The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,127

rag bandages. Her face was dust-streaked and bruised. The look in her cornflower blue eyes was pure steel.

"My dearest Sandrilene," the empress said, striding toward her with her hands out. "Whatever happened to you?"

Sandry's eyes caught and held hers. "Finlach fer Hurich happened to me," she said, her voice an alien croak. "Fin, and that disgusting kidnap custom you let thrive in this country." She began to cough, wincing as she did. Tears of pain streamed down her face. She dashed them away angrily.

Berenene halted and blinked at the girl. "What?" she asked, baffled. "Fin — Finlach — is in the ballroom at this moment." Her brain worked swiftly, as it always did in a crisis. As she had trained it to. "What happened to your voice?"

"Screaming does that to a person," Briar said coldly. "May I go to my quarters to get something for her throat?"

"Quen, see to it, please," Berenene ordered.

As Quenaill walked over to Sandry, the girl backed away. Briar went to stand next to him. "Be very careful with what you do," Briar said quietly. "Our patience is just about gone."

"Understood," Quen replied. "It's just a mild healing spell, Clehame." He leaned forward to place one broad palm on Sandry's grimy throat. She flinched, then closed her eyes. After a moment, Quen drew away from her.

Am I to understand Finlach did thisin my own palace? Berenene wondered, ice closing around her heart. How? Not alone, surely. And how did he think he might escape?

She selected a chair, rather than the throne, and settled onto it. "I think I will understand your meaning so much better if you explain, Sandrilene," she said coolly. "Sit, everyone, please. If you have a grievance, I am certain it can be resolved."

"As I am certain," repeated Sandry, taking a chair. Her voice was rough, but understandable. "Tris, please, sit before you fall down."

"I'm not some dainty flower, worn out by my own magic," retorted Tris. "I could lower us to the foot of the cliffs again right now, if you like. Though speaking of the cliffs..." She took a chair and drew a long braid from its place in the coil.

Berenene saw that Ishabal's attention was locked on the redhead. From a belt pouch the older woman drew a rope of silk twined with an assortment of powerful charms, each keyed to different protective spells. Her fingers were twined around one charm that the empress knew would throw a magical prison around Tris.

That's good, Berenene thought. Someone needs to watch Viymese Chandler. "Won't you sit, Viynain Moss?" Berenene asked with a smile.

His expression didn't change. "I'll stand, thank you, Your Imperial Majesty," he replied politely. He stayed where he was, legs planted, hands clasped before him, his eyes sombre. For a moment Berenene feared that she had lost this young man's regard, or even worse, his friendship. She brushed the idea aside. Of far more importance was learning who had possessed the effrontery to attempt to kidnap her kinswoman in her palace.

"Finlach fer Hurich came to escort me to the ball," Sandry told the three Namornese, her voice cold and steady. "Instead, he led me down a back passage, claiming I was to stand beside Your Imperial Majesty as you entered the room from the rear."

"Did anyone see you with Fin?" asked Quenaill.

Berenene shot him a glare for interrupting, but Sandry was shaking her head. "Not after we turned away from the main corridors. I didn't see anyone else. When we turned a corner back there, someone placed a cloth over my face. It was soaked in a potion that made me unconscious. I woke up in a box." Her voice trembled slightly. She got it under control. "The inside was filled with spells to cripple a thread mage. Fin was outside. He said his uncle had helped him. He said he was taking me out to a house with the same spells on it. And he said I would leave only when I signed the marriage contract and put my lip print on it in blood, so a mage could use it against me if I tried to break it. He seemed to think you would let him get away with it, Cousin, since you admire bold young men so. Everyone knows you want me to stay in Namorn. And you expect women to escape like you did. Of course, I doubt that you were put in a box." The huskiness in her voice thickened. "I doubt that the head