The food carts set up around the edges of the square were doing a brisk business among the more casual attendees. Although she hadn’t eaten the dumpling the guesthouse had provided, and she should be hungry, the smell of the food made her stomach churn.
When she stepped back against Tomas, he jerked away.
“What have you got under your skirt!”
“The telescope. I left everything else in the room, but…” It wasn’t that she thought she’d forget the soldier she’d killed, it was just that it was the only memorial he had. She couldn’t carry it, so she’d tied it to her petticoat and figured it would remain unseen with all the extra useless folds of fabric. “What did you think it was?”
Before Tomas could answer, trumpets blared, loud enough the echo chased itself four or five times around the square.
A few people shrieked, a few more laughed at them, but the crowd quickly quieted.
“His Imperial Majesty Leopald, by the light of the Sun and the strength of his people, Exalted ruler of the Kresentian Empire, Commander in Truth of the Imperial army, Supreme Protector of the Holy Church of the One True Sun welcomes you, his people, to this public festival.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
“There’s brass…I don’t know, horns? Bells? Up on top of the gate.”
Mirian could see the gate. She took Tomas’ word for the bells.
“When the gate opens,” the voice continued, “the palace will be laid out for your enjoyment. Your emperor trusts you’ll behave in his home as he would behave in yours.”
“Kidnapping, murder…”
“Shhh.”
“Do not open doors that have not been opened for you. Do not speak to the soldiers. May the Sun grant warmth and life to His Imperial Majesty!”
A cheer went up, the gates opened, and the first few ranks surged forward.
Mirian’s palms were damp as they followed, her mouth dry. She tightened her grip on Tomas’ arm, frowning at a familiar noise. “You’re growling.”
“Sorry.”
As they finally crossed the inner courtyard, heading toward the stairs leading up the open double doors, Tomas leaned in and murmured, “There’s guards on the roof with muskets watching the gate.” He didn’t sound surprised.
“Just the gate?”
“It’s a lot of roof.”
It was a lot of palace. Mirian wondered how they’d find the first assembly room and Captain Reiter. Then she saw there were signs designed to look like theatrical scene cards by each open door and a soldier by each sign. The edges of the signs were soft and worn and they looked like they’d been used a number of times before. Most of the soldiers looked bored already. They’d be thrilled for the chance to chase escaped prisoners. More thrilled, no doubt to be able to shoot them in the back.
“You put half of Tardford to sleep,” Tomas murmured against her ear.
There was that. But how did he…
“And you’re cutting off the circulation in my lower arm.”
Oh.
She tried to look overwhelmed by the magnificence, but suspected she looked like she wanted to throw up. Although, logically, that could be interpreted as overwhelmed, it would definitely attract more attention than they wanted.
The hall eventually dumped them into the small assembly room they were looking for. Most of the people around them kept walking out the open doors on the other side, one loudly declaring that only first timers stopped so close to the gate.
Mirian followed Tomas’ gaze up to the ceiling and the naked, winged babies that cavorted across the painted sky. She couldn’t see details, but they were large enough and gold enough, she couldn’t mistake what they were. “My father says expensive ugly is still ugly.”
“Your father’s right.”
“My mother never agreed.”
“The emperor’s mother had it restored just before she died.”
She hadn’t noticed Reiter arrive. Tomas hadn’t started, so he must have picked up the captain’s scent.
“If you’re interested in her restoration work, she saved some ornate plasterwork as well.” He looked as bored as the guards on duty, but then he would, showing his sister and her husband around the palace.
“I’d love to see the plasterwork.” Mirian smiled broadly, then toned it down a little as his eyes narrowed.
They fell into step beside him as he led the way out of the assembly room and along a broad hall. Outside the narrow windows that provided light, was a small interior courtyard dominated by a tall post covered in trumpet vine.
“It’s what’s left of the old gibbet,” Reiter told her, catching her staring. “That was the palace’s execution yard before they built this wing.”
“Foreshadowing,” Tomas muttered. “Ow.”
“Why would they keep the gibbet?” Mirian asked as Tomas rubbed his side where she’d pinched him.
Reiter shrugged. “Sentiment.”
The prison on the southern edge of Bercarit had an execution yard and hangings were open to the public, but Mirian’s mother had declared only the low and the vulgar attended. Mirian didn’t care who went; she only knew she’d never see death as entertainment.
The vine burst into flower.
“Mirian.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“What did I say about accidents?”
“If I could control it, it wouldn’t be an accident. It would be a deliberate!”
“Fair enough.” Reiter’s voice had gotten deeper. “Now keep walking. Look at the pretty flowers if you want to. Aren’t they nice? Don’t make a big deal of it.”
It was a voice intended to calm soldiers. Mirian had heard it in the woods when she’d been his captive. She could almost see him walking along a line of men in uniform, speaking quietly, calmly, steadying them to get the job done.
“I’m not one of your soldiers.” She didn’t know why she said it.
“No.” He almost smiled. “At this point, I expect I’m one of yours.”
Her elbow stopped Tomas’ growling almost before he got started.
“Where is everyone?”
The hall was nearly empty.
“I was told the emperor often shows himself in the antechamber of his private wing in the first hour on a festival day. The crowds are crazy, though. I was warned away. There’ll be other chances.”
About to make it clear she had no interest in seeing the emperor, Mirian realized Reiter was once again talking to them like they were visiting family, assuming he’d be overheard. At the end of the hall, most of the crowd had turned right, but they stopped and stared at the plasterwork on the ceiling while Reiter opened a door and slipped into the room, pulling the door closed but not latching it behind him.
After a moment, of pretending interest in a white blur, Mirian heard. “Follow me when it’s clear.”
When the halls were clear? When no one was looking their way? “Tomas…I can’t see that far.”
His hand was warm on the small of her back. “I’ve got it. Look at the plaster…at the plaster…Move, now!”
She let his shove carry her forward, her weight opening the door. Tomas latched it behind them. The room wasn’t large and held only a long narrow table at one end with a single, high-backed chair behind it. There was a smaller door on the back wall.
“This is the first room I was ever in, in the palace.” Reiter stood by the second door. “Come on.
As Mirian stepped closer to the rear wall, she managed to identify the repeating blue pattern of the wallpaper as a shepherdess playing the flute. Her mother would have loved it. The door opened into an empty hall. Painted a soft gray, with gaslights along the left, it had little in common with the high ceilings and ornate paint effects in the hall they’d just left.