The Dark Remains (66 page)

The Minister was nowhere to be seen on the other side of the gate, but there was a quartet of soldiers waiting to lead them to the emperor. They followed the soldiers across tiled plazas and past pools in which swam jewel-colored fish.

“What happened back there, Melia?” Falken said in a
low voice. “Did Misar really forsake the Minister of Gates?”

“More than that,” Melia answered. “Did you see the way the holy symbol burned him? Misar has placed a malediction on the man.”

“A malediction?” Grace asked.

“It’s a sort of curse, dear,” Melia said. “The gods use it rarely—and only for those who have committed a horrible crime, something that goes against everything the god in question stands for.”

What crime had the Minister done? Before Grace could ask more, the soldiers halted at a set of ornate doors almost as large as the gate of the First Circle. A huge white edifice rose above them, crowned by a dome that gleamed gold in the sunlight. To either side of the door hung white banners embroidered with the symbols of three trees and five stars.

One of the soldiers turned toward Melia. “I will inform the emperor you are here, Your Holiness.”

“Thank you, dear, but that won’t be necessary.”

The small lady raised her arms. For a moment a blue nimbus shimmered around her hands, then the doors swung inward. Before the soldiers could react, Melia swept through, and the others hastily followed. They found themselves in a space so vast it took Grace several moments just to arrive at any sense of scale. Those specks on the far side were actually people.

Melia was already gliding across the white floor. Grace hurried to catch up. Cream-colored cats darted to and fro across their path. The felines looked so soft Grace had the desire to pick one up and stroke it. She resisted. For all she knew, petting the emperor’s cats was a crime punishable by removal of the offending hand, if not more. Grace noticed that many of the cats seemed to be following after Melia in a soft, undulating throng.

After a full minute of walking, the specks on the far
side of the hall finally resolved into recognizable figures, and Grace was dumbstruck for a second time.

On a throne of white marble veined with gold sat a man who could only be the emperor, for he was nearly as large as an empire himself. His loose white tunic draped but did not conceal the great, rolling mounds of flesh that made up his body. Arms as big around as Grace’s waist rested on the sides of the throne, and legs like tree trunks ended in surprisingly dainty, sandaled feet. The emperor’s head—which seemed far too small given the size of the rest of him—perched upon several folds of flesh that might once have formed a neck. His face was round but surprisingly well shaped, and his eyes were intelligent—although there was a dullness to them as well. On his head sat a lopsided crown of gold
ithaya
leaves.

Surrounding the emperor on the dais were—what? His servants? His slaves? The palace prostitutes? The only thing Grace could be certain of was that, to a one they were young, beautiful, and—if one didn’t count jewelry—quite naked. A pair of unclothed young men fanned the emperor, their oiled flesh gleaming, while several maidens tried to entice Ephesian with fruits that were only slightly less ripe than their bare breasts. More of the young things plucked out music on harps, or danced for the emperor’s pleasure.

And when they move together like that, I don’t think you can call it just dancing, Grace
.

Cheeks warm, she turned away, only to see that all the men in their party were staring. It looked as if she was going to have to use a scarf to tie Durge’s jaw back into proper position.

Unlike Grace’s male companions, the emperor hardly seemed to see the firm, oiled flesh writhing around him. He held a cup of wine loosely, as if forgotten, in one of his hands. Grace began to think she understood the dullness in his half-shut eyes. It was boredom.

“Your Magnificence,” Melia said, “it is so good to see you.”

The emperor sat up a bit. For a moment he frowned in confusion, squinting as he peered forward. Then all at once the dullness left his eyes, replaced by a bright light.

“By all the gods, Melindora Nightsilver!”

The emperor’s voice was not what Grace had expected: It was a clear, lovely tenor.

“At your service, Your Magnificence,” Melia said with an elegant curtsy Grace could never have matched in a thousand years. All the same, she found herself following suit as she and the others paid obeisance.

Ephesian gestured for them to rise. “This is the first interesting thing to happen all day. And here is Falken Blackhand with you. Up to your usual mischief, are you, my melancholy bard? Ruined any more kingdoms lately? And these are some friends of yours? They’re not really Mournish, are they, Melindora? They don’t look it, save for those two there. Brother and sister, are they? And maybe that dark one. And have you all just arrived in Tarras?”

Grace got the impression Ephesian didn’t really expect anyone to answer his questions. All the same, Melia managed to interject an answer.

“No, Your Magnificence. We’ve been in the city some time.”

“What?” Ephesian slammed a meaty hand against the arm of his throne. A few of the naked young things jumped. “And you’ve only just now come to me? What have you been doing all this time, Melindora? Can something else possibly be more pressing than paying a visit to me, your beloved emperor?”

Again Melia deftly interposed an answer between his questions. “I did try, Your Magnificence. However, the Minister of Gates said you had rejected my petition to see you.”

“Nonsense! The Minister told me of no such petition.”

“After my encounter with him a short while ago, that does not surprise me, Your Magnificence.”

Ephesian glowered. “Well, I thank you for giving me something intriguing to do, Melindora. I shall get to the bottom of this.”

He snapped chubby fingers, and a soldier stepped forward. Grace had not noticed him before, but now that she looked she saw that a score of soldiers ringed the throne room. She supposed this was necessary for the emperor’s protection. All the same, it made this feel less like a palace than it did a prison.

“Go fetch the Minister of Gates,” the emperor said to the soldier, who bowed and ran from the throne room.

“You will partake of refreshments while we wait,” Ephesian said.

Several of the nubile maidens descended the dais. Durge’s eyes bulged, and Grace wondered if the stalwart knight was on the verge of a coronary.

Lirith touched his arm. “He means wine, Durge.”

The knight sagged in visible relief, and accepted a cup from one of the maidens. Aryn clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.

A well-shaped young man gave Beltan a cup of wine. The blond knight grinned. “A fellow could get used to this.”

“I think that’s the problem, Beltan,” Grace said quietly. “He
has
gotten used to it.”

On the throne, the emperor let out a groan as several of the maidens tangled their fingers through his hair. He batted them away.

“Begone with you! All of you! Starting tomorrow, I’m going back to eunuchs. They’re dull as stones, but at least they don’t giggle all the time.”

Lirith hesitated, then approached the dais, where she curtsied nearly as elegantly as Melia.

“Forgive me, Your Magnificence.”

The emperor glared at her. “Why should I forgive you, girl? Have you insulted me?”

“Just a precautionary apology, Your Magnificence.”

Ephesian laughed. “I like this one, Melia. She’s clever. Can I have her?”

“I fear she’s not mine to grant.”

“Too bad. Well, go on, girl, you’ve made your apologies. I’m in a good mood at the sight of Melindora, so I’m quite likely not to have you flogged for your insolence.”

Lirith swallowed. “I just thought I might make a suggestion, Your Magnificence. If all of this”—she gestured to the bodies clustered around the throne—“this decadence and indulgence has grown tedious to you, you might consider an alternative.”

The emperor rested his hands on the shelf of his stomach. “An alternative? Such as what?”

“Well, such as virtue and morality.”

Ephesian mouthed these words as if they had been spoken in a foreign tongue. “Virtue and morality? Let me be certain that I understand you, girl. You mean, give up indulging in wine and food and sex?”

“You don’t have to give them up, Your Magnificence. Not entirely. Just partake of them in moderation.”

“Moderation?” The emperor clapped his hands together, eyes shining. “Yes, moderation. How positively perverse! People will be absolutely disgusted—I adore it. Please, you must tell me more about this
virtue
, as you call it. It’s a northern concept, no? All wind and stone and icy water up there, I hear. It twists men into deviants, right?”

Lirith opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment the soldier the emperor had dispatched earlier sprinted across the throne room to kneel before the dais.

Ephesian scowled. “I thought I told you to fetch me the Minister. Yet I do not see him.”

“Forgive me, Your Magnificence,” the soldier said. “I could not bring the Minister to you.”

“And why not?”

“Because the Minister is dead, Your Magnificence.”

Grace felt her heart skip in her chest.

“Dead?” Ephesian said with a frown. “But how? I don’t recall ordering his execution today.”

“It was poison by the look of it, Your Magnificence. And we found something with him. Something strange.”

These words sent a jolt through Grace. No, it couldn’t be.

“Well, what is it?” Ephesian demanded.

The soldier held out a hand. On it, crumpled but still recognizable, was a spider made out of gold.

Ephesian peered forward, squinting as Melia and Falken described what they had learned about the murdered gods. The nubile maidens and pretty young men had all been sent away—in search of some clothes, Grace hoped.

“Is this all true, Melindora?” Ephesian said, scowling. “You knew what faction was behind the deaths of Ondo, Geb, and Sif, as well as the vile attacks on my city’s temples, and yet you did not tell me?”

“Please recall, Your Magnificence,” Melia said as one might speak to a dear but somewhat trying child, “prior to today, the Minister of Gates refused me entry to the First Circle, nor did he bring you my petitions.”

“And I think now we know the reason why,” Falken said. “The Minister must have allied himself with the Scirathi. These sorcerers didn’t want you to know the truth about the murdered gods, Your Magnificence, and
they were keeping anyone who might be able to warn you from entering your palace. But the god Misar must have discovered the Minister’s treachery. And when the Minister finally did let us inside, the Scirathi rewarded him at once. With death.”

Ephesian gripped a jewel-encrusted goblet. “This is unacceptable. I do not tolerate deception and treachery in this city—unless I am the source of it. I wish the Minister wasn’t already dead so I could have him executed myself in some suitably horrible manner.” He started to lift his cup to his lips, then wrinkled his nose, lowered the cup, and sighed.

Melia drifted up the first step of the dais. “Is something amiss, Your Magnificence?”

“Nothing, Melindora.” His expression one of disgust, the emperor tossed the cup to the floor. Crimson wine spilled across the white stone like blood. “Except that it seems others have to tell me what is going on in my own empire.”

“But it’s a large and great empire, Your Magnificence.”

Ephesian grimaced. “Yes, so my advisors tell me over and over. Yet I am not quite so soft and dull as they believe they have made me. I know that my empire has receded over the years even as my girth has expanded.” He adjusted his crown with a pudgy hand. “Well, perhaps it’s time I paid less attention to my vices and more to the concerns of my empire.”

Lirith gave an approving nod. “You’ll find that’s one of the happy side effects of virtue, Your Magnificence. It leaves your mind and your schedule clear for so many other things.”

“Is that so?” Ephesian said, rubbing his chin. “Absolutely fascinating. I command you to tell me more about this
virtue
of yours.”

Melia ascended another step. “Your Magnificence …”

Another massive, imperial sigh. “Yes, yes, Melindora. I can see quite well this is not a social visit. The gods
forbid you ever come to Tarras simply to pay your beloved emperor a simple, polite obeisance. Out with it then. What do you need?”

“The Dome of the Etherion,” Melia said. “Just for the day. Oh, and soldiers. Lots of them.”

The emperor cocked his head, then his rubbery lips curved in a smile. “Well, this is turning out to be an interesting day after all.”

A short while later they gathered in what Ephesian had referred to as “a modest side chamber where you can wait while Melindora’s requests are prepared.” Evidently, on an imperial scale,
modest
meant something the size of a warehouse. They rattled around the vast, marble-columned hall, frequently losing sight of one another along with all sense of direction.

There was no sign of Lirith yet. She had remained in the throne room so Ephesian could question her on the foreign but intriguing concepts of
morality
and
decency
. Grace’s last glimpse of the two had revealed Lirith sitting on the top step of the dais, speaking cheerfully, while the emperor gazed forward with shining eyes, rubbing his jowls and chuckling.

Then again, perhaps it was not such a wonder the emperor was ready for a change.

He’s myopic, Grace. You saw the way he squinted at whoever was speaking. And that’s why all those naked young things were so uninteresting to him. He couldn’t really see them
.

There was no way she could make a pair of glasses for the emperor on this world. All the same, she had a feeling Lirith was helping Ephesian see in other ways.

Grace strolled through slanting beams of light, some distance from the others. These last days had been so jarring. It felt good to be quiet, if just for a moment. She glanced down at the wine cup in her hand; it was empty. Grace walked toward a servant who stood on the far side of the hall.