Chapter Three
APAIR OF MALE ATTENDANTS HELD A CANOPYover Eda’s head to keep the rain off. It was bright orange, a blur of color in the uncharacteristically dreary day. She’d selected the male attendants to accentuate her height—she stood eye to eye with one, and was taller than the other—just as she’d chosen the orange canopy to set off her appearance, which was meant to evoke the image of Caida, goddess of fire. Her skirt was a swirl of red and gold Itan silk, so thin it was nearly translucent, her sleeveless top studded with rubies, her bare midriff gleaming with gold-flecked oil. Her intricately braided hair was woven through with gold threads connected to a filigree crown that matched her arm cuff, and her lashes and brows and lips were dusted with gold powder.
But the dagger at her waist was the only thing that gave her any comfort. Unlike her Barons assumed, it was every bit as functional as it was decorative.
Just outside the palace’s grand front entrance, a carriage flanked by six horsemen lurched to a stop, mud from the wheelsspattering up across the door. Eda descended the wide palace steps like a blazing star, four guards at her back. She paused a few yards from the carriage, observing the new arrivals as if she had known all along they were coming and wasn’t completely blindsided by their appearance, as the Barons had intended. She wanted the first show of power the Denlahns saw to be hers, and hers alone.
Two of the horsemen swung down from their mounts, futilely attempting to wipe the rain from their eyes, and one moved to open the carriage door and offer his arm to the young lady inside, while the other stepped toward Eda.
He was a tall man, at least a head taller than her, which irked her, and had the dark brown skin of his native country. He looked about sixty, his close-cropped, tightly curled hair silver, and she could see the outline of a sword underneath his dense rain cloak. He did not bow. “I am Oadem Jaer, Ambassador of His Majesty Desares Emohri of Denlahn. Who might I be addressing?” He spoke in accented but confident Enduenan.
Eda didn’t deign to let her anger show. She looked Oadem squarely in the eye and said coldly, in smooth Denlahn, “I am Her Imperial Majesty Eda Mairin-Draive, gods-blessed Empress of Enduena, Queen of Ryn, and Ruler of Od.”
Oadem’s expression didn’t change, but he dipped his chin with some measure of respect. “Your Imperial Majesty. Allow me to present to you Their Highnesses Prince Ileem Emohri and Princess Liahstorion Emohri.” He gestured behind him, beckoning forward the other dismounted horseman and the young woman from the carriage. Both of them bowed to Eda.
She took great pleasure in watching them straighten up again and struggle not to ask why she hadn’t yet invited them in out of the rain or offered them a canopy. The prince wasshorter than the ambassador, on eye level with Eda, and broad shouldered. He was probably about her own age, maybe a little older. He had a sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and tightly curled black hair cropped short against his head like Oadem’s. There was a silver cuff on his left ear, molded to fit all along the rim of it, and it was crimped and stamped with some design she couldn’t make out from where she stood.
The princess looked a little younger than her brother. She was dressed in deep blue brocade robes, with a thin silk scarf pulled up over her cloud of black hair that was doing a bad job keeping the rain off. She had gleaming dark eyes and was scowling sharp enough to wound.
Eda stood, radiant and dry under her canopy, and smiled grandly. “Welcome to Eddenahr. I would apologize for the rain, but it’s always wanted in the desert, isn’t it?”
“Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty,” said the prince. “A gift from the gods themselves.” His voice was sonorous and rich and had the cadence of a singer; he spoke her language easily, with hardly any accent.
Eda focused her smile on him. She was about to invite them inside at last, when Baron Rescarin strode up behind her. He smiled broadly at the Denlahns, but she didn’t miss the anger burning in his eyes. He spoke in careful Denlahn, and Eda wondered if he thought she couldn’t understand it. Bastard. “Ah, Your Highnesses! Welcome to Eddenahr! I see our little Empress has come out to greet you.”
As if she were some eager pet hound—Eda wanted to tear him to pieces. Maybe she could, if she made it look like some kind of unfortunate accident. She pondered throwing him into the tiger pit and almost missed Rescarin’s next comment.
“What do you think of her, now that you see her?” And then to Eda, in Enduenan, “I do hope you’ve been polite, Your Imperial Majesty. You’ve never had a suitor from quite so far away before.”
“A—asuitor,” Eda stammered before she could stop herself.
Rescarin pretended to ignore her, his smile widening as he took the prince’s arm and led him past Eda and up toward the palace. The princess and ambassador followed.
Rain poured over the edge of Eda’s canopy as she stared after them, dumbfounded. She did not like surprises, and she most certainly did not like this one.
She squared her shoulders and climbed the steps in the others’ wake, her star a little dimmed.
By the evening, it had finally stopped raining. Beyond the open balcony at the back of the enormous ballroom, bright stars spangled the night sky, thick as spilled milk. Eda swept into the room emulating Raiva, goddess of trees and spinner of starlight, second in power only to Tuer of the mountain. For her coronation, Eda had copied the dress and crown depicted in Raiva’s mural in the old palace temple. Tonight’s gown was more fanciful, patterned after an illustration in one of Eda’s childhood books: it was bright blue, with an airy light gold sash shimmering with flecks of diamonds. Her black hair tumbled loose behind her shoulders in carefully arranged waves, and instead of a crown she wore a sapphire on her forehead, heavy and cold against her skin.
Niren was standing near the balcony, in the middle of what looked like a heated discussion with one of the palace scribes. It seemed to be a challenge among all the scholars and library apprentices to best Niren in a debate over the finer points of mythology. As far as Eda knew, in the year Niren had lived in the palace no one had ever done it.
Eda wished she could go and join Niren, but she had Barons to call to heel and Denlahns to banish from her shores.
As if reading her thoughts, Rescarin stepped up to her, wine goblet in hand, the diamonds in his ear flashing in the lamplight. “I hope our little surprise this afternoon didn’t rattle you overly much, Your Imperial Highness,” he said smugly, taking a sip of his wine.
Eda imagined shoving the goblet down his throat and making him swallow it, which allowed her to offer him a brilliant smile. “Not at all, Your Grace. I approve of a council that can sometimes take initiative. The key word, of course, being ‘sometimes.’”
“I understand perfectly, Your Majesty. We will consult with you before we take any other such steps.”
She couldn’t help but admire, at least a little, how smoothly he lied.
“But now that Prince Ileem is here, I do hope you will consider the match—it would do more toward uniting our countries than war and be less costly.”
She despised the good sense in his words, but called out his real motive: “You care more about transferring my power to someone you can more easily control than you do about what might be less costly for Enduena. I implore you not to forget, Your Grace, that I could give your title—and your lands—to someone more willing to obey my orders.”
The threat was empty, and Rescarin knew it, but he gave her a little bow of acknowledgement anyway. “I endeavor, as always, to please you, Your Majesty.” He turned away before she could dismiss him. Jackal.
As Eda strode farther into the ballroom, attendants trailing in her wake, every eye in the place fixed directly on her. Most of her courtiers were ambling around the room, eating glazed meat off skewers or nibbling sugared cakes and drinking wine. Some lingered by the food tables near the back, waiting for more substantial fare to be served.
