“It will give you power beyond your wildest dreams.”
“As it has done for you?”
“Yes.”
“And what else has it done to you, Xephan?”
“What do you mean?”
“I fear you are no longer quite yourself.”
“I do not follow you?” It came to her suddenly, with a certainty that brooked no doubting. The sudden shock of the knowledge made her indiscreet.
“You are something else. Or something shares your body? I fear you are possessed, Xephan. I have seen others like you.”
“There are no others like me.” Anger and fear made her voice harsh.
“I think there are. Someone like you killed my father.”
“I can assure you I had nothing to do with that, Tamara.”
“But it does not sadden you that he is dead.”
“I would be lying if I claimed that was so. His time had passed. A new generation must take their place in the fore. It is our turn to shape the world.”
She could see that he believed that utterly, and he seemed perfectly sincere in offering her a place alongside him. She was no longer sure that she wanted to be there though, if it meant becoming like him, or the thing that was in him. She did not want to become like him or her father or Rik. She wanted to remain herself. She schooled her features to blandness, and smiled at him, not wanting him to know what was on her mind.
“Yes,” she said. “You are right. It is long past time.”
“Then you will come to my apartments tonight and we shall go into the Labyrinth below. The coven meets. You will be initiated into a new and greater mystery.”
His touch made her flesh crawl. She made her smile warmer. “I look forward to it,” she said.
“Then until this evening, sweet Tamara, I bid you adieu.”
She walked back into the outer chamber with a measured tread, feeling as if she were stepping between worlds. Out here everything looked normal. Back in the Prime Minister’s chambers insanity waited. She kept her smile fixed on her face as she departed, wondering what she was going to do now.
Chapter Twelve
Guards waited for her as she exited Xephan’s chambers. Briefly she wondered if this was a trap, and whether she was to be whisked off to the dungeons for imprisonment and torture. Had Xephan’s words been meant merely to lull her into a false sense of security? Had he planned this all along? Perhaps she should have killed him while she was within striking distance, if that was still possible.
She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. If it was a trap, there would be chances to escape if she kept her wits about her. She needed a clear mind to see her opportunities. She cocked her head to one side and smiled at the guard captain.
“Yes,” she said, putting a hint of empty-headed flirtation into her voice. It never did any harm to have people underestimate her, and such thinking came naturally to male Terrarchs of her generation.
“The Empress commands your presence,” he said, courteously enough. His gaze ran over her body, as if he were imagining what she looked like naked. She held his glance while her thoughts were elsewhere. It seemed she was due for an audience with the Imperial presence today after all.
“I hear and I obey,” she said. She put stress on the word obey and was certain she knew what he was thinking.
The presence chambers were huge. Ornate crystal windows gave a sweeping view down upon the city and the harbour beyond. Tall Terrarch guards stood by the doors and hordes of courtiers flocked in the antechambers. Tamara sensed a brittle tension as she entered that had not been there on any of her previous visits. She studied the Court-uniformed Terrarchs surrounding her, picking out familiar faces and noticing the changes in them. Here was old Zhal, the Court Chamberlain, silver haired, silver bearded, subtle and languid. He nodded to her and smiled, warmly. His glittering teeth were porcelain and starmetal. Nearby was Lady Usquoth, unusually plump for a Terrarch, her ringed fingers stained with the sugar of the sweetmeats she munched delicately but ravenously. In the corner a group of her father’s old friends and rivals huddled in conversation, plotting no doubt.
She smiled again at the guard captain, feeling a sudden warm nostalgia, happy to be standing once more at the centre of the world, at least as far as the Empire was concerned, and more than a little disturbed by the unease on the faces looking at her. She flicked her fan open and smiled at each of them in turn, not letting the coolness of certain responses discourage her, or diminish for a moment the warmth of her greeting.
The guard captain moved his head slightly, and touched her arm, letting his hand rest there for longer than was strictly necessary as he indicated that she should keep moving into the inner audience chamber. She moved to the door where Zhal stood waiting. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
“Be careful. Her Majesty is in no good mood.”
She giggled as if he had made some small joke for their private amusement, and he smiled as if appreciating her simple sense of humour and swept the door open for her to enter the Imperial presence.
Arachne sat on the Purple Throne, tall and beautiful as ever, her face still youthful despite her centuries, her hair purple-black, her lips full and red and startling against her pale skin. She was more beautiful than any of the ladies-in-waiting surrounding her, who had all been chosen for that exact degree of loveliness. For a moment, under Arachne’s cold, hawk-like gaze, Tamara felt self-conscious, a child being studied by watchful adults, a gawky adolescent under the eyes of her sophisticated elders. The Empress always made her feel that way. She fought to keep down the surge of loyalty she felt. She could not help it — it was almost bred in the bone to all subjects of the Sardean monarchy.
She made the full Court curtsey, waited to be recognised and told to advance, and then proceeded through the intricate quadrille of Imperial protocol till eventually she stood, head bowed before the throne, looking exactly like a properly submissive subject of the Empress.
“Lady Tamara. It pleases me to see you once more.” The Empress’s voice was low and thrilling but it had a falseness in it, a lack of warmth or empathy, a brittle quality that at this moment was somehow emphasised. “You have our leave to speak freely and without awaiting our permission.”
“I thank you, Majesty. It pleases me to stand within the radiance of your august presence.” The surprising thing was that she did feel that way. Old habits died hard.
“There are matters I wish to discuss with you. Step out onto the balcony with me.”
Tamara waited for the Empress to pass through the doors onto the great balcony and then followed her. The platform was massive and decked with flowers, a greenhouse with a fine view of the city and sea below, a place protected by the strongest warding spells, where things might be discussed in utter privacy when the crystal doors were shut. Tamara was suddenly acutely aware that she was alone with the Empress, as she had not been since she was a child.
Arachne turned to look at her, her face no longer a rigid mask, fear written in her eyes. “I am sorry to hear about what happened to your father,” she said.
“I am not entirely certain I know what happened to him,” Tamara said.
“He is dead, or so Xephan tells me. Asea killed him.”
“She was always his enemy.”
“Not always. Only in the struggle that emerged after my mother died.” There was an odd stress on the word mother. Arachne was about the same age now as Amarielle had been when she was murdered, Tamara thought. No wonder she was sensitive about Kathea’s death.
“I know he feared her.”
“He was right to do so. She is the most formidable sorceress the Terrarchs ever produced and even here on this sadly diminished world her magic is deadly. Apparently she has a new tool now — some renegade half-breed killer she plucked from the gutter and made her apprentice. I understand you have met him.”
Was that what this meeting was about? “His name is Rik. I believe she has been teaching him sorcery — he
