Read Online The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katherine Addison
Ads: Link
smiled. “After tonight, Your Serenity, you will not be eating alone.”
“Oh, yes,” Maia said, and drained the rest of the cordial in one swallow. “How stupid of us to forget.”
Cala coughed discreetly. “We understand from Mer Aisava that Your Serenity got no sleep last night.”
“Very little,” Maia said, resisting the urge to rub his blurred and aching eyes.
“Then we suggest Your Serenity retire to bed. Your edocharei will be waiting to care for you, and you may with good conscience and peaceful soul imagine us dining as well as you just have.”
“Serenity,” said Beshelar, “Cala Athmaza is frivolous, but his suggestion is a wise one.”
The effort not to laugh was almost too much for him. Maia bit his lip and got to his feet. His bones ached and his muscles seemed made of lead, but he was satisfied that his legs would hold him. “We thank you,” he said to both of them.
It was embarrassing how close they stayed to him, one to either side, on the way up the stairs. Two full turns around the Alcethmeret to the doors of the emperor’s bedchambers, where Esha and Avris were waiting. They paused there, nohecharei and edocharei eyeing each other uncertainly. Maia, too tired to be politic, said, “Cala, will you stay?”
“Yes, Serenity,” Cala said; Beshelar offered a stiff salute and stalked back down the stairs.
Young and nervous they might be, but his edocharei knew their job. They unpinned his hair, unfastened his clothing, so smooth and swift and silent about their work that he was naked in front of them before he remembered to be self-conscious about his skinny frame or the ugly color of his skin. In mere moments more they had him clad again, this time in a nightshirt as soft as a cloud, and were braiding his hair for the night.
One of them—Esha, he thought, although he was no longer sure of anything—assured him that they had changed all the bedding and it was clean and well aired, and he was aware of lying down, of gentle hands helping with the covers, and then he remembered nothing more.
He woke once in the night, from a confused nightmare of Setheris telling him that his mother was in the burning wreckage of the Wisdom of Choharo, and a voice said softly in the darkness, “Serenity?”
“Who?” Maia said thickly.
“It’s I, Cala. You had a bad dream, it sounds like. It’s all right.”
“Cala,” Maia said, remembering kind blue eyes. “Thank you.” And then he fell into sleep again, as helplessly heavy as the Wisdom of Choharo crashing to the earth.
PART TWO
The Coronation of Edrehasivar VII
6
The Widow Empress
Maia opened his eyes to glowing sunlight and lay blinking in puzzlement. This was not his room in Edonomee; it was not his barely remembered room in Isvaroë. The bed-hangings were far too sumptuous for either, and the wrestling cats of the Drazhada worked into the brocade suggested he must be in one of his father’s households, but …
When he remembered where he was and what had happened, he was convinced that he was dreaming.
The thought was a tremendous relief.
Soon he would awaken in his own narrow, sagging bed in Edonomee, and he might not even remember having had such a ridiculous dream. An he did, it would remind him to be satisfied with what he had rather than pining after what he did not.
A sound and valuable moral lesson, Maia thought with sleepy satisfaction, and then the sound of a door opening brought him up on one elbow, confusedly fearing that it would be Setheris coming to tell him a messenger had arrived from his father.
But it was a skinny, dark boy in Drazhadeise livery—Nemer, Maia remembered—who seemed slightly alarmed to find Maia awake, but blinked and said timidly that he had been sent to discover what kind of tea His Imperial Serenity favored with breakfast.
Merciful goddesses, let this be a dream —but it was not.
“Chamomile,” which his mother had loved and Setheris hated. “Thank you.”
“Serenity,” Nemer
“Oh, yes,” Maia said, and drained the rest of the cordial in one swallow. “How stupid of us to forget.”
Cala coughed discreetly. “We understand from Mer Aisava that Your Serenity got no sleep last night.”
“Very little,” Maia said, resisting the urge to rub his blurred and aching eyes.
“Then we suggest Your Serenity retire to bed. Your edocharei will be waiting to care for you, and you may with good conscience and peaceful soul imagine us dining as well as you just have.”
“Serenity,” said Beshelar, “Cala Athmaza is frivolous, but his suggestion is a wise one.”
The effort not to laugh was almost too much for him. Maia bit his lip and got to his feet. His bones ached and his muscles seemed made of lead, but he was satisfied that his legs would hold him. “We thank you,” he said to both of them.
It was embarrassing how close they stayed to him, one to either side, on the way up the stairs. Two full turns around the Alcethmeret to the doors of the emperor’s bedchambers, where Esha and Avris were waiting. They paused there, nohecharei and edocharei eyeing each other uncertainly. Maia, too tired to be politic, said, “Cala, will you stay?”
“Yes, Serenity,” Cala said; Beshelar offered a stiff salute and stalked back down the stairs.
Young and nervous they might be, but his edocharei knew their job. They unpinned his hair, unfastened his clothing, so smooth and swift and silent about their work that he was naked in front of them before he remembered to be self-conscious about his skinny frame or the ugly color of his skin. In mere moments more they had him clad again, this time in a nightshirt as soft as a cloud, and were braiding his hair for the night.
One of them—Esha, he thought, although he was no longer sure of anything—assured him that they had changed all the bedding and it was clean and well aired, and he was aware of lying down, of gentle hands helping with the covers, and then he remembered nothing more.
He woke once in the night, from a confused nightmare of Setheris telling him that his mother was in the burning wreckage of the Wisdom of Choharo, and a voice said softly in the darkness, “Serenity?”
“Who?” Maia said thickly.
“It’s I, Cala. You had a bad dream, it sounds like. It’s all right.”
“Cala,” Maia said, remembering kind blue eyes. “Thank you.” And then he fell into sleep again, as helplessly heavy as the Wisdom of Choharo crashing to the earth.
PART TWO
The Coronation of Edrehasivar VII
6
The Widow Empress
Maia opened his eyes to glowing sunlight and lay blinking in puzzlement. This was not his room in Edonomee; it was not his barely remembered room in Isvaroë. The bed-hangings were far too sumptuous for either, and the wrestling cats of the Drazhada worked into the brocade suggested he must be in one of his father’s households, but …
When he remembered where he was and what had happened, he was convinced that he was dreaming.
The thought was a tremendous relief.
Soon he would awaken in his own narrow, sagging bed in Edonomee, and he might not even remember having had such a ridiculous dream. An he did, it would remind him to be satisfied with what he had rather than pining after what he did not.
A sound and valuable moral lesson, Maia thought with sleepy satisfaction, and then the sound of a door opening brought him up on one elbow, confusedly fearing that it would be Setheris coming to tell him a messenger had arrived from his father.
But it was a skinny, dark boy in Drazhadeise livery—Nemer, Maia remembered—who seemed slightly alarmed to find Maia awake, but blinked and said timidly that he had been sent to discover what kind of tea His Imperial Serenity favored with breakfast.
Merciful goddesses, let this be a dream —but it was not.
“Chamomile,” which his mother had loved and Setheris hated. “Thank you.”
“Serenity,” Nemer
Similar Books
