Hollow Empire

by Sam Hawke

  Princess Zhafi got to her feet gracefully. She was lavishly dressed in a split-leg dress like the wings of a bright bird wrapped around her, the full embroidered sleeves wound with strings of beads. The silk fabric barely rustled as she moved.

  “Your Highness.” I inclined my head.

  “Credola Kalina, welcome.” She shook my hand—her palm was cool and firm—and gestured. “Please, come and sit. Thank you for joining us.”

  “Thank you for the invitation.” For it was immediately clear which of the Princesses must have extended it. Zhafi was even lovelier up close than in my fleeting observation the other day. Her face was pretty and her honey curls as shiny as her clothing, but it was her manner that distinguished her, the way she held herself, a certain thoughtfulness in her blue gaze. I’d had the impression of intelligence when I’d seen her before and sensed it again, but there was also warmth there, and a dimple in her cheek that was faintly mischievous. I sat, trying not to convey my confusion.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” I said. An elderly servant appeared silently at my elbow and poured me a small cup of something cold and herbaceous; I copied the other ladies and stirred it with the fragrant stick of garmony. She inclined her wispy gray head at my thanks and melted away. I was reminded of the servant who had taken the poppet from me in the arena, but it was impossible to be sure, with their downcast eyes and identical clothing. The Talafan disregard for the faces and individuality of their servants was exploitable, and I was always wary of people who could move in and out of spaces practically invisibly. I’d used that skill to my advantage too many times to disregard it in others.

  Princess Zhafi fluttered one long, pale hand at the other ladies. “Please, may I also introduce Her Highness, Princess Josta, the Lady Mosecca, and I believe you have met the Lady Reuta.”

  I greeted them all in turn. Princess Josta, the Crown Prince’s wife, had eyes like a startled animal in her thin face, and she dropped her gaze immediately from mine. Lady Mosecca had a calm face beneath dramatic, dark brows, and I could not remember how she was related to the Emperor; a cousin, perhaps? Talafan family trees were so much more complicated than ours, with all of their interlinking separate families and their focus on paternal lineage. “I was sorry not to meet you all properly at the dancing,” I said.

  “Oh, you were busy with the men,” Zhafi said with a careless shrug. “We understand how they are.” She shook her head. “We loved your ribbon dancing, but it did go rather terribly at the end, didn’t it? Poor dear Brother Lu. What an extraordinarily bad day he had.”

  In a Silastian woman I’d have taken it as sarcasm—surely Lu could not have been popular, given his manner—but this was my first real conversation with Talafan noblewomen and I was at a disadvantage with language and custom. I tried to keep my tone neutral when I asked after the man’s health.

  “Your healers are quite extraordinary,” Reuta said. “They think he will make a full recovery. He is being treated in your…” She stopped, clearly short of a word. There was no equivalent to hospital in Talafan, which had no centralized medical care, only healer priests who worked individually. “Your medical facility. I am sure he is praising God you were there, or he might not have been so fortunate.”

  Mosecca was watching me over the rim of her cup. “That was remarkable, Credola Kalina,” she said. Her voice was throaty and deep. “Very brave. You are a woman of many talents, clearly.”

  In the distance, the horns sounded for the start of the race, but the women appeared utterly disinterested. Zhafi gestured to my cup. “Do try it! It is not quite like your tea, but it is good. We make it with a root vegetable that I do not think you can grow this far south.”

  I took a sip. Jov would probably be able to identify the root vegetable; to me it tasted like warm bark, but I smiled politely. Jov would probably also be furious with me for taking drinks from foreign strangers, especially when I was trying to investigate our country’s enemies.

  “But we should not speak to you of tea, should we?” Zhafi said, her cheek dimpling. “Oromani tea is famous even in our part of the world. Even my father the Emperor has taken a liking to it.”

  “A talented family,” Mosecca added, but the look she gave me was cautious, as if she were regarding an unpredictable animal that might prove dangerous.

  “My mother deserves most of the credit,” I replied carefully. “She would be delighted to hear her tea is being enjoyed so far from home.” Ha! My mother knew perfectly well the Emperor’s sudden interest in our product had led to substantial export profits in the north, but she did not care; she measured success only against her own exacting standards. Other people’s opinions mattered nothing to her.

  “Oh, yes, certain parties are very fascinated with all things southern.” Mosecca glanced at the other women and picked up her sewing again. The needles clacked away rapidly in her hands as she spoke. “Sjona will always be a source of fascination for young people in the Empire. Our most exotic neighbor.” A palpable ripple of tension passed around the room; the women all suddenly seemed intensely interested in their hands or hair or their crafts. Zhafi turned a page in her book, but her fingers trembled. My awkward discomfort sharpened into something else. There might be something important to be learned from the ladies.

  “I am just as fascinated by Talafar,” I said, leaning forward. I widened my eyes, made my voice higher and softer. “Such a vast empire, with so much to see. I imagine a person could travel all over and never see it all. And it is ever-expanding, so I hear.”

  That definitely landed, with both the Princesses. Josta’s fingers faltered on her instrument, and Zhafi looked up from her book to meet my gaze. Her face was smooth, the dimple absent. I continued, pretending to struggle to recall. “Is it … Lios? The newest province? The Foreign Minister told me—”

  “Yes.” Zhafi’s voice sounded a little hoarse. “Yes, it is called Lios.”

  “Your grandfather is the General, is he not? General Zoho?” Zhafi’s mother was the First Empress—not the Emperor’s first wife chronologically, but in social standing and importance—the daughter of the celebrated General Zoho, who’d led the conquest force.

  She nodded. Her gaze locked on mine, she looked trapped. Outside, cheers and roars sounded from the lake.

  “Enough about us, Credola Kalina,” Mosecca said firmly. She set down her sewing and folded her hands in her lap. “We are eager to hear more of you. We have heard tales of your adventures, even in Izruitn, you know. Your daring escape up the river. They call you the Hero of Silasta, do they not?”

  Now it was my turn to deflect. “Everyone likes a story,” I said, shrugging, with a gesture toward Zhafi’s novel. The Princess seemed to have recovered her poise. She tilted her head to one side.

  “They say only you were clever enough to see the true face of your treacherous Commander behind her noble mask. Is that your great skill, Kalina of Silasta? To see through a mask?”

  I paused, taking my time as she looked over my face with obvious interest. Eventually, I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I promise it isn’t swimming,” I said, and was rewarded with an actual laugh, albeit an extremely delicate one. The dimple on Zhafi’s cheek deepened.

  “Of course, it is Reuta’s brother who has been telling us such tales, you must have guessed.” She bestowed on me another small smile. “Dear Lord Ectar. He had promised to introduce us today but he didn’t feel well this morning, so I admit I took matters into my own hands.”

  “He is the baby of the family, and none of my other brothers have much time for him,” Reuta said, and this time affection warmed her voice. “Or my father. But we are close in age, and Ectar has always been kind to me. He is determined to make a name for himself. He makes bold trades and has amassed quite a fortune. We tease him that he wished to bring home an exotic foreign wife, to further stand out from the rest of them.” She shot me an appraising look under her lashes.

  I suppressed a sigh and took a moment to formulate a careful
answer. “I have found Lord Ectar a kind and generous friend. And he was a remarkable ally during the siege, risking his own safety countless times. We are forever grateful. But I hope he—and all of you—can make better memories here this time. Celebrations are far preferable to wars, I think.”

  I scanned their reactions to that bait, especially Josta, but this time it returned not so much as a flicker of a response from any of them.

  “It is certainly a celebration,” Zhafi said, sounding wistful. She pivoted to gaze out of the marquee. The excited movement of the crowd and the glint of the Bright Lake were a fuzzy backdrop, and a bearded young Imperial soldier patrolled back and forth, at constant alert. I felt a sudden burst of pity. The joy of karodee wasn’t in watching an occasional elite sport or performance from a lofty, distant stand or behind a veil, but in the hectic fun of the streets. A solid week of ribbons and flags and bells, and hot fried meat and spicy seeds and apples and papna stuffed with honey nuts on every corner, and games and contests of luck and skill on every scale, to be participated in or wagered on. Of joyful greetings called to strangers, of songs by those with voices ill-suited to the stage, but eminently appropriate for a merry crowd. Karodee—Silasta—couldn’t be understood from a cloister. Our city’s heart was in the sculpture garden, the amphitheaters, the teahouses, the library, in the Darfri shrines and the gallery of arts. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for these women, traveling weeks to come here only to be trapped inside buildings with the very people they saw every day.

  “We heard such stories about what it would be. There is a dance tonight, is there not? A masquerade?”

  “Yes, people dress up for the spring parade through the streets this afternoon. And then at sunset, the Darfri elders will perform a ritual at the lake, giving thanks and offerings to the great lake spirit, Os-Woorin. After, there will be more music and dancing well into the evening.” I stopped there. The evening part of the masquerade was not an event Talafan noblewomen would find appropriate. The revelry by the lake was intense, and flamboyant, and usually ended with … well, with a lot of good-natured outdoor sex with strangers in masks, but I had no idea how to politely explain that to women with wildly different social expectations. I hurried to distract them. “And other activities all around the city. There will be poetry recitals, and games, and the northwestern sculpture garden always has a beautiful candle walk.”

  There had been a palpable change in the atmosphere. “Os-Woorin, you said?” Mosecca pronounced it haltingly, but her eyes gleamed with fascination. “This is the spirit who they say rose from the lake at the end of your civil war?”

  “Ectar will not speak of it,” Reuta said, her voice a little breathy. “And Brother Lu said it is blasphemous to ask in any case. Some stories say a statue came alive? It does not sound believable. Did you see this happen?”

  I hesitated. “I did not see it, no. I was injured at the time. But it is certainly true the spirit rose from the lake—and a statue, but they weren’t the same thing.…” Flustered, I stopped, but they only looked more fascinated.

  “And tonight, at this ritual? Will the spirit rise again then?”

  Princess Josta sounded more frightened than excited, and Zhafi leaned over to pat her hand. “Don’t be silly, dear one.” But she was watching me closely. Evidently this was the topic of greatest interest to them, perhaps the reason I had been invited; they’d hoped to get confirmation of Ectar’s stories from a Silastian.

  “I doubt we will see Os-Woorin tonight. It took three armies to rouse the spirit last time.” They all looked a little disappointed, and Mosecca took a breath to say something else, but, reluctant to continue the story, I added, “But I think you will enjoy the costumes and masks of the parade this afternoon. It’s traditional to give flowers and other favors to acknowledge those you like the best.”

  “What fun! Will you be in it?”

  I shook my head. “I find walking long distances, and dancing, difficult, I’m afraid.” Like Kokush the other day, Mosecca and Zhafi both glanced at my stomach. Before they could ask further questions, I said, “Our housekeeper, Sjease, will be in the parade, though. Look out for the most magnificent sun mask, we’ve been working on it for weeks.” Sjease had been delighted to find another member of the household with sewing experience, because they had an eye for fashion but neither the purse to buy what they wanted, nor the skill to make things themself. I enjoyed helping with their designs, and it gave me easy cover for working certain additions into my brother’s and my wardrobe, as well. We had made the mask together, and while it was nothing to rival a proper mask-maker’s or even a Guilded hatter or seamster’s, we were proud of the result.

  “In some of the western tribes, they worship the sun as a god,” Mosecca said mildly. “The new Perest-Avani Ambassador in the Imperial City does the most graceful dance to honor the sun in the mornings. I have seen him outside Government House. It is quite a sight.”

  I worked hard to keep surprise from my face, but my mind raced. “Is there a new Ambassador, then?”

  “Oh, you know how diplomacy works,” Zhafi said. “Governments change, and people grow tired of the same faces, over and over.”

  Mosecca studied her painted nails. “Some at the Palace had grown weary of Astor’s face, I’m afraid. But perhaps the next will be more pleasing.”

  I sipped my drink again. Mosecca’s smooth face and gentle eyes were as still as a painting, and I couldn’t tell if this was a peace offering or a warning. “Our great countries have been friends and allies for so long,” I said. “I can’t imagine we couldn’t find a face we agree on with enough time to talk about it.”

  “‘For there are no wounds nor wars that cannot be helped or healed or hindered with the power of words.’” Zhafi’s voice was soft, and I glanced at her in surprised recognition.

  “Is that Kosahi? From the, er, ‘The Ocean of Sounds’?”

  “It is my favorite of her poems,” Zhafi said, leaning toward me, enthusiasm obvious. “Have you read the short novel published before she died?”

  “No, she is famous here for her poems and philosophy. I did not know she wrote a novel.”

  “There is a copy in the library in Izruitn,” Zhafi began, but stopped when a voice on a speaking trumpet sounded from the lake.

  “They’re announcing the winners,” I explained when the ladies looked puzzled.

  “Oh!” Zhafi sighed. “We have made you miss the whole thing. I am sorry.” The servant who had brought me here parted the curtain, coughed, apologized for the interruption, then moved across to Princess Zhafi to murmur something in her ear. Zhafi, I noted, not Josta, even though it’s Josta who’s poised to become an Empress. It was clear where the power lay here. Zhafi looked over at me with an unreadable expression, and with the slightest movement of her hand, the other ladies fell silent.

  “Credola Kalina, I understand my brother the Prince would like me to join him to watch the presentation. Perhaps we could walk back together?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” I looked around at the other ladies as I stood. “Thank you for the company. It was a pleasure.”

  We stepped out into the afternoon sunshine but Zhafi held back with deliberately slow steps, so the servant quickly outpaced us. She didn’t speak, but lingered, staring out at the lake, trailing her hand along the fabric cover of her book. There was a smudge of black ink along the outside line of her left hand, which she rubbed at absently with the other. The signs of a person with something to say. I let the silence build, and eventually she stopped her contemplation and swung around to face me, a spring released.

  “You are close with the Chancellor, are you not?”

  “We have been friends since childhood,” I said carefully, knowing the assumptions strangers often made about our relationship.

  “What sort of man is he?”

  I hesitated. She’d caught me off guard, but there was no benefit in lying. “He is a good man, Your Highness. Generous and fair. He has done a remarkable
job bringing together this new Council and rebuilding our city.” While we were being honest: “What sort of man is your brother the Prince?”

  She blinked, perhaps caught off guard, too. “I … I do not know that I can say, Credola Kalina,” she admitted. Her tone was melancholy. She gazed back at the marquee, her eyes tracking the young guard walking back and forth as if watching the swing of a pendulum. “I would say he is a man who is accustomed to his wants being met. We are far apart in age, and in influence, and he has no time for ladies of the court, not even…” She broke off, visibly correcting herself, like a drunk walking too close to the edge of a cliff. “My father the Emperor has granted me many freedoms, but lives of Princes and Princesses do not often intersect, and my brother has strong views about how noblewomen should live and what they should be allowed to do.”

  Ah. So we were not the only ones concerned about the transfer of power. “I am sure your brother appreciates the work you do, Your Highness,” I said. “I understand you are lauded in Izruitn for your charitable efforts, and that you personally fund and maintain orphanages, workhouses, and farms.” Astor had said they called her the City Princess, and that she was deeply beloved in circles high and low for such works.

  A spark animated her face for a moment. “The Imperial City is much larger than Silasta,” she said. “And there are many who need help. Many war orphans, especially. They need safe places to stay, and schooling, and productive work to do. Praise God His Majesty my father allows me to do what I can to fund orphanages and workhouses to help. For now.” The spark faded, and her gaze returned to the marquee again.

  And just like that, I put together the little clues that had been dancing around before me this whole time. “The new province of Lios,” I said softly. The pattern matched what our spies had reported. The Empire conquered, and occupied, but installed one surviving member of the previous ruling hierarchy to be married into or adopted by some minor member of the Talafan Royal Family. DeRamata, the Violet Islands, and now Lios. Princess Zhafi had been allowed to remain in the capital and in her father’s household for a decade past the age when all of her sisters had been sent away, but it seemed the Emperor’s protection of his favorite daughter might finally be waning with his ill health. Was Zhafi to be the latest balm the Empire offered its new conquests to warm to their new overlords? Swallowed and subsumed, eaten up by the beast that was the Empire. “Is that where you are headed next, Your Highness?”