“However,” the Castellan added, “it is not your father’s preferences that directed my wardrobe advice for today.”
Fadan sent him a suspicious look.
“I’m afraid next week’s petitioning has been moved forward,” Sagun said. “And your father insists on having you by his side, of course.”
Oh, Dragon crap…
How in the name of Ava had he missed that on the daily schedule?
“I don’t remember anything about the petitioning being moved forward,” Fadan said, a little too much frustration seeping into his tone.
“I may have forgotten to update the Prince’s agenda,” Sagun said in an obviously fake apologetic tone. “I hope it is not an inconvenience.”
How was he going to get any sleep today? Or worse, how was he going to keep himself from falling asleep halfway through the damned thing? Petionings could last an entire day. It was one of the reasons his father held so few. Of course, the fewer Petionings the Emperor held, the longer the ones that he did hold became, as petitioners simply accumulated further and further.
“You could have at least told me last night,” Fadan said.
“Why, your majesty, was there, perhaps, something special you were planning for today?”
What is that supposed to mean? Fadan thought.
“I’ll be right down,” he said. “You may leave.”
“Yes, your majesty.” The Castellan gave a deep bow, then turned on his heel to leave, his long, dark braid dancing behind him.
I’ll need to have a chat with Fabian about this… And the book will have to wait until tonight. Fadan massaged his temples. And my sleep will have to wait until tomorrow.
Sighing, the Prince left his room, heading to the main hall and making sure to keep to the narrower, back corridors, as the main hallway would be packed full of petitioners and everyone accompanying them. The problem was, he hadn’t slept more than two hours a night for almost two weeks. He was so sleep deprived that he actually had a hard time walking in a straight line.
I have to sit as soon as I enter the Great Hall…
To his great relief, Fadan’s smaller, Princely throne had been added to the main hall’s blue dais. Next to his father’s and his mother’s thrones, whose blue satin covered backs stretched up to the ceiling, Fadan’s throne looked like a wooden kitchen stool, not that he would complain. All he needed was something that kept his legs from betraying him. Once, he had been forced to stand through all nine hours of a petitioning for being caught playing catch with Aric in the courtyard.
“Father, mother,” he greeted, bowing slightly, as he climbed onto the dais. “How are you this morning?”
“Ah, son,” Tarsus said, lifting his head from a roll of parchment. “Sit, sit. Food should be along shortly.”
“Good morning, Fadan,” Cassia said. “I hope you slept well.”
“Well enough,” the Prince replied.
Oh, goddess…
“We are ready to begin, your majesty,” Fadan heard someone say. It was Chancellor Vigild, who received an approving nod from the Emperor and placed himself behind him.
Beneath the dais, Secretary Fressia and Seneschal Daria took their seats at a very large mahogany table overflowing with parchment rolls. Legionaries moved to their positions, creating a rectangle that stretched from the gate to about a third of the way to the Imperial throne.
“Open up,” Tarsus ordered.
Two Legionaries pulled the large wooden gate of the hall open. The noisy crowd poured inside. Only nobles were allowed to petition the Emperor, as it would have been impossible to attend the petitions of every citizen of the Empire. Plebs had to settle with regular courts, no matter how long those took to settle most matters. Some minor nobles, however, accepted small fortunes by rich plebeians, like merchants, to present their cases to the Emperor. This practice was known as advocating and was actually the only way some nobles could avoid abject poverty.
The ceremony was a very straightforward affair. Secretary Fressia called each petitioner by name and the person presented their issue. Sometimes the Emperor exchanged some words with the petitioner before making his decision. Other times he simply uttered his sentence after hearing the matter and the petitioner was quickly sent away. There was rarely the chance for an appeal.
Fadan knew that his father loathed the petitioning. Tarsus found it beneath an Emperor to be forced upon such lowly concerns. Fadan, however, liked the idea of Imperial subjects having the right to discuss their problems in person with their ruler, even if it was so seldom an occurrence. It seemed just to him.
The first petitions of the morning turned out to be a succession of the usual squabbles between Barons, Viscounts, and other petty nobles. One Marquis had come to petition for a temporary exemption from taxes because of a weak crop. The Emperor fined him twenty thousand gold crowns for being a poor farmer and hurting the Empire’s food supplies. An unlanded Thepian noble, claiming that each and every one of his ancestors were great military heroes of the Empire, begged the Emperor for a job in the Legions. Tarsus sent him to do latrine inspection in the expeditionary Legions stationed in Northern Aletia.
It was all either boring or depressing, and Fadan’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
“Lady Margeth Abyssaria, Arch-Duchess of Pharyzah,” Fressia called.
That managed to wake Fadan up. What was such a high ranking noble doing in a petitioning? Their affairs with the Emperor were usually dealt with much more privately. Tarsus’ dinners served that very purpose.
This should be good, Fadan thought, looking forward to anything that would keep him from falling asleep.
“Your Imperial majesty,” the Arch-Duchess greeted, curtsying deeply.
Instead of the flamboyant dresses Ladies usually wore to important occasions, Margeth donned the feminine version of an Arch-Ducal uniform, much like the one Fadan himself was wearing. She was in her late thirties, and even though she was far from beautiful, something in the way she stood was deeply attractive. Dark hair fell over the golden chevrons on her shoulders, and the ivory white of her uniform was a stark contrast against the olive hue of her skin.
“Lady Margeth, it has been too long,” Tarsus said flatly.
“I was unable to attend the Empress’ birthday ball,” Margeth explained. “My presence was required in Pharyzah, your majesty.”
“I’m sure you had a very good reason not to come,” Tarsus retorted. “Please, proceed with your petition. As you can see, the line behind you stretches endlessly.”
“Of course,” the Arch-Duchess said, removing a document from inside her coat. “It has come to the attention of several Great Houses of the Empire that your majesty has been working on the draft of an edict that seeks to limit the right of nobles to muster their own military forces.”
The hall became suddenly very quiet.
What!? Fadan thought.
The Prince was no fan of his lessons on law, but he was competent enough with the subject to understand what the Arch-Duchess had just implied. If such a thing was true, his father would be violating, at least, five main tenets of the Unification Charter, the very document that bound the Empire together.
“You are exceedingly well informed, my Lady Arch-Duchess,” Tarsus said. His face was the perfect likeness of calm. “I wonder how you came by such information.”
“I have come to present you with this,” Margeth said, ignoring the Emperor’s question and presenting him the document in her hand. “Your majesty’s proposed law is highly illegal, to say the least.”
Fadan had not met many people brave enough to speak to his father that way. In fact, this woman was probably the first. What was truly troubling, though, was that Tarsus looked thoroughly unfazed by it.
“As is our right,” Margeth proceeded. “Myself and nineteen other landed nobles of the Empire hereby request that a Landeen is called to discuss and decide upon this matter.”
There was absolutely no sound in the room for what felt like an
eternity.
Fadan turned to his father, still in shock. It was no secret to Fadan that many regarded his father as a tyrant. His own mother had been coerced to divorce her husband in order to marry Tarsus. And, of course, there was the Purge, the dreadful time when Tarsus had slain just about every Mage in the Empire. But it was one thing to hear about these stories, it was a completely different thing to witness his father’s tyranny first-hand.
Fadan saw Vigild lean into the Emperor.
“You think she has the votes?” Tarsus asked in a nearly inaudible whisper.
“We’ll see,” Vigild replied in an equally low voice. “If any of those signatures belongs to one of the lower Houses, she might. If not…”
“We cannot take any chances, Vigild,” Tarsus said, his whisper almost turning into a growl. “If the Landeen blocks this law‒‒”
“Relax, your majesty,” Vigild told him. “With the right… ‘persuasion’ techniques, we can be sure that a sufficient number of the lower Houses become tired of being bullied by their cousin’s armies.”
The Emperor nodded, calm returning to his features. “Lady Margeth, as you know I am an incorrigible formalist. You will forgive me if I fully observe the bureaucracy.” He waved one of the aides forward.
“By all means, your majesty,” Margeth said, handing the parchment to the aid.
Fadan watched as Chancellor Vigild quietly stepped down from the dais and collected Margeth’s document. He squinted as he analyzed the parchment before rolling it closed and turning to the Emperor, his back to the assembly of nobles. The Chancellor smiled triumphantly.
“It seems everything is in order,” Tarsus told Margeth. His calm expression masking the victory Vigild had just communicated. “However, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”
The Arch-Duchess frowned.
“I dread to inform you that you have made this long trip to Augusta for nothing. I already had every intention of calling the Landeen.” The Emperor smiled. “My dear Lady, do you really believe I would even consider passing such a fundamental law without the consent of the nobility?”
The Arch-Duchess scoffed in disbelief. “You can’t seriously expect the nobility to approve such a notion. It will mean the end of the distribution of power.”
“My Lady, I look forward to the opportunity to explain to yourself, and rest of the Landeen, why this law upholds the greater interest of the Empire. Chancellor,” Tarsus called, “it would be impolite to allow the Arch-Duchess to leave Augusta empty handed. How soon can we hold the Landeen?”
“Oh dear…” Vigild acted the moniker of a flustered man. “It’s such a complex thing to organize, your majesty. The security alone is a nightmare.”
“Chancellor, I’m sure the Arch-Duchess expects the Landeen to be convened as quickly as possible, and I will not disappoint her,” Tarsus said. “Isn’t that right, Lady Margeth?”
The Arch-Duchess seemed lost. She actually shuddered when she heard her name. “Uh… yes, of course. As soon as possible.”
“You see?” Tarsus asked Vigild. “How about three months? Can we do it in three months?”
“If that is your wish, then it shall be done, your majesty,” Vigild said, bowing.
“Excellent,” Tarsus replied. “Let it be known that the Landeen will gather in Augusta in three months’ time, counting from today. Arch-Duchess, I bid you a safe and pleasant journey back to Pharyzah.”
“I… thank you, your majesty,” Margeth said, curtsying. She turned around, still looking stunned, and started towards the door.
“And Lady Margeth,” Tarsus called.
The woman stopped and looked back.
“Send my regards to your… co-signatories,” Tarsus continued.
Margeth’s head straightened up a bit. “I will, your majesty.”
A chilling wind rustled the trees around Fadan, slivers of moonlight flickering everywhere from the shaking branches above his head. He mindlessly adjusted his uniform’s jacket, as if the small tug could somehow make the jacket more adequate against the cold.
“What are you doing out here?”
The question startled Fadan. It was Fabian. The old General walked into the small garden clearing with his head swinging from side to side, searching the shadows.
“What, you’re replacing Sagun now?” Fadan replied. “I can stay out here whenever I want. That stupid punishment has been over for weeks.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Fabian said. “I was just wondering why you are standing here staring at nothing. Aren’t you going out to wherever you go every night?”
“So you were following me?”
“Of course I was following you,” Fabian told him. “How do you think I keep your father’s spies away from you?”
The Prince sighed. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’m a bit edgy.”
Fabian nodded. “That’s alright. What’s bothering you? Anything I can help with?”
“I doubt it,” Fadan replied. He sighed again. “Well, maybe you can tell me why my father is trying kill off the nobility.”
“He’s not trying to kill the nobility,” Fabian said.
“Oh no? Then why is he so interested in making sure they’re not armed?”
“He thinks he can put an end to civil wars,” the old General replied. “I fought in one. Believe me, they’re not pretty.”
“Oh please!” Fadan snapped. “Spare me the propaganda. I know my father.”
Fabian was left with nothing to say, so the two of them just exchanged a stare for a little while until Fadan looked away, snorting his disapproval.
“Why do you even pretend to agree with him?” Fadan asked.
“He’s my Emperor,” Fabian explained.
“But you help me! And you know you’re helping me do things he would not approve of, even if you don’t know what these things are.”
Fabian shrugged. “You’re my Prince,” he said.
The Prince rolled his eyes. “So it’s that easy for you, huh?” he asked. “You’re with both sides and you’re betraying no one, is that it?”
“What sides are we talking about exactly?”
“Oh, come on!” Fadan cried, turning his back on Fabian. “I’m in no mood for games. Please leave me. I have things to attend to.”
“Then attend to them,” Fabian said. “There’s no point in standing around sulking. If you have a decision to make, make it and stick with it, no matter how distasteful it is. Your father may have many flaws, but at least, he does not hesitate. Even a bad decision is better than no decision at all.” He turned to leave but paused. “Just do what you have to. Whatever it is, it won’t get any easier by waiting.”
I can’t, Fadan thought as he watched Fabian disappear between the shadows. I can’t give up on Doric. I can’t join the Rebels. I can’t master the right spells in time to do anything useful.
He kicked a pebble away then looked back in the general direction of the empty palace he had chosen as his hiding place within the Citadel. At the very least, he could take care of the damned book. Maybe that would calm Sabium down a bit, convince the old Mage to help him learn the spell to traverse walls. If Fadan could master at least that one spell, he would be able to get Doric out. He just knew he would.
“Alright, creepy book,” he told himself beneath his breath. “Time to burn.”
The cold made Venia shiver. She licked her lips, and the cracks she found with her tongue stung a little. It bothered her that she found this tiny pain so uncomfortable. All these years serving in the Citadel were making her soft. If this had been just a regular assignment, she would have requested a transfer long ago, but it wasn’t.
The sounds of conversation had died out, so she decided to move out. She stepped on a branch, but Venia had long learned how to step lightly enough that even twigs did not crack beneath her feet. Besides, a strong, cold wind was rattling the bushes and trees in the garden so hard that no one would ever have been able to hear her.
Unfortunately, it had
also prevented her from overhearing the Prince’s discussion. She had, however, seen who he had been talking to. Lord Fabian Lagon, a retired General, and a veteran of the Thepian revolt. He was the second in House Lagon’s hierarchy and a stalwart of loyalism. Few nobles so accurately represented the ideals of an Arreline aristocrat as him. He was also the Viceroy of the Information Scriptorium, which meant he was Venia’s boss and High Marshal Intila’s right-hand man. The young Prince hadn’t just enlisted a spy, he had enlisted the king of spies. The man was so good at it most people in the Scriptorium didn’t even know he was the one running the show.
Not bad, kid, Venia thought. Not bad at all.
A thin layer of pine needles and other leaves covered the damp soil, but it wasn’t hard for Venia to find the Prince’s trail. There was, of course, the chance that either Fabian or one of his people were also following her, but she didn’t have a choice. She was either going to follow Fadan or not, so besides giving up, all she could do was to be careful, which she always was. After all, she hadn’t been assigned to the Empress because of her pretty blond hair. At least, she had always hoped not. There had always been the possibility that they had wanted an inept for the job. Luckily, Venia had never been prone to that sort of insecurity.
The Prince’s trail ended at the garden’s exit gate, where a dirt path turned into a marble paved street wide enough to fit two Imperial carriages side by side.
Where had the kid wiped the mud off his boots?
Venia looked around, trying to find a fleeting shadow, either from Fadan, or a hypothetical pursuer. She saw no one, but she did notice a small patch of dirt on a mound of grass.
Ah, he covers his tracks, she thought. Good boy.
Walking out of the Empress’ Orchard and into the marble street, Venia took off her dark robe, turned it inside out, and put it on again, turning a suspicious looking hooded figure into just another maid in her light blue dress, surely running an errand for her mistress.
Now, where did you go, your majesty? Venia canvassed the shadows around her. Probably the sewers. Which means I’ve lost you again. Unless…
The Dragon Hunter and the Mage Page 30
