Authors: Sharon Shinn
“Of course, anytime you just take a percentage, you have to be sure the vendor isn’t lying to you about his receipts,” Corene pointed out.
Garameno laughed. “Hence the reason I often visit the market, trying to ascertain who is running a flourishing business and who is not.” He lifted his hands from the armrests and gestured briefly. “It is one of the duties I perform for my aunt. In several capacities, I act as her business advisor.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Formally or informally?”
“A little of both. I sit in on the council meetings with my aunt, the mayor, the prefect, and certain elected officials from various districts, so I have a formal voice there. But we also meet for keerza every morning and talk over pressing issues.”
“Do your cousins meet with her, too?”
Garameno smiled. “They do not have—I want to put this kindly—minds that are as analytical as mine. Many other good qualities, of course, but they don’t think as strategically as I do.”
It was a blatant attempt to show himself indispensable to the empress, though in all honesty Corene had to admit that he was probably right. She hadn’t spent much time with Greggorio, but
analytical
was a word that had never once crossed her mind when she was with him. Jiramondi was smarter than he was given credit for, she thought—but she didn’t think she’d put him in charge of accounting for the revenue of the whole country.
“So how does it work? Do different council members represent the interests of different guilds, or different regions of Malinqua? Is someone responsible for regulating foreign trade?”
Garameno laughed loudly enough to cause Melissande and Steff and Jiramondi to look over their shoulders in curiosity. “Princess Corene, you surprise me. I would have thought you were only interested in fashion and frivolity, not the wealth and commerce of nations.”
“That’s what everybody thinks about me,” she agreed. “I
hated
history classes and every single lesson about economic incentives and imbalances. But when I went to live at my father’s house, it was all different somehow. He was the regent, you know, and everyone with a complaint or a scheme dropped by to talk things over with him. He didn’t mind when I would sit in his study and listen. Once I realized that all this stuff was about real
people
, I thought it was fascinating.”
“Yes, real people with real lives,” Garameno said. “You can raise the tax rate by one percent and put a small merchant out of business. And he closes shop and his family suffers and his children starve. But if you don’t charge adequate taxes, you can’t fix your roads and you can’t preserve the water supply and you can’t pay your navy, so when Dhonsho or Berringey
shows up in your harbor with a fleet of warships, you can’t protect your land. It’s a very delicate balance.”
“What would you change,” she asked, “if you were emperor?”
He lifted his head to look up at her. A slight smile lingered around the corners of his mouth, but she couldn’t determine what he meant by it. Maybe he was just amused that a seventeen-year-old girl was intrigued by issues of governance. “I try not to look that far ahead,” he said, “in case I am never emperor. Since—now that we have joyfully welcomed Steffanolo into our midst—my chances are only one in four.”
“It’s hard not to, though,” she answered frankly. “I mean, I was one of four heirs, too, and I always knew my chances of taking the crown weren’t good, but I
thought
about it a lot.”
“And yet here you are, not even in Welce anymore,” he said lightly. “See what all that thinking got you?”
Before she could come up with a reply to that, Melissande turned around again and impatiently motioned her forward. “Corene! You must see these hairpins! They look like something that would suit a sweela girl.”
• • •
T
hey spent another two hours at the Great Market before everyone confessed to weariness and a desire to return to the palace. Melissande made sure Corene rode in her carriage for the return visit, practically shoving Liramelli toward the other one, so they could sit together and examine the items they’d picked up during the course of the day. Corene had ended up with not only the pitcher and the music box, but also the hairpins and a couple of scarves.
And a small pouch of red glass beads that had been cut and polished to look like rubies.
She’d found them on the second level—where Steff had insisted they stop so he could look at some seedlings on display in the agricultural section. The beads were so cheap that Corene could buy a handful for less than a quint-silver.
“If you wanted jewels, they have beautiful ones upstairs,” Melissande had said.
“I don’t want to wear them. I want to decorate with them.”
Which was a lie, though she might, in fact, put them in a dish on her dressing table and add a candle or two. Red beads and fire—anybody would call that a sweela combination.
But she really wanted them in case she needed to send a message. To Leah, to Josetta, even to Darien—all of whom now knew the code.
Here are some pretty little beads I picked up at the market. Put them in a jar and think of me.
How would an innocuous note like that raise anyone’s suspicions? But any of those recipients would instantly know that Corene was in danger—and act accordingly.
Though she didn’t really think she was in danger. Despite the soldiers. Despite the missing girl. Anyway, she was safe as long as Foley was nearby. She glanced over her shoulder, to locate him among the accompanying guards, and found him at the very front of the line, within easy reach of her voice.
No danger at all.
Melissande was yawning as the carriages pulled up before the palace, where the wing of red stone and the wing of white stood in stark contrast under the sultry afternoon sun. “I think I shall be very lazy and sleep until dinner,” she announced.
“Since you are always very lazy, I think none of us are surprised,” Jiramondi replied.
A half dozen footmen stepped forward to help them from the carriages and escort them to the enormous doors. Lorian was waiting for them just over the threshold, and he offered a slight bow as soon as he spotted Steff.
“The empress requests your presence in her study. Immediately,” he said, his voice heavy with portent. “Please come with me right now.”
SEVEN
C
orene watched Steff as he grew perfectly still, assessing what Lorian’s words might mean. He turned his head to look at her, and she nodded. The day after they’d arrived, the empress had had Steff’s heritage tested by two very odd men who had arrived in the driving rain. Steff said they had taken samples of his blood, his hair, and his fingernails—and that it had been the creepiest experience of his life. They had explained the kinds of testing they would attempt, though none of it made sense to him. All he knew was that the empress trusted these local diviners to tell her the truth; Zoe’s coru conviction was not good enough for Filomara.
Corene suspected it wasn’t good enough for Steff, either. He hadn’t grown up watching the primes work their subtle magic; he might wonder if Zoe had misread his blood. He might wonder if he was not, after all, the lost grandson who had miraculously returned—if he had any place in this court at all.
Corene put a comforting hand on Steff’s arm. “It will be all right,” she promised.
“Come with me,” he begged.
Lorian spoke in a polite but chilly tone. “She wishes to see you alone.”
Steff glanced at Corene, then back at Lorian. “I’d really like to have her with me,” he said. “No matter what the news.”
Corene didn’t feel like pleading with the supercilious Lorian. If Filomara didn’t want her in the room, let the empress say so to her face. “I’ll come,” she said. “Let’s go.”
“This is very exciting!” Melissande exclaimed. “Perhaps I won’t nap after all, but merely sit and wait in
agony
until you return with the news.”
Corene handed her various bundles to Foley, then followed Steff and Lorian through the palace doors. She could feel the three nephews staring at their backs with an intensity that made her spine itch. This was a conference that meant as much to them as it did to Steff.
Lorian led them to the second story of the white wing and down a long hallway that Corene hadn’t explored yet, though it was clear that this was the region of the palace where the empress spent the bulk of her days. The rooms she glimpsed behind half-closed doors were large, full of light, and sparsely but comfortably furnished. Both grand and severe—exactly how Corene viewed Filomara.
The empress waited for them in a room that seemed to be nothing but high ceilings, white walls, and sunlight. The only color was supplied by the garden greenery visible through windows that took up an entire wall. At first Corene didn’t even see any chairs or places to sit.
The empress was standing in the middle of the room, dressed in such a plain ivory jacket and trousers that she almost blended in with her surroundings. Close enough, and dark enough, to be her shadow stood a slight, stooped man with the wrinkled face and hunched posture of the very old. But his eyes were searching and curious; Corene would bet there wasn’t much he missed.
Lorian felt compelled to announce them formally, perhaps for the benefit of the visitor. “Steffanolo Adova and Princess Corene of Welce.”
Filomara glared in Corene’s direction. “I didn’t ask for your presence, Princess.”
Corene bowed politely, a conciliatory gesture. “I thought Steffanolo might like to have a familiar face nearby.”
Filomara frowned a moment longer, then shrugged. “I suppose you may as well stay.” Not until then did Lorian withdraw, closing the door
quietly behind him. Corene tried to smile at the thought he had lingered long enough to throw her out if Filomara had asked him to, but she was too tense to be amused.
Filomara gestured at her companion. “This is Renalto Corsicara, who oversees the institute of biological research.”
“The what?” Steff said, moments before the words came out of Corene’s mouth.
The old man grinned. It made his face surprisingly likable. “In your country, so I hear, most of the research centers around mechanical things. In Malinqua, the top scientific minds bend themselves to understanding living creatures. Humans, animals, and plants. We have not built flying machines, as I understand the Welchins have, but we know more about the body than any of your experts do.”
I bet the primes know things about the body your researchers wouldn’t even think to ask about,
Corene thought. “So were you one of the people who tested Steff’s blood?” she said.
“Not the first day,” Filomara answered. “I brought in two respected biologists who do commercial research—they’re very involved in animal breeding programs.”
“The best in their fields,” Renalto murmured. “The most up-to-date testing facilities.”
“They said Steffanolo’s blood doesn’t carry the same markers as mine,” Filomara said baldly.
For a moment, Corene thought she’d heard wrong. “They said—what? That Steff isn’t related to you?”
The empress nodded. Her square face was carefully blank of emotion, and Corene wondered if she was trying to hold back rage or pain.
I thought he was my grandson and I started to love him, but he’s just an imposter . . .
“But that can’t be,” Corene said urgently. “He
is
your daughter’s son—”
She could feel Steff’s hand on her shoulder, tugging her back; it seemed she had taken a couple of hasty steps forward. “Maybe Zoe was wrong,” he said in a small voice.
“She’s
never
wrong.”
“No, and she’s not wrong in this case, whoever Zoe is,” Renalto said. He looked like he very much wanted to follow that line of inquiry
once they were done with this particular conversational thread. “I ran my own tests and drew much different conclusions.”
Now Corene was confused, and she could feel Steff shift his balance beside her. “What?” she said faintly.
Filomara’s face relaxed to a grim smile. “Have you never wondered why my two living brothers are never seen at court? They are under a lifetime ban because of all their scheming to take the crown away from me. They don’t live here, but they have many allies who do, and I knew they would have learned of Steff’s existence—and my attempts to prove his bloodline. I thought it highly probable they would find some way to contaminate the evidence, or pay someone else to do so.” She snorted. “You see I was right.”
“So then—how did you find out the truth?” Corene demanded.
“I had Renalto come here in secret to take additional samples from Steffanolo.”
Corene glared at Steff. “You didn’t tell me that!”
“I don’t tell you everything.”
“Well, you should.”
Renalto seemed amused at this byplay. “I conducted my own tests, and the results were very clear.” He spread his arms as if to draw the others together in one familial hug. “Steffanolo is closely related to the empress, most likely a direct descendant. As his story is the only one that makes sense, I consider it true.”
“As do I,” Filomara said gruffly. “You are my grandson. Subriella’s boy.”
Again, Corene felt Steff shift his balance next to her, as if he might want to dash for the exit, as if he might want to sink to the floor. As if he might want to run across the room and throw his arms around his mother’s mother. Trying to be subtle about it, she nudged him forward. He took one short, stumbling step, then another—and then Filomara held her arms out to him. Two more steps brought him close enough to clasp her hands and gaze down at her, seeming unsure about what he should do next. Filomara was not a woman to welcome fervent embraces.
Slowly, staring at Steff the whole time, the empress clutched his hands and cradled them against her heart. “Subriella’s boy,” she said again. “It is like having her back again to have you stand before me.”
Corene thought—she could hardly believe it—she could see tears collecting in the empress’s stern eyes. One slipped down her cheek, leaving behind an almost invisible track. Filomara lifted Steff’s clasped hands and rested her wet face against his folded fingers. No one else in the room moved or spoke, and they stayed like that a very long time.