The Tower Broken(44)

‘Your Majesty!’ Tarub stepped away, paint in hand. ‘Please! Your whole face will be red.’

Banafrit walked to Mesema’s side table where needles were kept in a tiny bowl, but then she noticed a book there and ran her hand across the embossed leather cover. ‘What is this book about?’

‘It’s poems. You can’t read the words on the cover? I can teach you, if you like, as my husband the emperor taught me.’ She remembered sitting with Sarmin during those long happy days after Helmar’s defeat, learning the letters and the words, and wondered why Banreh, in all the years she had known him and their weeks together in that hot carriage, had never offered to do the same.

The concubine sat and pulled the heavy book onto her lap, turning the thick pages. ‘My father tried to teach me to read, but I can never seem to connect the letters with any meaning. It turns to a jumble in my head.’

‘Really? Well I could read it to you—’

‘Your Majesty!’ Tarub said again, picking up a cloth to wipe paint from Mesema’s chin.

‘But are you nearly done with my lips, Tarub? It has taken you a day and a night.’

‘It must be perfect, Your Majesty. If the emperor should see you—’

‘Forget seeing me – if the emperor should kiss me he will end up with rosy lips. If he should do more than kiss me, he will be covered with paint from head to toe.’

‘Your Majesty!’ Tarub covered her face with embarrassment as Banafrit giggled and shut the book. That encouraged Mesema to speak more wickedly. ‘I would have to give him a bath myself, as it wouldn’t do for a slave to scrub him in those places.’

‘But Your Majesty’ – Tarub’s hand shook as she replaced the paint pot before the mirror – ‘surely the emperor, heaven bless him, is clean as the gods, and no corruption or stain ever touches him.’

‘Judging by his attention to the empress,’ said Banafrit with a smile, ‘I would call him well corrupted.’

Mesema blushed, because she and Sarmin were not so close as that, not any longer. Banafrit for her part took on a stricken look and jumped from the bed, dropping the book to the floor, but before Mesema could ask why, the concubine had touched her forehead against the rug and Tarub had dropped also, looking pale as a ghost. Mesema froze, hoping it was not Sarmin behind her at the door.

‘Rise.’ It was Nessaket’s voice she heard, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The Empire Mother strode into the room, dressed in bright gold, with all of her earrings and bracelets in place, looking for the moment almost as healthy as she had been before the uprising. It appeared that she was about to use that good health to put fear in all the women of the wing. She stopped at the bench and examined Banafrit’s blue silk. ‘I have spoken to all of you about this sewing. It is slaves’ work.’

‘But Your Majesty,’ said Banafrit, scrambling to her feet, ‘there are no slaves to do it.’

‘How dare you speak back to me! Not only do you act against my wishes but you draw the empress into your crimes.’

‘Crimes?’ Mesema frowned at Nessaket’s reflection. ‘It is only a dress.’

‘I cannot tolerate it.’ Nessaket waved at the concubine. ‘Go. Leave the work. I will have it burned.’ Banafrit ran from the room, Tarub right behind her. Nessaket sat on the edge of the bed and sighed.

‘You scare them so. It’s not fair.’ Mesema stood at last, shaking out her arms and legs.

‘I am responsible for keeping this wing as it should be. We are not a wing of seamstresses and scrubbers – yes, I have seen you dusting your own window-screen. I would rather have you run out into the city again! It simply will not do.’

Mesema clenched her fists when she remembered her visit to Lord Nessen’s estate and the violence that had ensued, but still she longed to know if the Hidden God had truly sent her there. She knew Grada and others from the Grey Service were continuing to watch the manse of the Mogyrk sympathiser. She hoped that if Grada learned something, she would tell her.

Nessaket was watching her, awaiting a reply.

‘So we have no one to do the work, Empire Mother. What do you suggest?’

At that Nessaket frowned. ‘In truth I do not know. A year ago I would have ordered more slaves.’ She touched her head where she had been injured. ‘Everything has changed.’

Mesema sat next to the empire mother. ‘I have heard rumour of slaves taken from my own lands, Felting slaves, here in Nooria.’

‘I have heard nothing of that, and it seems unlikely. It would be a great insult to you, Empress, and few would risk it.’