“Gaugin speaks in his writings about a utopia where equanimity reigns and the people live and work harmoniously as equals in a classless society.”
“Gaugin is an idealist,” Marius returned, “and like most idealists lacks that fundamental trait which would allow his ideas to become widely implemented.”
“Pray tell me what trait that is, father?”
Marius turned her a wan look. “Practicality.”
Nadia opened her mouth to reply, but Marius held a finger to his lips and guided her attention back to the proceedings of the court.
A new envoy was approaching with an assemblage of dignitaries in tow. Marius hoped this would be the last of them, for the day’s proceedings had been long and the sun had already fallen below the goldline—that band of gilded statues that ran in a frieze along the length of the chamber’s westerly wall, just below the high windows. The sun breaking the eastern wall’s roseline marked the opening of Twelfth-day proceedings and falling beneath the goldline heralded its end.
The Lord Chamberlain stood from behind his ornate desk and announced, “The Lord Roric of Dalmain and his entourage.” He looked to Lord Roric. “The claimant may approach the Diamond Throne.”
Lord Roric nodded to the Lord Chamberlain and took a step forward. He bowed low. “Aurelia,” he bade upon rising, “I come as a representative of the Archduke Tucane and the Court of Elders.” He extended a rolled parchment to the Lord Chamberlain, who took it, read it over, and nodded to the Empress.
“Your credentials are accepted,” came her throaty reply. “State your case, Lord Roric.”
“Aurelia, I’ve come to request a renegotiation of the imperial tithe leveled upon Dalmain.”
“A renegotiation of which tithe, Lord Roric?”
“The Adept tithe, Aurelia.”
At this utterance, a hushed murmuring bubbled among the assembled nobility, which included ambassadors from every province in the empire. Ambassadors from allied kingdoms were also invited to Twelfth-day proceedings, but only a few attended regularly.
“The imperial tithe is leveled fairly and equally among every sovereign province in the empire, Lord Roric,” the Empress returned. “Your Archduke’s distant predecessor agreed to the tithe when Dalmain fell to the forces of the Emperor, my father, some two centuries ago. The then King of Dalmain chose to maintain his kingdom’s sovereignty within the empire’s benevolent rule. The empire sends trained men to defend your borders and stations soldiers along the imperial roads. Your cities know peace for the addition of our Red Guard to your Duke’s peacekeeping ranks. The Adept tithe is the price of this peace and freedom.”
“Yes, Aurelia, but the race was not dying at the time that these terms were negotiated. Hope remained that their numbers would recover.”
“You speak of Adepts and our decline like a herd of cattle, Lord Roric.” The Empress’s tone had hardened measurably. “Is that how Dalmain views the descendants of the realm’s most ancient race? Or is this merely your view?”
Lord Roric flushed. “I meant no disrespect, Aurelia. But to be fair,” and he glanced at the men standing beside and around him, “we have so few Adepts to count among our people that they may well be compared to a rare breed of animal.”
A sibilating discord of astonished murmuring hissed through the crowd at this.
The Empress rested an elbow on the arm of her throne and her chin atop her fingers. “I’m intrigued, Lord Roric.” Her tone dripped with derision. “What terms does your Archduke propose?”
Marius shook his head with quiet disbelief as he watched the nobleman, who’d missed entirely the empress’s thrumming indignation, blithely steering himself and his Duke into a hurricane sea.
Lord Roric drew tall, apparently thinking he’d gotten the upper hand of the empress with a smartly argued debate. “Currently, Aurelia, Dalmain is required to send Adepts equal to one percent of our population.”
“Along with every other sovereign province in the empire, Lord Roric,” the Empress returned brusquely. “In exchange, the Empire sees those Adepts are properly trained and their talents tested during a ten-year term in the Imperial Adeptus. They return to Dalmain with well-honed skills.”
“That may be, Aurelia, but with the tithe levy remaining fixed while Dalmain’s Adept population declines, we have but few Adepts left to us until those others return.”
“I don’t see your point, Lord Roric. A constant flow of Adepts should be returning to you as they complete their tenure in the Adeptus.”
“But they don’t all choose to return, Your Majesty. Many take the skills we paid so dearly for them to learn and hire out to dukes and kings in other territories, leaving us worse off than before we paid the tithe to have our Adepts trained.”
Muttering echoed through the chamber like distant thunder. Marius could see the Empress’s benevolence deteriorating along with the daylight.
Lord Roric continued, unheeding, “Instead of one percent of our population, the Archduke proposes to send ten Adepts a year to Faroqhar for training.”
“Preposterous!” rumbled the Lord Chamberlain, while the crowd broke into agitated muttering. Even the Princess Nadia drew in her breath sharply.
The Empress raised a hand for silence. Then she looked back to Lord Roric. “Since we are bandying over Adepts like Khurdish traders in the Bashir’Khazaaz, let us comport ourselves thusly. How much are these Adepts worth to your Archduke, Lord Roric?”
Lord Roric blinked. “I beg Your Grace’s pardon?”
“How much are they worth?” The Empress waved airily. “Shall we put a monetary value upon their heads, or relate their value to the labor of common men?”
“A single Adept is worth many more men than one for one, Aurelia!”
She smiled coolly. “Very well. How many men?”
He exchanged an uncertain look of inquiry with the others in his party.
“Ten men?” posed the Empress while they deliberated. “Fifty? One-hundred?”
Lord Roric and his advisors continued speaking amongst themselves, and then he turned back to address the Empress. “A single Adept is easily as valuable to us as fifty common men, Aurelia.”
“Let us be clear on our terms, Lord Roric. A single Adept, untrained, is worth fifty men to your Archduke?”
Roric glanced to his advisors, who nodded their agreement. “Yes, Aurelia.”
“Is this to be any particular kind of men? Craftsmen? Soldiers? Common laborers? Need we specify which type, Lord Roric?”
Another glance to his advisors, and Lord Roric replied, “An Adept is worth fifty skilled men of any training. You see how valuable we believe them to be, Aurelia? How necessary to the Duke’s service?”
“Indeed, my lord. You’ve made your case clear.” She looked to her Lord Chamberlain. He readied himself with quill and parchment to take note of the new terms. She then returned her gaze to the envoy. “Henceforth, Dalmain may keep one Adept for every fifty of my soldiers that I withdraw from your borders. Let us begin with five Adepts in exchange for two-hundred-and-fifty Red Guard.”
Gasps of astonishment rippled through the crowd. Lord Roric paled.
“Dalmain continues to be plagued by Varangian raiders, I’m told,” the Empress continued, her tone dangerously cool. “No doubt your Archduke will appreciate having more Adepts to fill the gaps in his rapidly dwindling ranks. I hear untrained truthreaders are especially effective at catching arrows with their chests.”
The Lord Chamberlain clapped his mallet against the alabaster gong at his side, sending a deep, resounding chime through the massive hall and ending the Twelfth-day proceedings.
The hall erupted with discussion and chatter. Marius pushed out of his throne and descended the dais, but not before noting the look of horror upon Lord Roric’s face and the shouts of the advisors now furiously encircling him.
The Empress and her guard led the way from the hall, and Marius found his place in the procession, grateful to be done with another trying da
y of what passed for diplomacy from the outlying provinces.
Once they’d gained the Empress’s private antechamber, the Princess Nadia seated herself in a velvet-upholstered armchair and lifted off her veil. She settled colorless eyes on her mother, who’d taken up her usual position in the center of the chamber with arms outstretched while her attendants removed her courtly regalia.
Nadia frowned. “Aurelia, I don’t understand why you were so hard on the ambassador from Llerenas-Onstaz. They’re a small province with few natural resources.”
“They should’ve taken my offer to join the unions when I first extended it,” the Empress returned shortly.
“But they said the trade minister ill-advised them—”
“Nonsense. He advised them to unionize with the rest of the empire, but they refused to accept our craftsmen into their guilds.” She arched a disapproving brow. “If you’d been truthreading the man as I was, you would’ve seen the same.”
The Empress turned to speak to her attendants, and Nadia took that moment to cast her mother a defiant glare. Seated across the room from the two women, Marius smiled at his daughter.
Nadia was the only one of his and Valentina’s eleven children that even remotely resembled the Empress. The princess had her mother’s coloring and eyes—not only their colorless gleam, but also their compelling depth. Nadia’s eyebrows angled upwards to impart a fey appearance closer in likeness to her van Gelderan ancestors than her di L'Arlesé siblings. Though only ten and six, the willowy princess had inherited Marius’s height and already stood as tall as her mother. All of these elements combined to give the princess a statuesque quality quite incongruous with her age.
“It seems petty,” Nadia remarked with her colorless gaze still fixed on her mother. “The empire has all and Llerenas-Onstaz little. Could we not afford to be merciful? Is the empire so penurious that we could not have purchased some of their wares in a gesture of magnanimity?”
Valentina gave her an aggravated look. “Nadia, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then illuminate me, mother.”
“I bade you attend Twelfth-day to observe,” the Empress snapped, “not to question my decisions.”
“Are my questions of so little value?” The Princess cast her an injured look. “Shall I never have an opinion of my own or seek to learn why my thoughts are so…so wrong in your eyes?” Nadia’s brow furrowed. “Do you care nothing for me, mother?”
Valentina shot her an exasperated look. “Nadia, I endured eleven pregnancies to produce you and have spent the last sixteen years sharing my knowledge to give you a foundational understanding of the world and your talent. How could you imagine I don’t care for you after all I’ve done to ensure your success?”
“Goodness mother…” injury shadowed the princess’s expression, “a simple ‘I love you’ would have sufficed.”
Valentina put on a smile for her youngest daughter, but Marius imagined he could hear the Empress’s teeth gnashing. Nadia had a unique aptitude for stirring Valentina’s temper. When the two of them came together, they were naught but two nests of irascible bees looking for any opportunity to erupt.
“All right, Nadia,” the Empress remitted, though her gaze remained diamond-sharp. “Let’s address your question. I’m not subsidizing Llerenas-Onstaz because I expect their economy to collapse within the year, and any funds allocated to it now will have to be written off as a loss. The moment this collapse occurs, a flood of refugees will pour into Rimaldi and Ma’hrkit, spawning a host of new problems. At that point, the Empire will have no choice but to subsidize Llerenas-Onstaz—though I’m loathe to give any support to that bungling administration—but that is when I will show them mercy: when it is well and truly needed. When they’re desperate. When I have the leverage to demand they make better decisions than they have in the past in exchange for my aid. Does this make it all clear to you now?”
“Abundantly,” Nadia muttered.
The Empress smiled again, but her eyes remained hard, leveled on Nadia with uncompromising expectation. “Let us continue for a moment, then, to address the issue you took with my unwillingness to explain my decisions. I thought today’s proceedings would’ve proven example enough, but it seems that I must put a finer point upon it. The United Guilds are threatening to strike. More Adepts are reported missing almost daily, and had you seen the lines of plaintiffs waiting stiffly in the halls outside the Adjutant’s office collecting dust like suits of armor, no doubt you wouldn’t be here now demanding my precious time in explanation, but would instead have excused yourself precipitously to review your studies and find the basis of your own egregious misjudgment.”
The Empress’s attendants had removed her crown and jewels and were now attending to her diamond-studded gown. “And lest I leave any pressing matters unnoted,” Valentina finished with a dramatic exhalation, “Marius assures me that Ansgar is planning another revolt.” Her eyes tightened as she leveled a whiplash gaze upon her daughter. “Forgive me if I don’t care to dissect my every choice and decision, Nadia, flaying the flesh of each for your obtuse inspection.”
Marius inwardly winced at this cutting remark.
Nadia dropped her eyes, and her lower lip trembled. By the next breath, however, she’d regained her composure, and her gaze flashed back to meet her mother’s, defiant and fierce. “I beg the Empress’s permission to precipitously remove myself from the shadow of her unparalleled intelligence.” She stood with a glare, snatched her veil back down over her face and stormed out of the room.
For a moment, the Empress stared perplexedly at the doors through which her daughter had just departed. Then she turned a frustrated look to Marius. “By the Lady, why must I produce such headstrong children?”
Marius gave her a shadowy smile. “The apple never falls far from the tree.”
Valentina shook her head. “Sometimes it’s more than I can bear, seeing all of my worst qualities reflected in my daughter-heir.”
“She has many of your good ones, too.”
“Has she?” Valentina arched a skeptical brow. “Children are cauldrons into which we pour all of ourselves in the hopes of creating some magical elixir that will somehow miraculously combine into a being with the best of our qualities and none of our faults.”
“Like repels like, Valentina,” Marius soothed. “Opposites attract.”
Her gaze softened. “That must be why my love for you is so enduring, for you exhibit all of the patience and tolerance I find so lacking in myself.”
Marius was opening his mouth to reply when a Praetorian entered carrying a red leather case.
Ah, good, the report from the Order.
First giving the Empress a look acknowledging her affections, he took the case wordlessly and opened it to read of the latest developments, hoping there was some breakthrough in the matter of the missing Sormitáge Adepts. Yet as he began to read, his eyes widened.
“Aurelia,” he said, using the Empress’s formal title in that setting. His gaze speared back across the room.
Valentina noted his look and commanded, “Leave us.” The attendants departed, taking their assigned articles of clothing and jewels with them. Valentina now wore a velvet robe over the silk sheath that formed the base of her courtly gown. “What have you, Marius?”
“News from the Caladrian coast and a remote valley…” He gave her a significant look as she approached.
Her brows lifted, and she took the report from him. After a moment’s scanning, she lifted her gaze wearing an expression of supreme triumph. “At last, I shall have some answers.”
“Valentina—”
“I know, I know.” She softened her interruption with a wry smile. “I shan’t make the same mistake again, fear not. But you cannot hope to keep me from calling upon the zanthyr.”
“I entertain no such notion.”
She tapped fingertips against her lips in thoughtful silence. “It’s a gift from Epiphany that he comes now,” she murmure
d after a moment. Then she looked back to Marius and flashed a rare grin, bright as her diamondine eyes. “I sense a shift in the Balance, my dearest love.”
Marius didn’t share her optimism. “I pray you are ri—”
Just then an imperial guardsman pushed through the Praetorians at the door. “High Lord di L'Arlesé!”
Marius turned sharply.
“Aurelia, Your Grace—” The soldier fell to one knee and bowed his head. “Captain di Alema requests the High Lord’s presence in the Tower. It’s a matter of some urgency.”
“It had better be to interrupt me in the Empress’s presence,” Marius replied with a piercing look of censure. “What word does the captain send?”
“It’s a—a man, Your Grace, a most…unusual man.”
Marius cast a questioning look to Valentina, who shrugged. He turned back to the soldier. “Very well. Lead on.”
“High Lord,” the man replied with a smart nod. He straightened and led away.
As Marius exited the antechamber, Vincenzé and Giancarlo fell into step with him, and the three of them headed deep into the bowels of the palace along a route known by only a few. Eventually they arrived at the Tower, which was the primary dwelling of Agasan’s intrepid intelligence service, the Order of the Glass Sword.
Down a maze of corridors, the soldier finally brought them to a holding cell. A host of black-clad guards stood outside its door of studded iron. “High Lord,” greeted the ranking guard, “Captain di Alema awaits within.” He bent and unlocked the door for Marius and then followed inside after Vincenzé and Giancarlo.
Marius swept into the cell. “What is it, Cap—” but sight of the prisoner struck him mute. The man chained hand and foot to the wall looked unlike anyone—any thing—Marius had ever encountered.
Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3) Page 26