Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [71]
“Riltana, please don’t bait your friend,” said Demascus, feeling his own face grow warm. “We need her help. I thought you were sorry for whatever it is you did. You’re not acting like it.”
“I …” began Riltana in a heated tone. Then she sighed. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Her tone contrite, Riltana said, “Carmenere, if you’d just let me make it up to you. It just … makes me so angry that you won’t give me a chance. I swear I didn’t mean for things to turn out like they did.”
The silverstar exhaled. She said, “I know. But what you meant doesn’t matter. It’s what you did, and what happened afterward. The Four Stewards are always looking for … little ways to gain leverage over the queen. Even the questionable associations of a niece can put the queen in a bad light. Especially if one of those associations steals a crown treasure.”
Riltana’s head jerked. “A steward contacted you?”
Carmenere said. “Tradrem Kethtrod.”
“The Steward of Earth!” exclaimed Chant. Both women shot him an irritated glance.
“Sorry,” mumbled the human. Demascus studiously kept a smile off his face.
Carmenere continued, “Tradrem didn’t contact me directly. But his informants looked into the matter of a certain stolen painting. They were close to discovering how the thief got into the palace in the first place, and that thief’s connection to someone in the queen’s family. It was only luck that connection wasn’t made, though I suppose they still could.”
“Tradrem Kethtrod operates a spy network,” Chant whsipered. “But I thought he mostly employed it outside of Akanûl’s borders.”
Demascus nodded, and returned to listening in.
Carmenere was saying, “Even if I were tempted to forgive you, I can’t. You’re too unpredictable. I know you mean well, but I can’t have someone close to me whose next well-meaning stunt could end up weakening Arathane’s reign!”
Riltana said, “I … I see,” and turned her gaze out the window.
Demascus’s mouth twisted. The atmosphere inside the conveyance had gone from oppressive to merciless. He wondered if he’d ever done something so stupid it’d cost him a dear friendship. Given how swiftly his heart was beating, maybe his body remembered something he did not. He wished he’d just let the original silence hang.
The pawnbroker coughed and gestured through the window on his side. He said, “We’re almost there.”
The coach drew across a sweeping bridge high over the rippling bay.
At the end of the bridge brooded a massive chunk of unsupported earth encrusted with the queen’s palace.
A small earthmote hung over the palace. A spiraling, free-hanging stair reached up from the highest palace spire to the mote, which was bedecked with banners and gleaming crystals.
Chant pointed at it and said, “The Court of Majesty.”
Demascus eyed the free-hanging spiral stair. Vertigo feathered the base of his spine as he imagined ascending those steps.
“We won’t be going up there,” said Carmenere. “The Court of Majesty only convenes once a tenday, barring emergencies. Besides, we’re going to meet with the queen alone.”
The coach slipped off the end of the bridge and under a white arch that pierced the outer wall of the palace. Genasi soldiers in bulky armor and weapons, conveyances of every color, and dozens of floating balls of magical fire were arrayed on the palace grounds.
“What’re those?” said Chant, pointing at the fire spheres.
“Animated wards,” said Carmenere. “They’re only barely intelligent, but very loyal. If we were marked as enemies, they would converge and explode.”
“Oh.”
The coach passed through several more gates, then came to a stop at the edge of a small walled garden nestled along the inner palace walls.
The driver jumped from his seat and opened the coach door.
They emerged into a cloud of lilac and jasmine that grew thick along the garden wall. Past the wall, a river of blue flowers flowed beside a cobbled path, swept beneath a bridge, and upended over a fall of forget-me-nots, bluebells, and irises.
The path continued straight into a silvery bower planted with white lilies. The petals blended into a fluttering