“I found her,” Briar said flatly.
“But how?” insisted Berenene. What she really wanted to know was, Did you use that magical connection my spies told me was closed? She could not ask that, of course. They trusted her little as it was. Adults understood that people spied on one another, but these young people were idealists, not realists. She doubted that they would understand that everyone spied on everyone who might be important.
“I ... forget,” Briar said coldly. “I have a terrible memory when it comes to secrets I don’t wish to tell.”
Berenene glanced at Tris. The redhead had undone a third of the braid she had pulled from her hairstyle. Now Tris ran her fingers through the loose hairs over and over, her attention locked on them.
“She’s working magic,” Ishabal said. “I cannot tell what kind, but she is cloaked in power.”
“Then stop her,” ordered Berenene.
Tris looked up, gray eyes glinting through her loose tresses. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Tris, you’ll never be a success as a diplomat,” announced Briar. “You may as well put that right out of your mind.” He turned his own bright green eyes on Ishabal and Berenene. “We all swear on our medallions, this isn’t something that would affect Your Imperial Majesty in any way,” he said, his voice as bland as cream. “In fact, Tris here is actually doing you and your devoted servants a favor.”
“And if they stop me now, I can’t promise the cliff under the palace wall won’t drop into the Syth,” muttered Tris.
“Pay her no mind,” Briar continued as Sandry glared at Tris. “It’s not a threat she’s making, just a warning. You know how it is with mages and interruptions. Anyway, I suppose you didn’t know it, or you’d have seen for yourself, but your palace has rats. Big ones. Doesn’t it, Clehame fa Landreg?”
“Big ones,” Sandry replied. “I don’t know how she missed them, but anything is possible.”
“She’s an empress,” Briar told her, his tone pure conciliation. “You can’t expect her to know every rathole that opens up.” To the empress and her mages, he explained: “This one is a real beauty. It opens in a northeast wing of the palace—I don’t think anyone’s dusted in there in months. And it tunnels all the way down through the cliff. Through solid stone, even under the curtain wall, can you believe it? Down at the bottom, it opens onto a cove of the Syth.”
Berenene’s veins filled with ice. The Julih Tunnel, she realized, horrified. How in Vrohain’s name did Fin—his uncle. Notalos dung-grubbing fer Hurich. The Mages’ Society is said to have the plans of the palace from its first construction—and I shall have his skin.
Briar continued, “Energetic little nalizes, rats, aren’t they? To dig all that way. We stumbled on their hole purely by chance. Well, Sandry didn’t stumble entirely by chance. So Tris here got all alarmed, because she hates rats, so she’s stopping up that hole at the foot of the cliff. She’s getting the lake to help. Some of the stones she’s using are pretty big.”
Tris looked up, her face relaxed and at ease. “It really is in your interest, Your Imperial Majesty. Who could sleep, knowing rats could get in at will? With that rathole closed, Your Imperial Majesty may sleep easily.”
Berenene clenched her hands against her skirts. If the wench is doing what she claimed to do, she is trying to close the secret exit that saved my life in that assassination attempt years ago. Of course, it’s no good to me now if Viynain fer Hurich has decided he need not obey his vow to keep those plans secret. “Can she do it?” she asked Ishabal. There were magical wards on the tunnel.
Ishabal watched Tris for a long moment. Finally, she nodded. “She is doing it.” She asked Tris, “What if anyone is in the chamber at the base of the cliff?”
“I won’t weep a tear if they drown,” Sandry snapped, her voice rough. “But they could always climb. Tris is just stopping up the exit. You ought to put maids with brooms at the other end of the hole, to beat the rats when they come out.”
The skin at the back of Berenene’s neck crawled. She sighed lightly, as if she’d asked for a glass of wine only to be told there was no more. One of the hardest parts of being imperial was learning when to back off from a fight. “Quen, be a dear and send a message to the captain of my guard. Harm no one who comes out, please. I wish to have anyone who appears questioned.” Quen bowed and went to give the message to the guard at the door. As he did so, the empress said, “Please continue, Trisana. Ishabal will watch all that you do.” Berenene looked at Sandry once more. “So, Briar found you in a way he does not remember.”
“Tris joined us,” said Briar, his eyes cold. “We got Sandry out of the crate.”
Berenene shook her head as Quen returned to them. “Cousin, what can I say?” she asked helplessly. “Finlach has committed a serious offense against you, without my knowledge or approval.” Her voice hardened despite her struggle for an appearance of calm. “He forgot his duty to me. I assure you, he will be arrested and punished. You will see how quickly justice is done here.”
“Cousin, justice should be done very quickly,” Sandry replied, her face hard. “We are returning to Emelan as soon as we can pack.”
Isha flinched despite her years at court. Quen halted rather than come closer. Slowly, Berenene replied, trying to think, “But the summer is only half done.”
“I don’t want to see how I will feel after an entire summer,” Sandry retorted. “That a custom that permits such things against the women in this realm continues under a monarch who is female herself—”
“I am not the empress of weaklings,” said Berenene. “A strong woman would find a way to escape, as I did. As you have. They have families to help them, if their families are strong.”
Sandry shook her head. Her hands trembled as they lay folded in her lap. “Not all women or families are strong in the same way. They are entitled to your protection. I will not remain in a country that withholds that protection. And it’s been made clear to me that I cannot even count myself safe in your own palace, Cousin.”
Berenene felt as if the chit had slapped her. “You dare ...,” she began to say, furious, then met Sandry’s eyes. Of course she dares, thought Berenene. And she is right. I was so secure in my power that I did not realize spirited young animals, like my courtiers, are forever testing the leash and the rein. I relaxed my vigilance and she was offered an intolerable insult. The custom is supposed to apply only to women taken in the open, not when they are under the protection of their liege lords. In shattering my protection, Fin destroyed my credit with every parent who entrusts an unmarried daughter to my care.
She smoothed her skirts. “You are hurt and recovering from a bad fright,” she said in her most soothing voice. “In the morning, you will feel differently. Would you really turn your back on all Namorn has to offer?” She met Briar’s eyes when she said this.
It was Briar who answered. “If this is what Namorn offers, yes. It is only as a courtesy to you that I don’t address Fin myself. It’s my sister he tried to kidnap, and our magic is plenty thicker than blood. Or maybe I should just give him to Sandry when he doesn’t have drugs and spells to make him the big man.” His voice was heavy with contempt. “You think a strong woman can always beat this? I call it rape, in any country.”
Berenene did not want to meet his eyes any longer. Something in them made her feel an emotion she had not faced in years: guilt. She didn’t like it. Instead, she turned her gaze to Sandry. “And so like your mother, you abandon your lands and your duty to your people.”
Sandry’s chin thrust forward like a mule’s. “My people are very well cared for by someone who knows them,” she snapped. “How dare you speak to me that way, as if I’d gone roistering and left my tenants to beg? Instead, I am to remain here, where I am nothing more than money bags and acreage? Where I am a thing, to occupy a niche in some household shrine, except when my lord husband wants to polish me up a little?”