And, am I absolutely certain I don’t want it to? Raeth wondered, not for the first time. He was beginning to doubt his words of a few days ago. Hours spent trying to solve the riddle of the Forgotten had left him with nothing but headaches. His best efforts so far had only stalled the advance. Would it be such a bad thing to evacuate Vae Annitor, just in case?
No, he thought with determination. Tarrinon had agreed with his assertion. If the Senate left Aedinor, the Imperium’s power would be broken. It would fracture into its separate kingdoms. Khur was already dangerously close to ceding, and En Mahall would probably be next. Kavir was so isolated that it would sever ties without much worry—Raeth guessed from his conversations with D’Naa that they were preparing to do so anyway. That would leave only Shorriken who, without any form of military whatsoever, would be at the mercy of the advancing army.
Aedinor had to hold strong as long as it could. If danger got to close, the evacuation could proceed without much trouble. However, every day they stayed in Vae Annitor was one more day the Imperium stayed cohesive.
“The Emperor has petitioned to speak before us,” Laene said from the pulpit below, bringing Raeth out of his ponderances. “We now give the floor to him.”
Raeth took a deep breath and marched down the ramp to the podium. As he turned to regard them, he couldn’t help thinking how differently they looked at him now. There was respect in their eyes. He had earned their acceptance—if now he could just get them to trust him.
“Senators of the Imperium,” he said. “My plea to you this day is a short one. I urge you to vote against evacuation. The Imperium has suffered grievous losses, true, but retreat is the final defeat. The people need a symbol of our continued strength, and this Senate is that symbol. Withdraw, and I fear it shall break their spirits.”
Raeth paused. Several of the Senators had turned to whisper to one another. Raeth frowned at the confusion he saw in their eyes.
“I ask you to trust me for a little longer,” Raeth continued slowly. “I believe our military can hold the Forgotten at bay. Let us give them the opportunity. Let us… .” he frowned as the whispering continued. “My lords?” he asked slowly.
One of them, Arasisae, the senior Ferrous Senator, stood. “Forgive us, your majesty,” she said smoothly, “but we are a little confused at your speech. This isn’t what we expected you to speak about.”
“What?” Raeth asked.
“Your Bride Choosing, Emperor,” Laene informed. “Your Ynaa prayer finished earlier today. We assumed you were going to announce your choice of brides.”
Raeth stiffened. Today. He shot a look at Tarrinon, and the little man just shrugged. The aid had assumed, along with Raeth, that the Choosing would wait until it was decided whether or not the Imperium would stay in Vae Annitor.
“My lords,” Raeth said, “I hardly think this is the climate in which such a choice should be made. The enemy waits just a two day march from our capitol!”
“On the contrary,” one of the Mahallen Senators said. “We believe this decision is vital, your majesty. It could have much to do with the future of the Imperium.”
Raeth ground his teeth in frustration. He understood what they meant—Raeth’s choice would give one faction a political edge over the others. That would be a vital commodity should the Imperium fracture, new groups attempting to seize power, should the High Aedin be destroyed. Twins! He thought in anger. Can’t they forget their political squabblings for just a few days!
“Your majesty,” Arasisae said. “Sure you—”
“I will not,” Raeth said sharply, cutting her off. “I am your Emperor, and I will not be forced into this decision until I am certain of my choice.”
“Ah, that is the problem, your majesty,” the Mahallen Senator said smoothly. “We fear that you have already made your decision, and that you are simply…stringing us along.” The comment prompted more than a few nods of agreement from the collected men.
Raeth frowned to himself. Of course they know, he cursed quietly to himself. They’ve been doing this far longer than you have. They know exactly what you’re doing.
“We fear that you will make a politically unwise choice, your majesty,” Arasisae said. “Midnight dinners in your rooms, rearranged schedules…there are many rumors in court, and for once most of them agree.”
Raeth barely kept his eyes flashing up toward D’Naa. How did they know that? He wondered with amazement. What else have they figured out?
“We need some sign, your majesty,” Fael, a Verdant Senator, said. “Showing your good faith in this matter.”
Raeth ground his teeth in frustration. He knew what they were getting at. “I’ve narrowed the choices down,” he announced slowly, a comment that elicited several looks of satisfaction from the crowd. “I’ll be ready in a few days.”
“With all due respect, my lord,” Fael said. “That isn’t enough. If you’ve narrowed down your choice, then tell us what options remain. Do this, and we’ll be able to move on to other decisions.”
Raeth read the subtext. Do this, and we’ll vote the way you wish on the retreat. Raeth looked over the crowd. There was firmness in the eyes of the senators—even his allies. That firmness declared one thing. He had no choice. He would tell them what they wanted to hear, or he would receive no more lenience from them.
Twins curse you! Raeth thought with a sinking feeling. Could he do it?
“It seems most likely that I will either choose Mahallen, Verdant, or Ferrous,” he announced. The most politically important among his enemies. The others would either support him because of Line affiliation, or were too insignificant to matter.
“And what of Kavir?”
Raeth winced slightly. She isn’t ruled out, he wanted to say. The stern faces before him, however, quelled such an announcement. He knew what they were looking for—what the entire conversation had been about. The faction he chose would gain too much power; they couldn’t afford to let the prize go to Kavir. Unless he promised not to choose D’Naa, he would lose his Senatorial backing. The idea that he might choose insignificant Kavir over another faction wounded their collective pride.
Despite himself, Raeth found himself looking up at the third tier. There was. . .worry in her eyes. Expectation.
Duty, Raeth thought. It always comes down to duty. It could never have worked anyway. Not now, not in the position I hold, not with the pressures the others have placed upon me. Better to let her know the truth now than to delude her. In the end, when I renounced the Throne, she would just end up hurt anyway.
“Kavir?” he asked, hardening his voice, looking down at the Senate. “Surely you jest, Senators. No Imperial son has ever married a bride from Kavir. What advantage would that bring me? In many ways I may be considered a fool, but even I am not that much an idiot. Kavir is ruled out.” Hern would have been harsher, but he couldn’t bring himself to insult D’Naa directly.
It’s all political. Please understand that. When next he looked up, her seat was empty. Raeth sighed, then continued to deliver the speech he had come to give. The vote was an easy one—it proceeded drastically in his favor. They even went so far as to invest him with direct power to call for the evacuation, whenever he deemed necessary.
“You give and you take, my lord,” Tarrinon whispered beside him. “That is politics.”
Raeth looked up absently as the voting finished and the Senate moved on to further matters, a motion to force Khur to deliver reinforcement troops to the conflict. It was a meaningless vote—the Khur Senators had locked themselves in their embassy, and refused to make any official statements. Should the Imperium survive the Forgotten advance, it would be forced to deal harshly with the Khur for such behavior.
I could always submit and chose their bride as my wife, Raeth thought. Of course, doing so risked alienating more powerful factions. He needed the Mahallens and the Verdant Bonds far more than he needed Khur. He needed them far more than he needed his own happiness. Duty. What a wicked thing you
are. Because of you men chose lives of misery over joy and call it the right way of things.
“I seem to give far more than I take, Tarrinon,” Raeth said, looking up as the voting proceeded.
“That is the true sign of a good ruler, my lord,” Tarrinon said.
Raeth nodded, sighing and standing. The other votes could proceed without him. He wanted a little bit of time to himself before he returned to the battlefield. Tarrinon followed obediently, joining Raeth as they walked out of the building and around the ramp leaning to his waiting Corpate walker.
“My lord?” a quiet voice asked.
Raeth paused, turning.
A quiet shadow broke off from the building’s exit. Raeth frowned slightly, noting Nahan’s harried face. She looked like she had spent days without sleep, and her once luxurious black hair was frazzled and barely combed.
“Nahan?” Raeth said, taking a questioning step toward the tall, tan-skinned woman.
“I’m sorry, Lord Hern,” she said in a quiet voice. “This is all my fault—your troubles with the Senate, your difficulty making a choice. All my fault.”
Raeth smiled wryly, shaking his head. “Not all your fault, Nahan. Somehow, I think politics would have continued even without your intervention.”
Nahan sighed, looking down at her feet. “I shouldn’t have lied, my lord,” she mumbled. “From childhood, from the beginning of our Han Kallhar, girls are taught to seek a worthy husband. But we are told never to lie. We must never lie. My foolishness has drawn your attention from the war. And, it will cost me.”
Raeth reached out to place his hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be so pessimistic,” he said. “The truth be told, if it’s between you, Alean, and Tae, I would certainly prefer you, Nahan.”
She brightened slightly. Then she bowed and backed from him, returning to the inside of the building.
“That was very odd, Tarrinon,” Raeth said, watching her go. “She was so confident before.”
“Lady Nahan has been through a lot these past few weeks,” Tarrinon said, frowning. “Though I should be impartial, my lord, I must be honest in saying I’ve never cared much for the Mahallen system of matrimony. It seems terribly harsh on those involved, especially the ones who choose poorly.”
Raeth nodded slowly. Of course, our system of matrimony hasn’t served me very well, either, he noted to himself. Perhaps if he went to D’Naa and explained. . .but, no. He’d just announced that he had no intention of marrying her. What would the Senate think of his duplicity if he immediately went to visit her afterward.
It really is best this way, he told himself firmly. I could never have chosen her anyway.
“I believe he is coming for you, my lord,” Tarrinon noted, drawing his attention away from self-pity.
Raeth looked up as a messenger dashed up the steps, moving in his direction. Raeth stepped forward, growing worried. “What is it?” he asked as the man approached. “News from the battlefield.”
“No, my lord,” the man puffed. “We’ve finally located your brother.”
#
Raeth had never been in a bar before. They were exactly the sort of place that High Aedin were duty-bound to avoid. Dark and musty, the place’s furniture was stained by numerous washings of Ale froth. Raeth had to struggle to keep himself from choking on the scents of alcohol, unwashed bodies, and general decrepitude as he followed the messenger down into the broken-down tavern’s confines.
As Raeth’s eyes adjusted, he could make out the a vaguely man-shaped form slumped in a booth on the far side of the room—a form so large it could only belong to Darro.
“I tried to make him come with me, my lord,” the Shorriken messenger explained. “But…well, he didn’t want to go. He threatened me with bodily harm should I try to remove him.”
Raeth patted the man on the shoulder. “Let me talk to him,” he said. He left Tarrinon and the messenger behind—both of them looking incredibly out of place in their fine bureaucratic robes—and scooted past stools and tables toward Darro’s booth.
Darro had removed his cloak, but he would have had to in order to remain undetected for so long. Raeth’s own cloak was drawing a considerable amount of attention, prompting whispers from the tavern’s dark occupants. Hopefully, it would be too dark for any of them to read his cloak-clasp or recognize his face. He shuttered to think how they would react if they knew he was the Emperor.
Darro didn’t look up as Raeth reached the table. Raeth seated himself on the booth bench, trying not to think about the stains he was getting on his clothing.
“You’ve been gone for several days,” Raeth said, trying to sound comfortable. “I guess we had no reason to be worried.”
Darro just sighed unresponsively.
“I’m surprised it took us so long to find you,” Raeth continued. “You certainly do know the spots, don’t you?”
“I told her, didn’t I?” Darro grunted, his voice slurred from intoxication.
Raeth paused. He could barely make out Darro’s unshaven, disheveled face in the gloom. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t remember,” he said quietly.
“They always said I was a disgrace,” Darro mumbled. “I never believed them. ‘I’m just having a little fun’ I told myself. ‘No harm in that.’ They were right all along. I’m not just a disgrace, I’m a traitor.”
“Darro… .”
Darro thumped his fist against the table, causing his empty mug to topple on its side. “I only had one secret to keep, one important task in my life, and I couldn’t do it.”
“Darro, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Raeth said. “It isn’t your fault.”
“Raeth, how can you of all people say that?” Darro said, his voice gritty and harsh. “You are the one who taught me about duty, not our tutors. It wasn’t my fault that I let her into my rooms, even though I knew I shouldn’t? Isn’t my fault that I let myself get drunk? Twins, I even recognized that the her wine was stronger than it had any right to be, but I didn’t care.”
Darro sighed. “I don’t even remember when she stopped asking about the war and started asking about you. I just remember waking the next morning and knowing I’d done something horribly, horribly wrong. But, not remembering doesn’t make it not my fault, Raeth. I should have known. Everyone told me. I should have listened. You’d be better off without me.”
“Darro,” Raeth snapped. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why not?” Darro grumbled. “Truth is truth, Raeth.”
“Darro,” Raeth said, leaning forward. “Please. You’re all I have left. Father, mother…even Hern, they’re all gone. I had friends in the Irae, but they don’t know me any more. You’re the only one who knows me for who I am. Don’t leave me alone.”
Darro sat quietly for a moment, then he snorted. “You sound like me.”
Raeth paused, frowning in confusion.
“Five years ago,” Darro mumbled. “When you left for the Irae. I begged you not to go. But you left without even a whimper. I think father expected you to object; I know Hern thought you would. But, you just went.”
“Duty,” Raeth whispered.
“Duty,” Darro agreed. “Slaughter and Despair take it. Why do we have to be the ones to take care of an entire nation?”
“Because… .” Raeth paused. He’d been about to say it was their Place, but there was more to it than that. “Because they need us, Darro.”
Darro sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t matter if we were just farmers. I’d still have betrayed you.”
I betrayed someone today too, Raeth thought, laying a hand on Darro’s arm. I know how you feel. “We’ll deal with it,” he said out-loud. “I don’t think the problem is as big as you might think. Alean claims she’ll tell if I don’t choose her, but I doubt she’d risk endangering the Imperium.” I hope. “And, truth be told, I’ll probably end up picking her anyway.”
Darro looked up, a glint of confusion showing in his reddened eyes. “But, what about… .”
Raeth shook his head. “She’s not an option. I have to do what is best for the Imperium. Duty, remember?”
“Unfortunately,” Darro grumbled.
“Let’s go,” Raeth said, standing. “We still have a war to win.”
Darro nodded, moving his bulk with some effort and standing woosily to his feet. He took one step, then collapsed unconscious, the power of his impact rattling tables and tipping over chairs.
Raeth sighed, waving toward the messenger. “Send for some men. Let’s get him back to the palace.”
#
It took a good number of men and a small Corpate walker to move Darro. Raeth leaned against the side of a building outside the tavern, frowning quietly to himself. Everything was falling apart—they were losing the war despite his best efforts, he’d betrayed D’Naa, and the Senate factions were already beginning to scavenge for power like carrion before a corpse. And now Darro, on top of it all.
Only one thing matters, Raeth thought. Stopping the Forgotten. At least he had a firm purpose.
I’m confused. The voice popped into his head, just as before.
You aren’t the only one, Raeth noted, secretly glad for the diversion from his doomful thoughts.
I’m confused, the Aether explained. Am I one of them or not?
I don’t know, Raeth thought. I used to think so, but I don’t know anymore. Maybe you’re just an Aether; a very smart one.
I don’t know. I think the woman’s words might be right. I… feel something.
Feel? Raeth asked. Feel what?
Anger, the Aether said. Rage. I don’t remember why—I can’t think of anything before I was with you. I only feel this one thing. I want revenge.
Against us? Raeth asked, feeling chilled.
No, the Aether said. Not you. Something bigger than you. Something I hate.
What?
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