Steelhands - Jaida Jones [53]
“You are here to visit my husband,” she said, composed once more. “I will take you to him.”
“You will?” I blurted out, before I could help myself. Evidently I was doing my best to see any pride my mother had once shown in me dashed against the rocks. Since they were acquaintances, my mother would hear about my behavior in a letter, and I would hear about it soon after, in a letter of my own.
“It is not among my usual duties,” she admitted, turning her face to the side for a moment, so that I caught a glimpse of the loose pearls threaded through her hair. “But servants talk, and guards certainly talk, since they’ve nothing but standing all day to occupy their time, and I’ve been led to believe that this is a delicate issue, one that my husband would like to keep among as few people as possible. Since he finds it difficult to keep things from me, I offered to perform this service for him.”
The way she said it made me think that the Esarina had a hand in making it difficult for the Esar to hide things from her. I thought of what Compagnon would say—he’d be jealous, and I couldn’t help but feel I was doing this for his sake—and I steeled myself in order to make the best of an utterly mystifying situation.
“I am honored to have such an escort,” I said, finally recovering what little remained of my manners.
Surely the Esar wouldn’t have coerced his wife into escorting me to my own execution. That was the thought I used to calm myself as I held out my arm, not to mention a litany of other reasons why my panic was unfounded.
The Esarina laid a gloved hand delicately against my own, and we made our way through the twisting labyrinth of corridors that somehow always managed to make me feel like a lost mouse in a ’Versity student’s experiment, despite my being lucky enough to have a guide who very clearly knew where she was heading. The piece of cheese at the end of this particular maze, however, was the Esar himself, seated on a dais and looking much the same as he had the last time I’d seen him, if a little more gray about the beard and hair. There was barely any orange left in his mustache.
I supposed the war had taken its toll on all of us, one way or another.
At that moment, I realized that the Esarina must have had an intimate feel of the stiff, metal joints beneath my gloves against her arm, and I glanced over at her in horror, only to find her watching her husband instead of me.
“I’ll leave the two of you to your business,” the Esarina said, letting her hand fall from my arm. She gathered up her skirts and curtsied low, bowing her head deeply. “My lord.”
“Our thanks, as always, my lady,” the Esar said, waving his hand in dismissal.
I folded my hands behind my back and straightened my spine, doing my best to ignore the tickle in my throat that’d come on me unexpectedly.
“No doubt you are wondering why we called you here,” the Esar said, once the door had closed behind the Esarina and we were alone in the private audience chamber.
No witnesses, my mind pointed out, and I stamped the thought out ruthlessly. I couldn’t afford to be irrational.
“I am curious, Your Highness,” I admitted, not seeing the harm in that. “Although, as I’m sure you already know, our talks with Arlemagne have been put on hold for the time being, so I … That is to say I wasn’t doing anything of importance, when the summons came. It is my honor to serve you,” I concluded. A little official flattery never hurt.
“You’ve no idea at all why you have been summoned?” the Esar repeated back to me, just to verify. He shifted in his chair, and I felt suddenly as though I was being watched. Perhaps my initial impression of our being alone in the room together, with no witnesses, had been too hasty. “By your knowledge, there’s no reason at all we might have to invite you here to speak with us?”
“Not anything I can think of,” I said slowly, racking my brains. I did hope this wasn’t a test. “Unless it’s about my hands.”
“Curious,