‘Anything, Empire Mother.’
‘Will you help convince him that his brother has truly returned?’
‘Of course.’ In her mind she resolved not to convince him, but to prove it – though she did not yet know how to do that. Govan’s word and Nessaket’s certainty had so far counted for nothing.
‘Thank you, my Empress.’ Nessaket gave a formal bow and left the room. Distracted by her preparations, Mesema only watched the Empire Mother leave in the mirror.
Tarub stuck a pin into Mesema’s hair. ‘I do not think you will be able to see the arrival of the duke, Your Majesty. Already the emperor has closed the doors and the first gong has sounded.’
‘Mm,’ said Mesema, ‘but I will try.’ Several minutes more, and her hair was finished, coiled around her head in an elaborate network of braids. Her face was carefully painted, and her skin carried the scent of jasmine. Willa slipped pretty sandals on her feet and at last she was released from the room. Sendhil and her other guards trailed after her.
‘Come, Sendhil.’ Mesema hurried to the doors and out into the palace, taking the shortest path to the throne room, through the servants’ halls and back stairways. At last she came to the landing overlooking the Great Hall and stopped, surprised to see so many gathered there. So recently the room had contained nothing but broken mosaics – the ceiling above her still showed unfinished timber joists and jagged bits of plaster – but the debris had been cleared away and the floor beneath the boots of the Blue Shields positioned below gleamed in the sunlight.
An old captain stood, with a dozen of his soldiers in formation behind him. Around them swarmed a few men of the court, the priests, generals and satraps who circled the throne like bees around honey. But one man stood out, taller even than Notheen, with skin as pale as the winter sky and a coat too heavy for Nooria’s climate. The man bent his head towards a Tower mage Mesema did not recognise. So this could be no other than the Fryth duke, Didryk, Banreh’s friend. As she stared down at him he looked up, and recognition flashed in his eyes. He gave a bow so slight that nobody in his vicinity noticed it, so engrossed were they in their own business.
She inclined her head in the way of her people and he returned the gesture as the crowd began to move, sweeping the Fryth, the Blue Shield captain and all the soldiers towards the throne room.
So that was Banreh’s ally. Mesema was relieved the chief had been set free. She turned towards the servants’ stair, but motion caught her eye and she looked back over the railing. In the corridor she saw a woman with long black hair walking towards the temple wing. ‘Your Majesty!’ she called, thinking it was Nessaket, but the woman did not acknowledge her.
She hurried down the stairs and followed the black-haired woman into the corridor, but saw no one.
Sendhil asked, ‘You are not slipping away again, Your Majesty?’ Always he worried. Her own father had never been so protective.
‘Not at all. I hope to join my husband the emperor in the throne room,’ she said, re-entering the Great Hall, but right away she saw Grada approaching.
‘Mirra help us!’ one of her guards said in a fearful voice. Those of the palace viewed the grey-robed, silent assassins as wraiths or demons, not men or women, and Mesema understood that. Once she had feared Eyul, but she had come to understand him. The Grey Service carried out their work with efficiency when called upon, but they were not ruthless killers. Eyul had borne the weight of his own deeds until his death.
Now his heir came towards her, her dark eyes taking in the men behind her, the broken stair and all corners of the room. She stopped a child’s length away and looked her empress up and down, measuring. Though Mesema knew Grada intended her no harm, she felt spiders crawl over her skin. Nobody could – nobody would – stop the Knife if she decided to make a cut. ‘I came too late to meet with the emperor,’ Grada said at last.
‘The Fryth duke has arrived to discuss an alliance,’ said Mesema. ‘You may speak to the emperor afterwards, heaven bless him, if you wait.’
‘I must go and watch Lord Nessen’s manse.’ Grada’s face betrayed that she thought herself of better use elsewhere. She held up a scroll, capped at both ends with shining brass. ‘This letter was taken from one of the lord’s staff as he entered the city.’
‘Lord Nessen? So is he in Nooria, then?’ She was pleased to know there was news about the Mogyrk sympathiser at last.
‘No, he never arrived.’
Mesema frowned. ‘And yet it appeared they were preparing for his arrival. You said great amounts of food had been carried inside.’