The Immortal Throne

by Stella Gemmell

  ‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ Gaeta was saying, his eyes boring into Dol’s. Dol Salida saw with discomfort that Gaeta had black eyes like Archange’s. ‘As the empress’s most valued counsellor, did you recommend the settlement with Hayden Weaver?’

  Dol did not allow it to show, but he was surprised at such a direct query. It was not the way of the White Palace, under Archange’s lead, to ask questions so baldly. He said, pleasantly though ambiguously, ‘The empress has many senior soldiers to advise her.’

  ‘Speaking of which,’ Gaeta said, looking around, at the gathering of soldiers and counsellors and at Emly, slight and dark, standing before the empress, ‘I heard some interesting intelligence today. I understand Evan Broglanh, that most intimate of the empress’s inner circle, has left the City for parts unknown.’

  Dol gazed at him, unimpressed. ‘That would be more interesting if the parts were known.’ This was not entirely true. Broglanh was now one of the most powerful men in the City and the empress treated him as her closest confidant, like a son or, as Gaeta implied with crashing obviousness, like a lover. Anything that soldier did was worthy of attention.

  ‘He left two days ago, before dawn,’ Gaeta told him. ‘With a handful of his men. On some mission for Archange?’

  ‘Broglanh and I do not confide in each other,’ Dol said. ‘But what else would it be?’

  ‘Against Archange? Or just a visit to one of his many mistresses. With a bodyguard?’

  Dol chuckled and, after a moment, Gaeta joined him, saying with a shrug, ‘I am merely relaying what I’ve heard.’

  Dol would not endorse this sort of nonsense, though he privately disliked Broglanh. The soldier was always at Archange’s side and Dol doubted he had time for one mistress let alone many. But the last thing Dol wanted was a return to the spiteful atmosphere in Araeon’s court where insinuation, lies and mischief-making were the currency and some men would do anything, betray anyone, for a moment’s fleeting approval from the emperor. Too many good men had been lost then and evil held sway.

  The two turned back to the throne, where Archange was gesturing briskly at the assembled throng as if irritated they were still there. Orders were barked and the soldiers started to march out, then the rest of the company drifted away. Only Emly was told to stay.

  Leaving, Gaeta said to Dol, ‘I wish I could be a fly on the wall for that conversation,’ nodding his head at the empress and the girl.

  Dol could not but agree.

  The night was silent and close. The tall windows of Emly’s chamber were flung wide to catch the hope of a breeze, but the air remained heavy and still, the scent of white pond flowers intense. Em lay in a tangle of bedsheets, sleepless, her skin slick with sweat, her brain jangling with unwanted thoughts. After the long, idle spring something was changing. Something was in the air.

  She swung her legs out of bed and walked on to the balcony in her nightshift. It was no cooler out there. The cloying scent of flowers was mixed with the faint odour of roasted meat rising from the kitchens. Em wrinkled her nose. The moon was a pale fingernail low in the south and she could see little, just a faint glow in the direction of the City and a directionless gleam from the white stone all around.

  Archange had asked her again, after the assembly had disassembled, if she was sure the prisoner was not the man who had attacked her. Em had looked into the old woman’s black eyes. For a moment she had the sensation of falling, as if from a high tower. Then she’d nodded dumbly, not trusting herself to say the word. Archange had blinked slowly, like a lizard, and the feeling went away.

  ‘I have a gift for you,’ the empress said.

  ‘A gift?’ Em was surprised into speech. Nobody had ever given her a gift before, unless you counted the gift of life, for which she owed Evan and her father and Darius, and many unknown people she could never thank.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ the old woman said. ‘At first light. Be ready. I will send someone to fetch you.’

  Emly had discussed it that evening with Elija in the library, but he was more interested in why she had lied about the prisoner than in her promised gift.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, thinking about it as he frowned at her. ‘It was because, I think, there was an executioner there ready to cut his head off if I said yes. Archange and Dol Salida talk about justice, a new era of justice in the City, we hear it all the time, don’t we?’

  Elija nodded.

  ‘But,’ she continued, ‘if I had said the word they would have killed him.’

  ‘He’s an assassin who tried to murder you and Bartellus. You could have burned to death in the House of Glass. You both would have died were it not for Broglanh. It would have been justice to execute him.’

  ‘And he killed Frayling,’ she added scrupulously. She often wondered if she was the only person alive who remembered Frayling. The crippled servant had died for her, and she kept him alive in her heart from gratitude and from duty.

  ‘Yes. Did you doubt it was him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then he deserves to die.’

  Emly said nothing.

  ‘If someone else in the throne room,’ her brother persisted, his face flushed, ‘a maidservant say, had identified him as an assassin and he had been executed, would you have thought that wrong?’

  ‘No,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘So you did not want to be responsible for his death?’

  Elija had looked at her sternly and she felt ashamed. He thought it was cowardly of her not to stand up for the people who had been killed by the man, although he wouldn’t say the words to her.

  Now, on the midnight balcony, Emly peered downwards towards the lower levels of the palace. Recently there had been the noise of building down there, hammering and the cheerful shouts of working men. A western section of the lower palace had been screened off and she supposed more rooms were being built, although she did not know why for there were enough unused already in the White Palace.

  She felt a little cooler and the sweat was drying on her skin. She would try to sleep and be ready for her gift in the morning. She turned and walked back into the darkness of her bedroom. And stopped. For there was a deeper darkness, a black shape standing by the door, silent and threatening. Her heart panicked in her breast. Then she smelled new leather and, riding on it, a familiar scent.

  She ran across the room and cannoned into Evan Broglanh, throwing her arms around him.

  ‘Oof,’ he said, and she could hear he was smiling.

  She looked up at him from chest-height but she could only see a pale oval of his face.

  ‘You must come with me,’ he said, his voice serious now.

  She nodded. She would go anywhere with him. This was something she had dreamed of.

  ‘We must be quiet and secret,’ he said. ‘Pack some clothes.’

  She moved swiftly about the room, fetching her old cloth bag then finding random clothes and stuffing them in. She couldn’t think properly. Her mind was abuzz with the knowledge that Evan wanted her, she was going to be with him.

  Then she stopped suddenly. ‘Elija!’ she said.

  ‘He’ll get a message to say you’re safe.’

  He was holding out a pair of riding breeches. ‘Put these on.’

  She dragged her nightshift off over her head and stepped into the breeches, which were stiff and unfamiliar on her skin. She could feel his eyes on her. She pulled on a thin shirt then a thicker tunic, and stood for his approval.

  ‘Do you have any strong shoes, or boots?’ he asked, frowning at her bare feet.

  She grabbed the stout boots she used for climbing around the gardens on the Shield and laced them up. And waited again for his assessment.

  ‘Good,’ he said. He slung her bag over his shoulder, took her hand and they stepped out into the corridor.

  The corridors and stairwells were lit by the empress’s new lanterns but they were few and far between and the pair hurried between one patch of light and the next. Silence
echoed around them and their boots were quiet on the soft stone. They hastened down several flights of stairs, Emly running to keep up with Broglanh’s long stride. He led her through the kitchens, then down another flight of winding stairs which seemed to go on for ever. She had never been there before. It was pitch dark and smelled musty and she wondered where they were. They passed through storage places packed with barrels and crates, then arrived at a narrow doorway and stepped out into the night. She could smell fresh air and the pungent scent of horses and the presence of other men.

  ‘Can you ride?’ Evan asked her, leaning over her, his breath hot against her face.

  She shook her head and said, ‘No,’ feeling useless.

  He vanished from her side and she heard the clink of bridles and squeak of leather as horses shifted restlessly, puffing out their breath on the night air. Men spoke together in low voices. Then she heard the louder creak of saddles as they started to mount. Hooves clopped on cobbles. Horses huffed and snorted. She looked around, seeing only big vague shapes, moving.

  ‘Excuse me, lady,’ said a voice and two brawny hands grabbed her round the waist and pitched her up in the air. A hand grabbed her ankle and pulled on her leg and suddenly she was seated astride a horse behind Evan. She felt the beast move under her, adjusting its stance. It seemed enormously high and frighteningly strong.

  ‘Hold on to me,’ her lover told her and gladly she crept her hands round his warm leather-clad body. The big horse set off at a walk. It clopped out from the shadow of the palace walls and moonlight fell on the horsemen. She saw there were six of them in all on horses laden with weaponry and baggage. She knew none of the faces but she felt no fear, only excitement. She wondered if they were leaving the City, for she had never been outside its walls.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she whispered.

  Evan turned and grinned at her, that old rakish Broglanh grin she hadn’t seen since before the Day of Summoning.

  ‘To join the army,’ he told her.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EMLY WAS IN agony. They had been riding all day, with only a brief stop for food, and her whole body was aflame.

  At first she had clung tightly to Evan, excited to be close to him and scared she would fall off, for the horse was broad under her and she could not grip it with her thighs as her lover had instructed her. By the time the sun was high the sinews of her shoulders and back were screaming and she wanted to let go and fall off into blissful oblivion.

  The horse jolted her about, back and forth and up and down, and she could find no way to sit that didn’t jar her. After a while she felt it would cut her in two, if the pain from her shoulders did not kill her first. She found it was best when the beast was running fast. At first this terrified her, but once she no longer feared death she learned it was the best way to travel, for it was smooth and the great animal gulped up the leagues. She hoped they would reach their destination by sunset.

  When they stopped at last Evan hauled her down like a bag of clothes, told her to relieve herself, and to eat and drink her fill. She instantly forgot the first two instructions but drank almost an entire water skin. She had not dared drink while mounted for fear of falling off. Then she slumped to the ground and slept for mere moments, it seemed, before she was woken and put back on the warhorse.

  Hours passed but the riders did not stop again. They rode at a steady trot, relentlessly. It seemed to her that the horses would die if they rode all day. Em was soon thirsty again and she regretted she had not relieved herself when she had the chance. The need to pee became an agony so she was forced to relieve herself in the saddle. But afterwards her wet breeches chafed her skin, and her inner thighs became a torment, the rubbing of leather a constant misery. She did not know which was worst, the tiredness or the thirst or the pain of her raw thighs. She cried then, tears mingled with sweat. And still they rode on.

  She must have slept somehow, clinging to Evan’s back, for it was suddenly dark and cool and they were riding in fresher air. The big horse halted, puffing and shaking its head, jingling its bridle. Evan slid down then reached up for her. Em fell into his arms and when he tried to stand her upright, like a doll, her numbed legs gave way.

  When she awoke the moon was high. She tried to remember how long it had been since she stood looking at it from her balcony. Her whole body was sore, but it was hungry too and she looked around. The horses were standing nearby, their heads down. There was a campfire a few paces beyond, with men around it. The scent of roast meat and herbs reached her nose, overpowering the smell of the horses, and she breathed it in, intoxicated. She moved to sit up, then cried at the pain of her raw thighs and her aching sinews. The men turned their heads at the sound but none moved.

  With difficulty she got to her knees, took a breath then stood uncertainly. She walked over to the fire, trying to step normally, though her whole body was shrieking and her legs felt as though they were being controlled by someone else.

  A black-bearded man wordlessly handed her a tin plate of food. She had to stand to eat it; she could not visualize ever sitting down again. It was rabbit, with chewy roots and onions and leafy herbs. She thought it was the best thing she had ever eaten. For a moment she felt exhilarated by the midnight air, the food, the presence of the horses and their riders. She smiled, wiping grease off her chin.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said to the bearded man and he nodded.

  She saw Evan was wearing a new jacket, of black leather and silver, the uniform of the Thousand. For a moment she missed the ragged red jerkin she had first seen him in. The warrior looked up at her, his face expressionless.

  Then he turned to the bearded man. ‘This rabbit die of old age?’ he asked.

  The man winked at Em but said nothing. Another soldier said, ‘Tastes all right to me.’

  ‘You’d eat dog-meat if the hound was slow.’

  ‘You can talk, Broglanh. Who was it ate a live toad on a bet?’

  Evan grinned. ‘Never turn down a wager,’ he said, shovelling food into his mouth.

  ‘We’ll be eating worse than toads if the empress catches us,’ the bearded man said, and they all fell silent.

  One of the men, younger than the rest, kept casting covert glances at Emly. ‘I’m not afraid to die,’ he said stoutly.

  ‘I am,’ replied the bearded man, chewing on his food and swallowing. ‘And if I weren’t, I’d like to die for a better reason than this.’ He exchanged a glance with Evan, who turned back to his food without comment.

  He finished and threw down his empty plate, then stood. He put his arm round Emly and walked her back to her blanket. ‘Get some more sleep,’ he told her quietly.

  She knew he didn’t like answering questions, but in a small voice she asked, ‘Where are we going and when will we get there?’

  He looked down at her, his pale lashes bright in the moonlight. ‘Our journey will take thirty days or more,’ he told her, and her heart plummeted to her boots. She felt she could not bear even one more day on the horse. ‘But,’ he added, ‘once we catch up with the army you can walk if you wish. Now, get some more sleep.’

  The second day was worse than the first, and better. It was worse in that the ride was more painful, if that was possible, and Em knew for certain she would be on the horse all day. But it was better now she understood what she had to do. She ate and drank and peed when the men did, and she tried not to complain.

  On the third day everything started to change. Her body was getting used to the constant movement, and her aches and pains were fading. Her bare arms were darkening under the sun and she guessed her face was too. They were well clear of the City now. It was the first time in her life Emly had been outside the walls and she started looking around with interest, breathing in the crystal air. She saw big birds hovering in the blue sky above distant hills. She saw foxes or dogs darting across the grasslands the horses were traversing. Small creatures ran or hopped out of the way as the heavy hooves passed, and when she lay down to rest there
were beetles and butterflies to follow with her eyes. She was always hungry and ate as much as the men did. She started to think travelling was a life she could love.

  That day they crossed a wide river, so wide Emly could barely see the other bank. The big horse plunged into the water and swam gamely with her on its back, Evan in the water alongside. Emly was charmed by the adventure. She had no idea horses could swim – it seemed impossible for they were so big and heavy – and she watched the animal’s great curved neck forging forward towards the far bank, felt the cool water lap around her. She asked Evan the stallion’s name and he shrugged and shook his head. Either he didn’t know or didn’t care. It was just a mount to him.

  There were only two riders now. First there had been six, then four, now it was just Evan and the bearded man. Where had the others gone? After they dismounted that evening, and Em had walked around to work her legs, she wandered over to where the bearded rider was unpacking his gear. His mount, a blue-black horse smaller than Evan’s, waited stoically as all the bags were lifted from its back. Em rubbed its soft nose and it nickered into her hand.

  ‘Why does he have to carry so much?’ she asked.

  The bearded man looked at her, dark eyes twinkling. ‘Because he’s carrying Broglanh’s war gear as well as my own. Because his horse is carrying you both.’

  Emly felt foolish. She knew the discomfort of riding had made her selfish, but she hadn’t realized it had made her stupid too.

  ‘What is his name?’ she asked, fondling the horse’s ears. He huffed and waggled his head.