Daughter of Independence

by Simon Brown

  ‘Kydan now has a future,’ Galys said without reproach.

  ‘You are convinced this is the only way?’

  Galys nodded. ‘Kitayra was sure. And I suspect, but do not know, that Maddyn planned it this way as well.’

  ‘Except if Maddyn had survived he would now be ruling this city with the help of the colonists and his soldiers, and the foundry and port would be built irrespective of the wishes of the native Kydans.’

  ‘You are so sure of that?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, yes. He would have been a gentle tyrant for a Kevleren, but a tyrant nonetheless.’ They were joined by Kadburn, who had made no comment one way or the other about Galys’s plans. ‘What do you say, Warden? If your master had lived, would he now be ruling Kydan?’

  Poloma was not sure what made him ask the question, or even if he had the right to ask it, but the warden regarded him with half a smile on his scarred face. ‘Undoubtedly.’

  ‘And where would I be?’ Poloma asked.

  ‘If you assisted him or opposed him?’

  ‘Would it make a difference?’

  Kadburn’s smile widened. ‘I think, in time, you would have been too dangerous to let live.’

  ‘What would Maddyn have done?’

  ‘Ordered me to kill you.’

  Poloma noticed Galys showed no surprise at the answer, and could see from her expression that she knew Kadburn was speaking the truth. But of course, as strategos, she would have considered various possible futures, changing, dropping or adding to them as events dictated. He wondered if prefiguring the future, knowing how people reacted given different sets of circumstances, made it more difficult to genuinely love anyone, to ignore your own predictions and enjoy the present. He felt guilty for even doubting that Galys had loved Kitayra, but the question still irked him.

  He turned his attention back to Kadburn. ‘And would you have killed me?’

  For the first time he could remember, Poloma saw doubt flicker across Kadburn’s face. There was a long pause, and the Axkevleren said, ‘If I had known you like I know you now? No.’

  Poloma was surprised by the answer, and obviously showed it, because Kadburn went on without skipping a beat, ‘But if Maddyn ruled Kydan, I would undoubtedly not know you as well as I know you now.’

  ‘So you are saying you would have killed me.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said grimly, and as if he was weighed down by a failure he had never caused and that had never come about, Kadburn wandered off.

  ‘Axkevlerens aren’t good with conundrums,’ Galys said. ‘Their relationship with their Kevleren makes them see the world through the eyes of their master or mistress. Even more so for a Beloved.’

  Poloma felt a surge of affection for the strategos. ‘But you and I enjoy them, don’t we? They are a challenge. For you it is the conundrum of the future and how it can be shaped. For me it is the conundrum of the present, and how it can be avoided long enough to realise a future.’

  Galys frowned slightly. ‘Are you speaking as a politician?’

  ‘As a friend,’ Poloma sighed. ‘As a good friend.’

  He saw Galys tense. He remembered how uncomfortable she had been in his house just before his mother had died. He had been reaching out to her then, in his own confused, bumbling way, but even as he had done so he had known it was wrong, that he and Galys could only be friends. He realised, too, it would not be difficult to kindle desire in his heart for her, but it would give them both more pain than pleasure, and he did not have to be a strategos to see it would end badly.

  ‘But just a friend,’ he added quietly. He wanted to touch her briefly, on the shoulder, or the cheek, to let her know he understood her confusion, shared it as well, but thought she might take it the wrong way and so did nothing.

  Galys nodded, and in that moment the difference between them became a distance, and also a kind of peace.

  *

  For a moment Arden lost track of Heriot, then saw her small figure amidst a whole flock of native Kydans in their colourful finery. He tried to keep his eyes on her but lost her again when he was distracted by the sight of the Hannemah sailing through the channel. Unbidden, memories of the trip across the Deepening Sea came flooding back, and he blocked them out. He did not want to remember the smells and fear and deaths of that terrible journey. Also, unbidden, he felt a gust of admiration in his chest as the ship, with only half its sails unfurled, played with wind and current.

  He remembered Heriot. He forced himself to search the crowd methodically, but found himself distracted again when he saw the prefect, the strategos and the warden talking together. Towards the warden he felt some connection, even sympathy after the death of his master, Maddyn Kevleren, but he still felt wary of him. Even when he himself was high up in the service of his mistress, the old Empress Hetha, he had heard of Kadburn Axkevleren and his ruthlessness. Arden was truly afraid of no living man, but he thought he could learn to be afraid of Kadburn. Galys Valera was someone he respected, especially her courage and forthrightness, her unblinking confidence that all around her either saw the world in the same common-sense way she did, or could be persuaded to. But the strategos, like the warden, could not be trusted entirely. They still saw things magisterially, that the world should be ordered from the top down for everyone’s benefit. They thought that because the old society held them in high esteem they saw further than the farmer, the blacksmith, the soldier and the fishmonger. They could not, or would not, see things from ground level. They meant well, but that was not always enough in Arden’s mind.

  And then there was the prefect. Now there was an enigma. He wondered if Poloma’s own people – Heriot would kill him for thinking like that! – understood him at all. That he had courage and foresight and determination was indisputable, but he held an even higher position in society than Galys or Kadburn ever had. He was a nobleman, as far as Kydan had noblemen, and a spokesman for the merchants of the city. And yet Arden thought Poloma actually had dirt in his veins the way the common worker did, that he felt a natural sympathy for all his people, poor as well as rich, the grubbers as well as the rulers.

  Kadburn was the first to leave, then Galys, leaving the prefect standing alone at the back of the crowd, watching them with an affection Arden could sense as if he was looking through the prefect’s own eyes. But Arden was wrong, he realised. Poloma was not really alone. Twenty yards to his right, unseen by Poloma but now seen by Arden, stood Heriot, watching the prefect the way . . . the way he knew she used to watch him.

  Arden swallowed. His arms and legs suddenly felt ridiculously heavy, as if all his energy had bled away into the soil. Heriot, as small as a child, with more life and love and understanding in her than a hundred Kevlerens, his Heriot, was taking Arden’s advice after all. She was finding someone else.

  4

  Once she was over the mountains, Empress Lerena Kevleren felt she was almost home. In truth, the longest part of her journey was still ahead, but her entourage now travelled among the rich, fertile plains and gentle slopes of Hamilay, and the air was warm and sweet, still heavy with summer. Best of all, the trees were filled with birds, and their song lifted her spirits more than anything else. More than anything else except the unexpected but entirely appropriate reappearance of her sister, the Duchess Yunara Kevleren. They talked incessantly, and laughed between themselves. Eventually it was too much for poor Uilder and Lerena released her from the sedan; the Axkevleren followed behind on foot, pretending not to hear the carryings-on in the sedan and making excuses for the empress to those officers of the Royal Guards who made circumspect inquiries about Lerena’s ongoing conversations with herself.

  ‘They think you are suffering from the strain of the campaign,’ Yunara told Lerena.

  Lerena sniggered. ‘I am, my dear. Terribly. It was a dreadful time.’

  Yunara made a sympathetic sound.

  ‘I had to destroy so many of the enemy,’ Lerena continued. ‘And their capital. Completely ruined. But our unc
le will fix everything up. He is visited by Idalgo, you know.’

  Yunara showed surprise, but Lerena suspected it was for her benefit. Lerena would have none of that, not between her and her sister. ‘But you already knew that, didn’t you?’

  Yunara laughed, showing no embarrassment at having been caught out. ‘Of course. I have chats with Idalgo occasionally. And Englay.’

  ‘She is Chierma’s mistress?’

  ‘Yes. Our cousin to the fifth degree or something. She is very nice. I wish we could have known our Rivald relatives while they were alive. They did not hate us, you know, any more than we hated them. It was all politics, and all so distasteful.’

  ‘It was the Beloveds,’ Lerena said. ‘All the time we thought they were our closest allies, they were our greatest enemies.’

  ‘Some,’ Yunara countered. ‘Not all. Look at Idalgo. And Hanimoro was very loyal to you.’

  ‘And Netarger to you,’ Lerena said, returning the compliment.

  ‘There was definitely a distinction between our Beloveds, I think, and those in Rivald.’

  Lerena was about to agree, but then remembered the Governor of Hamewald. ‘Except Chierma. I found him intelligent and perspicacious.’

  Yunara’s face was expressionless, but she said, ‘Perspicacious enough to know when to switch sides, at least. Don’t forget, he betrayed the Lady Englay.’

  Undistracted, Lerena continued, ‘I felt there was something quite . . .’ She licked her lips,’. . . almost, I mean . . . noble about him.’

  ‘Dear sister,’ Yunara said, almost consolingly, ‘you are tired.’

  *

  For the first few days Chierma Axkevleren, Governor of Hamewald, had no idea what to do. As governor of the city under Rivald’s Safety Committee he had largely acted on instructions passed up from Beferen and done what he could to prepare for the inevitable invasion from Hamilay. But he had no instructions now, for Duke Paimer Kevleren, Lord Protector of Rivald, had left none before departing for Beferen. So he sat in his old office, recruited officials and secretaries among the population, finding his old staff where he could, and waited for something to happen. Eventually, people started arriving asking for directions, or decrees, or declarations, or delegations, and by the third day Chierma discovered he was governing. He made sure to keep a log of his gubernatorial decisions so eventually they could be approved or gainsaid by Paimer, but also so that his administration could be consistent in the way it dealt with sewage, leases, criminals, legislation, roads and a hundred other issues. By the fifth day, Chierma was so busy he no longer had time to wonder whether or not he was doing the right thing. In fact, by the fifth day he realised he had not thought of, not once been interrupted by, Lady Englay.

  ‘I thought I would give you time to get reacquainted with being governor of Hamewald,’ she said.

  Startled by her voice behind him, he stood up so quickly from his desk that his chair went toppling backwards. His personal secretary, Feruna, gasped in surprise and stood up as well. ‘Sir, are you all right?’

  Chierma gaped at Englay. ‘I’m . . . I’m fine. I just remembered something.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Feruna asked.

  ‘Something?’ Englay said. ‘Is that what I am to you? A thing?’

  ‘Yes, Feruna, I’m sure. Why don’t you go, I can finish off here this afternoon. You’ve been working too hard.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You need a rest,’ Chierma insisted. ‘Go now. I will see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course,’ Feruna said uncertainly, but gathered his papers and left.

  ‘You nearly stopped my heart,’ he said.

  Englay considered him for a moment, her face giving no sign whatsoever of her feelings, then slowly, slowly, smiled, as if she was trying to remember how it was done. Chierma thought the action looked macabre, and the hairs on the back of his hands stood up.

  ‘You missed me,’ she said.

  ‘No. Not really.’

  ‘You did before. You were glad to see me.’

  ‘Before, not now. I am not glad to see you.’

  ‘Not glad to see your Lady Englay Kevleren?’

  ‘You are not Lady Englay Kevleren.’

  For a long moment they stared at each other, then Chierma took a long breath and said, ‘Go away.’

  The smile disappeared from the woman’s face. ‘But you love me.’

  ‘Once.’ He shook his head. ‘Not now.’

  ‘But I love you.’

  ‘You are misinformed,’ Chierma said. ‘Lady Englay Kevleren never truly loved anyone in her whole life.’

  She was gone.

  Chierma let out his breath, felt his shoulders and spine relax. He concentrated on slowing his heartbeat. What now? he wondered. He turned back to his desk. Five days, and already the papers were heaped up like white mountains.

  ‘Work,’ he said aloud, picked up his chair, sat down and reached for the next job.

  *

  So much work, Paimer told himself when he thought about Beferen. He remembered his last sight of it, no more than a tenday or so ago, dark and ruined and lapped by its cold, grey sea.

  ‘I hate that place,’ he said aloud to no one in particular.

  Paimer remembered what the city had been like, and tried to imagine what its inhabitants had gone through. In fact, he had not seen many the last time he was there; the only movement he had noticed in the streets were Hamilayan troops on patrol. He felt a surge of anger then, at what his niece had done to this place, and at what she had done to the whole bloody world. Indeed, what his whole family had done to the world.

  ‘It isn’t right,’ he growled. One of his escort glanced sideways at him, but most of them were used to his rambling discussions with an invisible friend and paid him not the slightest attention. ‘It isn’t fair.’

  With some surprise he realised he meant it was not fair to everyone, not just himself. The world deserved more than this. The world deserved better than this.

  Then fix it.

  Paimer twisted his head around looking for Idalgo before he realised it had been his own voice he had heard.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Fix it. Make it better.’

  *

  The Vardar Mountains loomed in the west, dark serrated shadows in the late afternoon. Lerena and her entourage could have reached Omeralt by last light, but she called a halt for the day.

  ‘I want my first sight of Omeralt to be in the morning,’ Lerena explained. ‘One more night outside its walls will not hurt us.’

  Her entourage set up camp eagerly, knowing it would be for the last time, and that the next day every one of them would be back in their comfortable beds within the palace grounds. Only Uilder seemed uncertain that arriving in Omeralt would improve anything. She attended Lerena when she had to, but avoided the empress at every opportunity. Lerena herself did not seem to mind. In fact, she was often overheard having conversations with herself. But then she was, after all, empress, one of the last and easily the greatest of Kevlerens; surely she should be allowed some idiosyncrasies.

  And in her tent that night, Lerena was so excited by the prospect of seeing her city in the morning that she could not sleep.

  ‘But it is not just the city, is it, sister?’ Yunara prodded.

  ‘What else could it be?’ Lerena teased.

  ‘I have not seen it since that day when you . . .’ Yunara turned from Lerena and stared at the ground, ‘. . . when you made that great sacrifice.’

  Lerena put her hand on Yunara’s and said soothingly, ‘It was done from love. The greatest love. And before you died I showed you such things.’

  Yunara took Lerena’s hand and stroked it. ‘That is certainly true. And in turn I gave you my special place.’

  Lerena stiffened. ‘I took it, sister. I am empress. I take what I want. From love, and for my people. But I take what I want.’

  ‘It is a world within a world,’ Yunara continued, as if Lerena had not reacted at all. ‘It has it
s own forests and lakes and secret paths.’

  ‘And birds,’ Lerena said, her voice falling to a hush. ‘The sky is always filled with birds.’

  ‘My aviary,’ Yunara said, distantly.

  ‘My aviary,’ Lerena returned, then frowned slightly in consideration, and said, ‘Our aviary. Our special place.’

  Even when Yunara left, Lerena stayed awake, and as soon as she heard the first bird call she was outside the tent looking north to her capital. Only the night watch was awake, and those not on station automatically drew close to her.

  At first Lerena could not see Omeralt, and for a terrible moment imagined it had been taken away or destroyed while she had been in Rivald, but then she picked out more regular shapes among the irregular crags and drops of the Vardars, and she gasped in wonder at how the mountains held the city so close. Omeralt’s great walls were made from the same yellow stone as the peaks, and as the whole range shone with morning light, so did Omeralt shine, but even more so as its great towers and domes and gates were slowly revealed by the sun as it climbed into the sky.

  ‘I have never seen it like this,’ Lerena said breathlessly.

  And then the city sparkled as light reached the great glass dome of the aviary.

  ‘My home,’ Lerena said softly, and in that instant knew that once she reached the aviary, once she was again within its perfect world, she would never, ever leave it.

  5

  Gos Linsedd thought Sayenna had one indisputable advantage over Kydan, and that was its easy access to grasslands for the exercise of his horses and the training of his dragoons. His initial impression of the town had changed. At first he had thought it despicably quaint, but now he thought of it as a pretty town, with a warm, sun-blessed charm, and that unlike Kydan it avoided the worst of the monsoons, but he found the atmosphere so relaxed it was lackadaisical, the climate so congenial most of its inhabitants seemed more intent on enjoying its benefits than working hard for the future. And it smelled of the sea, unlike Kydan which smelled of estuary and river water. For someone raised inland, and who had spent almost his whole life working and fighting inland, the proximity of an ocean that had no limit, that could at any moment rise up and wash everything away, that was filled with unseen and slimy horrors, was almost too much to bear. Whenever he found himself in a location that afforded a generous view of the sea, he retreated. Whenever Velan Lymok or one of his dragoons expressed appreciation of the beautiful coastline, the lapis lazuli waters, the cooling sea breezes, he changed the subject.