Rise Of Empire (79 page)

“Thank you.”

“You are most welcome, Your Worship.”

Modina wondered if she kept her longer how many elaborate forms of address she might come up with. As soon as Anna left the room, Modina walked to the door, closed it, and
slid the dead bolt. She walked toward the tall mirror that hung on the wall, picking up the pitcher from the water basin as she passed. Without hesitation, she struck the mirror, shattering both. She picked up a long shard of glass and went to her window.

“Your Eminence?” Gerald called from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

Outside, the sun was just coming up. The autumn morning light angled in sharp, slanted shafts across the courtyard below. She loved the sun and thought its light and warmth would be the only thing besides Amilia that she would miss.

She wrapped her gown around the end of the long jagged piece of glass. It felt cold. Everything felt cold to her. She looked down at the courtyard and breathed in a long breath of air scented with the dying autumn leaves.

The guard continued to bang on the door. “Your Eminence?” he repeated. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Gerald,” she said, “I’m
fine.”

Arista entered the palace courtyard, walking past the gate guards, hoping they could not hear the pounding of her heart.

This must be how Royce and Hadrian feel all the time. I’m surprised they don’t drink more.

She shook from both fear and the early-morning chill. Esrahaddon’s robe had been lost the night of Hilfred’s rescue, leaving her with only Lynnette’s kirtle.

Hilfred. He’ll be furious if he reads the note.

It hurt her heart just to think of him. He had stood in her shadow for years, serving her whims, taking her abuse, trapped in a prison of feelings he could never reveal. Twice he had nearly died for her. He was a good man—a great man.
She wanted to make him happy. He deserved to be happy. She wanted to give him what he never thought possible, to fix what she had broken.

For three nights they had hid together, and every day Hil-fred had tried to convince her to return to Melengar. At last she had agreed, telling him they would leave the next day. Arista had slipped out when Hilfred went to get supplies. If all went well, she would be back before he returned and they could leave as planned. If not—if something happened—the note would explain.

It had occurred to her, only the night before, that she had never cast the location spell in the courtyard. From there, the smoke would certainly locate the wing, and if lucky enough, she might even pinpoint Gaunt’s window. The information would be invaluable to Royce and Hadrian and could mean the difference between a rescue and a suicide mission. And as much as she did not want to admit it, she owed Esrahaddon as well. If doing this small thing could save Degan Gaunt, a good man wrongly imprisoned; ease the wizard’s passing; and vanquish her guilt, it would be worth the risk.

The gate guards paid little attention when she had entered. She took this as a good sign that no one had connected Ella the scrub girl to the Witch of Melengar. All she needed to do now was cast the spell and walk out again.

She crossed the inner ward to the vegetable garden. The harvest had come and gone, the plants were cleared, and the soil had been turned to await the spring. The soft earth would allow her to draw the circle and symbols required. She clutched the pouch of hair still in the pocket of her kirtle as she glanced around. Nothing looked amiss. The few guards on duty ignored her.

As casually as she could, she began drawing a circle by dragging her foot in the dirt. When she had finished, she
moved on to the more tedious task of the runes, which was more time-consuming to do with her toe than with her hand and a bit of chalk. All the while, she worried that her drawing would be obvious from any number of upper-story windows.

She was just finishing the second to last rune when a guard exited the palace and walked toward her. Immediately she crouched, pretending to dig. If he questioned her, she could say that Ibis sent her to look for potatoes, or that she thought she might have dropped the pantry key when she was in the courtyard. She hoped he would just walk by. She needed to be the invisible servant this one last time. It quickly became apparent that he was specifically coming for her. As he closed the distance, her only thought was of Hilfred and how she wished she had kissed him goodbye.

Amilia was in her office, quickly going over instructions with Nimbus. They had ticked off only a few items for the wedding preparations. If she could give him enough to keep busy, she could return to Modina. The urgency pulled at her every minute she was away.

“If you get done with that, then come see me and I’ll give you more to do,” she told him curtly. “I have to get back to the empress. I think she might do something stupid.”

Nimbus looked up. “The empress is a bit eccentric certainly, but, if I may, she has never struck me as stupid, my lady.”

Amilia narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

Nimbus had been a good and faithful servant, but she did not like the sound of that. “You notice too much, I think, Nimbus. That’s not such a good trait when working in the imperial palace. Ignorance is perhaps a better choice for survival.”

“I am just trying to cheer you up,” he replied, sounding a little hurt.

Amilia frowned and collapsed in her chair. “I’m sorry. I am starting to sound a bit like Saldur, aren’t I?”

“You still have to work on making your veiled threats sound more ominous. A deeper voice would help, or perhaps toying with a dagger or swishing a glass of wine as you say it.”

“I wasn’t threatening you. I was—”

He cut her off. “I am just joking, my lady.”

Amilia scowled, then pulled a parchment off her desk, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it at him. “Honestly, I don’t know why I hired you.”

“Not for my comedy, I sense.”

Amilia gathered a pile of parchments, a quill, and a bottle of ink and headed for the door. “I’m going to be working from Modina’s room today. Look there if you need me.”

“Of course,” he said as she left.

Not far down the hall, Amilia saw Anna walking by with a tray of food. “Anna,” she called, rushing toward her. “I told you to stay with the empress!”

“Yes, milady, but …”

“But what?”

“The empress asked me to fetch her some breakfast.”

A cold chill shot up Amilia’s spine. The empress had
asked
her. “Has the empress ever spoken to you before?”

On the verge of tears, Anna shook her head. “No, milady, I was very honored. She even knew my name.”

Amilia raced for the stairs, her heart pounding. Reaching the top and nearing the bedchamber, she feared what she would find. Nimbus was right, perhaps more than he knew. Modina was not stupid, and Amilia’s mind filled with the many terrible possibilities. Arriving at the door, she pushed
Gerald aside and burst into the empress’s room. She steeled herself, but what she saw was beyond her wildest imaginings.

Modina and Ella sat together on the empress’s bed, hand in hand, chatting.

Amilia stood still, shocked. Both glanced up as she entered. Ella’s face was fearful, but Modina’s expression was calm as usual, as if expecting her.

“Ella?” Amilia exclaimed. “What are you doing—”

“Gerald,” Modina interrupted, “from now on, no one—and I mean
no one
—is to enter without my say-so. Understood?”

“Of course, Your Eminence.” Gerald looked down guiltily.

Modina waved her hand. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. Now please close the door.”

He bowed and drew the door shut.

Amilia meanwhile stood silent. Her mouth was agape but no words came out.

“Sit down before you fall down, Amilia. I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Arista, the Princess of Melengar.”

Amilia tried to make sense out of the senselessness. “No, Modina, this is Ella—a scrub girl. What’s going on?” Amilia asked desperately. “I thought—I thought you might be—” Her eyes went to the broken pitcher and shards of mirrored glass scattered across the corner of the room.

“I know what you thought,” the empress said, looking toward the window. “That’s another reason you should be welcoming Arista. If I hadn’t seen her in the courtyard and realized—well—anyway, I want you two to be friends.”

Amilia’s mind was still whirling. Modina appeared more lucid than ever, yet she made no sense. Maybe she only sounded rational. Maybe the empress had cracked altogether. At any moment, she might introduce Red, the elkhound from the kitchen, as the Ambassador of Lanksteer.

“Modina, I know you think this girl is a princess, but just a week ago you also thought you were dead and buried, remember?”

“Are you saying you think I’m crazy?”

“No, no, I just …”

“Lady Amilia”—Ella spoke for the first time—“my name is Arista Essendon, and I
am
the Princess of Melengar. Your empress isn’t crazy. She and I are old friends.”

Amilia stood staring at the two of them, confused. Were they both insane? How could—
Oh sweet Maribor. It’s her!
The long fingernails, the way she met Amilia’s stare, the bold inquiries about the empress. Ella was the Witch of Melengar. “Get away from her!” Amilia yelled.

“Amilia, calm down.”

“She’s been posing as a maid to get to you.”

“Arista’s not here to harm me. You’re not, are you?” she asked Ella, who shook her head. “There, you see? Now come here and join us. We have much to do.”

“Thrace.” Ella spoke, looking nervously at Modina. The empress raised a hand to stop her.

“The both of you need to trust me,” Modina said.

Amilia shook her head. “But how can I? Why should I? This—this woman—”

“Because,” the empress interrupted, “we have to help Arista.”

Amilia would have laughed at the absurdity if Modina had not looked so serious. In all the time she had taken care of her, Amilia had never seen her so focused, so clear-eyed. She felt out of her element. The hazy Modina was gone, but she was still speaking nonsense. She had to make her understand, for her own good. “Modina, guards are looking for this woman. They’ve been combing the city for days.”

“That’s why she’s going to stay here. It’s the safest place.
Not even the regents will look for her in my bedroom. And it’ll make helping her that much easier.”

“Helping her? Helping her with what?” Amilia was nearly at the end of her own sanity just trying to follow this absurd conversation.

“We’re going to help her find Degan Gaunt, the true Heir of Novron.”