Two men in purple, two rulers where there could only be one.
Under Rap’s hand, Shandie was rigid—trying to hold himself still, hardly breathing and yet unable to suppress his trembling.
The confrontation seemed to hold for a month . . . and then the imperor broke the silence. “We relieve you now of your temporary responsibilities, Lord Ythbane.”
Ythbane shook his head. “We are happy to see that the improvement in your health continues. Consul?”
One of the purple-hemmed politicos cleared his throat meaningfully. The imperor shifted Around to glare at him.
“The People’s Assembly will be enraptured to hear how your Majesty has rallied and will certainly vote thanks to the Gods, and a public celebration. Plus prayers that the remission continues, I shouldn’t wonder.”
The speech had omitted much more than it included, and Emshandar hadn’t liked it.
“We congratulate you on your unanticipated promotion, Lord Humaise. Does anyone know where Consul Uquillpee is?”
Ythbane broke the silence. “Doubtless he had urgent business elsewhere.”
Rap scanned. “There is a consul waiting in the Emerald Hall, Sire.” He wondered if he should bring the man, for he must be an Emshandar supporter, but he was elderly—the shock might give him a seizure.
The imperor did not suggest it. With the skill of a lifetime of concealing his emotions, he looked over the small gathering without expression. “Epoxague, then? What of the Senate?”
The man addressed was small and venerable, draped in red. He wore a little mustache, which was unusual, and he obviously wished the imperor had picked anyone but him.
“The Senate will concur in those sentiments, of course.”
“And rescind the regency?” the old man barked.
“It is never easy to predict what the Senate in its wisdom may decide. But if I had to guess, then I would venture that the noble senators would lean to the view that resolutions cannot be juggled to and fro with every up or down of your Majesty’s condition. Of course, if the remission is long-lived . . . If, after six months or so, your Majesty shows no signs of a relapse, then I feel sure that restitution of your former standing would be possible.”
His face told Rap that he did not expect the old man to live that long under any circumstances. Inos and her aunt were scowling at him. They would be on the imperor’s side, of course, because Rap obviously was. Everyone else had been carefully selected from the Ythbane partisans.
Emshandar’s shoulders had sunk a little. He looked around again. “Ithy?” he said quietly.
As if he had expected the summons, the marshal removed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. His hair was short and grizzled, his face leathery and somber. He paced slowly forward to confront the old man at close quarters, as a bull might inspect a scarecrow unexpectedly invading its pasture.
“Em!” he said softly—so softly that many, perhaps, did not hear. ”My standing orders say I report to the regent. But I learned my trade from men you taught, Em. My commission bears your signet. You administered my oath of office. What exactly are you asking of me now?”
The regent frowned, and Rap sensed the first tremor in his confidence, but very small—a doubt as insubstantial as a cloud of gnats.
For a long moment the old imperor stared into the soldier’s eyes, and the audience held its breath. “To uphold the law, Ithy, as you swore.”
The marshal nodded. He replaced his helmet, saluted smartly, and went marching back to his former place.
An invisible corona of triumph seemed to blaze up around the regent, and his friends were exchanging sly smiles. He made an almost imperceptible gesture with the short bronze sword, as if challenging the haggard old man to charge up the steps and take the throne by storm.
Emshandar’s shoulders slumped further. He glanced despairingly around at Rap.
“Ah, yes!” Ythbane said. “We thought you’d brought along a gardener, but we remember now. He’s a sorcerer, isn’t he? How odd that the imperor emeritus would bring a sorcerer into Emine’s Rotunda! You will of course have an opportunity to appeal to the Four very shortly. They have been known to overrule the Assembly and the Senate and the Imperial army—but we cannot recall exactly when the last time was. And they don’t approve of stray sorcerers meddling in their business!”
The old man tried to straighten again, his face flushed. He was almost out of strength.
Ythbane could tell. His smile was a poison stiletto. “Maya, my dear, your father-in-law is weary. Why don’t you help him over to the chair we brought for him?” He pointed with his sword to where a plain wooden stool sat far back, barely visible in the dark.
His wife pouted at him and then at her father, her face sour and disagreeable. She did not move.
Rap realized with surprise that his hand on Shandie’s shoulder was shaking more than the shoulder was. The boy seemed to sense this at the same moment, and glanced up at him questioningly.
Ythbane noticed the movement. He smiled at his stepson as a snake might smile at a mouse. “And we brought a chair for little Shandie, also! Come and sit here by us, son.”
A shiver ran through the prince and the sorcerer both.
“I have a question!” Rap barked. “Did you beat this boy?”
“I always beat him after formal ceremonies,” Ythbane said in a toneless voice. “Nearly always.”
Rap had spoken on impulse and compelled a reply almost unconsciously. Puzzled by that reply, he pressed harder. “For what reason?”
“I tell him he has been fidgeting, but in fact I want to make him fear and hate formal ceremonies of any kind, so that when he comes to his majority, he will be happy to leave the conduct of state business to me.”
The faun in Rap shrank back in horror, and the jotunn part of him clenched like a fist. He said harshly, “You enjoy it?”
“Yes, I do.” The words were a stench in the ambience.
“And what was the medicine you gave him?”
“Another precaution, an elvish draft of poppy and narcotic, guaranteed to be habit-forming and debilitating. He is already addicted, and will remain easily controlled by it, even as an adult.”
Evil of evils! Rap glanced triumphantly over the audience to see what effect this odious confession had produced.
Almost none. So a boy had been whipped? Every man present had been beaten often enough in his youth; none of them had seen Shandie’s injuries. Epoxague was frowning, and a few of the others, but they were not about to change their political views because of something said in the presence of a sorcerer.
Released from his truth trance, Ythbane was flushing furiously.
“We expect the wardens will be interested in what was just done!” he snapped. He raised the sword to strike at the small shield on his left arm. Then he hesitated, eyes glinting. “Come here, Shandie!”
Shandie twitched. Rap tightened his grip to prevent him moving.
“Very well!” Ythbane said. He started to swing the sword.
This was the human reptile who had provoked Rap’s foolish outburst of sorcery in the first place, and that stupidity had done no good at all. Indeed the day’s events had likely strengthened the regent’s position. Now he was glorying in his evil ways, likely to triumph completely, even winning back Shandie, that innocent pawn, prize, puppet .. .
Intolerable! Rap struck magic at Ythbane as a man might swing a stick against a tall weed. The regent passed right over the lower dais and crashed to the floor beyond. The shield clanged, the sword went clattering away into the darkness. Uomaya screamed, and a few others cried out. Shandie whooped and jumped joyfully.
Ythbane tried to rise, and Rap struck him again, knowing he must knock the man unconscious quickly, or in his jotunn madness he would surely kill him.
The regent lay still, blood trickling from his mouth.
Better!
The audience was petrified.
Inos glared furiously at Rap. Idiot! said her eyes, Now you have really done it, my lad. She definitely had a point there. Striking the ruler from his throne—in three thousand years, there could have been no worse desecration of Emine’s Rotunda.
Emshandar was the first to move. He shuffled over to the prostrate Ythbane and bent to tug at the shield until it came loose from the limp arm. Then he headed out into the shadows to retrieve the sword. He came hobbling back, flashing Rap a glance of jubilation.
He climbed the two steps until he stood before the Opal Throne. His daughter-in-law stared up at him in terror, but Shandie was grinning. So were Inos and her aunt. Everyone else was shocked into silence, most of them staring in confusion at the thrones of the wardens, still inexplicably deserted.
The imperor spoke first to Uomaya. “Be gone from my sight]” he said hoarsely, pointing with his sword at the outer darkness. She slid sideways from her chair, gaping at him as if expecting to be cut down. Then she turned and fled.