The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [221]
Surrounding the emperor on the dais were—what? His servants? His slaves? The palace prostitutes? The only thing Grace could be certain of was that, to a one they were young, beautiful, and—if one didn’t count jewelry—quite naked. A pair of unclothed young men fanned the emperor, their oiled flesh gleaming, while several maidens tried to entice Ephesian with fruits that were only slightly less ripe than their bare breasts. More of the young things plucked out music on harps, or danced for the emperor’s pleasure.
And when they move together like that, I don’t think you can call it just dancing, Grace.
Cheeks warm, she turned away, only to see that all the men in their party were staring. It looked as if she was going to have to use a scarf to tie Durge’s jaw back into proper position.
Unlike Grace’s male companions, the emperor hardly seemed to see the firm, oiled flesh writhing around him. He held a cup of wine loosely, as if forgotten, in one of his hands. Grace began to think she understood the dullness in his half-shut eyes. It was boredom.
“Your Magnificence,” Melia said, “it is so good to see you.”
The emperor sat up a bit. For a moment he frowned in confusion, squinting as he peered forward. Then all at once the dullness left his eyes, replaced by a bright light.
“By all the gods, Melindora Nightsilver!”
The emperor’s voice was not what Grace had expected: It was a clear, lovely tenor.
“At your service, Your Magnificence,” Melia said with an elegant curtsy Grace could never have matched in a thousand years. All the same, she found herself following suit as she and the others paid obeisance.
Ephesian gestured for them to rise. “This is the first interesting thing to happen all day. And here is Falken Blackhand with you. Up to your usual mischief, are you, my melancholy bard? Ruined any more kingdoms lately? And these are some friends of yours? They’re not really Mournish, are they, Melindora? They don’t look it, save for those two there. Brother and sister, are they? And maybe that dark one. And have you all just arrived in Tarras?”
Grace got the impression Ephesian didn’t really expect anyone to answer his questions. All the same, Melia managed to interject an answer.
“No, Your Magnificence. We’ve been in the city some time.”
“What?” Ephesian slammed a meaty hand against the arm of his throne. A few of the naked young things jumped. “And you’ve only just now come to me? What have you been doing all this time, Melindora? Can something else possibly be more pressing than paying a visit to me, your beloved emperor?”
Again Melia deftly interposed an answer between his questions. “I did try, Your Magnificence. However, the Minister of Gates said you had rejected my petition to see you.”
“Nonsense! The Minister told me of no such petition.”
“After my encounter with him a short while ago, that does not surprise me, Your Magnificence.”
Ephesian glowered. “Well, I thank you for giving me something intriguing to do, Melindora. I shall get to the bottom of this.”
He snapped chubby fingers, and a soldier stepped forward. Grace had not noticed him before, but now that she looked she saw that a score of soldiers ringed the throne room. She supposed this was necessary for the emperor’s protection. All the same, it made this feel less like a palace than it did a prison.
“Go fetch the Minister of Gates,” the emperor said to the soldier, who bowed and ran from the throne room.
“You will partake of refreshments while we wait,” Ephesian said.
Several of the nubile maidens descended the dais. Durge’s eyes bulged, and Grace wondered if the stalwart knight was on the verge of a coronary.
Lirith touched his arm. “He means wine, Durge.”
The knight sagged in visible relief, and accepted a cup from one of the maidens. Aryn clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a laugh.
A well-shaped young man gave Beltan a cup of wine. The blond knight grinned. “A fellow could get used to this.”
“I think that