She had expected the imperor to be in the next chamber, but she was conducted through several grand rooms and passages. There were other doors, too, and probably important personages entered through those, bypassing the rabble.
However, when she finally reached the Presence, the surroundings were flattering enough—a small private sitting room, with big windows looking out at soggy, depressing winter garden scenery, but a small fire burning, and only four chairs. Emshandar shook his head as she was about to perform a formal court curtsy, waving her to a chair. The flunkies departed, closing the door, and he moved to a table bearing crystal and wine.
Despite her impatience, she must observe the formalities—Inos sat down and tried to compose herself. The portraits on the wall would be his children, Orosea and Emthoro, and Inos recognized the work of Jio’sys, who was well represented in the palace. Even from her seat, she could scan the names of the many books stacked on the high shelves: law, history, economics, dull stuff. Two words of power had greatly increased the acuity of her senses, although she had uncovered no occult abilities in herself so far. The rugs were authentic Zogonian wool and the smaller porcelain figurines on the mantel were authentic Kerithian. The big one was a fake, though.
The imperor looked weary, but he must have had a busy day, and he was visibly stronger than he had been when she had last seen him, in the Rotunda. He was swathed in a bulky robe with ermine trim, and she could guess that he had just changed out of something much more formal. His white hair was sparse, his face still a vellum-upholstered skull, but his glance was steady and very penetrating. As he settled into a chair and raised a crystal goblet to her in a toast, she suddenly recalled Sagorn in her father’s study, so long ago. He did look a tiny bit like Sagorn, as much as imp, even an emaciated, raw-boned imp, could ever resemble a jotunn. Perhaps the memory came also from the song she had been singing, or the bouquet of the wine. “Magnificent, Sire! Elvish, of course?”
He raised a frosty eyebrow. “You can’t do better than that?”
She sniffed again, and held it to the light. “Valdoquiff. The fifty-three?”
He chuckled. “The forty-seven.”
She felt herself blush at his amusement. “I don’t think I have met the forty-seven before!”
“So you couldn’t know it. But Valdoquiff, certainly. You have been exercising your talents, young lady! I have had reports of some of your exploits.”
Of course the palace was always a warren of rumors, and she would be a source of wonder. Her recent impromptu concert was probably the talk of the court already.
The old man’s. eyes twinkled. “And your dear aunt is recovered?”
“Oh, quite recovered, thank you. She is socializing to excess. You may anticipate a severe tea famine in the capital shortly. And your Majesty’s honored self, if I may presume to ask?”
“Oh, I’m well! I grow stronger with every meal. I’m also having a marvelous time shifting my last ten years’ mistakes onto Ythbane’s reputation. The damage that man did in a few short weeks!” He chuckled and sipped his wine, regarding her acutely. “Beautiful young maidens do not come calling on old men from choice. How may I help you?”
“Sire . . . Have you seen Rap?”
He nodded. “He’s been spending quite a bit of time with my grandson. He’s done wonders for the boy already.”
Inos bit her lip. Shandie indeed!
“Do you happen to know where I might find him? Rap, I mean.”
The long Imperial upper lip stretched to forestall a smile. “Oh, yes. He said he was going to Faerie.”
“Faerie?”
Now the smile broke free. “He had some urgent business there, he said.”
He had some urgent business right here in Hub that he should have attended to first! She set her teeth. The imperor coughed discreetly. “That is confidential, though. He asked me not to mention it to anyone, except you when you came.”
Worse! If Rap had been foreseeing her movements, then it was no wonder he could avoid her. How dare he! How could he? Why?
“Have you seen your distant cousin, the duke?” Emshandar inquired.
Inos shivered. “This morning. He was awake . . . but he isn’t really there. I gather Rap had seen him before I did. He’s like a child—Angilki is. The doctors seem puzzled.”
“Rap isn’t. He repaired the damage, he said, and it was definitely a sorcerous wound. But he can’t replace the memories that were lost.”
Why had Rap not reported this to Inos before he told the imperor? Sorcerer or not, when, she got hold of that young man, she was going to pin his ears back so fast his tattoos would pop off.
“I have some more sad news for you,” the old man said. “I sent a note to your quarters, but since you are here . . . The duke’s mother, the dowager duchess, has passed away.”
“That is not sad news!” Inos snapped. “She was responsible for all of my troubles. A lot of them, anyhow.”
“Oh? Well, she was not a close relative, I know, but a little seemly grief might be good politics.”
Inos apologized, angry at her clumsiness. The cavernous old eyes were never leaving her face, and she realized that Emshandar’s reputation as a shrewd mover of men might be well deserved.
“It leaves Kinvale in a strange position,” he said, and let her work out the implications. The duke was now incompetent, his daughters underage. ”Daughters!”
“Yes. However, Kinvale happens to be one of a very few dower fiefdoms—the title can pass through the female line. The only question, therefore, is whom I appoint as guardian for our mutual cousins until the new duchess can succeed.”
Inos parried the hidden question, because she felt that Kade should answer it herself; it had also brought her mind back to her own future.
But the imperor was still ‘way out in front of her. “We have had some word of Krasnegar.” He waved sadly at a high-piled table that probably represented his evening.
“The road is open again?”
“No, indeed! We are holding the pass itself, but even the XIIth Legion has failed to retake Pondague, or where Pondague used to be. The little greenies fight for every tree.” The old soldier shook his head disbelievingly. ”Even the XIIth! My old outfit!”
If not by road . . .. But of course it was only in Krasnegar itself that harbors closed a few weeks after midsummer. The ships then must sail back to the Impire, and reports extracted from the captains would take more weeks to reach Hub. The timing was reasonable.
“And how is Krasnegar, Sire?”
“Bad.” He heaved himself out of his chair and went to search the heaped table. “Right after I pulled the troops out, a jotunn by the name of Greastax arrived with a longship full of the usual scoundrels. He claims to be Kalkor’s brother, holding the realm in his name. Half brother, I expect. Ah, here it is. This is a summary of what we know.”
He handed her a booklet of eight or ten sheets in a leather binding. The hand was neat and professional, but behind the bloodless bureaucratic prose was tragedy. She scanned through it swiftly and passed it back, shocked to the depths of her soul. “Thank you . . . Sire?”
The imperor was chuckling as he returned to his chair. “You’re not quite as speedy as Master Rap, but then he didn’t need to turn the pages.”
Now she was in no mood to be teased, nor even to humor old imperors. ”That news is months old! How many more deaths and rapes since then?”
Emshandar stared at her over the rim of his wineglass for several bleak seconds. “The Gods know. The raping may have been reduced by the time element. Last spring . . . Those troops were the worst in our army. I would never use trash like that Pondague detachment for anything but garrison duty. The killing likewise! Those who might resist have already done so, and only the cowed remain. But what about food supply?”
“It is always touch and go,” she muttered, mulling over what she had just read. The trade had been poor. At least two ships had returned with their cargoes intact, rather than deal with the bullying jotnar overlords, and the imps had already looted all the money and valuables from the city. She wondered if Foronod would have managed to accomplish his usual harvest miracle with a demoralized or depleted workforce. Anything that impaired the harvest threatened famine by spring, in any year.
“I must go!” she said. “Soon!”
The skeletal old man shook his head sadly. He did not need to speak, because a moment’s thought reduced what she had said to obvious nonsense. She could do nothing. Even the Impire’s crack troops could not penetrate the taiga now, and the seas were frozen until summer.