by Simon Brown
‘Councillor?’ Reed asked, trying hard to hide his bemusement.
‘Elected only this year.’
‘Elected?’
The woman called Heriot Fleetwood nodded, even blushing a little with pride. ‘What does the empress want from us?’ she asked.
As if all present had been expecting the question to be asked eventually but had not been willing to ask it themselves, everyone in the room was suddenly still and suddenly quiet.
Reed’s gaze swept across those present. ‘Why, to give you her felicitations.’
Heriot smiled at that, and although it was a sweet smile, Reed did not find it a promising sign. ‘That’s an awful long way to come to say hello and how do you do from her majesty this that so on and so forth.’
‘Her Majesty Lerena Kevleren, Empress of all Hamilay,’ Reed corrected automatically. ‘And all her territories.’
‘Yes, her,’ Heriot said plainly if not dismissively. ‘So what is it she is expecting from us?’
And there it was, Reed knew. His answer now would determine relations between the empire and this strange colony that was not a colony after all. ‘She required a report. From His Highness General Third Prince Maddyn Kevleren. A report on the progress of her new colony in the New Land.’
The silence deepened around Reed. He could not meet Heriot Fleetwood’s gaze, which seemed as hard as iron. Then Poloma was at Heriot’s side, looking slightly flustered, and Reed realised that his sudden arrival in Kydan had put his hosts off balance, and they had been playing for time to come up with a strategy. Heriot Fleetwood’s interference had forced the issue for both sides.
‘This raises a delicate issue,’ the prefect said. ‘As I am sure you now understand, there is no colony here in the New Land. Of course, we wish the cordial relations we have always enjoyed with the empire to continue. The Empress Lerena was ever my strongest supporter during my exile in her court.’
Reed smiled thinly. ‘Just cordial relations?’
‘Open trade, Strategos. Even an alliance between the empire and Kydan against the kingdom of Rivald if her majesty requests it. Excuse me, the republic of Rivald –’
‘The province of Rivald,’ Reed interrupted. The stunned expression on Poloma’s face told Reed he now held an advantage. The situation had changed on both sides of the Deepening Sea, something the Kydans had not expected. ‘The old world is united under the imperial crown.’
‘I see,’ Poloma said distractedly, obviously struggling to catch up.
‘And now her majesty is free to turn her attention to other matters,’ Reed added, ‘matters that were put aside temporarily while the problem of Rivald was dealt with.’
He glanced quickly at Galys Valera’s face. She did not seem as overawed as Poloma by the news. Did she not yet understand that if Lerena in such a short time could deal with Hamilay’s oldest and most pernicious enemy, then a small city like Kydan would never be able to stand against her will?
*
‘I should not have said anything to him,’ Heriot said to Poloma. ‘I should have stayed away. I interfered where I had no right to interfere.’
‘Yes,’ Poloma answered. ‘Yes. And no.’
‘No?’ she said, almost hopefully.
‘You are a councillor of Kydan. You had a right to interfere. Besides, if you hadn’t we may not have learned for many more months about the conquest of Rivald. And that might change everything.’
Poloma and Heriot were walking through the Great Quadrangle. Poloma paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder back at the Citadel. ‘I wonder what he is thinking,’ he mused.
‘The strategos?’
Poloma nodded.
They had left the quadrangle and were approaching the eastern end of the Long Bridge and the ramp down to the Saddle that Heriot would take to get to the Karhay ferry.
‘How do we deal with this situation?’ Heriot asked.
‘By being polite but insistent,’ Poloma said. ‘I think there was never any doubt that Lerena would lay claim to Kydan, and no doubt in my mind that we would resist her. If Maddyn had lived I don’t know what would have happened; perhaps Lerena would have had her colony.’
‘I doubt it,’ Heriot said. ‘I didn’t know the general, although I am prepared to grant he was a good man, at least for a Kevleren. But even had he wished to turn this city into an outpost of the empire, I think he would have failed. The first Kydans would not have stood for it, and would have seen through the chicanery of Maddyn ruling through you or the council. Equally, I don’t think the new Kydans would have stood for it in the end. We were convicts and outcasts, unwanted, unloved and thrown away. Kydan gave us a chance.’
‘To make something of yourselves,’ Poloma finished.
Heriot looked at him curiously. ‘No. Don’t you see? We could have done that back in Hamilay, given the opportunity. What Kydan gave us was the chance to make something greater than ourselves.’
Poloma swallowed. He had not seen that, and felt a fool for it. He stopped by the ramp so Heriot could go down, but instead she continued walking across the bridge. Poloma had to do a quick step and a half to catch up.
‘And now this man comes from the old world,’ Heriot continued, ‘and threatens to take all of that away from us. If you leave the decision up to the new Kydans, Poloma, we will tell Strategos Werin Reed where to take his report and what to do with it.’
Poloma laughed. ‘I sympathise with the sentiment, but must decline to sanction it.’
‘You cannot be simply polite but insistent,’ Heriot said. ‘The empire will not stand for that.’
‘We are a long way from Omeralt.’
‘You forget the empress is a Kevleren. Nowhere is a long way from the Sefid.’
‘I have not forgotten that. This is why we are following Galys Valera’s strategy.’
They came to the western end of the bridge and the second ramp, but Heriot showed no inclination to slow down. They continued walking together. Out of the corner of his eye Poloma saw a soldier salute him; never having been saluted before, Poloma absently waved in response.
‘Galys’s strategy is our only chance, I suppose, if the empire comes after us,’ Heriot said. ‘Is there any doubt that is what the empire will do?’
‘Of course. But I think it will happen eventually; if we are lucky we will have time to prepare, and the more time the better. Perhaps Lerena will die, and the new ruler will be less interested in expanding her domain. Perhaps Kydan will have a generation, or two generations, to ready its defences.’
‘But you don’t really believe that, do you?’
Poloma was not ready to admit it, as much for his own peace of mind as Heriot’s. ‘Anything can happen.’
‘Anything will happen,’ Heriot scoffed. ‘We’ve stood off two assaults so far. We can stand off a third.’
Poloma stopped dead in his tracks, weighed down suddenly by the dreadful news brought by Reed. ‘But Lerena took Rivald, and now she can attend to us with all her strength should she wish. What we felt before, surely, were only pinpricks compared to what the empress can throw against us. The only advantage left us is that the empire does not yet know Sayenna is under our control, denying them an easy foothold and base in the New Land. But against Lerena it may not be much of an advantage.’
‘You can’t know what is in Lerena’s mind,’ Heriot argued.
They were now walking down the main avenue of Kydan, past shops and grand houses and markets. Others hurried past them, around them. Colour and motion.
Heriot stopped. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I am going home,’ Poloma said.
Heriot looked back the way they had come, then west, in the direction of Poloma’s house near the end of the island. Then at Poloma.
‘Are you hungry?’ Poloma asked, his voice tentative. ‘Hattie always cooks too much food for one. She is used to cooking for me and my mother.’
‘Hattie?’
‘She is in charge of the house.’
<
br /> ‘Surely you are in charge of your own house.’
‘No. I am just in charge of Kydan. Hattie is in charge of me. And my house.’
Heriot frowned in thought, looked back towards the bridge again, then shook her head.
‘It was just a thought,’ Poloma said lightly, misunderstanding.
‘I would like to meet this Hattie,’ Heriot said. ‘And try her cooking.’
*
Ames Westaway kept checking his reflection in every window. He had to admit he cut an impressive figure in his full captain’s uniform. Twice as impressive with Canna on his arm.
‘What are you looking for?’ she asked him.
‘Oh, just curious. About the shops. Haven’t really explored this part of the city, you know. Don’t get much time, what with charging up and down the countryside and . . .’
Canna was looking mystified, and had probably only caught one or two words. He had automatically started speaking in Hamilayan. He tried again in Kydan, wincing at his own terrible accent, and found himself not caring if she knew the truth.
‘We look good together,’ he said.
Canna seemed pleased by the response and hung on more tightly to his arm.
Ames was not sure where they were going. Canna had sent a message to the stables saying she did eat, and sometimes in company, and he had immediately set out to arrange a time. Two days later he was waiting for her at the western end of the Long Bridge. While he was waiting he saw the prefect and Heriot Fleetwood walk by. He saluted, got a wave in response, and suddenly, there in front of him, was Canna.
They stopped at an outside stall and Canna looked at him expectantly.
‘Oh, yes,’ Ames said, and dug in his pocket for some coins. He was unused to the Kydan currency, which was round and ribbed rather than polygonal like the empire’s coins, and almost all made of silver. He showed them to Canna who chose two and handed them over to the stall owner. In exchange the owner gave them two long battered rolls. Ames experimentally bit into one and gasped as hot meat scalded his lips and tongue. Canna laughed, which made it all right, but then sauce dripped on his jacket. Canna laughed even louder.
‘Perhaps I am looking not so good anymore,’ Ames said, wiping at the drip.
Canna helped him with a kerchief she pulled out from one sleeve. ‘You do all right,’ she said.
A short while later they stopped in front of another stall. Again Ames pulled out some coins, and again Canna selected some. This time the stall owner gave them two glasses. Ames sipped his warily, found it was cool and refreshing, fruit juice with something alcoholic. When they finished they handed the glasses back and resumed their strolling. Canna waved at the stall owner as they left. ‘Thank you, Tcha.’
‘What’s tcha mean?’ Ames asked.
‘Uncle.’
‘He was your uncle?’
‘Yes.’
Ames was not sure what roused his suspicion, but he asked, ‘And the first stall owner, the one who sold us these?’ He waved his roll of batter and meat. ‘Was he tcha?’
‘Yes.’ Canna pointed at seven stalls up and down the main street. ‘My family owns all of these.’
‘That is where we are eating tonight? At all of these?’
Canna nodded. ‘This is how we do it,’ she said.
Ames was not sure if she meant that was how couples dated in Kydan, or how her family tested new boyfriends. ‘I see,’ he lied.
She pulled on his arm, directing him to the next stall. ‘Tche!’she said to the person behind it, an old woman who grinned at the couple.
‘Aunt, right?’
‘I hope you like fish,’ Canna said.
10
General Second Prince Rodin Kevleren felt he must be the loneliest man in the world. Most of his family were dead, sacrificed by their own Lerena, who had been cousin to all of them. All the Beloveds were dead. Sacrificed by Lerena, including his own lovely Amena, who had been dearer to him than his own sisters. Many of his army friends had died in Rivald, slaughtered in an ambush by rabid defenders. He had never married, had no children. His entire life had been the army and his service to Hamilay, service to his family. Now all was gone or ruined or set before the feet of Empress Lerena Kevleren, who as far as Rodin knew was so suffused with the Sefid she was insane.
He read through his report a tenth time, knowing it said nothing that Lerena did not already know, but so afraid of her he did not want anything left out in case it could be used against him. It struck him as ironic that for such a lonely man he was still so attached to his life that he was constantly afraid for it. But what would be the point of old age? Who wanted to be ninety or a hundred with no one but servants to talk to? In half-jest, he told himself there was always the detestable chancellor, the crawling, mewling Malus Mycom. At least he was a good conversationalist.
And he had risked his own favour with the empress to make up a story about a non-existent report. Well, nonexistent until now, Rodin reminded himself, hefting the document. Now why would Mycom do that? There was no love lost between them. Perhaps the chancellor was feeling as lonely as Rodin, and in need of a friend.
‘Or,’ Rodin thought aloud, ‘at least in need of an ally.’
Which suggested that Mycom was himself afraid of Lerena. Well, what was so strange about that? You would have to be a fool not to be afraid of her. Sweet Lerena, round and gentle and pretty. Once. Now leaner, considerably less gentle and . . .
Well, beautiful, actually, Rodin admitted to himself. Power or insanity, or perhaps both, suited her. There was something mysteriously attractive about her now, dangerously seductive even. Rodin had seen it in the way the servants observed her, watched her every move like male spiders watching something that was both their doom and the greatest desire of their heart. Even Lerena’s Axkevlerens, who were as sexless as drones, seemed lured to her presence like bees to a flower.
Rodin did not understand what was going on. Since the events of the last year, the deaths of the Beloveds and the Duchess Yunara and the bloody conquest of Rivald, he had not accessed the Sefid himself. It was not that he did not want to, but it had been sullied in some way he could not define. What he could get from it was no longer worth sacrificing anything he loved, certainly not after Lerena used the Sefid to slay all their relatives in Rivald. That had been wrong, although he would never say it to Lerena. Or anyone else for that matter; no Kevleren openly criticised another Kevleren, especially not the ruler. Power was too tentative to be risked in that way.
At least, once it had been. Could anything in the world really threaten Lerena anymore?
‘Foolish thoughts,’ Rodin muttered. His Axkevlerens moved uncomfortably when they heard him speak like this. They feel it too, he thought. The world is awry.
*
Lerena had started in a small way, subtlety changing the colour of the aviary’s glass, adding a little more yellow. Then, by only the smallest degree, she had made the trees larger, so that trunks were wider and branches longer. She also increased the humidity, just a tad, but enough to make everyone but herself slightly uncomfortable; the men occasionally pulled at their collars, and the women occasionally, and surreptitiously, pulled shifts away from their thighs and from under their arms.
Now she wanted to do something grander, and therefore something more difficult. And therefore requiring a good deal of access to the Sefid.
‘What are you planning?’ Yunara asked.
‘I’m not planning anything,’ Lerena said disingenuously.
‘I know that look. You’re planning something.’
‘You already know my mind,’ Lerena said, a little irritably. ‘Why do you bother asking questions when you already have the answer?’
Yunara tilted her head sideways a little, her lips pursing slightly in thought. ‘It’s the conversation. It’s important. I don’t really read your mind, you know, anymore than your shadow predicts when you are going to move your arm or lift your knee.’
‘So you are my shadow,’ Leren
a said dubiously. ‘Surely not.’
‘Like a shadow, but not a shadow. I am Yunara. And so much more.’
Lerena smiled quizzically. ‘As I said, you already know my mind. You know what I am planning.’
‘It isn’t that big a job.’
‘True. But it will require more Sefid than is freely available.’ She frowned. ‘I thought using Uilder would build it up more than it did. Perhaps I was not so close to her as I thought.’
‘She was a lazy girl,’ Yunara said.
‘What can I do?’
‘You will need to sacrifice.’
‘I’m almost out of family.’
‘You have your Axkevlerens.’
‘All except Hanimoro,’ the empress said sadly.
‘But you are empress and, as I’ve already told you, as empress everyone in the empire is your Axkevleren. You can take your sacrifices from wherever you like.’
‘Yes. I am empress.’ She licked her lips. ‘And I do love my people so much. I would do anything for them.’
‘Well, that’s perfect then,’ Yunara said, ‘because I’m sure in return they would do anything for you.’
*
With one exception, Chancellor Malus Mycom was a man who could believe in anything provided one of two conditions were met. Was it verifiable in a concrete way? Or was it something to do with the Kevlerens? In either case, Mycom was willing, heart and soul, to believe. Anything else, whether it be from history or science or geography or literature or from the world of commerce and trade, was not only something he had no belief in, it was something in which he had no interest.
With one exception. The University of Omeralt. If Mycom was capable of love, then the only thing in his world that he loved was his university. He had given his whole adult life to it, had surrendered friendships and the respect of colleagues and a normal life for it. And he believed, even more than he believed in concrete facts and the Kevlerens, that the university was the best avenue for change in the empire. It gave ordinary people the chance to be better than they would otherwise be; it gave Hamilay physics and engineers and grammarians and scientists and teachers. It gave Hamilay the possibility of advancement independent of the Kevlerens.