Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [147]
“It’s treason to even think such a thing, let alone speak it in public,” Simkin continued.
“How … how long?” Joram asked with a kind of morbid fascination, the same fascination that kept drawing his eyes in the direction of the crystal throne.
“Oh, a year, perhaps. No one knows for certain. She was in ill health for a long time and, I must admit, looks rather better now than she used to.”
“But … why keep … ? I mean, I knew he loved her, but …” Joram lifted a glass of champagne to his lips, then set it down quickly, his hand shaking. “The Emperor must be mad!” he concluded hollowly.
“Far from it,” Simkin said coolly. “You see the man in the red robes coming up to stand near the Emperor now?”
“A DKarn-duuk? Yes,” Joram said, wrenching his gaze from the body of the woman in the throne to look at a man leaning down to say something to the Emperor. Though they were some distance away, Joram had the impression of a tall man, well-built, dressed in the red robes of the warlocks who were the War Masters of Thimhallan.
“Not a DKarn-duuk. The DKarn-duuk — Prince Xavier. He is her brother, which makes him the next Emperor of Merilon if her death were officially recognized.” Simkin raised a glass of champagne to his lips in a mocking toast. “Farewell to His Boringness. Back to his estate in the rolling meadows of Dren-gassi or wherever he came from. If nothing worse happened to him. People who cross The DKarn-Duuk have a strange way of stepping into Corridors and never stepping out.” Simkin swallowed the champagne in a gulp.
“If the man’s so powerful, why doesn’t he just take over?” Joram asked, eyeing him speculatively and thinking that this new world he was entering might be extremely interesting.
“The Emperor has a powerful counterforce — or should I say counterweight — on his side. Bishop Vanya. Which reminds me, I find it rather strange that His Fatness isn’t in attendance, especially when there’s free food. Oh, I forgot. He never comes to this anniversary party. Says it goes against Church policy or some such thing. Where was I?”
“The Emperor?”
“Yes, quite. Anyway, rumor has it that Vanya’s sun rises and sets with the Emperor’s. The DKarn-Duuk has his own man he would like to see fill Vanya’s shoes — probably take three of them, come to think of it. The catalysts and the illusionists make certain the Empress is the life of the party, if you’ll forgive the expression. And, it is a treasonable act to refer in any way to her health or lack of it. She holds court as usual, and the bright and the beautiful of Merilon and other city-states come to pay homage as usual, and no one looks directly at her or makes any but the most innocent reference to her. Sometimes even that doesn’t work.”
Simkin motioned for another glass of champagne to fill itself at the crystal fountain and come bobbing into his hand. An orchestra of enchanted instruments began playing waltzes in a corner, forcing Simkin to lean closer to Joram to continue his story. “I will never forget the night the old Marquis of Dunsworthy was talking to the Emperor over a game of tarok and the Emperor said, ‘Don’t you think Her Highness looks particularly well tonight, Dunsworthy?’ And old Dunsworthy looks over at the corpse seated in a chair and stammers, ‘I — I don’t know. I find Her Highness seems a bit grave to me.’ Well, of course, the Duuk-tsarith were on the wretched chap in an instant and that was the last we saw of him.” Simkin sipped the champagne and wiped his lips with the orange silk. “I finished playing out his hand and won a silver off His Majesty.”
Joram was about to reply, when he heard his name called. Turning, he looked into blue eyes alight with love and instantly forgot there was such a thing as death or politics in the world.
“Joram!” said Gwendolyn shyly. Holding out her white hand, she was conscious of the admiring stares of several other young men in the crowd, but she truly had eyes only for the man she loved.
Gwendolyn had spent hours