Read Online Tower & Knife 03 - The Tower Broken by Mazarkis Williams - Free Book Online
Authors: Mazarkis Williams
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never-ending parade of luxury. Now the guards’ boots echoed in the empty space.
They passed through the great doors and entered the palace proper, making their way down the curved steps and across the marble. Nessaket held her head high, but her shoulders were tense with fear. When Mesema had first met the Empire Mother, that day in Herzu’s temple, she had never expected she would one day be sitting beside Nessaket and holding her hand, or sharing her deepest troubles. First they had become wary allies, and then something more.
Nessaket said not a word during the journey, and the men were silent as ghosts behind them, so that when two of Sarmin’s personal guard threw open the newly carved God Doors, the bustle and movement inside the throne room took Mesema by surprise. The chattering of the courtiers carried to all corners, and beneath the lantern-lit dome, chin propped on his hand, sat Sarmin on his throne, a dozen men clustered below him on the dais. All were engaged with a petitioner, who held a number of scrolls. As Azeem took the first and began to unroll it, Sarmin caught her eye and offered a fleeting smile. Though he was becoming a cunning and fearsome emperor in the eyes of the court, for her he tried to be the prince she had first known.
Mesema began her way down the silk runner, matching steps with the Empire Mother. To her right, ragged petitioners stood in a long line, and on her left, nobles and wealthy merchants rested on cushions. She put a hand on Nessaket’s elbow when she swayed: another dizzy spell. Sarmin waved them forwards and together they fell into obeisance, Mesema’s head not a foot from the slippers of the men who sat on the lowest step. Sarminconcluded his business with a few words and the exchange of more scroll-tubes.
Then his voice grew softer. ‘Rise, my wife; rise, Empire Mother.’ As they stood he looked at Nessaket with a frown. ‘My mother is tired. She requires a cushion.’
Azeem looked around, his mouth pinched beneath his long nose. Nessaket never sat, so the question of where to place her had never before been raised. The men on the bottom step muttered, not wishing to be displaced. With her head Mesema motioned to a stray cushion near the edge, apart from the others. Surely that would not be improper?
Azeem made a show of preparing it, then Mesema helped Nessaket to sit. For all of her weakness, Nessaket sank to the cushion as gracefully as ever and sat with her back straight, her eyes watchful.
With that settled, Sarmin turned his attention to his wife. ‘How is my son Pelar?’ He had not been able to watch the boats as she had, for he had had to go directly from the private chamber to the throne room.
‘He is very well, Magnificence.’ A flicker of sadness in his eyes, then he motioned for her to take her place behind him. She could not tell him about the carriage she had seen. In court she must always behave as if Sarmin knew everything already, but she pressed the back of his hand in passing, a warning.
Azeem spent some time organising the scrolls upon his table and marking his books. Petitioners shifted on their feet. Guards suppressed yawns. The noise among the courtiers had reduced to a murmur when Nessaket first sat among them, but as they waited, the volume increased until voices once again filled the room, calming only when the harpist began a tune upon his strings. Mesema watched the door.
At last the gong sounded, startling everyone except for herself, Nessaket and the emperor – Sarmin managed never to look startled by anything.
The music stopped with a sudden twang as the great doors parted for the immense herald. He walked along the runner without hurry, his steps evenly paced, his long years of practise ensuring he was always calm and reserved, no matter the situation.
‘Captain Yulo of the White Hats, Magnificence, Mura of the Tower, and a prisoner.’ He bowed his way from the room, walking backwards.
Mura of the Tower! They had assumed
They passed through the great doors and entered the palace proper, making their way down the curved steps and across the marble. Nessaket held her head high, but her shoulders were tense with fear. When Mesema had first met the Empire Mother, that day in Herzu’s temple, she had never expected she would one day be sitting beside Nessaket and holding her hand, or sharing her deepest troubles. First they had become wary allies, and then something more.
Nessaket said not a word during the journey, and the men were silent as ghosts behind them, so that when two of Sarmin’s personal guard threw open the newly carved God Doors, the bustle and movement inside the throne room took Mesema by surprise. The chattering of the courtiers carried to all corners, and beneath the lantern-lit dome, chin propped on his hand, sat Sarmin on his throne, a dozen men clustered below him on the dais. All were engaged with a petitioner, who held a number of scrolls. As Azeem took the first and began to unroll it, Sarmin caught her eye and offered a fleeting smile. Though he was becoming a cunning and fearsome emperor in the eyes of the court, for her he tried to be the prince she had first known.
Mesema began her way down the silk runner, matching steps with the Empire Mother. To her right, ragged petitioners stood in a long line, and on her left, nobles and wealthy merchants rested on cushions. She put a hand on Nessaket’s elbow when she swayed: another dizzy spell. Sarmin waved them forwards and together they fell into obeisance, Mesema’s head not a foot from the slippers of the men who sat on the lowest step. Sarminconcluded his business with a few words and the exchange of more scroll-tubes.
Then his voice grew softer. ‘Rise, my wife; rise, Empire Mother.’ As they stood he looked at Nessaket with a frown. ‘My mother is tired. She requires a cushion.’
Azeem looked around, his mouth pinched beneath his long nose. Nessaket never sat, so the question of where to place her had never before been raised. The men on the bottom step muttered, not wishing to be displaced. With her head Mesema motioned to a stray cushion near the edge, apart from the others. Surely that would not be improper?
Azeem made a show of preparing it, then Mesema helped Nessaket to sit. For all of her weakness, Nessaket sank to the cushion as gracefully as ever and sat with her back straight, her eyes watchful.
With that settled, Sarmin turned his attention to his wife. ‘How is my son Pelar?’ He had not been able to watch the boats as she had, for he had had to go directly from the private chamber to the throne room.
‘He is very well, Magnificence.’ A flicker of sadness in his eyes, then he motioned for her to take her place behind him. She could not tell him about the carriage she had seen. In court she must always behave as if Sarmin knew everything already, but she pressed the back of his hand in passing, a warning.
Azeem spent some time organising the scrolls upon his table and marking his books. Petitioners shifted on their feet. Guards suppressed yawns. The noise among the courtiers had reduced to a murmur when Nessaket first sat among them, but as they waited, the volume increased until voices once again filled the room, calming only when the harpist began a tune upon his strings. Mesema watched the door.
At last the gong sounded, startling everyone except for herself, Nessaket and the emperor – Sarmin managed never to look startled by anything.
The music stopped with a sudden twang as the great doors parted for the immense herald. He walked along the runner without hurry, his steps evenly paced, his long years of practise ensuring he was always calm and reserved, no matter the situation.
‘Captain Yulo of the White Hats, Magnificence, Mura of the Tower, and a prisoner.’ He bowed his way from the room, walking backwards.
Mura of the Tower! They had assumed
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