‘I love the emperor my husband,’ said Mesema, almost by rote. She sat on the bed and faced the Empire Mother. ‘Did you love Emperor Tahal?’
Nessaket gave a little shrug. ‘We of the palace should not be concerned with love.’ That might be true, but Mesema had seen Nessaket’s face when she heard General Arigu was still alive.
‘I don’t know what I imagined when first I came here,’ said Mesema. ‘At first I thought I would lie on a couch all day, being fanned by slaves. But then the palace frightened me and I didn’t know if I would survive it.’ The emptiness, she did not fear; she had faith in Sarmin to stop it. But Yrkmir was something new.
‘You will survive, Mirra willing; you will. But I fear I will not. I survived my attack, but it drains me. Every day I feel a little less alive.’
‘It is because you are sad about Daveed.’ Mesema rushed forwards to take Nessaket’s hand. ‘But we will find him.’
‘I know we will, for better or for worse. And my little servant Rushes, too. I miss her almost as much, though everyone else has forgotten her.’ Nessaket patted Mesema’s cheek, then stood. ‘I must rest.’
Nessaket left the room and Mesema clapped for Tarub; the girl would never forgive her if she dressed herself. A silk covering was chosen and wrapped around her. Willa drew a brush through her hair and pushed slippers onto her feet. To go before the emperor, a woman must bathe and paint her face – but that was a palace rule, not Sarmin’s. He did not notice how she looked. She left her room and made her way towards the doors to the palace, hearing her guards behind her, soft on their feet. Once out of the new women’s wing she squinted, for in the larger palace the lights, all lit, were harsh against her eyes.
Sarmin’s room was further than it had been from the old women’s wing, and she passed many slaves and administrators, who threw themselves down upon the floor at the sight of her. She began to feel embarrassed, wandering the halls late at night, and wondered at the impulse that had led her here.
Her guard Sendhil, the eldest of her men, said in a low voice, ‘Your Majesty, where are we going at this time of night? Protocol requires—’
‘We go to see the emperor, Sendhil.’
His hand went to his grey moustache. ‘Ah. But there have been days you disappeared, Your Majesty, and in all our searching of the palace and its grounds we could not find you.’
‘Do not fear. The emperor will not learn of your failure.’
‘I am not concerned about that, Your Majesty. I am concerned for you.’
Mesema remembered her rescue at Grada’s hands, and Banreh’s illicit kiss through the iron bars. Sendhil was likely correct: she should never follow her instincts. ‘Thank you, Sendhil,’ she said, hoping that would be the end of it.
‘Your Majesty,’ he went on, ‘remember, it is required that we be present whenever a woman of your stature is near a man who is not the emperor, or a woman of lesser status, or in the view of—’
Each word felt like another tether around her ankles. She took an authoritative tone. ‘I have told you it will not happen again. I have listened, Sendhil, and I hear, but you must know that what is improper in Nooria is not improper in my land. I will suffer no more instruction from you.’
‘Your Majesty.’ He slowed his steps and joined the men behind her.
Relief filled her at the sight of Sarmin’s door and she entered, leaving his sword-sons and her guards doing an awkward dance in the corridor.
Sarmin sat at his desk conversing with Azeem, who stood with a scroll in his hands. Never did she catch sight of the grand vizier without scrolls or a ledger. Sarmin looked as if he had been running, bright spots of red colouring his cheeks, but Mesema knew better: he had become healthier in the last few months, but not so much as that. When she entered they both turned her way, Sarmin registering surprise and some pleasure, Azeem looking horrified. Indeed, the wife of the emperor should never enter his room without invitation.
But Sarmin smiled, strode to the doorway and took Mesema’s hands in his. ‘I was hoping to see you. You’re the first thing to look beautiful to me since I left the Tower.’
It had been long since he had said anything of that nature, and she felt her cheeks go red. ‘Thank you, my husband.’ She had not known the Tower was so beautiful, to blind a man to the sights of the palace.
Azeem gave a stiff bow and gathered more scrolls into his arms. ‘I will retire, with your permission, Magnificence.’
‘Of course, Azeem.’
Azeem left, the back of his robes as straight and unwrinkled as in the morning when he first donned them. Sarmin turned to Mesema. ‘Your question to me regarding the river has yielded some insight.’ He led her to a bench where they sat side by side.