‘A lofty ambition to now lay on the shoulders of an untried, ill-mannered westerner,’ said Styliane Daleina, tartness in her voice.
The Emperor glanced over at her, his expression blank. She had courage, Crispin had to concede, to be challenging him in this mood.
Valerius said, ‘It would be, were it on his shoulders. The Sanctuary has already risen, however. Our splendid Artibasos, who designed and built it for us, carries the burden of that-and the weight of his heroic dome, like some demigod of the Trakesian pantheon. The Rhodian, should he be capable, will attempt to decorate the Sanctuary for us, in a manner pleasing to Jad and ourselves.’
‘Then we must hope, thrice-exalted, he finds more pleasing manners in himself said the fair-haired woman.
Valerius smiled, unexpectedly. ‘Cleverly put,’ he said. This Emperor, Crispin was coming to realize, was a man who valued intelligence a great deal. ‘Caius Crispus, we fear you have earned the displeasure of one of the ornaments of our court. You must endeavour, while you labour among us, to make amends to her.’
He didn’t feel like making amends, as it happened. She had endorsed an incompetent for her own reasons and was now trying to make Crispin suffer the consequences. ‘It is a regret to me, already,’ he murmured. ‘I have no doubt the Lady Styliane is a jewel among women. Indeed, the pearl she wears about her throat, larger than any single womanly ornament I can see before me, is evidence and reflection of that.’ He knew what he was doing this time, as it happened. It was dangerously rash, and he didn’t care. He didn’t like this tall, arrogant woman with the perfect features and yellow hair and cold eyes and that stinging tongue.
He heard a collective intake of breath, could not mistake the sudden burning of anger in the woman’s eyes, but it was the other woman he was really waiting on, and Crispin, turning to her, found what he was looking for: the briefest flicker of surprised, ironic understanding in the dark gaze of the Empress of Sarantium.
In the awkwardness that followed his making explicit something the lady Styliane Daleina would far rather not have had made so clear, the Empress said, with deceptive mildness, ‘We have many ornaments among us. It occurs to me now that another of them has promised us to lay to rest a wager proposed at the banquet. Scortius, before I retire for the night, if I am to sleep easily, I must know the answer to the Emperor’s question. No one has come forward to claim the offered gem. Will you tell us, charioteer?’ This time Crispin did turn to look, as the brilliant array of courtiers to his right parted in a shimmer of silk and a small, trim man moved, neat-footed and composed, to stand beside a candelabrum. Crispin moved a little to one side, to let Scortius of the Blues wait alone before the thrones. Unable to help himself, he stared at the man.
The Soriyyan driver he’d seen perform marvels that day had deep-set eyes in a dark face traced lightly-and in one or two cases less lightly- by scars. His easy manner suggested he was no stranger to the palace. He wore a knee-length linen tunic in a natural, off-white colour, stripes in a dark blue running down from each shoulder to the knee, gold thread bordering it. A soft blue cap covered his black hair. His belt was gold, simple, extremely expensive. About his throat was a single chain, and from it, on his chest, hung a golden horse with jewels for its eyes.
‘We all strive,’ the charioteer said gravely, ‘in all we do, to please the Empress.’ He paused deliberately, then white teeth flashed. ‘And then the Emperor, of course.’
Valerius laughed. ‘Sheathe that deadly charm, charioteer. Or save it for whomever you are seducing now.’
There was feminine laughter. Some of the men, Crispin noted, did not appear amused. Alixana, her own dark eyes flashing now, murmured, ‘But I like when he unsheathes it, my lord Emperor.’
Crispin, caught unawares, was unable to control his own sudden burst of laughter. It didn’t matter. Valerius and the court around him gave vent to amusement as the charioteer bowed low to the Empress, smiling, unruffled. This was, Crispin understood finally, a court with a nature at least partly defined by its women.