Silvanos stared into the distance for a moment, his thoughts betrayed by a slight tightening around his eyes, and Raphael wondered what his uncle had done to survive.
‘Not one in three of that generation didn’t lose something – a relative, a friend, a home, their fortune, their life,’ Silvanos went on. ‘All the hatred and the rage and the fury of those last years of the Old Empire hadn’t gone away after all, they just welled to the surface. That was why the New Empire almost didn’t survive, because too many people associated it with the Old.’
‘They claimed the same name and authority.’
‘Because just as many believed only an Empire would save them. That the Emperor was the keystone, the man to intercede for us with the Goddess. Or, if you like, that we needed a figurehead, that Thetia ought to be an Empire, anything less would demean us.’
He turned back to Raphael, who said nothing. Outside, the dawn chorus had begun, and was quickly growing to its usual deafening intensity.
‘Eventually the people who’d come out on top put an end to the Anarchy, cleared up the worst of the pirates, and settled down to glaring at each other from inside their fortresses, usually built by Clan Decaris. The memories haven’t faded. The secrets can come out, yes, but if they come out before everyone who lived through the Anarchy is dead, all those hatreds will flare up, people in the service of the princes and the Empire will discover what their colleagues and superiors did, and those superiors will discover what the princes and the Empire did. And hundreds of thousands more people will die for nothing.’
That Raphael could believe, even if he wanted to disagree. He’d fled the shadow of the Anarchy fourteen years ago, the shadow which had taken human form for him in Silvanos. Navigator had had its share of others who’d fled, though fewer as they grew older and retired onto land – the common agreement that bound them was that they’d put the Anarchy behind them. And then Raphael’s years in Mons Ferranis, Qalathar, Taneth had shown him places untouched by the shadow. All three had been haunted by memories of the Domain and its Inquisition, yes, but those had been outside powers, now defeated. Only Thetia had slaughtered its own people.
‘That’s why Rainardo died?’ Raphael asked, finally. Rainardo the upright, honourable commander, a man almost universally respected.
‘Rainardo did things which are best forgotten.’
‘And the Vesperans?’ Most of the High Thalassarchs were in their fifties, too young to have played more than a peripheral part in the Anarchy.
‘As much as anyone’s, their hands are clean,’ Silvanos admitted. ‘A third of the clans were destroyed, few of the rest were unscathed. Those who survived bear the guilt of not having helped their siblings and cousins fighting for one side or the other, but they devoted their efforts to keeping the City out of the fighting.’
‘So we should silence Jharissa to prevent Thetia descending into another Anarchy, no matter how good their cause might be.’
‘As long as those who started the Anarchy are dead, what gain is there by causing more deaths?’
‘Haven’t Clan Jharissa suffered enough?’ Raphael asked.
‘Haven’t the rest of us? Hundreds of thousands lost their families, why should we plunge Thetia into another war because the supporters of one particular cause have gathered the strength to attempt revenge?’
They were answering question with question, a pattern almost as old as Raphael was, and one which had driven him mad as a child. Never being given answers to any but the simplest questions, even when it would have saved both of them so much time for Silvanos to have answered. Raphael had realised the reason behind it, eventually, and now he wondered if Silvanos regretted making him find all the answers for himself.
‘You finally managed to make the good of the Empire and the good of Thetia the same thing,’ Raphael said. ‘I’m impressed.’
‘And I’m trying to save you the distinction of starting a second Anarchy. If you go down that path, I can’t save you. I won’t.’
‘You’ve warned me. Do you expect me to stop investigating?’
‘I expect you to show some sense, Raphael. What you did at Sertina was the best possible introduction to the Emperor. You’re placed for a far quicker ascent through the Imperial hierarchy than I managed. What more do you want? The crown itself?’
‘To know what it is I serve,’ Raphael said.
Was that it? Or was there something more?
‘Whatever the Empire might have done in the Anarchy, Valentine and his sister are innocent of it,’ Silvanos said, and Raphael caught, in an instant, what Silvanos wasn’t saying. ‘They’re the future.’
‘We always say that. Every time the line breaks, someone new comes to the throne, we convince ourselves that this Emperor will be different, this Emperor won’t drench Thetia in the blood of his own people. Or hers.’
‘Then perhaps you can suggest an alternative,’ Silvanos said.
‘Ruthelo already did,’ Raphael replied.
Silvanos only shook his head wearily and stood up. ‘I’m sure you can judge for yourself how successful he was. I need sleep more than I need to waste words on you. I’ll expect you at the Palace an hour before noon.’
He left without another word, and Raphael picked the bow up and began playing the last Suite as the tropical dawn broke over Vespera, and light began pouring in through the windows.
The thought came to him as he loosened the bow, and by the time he’d fastened the last clip on the cello-case he knew where he needed to go next.
‘You’re doing nothing,’ Valentine said, trying to keep his fury in check, staring at the impassive faces of the three High Thalassarchs sitting across from him in Gian’s reception room. A nervous Vaedros Xelestis, an assured Leonata Estarrin, a grief-stricken Gian Ulithi.
‘You’ve offered us no proof, only accusations,’ Vaedros said steadily. His face, leathery from a lifetime at sea, seemed oddly out of keeping with the formal sea-blue robes he wore. The Council hadn’t given its members the privilege of white robes to mark their station; even here, they seemed more like representatives of their clans than of the City.
‘You saw Iolani arrive,’ Valentine said. He could dimly hear the thuds and bangs from the Hall as servants dismantled the scenery from the ball last night, shouts of warning as they were carried across the courtyard and back into the stores. ‘You saw her little drama of announcing her revenge.’
‘Yes, we did,’ said Vaedros testily. ‘But we operate under the rule of law here, not Imperial whim.’
‘Then show me some justice,’ Valentine said, disgusted by the man’s spinelessness. If Vaedros had the slightest bit of courage he’d move against Iolani, but Gian – the third of the Thalassarchs in the delegation – had already reported Vaedros’s weakness. ‘Arrest her.’
‘When you produce proof,’ Vaedros repeated. ‘You forget, Rainardo was our colleague as well as your mentor. If we let his death go unpunished, we show that anyone can kill High Thalassarchs with impunity, provided their rank is high enough. If we act without proof, we make a mockery of our own laws.’
‘Your own laws are a mockery,’ Valentine said. Aesonia had warned him this would happen, but the sheer arrogance of them, the way they were willing to protect a murderess because her victim had been an ally of the Empire, disgusted him.
‘May I remind you,’ Leonata said icily, ‘that you are a guest of the City and the Council.’
‘Yes, and your hospitality is legendary. I’m sure you wish that by the time this visit is through, we’ll all be permanent residents – out there.’ He pointed out through the windows towards the open sea, where the burial reefs of Vespera ringed the island, beyond the lagoon barriers.
‘Then maybe you should consider leaving,’ said Leonata. ‘I think you’ve accomplished the purpose of your state visit, and in Azure, you should be safe from assassins. Free to continue the war you started.’
‘Leonata! Don’t accuse our guests!’ Gian said. He was here because,
apparently, Council rules required delegations of three for important matters, including one from differing factions, if the Council had divided on the issue in question. Gian had demanded Iolani be suspended, when the Council met in closed session a little while ago; Leonata had backed Iolani and forced Gian to withdraw the proposal.
‘We’re a government, not an intellectual salon,’ Leonata said. She’d clearly taken over from Vaedros now, and no wonder. Deep down, Valentine was developing a grudging respect for the Estarrin leader. She was a worthy opponent, but right now she was shielding Iolani from his vengeance, and that he couldn’t forgive. ‘You’ve been trying to destroy the Jharissa for a decade, Lord Emperor. Pretending this isn’t the case won’t get us anywhere. If you and Iolani were both prepared to present your cases to a Vesperan court, and you could prove you had good reason for your actions, then we would be willing to act.’
She held his eyes for a moment, knowing he couldn’t accept. The rumour mill would spread this story around the City within the hour, he was sure of it.
‘In fact, I took the liberty of obtaining an undertaking from Iolani that she would be happy to suspend her membership on the Council and present her case, if you were willing.’
Now she was simply twisting the knife. Iolani knew he couldn’t agree. But what if she chose to reveal it anyway? No, the old antipathy against northerners was too strong, and Jharissa in particular too unpopular for anyone to believe them.
‘The New Empire isn’t subject to your courts,’ he said. ‘We have no need to explain our actions.’
‘Then you can’t expect us to reciprocate, can you?’ Leonata said, with a pleasant smile.
‘You would do well to remember,’ Valentine said, unable to bear this any longer, ‘that your neutrality is dependent on our goodwill.’
‘You wouldn’t be threatening us, would you?’ Leonata said. ‘That would be most unwise.’
She held his gaze, neither of them willing to break off, until Gian intervened.
‘Lord Emperor,’ he said, and Valentine looked back to him with relief. Leonata had eyes like a basilisk, and she was as poisonous as one too.
‘What is it?’
‘The Council has agreed unanimously to your request that Rainardo be buried on the Admirals’ Reef, and we will be organising a funeral for him tomorrow, with full honours.’
Gian had left that until last, knowing this would happen. Valentine hadn’t expected them to refuse, but still, it was a relief to know Rainardo would be buried where he belonged, on the most select of all the burial reefs.
‘Thank you,’ he said tightly. ‘Now, unless you have any further business?’
‘We’ve said what we came to say,’ Vaedros declared, as if any of it had been his doing. Valentine noted the tiniest flicker of Leonata’s face. Of course she knew the man’s measure, and he’d be willing to bet at the first sign of a real crisis she’d have him out and put herself in his place.
‘Then, if you’ll excuse me, I have a friend to mourn,’ Valentine said.
‘Of course.’
They all departed together, leaving Valentine alone and fuming in the splendid reception room. A gilded prison, as long as he was in Vespera. Leonata was right, in her way; he had no desire to stay here any longer, particularly not when Iolani could pick off his allies with impunity.
But he wouldn’t go back to Azure. No, of all the places he intended to go now, that was the last. But he’d have to be careful. He . . .
Someone knocked on the door, and he frowned. He’d asked Gian to come straight back once he’d seen the others out, and they wouldn’t be half-way across the courtyard yet.
‘Come in,’ he said, letting one hand drop to the dagger at his side, then relaxed a little when he saw Raphael Quiridion slip through the doors – there was no other way to describe it. One of his own – with luck. Valentine still wanted to know where Raphael had obtained the means to shake off the men set to tail him two days ago, but both Silvanos and Aesonia had warned against confronting him with it. Better, they said, to let him think he’d got away with it.
Valentine could almost sympathise with what Raphael had done. This city was a nightmare, one couldn’t set foot outside the palace without being tailed by a cloud of agents, spies and informers. That would be the second thing to change, after he’d removed the Council.
‘A moment of your time, Lord Emperor?’ Raphael asked, with the sketchiest of bows. Too wilful, this younger Quiridion, too lacking in the respect needed in a servant of the Emperor. Those who’d earned their places he released from the obligation, along with everyone in the Navy, there was no place for it on board ship. But until his servants had earned that right, he expected them to acknowledge his position, for the benefit of outsiders as much as anything else.
‘Yes,’ Valentine said. Perhaps he came with news of some evidence, but what Raphael said, a moment later, was more intriguing.
‘Lord Emperor, I request release from investigating Rainardo’s death,’ he said. ‘I believe I’ve found the weak point in Jharissa’s armour, but it will require some independent action, and time away from the City.’
‘Explain,’ Valentine said.
Leonata knocked.
It was a precise pattern, one she’d had to memorise only the day before, but it told those inside that she was an ally, and they didn’t have to keep up the pretence. Still, the man who opened the door could have been a servant for any household in Vespera, or at least any household with the wherewithal for a house in the tree-lined streets off the Avenue of Fountains.
‘Come in, you’re expected,’ he said, ushering her in without preamble. The hallway looked inhabited, but when she looked through the archways into the main rooms, they were devoid of furniture or ornament, the floor lined with canvas and covered in masonry dust. The air reeked of wet paint.
A man with a distinctly Tanethan cast to his face carrying a large crowbar appeared in one archway as the door closed again. Himilco.
‘We put them upstairs,’ he said. ‘They’re not happy.’
‘I should think they’re scared to death,’ Leonata said. ‘Were you noticed?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Someone was watching the house. We lost them, and they didn’t identify us.’
‘Well, if they did, we’ve given them something else to think about,’ she said. ‘Can I go up?’
Himilco led her up the main stone staircase, a grand affair with carved balustrades and fluted columns, along a beautiful corridor to a sunlit room overlooking a sheltered courtyard garden. This would be a fine house to live in, spacious and airy, and within a few weeks Hasdrubal would be able to let it out again for a princely sum, to another family rising in wealth and prominence within their clan. It might be an ally of his, or possibly an enemy – this was a commercial transaction, and it was bad form to bring politics into that.
The room was empty except for a camp-bed in one corner, and a table at which sat the historian Daganos, staring at the pages of his notes. He looked up and went white for a second, then his eyes narrowed.
‘You!’ he said.
‘Yes, me,’ Leonata said, as Himilco brought another chair through for her and closed the door quietly behind him. From somewhere nearby she could hear the murmur of children’s voices, unusually subdued. ‘I put you in danger, the least I could do was get you out of it again.’
‘Out of danger?’ Daganos said bitterly. ‘You think I can ever go back, after this?’
‘Yes, when this is over,’ Leonata said. She hadn’t wanted to give the order, but Daganos was important for what he knew, not who he was. Once his knowledge became public, there would be no point in killing him. It was unfortunate that he and his family had been hustled from their house in the dead of night, and his office in the Museion ransacked, but she’d had no alternative. And last night had been a good time to do it, with all eyes and all rumours centred on Rainardo’s sudden death.
‘They’ll kill me,’ he said, and there was something
close to hatred in his voice.
‘Daganos,’ she said, calmly. She would be gentle as long as she had time for; she didn’t want to intimidate him, because there was something refreshing about the man when he wasn’t terrified. And she liked reading his works, they spoke of a man whose obsession with the past hadn’t come at the price of his humour and vitality. ‘Last night Rainardo Canteni was murdered. By Clan Jharissa, as far as anyone knows.’
He went even paler, but said nothing.
‘Clan Jharissa put in an appearance at the ball, dressed as Furies and quoting some very interesting lines from Attalus’s The Furies.’ She took a scrap of parchment out of her bag and pushed it across the table to him. ‘As an educated man, I assume you can tell me what they’ve changed.’
He hesitatetd for a moment, then read the parchment. She already knew what had been done, but if she could make him re-engage his mind, talk to her as a scholar and not a man who’d found himself caught up, terrifyingly, in Vesperan politics, this would be a great deal easier.
‘All the singular cases of kinsman have been changed to plural family,’ he said, after a moment. ‘And the last couplet isn’t really a couplet, they’ve missed two lines out.’
‘Which are?’ She almost had him, she just needed to keep going a little longer.
‘Soon at our black-robed onset, the advance
Of vengeance beating in our fateful dance’
‘Why would anyone miss those lines?’
Daganos chewed at his lip – he’d already bitten his fingernails down as far as they could go. ‘Impact, maybe.’
Good. That was the same conclusion she and the others had come to. Iolani had selected the passages she quoted last night very carefully, knowing she couldn’t say too much or risk breaking the spell over her audience.
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