by Sarah Zettel
“Of course,” she breathed.
“It’ll all be over in a little while, and then maybe we’ll be able to find another few moments to talk. Would that be all right?” A note of anxiousness crept into his voice.
“I’d like that,” said Ananda. “Truly, I would.”
He smiled then, and it was a bright smile. “Then, O Moon’s Daughter and my cousin imperial, we will see what can be accomplished. I think we must return now, before my mother is displeased and my court begins to talk.”
Ananda let another flake of snow touch her fingertips. “As my cousin imperial thinks is best.”
He took her hand again, and led her back inside, and now Ananda noticed she was not cold at all.
For three years after that, she had truly believed she and Mikkel might be happy.
Ananda shook herself out of her memories before they could raise a sigh. That would not suit the person the dowager’s spies believed her to be, and there were doubtlessly spies among the guard. She must be rock and ice, all attention and calculation. If word got back to the dowager that she had displayed any weakness at all, the campaign against her would only be stepped up.
Fortunately, they were almost to Lord Master Hraban’s house. They passed the road marker — a stone pillar with its carving of an ermine obscured by snow — indicating they had passed onto the lord master’s estate. Ananda allowed herself to be cheered. For today, at least, she would not be so alone. Sakra would be there.
Snow turned the ancient earthworks around Sparavatan into sweeping drifts. The wall that the current lord master’s grandfather had erected around his ancestral home stretched behind the drifts, strong, grey and defiant. Its gates, however, were raised in welcome and green-and-white pennants festooned its turrets.
The world outside the wall was stark and slumbering, but inside it teemed with life. Women with baskets on their heads or backs strode between the stone houses. Girls in groups of twos and threes carried yoked buckets on their shoulders, or herded geese or sheep to and fro. Men leaned in the doorways and bartered with each other for this service, and that bundle of goods. They worked at carpenter’s benches, small, metallic-smelling forges, or with mallet and chisel on stone. Soldiers marched past in their ordered columns. Carters led their oxen out the gates and into the wide world. Children, some half-naked despite the cold, darted here and there between their elders. The air felt crowded with the sounds of voices, footsteps, hammers on metal and stone and all the other varied noises of living.
But where Ananda and her retinue passed, activity stopped while hoods and caps were doffed and heads bowed in respect. Ananda gestured to Kiriti, and Kiriti handed her the purse she carried for these occasions. Ananda loosened the knot and reached in for a handful of silver pennies, which she scattered liberally throughout the crowds. As the money cascaded onto the snow, a riot of cheers added itself to the general cacophony of living. Once again, Ananda silently blessed her father for being generous with her income. Largesse contributed to popularity, and her popularity helped prevent the dowager from quietly doing away with her.
Sparavatan itself was a combination of ancient stone and newer brick existing in an uneasy truce with each other. Lord Master Hraban had made noises about trying to smooth over the disagreements of time and style between the central house and the eastern wing, which his father built. It seemed, however, that his political concerns did not leave him leisure or time for mere improvements to his home.
Ananda and her retinue rode into the courtyard of snow-sprinkled gravel. Lord Master Hraban Rasinisyn Sparavin caught her gaze from his place on the steps and reverenced deeply. Ananda returned a half-bow and waited for her ladies and pages to dismount, so there would be a step placed near her horse, someone to give her a hand down and someone to take her train immediately, as was proper and necessary according to Isavaltan ceremony.
A glance told her Behule had the train and Kiriti had the box containing the offering for Sparavatan’s house god. Ananda proceeded up the steps and gave a shallow reverence to her host, who returned a deep, almost obsequious one to her.
Lord Master Hraban was approaching middle age. His black hair thinned under his velvet cap, but his body under its silks and velvets remained trim and strong. He looked down on Ananda from a height of almost six feet and always seemed to want to apologize for being taller than a member of the imperial family.
“Empress Ananda tya Achin Divyaela.” He had practiced long and hard to keep his tongue from tripping over her full name. “Please accept the humble welcome of my home, Mistress Imperial.” From a tray held by a servant, he took a silver cup that steamed and smelled invitingly of cinnamon and cloves and held it out to her.
“Lord Master Hraban Rasinisyn Sparavin, I thank you most heartily for the open gate and the open door.” She took the cup to sip the hot wine. “And for a delicious welcome as well, Lord Master,” she said as the warmth flowed through her veins.
Lord Master Hraban reverenced, this time with a broad smile on his round, lined face. “Allow me to conduct you to your apartments, where you may rest from your journey. Afterward, may I invite you to take some light refreshment with myself and some select gentlemen?”
“That would be most welcome, sir. I thank you.”
Lord Hraban took his place at her left side. At his signal, the doors opened, and he walked with Ananda into the hall. The reception hall of Sparavatan was all stonework hung with tapestries, some of them of great antiquity, and, it was said, enchantment.
As was required, they went first to the deep, gilded alcove that was Sparavatan’s god house. The god of Sparavatan and its family was an ancestor named Salminen. Salminen had risen to divinity in Sparavatan’s defense when he had saved the land from invasion by calling down a storm of snow and lightning with nothing but the sweep of his sword. The icon on its pillar showed a fiercely handsome man with his sword held high. An ermine on his shoulder whispered wisdom, and wolves crouched at his feet gave strength and insight.
Behule opened the gift box and handed Ananda a scarf of silver, embroidered with small sapphires. Ananda laid the offering at the god’s feet and kissed the hem of his robe.
That ceremony completed, Lord Master Hraban took Ananda and her ladies through the house. He had set aside her usual rooms, which were among the newest in the eastern wing. They possessed an actual fireplace and chimney rather than just a firepit. Three leaded-glass windows let in what there was of the winter sun, along with a view of the snow-covered gardens. Seeing her pleased with her quarters, Lord Master Hraban reverenced and closed the doors behind himself.
Then it was off with the furs and outer woolens, straighten and arrange the indoor clothes, primp the hair, make sure everyone had time to drink the spiced wine that had been left for them and properly thaw, and try not to hope too hard that Sakra would be among Hraban’s “select gentlemen.” Since the dowager had banished him from court, Sakra had to make shift to see her when he could. The dowager could not get rid of Sakra completely without inflicting a substantial insult on Ananda’s father. She could, however, make the country hostile enough for him that he had to be circumspect in his comings and goings.
“Is all in hand, Kiriti?” asked Ananda at last, rising from her chair. “I believe we cannot delay meeting with our host any longer.”
Kiriti rose smoothly, as did the rest of the ladies. “We are all ready to accompany the princess.”
“Excellent.” I just wish the princess were more ready to accompany you.
Kiriti picked up Ananda’s train and the others formed up behind, except the two who went to open the doors. The gentlemen waiting outside escorted Ananda and her party to Lord Master Hraban’s parlor rooms.
Hraban was waiting for her with three other gentlemen, all of whom reverenced deeply as she entered with her escort. None of them was Sakra. Ananda’s mood sank a little, but she kept her disappointment far away from her features.
Ananda did recognize one of the men as Captain Nis
ula of Chultak, who had carried letters and other necessaries back and forth between Ananda and her father for several years now. The captain’s dress was noble, velvets adorned with goldwork and a golden chain with a single great sapphire on it hanging from his neck. None of this could hide the fact that he was a man meant for rough work. His face was so windburned as to be leathery. His hands were knobby, stiff and callused. But Ananda knew his measure and she stepped up to him at once.
“Good Captain Nisula, let me give you my best greeting.” She brushed his fingertips with hers, which was the closest familiarity their ranks allowed. “I trust that you are well and your voyages have been prosperous?”
“It is my good fortune to be able to answer yes to both, Majesty Imperial.” Nisula always gave the impression of having to hold his voice back, lest he inadvertently let loose a shout. “My latest trip to your father’s domain promises to bring great good to myself and my associates. I am pleased to report, also, that I have with me your gilded oranges, which but await your approval.”
“I am in your debt, Captain.” Ananda bowed her head. “I have promised them to the dowager today. She will be most disappointed in me if they do not appear.”
“A thing to be most scrupulously avoided,” said Lord Master Hraban dryly. “My Mistress Imperial, let me make known to you Lord Master Oulo Obanisyn Oksandrivin of Kasatan.”
Lord Master Oulo was a corpulent man, and if his lands were half as well tended and improved as his clothes, he was twice again as rich as Lord Master Hraban. Gold embroidery lay so thick on his kaftan that it almost obscured the velvet, and the band of his cap was studded with diamonds. His face, though, was florid and thickly veined, which told her he enjoyed displays at the cask and flagon as much as displays at the tailor.
He reverenced as deeply as his thick waist and knees would allow. “My Empress Ananda, it is a thing surpassing wonderful to meet your gracious self.”
Ananda kept her countenance and waited for the man to straighten himself up. “I do thank you, Lord Master Oulo, for your good words. You do me much honor.”
Lord Master Hraban smiled at his friend as if to say “Is she not all I promised?” before he turned to the other man. “And let me also make known to you Lord Master Peshek Pachalkasyn Ursulvin of Seliinat.”
Unlike Oulo, Lord Master Peshek appeared to be a sober and serious man. He did not look delighted to see her. Conscience pricked him, Ananda guessed, and she couldn’t blame him, considering the turn the conversation would soon be taking. Whatever might or might not be happening at the palace Vyshtavos, Mikkel was the emperor ordained and the dowager was not only the duly chosen regent, but a woman who had led her lands to peace and unity. During her time on the throne, she wrung a great victory out of the Nine Elders of Hung-Tse with very little loss of life. None of her later follies could completely erase that greatness.
“Please accept my good greeting, Majesty Imperial.” Peshek gave her a reverence that was polite, but nothing more.
“Your greeting honors me, Lord Master.” Ananda bowed her head once.
Lord Hraban did not cough exactly, but he did shuffle a bit. “If the empress would care to be seated …?”
There was a little fuss while Ananda sat and Kiriti discreetly adjusted Ananda’s skirts and train before retiring with Behule and the others to the servants’ alcove. Several of Hraban’s men moved forward with flagons of thick, black beer and dainties of smoked fish, herbs and dried apples. Ananda kept the conversation firmly on Hastinapura and what Captain Nisula had seen when he was there. He was willing to oblige with stories about the health of various families Ananda knew, as well as some of the usual talk sailors were so known for — wonders seen in port and storms endured at sea.
But she could not stall Lord Hraban forever. Eventually there came a pause in the conversation when Ananda had her mouth full of beer and could not conveniently put forth another question to Nisula. Instead, Lord Master Hraban turned to Lord Master Oulo.
“It does not go so well for you in the south lands, you were telling me, Lord Master Oulo.”
Lord Master Oulo shook his head until his beard waggled. “It does not, it does not. Again this year, Hung-Tse permitted its raiders to menace us. Grain, pigs, market fees, all gone. Tracts of land burnt out to cover their retreat. Good men dead on the ground, their widows weeping in the mud over their bodies.”
“Those are grievous fates, indeed,” murmured Ananda, more toward her beer than Lord Master Oulo.
“Six letters I sent to the imperial dowager for succor.” Oulo gestured broadly with his fat hand. “Six, followed by a deputation which fell on their knees before her. I did not even ask for fresh troops, I just asked that my levies be lightened so there would be men left to defend their homes.” He dropped his gaze and twiddled with his finger rings. “I fear my wording was not as diplomatic as it might have been. Her Grand Majesty mistook my request for a criticism as to how the empire was to be ruled during her son’s … illness of spirit.”
Ananda remembered that delegation. She’d heard the dowager’s voice rise high and shrill out of the council room. A few moments later, four of the imperial house guard marched a group of stunned-looking men out of the door and, she found out later, all the way to the cells below the palace. As far as she knew, they were still there.
“Her Grand Majesty’s motives can be obscure,” said Ananda. “Perhaps, if you’ll permit, I can share with you some thoughts as to how she might be persuaded there is another interpretation to the message.” Especially if you are willing to part with a few of your diamonds and distribute them to a few of her councillors.
Light from the fire twinkled on Lord Master Oulo’s rings. Ananda counted them. Two bands of braided gold, two of knotted silver, a ruby, an emerald with small sapphires, and a great golden topaz on one thick thumb.
“That would be most welcome, Majesty Imperial,” he said. “Especially for the sake of those poor men in the cells. But I fear” — he twisted the ruby all the way around — “I fear it will bring only temporary relief.”
“A temporary relief in some ways perhaps, but surely a permanent one for those men’s families,” said Ananda sincerely. “Who minds their estates while they are imprisoned for poor command of courtly language?”
“My Mistress Imperial,” began Lord Master Hraban, in his best diplomatic tone. “I ask you frankly, how does our emperor in his illness of spirit?”
The sudden memory of Mikkel’s mouth shaping her name made Ananda bite her lip, and then it was too late to lie. “He seems steady under his affliction.”
Lord Master Hraban leaned forward, as if afraid the walls would overhear his words. “Have you any hope of even temporary relief for him?”
“I cannot say, Lord Master,” answered Ananda primly. “The dowager consults the deepest sorcerers and learned doctors from all the imperial lands.” That was the tale given out to the public, and probably all these men realized that. The dowager had expelled all sorcerers save her lord sorcerer from the court years ago, and everyone knew it. It was that fact that made Ananda’s deception possible. “She knows much more of her son’s illness than I ever shall.” She looked at Hraban sideways. And you and I both know that to be true in so many ways, Lord Master.
“There is great concern in many of the duchies about the health of the emperor and the judgment of the dowager,” said Peshek. His voice was grave, matching his face. “Some are even growing restive concerning the question.”
“Lands growing restive is the perpetual condition of Isavalta,” replied Ananda with a small smile. “Or so it seems.”
Lord Master Hraban chuckled. “That cannot be denied, Imperial Majesty. Yet, that restiveness can be checked by, say, changes in policy, or councillary opinion.”
“This is not Hastinapura,” muttered Peshek. “Here, the rulers must be seen to rule.”
Ananda stiffened. “Are we now to discuss varieties of custom, Lord Master Peshek?” Is it the dowager that discountenances
you so, sir? Or is it the fact that your friend is urging you to appeal to a foreigner?
Peshek dropped his gaze. “I did not mean any disrespect, my Mistress Imperial. I meant …” His voice sank low, but its intensity was plain to hear. “If you will do as Lord Master Hraban and his friends have urged, if you will take the throne beside the emperor in the dowager’s place, then may we have a return to reason. Then may we keep the peace that Medeoan herself won for us a generation ago.” He shot a look, venomous and bold, at Lord Master Hraban. “There, I have spoken it, for all of us. Does that please you?”
And what tale would these walls tell of your talk before my arrival?
Here came the delicate portion of the conversation. Ananda had been rehearsing it to herself for months, ever since Lord Hraban had begun hinting at this subject and parading his landed friends for her approval. “My lords master, my good captain, I have been duly married to your emperor. I have been handed the scepter and sacred regalia of empress, but” — she held up one finger — “the emperor has been judged, due to his illness of spirit, to not be of legal majority. Until that judgment is reversed by the Council of Lords and the keeper of the emperor’s god house, or until they appoint another regent, the Dowager Empress Medeoan rules Isavalta. Another vote may change this, but as you know, in Isavalta such things do not happen without consultation or support.” She let her gaze rest for a moment on each one of them. “Without the authority of the Council of Lords, and the intercession of the Keeper of the Emperor’s God House, nothing, nothing at all, could be done on such a matter.”
Gazes shifted, as the men looked from one to the other.
“But, were that authority engaged …” prompted Lord Master Hraban.
“Were that authority engaged, it would be an entirely different matter.” Ananda folded her hands. “That is all I have to say upon this subject, Lord Master Hraban. I ask you to be content.”