“Would Haerel be offering better advice?” snapped Channis. “Or Kreve? We all saw you encouraging him to invite Tadriol down to his fiefdom for last year’s hunting season. I take it you’re looking to sit your grandson on the steps of the throne in Guliel’s place?”
“We should be sitting on that throne,” Dirindal hissed. “I should be managing the marriage of an Emperor of my own blood, not worrying what slattern D’Olbriot’s going to talk Tadriol into bedding. I should be an Emperor’s Relict, with all the influence of a lifetime’s rule. Don’t think I don’t know it was Guliel’s uncle turned the Houses against my husband’s claim, just as it’s been Guliel and his brothers backing every Tadriol since. How else could those dolts hold the throne? How many more of them have to die before our House regains its rightful place? Well, it’ll be different next time, when D’Olbriot’s brought low and Tor Bezaemar can show the Names the true meaning of power.”
Temar saw Channis go as white as the linen covering the table, even in the tiny image. Dirindal was leaning over her, rage twisting her hands in cruel claws. Channis gave a frantic push that sent the old woman stumbling backwards.
“Lay a hand on me and I’ll scream!” Her frightened voice rang through the enchantment.
“Cas, tell Velindre to interrupt them.” Temar felt cold with apprehension.
“I can’t, not without losing the spell,” said the mage tightly.
“Hold your magic, wizard,” ordered the Emperor, face grim. “Channis can take her chances.”
But as Temar watched, nervousness making him nauseous, Dirindal walked slowly back to the far side of the room. She smoothed the skirts of her modest gown and ran a plump hand over her undisturbed coiffeur. When she turned her face was settled once more in amiable lines of serene old age. “Dear me, Channis, I quite forgot myself. Oh, don’t think I wouldn’t slap you as you so richly deserve, but too many people know we’re in here together. And as you so cleverly observed, I make a habit of not doing things that cannot be innocently explained away. You’ve done very well to discover so much but the people I’ve used will twist in the wind before they betray me, so you’ve nothing to show for it. All you’ve done is warn me to take better care in future, haven’t you?”
“I’ll tell Guliel.” Channis sounded like a petulant child, and from her expression she knew it.
Dirindal’s laugh was kindly. “And he will have no more proof than you, my dear and we have plenty of Names to call on, if he wishes to set his House against ours. I doubt he has the stomach for that when all he ever does is hide behind Tadriol’s boy and whisper suggestions. If he had any true nobility he’d have taken the throne for himself by now.” She spoke over Lady Channis’s indignant protests. “Good day to you, my dear. I suppose I’ll see you at the Emperor’s dance this afternoon. You might want to purchase some white feathers while you’re here. It won’t be long before you’ll be looking for another House to shelter you, if you can find some minor Esquire prepared to take on soiled goods.”
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.