Beyond the Shadowed Earth Page 3

  Niren rubbed a hand over her eyes, mouthing a quick prayer. “The envoy from Denlahn has arrived.”

  Eda thought she’d heard incorrectly. “What?”

  “The envoy from Denlahn is here.” Niren shifted uncomfortably. “For the peace treaty talks. The Barons arranged it without you, months ago. There’s to be a party tonight to celebrate their arrival.”

  Eda slammed the lid of the jewel case shut so hard the perfume bottles on the dressing table bounced and knocked together. So that’s what the Barons had been getting at during the council session. They weren’t petitioning for a treaty—the bastards were informing her it was already underway.

  Chapter Three

  A PAIR OF MALE ATTENDANTS HELD A CANOPY over 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—a suitor,” 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 m
y 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.

  Niren had finished her debate and hovered apart from the rest of the crowd, looking bored and out of place. She never seemed to have any interest in conversing with the other courtiers, no matter how many times Eda told her they all admired her, and she might have already garnered a number of marriage proposals if she’d paid any of the young men even an inkling of regard. Niren hadn’t told her as much, but Eda suspected she’d left her heart behind her in Evalla. Eda didn’t feel guilty about it. Far better for Niren to marry a rich courtier she liked a little, than a penniless farmer she fancied herself in love with.

  “Your Imperial Majesty?” Lohnin, the Baron of Tyst, had approached without her noticing. He frowned behind his wretched beard. “You’ve not yet formally welcomed the Denlahn envoy.”

  And you’ve not yet formally perished in the void, Eda barely kept from replying. The Denlahns waited awkwardly near the wide dais opposite the food tables: the two royals and the ambassador, with a pair of guards standing stiff behind them.

  Eda stepped past Baron Lohnin without acknowledging him and gave the Denlahns her sharpest smile. She snapped her fingers at one of the attendants, and a wine glass was pressed into her hands. She raised it high, addressing the whole room: “To our honored guests, Prince Ileem Emohri and Princess Liahstorion Emohri of Denlahn. May the gods guide your steps and give you the grace to walk.” It was an old platitude she was attempting to resurrect, to little success.

  Most of her Barons grimaced at her, but all the courtiers raised their glasses and drank to the Denlahns’ health. Niren caught her eye across the room, lips twitching—she recognized the platitude, even if no one else did.

  The ambassador, Ileem, and Liahstorion approached, and Eda deposited her glass with another attendant in time for the ambassador to take her hand. He pressed it briefly and released her.

  “You are all looking very well, and rather more dry than when we saw each other last,” Eda greeted them.

  The ambassador gave a forced laugh, while Prince Ileem smiled. Princess Liahstorion just glared at her.

  “I’ll leave you to get more acquainted, Your Highness, Your Majesty,” said the ambassador in his accented Enduenan. “I have much to discuss with your Barons.” He bowed and left them.

  Eda thought that if she chopped up the ambassador and all her Barons and put them in a stew, they would have even more to talk about. How arrogant of him to assume she was to be left out of their discussions!

  “You’re scowling, Your Majesty. Do you find me so repulsive?”

  She snapped her eyes to Prince Ileem, whose tone was dark and tense. He seemed almost to crackle with energy, like there was something wild in him he could barely contain. He wore a pair of loose trousers and a long fitted shirt embroidered in silver, with silver buttons marching down the front of it. The whole ensemble nicely set off the cuff on his ear.

  “Do you?” His voice grew even tighter.

  “Of course not, Your Highness. I was only imagining all my Barons chopped up in a stew, and wondering what seasonings I might add to make them remotely palatable.”

  She didn’t know what possessed her to tell him that, but he gave a short bark of surprised laughter and seemed instantly more at ease. “I take it you don’t like them very much.”

  “They’re far more trouble than they’re worth.”

  He smiled and offered her his arm, which she took after only a slight hesitation. They walked together toward the balcony, and courtiers parted to make way for them.

  Princess Liahstorion, who hadn’t said a word throughout this exchange, followed.

  Eda smoothly drew her arm out of Ileem’s as they stepped up to the balcony’s rail. The air smelled fresh and new, of damp stone washed clean of dust. She breathed it in. “I’m gathering your sister doesn’t like me very much.” She could feel Liahstorion’s glare without turning around.

  Ileem smiled again, but his eyes held danger. “Don’t flatter yourself. She doesn’t like many people.” His ear cuff flashed in the starlight. “Although you Enduenans are responsible for our father’s death, which would give her reason to harbor personal hostility toward you.”

  Wind stirred through Eda’s skirt and a chill curled up her spine. “Your father?” she said carefully.

  “The late King of Denlahn. He fought in the war your Emperor brought to our shores. His wounds maimed him, and slowly poisoned his blood until he couldn’t even lift his head from his pillow. We watched him waste away our entire lives, and two springs ago—we watched him die.”

  Eda’s hand went to her dagger. “You’re here to kill me.”

  Ileem raised both eyebrows. “Kill you? Certainly not, Your Majesty. We’re here to make peace, so no one in either Denlahn or Enduena will ever have a childhood like ours.”

  “But you hate me, surely.”

  “Our father’s death was not your doing.” Ileem looked out over the balcony, down into the sprawling city. Lights appeared in the streets below, lanterns in windows to combat the dark. “That is precisely why we are here—to forge peace in this new generation, an alliance strong enough to atone, at least in part, for the shadows of our past.”

  Eda glanced behind them to Liahstorion, who had listened stone-faced to her brother’s impassioned speech. “I appreciate your sentiments,” Eda told the prince, “but I don’t trust you.”

  “And nor should you, not yet. All I ask is that you don’t judge me—judge us—too quickly.”

  His earnestness surprised her. “I’ll endeavor not to.”

  Ileem bowed very low. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  Liahstorion shifted where she stood, drawing Eda’s eye. Her deep violet skirt pooled like water around her ankles, her bare brown arms traced with swirls of silver that gleamed in the light spilling out of the ballroom. “I’m thirsty,” she said. “I’m going in.” And she left them.

  Ileem looked after his sister. “She doesn’t agree about the treaty. She wants war. Vengeance.”

  “Then why did she come?”

  Ileem shrugged. “To look after me, I suppose. She doesn’t trust me to keep out of trouble.”

  “I thought you were the older sibling.”

  “I am. Well, I’m the youngest of seven sons, and she’s the youngest of us all, but she was born to be a queen.”

  “And you?”

  He eyed her intently, his expression unreadable. “I was born to bind together the might of two great nations and make them stronger than anyone ever thought possible. I was born to fulfill the will of my god.”

  A chill shuddered through her. “Your god?”

  His hand went unconsciously to his ear cuff. “My mother pledged me to the god Rudion when I was born. At twelve, I made her vow my own and took the god’s mark. It is my sworn duty to serve him all my life.”

  Eda’s thundering heart already knew the answer, but she asked him anyway. “Who is the god Rudion?”

  “The Lord of the Mountain. The god you call Tuer.”

  She couldn’t help but gape at him, her world shifting into a strange new pattern. Had Tuer sent Ileem to her? Was he her answer? “I too serve Tuer,” she told him. “I’m building a temple in his honor.”

  Ileem smiled, swift and fierce. “A noble undertaking indeed, Your Imperial Majesty. I’m glad my vow has brought me here.” His whole body seemed to relax, tension she hadn’t realized was there melting out of him. “Do you dance at Enduenan parties?”

  “I have only to give
the musicians the word.”

  He held out his hand. “Then give it. Dance with me.”

  She thought for a moment while he waited, his hand still outstretched. Then she took it, his skin warm and rough beneath her fingers. “I will dance with you,” she said. “But it remains to be seen whether or not you can keep up.”

  It was later than she wanted when she stepped into Baron Domin’s private suite in the royal wing of the palace, an hour or two before dawn—she and Ileem had danced a long while, the knowledge that they served the same god pulsing warm between them. She’d come via the roof to avoid her guards, swinging down onto Domin’s balcony and stepping in through his window.

  He was, predictably, asleep, sprawled out on his silk sheets, his head lolled to one side, drool soaking his pillow. She stepped up to his bed, knelt, and shook his shoulder. She liked Domin a very, very little, but more importantly he liked her, and she wanted to keep it that way. He was hardly more than a boy, and she knew he fancied himself in love with her. She tried to encourage that as often as possible, while still making no promises of an amorous nature. “Domin, wake up.”

  He shifted, yawned, stretched, and opened one eye at a time, looking at her with some degree of confusion but no alarm. “Your Imperial Majesty?”

  “I need to know how the Denlahns entered my country without my knowledge.”

  He blinked and yawned again.

  “Get up, Domin. Ring for tea if you need it.”

  Domin gave a sigh of resignation and climbed out of bed. He flushed to realize how little his thin nightshirt conserved his modesty, but Eda didn’t blink, just raised an eyebrow, impatient with him. There was a robe lying haphazardly on his dressing table, which he grabbed quickly and put on, then walked with her over to the armchairs arranged next to the balcony.

  Eda sat, folded her hands in her lap, and eyed him expectantly. “Well?”

  He sat too, jiggling one foot and avoiding her eyes. “It’s been a plan for a while, Your Majesty, from before you were even crowned.”