Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book (50 page)

Ignoring Tara's reticence, she put something in her hand. Everyone was very curious and leaned closer. Tara opened the small purple and gold package she'd been given. Inside was a ring. More specifically, a signet ring, exquisitely engraved with Omois's emblem, the strutting hundred-eyed purple peacock. Without thinking, she slipped it onto her left pinky. The ring was too loose, and she was about to comment on this when it suddenly tightened itself to a perfect fit. Alarmed, Tara went to remove it, and the signet ring obediently slipped off.

“Turn it three times around your finger,” suggested the empress, with a sly glint in her sapphire eyes.

Tara put the ring back on and did so, somewhat cautiously. The ring had barely completed its third turn when an enormous purple ifrit appeared, making the courtiers jump.

“Greetings, mistress,” he said in a voice like thunder, bowing to Tara, “What is your desire?”

The girl gulped, feeling panicky.

“This is Meludenrifachiralivandir, one of our most valuable ifrits,” explained the empress. “He's been in our family's service since Demiderus. Now that you're the crown princess, he's exclusively yours to command. No one will be able to take the ring without your permission, and if somebody tries to cut off your finger, hand, or arm, Meludenrifachiralivandir will instantly appear.”

Tara nearly choked. Oh really? Before or after part of me is chopped off? She preferred not to ask the question. Just the thought that somebody might want to do such a thing made her feel sick.

“Er, what do I do to send him back into the ring?” Tara asked.

The huge ifrit looked at her as if she were talking Martian.

“I don't live in that object,” he said in a pinched tone. “It's merely the intermediary by which you summon me. My palace is in Limbo Circle Six.”

“Oh, I'm very sorry,” said Tara. “On Earth, genies live in lamps, rings, baskets, you know, stuff like that, so . . .”

Meeting the ifrit's frankly scornful look, her voice trailed away.

“If these genies, as you call them, choose to live in weird places, that's up to them,” he growled. “Personally, I much prefer a palace. So, my young mistress, what do you desire? Dresses, jewels, gold, exotic animals . . . ?”

As he spoke, each appeared before the stunned courtiers. The dresses were long, short, slit, straight, and flared, cut from muslin, velvet, silk, and brocade, and covered with silver or gold. The jewels were sumptuous: sapphires, emeralds, pink, white, blue, and red diamonds in bracelets, rings, tiaras, diadems, crowns, and sparkling brooches displaying animals, flowers, fruits, and insects. The animals included puppies just begging to be petted, a tiny pink and blue pegasus that was so adorable it set Gallant's teeth on edge, and an affectionate little pocket panther. It was all dazzling, unbelievable, fantastical.

“The advantage is that none of this will disappear, because it wasn't created by magic,” Lisbeth explained. “Everything is real. The fabrics are woven by Circle Six demonesses, and the rest is built or sculpted by the circle's artisans. The only thing that Meludenrifachiralivandir can't provide you with is food. Well, not without getting it from a regular kitchen, that is. Demons don't cook.”

“I know, I saw that,” said Tara, her throat tightening at the memory. “But there's something I don't understand. I thought demons had to stay in Limbo.”

“We ifrits have a special status,” proudly explained Meludenrifachiralivandir. “We disagreed with our fellow demons when they invaded your planets. We felt that everybody was entitled to a place in the universe. So we fought on Demiderus's side against our own kind. After the other demons were defeated, he thanked us by allowing us to come back to OtherWorld. At first, we didn't do much. Then, because we were bored, we offered to lend a hand to the planet's inhabitants and, in particular, those in Omois.”

Watching Tara's confusion at being confronted with the growing pile of jewels and dresses, the empress felt an incipient case of the to the giggles. She firmly repressed it, not wanting to make fun of her newfound niece.

“You have worked with unusual speed, oh great Meludenrifachi-ralivandir,” she said in a friendly way. “We probably won't want all of this for now. Tara must get accustomed to using the ring. Please say hello to your wife and children for me.”

The ifrit bowed to her, then to Tara, and made all the marvels disappear, which caused the female courtiers to sigh with regret. He then vanished with a distinct little plop!

At this, Cal felt a little envious. Not for the jewels or the dresses, which he didn't care about, but for the incredible potential. “An ifrit! Ye gods! The things I could do with an accomplice like that!”

Sparrow nudged him in the ribs.

“Keep quiet,” she whispered, her eyes on Tara. “I think our friend may have a little surprise for the empress, as well.”

“Why?” asked Cal, taken aback. “Is it her birthday too?”

Sparrow gave him a dimpled smile, but didn't answer.

Tara faced the sovereign, and in a firm voice said: “I claim my imperial favor!”

The empress, expecting Tara to thank her for her extravagant and unique present, sat back in her chair, looking distrustful.

“For what reason?” she asked levelly.

“I don't want to be the empire's crown princess,” said Tara in a tense silence. She took off the ring and held it out to the empress. “I want you to let me go back to Earth, to my mother and my family. I renounce this title.”

It took the courtiers some time to fully understand what they had just heard. Then all at once a unanimous cry of protest arose, causing a terrible din.

The empress took a deep breath, then nodded. She wasn't surprised by Tara's reaction. The girl hadn't mentioned her imperial status, even though she'd clearly known about it for some time. The signet ring had only been a lure—the lure of absolute power represented by the ifrit. It hadn't worked. Too bad.

“A present is a present,” she said. “I couldn't take that ring back even if I wanted to. Keep it.”

Tara wanted to protest, but the empress stopped her. “Your adventures have often put you in danger. Meludenrifachiralivandir isn't there only to create baubles. He might save your life someday. Don't reject this gift.”

Reluctantly, Tara had to admit that the empress was right. And she swore she would never use the ring except in the most hopeless situation.

The empress spoke again: “Now, I'd like to ask you a favor in turn.”

“What?” asked Tara cautiously.

“I'd like to go to Earth with you and meet your mother. That's all.”

Tara looked at her suspiciously, but the young woman's smooth face was unreadable.

She finally nodded. “If you really want to, I don't see any reason why not.”

“Perfect!” said the empress, jumping to her feet. “Let's go!”

“What, now?” asked the disconcerted emperor. “But we have to alert the guard, secure the area, inspect the—”

“Now!” interrupted the empress firmly. “I'll just take Xandiar as my escort.”

A loud, anguished groan rose from the back of the room.

“That's . . . that's impossible, Your Imperial Majesty,” stammered the guard captain, who looked about to pass out. “I can't guarantee your safety all by myself! Let me assemble a battalion, and we—”

“I am the Imperial Spellbinder and the Empress of Omois!” she snapped angrily. “I know how to defend myself. And I say we're leaving immediately, with you as my only escort. Is that clear enough, Xandiar, or should I call the executioner to help unplug your ears?”

The guard captain gulped, then snapped to attention. Standing tall, he clicked his heels and put his four fists over his heart. “Perfectly clear, Your Imperial Majesty. At your orders!”

The emperor yawned, adjusted his breastplate, and tossed his long blond braid back.

“I don't have anything special to do right now,” he said indifferently, “so if you don't mind, I'll accompany you as well, my dear. Two bodyguards don't strike me as too many.”

The empress thanked him with an affectionate smile.

Manitou was feeling ill. His jaw dropped when the empress revealed Tara's secret, and how his stomach was playing tricks on him. Do Labrador retrievers get ulcers? he wondered. Because all this business with Tara was sure to give him one. Reluctantly, he followed the little group toward the Transfer Portal. Manitou felt frightened. He didn't know what he was afraid of, but he could feel fear crawling under his skin like some slimy animal.

Cal, who clearly shared his anxiety, waved his friends close and whispered: “I don't think this expedition is such a good idea. Why do you think she wants to go to Earth?”

“No idea,” muttered Sparrow. “But if she goes, she'll be meeting Isabella.”

“Yikes!” he grimaced, remembering Tara's formidable grandmother. “I hadn't thought of that.”

“I don't know Isabella very well,” she said, “but I have a hunch that the clash between their two personalities could be intense. We'll have to stick close to Tara, because Isabella and Empress Lisbeth might hurt her without meaning to.”

Robin approached, looking fierce. “I'll make mincemeat of the first person who harms a hair on Tara's head!”

“That's not what I meant,” said Sparrow, smiling at the half-elf's impetuousness. “They might not hurt her physically, but psychically. The empress will probably fight to have her come live in Omois, because Tara is a symbol of the country's future. And her grandmother isn't likely to give in, because she loves her and will be concerned for her safety, and also because she knows that having the Omoisian heir under her tutelage will give her an unbeatable political advantage.”

“Oh, I see,” said Robin. “Then it'll be up to us to show our love for Tara, not because she's a granddaughter or an heir, but simply because she's our friend.”

This was too much for Cal, who couldn't resist.

“Oh, yes!” he exclaimed, hand on heart. “Love, always love. You have to show her your love!”

Fabrice shot Cal a sharp glance.

“What do you mean he has to show her his love?” he asked in a threatening tone.

“It means I really love Tara a lot,” answered Robin, while looking daggers at the little thief. “As much as you do, even though I haven't known her as long.”

“Hmm, well, don't forget that Tara is my best friend,” grumbled Fabrice. “And has been for a long time, as you say . . . so . . .”

Sparrow rolled her eyes, and Cal cackled. Luckily for the little thief's continued good health, his parting wisecrack was drowned out by the commotion caused by the empress's arrival at the Transfer Portal.

Courtiers prostrated themselves as she passed, and the guards saluted with a resounding clicking of heels. On learning that the sovereign intended to leave, they unanimously announced that they were coming too.

After some confusion and a fair amount of ill temper, Empress Lisbeth refused to be dissuaded, to Xandiar's great distress. In the end, just nine humans and four familiars wound up in the Transfer Room: the empress and emperor, Xandiar, Tara and Gallant, Manitou, Sparrow and Sheeba, Cal and Blondin, Fabrice and Barune, and Robin.

Lady Kali nearly fainted when she realized that the two rulers were traveling with just a single escort, but when the party appeared in his castle, Count Besois-Giron practically had a heart attack.

“Your . . . Your Imperial Majesty?” he blurted, when he realized who was standing before him. “I mean Majesties . . . but . . .”

“We are accompanying our friend Tara back to her mother's,” said the empress calmly. “I don't often get the chance to visit your pretty planet, so I came along for the ride.”

The count wasn't stupid. The empress and emperor had just a single guard with them, who looked stressed-out and miserable, who jumped at the slightest sound, and whose hands clutched his four sword pommels. Secrecy was in the air, and Fabrice discreetly gestured for him to play it cool. Fine, thought the count. I'll save my questions for later.

The count bowed elegantly and offered to take them to the manor house by car. An unmarked sealed car with tinted windows. But the empress declined.

She felt like walking. The count tried to tell her that the nonspells would never have seen someone like her, but she ignored him.

“Very pretty flowers!” she told Igor the gardener, who gaped at her. Of course he didn't understand a word she said, because there was no Interpretus spell at Besois-Giron Castle.

“Nice rolling thing,” she smilingly told the mayor of the village when she met him on his bicycle. He was so surprised that the bike wound up in the ditch, with the mayor still on it.

“Beautiful dresses!” she called to two pretty girls, who promptly decided to grow their hair long and, with knowing snickers, admired the handsome emperor puffing out his chest.

“Delicious looking fruits,” said the empress at the stall of a greengrocer, who practically swallowed his mustache.

Tara was watching Empress Lisbeth'tylanhnem out of the corner of her eye. The empress seemed amazingly cheerful for someone who'd just suffered such a stinging defeat. What the heck is she up to? Tara wondered.

The empress liked everything. The blue sky, the yellow sun, the green trees (though she found the color a bit monotonous), the red roses, the white horses, and the black bulls (though she preferred them with wings; they looked more graceful that way). The more she praised things, the more worried Manitou became. If dogs were able to sweat, he'd have spent all his time mopping his brow. He panted instead, and his tongue lolled out so far he nearly tripped on it.

“Good grief,” he muttered to himself. “We're going to have to cast a half-dozen forgetting spells to wipe out people's memories of the empress.”