The Other Lands (62 page)

He said that harshly, then seemed to regret his tone. More softly, he said, “There always needs to be a new generation, no matter the circumstances of the moment. We can never know what the future holds. But I know what’s true right now. Right now I love you and you love me. That love is a gift from the Giver, and you should thank him for it by making something of it.”

“No,” Mena said, but then hated the word and knew it was what she meant. It was she who drew closer to Melio now, one arm pulling his torso against hers, her other hand wrapping around the back of his head and pinching his hair between her fingers. “Not now, but after whatever is coming—with the Auldek, I mean—is over we can try.”

“Me-naaaa!” He drew the name out, exasperated. “These things of life-love between two people, the quickening of new beings—they don’t stop when events ask them to. They
are
life, much more so than the wars we make, the monsters we slay.”

Tugging his hair, she cut in, “Listen. I will swear an oath to you. My promise to you and to the Giver. When the Numrek and the Auldek are dealt with, we’ll make a child together. I swear it. But, Melio, I can’t
not
fight if we are to have war. It’s the only gift I really have to offer. It’s what I’m good at. I’m Maeben on earth. I can’t pretend otherwise.”

“It’s not the only thing you have to offer,” Melio began, but did not explain further. He considered her skeptically for a moment. “Make
children
together. Not just one. We have years of delay to make up for.”

“Yes, that’s right.” She pulled him closer and pressed her cheek against his collarbone. He let her stay like that a moment, but then pulled back.

“Look me in the eyes,” he said. “Do you swear by Maeben as well?”

“Yes.” And saying so she realized she did mean it. She was going to fight like she never had before. She was going to give everything she had, because the dream she had conjured of a peaceful life remained a thing to fight for. Just one more war. Just one, and surely the Giver would let her rest. “You are my Vaharinda,” she said. “You will give me many children, enough to people the world.”

He finally released the wonder that was his smile. All the components of his face shifted into joyful arrangement. “Okay, Mena,” he said, “I just hope you get to keep this promise.”

So do I, she thought, moving her mouth to meet his. So do I.

A
fine morning a week after all the chaos with the Numrek, Delivegu walked past the Marah guarding the entrance to the queen’s compound, his chin raised, haughty and disdainful of their fixed stares. He quite enjoyed it. How quickly the talented rise. When he reached Rhrenna’s offices in the anteroom, however, he made himself more personable. “Secretary,” he said, showing his perfect teeth, “I have need of an audience with the queen.”

“I know,” Rhrenna said. “You told me as much. That’s why I gave permission for you to come this far. I’ll need to know why you wish to speak to her before you go any farther.”

Why indeed, Delivegu thought, smiling. Why indeed? “Oh, it’s a small thing, but I think she’d like to know it.”

D
elivegu’s recent capture of Barad the Lesser had won him more than a few privileges. He now, officially, had a post in Rialus Neptos’s staff. It would have annoyed him if Neptos—ratlike creature that he was—had actually been around, but he was away indefinitely, if not dead. Corinn kept her plans so close to her lovely chest that very little came through the offices of the councillor. What little did, the upper-level staff seemed intent on keeping from him. The first days in his post he took to calling himself—privately, of course—”Acting Chancellor Delivegu Lemardine.” Time would remove the “Acting,” and then, finally, all would be right in the world. Perhaps he would eventually achieve “Chancellor and Queen’s Consort Delivegu Lemardine, he of the mighty erection.” That last part was true, of course, and the rest … Well, one could always dream.

In keeping with his new role, he was granted office space in one of the outer buildings of the palace’s governmental wings—not the most distinguished sector of the grounds. Documents brought to him from the councillor’s office had to travel from those rarified regions down several staircases, along a back alley, through a few underpasses, and up a ramp most often trafficked by laborers and their animals. The stink of the beasts drifted through his open window. He would have kept it closed, except the room, shadowed as it was for much of the day behind a high archway, was damp almost to the point of being chilly.

Something similar could be said about the secretary who came with the office. She was not exactly disfigured—nobody who worked within the palace displayed any of the physical ailments one might see regularly among the common people—but there was something unnervingly masculine about her: shoulders wider than normal, hips narrower. Her jaw was square as any Aushenian dockworker’s, her voice just as gruff. He was being unkind, perhaps. She filled her position efficiently enough, with barely a wasted word or action. He would rather have employed a dim-witted, pretty girl that he could have slathered across his desk when the spirit moved him. The fact that this woman did not entice him seemed a personal affront. Even worse, he had dreamed about her several times, dreams of a sexual nature that left him squirming when he awoke. He tried to avoid looking at her, not an easy task in a small office space.

Though the palace was abuzz, he did not have much official business arrive at his desk. Fortunately, wearing the badge of his new rank allowed him free rein to wander much of the palace. The queen’s office wing remained barred to him, as did the Akaran family’s private quarters, that small city unto itself. Those he needed special permission to access. No matter. Strolling along the upper courtyard gardens, chatting with the guards who seemed a fixture at each gateway, watching the gape-mouthed fish hunt minnows in the pools, striding through corridors past senators and league officials and rich merchants kept him entertained. They all wore such grave faces. Concern hung about their shoulders, worry over the fate of the empire. Delivegu viewed the turmoil as an opportunity, but not one that should spoil his appreciation of his sudden rise in stature.

He flirted with noblewomen when opportunities arose. He did his best to orchestrate chance encounters, especially as one particular girl from Manil positively entranced him, such a small bud of mouth on her, and young enough that he knew, just knew, he would amaze her with his carnal knowledge. Even climbing all the way up to old Edifus’s ancient ruins amused him. Good exercise for the legs and lungs and, by the Giver, what a view! The Inner Sea all around, glistening like colored glass lit from below. The tales said the first king was a suspicious, paranoid man. That was why he perched here so high above the sea, with views in all directions. Delivegu doubted that contained all his character. Surely, a man could not choose a spot in the world such as this without an eye for the splendor of it. Edifus, he was sure, had an eye for beauty.

Still, though, the nation faced a crisis. A grave threat. A new enemy and all that. Considering this, he sequestered himself in his offices for at least a few hours each day. He did his best to keep apprised of the workings in the higher reaches of the councillor’s offices, sending frequent missives to them, cajoling information out of their tight fists. For his efforts he soon found himself deluged with documents that he was expected—no—not to consider and offer his sage opinion on, but to sort, to stack, to arrange, as if he were a lower order of office employee. He suspected the crates of dusty paper were actually long meant for disposal. He nearly made the mistake of storming into Rialus’s office and accosting the staff, but then realized that was likely what they had wanted him to do. Make a fool of himself. Prove that he was not one of the elite, become a laughingstock. Clearly, his promotion did not sit well with some of his new peers. He held his tongue, and perused the piles for something helpful to his advancement.

Late one afternoon Delivegu came across some sort of diagram or architectural survey. He would have tossed it, if his eyes had not touched upon a few words written at the top corner. He recognized the handwriting immediately: Rialus Neptos’s. He would have known the crimped writing anywhere. He thought it indicative of the character of the man, which was why Delivegu himself always wrote with bold, strong strokes meant to own the page.

He would have tossed the diagram away right then, except that his secretary stepped in to ask if he needed anything more from her for the day. Not wanting to fully curdle his already dubious mood by looking at her, he sank his head toward the document, murmuring that, no, he did not need her anymore. She asked if he wanted the pile of papers on the floor disposed of. He said that could wait for the morrow. She spoke on a bit longer; Delivegu resolutely kept his eyes on the paper. By the time she left, he realized he might actually have something of interest in his hands.

It was a diagram of buildings viewed as if from above. The longer he stared, the more he believed he saw something familiar in it, something about the shape of the exterior walls and the indication of a jutting portion … Yes, it was the royal palace, the residence areas! As soon as he thought that, he noticed the same words,
palace residence
, penned in Rialus’s hand. Had he read that, or had he figured it out himself? No matter.

He pulled a lamp closer, as his offices were already well in shadow and growing dimmer by the minute, and he made a careful study of the lines and shapes. Equations and architects’ notes about materials and descriptions of renovation projects apparently done over the many years crowded the page. Little of it meant much to Delivegu. He did, however, tingle with the suspicion that Rialus’s cryptic scribblings had been written after all the rest and had some other import. Half sentences and signs and arrows that could have been meant only as notes to himself, for they confused the diagram more than explained anything. To make it worse, much of what Rialus had written he had later crossed out.

“He makes no sense,” Delivegu complained. “A waste of my time …”

Once again, he nearly tossed the diagram onto the pile of papers rising beside his desk. But if it was a waste of time, why had it occupied Rialus so long? He bent and studied it further. It was a map of secret passageways. Of course it was! That was what the broken lines drawn within the walls were! Yes, it did appear that many of the passageways were no longer usable. Some of them Rialus had scratched out with positively angry motions. Had Rialus kept this document at the queen’s orders or secretly? That Delivegu could not discern, but it did seem clear that the queen had taken pains to eliminate these passages.

“Suspecting some deceit, were you, Your Majesty?” he asked. “Where’s your trust, your faith in your loyal servants?”

If she had suspected treachery, it looked like she had been very effective in sealing the place up. Each time he tried to trace his way in with a finger, he invariably reached a dead end. At least, that was the case until …

“Now, that’s interesting,” Delivegu said. “That’s quite interesting.”

O
utside, he stood beside the wall in a quiet area of the palace grounds. He would not be able to say later whether the secret entrance had been missed or whether Corinn had allowed it to stay open. Nor could he ask, of course. He suspected that the tunnel had been effectively sealed off for a time, but it appeared to have come open again when a new door was knocked into a once-closed storage space. Perhaps the queen never knew the change was made. But this was conjecture. What he did know was that it existed. Just as the diagram indicated, there was a narrow slit in the southern buttress of the royal quarters, a fissure between two walls just large enough for a person to slip through. It was the strangest thing, for one could stand a few feet away from it and not see the opening for what it was. Even when he did stick his head in, a facing wall met him, making it seem like the opening led nowhere. That was an illusion of the architecture.

Tricky this, Delivegu thought, admiring. He moved farther in.