11
Three days later, at the Sablaliz Palace, just twenty miles from the Landreg estates, Ishabal Ladyhammer found the empress in her morning room, watching the sun rise. Berenene, wearing only a light nightgown and a frothy lace wrap, read over reports as she ate a light breakfast. Her cup of the fashionable drink called chocolate cooled as she read and reread one report in particular, drumming the fingers of her free hand on the table. She only looked up from her reading when the door opened and Ishabal, dressed for the day, came in with a sheaf of papers in her hand.
“Have you seen the reports from Clehamat Landreg?” Berenene wanted to know. “Shall I ring for more chocolate?”
“You know that I cannot abide the stuff, Imperial Majesty,” replied Ishabal. At Berenene’s nod she slid into the seat across from the empress. “I have already breakfasted. And yes, I have read the reports from Landreg. They are fascinating.”
“Fascinating, my foot,” Berenene said crisply. “I want fer Holm and fer Haugh to know I am displeased. If they haven’t learned that no one may nibble the apples in my garden until I have had my taste, they must be made to understand it.”
“Fer Holm and fer Haugh are ruined, Imperial Majesty,” Ishabal said gently. “Ruined men are desperate.”
“Can you believe it?” Berenene asked, shaking the papers that she held. “She undid their clothes. And then she undid everything else they had with stitches in it. That had better not happen to me, Ishabal.”
“Charms against such magics are easy enough to make,” said the mage. “Surely these men have been punished enough. The heiress escaped. How could we improve upon such humiliation as she gave them? They were forced to run naked to Pofkim, where the good people sent them on their way with pitchforks and laughter.”
Berenene looked at her chief counselor from under raised brows. “My empire, my garden. They tried to take what is mine,” she repeated patiently. “The laughter of villagers is not punishment enough for poaching my property. I prefer the sight of such bold and brawny fellows on their knees before me, thank you all the same.”
She glanced at the report again. “I am also disappointed at the lack of information about my cousin’s new ‘secretary.’ Really, the girl might have chosen him to infuriate me. First she is accosted by a madman—whose life Daja saved back in Kugisko. Then she hires this Zhegorz, as her secretary—or so our spies tell us. Except that her secretary spends his hours magically protected by Trisana and Briar, so our spies know nothing of what they are doing. Zhegorz spends precious little time writing, certainly. And now I am told that we have no history of the man before Daja met him in Kugisko, because the hospital where he was locked up burned to the ground, including its records! All we know is that he came to Dancruan sometime last summer and that he lived on begging and charity. Oh, yes, and that all who knew him swore he was mad—those who were not mad themselves!” She dropped the papers on her table. “I can’t justify taking agents off important security work to concentrate on someone appearing to be a madman in need of magical help, but there’s no denying it, Isha.” Berenene drummed well-manicured nails on the tablecloth. “I dislike mysteries, and peculiarities are like an itch I cannot scratch.”
“Here is something to divert your mind,” said Ishabal, handing over a piece of paper. “My investigator mage just returned from an inspection of the new river walls at Pofkim.”
Berenene snatched the paper and read it over twice. “He says the walls are solid all along their length,” she murmured. “Under the bridge as well, and solid around the timbers and piers, as if they were poured mortar made of stone. The villagers say the ground shook and produced these stones for hours? Impossible.” She looked at Ishabal and raised her eyebrows. “It is impossible.” It was half a statement, half a question.
The great mage helped herself to bliny filled with jam. “I trust my mage. The girl did it. She managed a storm in the Syth, she made the ground produce a multitude of stones and pack them into walls along the riverbank, without disturbing the bridge. I find her ... intriguing.” She tucked a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “She would be a very useful addition to Your Imperial Majesty’s mages, if she chose to join us.”
Berenene flapped a hand, as if she was not particularly interested. “Then she is your concern, not mine. Recruit her. Offer her plenty of money. These merchants’ spawn always grasp quickest for wealth. Offer her whatever amount you think is just. Certainly she sounds useful ....” Her voice trailed off, indicating her lack of interest in the subject. “Do you know, I am disappointed in Jak and Fin,” she told Ishabal. “Staying abed while Sandry goes riding with a tiny escort—really! I don’t care if they had caught pneumonia, the girl will never be convinced of their devotion if they are not constantly at her side. They would have looked so brave, shaking their swords at fer Holm. Honestly, Isha, these men! If we didn’t hold their coats for them, how would they ever manage?” She tugged a bellpull.
Almost instantly a maid popped into the room. That was one of the things Berenene liked about this seacoast palace: It didn’t take forever for servants to respond to a summons.
It should also prove less intimidating to visitors such as her young cousin, for example, than the palace in Dancruan. She had brought her court here yesterday, to enjoy the sea air, she had said. In truth, she had brought them here to continue her siege of Sandrilene.
“Have word sent for my attendants to have their horses saddled,” she informed the maid. “We’re going to pay a visit to Landreg.”
The maid bobbed a curtsy and left at a run.
Berenene saw that Ishabal was watching her. “I miss my cousin,” the empress said innocently. “She must be tiring of account books and prosy Ambros. And she’s had three days of close confinement to the castle and the village, to keep her from would-be kidnappers. She’ll be eager for imperial entertainment. There is safety for tender young heiresses in a large group such as ours. Besides, I haven’t seen Ealaga in months.”
“If you were a bit kinder to Ealaga’s husband ...,” murmured Ishabal.
“He knew he thwarted me when he refused to tell Sandry they were short of money and required her presence,” Berenene said tartly. “Besides, he is prosy. A fine steward for the girl’s lands, but dull.” She inspected her nails. “Perhaps, when Sandry has given over her lands to her husband’s direction, I may speak to Ambros about the Imperial Stewardship. If he does with the realms as he’s done with her property, we shall prosper. Though I’ll make you do all the talking with him, Isha.” She got to her feet in a rustle of light silk. “Will you ride with us? You’ll have a chance to talk with Viymese Tris.”
The mage smiled. “You will have Quenaill to protect you, Majesty. And I will be here, making charms to defend your men against the power of a stitch witch, should things come to force. I do hope for all our sakes that they will not. The more I consider what Lady Sandry did to her kidnappers, the more I am concerned about what she may do elsewhere, if her hand is forced. Have you forgotten the prodigies that were reported of these four young people?”
The empress leaned against the wall. “They did prodigies in concert with their teachers, in a time when they shared a mutual tie,” she said patiently. “I have also not forgotten the reports of their behavior since their reunion in Summersea, Isha. No two of them have worked in magical concert since then. They’ve had plenty of chances to do so on their way to us or while they’ve been here. Instead they quarrel. Their bond is shattered. Without it they are lone mages. You and Quenaill would not be the highest-paid mages in the empire if you could not find a way to best any lone mage.”