way, and he
will
have you removed.”

The waiting woman's hidden eyes seemed to be fastened upon her own book, but Lydia's slight gesture had the servant up and hurrying to her side.

Lydia glanced up at me and said with remarkable coolness, “Tell me one thing, Seyonne, is his leg healed?”

Startled by the change of subject, I saw no reason to answer other than honestly. “Straight and whole, madam. He has thrown out his last crutch. I saw him running for the first time just yesterday.” A few steps only, but a small triumph. A bitter triumph.

“Well, you may tell the lord of kayeets and scorpions and shengars that he may run off a cliff on his repaired leg, and take this ‘new wife' with him. As you will see, I have no intention of stepping aside for anyone.” The Derzhi Princess gave her hand to the serving woman, who helped her stand, allowing the billowing white shawl to fall to the sides. And then did the world lurch off into an entirely new direction. Aleksander's wife was most assuredly, most obviously, and most immediately not barren.

“Oh, my lady ... my dear lady ...” This was as far as I could get for several moments.

“Damn, damn, damn all cursed men ...” All of a sudden Lydia was fumbling at her gown. Her efforts were fruitless, and the servant had to produce a kerchief for the Princess to dab her eyes. “... and damn this vile condition that makes one into a child again. You will not tell him there were tears, Seyonne. They are not for him, anyway, but only a result of this same malady that makes my feet like those of chastou and my skin like a grinding stone.”

Indeed her proud demeanor was not diminished by her tears, though she had every right and reason to weep. I could not imagine the strain of her position. Knowing that the least whisper of the child to Edik would see both her and the babe dead. Hearing nothing of Aleksander in the months since he lay so ill in Drafa, save that the Emperor's men were scouring the Empire, vowing to see him dead in the most dreadful ways. Completely uncertain of the future, save that the danger would be worse with every passing day.

“Lady, if we had known ...” No, I couldn't tell her. Not yet. I could not unsay what I had sworn to say, though all was made irrelevant by the truth. Lydia could not appear before the Emperor to dissolve the marriage, not for something more than two months, but assuredly less than three. And even then, an infant was much more difficult to hide than a pregnant belly, unless you sent the babe away, as my child had been sent away. “We must get you out of Zhagad, Your Highness. You and the child are in grave danger.”

“And where would I go? To my husband, who has made his position with regard to me so clear? I think not. The mere fact that he was wrong will not remedy what he's said. So where else is there to go? I am not the most useful of women to be put in a cottage somewhere to fend for myself. Though clever enough, no doubt, the learning might be difficult for the child, and I will not risk that. No, I think that behind my father's walls is as good as I can do.”

“No, my lady. You must believe me. You and your child are safe nowhere in this Empire; you are wise enough in the ways of the world to understand that, and soon the danger will increase a hundredfold. If you wish this child to survive, then you must go with me, or prepare to remain here while the babe is hidden elsewhere.”

“I'll not be separated from my child.”

“I thought not. And so we must find you a refuge, the sooner, the better. I know a place—”

“Is he there?”

“Yes, for the moment. But many others live there as well.” I was talking to her back now. “Neither the journey nor the destination will be comfortable. It's a poor place, but the best I can offer.”

“If the cursed Prince can live there, so can I. When do we go?” As always, she took my breath away.

I glanced up at the brown and white bird soaring across the tiled roof. “I need to discuss this with a companion. Can you ride at present, my lady?”

“By choice, no, but by necessity, yes. Not fast.”

“We'll leave at dusk. I need to make arrangements for an extra horse and water, then I'll come back for you. You'd best not be seen riding through the streets, so you'll need to walk as far as the south gates. But how we're to get you through them, I don‘t—”

“I'll get her through the gates.” The serving woman spoke with startling authority. “She'll be safer with me. We'll meet you outside the south gates at dusk, ready for hard traveling. I will be accompanying the lady, so bring transport for me as well.”

“Madam?” I addressed Lydia, though some elusive element in the veiled woman's speech held my attention on the servant rather than the mistress.

“As she said,” said the Princess.

“You must not be recognized,” I said. “This will be very dangerous. You should wait—”

“I can take care of it,” said the veiled woman. “Can you still trust no one but yourself, cocky boy?” Now I knew what had teased at my ear. Her accent was Ezzarian ... and she was laughing at me.

I shook my head in disbelief. “Catrin?”

“Tienoch havedd,
Warden. Greetings of my heart, my first and most prized pupil.” My friend and mentor lowered her veil, held out her arms, and drew me into a fierce embrace.

Catrin, a member of the Ezzarian Council that administered the demon war, stepped outside the boundaries of Ezzaria only in the rarest instance. But I could not stay in the garden long enough to find out why she happened to be playing waiting woman to the banished Princess of the Derzhi. Considering that the last time I had seen her, she had been consenting to my execution, the story would likely take more than a moment's telling. And considering the words this normally reserved woman whispered as she clasped me to her breast, I wasn't sure I should be in any hurry to hear her tale. “Holy Valdis give you strength, Seyonne.”

I returned her embrace stiffly, unsure of what it meant, unsure of my feelings about a friend who had left me to die. But I had to postpone any exploration of Catrin's heart or mine.

Danger stalked the Princess even within the Marag house, so the women reported. The Emperor had sent his own man to reside with the Marag to intercept “any who might harass or threaten the noble, distraught lady wife” of his “murderous cousin.” Lydia spent most of each day in seclusion, walking and sitting in the garden only in the earliest morning when no one was about. Only her father, brother, and two loyal servants knew of the coming child ... and my mentor Catrin.

Leaving the women with a sufficiency of warnings, I slipped back into the garden and transformed. Blaise and I returned to our alley outside the walls, and I told him what had come about. “We need to get the Princess to Taíne Keddar,” I said. “Every moment she remains in Derzhi hands, she's in mortal danger. She has nowhere else to go.”

Blaise sat against the alley wall, his face in sunlight, the rest of his body in shadow as the sun crept higher over Zhagad. “Are you trying to get us all killed? You and your royal friends are like a plaguey corpse—like to draw all sorts of vermin after you. No, the lady cannot stay at Taíne Keddar. But”—he raised his hand to quiet my protest—“there is another settlement. I'll have to ask permission, but I don't think they'll refuse me. It's a better place to birth a child and at least as safe.” He pulled a biscuit out of his pocket and eyed its unappetizing gray color. “Though safety and comfort are not in great supply anywhere at present.”