"Good evening," Helena said, one long, dark eyebrow inching up. "Martina. A lovely dress." She tilted her head a little to one side. "Is this the fashion in Constantinople?"
The Duchess felt the girl flinch at the Western Empress' turned lip. Helena, in comparison, was very plainly dressed, even austere. The younger woman's gown exposed too much cream-colored breast and her jewels and gold now seemed overdone-even crass-when measured against Helena's restrained antiques. Anastasia glared at Helena, but the Empress just raised her head, looking back at her friend with a cool expression.
"Thank you," Martina managed to say, swallowing the beginnings of a stutter.
"You're welcome," Helena said, eyes glittering. "How is your son? Still healthy, I hope. Little Theodosius would miss playing with him. You know he is welcome to stay with us at any time."
"Heracleonas is a strong, healthy boy," Martina said, an edge of anger creeping into her voice. "Theo's colic has passed, has it?"
"Oh, yes," Helena said, making a dismissive wave with a pale white hand. "Did you come with anyone tonight? I worry you've no one of your own station to attend such events with."
Anastasia felt her heart sink into her stomach. What has gotten into her tonight? The Western Empress looked around, as if she searched for one of the great nobles of the East. Why remind the girl her husband is dead?
"I came," Martina bit out, "with the prince Maxian." Her fingers slipped from Anastasia's, balling into fists. The Duchess saw some of the senatorial wives lingering, eyes bright with interest, sharp ears pricked. Anastasia turned, shielding the two women from prying eyes, a hand on either Empress' arm.
"You did?" Helena smiled, though the motion did not reach her eyes. "That was kind of him. He is busy these days… everyone is, I suppose, with such dreadful things happening."
For a moment, Martina seemed to freeze solid, a flush rising at her throat. Then she mastered herself, essayed a brittle smile, and said, "We are busy, Helena, there are many projects underway, all in the service of the Emperor and the State." Her green eyes narrowed. "We will need every advantage to destroy the Persians."
"Oh," Helena said, one tapered fingernail pressed to her chin in a pose of remembering. "I'd quite forgotten you work for the prince, collating the news of ancient days, searching for some fragment that might yield us victory." The Western Empress smiled, making a little bow. "This evening must be a welcome diversion, then."
Anastasia flinched inwardly and closed her eyes for the smallest moment. An image of Martina's face filling with fury at the word work remained. Then she took a deep breath and caught Helena's arm. "My dear, I must show you something new and marvelous in the glass hall…" With a despairing look over her shoulder at Martina, who was almost shaking with rage, face white, barely restrained fury glittering in her eyes, Anastasia hauled the Western Empress away by main force.
Helena laughed as they passed into the portico leading from the inner garden to the outer.
"Oh, dear," the Empress said, chuckling, "did you see her face?"
"What has gotten into you?" Anastasia's tone was frigid. Helena stopped short, surprised.
"Oh, don't tell me you and the little lost princess are friends now? What a horror!"
"A horror?" The Duchess pushed Helena into a side chamber, thankfully empty and ornamented with enormous vases and ostrich-feather plumes. "She's young, inexperienced, bereft and desperately lonely. Why are you being so cruel?"
"I don't know." Helena leaned back against the smooth marble of the nearest urn, a sulky expression on her face. "She's such a fat little brown mouse, all weepy-eyed and pitiful. I don't like her."
Anastasia restrained a groan of despair, then marshaled herself. "You, of all people, should understand how she feels-weren't you lonely when you first came to Rome? Didn't you hate the proud matrons and their cutting tongues? I remember how unhappy you were-"
"Oh, please!" Helena stood away from the urn, eyes flashing. "Galen had been Emperor only a month, with blood still on his boots! The little twit has been an Empress for nearly a decade. There's no reason she should mope about-so her husband is dead, her son still lives, and there is every chance Heracleonas will be restored to his throne. Galen certainly intends to see him there!" The Empress paused, a calculating look filling her face. "Though the young often die unexpectedly-"
"Be quiet!" Anastasia glared at Helena, fingers pressed against the Empress' lips. "Do not say such things-you've your own son-would you want others to wish him ill?"
"No, I suppose not." Helena batted away the Duchess' hand. "She grates on me and the way she looks at Maxian… I'll not have her as a sister-in-law!"
Anastasia gave her an arch look. "How would you prevent such a match? The boy needs a wife, she needs a husband, and marrying Martina would ensure the loyalty of the Eastern nobility."
"No," Helena spat, lips twisting, "I will not make a rival to my son and his demesne."
"The East is our ally!" Anastasia was horrified and let it show, staring in amazement at Helena. "Heracleonas is not a rival!"
"No?" The Western Empress' expression grew grim, swift as night falling on some barren plain. "I know how the little mouse thinks. She's already clawed her way out of one dynastic wreck-her stepson lies dead in the ruins of Constantinople. The brother who hated her is struck down, taking with him all organized opposition." Helena raised a finger, forestalling another outburst from Anastasia. The Empress' voice became quiet and serious. "Listen to me, Duchess. Now she is here, among us, with her eye on my brother-in-law. He may be powerful, but he is not paying attention to the currents moving around him. If she captures his fancy, inveigles him to marry her, then her son's future is assured. Heracleonas will sit on the throne of the East-and more, he would be heir to the West as well…"
"Only if something happens to Galen, and you, and Theodosius…" Anastasia looked over her shoulder, suddenly wary. "Why would that happen? Have you heard something?"
"I have." Helena's expression grew even colder. She stepped to the doorway, peering out. After a moment, she raised her hand. Anastasia drew back the edge of a draped tapestry, eyes following the Empress' pointing finger. "Who is the prince's wise councilor? His eyes, ears, mouth in the city?"
"Gaius Julius," Anastasia replied tiredly, seeing the man himself, standing tall among a crowd of the Palatine secretaries and officials, face beaming with a genial smile, his hands in sharp motion as he related some amusing story. The Duchess let the drape fall. She met Helena's eyes and found a mocking smile on the Empress' lips. "You're sure he-"
"Aren't you?" Helena shook her head in dismay. "Aren't you the master of intrigue? He is Caesar-the only sober man who ever tried to overthrow the Senate!"
Anastasia shrugged, checking her earrings. She felt tired and the night was still young. "I concede the point. There is, possibly, danger."
"And so?" Helena raised an eyebrow again. "What will you do about her?"
"Nothing violent!" Anastasia made a sign to avert evil fortune. "In any case, I was well on my way to making friends with her… before your heedless tongue spoiled everything."
"Huh." Helena looked out into the garden again, frowning. "She's hanging on him again, like… like a limpet, or a leech, or something equally slimy from some eastern bog."
"You are not helping." Anastasia stepped into the doorway, giving the Empress a sharp look. "If Martina is your friend, Gaius is denied a weapon, and the danger to your son all the less."
Helena made a sour face. Giving up for the moment, the Duchess hurried off. A hostess' work is never done.