The Emperor of Sarantium comes to his wife’s chambers by way of the inner corridor he always uses. He sheds the cloak there. A soldier takes it from him. He knocks, himself. He is genuinely uncertain if Aliana will be awake. She values her sleep more than he does-most people do. He hopes she has waited. Tonight has been interesting in unexpected ways, and he is far from tired, keen to talk.
Crysomallo opens the door, admitting him to the innermost of the Empress’s rooms. There are four doors here. The architects have made of this wing a maze of women’s chambers. He himself doesn’t even know where all the corridors lead and branch. The door closes on the soldiers. There are candles burning here, a clue. He turns to her longtime lady-in-waiting, eyebrows lifted in inquiry, but before Crysomallo can speak, the door to the bedchamber itself opens, and Aliana, the Empress Alixana, his life, appears.
He says, ‘You are awake. I am pleased.’
She murmurs, mildly, ‘You look chilled. Go nearer the fire. I have been considering which items of my clothing to pack for the exile to which you are sending me.’
Crysomallo smiles, lowering her head quickly in a vain attempt to hide it. She turns, without instruction, and withdraws to another part of the web of rooms. The Emperor waits for the door to close.
‘And why,’ he says, austere and composed, to the woman who remains with him, ‘do you assume you’ll be allowed any of them when you go?’
‘Ah,’ she says, simulating relief, a hand fluttering to her bosom. ‘That means you don’t intend to kill me.’
He shakes his head. ‘Hardly necessary. I can let Styliane do it once you are discarded and powerless.’
Her face sinks as she considers this new possibility. ‘Another necklace?’
‘Or chains,’ he says agreeably. ‘Poisoned manacles for your cell in exile.’
‘At least the indignity would be shortened.’ She sighs. ‘A cold night?’
‘Very cold,’ he agrees. ‘Windy for an old man’s bones. The clouds will break by morning, though. We’ll see the sun.’
‘Trakesians always know the weather. They just don’t understand women. One can’t have all gifts, I suppose. Which old man were you walking with?’ She smiles. So does he. ‘You will take a cup of wine, my lord?’
He nods. ‘I’m quite certain there’s nothing wrong with the necklace,’ he adds.
‘I know. You wanted the artisan to take a warning about her.’ He smiles at that. ‘You know me too well.’
She shakes her head, walking over with the cup. ‘No one knows you too well. I know some things you are inclined to do. He will be a prize, after tonight, and you wanted to give him some caution.’
‘He’s a cautious man, I think.’
‘This is a seductive place.’
He grins suddenly. He can still look boyish at times. ‘Very.’
She laughs, hands him his wine. ‘Did he tell us too easily?’ She walks over to take a cushioned seat. ‘About Gisel? Is he weak that way?’
The Emperor also crosses and sits easily-no sign of age in the movement-on the floor by her feet among the pillows. The fire near her low-backed chair has been attentively built up. The room is warm, the wine is very good and watered to his taste. The wind and the world are outside.
Valerius, who was Petrus when she met him and still is when they are private, shakes his head. ‘He’s an intelligent fellow. Very much so, actually. I didn’t expect that. He didn’t really tell us anything, if you recall. Kept his silence. You were too precise in what you asked and said merely to be hazarding a guess. He drew that conclusion and acted on it. I’d call him observant, not weak. Besides, he’ll be in love with you by now.’ He smiles up at her and sips his wine.
‘A well-made man,’ she murmurs. ‘Though I’d have hated to see the red beard they say he came with.’ She shudders delicately. ‘But, alas, I like my men much younger than that one.’
He laughs. ‘Why did you ask him here?’
‘I wanted dolphins. You heard.’
‘I did. You’ll get them when we’re done with the Sanctuary. What other reasons?’