The Wise Women

Chapter 30

'Sapphy! Sapphy!'

The voice sounded very far away. Nesta's head was spinning, her body felt like lead. She cracked open an eye. Otto's clear blue eyes stared into hers, his forehead was lined with concern. He knelt beside her, clasping her hand in both of his.

A middle-aged man with long black hair, bald at the pate, whom she recognised as Sir Lester Wallace, the Royal Apothecary, bent over her, feeling her forehead with his clammy hand. Lettie crouched beside him, agitating a purple silk fan in her direction. The breeze was cool on her face.

'She's coming round!' Lettie gasped. 'Oh, thank goodness!' Nesta's hands shot to her face. She felt the Empress's aquiline nose beneath her fingers.

I haven't lost the morph! Thank goodness!'

'What happened?' She croaked, rubbing a temple with the heel of her hand.

'You fainted, my lady,' Lettie adjusted the tiara which had drooped sideways over Nesta's ear. Otto was hunched over, pressing her hand to his forehead. She could feel the cold metal of his crown against her skin. His shaking shoulders and ragged breathing told her he was crying.

'Here, your Imperial Majesty. Drink this,' Sir Lester handed her a small glass bottle containing a foul-smelling liquid. She wrinkled her nose and turned her face away in disgust.

'It will revive you, my lady,' he insisted. Reluctantly, she took it and tipped the contents down her throat.

'Ugh!' The bitterness made her gag. She shook her head from left to right and grimaced.

Nesta's gaze darted around the Throne Room. 'Where's Alaric?'

The Lord Chamberlain stepped forward and bowed his shiny head.

'He'th left, your Imperial Majethty. I don't know what happened. He theemed to thuddenly grow very old and then he jutht walked out of the Cathtle towardth the thtableth.' He gestured towards the stable block with a flourish of his hand. 'Thir Ferdinand thaid, he jutht got on hith horth and rode away.' Sir Lester shook his head in consternation. 'It'th motht irregular.'

'No matter, Dickie. I will lead the negotiations myself.' She sat forward on the throne.

'Otto,' she softened her voice, leaning towards him. He raised his head, brushing the tears away with his tunic sleeve. 'Let us take our seats.' He straightened up, red-rimmed eyes downcast. Nesta gripped the throne's armrests and pushed herself up. Stars flashed before her eyes, her head swam. She balanced herself on wobbly legs. Side by side Otto and Nesta in the Empress's body descended the steps. Lettie gathered up the gown's train and followed behind.

There was pin drop silence in the Throne Room. Nesta felt like everyone was holding their breath, the tension crackled over her skin. She lowered herself into Alaric's seat, opposite Otto, and looked around the table, surveying the assembled company.

All eyes were trained on her, stretched wide with a mixture of fear and expectancy.

And something else.

Something she hadn't seen for a long time.

Hope.

'Esteemed guests, members of the court,' Heads leaned towards her like flowers towards the sun. Her voice was gentle but authoritative. 'In our hearts, none of us wants war. None of us wants to see our young men slaughtered on the battlefield, our young women widowed, children left fatherless, those returning from battle, too traumatised to live happy lives.'

The silence thickened. Stunned faces stared at Nesta, open-mouthed, still as statues.

'I propose we end hostilities once and for all today. Dickie, send messengers to the front to tell the armies to stand down. Let them go home to their families.' She turned to address the King of Frailing. 'Otto, will you do the same?'