Xylina paused and sat in thought for a long time. Put that way, she realized that he was right. The Queen had no reason to persecute her, only what she represented. Slowly, dubiously, she nodded her agreement. The matter of her mother still burned in her soul, but she knew she had no proof and no way to get redress. At the moment her only choice was to survive.
"Remember," he cautioned. "You must not make any charge that you cannot document. If she asks you if you think you have an enemy, you may say that you do, in order to avoid a lie-but do not say that you know it to be her. You must not let her think that you have found her out, or she will destroy you to save herself. You might not like the solution she finds for you, but it will not be exile, prison, or being-'forced'-to accede to my wishes."
"Very well," Xylina said, still feeling as if there was something about all this that she was missing. "When do you suggest that I approach her?"
"Now," Ware replied firmly. "Ask for immediate audience. Your debt comes due tomorrow, and if you wait, she will suspect something. Take Faro with you, if you feel you need him at your back, but you must go-and now."
And once again, with a sinking heart, she realized that he was right.
For once again, she had no choice.
• Chapter 9
Xylina had not really expected to get an immediate audience, despite Ware's insistence that she go to the Queen right away. She presented herself to the majordomo and sat on one of the hardwood benches in the dark, polished-granite anteroom. She heard her name called, ahead of others who had been waiting there longer.
She was certain there was some mistake, or that she was going to be told to return in the morning. The majordomo was a high-ranking slave who had the duty of relaying the Queen's orders when it came to whom she would see and whom she would not. When new petitioners arrived, the majordomo would send a slave in with the new name to the Queen, and she would decide whether she wished to see a particular person that day. Xylina expected to be told to return later. That would be fine, since she would at least have the evidence that she had presented herself today to show that she felt her cause was urgent.
But the majordomo beckoned, then ushered her into the audience chamber without a single word. Light spilled out as he quietly opened one of the bronze doors just enough to let her inside, then closed it behind her.
The silence within the audience chamber was intimidating. Xylina looked around, and suddenly felt very small. She took a firm grip on herself and took a second look. The chamber had obviously been designed to achieve just that effect of intimidating the petitioner and making her feel insignificant. The great double door behind her was far larger than it needed to be. The white marble from which the chamber had been crafted made it difficult to judge exactly how large it was, as the walls and ceiling receded into a haze of light. Everything in the room seemed to be just the slightest bit oversized. The empty benches beside her, for instance, which would hold waiting groups while their spokeswoman approached the Queen, were all just a little too tall and too wide to fit the average Mazonite comfortably. The bronze oil-lamps riveted to the white marble wall were of the same shape and style that she had seen in many other homes, yet they, too, were larger than normal. She had the feeling that the walls were not exactly parallel, that they were slightly skewed. The chamber focused on the raised platform at the end, and the scarlet-draped throne placed in the middle of it, the only spot of real color in the whole room. There was a single armed Guard behind her, and the Guard's eyes were focused on some point high above Xylina's head. If not for the gentle movement of the Guard's chest and the occasional blinking of her eyes, she could have been a statue. Beside the throne was a small bronze gong.
As if to contrast with the white of the room and the scarlet of her throne, Adria wore starkly cut black silk, ornamented with gold embroidery at the shoulders and hems of her tunic and breeches, clasped with a belt made of gold and onyx plates. A simple, brushed-gold coronet adorned Adria’s short gray-threaded black hair, and she sat relaxed and erect in her throne with an air of complete self-confidence.
She showed no sign that she recognized Xylina. As the girl approached, walking softly so that the sound of her footsteps would not echo in the enormous room, there was not even a flicker of recognition in the Queen's eyes.
But she reminded herself that Adria must have years of practice in maintaining control over her expression. The Queen was a consummate politician, of course, and it would be important that her enemies never be able to judge what she was thinking from her face. It would be just as important that Adria's own people never know what she was thinking.
She must remember this, Xylina told herself firmly. She must be as controlled as the Queen was. Adria must not know what Xylina was thinking, either. If the Queen knew, she could manipulate her; if she didn't, Xylina might control what the Queen thought of her, at least to some extent.
But how to accomplish this, when Xylina had no time to prepare herself, and was only a little less naive than she had been before today? She was not used to hiding her feelings-she was more accustomed to blurting out the truth than concealing it. And she still felt bewilderment and anger at Adria-both of which had to remain hidden.
Then she realized that she need not hide anything-she need only choose what to display. She could use one set of emotions to cover another. She would remember how she felt a moon ago, when Ware revealed his secret to her. That was hardly difficult; it was in fact far easier to call up that rage and fear-which was still with her-than it was to maintain the complex welter of emotions with which today's conversation had left her. The anger at Ware was closest to the surface and easiest to call upon. Despite what he had said to her, the way he had tried to help her, she was still full of that rage. After all, what he had said about her mother's death might not be true; it might be a ploy to set her against the Queen. And fear-that was easy to invoke as well. Who wouldn't be afraid, faced with exile?
She made up her mind all in an instant. This must be simple; she was calling upon the Queen for justice. The demon tricked her because he lusted after her. She did not know that Ware served the Queen; she did not know that the Queen had been trying to destroy her.
She approached the throne with her heart pounding loudly in her ears, her stomach quaking, but her head held high. She tried to keep those two things firmly in mind- her anger at Ware and his deception, and her fear of what might come. Adria's expression of bored tolerance did not change in the least. Xylina realized that she would not know if her plan was succeeding until Adria reacted-possibly when it was too late.
The majordomo had not told her what to do or given her any kind of instructions on protocol. But Xylina had always been taught that a Mazonite bowed to no one, not even the Queen. So she stopped two steps from the foot of the dais, and inclined her head, slightly. Then she stood stiffly erect, waiting.
This brought an ironic smile to Adria's lips. The expression did not move beyond her lips, nor did it warm her face to something less mask-like and more human. "So stiff," she murmured. "So proud. Well, Xylina Elibetas, what brings you before us that is so urgent it impressed even our majordomo?" She used the royal plural, but Xylina had expected that. What she had not expected was the quality of Adria's voice. Warm, dryly persuasive-Xylina found herself wanting to believe everything that voice told her. And she found herself wondering if Ware had lied to her.