Chapter 121

Just then, an unexpected accident occurred at the banquet hall.

Clang!

Eugène instinctively turned his head toward the sharp, shattering sound that rang so keenly it stung the ear. He was not alone; every startled gaze in the room swung toward the source. There stood Young Lord Vallienne, his nape flushed red to the roots, unable to conceal the look of dismay upon his face. In a fluster, he knelt on one knee.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty. I have failed to attend Your Majesty’s service with due care.”

Scattered before his knee lay the shards of broken glass, the final remnants of what had once been a beautiful, painted glass cup. Having fallen straight upon the bare wooden floor, where no carpet lay to soften its descent, the vessel had shattered beyond all hope of repair. The red wine it had held spread slowly along the grain of the wood, like the blood of a slain victim seeping outward.

“No, there is no need to apologize. This isOurfault.”

It seemed that Young Lord Vallienne, in the act of presenting the wine glass to His Majesty, had let it slip from his grasp. It was a blunder of the kind that rarely occurred, yet Ebroin V dismissed the apology as though it were a trifling matter.

“But, Your Majesty—”

“Wesaid there is no need for concern. The bottle still holds wine enough, and as for the glass, it can simply be replaced.”

Saying so, he gestured lightly toward the cupbearer. At the Emperor’s command, the attendant hurried to the silver pantry and returned with another. Whether for want of time to inspect it again, or to guard against a second mishap, the choice had been a thoughtful one: a splendid silver cup, its rim adorned with a laurel motif.

The cupbearer poured the tested wine into the new vessel. Young Lord Vallienne, his tension plain to see, took it up and offered it to the emperor. Ebroin V received the silver cup with unperturbed composure.

The base of the cup rested between his long, delicate fingers. As his attention turned to the vessel, the sweep of his lashes lowered in a graceful fan, casting a fine shadow across his gaze.

The marble-like refinement of his nose, the clearly sculpted line of his red lips, and the silver rim of the goblet pressed against them. Taken for what it was, the sight was nothing more than the common act of lifting wine to one’s lips at the table. However, as one beheld it, a strange suffocation pressed in, as though it were not a banquet but a choreographed performance, each gesture calculated to the angle of a footstep, and the taut air of it stretched Eugène’s nerves as tight as a drawn string.

Eugène met the Emperor’s gaze across the space between them. The eyes, half-veiled beneath lowered lashes, lifted languidly and rested upon him in silence. The wax tapers that adorned the table cast a rosy hue upon the Emperor’s skin. By the scattered remnants of the light, even the colour of his eyes seemed altered, shaded like the deep twilight of the setting sun. Eugène could not look away.

Keeping his gaze fixed upon Eugène, the Emperor tilted his cup and drank of the wine so laboriously offered. The soft movement of his pale throat as it rose and fell held Eugène’s sight with strange compulsion. Unwittingly, he drew a breath, and the heavy bouquet lingering in the air sank deep into his lungs. At first, it was sweet, like roses in bloom, yet its finish carried the dark, bitter richness of Barbera wine, akin to untempered chocolate.

The attendants were cleaning the floor according to the Chamberlain’s orders, yet the fragrance once released into the air clung and would not depart. To see it with the eyes and breathe it through the nose gave rise to the uncanny illusion of tasting it upon the tongue as well. That curiously vivid, synesthetic fancy disordered his senses at will.

No, that is but a paltry excuse.

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Why is it, at such a moment, that His Majesty…!

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It had been no more than a glance, but such a glance was far too overt to excuse. To those of the court, the language of gesture was a second mother tongue.

And so it was. Curious eyes, one by one, began to turn. Many, wondering where the Emperor’s gaze had fallen, ventured cautious glances in that direction. A few, discerning the object of that gaze, let slip soft exclamations, and the fans, still for a moment, were again astir, fluttering like the wings of hummingbirds.

The atmosphere, burdened by heavy discourse, lightened as a new subject brought liveliness to the gathering. Before the eyes of others could converge upon him, Duke La Mer discreetly withdrew, establishing the proper distance from Eugène in accordance with the standards of decorum. The man who had remained unmoved despite repeated warnings had now, at a mere glance, fallen away. Realising this, Eugène could not suppress a bitter smile.

“It would appear that even now my position is far from unblemished.”

Resolving to end the exchange at this point, Eugène spoke with a tone that bore no attempt to hide his self-mockery. Whether the man behind him heard the words was beyond knowing. After so troubling him, the banquet at the Emperor’s table resumed as though nothing had occurred, and when the meal was concluded and Eugène turned about, there was no one left in that place.

***

Having completed all the formal evening duties of the court and returned to his quarters, Eugène was utterly spent in mind.

That night, the honor of bearing the lamp during the Emperor’s bedtime ceremony had once again fallen to Young Lord Vallienne. At this evening’s banquet, the Emperor had entrusted to a single man both of the ceremonies that could be deemed the most glorious parts of the occasion. Such a thing was exceedingly rare, even in the more than twenty years of Ebroin V’s reign.

Many regarded this favor as a testament to the political dexterity of Marquis La Baille, who had drawn such support from the Emperor. It was already evident, from his having governed the Admiralty for decades without notable discord, that he was a man of considerable competence; yet none had expected him to be possessed of such consummate skill. That, at least, was the common judgment.

How wearisome.

The moment he returned to his chambers, Eugène sank into a chair and let out a long sigh. He held Marquis La Baille in esteem as his superior, and even had political calculation not been involved, he would gladly have stepped forth to be of aid to him. But that did not lessen the fatigue of the burdens he had been forced to bear on his account.

At last, having come to the end of a long day, he placed a hand at the nape of his neck and rolled it until the joints gave a sharp crack. The hours spent standing with every nerve on edge had left the muscles in his neck knotted and his shoulders aching with stiffness. Even though the hour was late, he felt he could not endure unless he eased his body, and so he asked his attendant to bring hot water.

However, when a knock came at his door a little while later, it was not the awaited bathwater but a familiar attendant of the Imperial Guard. One of Baron Bouilhet’s confidants, he delivered the Emperor’s summons in a voice faultlessly courteous.

“His Majesty calls for you, Baron.”

At this hour, His Majesty?

Though deeply perplexed, Eugène silently followed him. The guard led him to the Emperor’s bath, which had only recently been refurbished.

Two years ago, in the Battle of Mallega that had decided the course of the Third Landrienne Campaign, Ebroin V had overthrown NeabedPasha, who had commanded the vanguard of that year’s Landrienne invasion, and who for his distinction had been appointedBeylerbeyof the Landrienne region. To commemorate that decisive triumph, the Emperor had commanded that the luxurious bath of the governor’s residence be removed and set within the Imbert Palace.

He had spared no effort to recreate within the Imbert Palace the governor’s bathhouse, so famed for its beauty that it bore the epithet ‘The Iris Vase.’ To construct a wet bath, a feature hitherto nonexistent, he had summoned special technicians from Estina, and, in order to preserve the finest Iznik tiles, said to be used only in the imperial palaces and places of worship of the Eastern Empire, he had even gone so far as to have entire sections of the bath’s walls dismantled and transported.

Its formal name was ‘The Cobalt Chamber.’ But to most, it was better known by its sobriquet, ‘The Chamber of Neabed Pasha.’

Given the tale entwined with it, rumor had abounded within the court from the very moment construction began.

Despite its renown, after its completion, scarcely anyone had been permitted to set foot inside. A bathhouse was among the most private of the Emperor’s chambers. So far as Eugène knew, none but His Majesty himself and the attendants charged with its upkeep had ever entered.

When he arrived, another attendant standing guard at the door opened it cautiously without even announcing him within. Clearly, no mere attendant would have dared to transgress the strict court protocol of his own accord. The instruction must have been given in advance.

As he stepped inside, the heavy thud of his footsteps echoed upon the damp marble, as though he had set foot within a dark cavern. Though the autumn night beyond was bitterly chill, the air within pressed down upon him with suffocating heat.

It was but a single door that divided the two, and yet the world on this side was wholly other. With every step he took, the mist that drifted in pale veils seemed to conjure the shapes of tangled vines coiling like mirages before his eyes.

Not only the front but the walls on all four sides were adorned without a single gap with exquisitely colored tiles. Iris patterns dyed in a dazzlingly vivid blue, and the intricately detailed arabesques surrounding them flourished wherever the eye could reach. It was a scene so striking that calling it a vase seemed inadequate; ‘garden’ would be a far more fitting description.

Where have I seen this before…?

And yet, it was strange. Though the style was clearly exotic and unlike anything he had ever seen, somehow it felt familiar. He squinted slightly, as if encountering an old friend whose name hovered just beyond reach, and tried to trace the memory carefully.

“A view that steals the eye, is it not?”

The question was not about the source of the uncanny familiarity but rather about the aesthetic appeal of the bath itself. But the person beside him seemed to interpret his interest differently. Startled by the unexpected inquiry, Eugène recovered his composure and turned toward the voice.

As his eyes adjusted to the steam veiling his vision, the scene became clearer. The enormous bath, larger than anything he had ever seen, was filled with hot water, and a foreign fragrance drifted dreamily through the humid air…

No, it was not precisely a bathtub. He quickly corrected his own misconception as he recalled that this place was a hammam, constructed entirely in the Shaak style. That was not a simple bathtub, but what he had only heard of as a bathing pool.

The bath, echoing the walls’ opulent blue tones, was fashioned from elegant marble with a pristine white base and vivid blue marbling. Eugène had little knowledge of luxury goods and their intricacies, but even to the untrained eye, it was far from ordinary.

He leaned against the snowy-white marble wall and, spotting a familiar figure immersed in the steaming water, hurriedly dropped to one knee. Understandably, of course, this was the very person who had invited him to this place.

“Baron Amieux sees His Majesty the Emperor, Lord of Ardi, Klemann and Nervoge, Ruler of the Neutel and Salpine Rivers, and Protector of Lex Ardica. May Your Majesty reign forever.”

“Even in a place like this, you make a point of formalities? You are a truly rigid one…”

The Emperor murmured languidly and gestured to Eugène. It was a signal not to wet his collar in fuss, but simply to rise. Eugène, though inwardly feeling slighted, dutifully stood.

“Do you find my prize pleasing?”

Had he been watching all along? Fully aware that Eugène had little knowledge of art or architecture, the Emperor’s faintly curious gaze lingered on him as though intrigued by Eugène’s display of interest.

“It is a design I have never seen before, yet it somehow seems familiar, so I am trying to recall where I might have seen it.”