The Diplomat (30 page)

“Good morning,” said Rema, lifting herself up on her elbow.

“I’m so glad you’re back.” Jalaya stretched her toes toward the sunlight. “I always dream nice things when I’m with you.”

“What do you dream when I’m not here?”

Jalaya only smiled and pressed her tired lashes together. Rema sat upright and poured some water into a ceramic mug, while Jalaya tilted her head to watch Rema as she drank. “Rema, I want to ask you something, but I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“When have we ever had secrets?”

“We’ve been best friends for so long.” Jalaya caressed Rema’s neck as she spoke. “Every moment I’m not by your side, I’m thinking of you. I know and adore everything about you. But though you’ve known Elise for only the tiniest while, you say you must love only her. Why not me too?”

“You know how fond I am of you.” Rema kissed Jalaya’s fingertips. “I’ve never met anyone who can speak straight to my heart the way you do.”

“Isn’t that love?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps.”

“I love you, Rema.” Jalaya turned her head, and the morning sun lit the side of her delicate face. “Whenever I’ve said it before, you’ve laughed like I’m just being affectionate. But I meant it. I’ve always meant it. And I’ve always thought that maybe you loved me too.”

Rema took an unsteady breath. “I always thought…love means a commitment, and we never committed to…We’ve both seen so many other women in the time in which we’ve known each other, whereas my love for Elise is different. It’s not something that can be shared.”

“I don’t see why. Even when I slept with other women, I was still in love with you. To me love means caring, not belonging.”

A beetle whirred through the window and settled on the bedside table, its wings still vibrating. Rema stared at it, avoiding the torment of meeting Jalaya’s eyes. “It’s not like that for me. Maybe it’s because my father and mother were so devoted to each other. I’ve always believed that true love is reserved for only one other. I don’t know, Jalaya. It’s hurting my heart just to think about it.”

Jalaya held out her hand and watched the light steal between her fingers. “She must be very special.”

“She’s so intense, so full of wild conviction. When I first met her she was nervous and lovesick, but only because she understood sooner than I did that we need each other.”

“What does she give you that I can’t?” Jalaya said the words without a trace of bitterness, as only she could.

“Ormun killed something in me. You can ease my pain for a night, but you can’t give me back that missing part. I think she can. If I were the woman I used to be, the woman she now is, I would never have followed Ormun’s orders for these four years. I would rather have died.”

“But your diplomacy saves lives. You’re doing good things.”

The reasoning was as familiar as it was false. “I help Ormun win nations and abduct brides. I could save a hundred thousand lives and still wake up grieving.”

“I’m going to lose you, aren’t I? And I’ll lose you though I love you, because I love you.”

“I don’t deserve you.” Rema cupped Jalaya’s cheek in her hand. “And I never meant to hurt you. You have a heart so clear that I can’t even comprehend it. I need you as my friend, I don’t want our lives to ever be parted, but I can’t make love to you again.”

Jalaya closed her eyes and smiled as Rema cradled her face. After several seconds of tranquil stillness, she brushed aside Rema’s hand and slipped from the bed. “Don’t feel guilty about last night. What we do with our bodies doesn’t dictate where our hearts belong.”

Rema pointed to Jalaya’s bare breasts. “As for you, don’t forget your top.”

Jalaya giggled as she tied her flimsy upper garment around her chest. “I hope your back is feeling better.”

Rema touched the skin at the small of her back. A raised line, but no sensation. “I don’t feel any pain at all. Elise is a remarkable healer.”

“I like to think it was my singing.” Jalaya lowered her lashes. “I’m going now, my love, to a strange new life, one where you belong to a woman who can finally match your melody. May I kiss you one last time?”

“I…” Rema hesitated. If she had no choice but to make this sacrifice, it was better not to waver. “Let’s not.”

Jalaya remained silent for a moment before sighing. “Thank you, Rema. Thank you for saving me from silence and returning music to my heart.” She trod softly to the door, her golden hoops jangling, and paused with her fingers on the handle. “I’m glad that I’m still your dearest friend. Take care of your Elsie.” She looked away as she began to croon, low and soft:

“Her love has held my grief at bay,

And now she sets me free,

To drift upon my lonely way,

Like mist across the sea.

But in my breast still burns the gift

Of her sweet mystery;

My lips will always feel her kiss,

Her heart remains with me.”

There was something final about the way Jalaya closed the door, and Rema buried her head in her hands. Had she lost her mind? She was forfeiting everything—her career, her lover and potentially her life—for a woman she’d just met and who was perhaps forever out of reach. The ache of desolation reached for her heart, and Rema rose out of bed in an attempt to banish it.

She stood by the window. The garden beneath her was walled by marble, and the palace roof stretched beyond it, punctuated by courtyards. Behind the palace’s golden barrier, the city spread to the horizon, stone buildings and towers that carried all the way to the endless sea. For the first time in years, the sight stirred determination rather than resignation. Jalaya’s parting poem had been a promise not of sorrow, but of hope; that old courage was still within her, waiting to be brought forth again.

Rema fixed her hair in the mirror, washed her face over the basin and swapped her shirt for a clean one. She put on fresh underclothes and trousers before buttoning up her coat. Had it really been thirteen years since she’d first donned this uniform? As she patted her face dry, her thoughts turned to Elise. It had been considerate of Artunos to place her next to his own chambers, though she was in no danger until the wedding, as Ormun never touched a bride until marriage. He played by certain inscrutable rules.

Once more in her diplomatic finery, Rema set off for Elise’s chambers. The cunning design of the palace allowed for windows in almost every corridor, carved even into the ceiling where necessary, so that a visitor almost always found themselves in sunlight. No two passages were alike. One hallway was lined with exquisite arches; another contained paintings of hypnotic vividness stolen from cities throughout the Empire. Others corridors were alive with fountains, the waters of which poured down the walls and vanished into unseen pipes. It was a telling commentary on Ormun’s reign that some of the water fixtures had run dry—the imperial engineer had died in the coup and never been replaced.

She turned a corner and stumbled into Ferruro, the imperial treasurer. He was immense, easily the tallest and largest man Rema had ever met, and was the terror of bureaucrats throughout the court. Few people were brave enough to ask him directly for money. Instead, they delegated the task to attendants who accepted their fate the way prisoners resigned themselves to execution.

“It’s you,” said Ferruro, stepping back and looking down at her. “Our flame-headed diplomat returned from the wilds.”

“Ferruro. Did you miss me?”

“Oh, it was a relief not to have you underfoot. I didn’t have to worry so much about treading on you.”

Ferruro was new to the court, one of Ormun’s appointments. He had aligned himself with Haran despite being openly contemptuous of the imperial lawmaker and his tyrannical excesses. Rema found him infuriating and likeable in equal measure. He was frustratingly deadpan and immune to even the most biting gibes, and more than once their regular sparring had ended with Rema impaled upon a barb quicker than her own.

“If you weren’t so clumsy, such things wouldn’t happen,” said Rema. “So what mischief have you been getting up to?”

Ferruro chuckled, a sound like rocks shifting. “Merely counting coins. Tell me, what is the twentieth bride like? I know nothing about this Danosha, save that it’s the kind of kingdom where every winter the king is forced to eat his horse.”

“And why are you so interested in her?”

“If I want to know the quality of a wine, I ask a wine taster. If I want to know the quality of a woman, I ask Remela.”

Rema laughed. “You’re in good form today.”

“One has to be, under the circumstances. Oh, I heard about your mishap yesterday. Haran was gloating about it.”

“No doubt. I expect it was the closest he’s ever been to seeing a woman undressed.”

Ferruro rumbled in delight. “This is a wonderful arrangement. I tease you, and in return you tease Haran.”

“I may as well. You’re two sides of the same coin.”

“Oh, cruel. And untrue. Believe me, I know a great deal about coins.” Ferruro’s eyes glittered with good humor. “While it has been a delight to see you again, I must hurry off on business. Even now there may be people trying to spend my money.”

Rema stepped aside and gestured to the hallway behind her. “Don’t tread on anyone I know.”

“Oh, don’t worry about what I might do to your friends. Haran, however, has found himself a zealous streak lately. Keep your little eyes sharp.” Ferruro strode past her, ducking to avoid a stone arch.

Her heart troubled by his parting words, Rema continued down the hall until she reached a spiral staircase, the walls of which were pebbled with an intricate mosaic. The stairs ascended into a low corridor lined with slender golden rods joining in a latticework across the ceiling. Rema passed the door to Artunos’s quarters and knocked on its nearest neighbor. After a long moment, the door opened. Elise’s head appeared in the gap, and affection swelled in Rema’s chest.

“Good morning,” Rema said. A simple welcome, but her knack for romance had failed her.

Without replying, Elise opened the door and gestured Rema in. Her bedchambers were modestly sized and lit by a large, crescent-shaped window. The bed was a mess, covered with tangled blankets and tossed pillows, and Elise had already pulled half the contents of her trunk onto the floor. She appeared as disorderly as her room, with a sullen pout on her lips and hair tangled wild around her face.

“You’re such a scruffy thing,” said Rema. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

“As happy as I can be, given I’m required to grovel piteously before the most horrible man in the world.”

Rema touched Elise’s shoulder, but the contact provoked no change in expression. “I know you resent it. But it’s important to keep him in a good mood so that I can convince him not to marry you right away.”

“Is that possible? That he’d marry me today?”

“Yes. The master of unions lives here in the palace, and he’s hardly likely to tell the Emperor that he’s overscheduled.”

“I imagined there’d be a wedding ceremony. Something imperial-sized.”

“Ormun got tired of that fifteen wives ago. Now he only cares about getting ink on the document.” Rema gave a smile without managing to elicit one in return. “Elsie, is something wrong?”

“I can’t stop thinking about how he hurt you. I’m terrified he’s going to do it again.”

“He won’t if you just nod and say the right things.”

“That’s not who I am, Rema. The moment I saw you, I threw myself at you. The moment Calan came home, I rushed to the door to berate him. I’m not like you. I can’t play along with his cruelty and pretend that I don’t care.”

Rema sucked in her breath. Though the words reflected what she herself had been saying to Jalaya that morning, it still hurt to hear it. “You’ll be fine,” said Rema with careful calmness. How ironic—her reaction to being accused of concealing her emotions had been to bury them even deeper. “Let’s make haste. Ormun is most amenable in the mornings. One of my little tricks is to bring him important things to sign before dawn.”

“Not to mention unimportant women who are being married against their will.”

“Elsie, I never even implied that you were…” Rema trailed off in exasperation. There had been genuine venom in her voice, but why? Gods, had she really given up Jalaya’s sweetness and wisdom for a spoiled, stubborn princess incapable of seeing beyond the fog of her own misfortune? “If I’ve insulted you, I apologize. Now please, let’s go.”

Elise trudged slowly in pursuit, her head kept low. As she and Rema entered the courtyard that acted as antechamber to Ormun’s meeting hall, Rema found herself on the verge of wild laughter. Here they were again, in exactly the same circumstances as the day before. The gods enjoyed their sport.

“Remember what happened last time,” said Rema. “I can tell you’re angry, but please behave yourself.”

“You think I’d say something to get you hurt?” Elise’s voice was feverish with indignation. “I would rather die than see you endure that again.”

“I’m sorry, Elsie. For everything and anything.” Rema sighed. “Are you ready?”

“It seems like a simple enough task. Let’s get it over with.”

Rema reached for the handle. As her fingers met its cool bronze surface, she shivered despite the early heat—thinking of that dream she’d had, the way the whip had moved—but before despair could take hold, a new resolve rose within her. Today she had broken the heart of her truest friend, who in return had offered neither tears nor recriminations, only blessings. Rema owed it to her to see this matter through.

She opened the door.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Ormun was standing alone in the chamber, his gaze fixed on a window. Rema cleared her throat. “Yes, I know you’re there,” Ormun said. “I’m just watching a parrot. Wonderful creatures…and there, it’s gone.” He swiveled to face her. “I have to say, Rema, if this is your idea of a happy bride, you and I must talk.”

After a moment of tense silence, Elise offered a weak smile. Rema tensed. Would the feigned pleasure be enough?

“That’s better,” said Ormun, and Rema relaxed. “Come closer, into the sun.”