“He says Prince Emthoro will be regent.”
And that remark did surprise Ylo. “But . . . But of course you don’t know about him, do you?” He yawned. “Well, it won’t change anything. In fact it will probably make them more determined. Never mind. I’m too tired to explain now. I’ll tell you in the morning.”
His indifference stunned her. Did he not understand? Maya was in danger! Whom else could she appeal to? Somehow she had always had a sense of Ylo as a friend in the background. She had been misled by his bantering and flirting. Perhaps she had not truly expected friendship, but assumed that because he lusted after her, she could use that desire as a lever. Now he was revealed as the selfish lout she had been warned of, and her disappointment was no one’s fault but her own.
Or was he playing some sort of rake’s double-game? Was she supposed to plead now—to grovel? Help me save my child and I will submit to your advances? How much humiliation would he demand?
“Why did you come here?” she asked.
“To Yewdark?” He ran a hand through his curls, pretending to be at a loss. “I was in the neighborhood. And I did promise you I would return in daffodil time. I hate to disappoint pretty ladies.”
“The daffodils have gone. You should have come sooner.”
Devilry danced in his eyes. “Should have come sooner for what?”
“That prophecy you described to me so graphically.”
“Ah! Then I return your question—why did you come here—to my bedroom?”
She felt the sweat on her palms again. Her heart thundered and her mouth was dry. She had come because she must have help and she thought she would pay whatever price he demanded for that help. Was he going to make her put it into words?
“I . . . I thought you cared.”
“Cared for your daughter?”
”Cared for me!”
Ylo shrugged. “But I told you. Shandie and I became friends. I tarried too long. K might not have come at all if the goblins hadn’t intervened. I’ve changed my mind about seducing you.”
“Your imperor’s wife is all right, but your friend’s widow is not? You have strange values.”
“No.” He cocked his head on one side like a bird, and it was mockery. “I always look out for me, you know that. I’ve decided that ravishing you now might get me involved in more affairs of state, and I’ve had enough of those. Sorry, you’ll have to do without.”
Her fear turned to burning anger without warning. She restrained it with a real effort. “You are a boor!”
“Oh, you’re better!” he said admiringly. “You are a lot better! The old Eshiala was a timorous little thing, who never argued, never went skulking into men’s rooms in the middle of the night. What happens next, I wonder?”
“I’m only concerned with my daughter’s welfare!” She could not say it more directly than that.
“But that interests me not at all.” Ylo untied his cravat. “I told you the first time we talked that I was an unscrupulous liar.”
“Yes, you did.”
“That’s still true.” He tossed the cravat to the floor and began unbuttoning his doublet. “Hardgraa thinks I deserted Shandie and came back here just for a romp with you. I did consider it, I admit.” With the doublet open, he began unbuttoning the shirt underneath. “At the moment you really don’t know if your husband is dead or not, because you have only my word for it, and that’s worthless. Now, if you came here to be bedded, get your clothes off, and I’ll see what I can do. But don’t expect any favors for it. Otherwise, good night, your Majesty.”
Monster! Eshiala stamped out, wishing she could slam the door.
6
The Impress and her mother had been down at the lake all morning, feeding ducks, throwing rocks, and hunting for wildflowers. By the time they made their way home for lunch, her Imperial Majesty was hot, tired, and grumpy; and wanting to be carried.
Eshiala was not much less grumpy herself. News of Shandie’s death had shattered the fragile shell she had developed at Yewdark. Her safe little world had collapsed under her feet like ice on a pond. Friends and accomplices had suddenly become jailers, and she felt surrounded by enemies. There was no one she could trust to help her. Down at the water, she had been tormented by a sensation of being watched—that was one of the first signs of madness, wasn’t it?
On the way back to the house, though, she noticed tracks in a muddy stretch of the path, with larger prints overlaying Maya’s and her own. So she had been followed, she had been watched, she was not suffering delusions of persecution! In one sense that was good news. In another it was very bad. Centurion Hardgraa could be assumed guilty until the Gods testified otherwise in Person.
Continually persuading Maya to walk just a few more steps on her own feet, she emerged from the woods. Peering over and under the wilderness of runaway shrubbery, she spied Ylo sitting on the terrace in the sunshine like an unpredictable watchdog dozing before the door. Had she been alone, she could have gone around the long way to avoid him, but Maya was too tired and too heavy for such evasions.
At breakfast that morning, he had hurled another thunderbolt as casually as Maya dropped rocks in lakes. The reason the Impire had not reacted to Shandie’s disappearance, he explained, was that a fake imperor ruled in his place, with a fake impress at his side. If Eshiala walked into the Opal Palace now, she might meet herself face to face.
Since both her sister and Shandie’s cousin had disappeared from sight, the impostors’ true identities were not hard to estimate. As soon as Eshiala’s first stunned surprise had worn off, she had shocked everyone by laughing aloud. Ashia would be enjoying herself enormously. She would make a far better impress than Eshiala ever would, and have the fun of a lifetime doing so. She had a low opinion of Prince Emthoro, but likely she would put up with him in a good cause—not that either of them could have had any choice in the matter. They would be doing whatever the almighty Zinixo wanted.
Later though, down at the lake, she had realized that Ashia had been a potential ally and now was not.
“’Lo, Beautiful!” Ylo smirked cheekily. He seemed very relaxed and comfortable in a soft chair that he must have ordered brought out specially. His sore feet rested on another.
Eshiala ignored him, leading her daughter across the terrace, but she had to pass very close to him.
He ignored her ignoring. “What’cha been doing?”
“Feeding the ducks.”
“Ah! Nothing tastier than a fat duckling.”
She was almost past him when he said, “Eshiala?” She thought his tone had lost its banter, and stopped. “Yes?”
He was squinting up at her, against the sun, but the contempt and arrogance still gleamed under the long lashes. “Auntie’s back.”
The countess had ordered up the gig that morning and had herself driven into Faintown. If she was back already, she had not stayed long.
“So?”
Ylo smiled his most perfect smile, oozing self-satisfaction. “She reports the place is a madhouse. The news is out. It’s even worse than I thought—goblins grinding up legions like coffee beans.”
“You seem strangely pleased.”
“I don’t like to be disbelieved when I’m telling the truth. I do it so rarely that I want to have it appreciated! Now you can believe my story. Now you can surrender to lust without worrying about Shandie ever turning up to complain.”
Contemptible clod! Dragging her daughter by the hand, she swept past him into the house. Somehow she could not be angry with Ylo, merely sad that he was not the debonair rapscallion she had believed him to be. She had never approved of him, could never have trusted him as an ally, but he had been amusing once. Now he was merely disgusting.
The image of ice on a pond came to her again. She had barely seen Maya happily arranged at the tasty end of a spoon when her footing cracked and tilted some more.
In the gloomy, ill-proportioned room the proconsul used as a study, she faced him like an errant pupil called out by the teacher. Ionfeu was old; his crippled back tormented him. He was badly shaken by the dread responsibility now thrown upon him, and looked as if he had not slept since Ylo’s arrival. He was nonetheless still a count, still an Imperial politician and officer, and still very certainly the ruler of Yewdark. He was gracious and implacable.
He was behind a desk. She was expected to sit before it. She could not believe that her sister, as duchess or impress, would ever tolerate that from a mere proconsul.