The doors of the hall were opened by porters, and the crowds began to file out into the morning light.
‘Fine words, your Highness,’ said a man approaching Shella.
She turned to him .
‘Prime Minister Drappo,’ she said, ‘thank you.’
‘Did you mean them, your Highness?’
‘Do I look like the kind of woman who makes false promises?’
The clerk signalled to her.
‘This way, your Highness,’ she said. ‘A welcome luncheon has been prepared in the east hall.’
Shella smiled and the officials on the podium began to walk towards a rear door, opposite the main gates where the crowds were still leaving.
‘I shall accompany you, your Highness,’ the prime minister said.
‘I would be honoured.’
They waited until the podium was almost clear, then followed the last of the officials down the steps.
‘You got lucky,’ he said as they walked. ‘You survived the Migration, and somehow ended up with a crown. There are those who believe you deserved something else.’
‘Flowers, perhaps? A cake?’
He smiled. ‘Hanging.’
‘Can’t please everyone.’
They reached the rear door of the hall, and were guided into a wide passageway.
‘You certainly can’t, your Highness,’ Prime Minister Drappo said, ‘and I should know. Nowadays I find that I don’t even try any more. No matter what the government does, someone will complain.’
‘So on balance,’ she said, ‘you decided there were more votes to be won by crowning me instead of hanging me?’
He shrugged. ‘Could have gone either way, to be honest. I thought we’d try this approach, as we’ll always be able to overturn it in the future if it doesn’t work out. That wouldn’t have been the case if we’d tried hanging first.’
‘Executing me would have pissed off the Emperor,’ Shella said, ‘and I’m usually in favour of doing that. However, I’d rather have a crown than the rope.’
They arrived at the east hall, a long low chamber, with a table stretching down the centre .
The clerk guided them to their seats. A place of honour at the centre of the table had been set up, and Shella sat, a little elevated over the others. Drappo took a chair to her right, and a woman she had shaken hands with earlier sat to her left. Spread out over the table was a wide array of dishes: rice, peaches, fish in many varieties, melons, and large locust-like gresyls, deep fried and spiced.
Shella’s stomach grumbled at the sight of so many familiar foods.
The woman to her left smirked.
The clerk of parliament banged her staff, and the luncheon began.
Servants replaced every dish that was emptied, as the lunch guests helped themselves from the dozens of plates set out before them. Bottles of water and clear spirits dotted the table, and more than a few officials poured themselves alcohol. Shella bit down hard and resisted the temptation. This day, of all the days of her misbegotten life, she was determined not to fuck up.
As Shella refilled her glass with water, the woman to her left spoke up.
‘Do you know why monarchy is an inherently irrational system of government?’
‘I could give it a fair stab,’ Shella replied, ‘if pressed.’
‘You are a contradiction…’
‘No, I’m not.’
The woman paused, then frowned. ‘Are you mocking me?’
‘Does it feel like it?’
‘Do you even know who I am?’
Shella looked at the woman.
‘No.’
‘We met earlier today, and you have forgotten who I am already?’
‘I had just stumbled awake out of a carriage,’ Shella said. ‘So many hands to shake, so many faces to remember. Clearly yours wasn’t one that stuck in my mind.’
‘I am Onna,’ the woman said. ‘Minister for Labour and the Trade Unions, and I don’t like you.’
‘I had picked up some sense of that. ’
‘You think you’re clever,’ Onna said, ‘and important, but you’re neither. You’re a fake. The vanity and folly of the Holdings put you where you are, and we have played along with the charade, because otherwise the Emperor would let us starve.’
Shella sighed, and sipped her water.
‘Do you understand,’ Onna went on, ‘how bad it got after you and your sister decided to uproot half the city? Starvation, disease, spawn pools neglected through lack of mages, whole areas declared uninhabitable because the sea defences had failed. No money, no jobs, no food, no order, just misery and fear and every Rakanese for themselves...’
‘You saw how low you could fall,’ Shella said, not looking at Onna, ‘and hate me for it.’
‘You’re a parasite,’ Onna said, ‘feeding off the blood and toil of the people you betrayed and left behind.’
‘I love what you’ve done with your hair,’ Shella said, pointing with a fork. ‘Suits your big mouth.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Would you like me to?’
Onna paused, glancing at the half-eaten gresyl in her hand.
Shella laughed. ‘Now I remember who you are. My secretary Jodie told me about you. You and her have been keeping a correspondence, I believe? Letter-friends.’
Onna lowered her voice. ‘Did you kill the Holdings governor at the frontier?’
‘My, Jodie works fast,’ Shella said, feigning surprise. ‘Saying that though, I do like her. Has a point of view and sticks to it.’
Onna sat back, frowning at Shella.
‘Secretary Jodie is a fine woman,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure I’m in favour of her change of mind regarding you. I think you might have bewitched her on the journey here. She talks differently of you now, almost as if she looks up to you.’
Something within Shella almost cracked, but she fought down her tears, and kept her face emotionless. She had steeled herself to accept any amount of abuse and hostility, but she wasn’t prepared for kindness .
Onna narrowed her eyes. She reached forward, and picked up a bottle of spirits. She poured herself a measure, then glanced at Shella.
‘Why not?’ she said, passing her glass to Onna.
Shella sat on the toilet, her head swimming. After hours of meetings and drinks receptions, and several large measures of spirits, she was drunk and tired. It felt like she had met every Rakanese dignitary and government minister, and her face was sore from smiling.
And the great banquet was still to come.
She stood, swayed, and pulled up her underwear. It was dank and cold in the toilet block, and the pit beneath the bench stank. She smoothed down her robes, and opened the door.
A hand reached in and pushed her back. She nearly slipped, grabbing hold of the wall.
‘What the fuck?’ she cried. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Hi, miss,’ said Jayki, coming into the toilet booth and closing the door.
‘Well,’ Shella smirked, ‘this is unexpected. Though I guess you were bound to come on to me sooner or later.’
Jayki raised his eyebrows.
‘Very funny, miss,’ he said. ‘I heard you were a little worse for wear with all the booze.’
‘And you heard right,’ she slurred.
‘Thought you weren’t planning on drinking, miss?’
‘I tried, Jayki,’ she shrugged, ‘but there’s only so much crap I can take with a straight face.’
‘Here,’ he said, reaching into a pocket. ‘Was saving this for you.’
‘A cigarette?’
He held it up. ‘No, miss. Keenweed.’
Shella grinned. ‘You naughty boy, Jayki.’
He lit the smokestick and passed it to her. They sat side by side on the toilet bench, careful to avoid the holes that led to the pit. Shella took a long draw, and felt her drunkenness recede within seconds, her mind clearing.
‘This will wipe me out tomorrow,’ she said, ‘but thank you.’
<
br /> ‘Couldn’t have you going out in public, the state you were in.’ He glanced at her. ‘Nice crown, miss.’
‘Yeah, I think so,’ she smiled. ‘Must be careful I don’t drop it down the toilet hole.’
‘If you do, miss,’ he chuckled, ‘I ain’t getting it back out for you.’
‘What you been doing all day, then?’ she asked.
‘Just hanging around. Watched you get crowned from the back of Parliament Hall, and since then I’ve been chatting to the porters and suchlike. Got asked loads of questions. Everybody wants to know what you’re like.’
‘I hope you didn’t give away too many of my wicked little secrets.’
‘Before today,’ Jayki said, ‘I thought the Migration hadn’t changed me much, that after everything we did and saw, I was still the same man.’ He paused, and gazed at her. ‘But I’m not. Talking to the people here made me realise that. They’ve changed too, but in a different way. I don’t belong here anymore.’
‘Does that mean that you’ll be coming back with me, after our trip’s finished?’
He looked hurt. ‘Of course, miss.’
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I had a worry that once you got here, you might want to stay. You know, track down any of your family and friends.’
‘I still hope to see my mum and dad,’ he said. ‘But we’ll be here for a third, I’m sure I’ll find time to visit them. I’m loyal to you, princess.’
Shella’s face flushed. ‘Don’t call me that, not you. Coming from you makes it sound real. When anyone else says it I can brush it off, but we’ve known each other since the first days of the Migration, when my idiot brother Pavu assigned you and Braga to watch out for me.’
‘I remember,’ he said. ‘I’ve often wondered about that. I mean if he’d chosen anyone else then I wouldn’t be alive. He just looked over a room of volunteers and picked me at random.’
‘Life’s fucked up,’ she said. ‘No point saying, “why me?” ’
She dropped the finished smokestick into the toilet pit, and stood.
She smiled. ‘Shall we?’
The banquet was an enormous affair, with the entire area of Democracy Square covered in lines of tables, with a great platform at one end, where Shella was seated. Tens of thousands of people were crammed into the square, and every street leading there was packed. Food and drink were being given away for the celebration, and both had been supplied in prodigious quantities. Hundreds of cooks, porters and waiters had been hired, and several musical bands were playing in various corners of the square.
Tall torches and lamps lit the square from end to end, and the noise of people talking filled the air, over plates clattering and singers serenading the crowds.
Shella had insisted that Jayki accompany her to the banquet as her guest, and he had been assigned a place at the same table where she sat, along with the prime minister, and several other officials. Also at the top table were two Holdings, a woman, and a man in black robes.
‘That’s Serena the old ambassador, now the imperial legate,’ Prime Minister Drappo said in a low voice, noticing the direction of Shella’s gaze. ‘A most disagreeable woman. Never relaxes. Doesn’t understand what off-duty means.’
Shella nodded, as waiters placed more dishes in front of them.
‘The other one’s their chief priest.’
‘How are their missionaries getting on?’ Shella asked.
‘Not so well,’ Drappo chuckled. ‘In the land of a thousand gods, one more doesn’t make much difference. Most citizens were amused at first, but to be honest, they’ve had enough of false prophets and crazy holy men. And holy women.’
‘No mass conversions, then?’
Drappo raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you referring to what’s been happening in Rahain? ’
Shella nodded, picking at her food. The keenweed had suppressed her appetite, but she thought it might look ungrateful if she didn’t eat something.
‘Soon,’ he went on, his voice almost a whisper, ‘the two major powers of this world will follow the same religion, as they bow to the same emperor.’
‘As one day the whole world shall,’ said a voice behind them, ‘or so I pray.’
Shella turned, to see the Holdings priest standing close by.
‘Your Highness,’ he bowed. ‘Prime Minister.’
He brought a chair forward, and pushed it in to Shella’s right.
‘May I?’ he said, sitting.
‘I think you already have,’ Shella said.
‘What a wonderful celebration, your Highness,’ the priest said. ‘The people seem to be enjoying it.’
‘Who wouldn’t enjoy free food and drink?’
He glanced at her. ‘You really don’t have to worry about the spread of belief in the Creator.’
‘Were you using your powers to listen to our conversation, priest?’ Shella frowned. ‘A rather vulgar thing to do at dinner, don’t you think?’
He stared at her. She tried to clear her thoughts, but was unable to rid her mind of the loathing she felt for him.
The priest frowned. ‘We need to discuss Rakanese mages, your Highness.’
‘I’ll be in Arakhanah for a third. I’m sure we can arrange an appointment.’
‘I have my instructions from the Lord Vicar. He made it clear he wanted the topic brought up as soon as possible.’
Shella glanced over at Drappo. He was eating, but watching them from the corner of his eye.
‘I shall leave you two alone to discuss it, your Highness,’ the priest said. He bowed, and returned to where the legate sat.
Shella put down her fork, and opened a bottle of spirits set out before her .
‘They’re predictable, at least,’ said Drappo.
Shella frowned. ‘We have to remember that bastard can hear everything. He’s probably in one of our heads right now.’
‘Have a little patience,’ he said, going back to his main course.
Shella tutted, picked up her glass, and tried to think of nothing.
Ten minutes later, as a further course of fried fish was being served, there was a commotion where the Holdings were sitting. The priest stood, clutching his stomach, then staggered into the arms of a servant, sending her tray flying. They went down together in a crash of plates and cutlery. The legate got to her feet, and the priest was hauled up by more servants, vomit strewn down his black robes.
Drappo chuckled as the priest was helped down from the podium.
‘Must have eaten something that disagreed with him.’
The legate sat back down, and the feast continued.
‘Now we can speak,’ the prime minister said. He wiped his chin with a napkin and turned to face Shella.
‘Tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘Why do the Holdings want our mages?’
‘Well, first of all,’ she said, ‘it’s not just our mages. The Emperor wants mages from every land, and already has some from each, except ours.’
‘But why?’ Drappo said, shaking his head. ‘For what possible purpose?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I know someone who’s trying to find out.’
‘I received a letter from Guilliam,’ Drappo said, his mouth twisting in anger. ‘He said that unless you return to Plateau City with mages, all aid will be immediately cut off.’
Shella gazed out over the vast square, packed with her people.
‘Just how dependent on aid are we right now?’
Drappo snorted. ‘See all this?’ He waved his hand at the tables. ‘It’s an illusion, paid for out of Holdings gold that had to be kept aside for the purpose. The food we’re wasting tonight could feed the entire city for days. No wonder half the citizenry turned up.’
He slammed his hand down onto the table, his face red with rage .
‘In answer to your question,’ he said, glaring, ‘we are utterly dependent on Holdings aid. Food, coin, everything we need to keep the city going, we get from the empire. I cannot take the people back to the bad days. I won’t.’
‘So we’re going to hand over some mages?’
‘There’s no alternative,’ he said, bowing his head. ‘Yes. I have already selected a handful of volunteers. The majority are pensioners, those who’ve already served the city for most of their lives, and who were willing to go. None of them are highly ranked.’
‘Has the government taken a vote?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We’re still a democracy, despite the changes that have been forced upon us. The decision wasn’t unanimous, but we decided it was the only course we could take.’
‘It’s blackmail.’
‘We’ve tried everything we can think of to buy more time,’ he said, ‘but we need at least another year to become self-sufficient in food. Two before we have enough money to get by without aid.’
‘So my first public act as princess, upon returning to the imperial capital,’ she said, refilling her glass, ‘will be to hand frail old mages over to the church?’
‘You pledged to serve the people of Arakhanah,’ he said. ‘We are doing this for them, so no one else has to starve.’
‘Sacrificing a few to save many,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I can do it.’
‘You must,’ he said. ‘You already have the blood of six hundred thousand Rakanese on your hands, your Highness. My government begs that you do not add to that figure.’
She thought back to the volcanic wastes that the Migration had passed through, and the hundreds she had killed to maintain order. Her spirit had paid for it, she knew, brutalised by the constant deaths and inured to the endless misery of the basalt desert.
Like Jayki, she too had changed.
She put down her glass.
‘I’ll do it.’
Chapter 14
The Scalding
S lateford, Rahain Republic – 11 th Day, Second Third Autumn 506
Daphne opened her eyes. Sunlight was filtering through the gaps in the cabin’s shutters, and a pile of blankets was keeping out the cold.
She could hear the sound of two people breathing, and she smiled. At the end of the bed Karalyn was sleeping in a cot, her legs tangled up in covers, and to Daphne’s right, squeezing alongside her on the narrow mattress was Killop, a powerful arm visible above the blanket. She sat up, and gazed down at him for a moment. He looked the same as she remembered, only with a few more scars, including a deep one running down his cheek. He had told her it had been inflicted when he had been forced to fight a challenger for the chiefdom of the clan. After living so long with Bedig, she had been surprised at how much taller and broader Killop was compared to the Brig man, with fists that looked like they could break stones.
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