She turned her back on Channis and walked out, leaving the door ajar.
“I can’t follow her, the Relict, I mean,” Casuel said hastily. “Or rather, I can, if I scry for her, but I’ll need ink and water—”
The Emperor smacked a furious hand into the silver tray, sending it skidding across the table and crashing to the floor.
Temar took a pace backwards as Casuel covered his head with frightened hands. Ryshad’s hand moved instinctively to his swordless hip as he took a step to bring him to Temar’s shoulder.
“Explain yourself, D’Alsennin,” demanded the Emperor. “Tell me why I should believe any of that?”
“You saw it with your own eyes, you heard for yourself,” Temar retorted.
“What did I see?” The Emperor moved to put the table between himself and Casuel. “Truth? Illusion? Some sorcerer’s charade woven by Planir?”
“The Archmage would never stoop to such deceit!” Casuel looked up indignantly from beneath his hands.
“You expect me to believe Dirindal Tor Bezaemar, with all her years, would admit all that to her acknowledged enemy’s paramour?” The Emperor scowled. “What has D’Olbriot told Planir of the history of my House? What does your Archmage know of my father and my uncle’s death?”
“No more than anyone else.” Casuel looked puzzled.
Urgent knocking on the door startled everyone in the room.
“Not now!” Tadriol yelled angrily.
Temar looked at the Emperor. “She asked how many more of your Name had to die. Does that have some darker meaning for you?”
Ryshad was barring the inner door with his body. “There’ve always been rumours, highness, among the sworn, but never leading back to Tor Bezaemar.”
The Emperor looked sharply at him before glowering at Temar again. “And Dirindal conveniently half admits it!”
The knocking came again. “Is everything all right?” a hesitant voice called.
“You, chosen man, get rid of them,” the Emperor ordered abruptly. Ryshad slipped out of the room. “Wizard, do you spy like this for D’Olbriot, for the Archmage or both? How often?”
“I’m no spy,” Casuel protested weakly.
“I cannot believe Dirindal would forget herself away like that.” Tadriol looked grim.
“There are ways of loosening tongues.” Temar chose his words carefully, wishing Ryshad hadn’t just disappeared. “I know you have spoken with Planir, so you must be aware there is more than one kind of magic”
“These so-called dark arts of the Elietimm?” The Emperor scowled suspiciously.
“Artifice is a tool, like any other. A knife can cut bread to feed a child or to stab a man to the heart.” Temar didn’t dare let his indignation show. “It was a cornerstone of justice in the Old Empire because no one could speak falsehood under the seal of their oath.”
“And how was that marvel achieved?” demanded the Emperor with obvious scepticism.
“With the oaths and invocations you still use in your courts,” Temar shot back. “In my day they were backed with enchantment. And where Artifice can bind a false tongue, it can loosen another to speak the truth, all unwitting. Demoiselle Tor Arrial is a highly skilled Adept and she was in the next room laying an invocation on the Relict prompting her to speak.”
“Prompting her to speak her mind or merely making a puppet out of her?” countered the Emperor.
Temar struggled for an answer, hearing Ryshad arguing with someone in the outer room, seeing Casuel looking uncertainly from face to face. He closed his eyes to concentrate better.
“Aedral mar nidralae, Avila,” he said suddenly. “Demoiselle, please get here as fast as possible. Bring Velindre and Allin.”
“I thought you were here to ask about an insignia!” The Steward’s irate voice made Temar open his eyes. The man was standing in the doorway, Ryshad behind him ringed by menacing guards with swords.
Temar waved a frustrated arm. “Give me just a little longer and I can prove our good faith!” The evidence of his own eyes had convinced Ryshad, hadn’t it?
“You don’t raise your hand or your voice to the Emperor, boy!” The Steward snapped his fingers and the men-at-arms moved closer.
“Enough, Master Jainne.” Tadriol looked at Temar with a slight smile. “Send D’Olbriot’s man in here and wait outside. I believe some ladies will be joining us shortly.” He glanced at a small brass timepiece on the mantelshelf. The pointing arrow was very nearly halfway down the engraved scale. “They’d better hurry or we’ll all be late for the dance. So, D’Alsennin, you wanted to discuss an insignia? You think a badge will make you more secure? Have you chosen livery colours as well? I have to say, you’d be the youngest person I ever called Messire and D’Alsennin will still be a mighty small House. Do you really want to be Sieur in your own Name?”
The words weren’t unkindly meant but still stung Temar like a slap across the face.
“I do not know if I want to be a Sieur on your terms; I do not know what the title means in this age,” he retorted. “But I know what it meant in my day, and that was a duty of care to all who depended on you. By Saedrin’s very keys, I will do my duty to the people of Kel Ar’Ayen. They crossed the ocean trusting in the Names of Den Rannion, Den Fellaemion and D’Alsennin. I am the last of those nobles and Poldrion drown me but I will defend their interests. I speak for people held under enchantment for nigh on thirty generations and many still lie insensible in the darkness. I want them back, and if I need some trumpery badge to make you people take me seriously then I will wear one, but it means precious little to me.”
“What he means is—” began Casuel in strangled tones.
“I can speak for myself, Master Mage!” Temar spat.
“Then speak,” the Emperor commanded.
“The only reason I came to you is my people will suffer still more in a quarrel not of our making. Kel Ar’Ayen is simply one more piece on the game board between Tor Bezaemar and D’Olbriot, and I cannot let that go unchallenged. Tor Bezaemar has been orchestrating all the cases brought before you in the courts. By way of retaliation, the Sieur and his brothers are planning every assault possible on Tor Bezaemar property and allied Names. D’Olbriot’s man there heard them.” Temar gestured at Ryshad who was standing motionless by the door, head raised, eyes level.
“You wear a chosen man’s armring,” the Emperor observed, a distinct chill in his voice. “Shouldn’t you be keeping your Sieur’s confidences?”
“I believe an open quarrel with Tor Bezaemar will harm the House.” Ryshad continued to stare straight ahead. “My loyalties are to all who bear the Name, not merely to the person of the Sieur.”
“Guliel’s not stupid, he must see this will only discredit his arguments in court,” said the Emperor, frustrated. “Why’s D’Olbriot taking justice into his own hands?”
“In my day we went to the Emperor for justice.” Temar stepped round the table to stand toe to toe with Tadriol. “You must stop this quarrel before it gets out of hand. Before all your advocates have said their pieces, innocent men will have lost their livelihoods, and if Kel Ar’Ayen is cut adrift my people may well lose their lives.”
“When I see open antagonism between two powerful Houses I will act to limit the damage,” the Emperor protested.
“Can you not stop it before it starts?” demanded Temar. “Do you wait until the roof catches before you tear down a burning house?”
“Then bring evidence untainted by magic before the courts,” repeated the Emperor with some heat. “Where all can witness it and justice can be seen to be done.”