Surprisingly, so also was the chinless young tentpole they all addressed as Tiffy, who had turned out to be Eigaze’s eldest son. Out of uniform he seemed even younger and cheekier, and at dinner he had attempted to flirt with Inos in flagrant defiance of Azak’s murderous glares—conscious of her ravaged face, she had been grateful for his efforts. Like the rest of the company, he now listened in deferential silence.
The senator sat in front, occasionally sipping at well-watered wine. Inos and Azak had been placed on a sofa facing this formidable audience, and Inos talked.
She told the whole story, in as much detail as, she could recall. She even told things that Azak had never heard—about the magic casement, and Rap, and the prophecies. She told of the curse, which he had forbidden her to mention. She did not mention her own word of power, which she was beginning to think was a myth. On only one point did she fudge the truth, and then she thought she saw the senator raise his eyebrows a fraction, as if he could hear the difference, like one off-key string in an orchestra. Rap, she said, had died of his wounds. To brand Azak as a murderer would be betrayal, and she had sworn to be faithful to him.
Azak was still and silent as a marble statue. He was seeing the enemy in its lair, some of the most powerful people in the Impire, and she knew it must be a climactic experience for him. Whether he was impressed or disgusted she could not tell, but Azak understood the ways of power, and he must be noting and learning. A wise man knows his enemy.
The room was large and opulent. Crystal mirrors and fine porcelain gleamed amid fine furniture, and yet there was a patina of age on everything; the rugs were starting to show wear and the ceiling friezes were yellowed above the sconces. This was not the sparkling-new decor of Kinvale nor yet the sunlit splendor of Arakkaran; this was old wealth, sure of itself, long established and deeply rooted in the governance of the greatest state in Pandemia.
Finally she came to the end, her throat sore with talking. She took a long drink. The candles had burned low. Her scabbed face throbbed, and she feared that the paint had started to flake off it, in which case she must look like a gargoyle. Perhaps in time she would learn to live with disfigurement.
It would not be easy, though.
“I think I have only one question,” the senator said. “When exactly did your father die? On what day did this sorceress abduct you?”
“I’m not sure,” Inos said. “We had been traveling the taiga for weeks, and I’d lost track of time. Azak When did I arrive in Arakkaran?”
“The day after the Festival of Truth. I believe you honor the same day, your Eminence.”
Epoxague nodded. “Any other queries?” he asked. Although he did not turn, the question was obviously addressed to the audience at his back.
Silence.
At last Tiffy spoke up. He was by far the youngest, and his intervention was therefore so unlikely that he must have been rehearsed beforehand. “How closely is her Majesty related to us, Grandfather?”
Tension reared—silent and invisible, and yet so palpable that Inos thought the candles flickered. Epoxague stroked his mustache . . . And then he said, ”Not close as his Grace of Kinvale—but close enough.” It was acceptance. Despite the danger she brought, the quiet little man was saying he would not throw her out in the street, and he had made the decision on behalf of the whole clan. That showed real power, she thought. A faint shimmer ran through the audience, a shifting of feet, a drawing of breath, as the minds worked over the problem.
And the senator now looked to Azak. “My house is honored to have such a guest, your Majesty.”
Azak released a very long sigh and seemed to sink lower in the sofa. ”The honor is entirely mine, your Eminence.”
Inos glanced sideways at him. He was a very astonished djinn.
“Your position is difficult,” Epoxague said. “Both your positions! The King and Queen of Arakkaran and Krasnegar? I have heard of far-flung realms, but never one so far-flung as that.”
The audience smiled uneasily. He had identified the ultimate impossibility: Azak and Inos could not rule both kingdoms. One or the other must be dispossessed.
“Boji,” the senator said, without turning, “how long since the Right of Appeal was invoked?”
“Last dynasty,” a grizzled, heavyset man grunted. “Hundred years or more.”
“Tomorrow,” the senator told Azak, “I must present you to the regent. Until that is done, you are in some danger—and my own position is ambivalent.” Azak nodded. “I appreciate that.”
“And the best excuse for your presence in Hub is an Appeal to the Four.”
The sultan squirmed—Inos had never seen him so discomfited. “I had hoped that a private approach to one of the wardens—”
Epoxague shook his head. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Which one? Obviously Olybino is unthinkable. He is not only the power behind the legions, he is already involved in this affair somehow. Bright Water is . . . unpredictable; and she also must be involved, for East certainly tried to protect the troops on that disastrous retreat from Krasnegar, and he was blocked. Only the witch of the north could have done that, up there. What she wants, I do not know. Maybe she worries only about Krasnegar, and not Arakkaran. Lith’rian, also, has been meddling in your realm, and I cannot guess what his interest is, except that warlocks sometimes play games with us mundane mortals. And elves do not think like other people,” he added sourly.
Inos was enthralled. Here, at last, was a man who knew something about the shadowy wardens and their secret ways. Some of what he was saying she had heard before, but for months she had wanted to hear it from someone who could speak with authority.
“West?” Azak muttered when the senator did not continue.
The caution became more marked. “Ah! We know very little about Warlock Zinixo. He is no older than Tiffy here, and new to his office. So far he has been very inconspicuous. When he succeeded, he refused the traditional address of welcome from the Senate. He did not appear at the regent’s confirmation.”
After a pause for thought, Epoxague added, “All dwarves tend to be distrustful; he seems to have that caginess to an unusual degree. There is no doubt that South hates him. Elves cannot abide dwarves, and vice versa. When Zinixo struck down Ag-an, then Lith’rian and Olybino together tried to blast him on the spot.” Someone coughed warningly.
The little man did not turn. “I have that on the highest authority,” he said calmly.
That was news to some of his audience, at least. Bland faces registered surprise. Lips pursed and glances flickered. The little man ignored them.
“So West has good reasons to fear the others. Bright Water may be his ally—at times, but who would rely on such an ally?”
“Besides,” he concluded, “you have a very beautiful young wife, your Majesty. I recommend that you do not ask favors of Warlock Zinixo.”
Azak flushed and scowled at Inos.
Epoxague glanced over his shoulder, as if to include the other listeners. ”Can anyone fault my logic? I can’t see a private appeal working at all. Anyone disagree?” No one disagreed.
Azak scowled. “Why should an appeal to the Four be any better, then? My case is hopeless!”
Was he only concerned by the thought of his curse being discussed in public, or did he fear that the wardens might give Krasnegar precedence over Arakkaran and order him off there to be husband to the queen? Inos could not ignore a tiny shoot of hope sprouting in her heart. She was stuck with Azak until death, and she would make the best of him; but Azak in Krasnegar would be a sight easier to live with than Azak in Arakkaran.
“Shaky, but not quite hopeless, perhaps,” Epoxague said. “Put them all together, as the Council of Four, and they may remember their responsibilities. They have a duty to suppress political use of sorcery. They will wish to uphold the Protocol, for it also guards them from one another. So they may well agree to cure your curse, heal your wife, and spirit you back to your realm. It would be an easy demonstration of their powers. Ashlo, what do you think?”
“It is possible, your Eminence,” said the one who Inos thought was a marquis. “The best bet under the circumstances, I should say. Collectively they often cancel out one another’s petty schemes.”
The heavy man addressed as Boji cleared his throat. “The regent will have a vote if they split.”
Epoxague and some of the others chuckled, sharing some political thought they preferred to leave unspoken. The senator turned his bright eyes on Inos.