spirit, and refreshing.”
He fell in beside her and she realised his height surpassed even Arigu’s; her head came barely to Kavic’s shoulder as they walked. Beside a bed of yellow roses he said, “You must excuse the austere, Majesty. We have lost much and he has not recovered from it.”
“He is not accustomed to war,” she said.
“No-one is, Majesty.”
Weaklings.
“Your palace is beautiful,” he said as they stopped to admire a white peony. She watched the pull of his nose, the way his mouth shaped the unfamiliar Cerantic words. “The materials and workmanship of your halls exceed any that I have seen before.”
“You flatter us. I have heard much of northern artisans.”
“We favour a simpler style. I’m afraid you would find it quite ugly.”
She imagined his city, burned and filled with the dead. She moved on, nodding to Lord Jomla as they passed, and then turning away, down a different path, though he raised his finger and said “good evening” in his high, smooth voice, hoping to join the conversation. She had no time for his politicking tonight. “Perhaps you will have the opportunity to tour the city. Our tombs and our temples?”
“But we will not stay long. Tomorrow morning I shall meet with your son the emperor, heaven bless him, and I think the peace will be quickly made.”
Heaven bless him. A required phrase for any courtier. “I admire your etiquette. Many new arrivals offend through their ignorance.” Unlike his priest Marke Kavic was eager to please, desperate for peace. She would have to work with that.
“I consider myself a student of your culture. I have even learned to play Settu, though I admit I cannot win without losing most of my tiles.”
“Great sacrifices are required to win the game,” she said, stopping before the statue of Mirra, carved of obsidion with carnelion eyes, “but the best games, the great games that everyone remembers, are played with such skill that each opponent holds on to his best pieces.”
He narrowed his eyes as he considered her words.
“A game easily won is nothing to savour,” she said, bringing the point home for him, “but defeating a formidable opponent is what makes us Cerani.”
“Showing weakness in the game is an insult.”
“Just so.” She smiled, though his bluntness grated.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said. They stood in silence as Kavic studied the statue. “And what goddess is this?”
“This is Mirra, goddess of children and mothers and all soft things.” “Is she your goddess, Majesty?”
“Praying to Mirra has never benefited me.” A yellow head made its way through the crowd towards them; Austere Adam coming to find them.
“To have so many gods, from which a person can choose!” said Marke Kavic. “We have only the one, who Named all things, and makes all things possible.”
“And has that been fruitful for you, marke?”
Kavic glanced over his shoulder at the approaching austere before spreading his hands wide, a gesture Nessaket did not understand. “God is not always kind. He gives life but also demands it.”
“Empire mother. I have been looking for you.” Nessaket knew that smooth baritone and the mocking wit beneath it. She turned and acknowledged the high mage who stood behind her, shriveled and white but his eyes still blazing with otherworldly heat. “Govnan.”
Govnan stopped four feet from where Nessaket stood with the austere and Marke Kavic, guards flanking him on either side, Fryth and Cerani together. “I would speak with you, Nessaket.”
“I am welcoming our new visitors to the palace,” she said, gesturing. “I hope you will not force me to be rude and abandon them.”
“I am afraid that I will,” said Govnan, twisting his cane into the marble floor, “for it is of the greatest urgency that I seek you.” He looked past her and bowed to the guests, but did not introduce himself as high mage. He meant to keep that advantage, for the time being. Priest Assar approached with a nod; Govnan had arranged for him to take over the conversation. Nessaket had been outmaneuvered, by the Tower and by Mirra.
Controlling her anger Nessaket turned back to the marke. “I must leave you for the moment. Please enjoy the cool comforts of the palace.”
“Such a relief after the desert,” agreed Marke Kavic. “But I hear there is a kitchen, where a man might find some wine?”
“You should have a slave assigned to you, who will bring you anything you wish.” Nessaket looked around the pair, but saw only guards.
The austere wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something rotten.“We do not use slaves. We will get our own wine.”
“Nessaket.” Behind her Govnan grew impatient. She held out a hand to stay him and said, “Here arrives High Priest Assar. He can tell you how to find the kitchens, for I do not know where one might be.” Austere Adam stiffened like a cat when he caught sight of the other priest. He was a zealot, then. Tucking that knowledge away she bowed to the marke. “Marke Kavic.”
“Empire Mother,” he said with a bow of his own. And with that she turned and joined the high mage, walking side by side through a gauntlet of guards and a panoply of flower scents until they reached the hallway.
“You should trust in your son and his advisors.”
Nessaket looked at her slippered feet while she considered what to say. With so much at stake the high mage expected her to do nothing — and yet if she showed her anger she would lose what little power she held. “I know men; I can already judge how Kavic will negotiate. He will agree to anything if it will bring peace to his land.” She left out that the priest’s advice would be different, that the priest had his own interests. “If you allow me to attend, I can advise the emperor, heaven bless him.”
“I remember how you advised the emperor Tuvaini, and the general Arigu before him. There would be no need for peace negotiations except for you.”
“Every lord and general in Cerana wanted the war. I only tilted it to our advantage.”
“To your advantage.” Govnan waved his cane in the direction of the Petal Throne. “Sarmin is the emperor now. This is a new age for Nooria, with new enemies and threats, and you are not seen as a peacemaker.”
She could not deny it. She had been Arigu’s ally, Tuvaini’s partner, and yet she felt the injustice of exclusion.
“Women do not make the peace, but they shall enjoy it.” Govnan wiped sweat from his brow. “In the morning the young marke will be led before your son the emperor, heaven bless him and keep him. Go upstairs. Be with Daveed.”
Had the high mage mentioned Daveed as a threat? She looked into his eyes but they betrayed nothing. Govnan would not hesitate to recommend her child’s death if he thought it served the empire. She turned towards the great stairs, anger mixing with anxiety. Perhaps the seed she had planted in Mirra’s temple, the suggestion in Kavic’s mind, would be enough to slow the peace and give Herzu time for his work. Daveed would be safe in the temple before the old men could touch him At the landing guards opened the ornate doors, and they closed with a thud behind her as she made her way through the great room.
A northern concubine-Jenni was her name-was seated on the cushions, playing dice with Little Mother. Nessaket watched her a moment, wondering when Sarmin would begin to notice that so many beauties belonged to him. The horsegirl was after all not so beautiful, and busy with the baby besides. Another child would bring disaster upon Daveed for certain. She walked to her room, suddenly very tired. She would take care of it. Tomorrow.
Mesema stood in Nessaket’s room, by her window-screen, Pelar in her arms. Nessaket rushed to Daveed’s crib and was relieved to see his pink cheeks, his healthy kicking. It was a crude power play for the empress to come here uninvited and stand so close to the cradle, but then she was never one for subtlety. Nessaket would speak to the guards about allowing the horsegirl so close to her infant son.
“My father is dead,” said Mesema with no preamble or grace. She turned, showing the tears that carried kohl and powder down her cheeks. “Hazran brought a letter with him from Fryth. It was from Banreh, his voice- andhands.” So she had not come to flaunt her higher standing; she had come for sympathy. Nessaket stood frozen
