Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

59. The Royal Trap

For a moment, I thought the Queen was going to lean on her throne to get a better view around me. She didn't. Apparently, eyeing me as I knelt was also an interesting spectacle.

Seeing their Queen distracted by conversation with the Imperial Commander, the executioners stopped before the next pass. Wrists, I believed, a finer work.

"We hear that you take your husband with you in battle to honor a troglodyte custom of his homeland, Ismar. Is that so?" the Queen asked me. Her tone was conversational, but malice flickered in the depth of her kohl-lined eyes.

I wasn't one of her subjects, but a chill crawled up my spine.

"It is so, Your Majesty." No point going on and on, while people writhed in pain not a hundred paces away from me.

"So shouldn't he," she slanted her eyes at Ondrey. I heard him bow behind my back. I didn't think he straightened from it, good man. "Shouldn't he be a paragon of his sex, brave to face blood on the battlefield?"

The litany of maddened screams churned my gut. It was hard to focus on Makeda's words, but she wasn't making a polite conversation. I had to choose every word carefully, despite my soul rebelling against it. I inserted Ondrey and me into this situation. It was up to me to see it end well.

"Your Majesty, a warrior's courage in battle is in pitching her—or his—life against another's will and against chance. It's a vulgar bravery of a fair fight, a hot-headed one.

"Witnessing blood and pain descending on an individual or on the whole people, withstanding it, resisting it, functioning wisely while it is afoot—that requires bravery of an elevated kind, the staunch resilience of nobility and Queenship."

And a stomach of swine, I added mentally. Swine gorged on anything.

At this moment, I spotted Taffiz' face in the courtiers' crowd. He didn't tower over those present like Ondrey and wore a woman's attire. His dress wasn't made from the priciest white fabric, but his cheeks made up for it, matching my fancy skirts.

The Queen is not friendly, he had warned me on the day we met in person. I sensed her hostility now. It came in suffocating waves. Must the frustrating man always be right?

"How very intriguing," the Queen said. "We would love to see this demonstration of mercenaries' courage."

I bowed, despite itching to invite her to ride out on the battlefield. In my opinion, it would do a world of good to any Queen to face her foes with a sword in hand at least once.

"You see, Commander, we had heard many tales about it."

When Queen Makeda paused, the entire Bhar paused, hanging on her every word. I caught myself before licking my lips. She had something in mind, some scheme, and I had just handed her a chance to set it in motion. That much was obvious, but what was it?

My skirts lost their bid to be whiter than Taffiz' cheeks. Only Yansara's moon now stood a chance to compare to him in pallor.

"We have another rebel in our dungeon, a perverted but powerful fighter. Our High Scribes promised that they could convert her to our side, but they had only succeeded in driving her mad.

"Now this warrior is too great a danger to our executioners, so we wanted to throw her into a pit with the lions and crocodiles. But if you would indulge our curiosity and show us this Imperial bravery in a fair match, we would love to see it. You, Commander, and your husband, fighting righteously side by side."

Taffiz squinted at me with a tiny negative shake of his head.

My mouth gaped as I thought furiously. Where was the trap?