by David Weber
“You searched his rooms?” Andrin paled trying to imagine explaining the breech of privacy to the sweet man she’d danced with. “Is that normal?” Were my mother’s rooms searched before she married my father? She didn’t ask it out loud, but the Privy Council members understood the underlying question. Chan Lofti, of course, didn’t, but some of the eager delight at the success of his search methods faded in the investigator’s eyes as her tone registered.
“Pardon, Your Highness, I wouldn’t know about normal. My orders were to conduct a thorough, a very thorough, check of this Prince for reliability and security risks.”
“Those were, indeed, Armsman chan Lofti’s instructions, Your Highness,” Councilor Dulan put in. “If the Prince was being controlled by Uromathia, we needed to know.”
“And by every check we’ve been able to apply,” the first councilor added, “Prince Howan Fai and the rest of the Eniath royal family are exactly as they present themselves: capable rulers of a small historically Uromathian nation fully independent of Emperor Chava’s control.”
Andrin thought she should have found that reassuring. She did, but she also didn’t. The man she’d begun to think of as her prince was eligible, but he might not be truly interested. Perhaps Howan Fai was just like the others at the ball, entranced by her title.
But no, he’d seemed to like her personally too. And Finena had liked him. The falcon didn’t warm even to trained falconers very easily, so Andrin counted several points in his favor for charming her feathered companion.
“I see,” she said wishing it were safe to talk to Howan Fai directly, “I suppose there’s really no way to find out if he has some ugly secrets and really enjoys torturing puppies or, or, really anything.”
Chan Lofti bowed deeply to her. “I can assure you, Your Highness, that he doesn’t.”
Andrin looked at him, her eyes unconvinced, and the Guardsman glanced at Dulan. The Internal Affairs Councilor looked back for a moment, then at the First Councilor. He raised one eyebrow and, after the briefest of hesitations, Taje nodded.
“Your Highness,” Dulan said carefully, “you’re probably aware the Imperial Guard possesses Talents about which the world in general knows little or nothing. Exactly what all of those Talents are is known only to the Emperor or Empress. Not even I know all of them. In this instance, however, I assure you that you can take Armsman chan Lofti’s word for it.”
Andrin looked back at chan Lofti, who smiled slightly.
“When I ask questions, I can get people to reveal quite a bit about themselves, Your Highness,” he said.
“I mentioned his conversation with his friends, Your Highness. My cover was as, ah, a server in one of the local restaurants—” for some reason, Andrin had the impression he’d chosen his words with some care “—which gave me an opportunity to speak to all of them. One of them was Prince Yertahla of Rylliath, and I can tell you that, unlike Prince Howan Fai, he’s a complete fool. Of course, he’s also only eighteen at the moment. In a few years, he might grow out of it, but he might not, either.”
“Thank you, chan Lofti.” Andrin scanned the table to see if anyone else had more questions for this member of the Imperial Guard. No one did.
“I think that will be all for now.” Councilor Dulan dismissed the man, and chan Lofti bowed himself out.
“And,” Dulan put in after a slight pause allowed the door to close firmly, “since the Conclave meeting is in only five days, the Council has formally recommended against your choosing Prince Yertahla, Your Highness.”
“What about Howan Fai?” Andrin asked.
Councilor Dulan said, “I’d welcome him into the Guard.” That was high praise indeed, but it wasn’t enough.
“And as Consort?” Andrin asked. “With all honor for the fine work the Imperial Guard does, I don’t need a protector. I need a Prince. Is he strong enough for this?”
“I believe he is, Your Highness,” Dulan replied. “He’s had some hard times in the past. Eniath’s struggle to remain independent from Uromathia hasn’t been easy on the Fai family, but I judge Howan Fai’s emerged from it all stronger rather than broken.”
“That’s good. That’s really good. But, can he handle being Consort? I’m—” Andrin blushed. “At least I think I’m trying to be rational about this. He’s really amazing, I mean, I like him. But I can’t make this choice just based on what I want. I have to choose a man who will be good for Sharona. The Gods know Janaki was expected to make a political marriage to help Ternathia, but now the stakes are so much higher. I can’t see, and I don’t mean Glimpses, though I’ve gotten niggles of warnings from that too, but I can’t see if this choice will ultimately work out.
“I can imagine Howan Fai as an emperor consort, but that shouldn’t be for years and years. Father will have plenty of time to train us both, I hope. It’s just that I’m coming to this late, too. Do you think he can learn? Sharona is so much bigger and more complicated than the single island of Eniath.”
Councilor Yamen coughed to gain her attention. The small birdlike woman specialized in accounts, finances, and banking concerns and provided the Privy Council with her insights on all things financial.
“While it’s true Eniath is small and has no physical holdings beyond the home universe, Your Highness, the people were originally nomads, with their range to the east of the Arau Mountains extending to the northern Uromathian coast. At one point Eniathian nomads ranged fairly far south as well. But in old history, several of Howan Fai’s many times great grandfathers kept his people free during the Uromath Unification Wars by giving up contested land. One branch of the Eniathians even moved entirely onto their boats when they had to abandon the Uromathian coastline. The Uromathian Empire formed without them, but they kept their independence, and if Eniath’s physical holdings now aren’t much larger than a postal stamp, their traders, merchants, and bankers are among the canniest anywhere. And, for that matter, as a people of travellers they’re quite literally everywhere. There are a few strongholds in the steppes and another couple on some northern islands, but the people of Eniath are still very nomadic at heart.”
“Oh yes, I remember learning about that.” Andrin replied.
Most of what her tutors had taught her about Uromathia had focused on the Uromathian Empire and its current conflicts with Ternathia, but there’d been a few asides about how the handful of Uromathian kingdoms currently separate from the Empire had come to be. Now she searched her memory for the details of the long eastern Uromathian coast, where the ocean’s shallows were filled with floating fisheries and boat cities built by the fishing families who fed the Uromathian Empire.
“I’m sorry, Shamir, but I think I’ve scrambled some of my history lessons. Does Eniath control the Uromathian fishing industry?”
“Absolutely not,” Councilor Yamen replied for the first councilor. “The Uromathian Empire has a strong coastal-based fishing industry independent from Eniath. Some Eniathians do run traditional fish farms and transport their catches widely, but most Eniathian industry is in trade and banking. They’ve been able to maintain their independence from the Empire for so long largely because of their keen observation and involvement in the Sharona-wide economy. For the last eighty years, that’s translated into an equally deep involvement in inter-multiverse affairs and commerce, as well. I think we’ll find the heir to the Eniathian Crown to be a quick study at inter-universal politics.”
“There is one rather significant concern,” Councilor Dulan said. “Eniath is prosperous, but not excessively so. For that matter, some of the larger cities of the Uromathian Empire proper could probably match the wealth of the entire kingdom, or come very close to it, at any rate. That means the Eniathian royal house simply can’t afford the sort of security Ternathia can. I assess Prince Howan Fai’s personal guard to be both loyal and exceptionally competent. If the Prince hadn’t spotted our investigators himself, I expect the guard would have recognized the tails even with the frequent personnel changes.
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br /> “But even the best single guard is weak security. The prince must sleep, and the guard must sleep. That means the prince is vulnerable, if Chava should even begin to suspect what we have in mind. For that matter, his father’s security is almost equally weak, and Chava wouldn’t hesitate to use threats to the king to sway the prince. At the moment, they’re staying in the guest wing with many of the other Conclave attendees, and we can’t move their quarters or secure their persons without drawing exactly the sort of attention we’re trying to avoid.”
“Our best choice is to keep it secret.” Yamen agreed.
“But what about Howan Fai?” Andrin asked. “He has to be consulted.”
“No, Your Highness,” said Dulan. “I’m sorry for the bluntness, but that is exactly wrong. He has to not be consulted. For his safety, for his family’s safety, and for the good of Sharona, Prince Howan Fai Goutin can’t know he’s been selected until he’s pledging his troth to you in front of the Conclave. He wouldn’t thank you for risking his family’s health and safety for any advance messages either.”
“If he had a Voice with him or even just a Flicker as an attendant,” Jastyr mused thoughtfully, before adding, “but he doesn’t. So there’s no secure way to send Howan Fai anything.”
“Princes don’t have it any easier than princesses, do they?” Andrin said sadly. Jastyr gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement, but Taje raised an eyebrow and Dulan looked at her inquiringly. “Howan Fai will marry me because he’s a prince and that’s what princes do,” she explained. “Even Chava’s sons would do the same if their Emperor ordered it.”
“Of course they would, Your Highness, but the marriage afterwards is what will make all the difference,” Taje said.
“I’d rather not need to have Imperial Guardsmen defend you from your own consort, Your Highness,” Dulan added. “So please don’t suggest choosing any of Chava’s boys.”
“So they really are as bad as I’ve heard?” she asked.
“Probably worse than you’ve heard, Highness.” Yalen said, “There are certain details unlikely to be repeated for a young lady’s ears. Certain things I wish hadn’t needed to be said to my ears either.”
“Likewise.” Taje and Dulan agreed.
“Your Highness!” Jastyr pushed her papers aside and glared at Andrin with an expression the crown princess was not used to seeing on councilor’s faces. The Privy Voice was angry and very clearly not engaged in any secondary Voicelinks at this particular moment. “Your Highness cannot be implying you feel sorry for the Crown Prince of Eniath who’s looking like he’s about to make the match of a lifetime!”
The rest of the council looked thunderstruck. They’d only been listening to what she’d said. Jastyr, mostly silent and listening hard in the moments between her other commitments, had been alert to all the things the crown princess wasn’t saying.
“But he doesn’t even get asked!” Andrin tried to explain. “My parents had their marriage arranged, but father sent flowers every Vothday for a full year before the wedding and had a full garden planted at Hawkwing as a gift for my mother.”
“Wasn’t Empress Varena allergic to half the plants in that garden?” Yamen asked, confused.
“Yes, but that’s not the point,” protested Andrin.
“Your Highness,” Jastyr continued severely, “Whichever prince you choose, you’re going to have to trust him.”
“Trust? This isn’t about trust. I’m just trying to find a way to be polite, or chivalrous, or something.” Feeling every bit as young as her seventeen years, Andrin tried to find the words to explain her problem to the councilors.
Shamir Taje gently laid the list of names flat on the table in front of them and angled the single paper in front of Andrin.
“Your Highness,” he said softly, “Is there any man on this list better qualified to one day serve as Emperor Consort of Sharona than Howan Fai Goutin?”
“No.” Andrin bit her lip. “But my Uromathian is still not very good. He speaks some Ternathian, but this could go very, very poorly.”
“You’ll study. He’ll study.” Yamen shook her head, baffled. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
“I don’t want him to be forced into this.” Andrin tried again to explain.
“Any prince who’d feel forced by this honor, doesn’t deserve you.” Taje’s eye’s narrowed with quiet anger at the implication anyone would reject his princess.
“You’re my partisans.” Andrin couldn’t help but smile, but it was a thin faint smile.
“Your Highness,” Dulan said, “beside that fact, with which I very much agree, I do believe Prince Howan is already quite taken with you.”
“No.” Yamen lifted warning finger at the change in Andrin’s face. “Your Highness, don’t think it. There’s nothing wrong with having the special Talents thoroughly check him out. This wasn’t any torture chamber session. This prince, and every other we could reasonably consider, has simply had the most thorough background check we could arrange. If they’d known the position they were being considered for—believe us Your Highness!—the ones worth half the gold in their crowns would have volunteered to undergo far more than that.”
“The reality is, Your Highness,” Dulan continued, “that Howan Fai likes you. He might even love you, but this early in a relationship I’d call it deep affection instead. He knows the marital constraints you face and he’s a decent man, so he would never over the ordinary course of things even arrange to put himself back in your presence. In his mind, you’re meant for a higher marriage. But I have every confidence that he’ll be in all ways delighted when he learns he can not only marry you, but in a sense, save you from Emperor Chava by doing so.
“You’ve given him his very own romantic victory, and all he needs to do is say, ‘yes’ at the right moment.”
Andrin took a few moments to compose herself. It wasn’t every day the succession of an empire was decided, and she wanted to get it right. As Crown Princess and not yet Empress, she wasn’t really entitled to the “royal we” just yet, but under the circumstances—
“First Councilor, Privy Voice, Councilors Yamen and Dulan, thank you for your recommendations and advice on Our Imperial Marriage. With due consideration of all candidates, We have made Our decision and are ready to so inform the Conclave.”
Taje leaned forward and squeezed her hand. Andrin looked back at her friend and mentor, finally confident.
Chapter Nine
December 16
“I hope this works,” Therman Ulthar murmured from the corner of his mouth as he and Jaralt Sarma walked placidly across Fort Ghartoun’s parade ground towards the administrative block. Their breath plumed in the frigid air, smoke-white in the icy moonlight, and Sarma slapped his gloved hands together as if for warmth, flexing his fingers energetically, and smiled at the other commander of fifty.
“The good news is that if it doesn’t work, we probably won’t have a lot of time to regret it,” he pointed out in turn.
“Oh, thank you,” Ulthar replied, rolling his eyes.
He heard a snort from behind him and glanced back at the noncom following them across the parade ground. Shield Fraysyr Hathnor was Sarma’s platoon clerk, and he was carrying the record crystal which had been carefully loaded with stacks of routine paperwork. None of it meant anything in particular, but if their calculations proved in error and more than the night orderly was on duty, that paperwork would be their excuse to get close enough to take out the extra bodies, hopefully before any alarm was raised.
He looked farther back, over Hathnor’s left shoulder towards the stables, and those blue eyes narrowed as he caught a brief flicker of movement. It was as much imagined as seen, something gliding smoothly across a patch of moonlight and back into the darkness beyond it. The moon was almost full, and the splotches of light breaking through the trees the fort’s builders had left unfelled to shade its interior were so bright they made the dark beyond them seem even blacker, denser, almost solid. He
would have preferred an overcast, or even fog, but the visibility they had was bad enough to suit their purposes.
Probably.
“The truth is,” he said, glancing back at Sarma as they started up the steps to the admin block’s covered veranda, “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since that bastard got the Company massacred. I know the dragon shit we’re about to step into’ll only get deeper if we end up killing him, but I can’t help hoping Firsoma lets him be as stupid about this as he is about everything else. I mean, that would only be fair, wouldn’t it?”
“You’re a very strange man with a nasty sense of humor, Ulthar,” Sarma told him. “It’s one of the things I particularly like in you.”
* * *
Namir Velvelig’s eyes opened.
He woke up the way a septman in the presence of his enemies woke up, which was to say that, aside from his eyelids, not another muscle so much as twitched, and the regiment-captain kept it that way, listening to the deep breathing and snoring around him. The cell in which he and the other officers and senior noncoms of the PAAF garrison had been confined would have provided ample space for a third as many human bodies. There was room—barely—for each of them to have his own patch of floor at night, but anyone who rolled over in his sleep was going to awaken quickly when he was pushed off of whoever he’d rolled onto. On the other hand, there was something to be said for the congested conditions. This far back from the stove, the air temperature was frigid, to say the least, and no one had bothered to issue the prisoners any blankets. The warmth of crowded bodies could be welcome under those conditions.
Velvelig kept his own breathing deep and steady as he tried to decide what had awakened him. He couldn’t identify it at first, and his jaw tightened as he heard the catch and painful wheeze of Tobis Makree’s breath. The Healer had survived another beating the day before, but he wouldn’t survive many more. The Mulgethian was two inches taller than Velvelig, but he’d never been physically robust, and his Healing Talent’s sensitivity made him especially vulnerable to the malice and gloating cruelty behind Hadrign Thalmayr’s brutality. Velvelig wasn’t surprised by his increasing fragility. If anything, he was astounded that the Healer hadn’t already willed himself into the merciful escape of death.
