Shadow’s Lure (4 page)

Hearing footsteps out in the foyer, Josey stuffed the paper back in her pocket. The door opened, and a servant appeared, dressed in a blue doublet and hose with a griffin stitched over his heart in gold thread. He held out a steaming porcelain cup on a silver tray.

“Tea, Your Majesty?”

It smelled divine. Josey started to accept, but a twinge in her stomach reminded her that breakfast had not settled well. With a shake of her head, she sent the servant away. She took out the parchment and smoothed it on a sideboard table. She was about to fold it back up when Fenrik entered, carrying a long teakwood box. Her foster father’s man servant had aged dreadfully over the past months. His internment at Castle DiVecci during the recent troubles had turned him into an old man before his time. His hair had gone from gray to white, and his back bowed like a withered tree trunk. He set the box down on the table, opened the lid, and stood aside.

Josey went over to him. “Please, Fenrik. You should have had someone else carry this.”

“I can pull my weight, my lady. Always have, always will.”

“I know. It’s just that I worry about you.”

Fenrik made a show of looking abashed. “Your father. The earl, I mean. He would have been proud to see you finally come into your own.”

She smiled at him, then eyed the open box. A sparkling array of stones nestled on a bed of ivory silk. A necklace of sapphires and another of sea-green emeralds, three pairs of earrings, an assortment of rings and bracelets. Resting in their midst was the crown. Interlocked golden circlets formed the base of the diadem, sweeping up into nine delicate points. The whole thing was encrusted with enough precious stones to feed the city for a month. She reached out with one hand, but stopped before touching it.

“Allow me.”

Fenrik whisked the crown out of the box before she could protest and settled it upon her head. Josey glanced into the mirror set in the lid of the box. The image that looked back at her was a stranger, far too regal and serene to be her. She wasn’t sure she liked the change.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Josey followed his gaze to the parchment in her hand. She folded it up and slid it into her pocket. “Nothing, Fenrik. Just a reminder.”

The door opened again, this time admitting a gentleman with a balding pate, one of the court’s many secretaries. “Your Majesty, the court waits at your pleasure.”

Squeezing Fenrik’s arm, Josey bid him good-bye and followed the secretary, her long skirt swishing. Two guards in burnished armor waited in the hallway outside. They fell in behind her as she walked down a winding staircase to the ground floor.

When they reached the door to the Grand Hall, the secretary looked to Josey, but she held up a hand for him to wait. Her stomach was uneasy again. The crown felt like it wanted to slide off. She took a deep breath as she reached up to adjust it.
Just breathe
,
Josey
.
It will be fine
. When Josey got the diadem balanced, she nodded to the secretary, and he held open the door with a bow.

Although she had grown accustomed to the opulence of palace life, Josey’s pulse still quickened each time she entered the Grand Hall. The elaborate tapestries, the vast marble floor, the graceful pillars rising to the domed ceiling—they filled her with reverence. Yet ghosts also lingered in the vast chamber. The bloodstains had been removed, but in her imagination she could still see the spots where the assassin Ral had kicked over boxes holding the severed heads of the Elector Council. And when her gaze strayed too high, the paintings depicting the glories of the True Church illuminated above brought her back down to solid ground. She might be empress now, but her rise to power had not been easy, or without bloodshed.

Sixteen ministers of the Thurim—less than a third of the officials who’d held the post when her father reigned—stood upon her arrival. They were old men, nobles for the most part, but two were elected by the common people of Othir. That had been one of her more progressive ideas.

Josey ascended the dais where the Elector Council’s thrones had been replaced with a gaudy eyesore of mahogany and teak decorated with golden studs over every conceivable surface. The palace staff had retrieved it from some cellar storeroom where it had sat since the overthrow of her father and restored it here. She sat down with all the grace she could muster on the seat as hard as an old stump and forced herself to smile.

Hubert stepped to the foot of the dais and made a deep bow. “Majesty,” he said, loud enough to be heard throughout the hall. “Have we your leave to begin this day’s proceedings?”

When she assumed the throne, Josey hadn’t much of an idea what an empress actually
did
. Presented with a host of questions, from whom to appoint to various administrative posts left vacant when the Church officials who had been running the country were removed, to how to raise a new police force to enforce her laws now that the Sacred Brotherhood was disbanded, Josey had turned over much of the daily operations to Hubert, her new lord chancellor, so that she was free to consider larger matters of state. Or so she had told herself.

“Yes, Your Grace,” she said. “In one moment.”

Hubert had started to turn away, but halted in midstep. Josey flicked a glance toward the offensive ceiling paintings and tried not to meet the mournful eyes of the Prophet hanging on his noose.

“When will the ceiling be restored?”

Hubert cleared his throat. “We have not yet acquired an artist, Your Majesty.”

“Why not?”

Hubert turned to the long desk he shared with the new Keeper of the Imperial Treasury. Ozmond Parmian cut a fine figure in his fashionable white suit.

“It is a matter of funds,” Ozmond said, “which are somewhat lacking at the moment, Majesty. Revenues from the outlying provinces have been late in arriving, while the cost of raising, training, and barracking the City Watch, combined with the new measures put in place to assist the poor—”

Josey lifted a hand. “I see. Your Grace, you may proceed.”

With a nod, Hubert faced the ministers, and Josey settled back in her seat. At first, she had looked forward to these meetings, anticipating the chance to enact policies that would improve the lives of her subjects, but it had become apparent after just a few days that only her presence was required, not her voice. While she sat in the excruciating chair, her ministers heard from petitioners and judged their cases. After a short recess, she would be paraded through a series of smaller meetings where she was also encouraged to smile and say little. In short, she was treated like a painted doll.

While Hubert intoned the day’s agenda, Josey played with the heavy ring on her fourth finger. Her father’s signet. The large carbuncle had been reset onto a new band sized for her hand. She ran her fingertip over the smooth facets.
How many emperors have worn this before me
?
What would they think if they saw me sitting here now
?

Hubert talked about the unrest across the empire. It seemed that in the absence of the Church’s authority, some of the nobility took the opportunity to revisit old grudges upon their neighbors. This had escalated into a handful of tiny wars. Every day the Thurim debated options to suppress the violence, but so far they hadn’t actually done anything. Then something Hubert said caught her attention.

“What was that?” she asked.

He looked up from the scroll he was reading. “The western territories, Majesty. Lord Ulbrecht of Cantross writes with news of banditry along the border and asks for assistance in quelling the problem.”

“Any news from the soldiers I sent north?”

“Ah, not as yet, Majesty.”

“Lord Ulbrecht commands a fortress in the town, does he not?”

“Yes, Majesty. I believe so, but he says in his letter he does not possess sufficient soldiers to impose order beyond the town walls.”

“This makes how many reports of brigandry along the western border?”

“This is the fourth this month, Majesty.”

Josey tapped the arms of the throne with her fingernails. Cantross was near the border in a lawless stretch of land where her writ meant very little. Still, the people living in that territory were her subjects. She had a duty to them. “We will send a company of troops to his aid.”

“Majesty, we have a shortage of—”

“Draw up a list of those lords who have made war within the empire’s borders without Our consent. Demand from each a levy of soldiers, armed and equipped for a campaign.” A warm glow heated Josey’s cheeks as she spoke. “If we deprive the fractious nobles of their weapons, they will have nothing with which to harass each other.”

The corners of Hubert’s mouth quivered as if he wanted to smile, but did not dare. “That is one idea, Majesty. But might I ask what we shall do if they refuse?”

“Any who refuse will be stripped of their lands and titles, and branded an enemy of the crown.”

That
got the ministers talking. Someone
tsk
ed at her pronouncement, but nobody protested outright. A few actually nodded, possibly because their lands were the ones under attack. Josey smiled to herself. “What’s next?” she asked.

Hubert hesitated, and then reached for another scroll. “There is the Akeshian problem. The war in the east continues without respite, now going into its seventh year. The enemy has made advances into the southern continent. That, along with their seizure of imperial trading colonies in Altaia and Sulene, has given them firm control over the eastern Midland Sea.”

All pleasant feelings left Josey. The war in the east was something she had inherited from the previous regime. Although there had been tensions between the two empires for as long as anyone could remember, it had never flared into war until the Church came to power with its persecution toward all who would not bow to the True Faith. She had seen the reports from the Treasury, read about the battles, the investitures, the list of towns won and lost. Sixty thousand men dead and countless more maimed at a cost of more than two million gold soldats, leaving Nimea on the brink of bankruptcy. All for nothing, as far as she could see. It was something she had argued with Hubert about in private. Although he shared her view of the war, he argued it was popular with the people and the nobles. Josey caught her fingers twisting her signet ring and forced them to stop.

“Ministers of the Thurim, in the name of peace and mercy I put before you a call to end this senseless conflict.”

There was silence. Then someone coughed, and that broke the floodgates. Voices rose throughout the hall, some of them violently. Josey squirmed on the throne.

“Good lords and ladies.” She tried to be heard above the noise. “For too long this war has clouded the empire’s conscience! It has destroyed families and sown discord throughout—”

No one was listening. Josey looked to Hubert, but he was too busy watching the arguments to notice. One of the people’s ministers, Lord Du’Quendel, stood up on his chair and clapped for her over the crowd of wizened heads. Josey gave him a small smile, hoping his enthusiasm would spread, but that did not seem likely. After a few minutes, a loud bang got the attention of enough people to quiet the din, and a petite woman in a long hunter-green dress made herself heard. The ministers quieted as Hubert announced her.

“The Lady Philomena shall address the court.”

The only woman on the Thurim, Lady Philomena looked a fragile figure among the ministers, but as she strode to the center of the hall she assumed a stance more like a battlefield commander than a wilting flower. Her dress was designed for austerity and plainness, and did nothing to accentuate her shape. She was older than Josey by several years, but was not an unhandsome woman; she had classic features and bright golden hair wrapped up in a bun at the back of her head. She might have been stunning if not for the pinched firmness of her mouth and the way her eyes bulged as if she had bitten into something sour. Josey didn’t know much about the lady—something about a wealthy husband who had died this past year, bequeathing to her his title and an enormous fortune. And Josey recalled something else as she glimpsed the golden circle brooch pinned to her breast. Lady Philomena was an ardent supporter of the Church.

Philomena got right to the point. “It would be a grave error to send envoys to the empire of Akeshia with terms of surrender.”

“Terms of peace, my lady,” Hubert interjected.

“One and the same to those savages. To show weakness would only encourage further aggression.”

“But we will not know that,” Josey said, “unless we try to make an accord with them.”

The lady lifted a delicate, plucked eyebrow. “It is a holy war ordained by God, received by His Holiness the prelate, and executed by the will of the Faithful.” After a moment, she added, “Majesty.”

Josey ground her teeth together. The Church had been willing to bleed the empire dry when it held power, and now this woman wanted her to continue the same insane policy. It was beyond ludicrous. She started to speak, but Hubert jumped in before her.

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but the continuation of the war in the east is no longer viable, things in the realm being as they are.”

“All things”—Lady Philomena looked directly at Josey—“are possible through the Light.”

Josey tried to bite her tongue and failed. “What does the Light say about the thousands of young men who have died overseas and will never see their homeland again?”