Harry Turtledove - Krispos Rising

"I won't," Anthimos said. He had gone off to look at the robe he would wear to the evening's festivities before Krispos noticed he hadn't quite made a promise. Even if he had, Krispos doubted he would have taken it seriously enough to keep. Anthimos just did not believe anything bad could ever happen to him.

Krispos knew better. If growing up on a farm had done nothing else for him, it had done that.

X

The bell beside Krispos' bed tinkled softly. He woke up muttering to himself. When Anthimos held a feast, he was expected to roister along with the Emperor—and the Emperor was better than he at doing without sleep. When Anthimos spent a night with Dara in the imperial residence, Krispos expected to have the chance to catch up on his rest.

Even as he slipped a robe over his head, he knew he was not being fair. Though he'd got into the habit of keeping a lamp burning all night long to help him dress quickly in case the Avtokrator needed him, Anthimos seldom called him after he'd gone to bed. But tonight, he thought grouchily, only went to show that seldom didn't mean never.

He walked out his door and four or five steps down the hall to the imperial bedchamber. That door was closed, but a light showed under it. He opened the door. Anthimos and Dara turned their heads toward him.

He stopped in his tracks and felt his face go flame-hot. "Y-your pardon, I pray," he stammered. "I thought the bell summoned me."

"Don't go away, at least not yet. I did call you," the Emperor said, calm as if he'd been interrupted playing draughts—or at one of his revels. After that first startled glance toward the door, Dara looked down at Anthimos. Her long dark hair, undone now, spilled over her shoulders and veiled her so that Krispos could not see her face. Anthimos brushed some of that shining hair away from his nose and went on, "Fetch me a little olive oil, if you please, Krispos; that's a good fellow."

"Yes, your Majesty," Krispos said woodenly. He hurried out of the bedchamber. Behind him, he heard Anthimos say, "Why did you slow down, my dear? That was nice, what you were doing."

He found a jar of oil faster than he really wanted to. In truth, he did not want to go back to the bedchamber at all. Seeming a eunuch around Dara had been simple at first, but less easy after that night when she first let him see her as a person rather than an Empress. Now ... now he would have trouble not imagining his body in place of Anthimos' under hers.

As he went back down the hall, he wondered what she thought. Maybe she was used to this, as Anthimos was. In that case, she would also be used to taking no notice of what servants imagined. Probably just as well, he thought.

He paused in the doorway. "Took you long enough," Anthimos said. "Don't just stand there, bring the oil over to me. How do you expect me to get it when you're half a mile away?"

Krispos reluctantly approached. Dara's head was lowered; her hair hid her face from him again. He did not want to speak or force her to notice his presence any more than she had to. Without a word, he held out the jar to the Avtokrator.

Anthimos dipped his fingers into it. "You can set it on the night table now, Krispos, in case we want more later on." Krispos nodded, did as he was told, and got out, but not before he heard the tiny smooth sound of Anthimos' slickened fingers sliding over Dara's skin.

He threw himself back into bed with what he knew was altogether unnecessary violence, and lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling. The flickering shadows the lamp cast there all looked lewd. Eventually it began to rain. The soft patter of raindrops on roof tiles lulled him to sleep at last.

He jerked in dismay when the bell woke him the next morning; returning to the Emperor's chamber was the last thing he felt like doing. What he felt like doing, however, mattered not in the least to Anthimos. The bell rang again, louder and more insistently. Krispos pulled on a clean robe and went to do his master's bidding.

But for the jar of olive oil on the table by the bed, the previous night might not have happened. As far as Anthimos was concerned, it plainly hadn't. "Good day," he said. "Rain, I see. Do you think it's just a shower, or is the fall wet season coming early this year?"

"It'll hurt the harvest if it is," Krispos answered, relieved to be able to talk dispassionately. "Do you prefer the purple robe today, your majesty, or the leek green?"

"The green, I think." Anthimos got out of bed and gave an exaggerated shiver. "Brr! Fall certainly seems to be in the air. Good thing for the heating ducts this building boasts, or I 'd have to start thinking about sleeping in clothes." He glanced over at Dara, who was still under the covers. "That would be no fun at all, would it, my dear?"

"Whatever you say." The Empress reached out a slim arm and tugged on the bellpull for a maidservant.

Anthimos sniffed. He let Krispos dress him and help him on with his boots. "I'm for breakfast," he announced. He looked over at Dara again and frowned. "Aren't you coming, slugabed?"

"Presently." The Empress' serving girl had come in, but she showed no sign of being ready to get up. "Why don't you start without me?"

"Oh, very well. Krispos, ask the cook if he has any squab in the larder. If he does, I'll have a couple, roasted, with a jar of that sweet golden Vaspurakaner wine that goes so well with them."

"I'll inquire, your Majesty."

The cook had squab. He grinned at Krispos. "With all the statues and towers in the city to draw pigeons, not likely I wouldn't. Roasted, you said his Majesty wants 'em? Roasted they'll be."

Krispos fetched Anthimos the little birds, along with bread, honey, and the wine he'd asked for. The Avtokrator ate with good appetite, then rose and said, "I'm off to be sorcerous." Dara and her maidservant came into the dining room just as he was going out. His voice echoed through the central hallway: "Tyrovitzes! Longinos! Fetch umbrellas, and smartly. I don't propose to swim to my little workshop."

The eunuchs' sandals slapped on the marble floor as they hurried to obey. Krispos asked Dara, "What would you care for this morning, your Majesty?"

"I'm not very hungry," she answered. "Some of this bread and honey should do well enough for me."

She only picked at it. "Can I get you anything else, your Majesty?" the serving maid asked. "You're not a bird, to stay alive on crumbs."

Dara looked at the crust she was holding, then set it down. "Maybe a muskmelon would suit me better, Verina—stewed, I think, not raw."

"I'll get one for you, Majesty." Verina stood up, impudently wrinkled her nose. "I'll spend the time it's stewing gossiping with the cook. Phestos knows everything that goes on here three days before it happens."

"Nice to think someone does." Dara listened to Verina's steps fading down the hall, then said quietly, "Krispos, I want you to know I did not expect An—his Majesty to summon you last night. If you were embarrassed, I can only say I'm sorry. I was, too."

"Oh." Krispos thought about that for a while, thought about how much he might safely say to even a contrite Empress. Finally he continued, "It was a little awkward, being treated as if I were only a—a convenience."

"That's well said." Dara's voice stayed low, but her eyes blazed. She clenched her hands together. "That's just how Anthimos treats everyone around him—as a convenience, a toy for his amusement, to be put back on the shelf to sit until he feels like playing with it again. And by the Lord with the great and good mind, Krispos, I am no toy and I am sick to death of being used as one."

"Oh," Krispos said again, in a different tone. When angry, Dara was indeed no toy; she reminded him of Tanilis, but a Tanilis young and unskilled. Nor did the memory of her anger sustain her once it was gone, as Tanilis' did. Tanilis never would have let the Emperor keep her in the background like this.