Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  Chapter Eighteen

  Movement in the room woke me. The first grey light of dawn barely let me see Cillian searching through his pack by the window. I watched him for a minute without speaking.

  “Hello, my love,” I said. He looked up.

  “Lena. I am sorry to have woken you.” His voice was impersonal, making only a polite apology.

  “No matter. Is there anything I can help with?”

  “I have found what I came for.”

  “Do the talks begin today?” I asked. “And will Sorley and I be needed?”

  “They will begin today, this afternoon, to be precise. I doubt you or Sorley will be needed at first, so if there are things you should do, with the mounted archers or elsewhere, then please do them today.”

  I nodded. I would go to thank Junia in person, then. “Have you seen Sorley?” I asked.

  “No. It was very late when I got back.”

  “He wants to talk to you, about Sorham and Linrathe. He wants your advice.”

  “This morning, then.” He stood. “I have notes to write and there is only enough light outside. You might try to sleep again.”

  He closed the door quietly. I lay still, willing myself not to let frustration make me cry. He had not spoken to me in such a detached way since the first week of our exile in the mountains. I glanced at his side of the bed. I could see no evidence he had slept there. Where, then? Or had he not slept at all?

  When the sunlight was brighter, I got up. Out on the rooftop, only Turlo sat at the table. “Good morning,” I greeted him.

  “Lassie,” he said. “Sorley and Cillian have gone walking, to talk. Help me solve a problem.”

  Prisca brought fruit juice and more bread. “What is it?” I asked Turlo.

  “It seems the Empress, or more likely her senior advisors, have raised a barrier. When Cillian was negotiating for Casil, that was all well and good: he had been appointed to the role by her and that gave him the authority. But now she is challenging his right to negotiate for the Empire. An Empress does not negotiate except with an equal, or an almost-equal, it seems.”

  “With an Emperor's son, perhaps?” I said.

  “Aye.”

  “Then where is the problem? I thought we had decided to hold back that part of Cillian's identity unless it was needed. Now it is.”

  “He wants our approval to reveal it. Yours and mine, as citizens of the Empire.”

  “He has mine,” I said. “Do you have reservations, Turlo?”

  “Aye, one or two. Mostly that he is supposed to be my adjutant, or my advisor, and I believe the Empress will see our roles reversed: he as the chief negotiator, me to advise him. But Callan's authority rests in me, and it must be my name on the agreement.”

  “Did not he send a letter with you, making you his representative?”

  “No, lassie, he didn't. None of us in the Empire can write in Casilan. I did not know anyone could, until Cillian.”

  “I see,” I said. “Turlo, is there another way? If not, I think you will just have to be pragmatic and let Cillian take the lead. If she will believe he is the Emperor's son. How does he prove that?”

  “The seal on your pardons, and your private letters. Callan's ring has been passed down from Emperor to Emperor: the impression it makes is faint now, but if you look closely, you can see the eagle. It is the same eagle as on Casil's flag. Cillian believes that will be enough to convince her, that and the way Callan signed his private note, apparently.”

  “As his father first, and then as the Emperor,” I said. It must have been his letter he was looking for, earlier.

  “Did he now?” Turlo looked surprised. “That should be enough, then.”

  I did not see Sorley until much later that day, after I had returned from the training field. He had not come back to the house in the morning while I was there.

  “Did you stay with Cillian all the morning?” I asked.

  “No. I went to see Geiri. I needed some different company. Cillian and I talked for an hour, no more.”

  “Was he helpful?”

  “He was very analytical. Cool. He told me exactly what he thought would happen, given several choices of where we might try to stop the Marai.”

  “And?”

  He sighed. “Sorham made its choice, I suppose. Or at least its landholders did, most of them. Including my father. But our torpari didn't make that choice, and I think the closer estates are to the Sterre, the more likely that their Härren did not welcome the Marai. I wish I knew what my brother thought. I wish I knew why my father preferred Varsland over Linrathe. But none of it matters. We cannot take Sorham back. I see that now.”

  “I am sorry, Sorley,” I said.

  “I can live with that, almost,” he said. “But, Lena, how can I be the one to say 'if Casil supports us, and we win, Linrathe gives up her independence and becomes subservient to the Eastern Empire?’ I have no authority to give away Ruar's inheritance.”

  “Ruar is not of age,” I said. “Who should speak for him?”

  “A man of the Teannasach's line.”

  “What did Cillian say?”

  “That he would argue my position, but it might come down to no choice. Would I be willing to forfeit Linrathe as well?”

  “Oh, Sorley. Did he have no advice other than that?”

  “No. He was very remote, Lena.”

  “He is like that with me, too, Sorley. The work seems to demand it.”

  “Another price to be paid? I will make that decision, Lena; I will give away Linrathe's independence if I must. Even though it might make me a traitor in Ruar's eyes, and be my death sentence.”

  “Sorley, no! It is unfair of Cillian to make you bear that burden alone.”

  “Nonetheless, he is. And as you pointed out yesterday, he cannot be Linrathe's voice. But no one in Linrathe, except Lorcann and his followers, wanted a Marai king, so I suppose the Teannasach's line has betrayed its people and lost its authority. So it might as well be me. I am doing this for Perras and Dagney, and Jordis and Niav, and the Ti'ach. As close a place I have to call home, now.”

  Could not Cillian be at least a little sympathetic? He must still care about the Ti'ach, and Linrathe. Anger kindled by Sorley's words burned slowly inside me. I tried to think rationally. Cillian had said he would let us choose as freely as we could. Did that mean all he could do was show us the alternatives, and their likely outcomes, and let us decide?

  How Cillian functioned on the little sleep he was getting I could not comprehend. Sorley, called to the palace on both of the next two days, came home for a late dinner and did not go out again. He looked worried. Questioned, he shook his head. “I am not sure they are going to support us,” he said.

  Cillian, who ate at the palace, came to bed in the early hours of the morning, and breakfasted early. I continued being patient, greeting him as usual if I woke when he came in, or in the morning, if I saw him. I was not needed at the palace. After the first day of waiting, I had gone back to the training field each afternoon.

  Four days into the negotiations I heard him dress and go out just as the sun rose. I got up, pulled my robe over my sleeping shift, and followed him. He was at the roof table, as usual.

  “Hello, my love,” I said. He looked up from the paper in his hand.

  “Lena. You are up early.”

  “I thought we might talk, for a few minutes. Cillian, you look terrible.” He did. Fatigue purpled the skin beneath his eyes, contrasting with the pallor of his cheeks. His face looked thinner. “You are not getting enough sleep.”

  “It does not matter,” he answered. “I can sleep when the agreement is signed.” Prisca came out with bread and cheese and fruit, placing them in front of Cillian. She pointed to the food, and then to me. I shook my head. I didn't want food this early.

  Cillian made no move to eat. “Are you making progress?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He broke off a piece of bread. “We settled what to do about Linrathe last night. It took
longer, as we could make no firm promises, only proposals. Today we begin talking about the Empire.”

  “And Sorham?”

  He shook his head. “It belongs to the Marai now.” He said it straightforwardly, his voice devoid of emotion, but a small muscle jumped in his cheek as he spoke.

  “Are you going to need me, now you are talking about the Empire?”

  “Not today. But Sergius should always know where to find you, in case that changes.” He pushed the food away. I put my hand on his. He did not move to clasp it, or entwine his fingers with mine.

  “Cillian,” I said, and then again, when he did not look at me. “There is something wrong. Tell me.”

  “It is just that I am using everything I have to offer to keep the Empress looking favourably at our petition,” he answered. “There is significant opposition.” He pushed his stool back. “I will be at the palace, if you would be so kind as to let Turlo know.”

  His words unsettled me. I felt vaguely nauseated. I ate a piece of bread, which helped, a bit. What had he been telling me? Just that all his energy and thought was going to these talks, I told myself.

  I dressed, and when I heard Turlo and Sorley in the sitting room, I went back to the rooftop table. “Cillian has gone to the palace,” I told Turlo. “You are talking about the Empire, today?”

  “Aye, we are.” Turlo answered. “In a day or two, lassie, we will have given our independence away. Callan will be the last Emperor of the West, in his own right.”

  “What will he be, if anything?” I asked.

  “Cillian has unearthed a title: Princip. Leader. We will see what the Empress thinks of it. Although,” he added, “if it comes from him, she's likely to approve.”

  “He says there is opposition.”

  “Aye. Quintus. Cillian is fighting it in a way I would not have thought possible.”

  He didn't elaborate. Sorley put a hand on mine, and when I looked at him, shook his head. “Later,” he mouthed.

  Turlo finished eating and left to dress for the palace. “I am sorry about Sorham,” I said to Sorley. “Cillian told me, this morning.”

  He spread his hands. “There was no choice. Did he tell you anything else?”

  “Not about Linrathe. What was Turlo alluding to, Sorley?”

  He looked away. “Cillian and the Empress—they are very close, Lena. He is very attentive, and she treats him with an intimacy that suggests—other intimacies, I suppose. He is with her until extremely late, every night.”

  “He wouldn't,” I said automatically. But—I am using everything I have to offer. “Sorley,” I asked, “what does Druisius say about the opposition?”

  “Soldier's speculation. But if he has it right there is quite strong opposition to sending boats and men so far away, with the peace with the Boranoi so newly established. What are you thinking, Lena?”

  “It will just be the tools of diplomacy,” I said briefly. “Excuse me, Sorley. I am not feeling well.”

  I made it to the latrine before I vomited. I rinsed my mouth and lay on the bed, thinking. Would he go that far, to ensure Casil's support? Would he do this to us? My thoughts circled and twisted. He had not touched me in days. I thought about his sudden self-disgust, up on the city walls, and his unexpected public kiss of my hand at the taberna. His cryptic comment: at least in this I can still speak the truth. I gave up trying to think. I needed to move. I changed my clothes, found Druisius, and went to the training ground.

  Junia did not mind that I was early. I found work to do, with the horses and the tack, and in the afternoon my arrows flew with an accuracy that reflected my cold concentration. I went to the baths with her and the other recruits, and even stopped at a taberna with them for a drink. Druisius had to wait outside: it was a taberna for the female soldiers only, it transpired. A statue of the hunting goddess stood in the centre of its small courtyard, and when I left I gave her hand a rub.

  Still, physical activity and several glasses of unwatered wine were not enough to make me sleep that night, so I knew Cillian had not come home—or at least to bed—at all. At dawn I gave up, and got up. I felt unwell after no sleep and too much wine, but several glasses of water helped with that. An idea had begun to coalesce, but it was too soon to examine it closely.

  “Stay close today,” Turlo told me at breakfast. “We may need you. Both of you, if things go well.”

  I sent word to Junia that I would not come today. Sorley and I played xache, and he played the ladhar. I thought he was working on a new tune, something that sounded like a blend of his music and Casil's. I wished I had something equivalent to occupy my mind.

  The summons came just after midday. Prisca, always efficient, had ordered two new tunics for me, suitable to wear in the presence of the Empress. I chose one at random, barely noting its finer fabric and intricate embroidery, and pinned on the matching shawl. In the sitting room, Sorley waited for me, Druisius with him. Downstairs, a second guard joined us, to my surprise. Druisius not taking any chances, I wondered, or did our destination require more outward show?

  We were delivered to a side door of the palace, to be led down wide corridors to a fair-sized room furnished with tables and benches, and two couches. Paper and vellum lay on one of the tables, along with a pen, and a flask of wine and a jug of water sat on a sideboard. “We wait here,” Sorley told me.

  I paced, and sat, and paced some more. Sorley simply sat. “I wish we had a xache set,” I told him, at one point. But finally the door opened and Turlo came in. He went directly to the wine, pouring himself a small amount.

  “It is done,” he said. “Cillian has insisted you both sign, as well, so it is clear there is agreement from us all. Ten ships, a thousand men, supplies. Enough to turn the tide, if it has not overrun our lands by the time we get there. And one task for you, Lena, to confirm the route you took across the plains, on an old map.”

  “What did we give up?” I asked.

  “In the Empire? What we thought: Callan becomes Princip, subservient to the Empress. Casil's laws take precedence; the Partition agreement is ended. Some reorganization of the army. Settlement of Casilani people on our lands. Tribute, after a few years.”

  “And Linrathe?” Sorley asked.

  “Not so different,” Turlo said. “Except that Ruar, should he make it to his majority, remains Teannasach, but as a client ruler of Casil. A bit more freedom to keep your own laws, but with tribute to be paid as well.”

  Enormous sadness and enormous relief battled inside me. I went to Sorley, embracing him wordlessly, and then turned to Turlo. “Lassie,” he said, enfolding me in his arms, “we have done the best we can. I hope the price is not too high, for you.”

  “For us all, surely?” I replied.

  “Aye,” he said. “For us all. Now,” he said, becoming brisk, “let me tell you the protocol.” He explained how we were to behave. Then we went to sign the treaty.

  We followed Turlo through the wide door into the next room. He stopped a few paces in, and both Sorley and I dropped to one knee. The Empress sat at the end of a long table, littered with scrolls, a large map taking up a portion of the space. Her hair was the deep red of copper, and simply twisted and pinned on the back of her head. She wore a long tunic of a deep bluish-green, trimmed with gold, and her shawl reversed the colours. No jewels, except for earrings of gold set with a green stone. I did not think her beautiful, but her face showed intelligence, and good humour, and she was younger than I had expected.

  Cillian sat on her left-hand side. She turned to him as we entered, asking him a question. Her hand touched his forearm. He smiled, answering her, seeming completely at ease. Somehow he looked less tired here. Her eyes came back to us and she made a small gesture with her hand, the meaning clear. We stood, and with a graceful move she turned in her chair, extending a hand. Sorley moved forward, knelt again, and kissed it. Then she looked at me. She did not ask me to move, but turned again to Cillian. They spoke, quietly, for a few moments. She studied me again,
and then beckoned me forward.

  Turlo had explained that I was not of sufficient rank to be offered her hand to kiss. I knelt in front of her, waiting.

  The Empress spoke. “Stand,” Cillian said quietly. A large sheet of vellum, with close writing, lay on the table in front of the Empress. Two signatures—Turlo's and Cillian's—had already been added. Cillian's, I noted, had the words 'filus Imperium de Westani' appended. I thought I could translate that without help.

  There was very little ceremony to the signing. I added my name, and Sorley his. Cillian dictated some words for Sorley to add, explaining who he was, and his loyalty to Linrathe. Only then did the Empress sign, below all our names. We had our agreement.

  “One last small task, for you, Lena,” Cillian said, his voice unemotional. “If you would look at this map?” He indicated the far end of the table. The map that lay there reminded me of the one Perras had shown me in his study at the Ti'ach. But on this one, the line of the road that ran from the Durrains to the river was clear. The Temple of the Hero was marked, and so was the fort below the lake. I traced my finger along the road.

  “This is the road,” I confirmed. My finger stopped at the lake. I had to do this, now. I turned, to look directly into Cillian's shadowed eyes. Remember what you told me there, I sent to him silently. “It is an empty place,” I said.

  I saw the almost imperceptible nod. “It is,” he said quietly. “A place I would not go again, if there were a choice. But that waits on my Empress's pleasure.”

  My Empress. I swallowed. “Lord Sorley, Cohort-Leader, you are done here,” Cillian said. “The guards will escort you home.”

  I did not cry. I lay on our bed, dry-eyed, and thought. About a conversation on the plain, just before we had reached the temple, and another, the night we had learned what Lorcann had done. When Sorley knocked on the door, much later, I thought I was calm.