Garth darkened the lamps and tiptoed around while she lay sprawled like a discarded doll. Distant hammering sounded like it was coming from inside her own head, but she couldnt hold up the renovations.
Sleep eventually came, but she awoke to pain that was abstract only until she moved her head and opened one eye. This is how its going to be . These headaches were the bullets fault; when it smashed her jaw it had tripped some switch inside her head and now agony ambushed her at the worst times. Always before, shed had the safe haven of her bedroom at home to retreat toher time on the Rook had been mercifully free of such episodes. She used such times to indulge in her worst behavior: whining, accusing, insulting anyone who came near her, and demanding that her every whim be catered to. She wallowed in self-pity, letting everyone know that she was the sad victim of fate and that no one, ever, had felt the agonies she was enduring so bravely.
But she really was going to die if she let the thing rule her this time. It wasnt that there was nobody around to indulge her; but all the sympathy in the world wasnt going to save her life if she didnt follow through on the deception she and Garth had planned. So, halfway through morning, Venera resolutely climbed out of bed. She tied a silk sash over her eyes, jammed candle wax in her ears, and picked up an empty chamber pot. Carrying this, she tottered out of the room. Bring me a dressing gown, she said in reply to a half-heard question from a maid. And fetch Master Flance.
Blindfolded, half deaf, she nonetheless managed to make her rounds of the work crews, while Garth followed her and read from the books. She told him what points to underline for her to look at later; inquired of the work and made suggestions; and, every now and then, she turned aside to daintily vomit into the chamber pot. Her world narrowed down to the feel of carpet or stone under her feet, the murmur of words in her ear, and the cataclysmic pounding that reverberated inside her skull. She kept going by imagining herself whipping, shooting, stomping on, and setting fire to Jacoby Sarto and the rest of this self-important council who had the temerity to oppose her will. This interior savagery was invisible from without, as she mumbled and queried politely, and let herself be led about passively.
All of this busywork seemed to be getting her somewhere, but that evening when she collapsed onto her bed, Venera realized that she had no memory of anything she had said or done today. It was all obscured by the angry red haze of pain that had followed her everywhere.
She was doomed. Shed never be ready in time for the interrogation the council had planned. Venera rolled over, cried into her pillow, and finally just lay there, accepting her fate. The bullet had defeated her.
With that understanding came a kind of peace, but she was in too much pain to analyze it. She just lay there, dry eyed, frowning, until sleep overcame her.
10
this?Someone of a minor noble nation had heard him and turned, smirking. You didnt receive an invitation? asked the impertinent youth. Its a gala reception!
Bah! Sarto turned to his companion, the Duke of Ennersin. What is she up to? This is a feeding frenzy. Ill wager half these people have come to gawk at the legendary Buridans, and the other half to watch us drag her out of the place in chains. What does she gain out of such a spectacle?
Im afraid well find out shortly, said the duke. He was as stocky as Sarto, with similar graying temples and the sort of paternal scowl that could freeze the blood of anyone under forty. Together the two men radiated gravitas, to such an extent that the crowds automatically parted for them. True, most of those assembling here knew them, by sight and reputation at least. The nations of Sacrus and Ennersin were feared and respected by allall, it seemed, save for newly reborn Buridan. These two were here tonight to make sure that this new situation didnt last.
In any case, such
entertainments as this are rare, Jacoby, continued Ennersin. Its sure to attract the curious and the morbid, yes. But its the third audience that worries me, Duke Ennersin commented as they strode up the steps to the entrance.
Sarto glared at a footman who had the temerity to approach them at the entrance. What third audience?
Do you see the Guineveras there? Theyve been keeping Buridans horses for generations. Make no mistake, theyd be happy to be free of the burdenor to own the beasts outright.
Which they will after tonight.
I wouldnt be too sure of that, said Ennersin. Proof that this Amandera Thrace-Guiles is an imposter is not proof that the real heirs arent out there.
What are you saying, man? Shes been in the tower! Clearly its empty after all. There are no heirs to be had.
Not there, no But dont forget there are sixteen nations that claim to be related by blood to the Thrace-Guileses. The moment this Amanderas declared a fake the other pretenders will pounce on the property rights. Itll be a legal free-for-allmaybe even a civil war. Many of these people are here to warn their nations the instant it becomes a possibility.