Cai Yun leapt from the sedan that had carried her to her uncle's house with no thought to decorum. She left it to her bodyguard to pay the bearers who had brought her and instead hurried through the gate and up the garden path to the verandah. There, her two old servants bowed to her, but this once she passed them by without a word. She had news that could not wait.

Fortunately, Uncle was in his study, sitting calmly at the low table that served as his desk, working on a letter. Her abrupt and undignified entrance made him pause, the ink brush poised in mid-stroke, and look up at her with raised eyebrows.

"I have come from meeting Zhang Sung, Uncle," said Cai Yun breathlessly, kneeling down in front of him. "You were right. He was worth every coin, and all my flirtations. He ..."

Uncle raised his free hand and set down his ink brush before it could drip on his carefully written letter. "Pause for breath, beloved niece. You will be fainting on the mat before you finish this tale."

Cai Yun did pause, and struggled to slow her breathing and regain her calm. When she was no longer panting like a horse, she bowed to Uncle, who bowed in return. Thus composed, she said, more slowly and more properly, "He tells me there is an Isavaltan prisoner in the cells below the Heart of the World."

"An Isavaltan?" Uncle savored the word, as Cai Yun knew he would. "This is indeed interesting. Does Zhang Sung know who this Isavaltan is?"

Cai Yun limited her triumph to a flash of her eyes. "A woman. A sorceress."

"So?" Uncle's eyebrows lifted again. "Well, well, a sorceress, at a time when we have word that the Isavaltans are chasing a mad sorceress about the countryside for impersonating their empress. This is indeed interesting news."

Cai Yun searched her uncle's face, even though by now she knew well he would show her nothing he did not wish her to see. Still, the lilt in his words made her believe that this news was more than interesting. It was welcome.

Uncle moved the brush to the shallow dish of water beside the stone and grinder so that the ink would not harden and ruin the bristles. "Niece, I have a task for you."

She was not surprised. "How can I assist my uncle?"

"I believe someone will soon be coming to retrieve this Isavaltan sorceress. I would speak with them when they do." Uncle stood and lifted a casket down from the shelf behind him. It opened easily under his hands, although, Cai Yun knew from the painful experience of childhood, if she had tried to lift that same lid, her fingers would have smarted for a week.

From the casket, Uncle drew a silken bag, and from the bag he took an amulet of jade carved in the shape of a dragon with a fox's head and cunning eyes.

"I suggest you go to the river docks. This amulet will help bring you and such as seek the sorceress together." Uncle handed the precious object to Cai Yun, who took it with a bow and concealed it in her sleeve.

"I will do my best."

"I know you will," Uncle replied, a hint of pride in his placid voice. His eyes shone and Cai Yun felt an answering warmth run through her. "Understand this, this may be the beginning of something much greater. If we act swiftly and with good information, you and I, Niece, will strike such a blow against the Nine Elders that they will never recover."

Chapter Fourteen.

A sharp, swift pain in her stomach woke Medeoan. She cried out and rolled over, clutching her side. Light flared in the darkness and she shrank from it. Gradually, she could see the soldiers had carried in a table and chair, and the little stick of a man who had ordered her put in this cell sat before her, a fresh scroll laid out before him. Two guards flanked him. A third stood beside Medeoan, and she realized his square-toed shoe must be the source of the pain in her side. Her anger flared, but she kept her mouth shut.

"Can you understand me?" asked the stick figure official.

"Very well, thank you," croaked Medeoan. Her throat burned, her head spun. Despite the pain from the kick, her stomach cramped up with hunger. How long had she been left here in this hole?

The official noted something down. "Stand."

Medeoan gritted her teeth and made herself get to her feet. Her knees shook, but she remained upright. They would not see her grovel. They had already seen too much of her weakness.

"Who are you?" the official asked, without even looking up at her. His pen was busy on the scroll, but from this distance Medeoan could not make out what he wrote.

Medeoan drew herself up as straight as she could. This brief moment, at least, she was going to enjoy.

"I am the empress of Isavalta."

She expected a blow, and steeled herself for it, but none came. The skinny official just tightened his mouth into a smirk.

"It is at least a creative lie," he said. "Who are you?"

Let him see it. Medeoan let her anger blaze in her eyes. She remembered standing before the throne, she remembered the coronation and the oaths of loyalty. She remembered looking out the window of Vyshtavos and seeing her lands spread out before her. "I am Medeoan Edemskoidoch Nacheradovosh, the Empress of Eternal Isavalta, the Heir of Vyshemir, the Prince of the Northern Marches, and the Autocrat of Tuukos," she said in her own tongue. "And you will address me properly, or the Heart of Heaven and Earth will know why."

The skinny official blinked slowly. How much did he understand? Was she just speaking gibberish to him? Did they now believe her to be a madwoman?

Slowly, the skinny official set down his pen. He stood, and then he bowed, not deeply, but he did bow. Medeoan inclined her head in response.

"I must look into this matter," he said, gathering up his scroll. "Stay with Her Majesty."

He left then, and two of the guards went with him. They closed the door behind themselves, leaving Medeoan in the cell with the third guard, who positioned himself by the door and assumed an attitude of attention.

Medeoan did not bother to try to speak to him. She claimed the official's chair. Her guard made no remark. He did not even look at her. So, she got ready to wait.

Hunger thinned Medeoan's blood. She tried to be grateful for the light and the chair, but that did not last long. What was the skinny man doing? How could he look into this matter? She had arrived in secret, at least she hoped she had. He either believed her or he did not. If he did not, her trouble deepened. If he did, he should have her taken out of here. Immediately. She should at least be provided with food and clean clothes. Whatever else she was, she had declared herself to be an empress, and there were rules of treatment.

After an unendurably long time, the cell door swung open again. Medeoan started at the sudden, silent movement, but forced herself to remain seated and simply look up.

As expected, the skinny official stepped back into the cell. This time, in addition to the soldiers, he was accompanied by a second, taller man in a long scarlet coat. His black hair was rolled into a bun rather than hanging down as a braid. A serpentine green dragon had been tattooed onto his right cheek. The loops and twists of its body probably wove some permanent protection or silence into his being.

A sorcerer then, probably of the outer court, or he also would have been wearing a cap to match his coat, and would have had more than one visible tattoo.

"You are the one who claims to be the empress of Isavalta?" he said in the language of Medeoan's home.

"I claim nothing," replied Medeoan. "I speak the truth."

He blinked. "You will, however, agree it is a truth that must be verified."

"That depends entirely on the means of verification."

The sorcerer stepped forward and held out his hand. His palm had also been tattooed, this time with a brown snake twisting itself into a pattern that, Medeoan was sure, matched that of the dragon on his face.

"You will take my hand."

Medeoan hesitated. Avanasy had required her to become familiar with the common symbols and patterns of magic in Hung Tse and Hastinapura. The snake was wisdom, but it was also cleverness, and truthfulness. She had no protection about her. What could he compel her to say?

Still, she had little choice. Medeoan lifted her chained wrists. She grasped the sorcerer's hand, and found it cold and calloused from his workings. With his free hand, the sorcerer raised her chin so that he could look into her eyes. Medeoan bit back the rebuke that rose at this familiarity.

The sorcerer began to chant. It was a high, tonal language, like the tongue she knew, but not the same. Some ancient dialect or some sorcerer's secret, she did not know. All she knew was she felt the cold prickling of a spell being worked. It traveled down her skin from her scalp and reached inside her, through flesh to her veins and her blood and crawled along her bones. She felt the sorcerer draw toward her, although her outward senses told her neither he nor she had moved.

Who are you? he asked, although she heard no words. Who are you?

Unbidden, a hundred images rose in Medeoan's mind. Her mother holding her hand and telling her a great prince never cries, looking up and up the high dais to where her father sat, a god enthroned in gold, her parents dead under their shrouds, looking into Kacha's eyes on her wedding day, looking into Avanasy's eyes as she banished him from her land. Too many, too fast, the images tumbled over each other: Kacha in her arms, her coronation, her parents in their grave, Kacha in her bed, Avanasy staring at her, his whole face full of betrayal ...

"Enough!" shouted Medeoan. With all the strength she had left, she tore free of the sorcerer's grip. The prickling faded instantly, but Medeoan was seized with an icy trembling that she could not control.

The sorcerer too was shaking, and Medeoan was secretly glad she had been able to cause him some discomfort as repayment for what he had just done to her. It was a long moment before he was able to harden his face and regain control. None of the other men said a word. Medeoan could not even hear them breathe.

"Yes," said the sorcerer at last. "It is enough." He turned to the skinny official. "Release Her Imperial Majesty."

The skinny official bowed immediately and deeply. He pulled out his ring of keys and unlocked Medeoan's shackles. She stood, letting the chains fall rattling to the floor without looking at them. They were beneath her notice, as was the raw chafing on her wrists.

"If Her Imperial Majesty will follow me." The sorcerer bowed, although not as deeply as the skinny official.

Medeoan nodded. She hoped her face was strong, for she did not trust her voice. Her body felt weak, weak from hunger and thirst, from fear and relief, and from the working that had passed through her.

The sorcerer straightened up and paced through the door. Medeoan followed, and the soldiers formed up at her back.

Medeoan knew from childhood lessons that the Heart of the World was laid out in a pattern of nine squares containing five palaces. Each of the four outer palaces was surrounded by four walls, and had two adjoining gardens. One palace was for the imperial women, one was for the high-level administrators and bureaucrats. Another was for foreign ambassadors and hostage guests. The fourth was for the Dowager Empress and her family.

The fifth palace waited at the center of the great complex. This was the true Heart, the home of the emperor, who was "the Heart of Heaven and Earth," and the Imperial Protectors, the Nine Elders. It was toward this palace that the sorcerer led her. The final yellow gate opened for them and they stepped out into a courtyard so huge that Medeoan was willing to swear it could have held all of Vyshtavos and still had room left over. Across the expanse of pale sandstone, Medeoan saw the scarlet-and-emerald wings of the Heart spreading out so far she could not take them in with a single glance. In the center rose a great, gilded tower with more windows than she could easily count looking out across the land of Hung Tse.

Medeoan tried to keep her composure. She worked hard not to gape at the pillars of carnelian and jade that flanked the palace's entranceway. More pillars, these scarlet with gilded tops and bases, held up the soaring golden roof. Instead of tapestries, the broad hall was hung with silken banners. Some had been painted with images of the four protectors: the dragon, the phoenix, the unicorn and the tortoise. Others carried pictograms woven together so fancifully they could not be anything but spells. More silk covered the polished floor they walked. Beneath the silk, the wood was so dark it could not have been anything but lacquered mahogany.

They did not stop at any of the doors they passed. None of the guards in their shimmering black armor made any move as they passed.

The hall ended at a gate of carved wood that had been polished until it shone like silk. Medeoan's eyes automatically traced the carving. She found the spells woven into the carving and knew that despite its delicate appearance, this gate was stronger than any she had yet passed through.

Before the gate stood a single figure. Medeoan thought it was a man, but it was difficult to tell. The figure wore a long, enveloping robe of deep blue embroidered all over with sinuous dragons of so many colors that they dazzled Medeoan's eyes. More dragons covered his folded hands. Curving lines and graceful clouds had been tattooed all across his face, turning his skin into a living mask. It was by these signs that Medeoan knew she stood before the Minister of Air.

Her escort knelt, pressing their hands and their foreheads against the floor. Medeoan remained standing. Properly, the minister should have knelt to her. The fact he remained standing sent a shiver of warning through her. All was not going smoothly yet.

"If Her Imperial Majesty will consent to come with me," said the minister in perfect High Isavaltan. He had a rich, mellifluous voice that nonetheless set Medeoan's skin to pricking. Even in his words there was an undercurrent of power, and he was but one of nine.

"Lead on," said Medeoan stiffly. Hunger and uncertainty both gnawed at her. What manner of reception would she have beyond this deceptive gate? How would she be able to stand up to it?

The Minister of Air turned and bowed to the gate, holding his hands out so his left hand covered his right fist. At this gesture, the gate pulled open of its own accord. The minister stepped through, without looking back to see if Medeoan followed. Medeoan straightened her shoulders and walked past her still-kneeling escort into the audience chamber.

Like everything else about the Heart of the World, the audience chamber had been built on a grand scale. Life-sized statues of the gods and the powers with their swords and spears raised, or their arms lifted to bar the entrance of any unwelcome thing, stood guard between elaborately carved pillars of cinnabar. At the center of the chamber rose a dais with ten stone steps. The emperor himself sat on a simple platform of lacquered wood. His robe was unadorned saffron and his hair was rolled high on his head and lacquered until it shone like the platform on which he sat. His skin was clear brown and his eyes black, and he was younger than Medeoan had thought he would be, almost as young as she. Beside him stood a man in white with his hands neatly folded. This was the Imperial Voice, Medeoan knew. The emperor could never be heard to speak by any other, lest his words be captured and used to weave a spell against him.

Five steps below the emperor stood the remaining eight of the Nine Elders.

Medeoan swallowed the temptation to giggle nervously. At least they took her seriously. Avanasy had told her that the way one measured how seriously Hung Tse regarded a threat was to see how many of the Nine Elders stood between the emperor and any ambassador or messenger. All nine were seldom present at once.

One minister for each of the five elements, Medeoan remembered; earth, air, fire, water and metal. One for each of the directions; north, south, east and west. The emperor himself was the fifth direction; center.

So, as the Minister of Air mounted the dais to stand with his colleagues and turn toward her, the whole world faced Medeoan.

Mindful of her position as an unwelcome guest, Medeoan folded her hands over her breast and reverenced deeply to the assemblage in front of her.

"I am most grateful to my Brother Emperor for receiving me into his Heart," she said in her best court manner. Her words echoed briefly around the still chamber, and were quickly swallowed by the vast space.

The emperor nodded and gestured to his Voice.

"I greet my Sister Empress, and I ask her to accept my sorrow and deep respect for her departed parents."

Medeoan reverenced again. "My thanks to my Brother Emperor."

"Your refreshment has been arranged for. Please, take your ease and eat and drink."

At those words, Medeoan almost collapsed with relief. But she forced herself to remain standing while silent servitors in black robes with white hems and cuffs swept forward, bringing with them a chair and table of carved wood. Still others laid out a tray covered with small bowls of cold dainties, and a ceramic beaker of clear wine and another of water, and a pair of small cups to accompany the drinks. A maid bowed before Medeoan, offering a bowl of steaming water and a clean towel.

All this was done under the eyes of the emperor and the Nine Elders. Medeoan's eyes narrowed. This had the feel of a subtle insult somehow, but she could not unearth its meaning. So, she rinsed her hands and dabbed them dry. She sat in the presented chair, and ate from each of the bowls. It was all she could do not to fall upon the food like a dog, but a lifetime of training helped her keep her dignity.

"Again, I thank my Brother Emperor," she said when she could make herself stop eating. "The courtesies of the Heart of the World are as legendary as its wealth. Now I see those legends spoke nothing but the purest truth."

The emperor nodded briefly and turned to his Voice again. Medeoan saw his hand move swiftly, making some sign or signal that the Voice might interpret.

"I wonder what grave circumstances have occurred that cause one of my Sister Empress's station to be wandering alone and in common garb in the open streets of the city."

Here it was. Here was where she had to pull her mind together. She'd had plenty of time on the voyage and wandering the streets to think of what to say, and now was her time to speak.

Medeoan rose to her feet. The eyes of all Nine of the Elders tracked her as she did.

"It has been said, and wisely, that the enemy of my enemy is my friend," said Medeoan, pitching her voice to carry. The room would hear her, the emperor would hear her. She would make them listen. "I do not pretend that there has not long been great trouble between Isavalta and Hung Tse. My Brother feels we have wronged him, and we feel that my Brother has wronged us. This is ever the way of Empire." Father had spoken those words, but he had said them to the ambassador from Hastinapura. Medeoan had sat at his side that day, still and quiet, and wishing she was somewhere else. "But when a common threat arises, it is also the way of the wise in the empire to set aside reckoning for those wrongs and attend to the business of survival."

The emperor's eyes narrowed, and he gestured to his Voice.

"Do you say there is a threat to Hung Tse?"

"I do."

"And the name of this threat?"

"Hastinapura."

Much to Medeoan's consternation, the Nine Elders all laughed. Even the emperor smiled.

"That there is danger to the south of our borders is not news," said the Voice. "Perhaps it is because our Sister Empress is so young she finds it noteworthy."

Medeoan forced herself to wait until the last of the laughter had died away. "The danger of a bear sleeping in its den is far different from the danger of a bear hunting and hungry."

"You say that Hastinapura plans to attack us?"

"They seek to use treachery to overthrow Isavalta, with whom they have a treaty. If this is accomplished, will they leave at peace Hung Tse with whom they have an active quarrel? Kacha ..." She stumbled over the name. "... has broken the treaty my father entered into with the bonds of our marriage. He is supported by powerful magics and more powerful lies. Because of them, my own lords may not be trusted. But," she raised her finger, "long is the memory of Hung Tse, and subtle are the ways of my Brother Emperor and his Protectors. If we together end this ignoble and unclean overthrow of the right order, the benefits to both our lands will be manifold."

The emperor and the Nine Elders were silent for a long time. Medeoan's heart beat hard in her chest, driven by uncertainty. Did they believe? Did they hear the promise in that last statement?

At last, the emperor waved his hand to his Voice.