Except he didn’t have the emperor’s ear. Not today. The emperor was closeted with policy makers, Tavert informed him, and had left no instructions, so he had the morning to himself.
All that braid pulled him into an inane conversation with the Imperial cousin and one of the other hangers-on, neither of whom had spoken a word to him before. Reiter declined an invitation to a race meeting and was less polite when they expressed a stupidly uninformed opinion about how the Swords were fighting in Aydori. They’d no need to be as extreme in their advance as Onnyle Cobb—they had the ear of the emperor as well—they just wanted him on their side. Another voice lobbing their desires at the emperor’s defenses.
He finally freed himself, feeling grimier than he did after months of campaigning, and went to find the balloon he’d seen from his window. Got lost twice, surrendered, and asked a page.
“People used to be all around it all the time, back when it first went up. His Imperial Majesty, he went up in it every day. Well, maybe not every day, but every other day for sure. And the prince, too. But His Majesty doesn’t go to it much anymore, so nobody really does. Until his Majesty tells them to take it down, though, they’ve got to keep it ready in case His Majesty wants to go up.”
Even the pages were talking to the braid. They’d been as disdainful of his old uniform in the way only boys who knew they were essential to the running of an Imperial palace could be. What did they care for the guard? The guard was like furniture that just happened to move on its own.
“This is as far as you can go behind things.” The shortcut ended in a false wall a foot in from the ubiquitous tapestry. “From here,” the page pointed as they stepped out into a broad corridor in what was clearly a high traffic part of the palace, “you go straight to the Sun Gallery and turn left. There’s doors out into the courtyard.” He smiled up at Reiter expectantly.
In his old uniform, the pages hadn’t expected “gifts” for doing their flaming jobs.
The Sun Gallery had a wall of glass facing east. The other walls were a deep gold, and from the way they were glittering, Reiter guessed there was real gold in the square tiles. He thought of the times men had died because the artillery had fired everything it had and it hadn’t been enough and wondered how many shells one of those tiles could buy. The room was warm and bright and there was a priest murmuring prayers to a small group at the far end by a golden sunburst. The priest’s robes glittered as well.
Although, in fairness, Reiter had to admit the tiles and the robe were the first overt signs of wasted wealth he’d seen. The emperor wasn’t the type to have golden statues of himself scattered around the place. He had five pregnant mages hidden away in private rooms instead. And each mage had two guards with drawn guns. And their “midwife” had a knife she was willing to use.
Reiter would have preferred golden statues.
The balloon in the courtyard was also gold—a huge, egg-shaped bubble of silk, tied by silk cords to an Imperial purple basket heavily adorned with the Imperial crest. Even the sandbags were stamped with the Imperial crest. A ridiculous number of tassels dripped from the whole thing—balloon, basket, bags. It didn’t look anything like the efficient one-man balloons the army used for recon.
“It represents the Sun taking His Imperial Majesty up into the sky,” one of the young women told him as he frowned at the unexpected gaudiness. The six in charge of the balloon, young men and women both, dressed in uniforms of high-laced boots, leather breeches, leather vests—“Our flight jackets are stored in the balloon.”—were bored and happy to have someone to talk to. Reiter spent a surprisingly enjoyable morning—once he got them to ignore his personal gaudiness, learning about balloons.
The men who rode the recon balloons were never willing to answer questions.
Although all the seats at the table were full, Onnyle Cobb wasn’t at lunch.
“But you’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, Annalyse.” It took almost everything Danika had left to force her fingers away from the scar. They’d replaced the dress while she was in the water room, so the pale line she could just see with her chin tucked in as far as it would go, was the only evidence of the wound.
The younger woman met her gaze for a long moment, then nodded and turned to Jesine. “And are you all right?”
“For the first time in my life,” Jesine ground out through clenched teeth, “I want to harm someone.”
“That’s right…” Danika stirred a spoonful of honey into her tea. “…you have no younger brothers.”
Annalyse laughed and clapped a hand over her mouth as though the sound had surprised her.
Jesine smiled and shook her head. “Please, only children have problems, too. I never had anyone to blame.” She picked up a biscuit and ripped it in half. “At least it’s over. He’s seen what I can do.”
It wasn’t over. Danika had suggested Leopald scientifically test the parameters of mage-craft and, as her professors used to say, one test did not establish a parameter. Leopald would keep going until he caused an injury Jesine couldn’t heal. Kirstin, immersed as she was in politics, would have realized exactly where these tests were headed. Stina would have been suspicious. But neither Kirstin nor Stina were at breakfast, no doubt being punished for rudeness to the emperor and Danika couldn’t tell Jesine she was wrong. Not when the shadows under the Healer-mage’s eyes said she hadn’t slept. Not when Annalyse already believed laughter forbidden.
Danika drank her tea, and dropped her other hand to curl into her lap so they couldn’t see her fingers tremble.
“Speak to me alone.”
She’d influenced Leopald once, and as much as she might personally wish it had gone differently, they now knew what they needed in order to get the nets off. He had no idea of what any of them were capable of. Of what she was capable of. While Stina continued to destabilize the wood of her door, the first step of the more conventional escape, Danika would try and convince His Imperial Majesty to take the net off her.
Healers might not be able to cause damage; she could.
“It was fascinating to observe how unaffected she is, wasn’t it, Captain? It certainly seems to indicate that the lesser orders can shrug off pain that would flatten the rest of us.”
Even with very little time granted him at the spyhole, Reiter had recognized faking it for an audience. Not only for the emperor—and he’d bet his pretty new uniform the blonde knew the emperor was watching—but for the other two women at the table. “Have you considered speaking to her about it, Majesty?” He had no idea where that had come from, but it wasn’t a bad idea. If he were talking to her, the emperor wouldn’t be ordering her cut. Probably.
“Yes, I have.” The blue eyes actually twinkled as the emperor smiled up at him from the lower step. “I’ll speak to her alone after our evening meal. You’re anticipating me now, Captain. Well done. I like that in my staff.”
Danika’s skin crawled as Adeline examined her, pressing a brass bell gently against her belly, a nipple on the hose attached to the narrow end of the bell tucked into the midwife’s ear.
“No bleeding?”
“Other than the obvious?” Danika smiled at Adeline’s scowl. “No.”
“Where fork?” In a just world, Adeline would be keeping the artifact in her apron pocket. Who wouldn’t want to brag about that?
“No pain?”