The Spacetime Pool (13 page)

“Who hurt your
wrists?”

Startled, she covered
one of the bandages with her hand. “I must go to Dominick.”

He lifted his chin. “This
monastery serves the emperor. We will send for him.”

“No! You can’t do
that.”

“We are loyal
servants to Maximillian.” He made no attempt to hide his suspicion. “If his
brother needs to be contacted, the emperor will do so.”

“I can offer you a
reward.” Inspiration came to her. “One worth far more to you than jewels or
gold.” She indicated the books on the table. “I can tell you what these mean.
It could improve your lives beyond imagining.” Whether she could actually do
that was debatable, but she had no doubt she could offer him more than he had
now, if the level of understanding she had seen accurately portrayed how little
the people here retained of their ancient knowledge.

“That is hard to
believe,” the monk said.

“But true.”

His voice hardened. “Prince
Dominick-Michael would never marry any woman except the one from the prophecy.
And, Lady Janelle, the emperor would do anything to prevent that marriage.”

She stiffened. “You
seem to have decided who I am. You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I am Gregor.”

Her anger surged. “
You
made that ghastly prophecy.” She waved at the library. “You figured out enough
here to look across space and time, right? But you don’t really understand it,
do you? Otherwise, you could have told them more, like how it works.”

Anger tightened his
expression. “I have spent my entire life studying these books. I understand
them better than anyone else alive.”

She plunged ahead,
ad-libbing. “That’s why I’m the prophecy.” For all she knew, it was true. It
was no stranger than anything else that had happened. “I was sent to you,
Brother Gregor. Would you like to know more? Give me sanctuary and I’ll tell
you.”

“You think I would
betray Othman in my own lust for knowledge?”

“A love of knowledge
is a gift, not an undesirable lust.”

He scowled at her. “You
talk a great deal.”

“Think what you could
learn. You’re a brilliant scholar; you must be, to have tamed space and time.”
She didn’t know him, but if he understood even a small part of these books with
no formal training, it could be true. “I can help unlock these mysteries for
you.”

“You speak
blasphemy.
”
He cut the air with a sharp wave of his hand. “Such study is for men, and only
those who dedicate their lives to the monastery, forgoing riches, prestige,
and
women.”

“A lot of these books
have female authors.”

He glared at her. “That
may be. But living women aren’t allowed in here.” His gaze traveled over her
body, and he made a visible effort to pull his attention back to her face. “You
will not seduce me into betraying the emperor.”

“What betrayal?” She
clenched her fists, ignoring the pain in her wrists. “You think it’s all right
for Maximillian to kidnap his brother’s wife, but heaven forbid she should
protect herself?”

“I don’t claim
Maximillian is a gentle man.” He stepped back to the door and pulled a cord
hanging there. “But he is my master and I am sworn to obey his word and law.”

Janelle swallowed. “What
does the cord do?” When he didn’t answer, her anger surged. “Was it a game,
pitting Maximillian and Dominick against each other from the day of their
birth?”

“No.” Fatigue showed
on his lined face. “It threatens all I value. The well-being of Othman.”

“And you think that
depends on me going to Maximillian?”

“He is the emperor.”
Gregor pulled himself up straighter. “It is my moral duty to act in his best
interest.”

She made an
incredulous noise. “How can you talk about moral duty when you intend to send
me to be raped and tortured by a monster?”

“I hardly think you
are fit to pass judgment on an emperor.”

“Why not? I know
brutality when I see it.”

Gregor shifted his weight.
“How he treats you and how he rules Othman are different matters.”

“Like hell.”

“At your age and with
your female attractions—” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have what it takes
to make such judgments.”

“I may be young,” she
said, “but that doesn’t mean my brain doesn’t work. And what does you finding
me sexually attractive have to do with my ability to think?”

His face turned a
deep red. “You twist my words.”

“No, I don’t.”
Frustrated, she said, “You make it sound as if I’m evil because I don’t want to
go back to a man who plans to thrash me until my blood soaks his whip, after
which he’s going to send it to my husband.”

“I have to do what I
believe is right. I cannot sacrifice higher principles for your welfare.”

She regarded him
steadily. “I question the validity of your principles.”

His face turned red. “If
my principles weren’t
valid,
it wouldn’t have mattered to me whether or
not you had reason to remain in your cold, soulless universe. You had no one
there. Nothing to stop you from leaving.”

“What?” Janelle
whispered. He couldn’t mean what she thought.

His voice quieted. “I
saw them die. The nobleman in Andalusia. His lady. Their son.” Softly, he
added, “Your family. I’m sorry.”

The air seemed to
rush out of the room. At first she could say no more than, “He wasn’t a
nobleman.” Then she inhaled deeply. “They were making bridges among different
peoples. They
died
for it. How can you call that soulless?”

He shook his head. “Right
or wrong, they left you alone.”

Footsteps sounded in
the hall. Four men entered the room, all dressed like Gregor. Turning to them,
he indicated Janelle. “We have a guest. We must send word to the emperor.”

* * * *

The monks gave
Janelle a cloth she could use as a shawl to cover herself, though she suspected
they did it more for their own peace of mind than for her. They locked her in a
high corner room, provided water and a basin, and brought her fruit, cheeses,
and a carafe of wine. Then they left her alone.

As demoralized as she
felt, she was ravenous. She wolfed down the food, then washed up and searched
her cell. Shaped like a piece of pie, it measured five paces by three at the
wide end. The walls were whitewashed plaster. A bench stood against the outer
wall, and above it, light trickled in a window slit. Swirls on the cloudy glass
reminded her of the Mandelbrot fractal. Had Dominick’s ancestors learned chaos
theory?
What secrets were locked in that library?

She was still reeling
from what Gregor had told her. He saw her family die. It was apparently part of
what convinced him she was destined to come here. She knew he couldn’t have
affected what happened through the Riemann screen, that he might not have even
seen their actual deaths, only that horrific news clip of the car exploding.
But nothing would stop the pain that flooded her.

Janelle rapped the
walls; she prodded, scraped, pushed, and yanked anything she could reach. She
pounded the window, trying to break the glass, even knowing she couldn’t
wriggle out the narrow opening. It offered a view of the yard that fronted the
monastery—and so she saw when the riders left, galloping down the same trail
the cart had taken up here. She thought of Maximillian, and bile rose in her
throat.

Eventually, she sank
onto the floor in one corner and pulled her knees to her chest. Laying her head
on her knees, she closed her eyes and gave in to her exhaustion.

Janelle awoke with
sunlight slanting across her face. A clamor outside had roused her: men
calling, biaquines trumpeting, boots stamping. Muzzy with sleep, she climbed
onto the bench and peered out the window. Warriors filled the slice of the yard
she could see, men in armor on biaquines.

And Maximillian.

Her panic flared. He
strode across her field of view, his black armor absorbing the sunlight, his
dark hair whipping around his face.

“No!” She scraped at
the window, trying to dig out the glass. Only a sliver of stone crumbled under
her assault. She kept going, frantic, knowing it would take hours to dislodge
the window, that she wouldn’t fit through the opening anyway. But she couldn’t
quit. She remembered the shackles, the whip and spiked belt, and the ugly
hunger in Maximillian’s gaze.

A key turned in the
lock.

Janelle spun around.
Jumping off the bench, she pulled the shawl around her body, as if that could
shield her.

The door opened,
revealing Gregor. Maximillian towered in the shadows behind him, the hilt of
his sword jutting above his shoulder.

Gregor stared at her,
his face unreadable. He stepped aside and bowed deeply to the emperor. Then he
left, his footfalls receding down the hall. Maximillian remained, his unsmiling
gaze fixed on Janelle. With a slow tread, he walked into the cell—

And it wasn’t him.

“Dominick!
” Janelle flung herself across the room, and he caught
her in an embrace. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his
chest, closing her eyes while tears squeezed out under her lids.

“Ai,” he murmured,
stroking her hair. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. I feared hatred.”

“I don’t hate you.”
Her voice caught. “I hate what you’ve done to my life.”

He drew back to look
at her. Then he touched her bandaged wrists. “I swear my brother will never
hurt you again.
Never.
”

She felt dizzy with
the release of fear. “Gregor told me he was sending for Maximillian.”

“Whatever you said
convinced him to seek me instead. His men found my army en route to Max’s
palace.” Unexpectedly, he laughed. “You have sorely traumatized our Brother
Gregor. He informs me that you are a most disturbing woman. He says he does not
envy my marital state.”

She managed a smile. “Trauma
builds character.”

“So it does.” His
amusement faded. “I will leave my Sixth Regiment here. You and I can ride home
with the rest of my army.”

From what Janelle had
gathered, only twenty men lived at the monastery, scholars rather than
warriors. “Do you really need so many to counter a few monks?”

“Not counter.
Protect. In summoning me, they have risked Maximillian’s wrath.” He held out
his hand. “Come with me, Janelle.”

She took his hand.

* * * *

VIII

The Key

The library in
Dominick’s palace awed Janelle. She wandered through room after room with
bookcases built into the walls from the floor to the vaulted ceiling. Sliding
ladders gave access to the upper shelves. Engravings in the wood curved in vine
motifs, and marble panels bore quotes from scholars she didn’t recognize. Gold
and burgundy brocade upholstered the armchairs. Tall lamps stood in the
corners, flickering with flames behind their stained glass shades. Most of all,
books filled the rooms, embossed, gilt-edged, gleaming everywhere in the golden
light.

Janelle’s bodyguards
stayed back, giving her a semblance of privacy. She had barely spoken to
Dominick during the ride here from the monastery today. She needed time to sort
out her thoughts. Nor did she know what to say; they had so little in common,
and she felt far out of her league with him. Yet he stayed on her mind. It was
more than the physical attraction; he also intrigued and compelled her. But she
wasn’t ready for this man who would be emperor.