Into the first full day of meetings after the throning a day earlier, Nalin sat at a table with Elsba and Bala in the old palace’s dining hall, enjoying—if that were the word—a small breakfast of cheese melted on biscuits and a choice of early summer fruits.
“She’s doing well, don’t you think?” Bala asked. She’d sat in on both the throning and the afternoon meeting yesterday.
“Very well,” her father answered. Elsba seemed worn out to Nalin, and no wonder. Given the state of his health and the fights he’d fought over the last months, he was doing remarkably well.
“Of course, we kept the session in the afternoon simple,” Nalin commented. “More complicated issues await her today, so if you’ll excuse me….” He rose, taking a half biscuit with him. Elsba waved farewell, and Bala smiled to which Nalin couldn’t help but respond with a grin. Then he left.
After crossing the plaza, Nalin took the last bite of his breakfast as he began the ascent to the Keep. Only two guards stood there now, a more welcoming contingent than the four who had accompanied Ariel’s brief rule. They parted for him without question, and he stepped past the Council chamber’s entrance and beyond to Ariannas’ office.
“Is she in yet?” he asked of the guard standing there.
“She awaits you, my lord,” the sergeant answered and stepped aside so Nalin could enter. What he found when he stepped inside caused him to hesitate at the door. The Empir looked up at him from where she sat at her desk, an actual smile on her face, something he hadn’t seen since Ariel’s death. Sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk, his back to Nalin, was Malaki Mira. He, too, turned to look at Nalin. Realizing he needed to move instead of standing there gawking at this unexpected scene, Nalin walked to the desk, nodding first to Lisen, then to Malaki.
“My Liege, Malaki,” Nalin said.
“Good to see you, Nalin,” Malaki replied. “Haven’t had a chance to commend you on this one.” Malaki nodded towards Lisen.
Nalin was about to playfully chide Malaki for his disrespect of the Empir, but he saw she still smiled and realized Malaki had won her over with his easy manner and sense of humor. Nalin envied people like Malaki. Unlike him, Nalin struggled with social situations.
“Sit, Nalin,” Lisen said, and he nodded again and complied. “Malaki has just offered to take me for my first ride on Honor.”
“You have the time?” Nalin asked.
“Already confirmed with Jazel,” she replied. “Tomorrow morning, early, before the funeral.”
“Well,” Nalin began, unsure where to go with this, “that sounds like a healthy outing.”
“And now that you’re here,” Malaki said, standing up, “I shall leave you two alone to plot out your plan for today. Until tomorrow, my Liege.”
He backed out, an unnecessary gesture, and Lisen grinned broadly at him but grew serious once he’d departed.
“So, Nalin,” she said, “how are you this morning?”
“Well enough, I suppose. Let’s go over your agenda for today.”
He reached out to grab the schedule he could see peeking out from the paperwork on her desk, but she put her hand over his to stop him from taking it.
“No, first things first,” she said softly.
“My Liege?”
She picked up a scroll, untied the black ribbon and opened it up. “I’ve read this. Very enlightening. My mother writes at length about the Empir’s Will and how important it will be for me to have one. Officially, I mean.”
“Yes, my Liege, I agree.”
“She recommends you.”
“Me, my Liege?” He nearly choked on the question. A friend, a confidant, a willing listener, a protector, even a spouse—the definition of the Empir’s Will encompassed at least some, if not all of these. Flandari had left so much implied but unspoken in her lifetime. Now this, a clear indication of her plan perhaps? Why did he hesitate? Not at the idea of serving as Ariannas’ Will, but at what might follow.
“In some ways, you already serve me in that capacity.” She unrolled the scroll and read briefly before looking up at him and continuing. “You have informed my thoughts at every decision. You have defended me from the moment we met. And you have offered everything up in sacrifice—as I made my claim for the throne. So, Nalin Corday, will you serve as my Will officially?”
“My Liege, you honor me. How can I refuse?”
“Good,” she declared, her eyes sparkling like ocean waves in sunshine. No smile, though; he couldn’t help but notice. “I’ll announce it today.”
“My Liege, may I suggest that you wait until after the funeral?”
“Why?”
“In deference to Lorain’s feelings,” he replied.
“I don’t understand. Before, after, what difference will it make? It’s still going to upset her.”
“I believe that she thought of herself as your brother’s Will. She’ll still be upset, I agree, but waiting until after she’s said farewell to the father of the child she’s pouched will at least appear like your hand reached out in a small gesture of appeasement.”
“For her to bite off, I suppose.” Lisen laughed, then nodded. “All right, all right. I’ll have Jazel block out a few minutes on the agenda for the day after tomorrow but leave the reason blank. Can I do that?”
“Of course you can.”
Again she nodded, sucked in her lower lip, then spoke. “And do I need the Council’s approval?”
“Not for the Will. The Will belongs to you and is your decision alone.”
“Lorain won’t fight me on it?”
Nalin laughed. “I’m sure she’d like to try, but no, she has no say in whom you choose.”
“Good. Now, let’s look at that agenda.”
As they ran through the schedule for the day, Nalin found himself observing her. She’d changed; it was undeniable. What she’d done alone with Ariel had hardened her, or saddened her, or both, but the frankness with which she approached life remained intact. Whatever happened in the future, Nalin had faith that little Lisen of Solsta, now Empir Ariannas, would rise to meet it. He smiled, and she caught him.
“What?” she asked, interrupting their discussion.
“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing. Let’s move on.”
As the wind tousled her short hair the next morning, Ariannas found herself laughing out loud at the purity of the crisp air, the great horse cantering beneath her and the company of the entertaining Malaki Mira. When this ride was over, she’d reassume her somber face, and in a few hours, she’d sit on a stage in the middle of the Arena, listen to eulogies and deliver her own for the brother she’d murdered. But now—oh the glory of now!—she reveled in a few moments free of pretensions, obligations and regret.
“Whoa!” Malaki shouted at her and pulled up his horse. Ariannas pulled her horse to a walk beside him. “Let’s give the poor beasts a rest.”
She leaned onto Honor’s neck and patted his shoulder. “He’s wonderful, Malaki. So responsive and gentle. And powerful.”
“He belonged to my mother, but since her death a few months ago, nobody has been able to ride him. We brought him with us to Council to open him up, let him breathe a bit of fresh air and work his muscles. Then my father had this revelation that he should be yours.”
“Wow. I guess your father was right. We connected immediately.”
Malaki nodded and smiled. “I think he needs a new name.”
“What?” Ariannas asked. The thought of renaming this beautiful beast had never occurred to her. “Are you serious?”
“New master, new name. It’s a bit of a tradition with us Miras.”
She nodded. A new name for a horse already called “Honor.” A great, strong black stallion whose care and grooming would likely become a challenge to the hands in the stable. High maintenance, this one, but she was already one with him. What name could outdistance “Honor”? What name could speak of strength and beauty, of magnificent carriage and the joy of the sight of him?
&n
bsp; “Pharaoh.”
“What?” Malaki asked. “What sort of name is ‘Faro’?”
“Oh, of course. It’s a word I learned in Thristas,” she lied. Too complicated to explain the truth, that this word came from an ancient culture on a world too far away from here to imagine. “It means noble or noble-born.”
“Well, he is noble.” Malaki nodded a couple of times. “Yes, I like it. Empir Ariannas Ilazer and her noble steed Faro.”
A smile crept its way over Ariannas’ lips. “It does sound good, doesn’t it.”
“You know, you’re a strange one, my Liege. You break free of that cage called the Keep, and it allows bits of the real you to peek out. Only briefly, mind you, but I do catch them.”
“Why, Heir Mira, what a sly one you are.” She liked him. She’d thought of Rusty the first time she’d met him, and he continued to feel like an old, dear friend. It was as though she’d known him forever, or however long forever was when one was only eighteen years out. She decided she’d have to find a way to keep this Malaki nearby. It might be difficult sometimes to be reminded of her reality, but if anyone could keep her from forgetting who she’d once been, it was the Heir of Sudas.
“Sly? Me? I can’t hide anything.” He laughed, and that even sounded like Rusty. She slipped momentarily into memories of a home she’d never return to. This beautiful place—a “park,” they called it—this dazzling park could charm the eyes with its beauty, but it wasn’t home. Home was a house in the Valley. Home was a place of no obligations and little responsibility.
Never again. Never again could she revel in a life that demanded nothing substantial of her until she was grown. Because here, she was grown, and it seemed everyone wanted something from her. Except for this delight of an heir, Malaki Mira.
“You remind me of an old friend,” Lisen commented.
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
“Oh, it is. Believe me, it is.” She smiled, then, feeling mischievous, turned Pharaoh around and urged him into a canter. “I’ll race you back to the stable!” she shouted over her shoulder.
Lisen could hear Malaki’s horse gaining on her, so she pushed Pharaoh faster into a gallop. The horse responded without hesitation, and she wanted to shout to the sun that this was all she ever wanted. The trees flew by her in a blur, and she wasn’t even sure if she’d taken the right path.
They arrived outside the stable nearly head to head, and she laughed in joy. She could play in the midst of heavy duties, and for this moment, nothing encumbered her.
“I think that one went to you, my Liege,” Malaki said, stopping beside her.
“Please. Not ‘my Liege’ when we’re alone. Not when we’re having a good time.”
“Then what should I call you? When we’re alone, I mean.”
“Lisen. With you and you alone, I shall be Lisen.” She threw her right leg over Pharaoh’s neck and slid to the ground.
Malaki nodded, then slipped off his horse. He grabbed both her reins and his own and led the horses into the stable, leaving her to return to the Keep where she would resume her duties and prepare for her brother’s funeral.
Lorain pulled on heavy black leggings and then slipped into the grey tunic embroidered with a small black crevix over her pouch. Forget subtlety. She had a point to make and she would make it, Creators and Destroyer be damned. She studied herself in the mirror, patted the pouch and absorbed the strength today’s duties would require.
“You are the child of an Empir,” she said, looking down at the hint of a bulge, “and as long as the usurper remains unjoined and childless, I will survive.”
Her throat tightened, but she shut down the tears. She hadn’t cried since before the false Empir’s throning two days ago, and she would never cry again. She owed a duty to this child, to Garla and to Ariel. She would be regent before the year was out, and there was no room for tears in that objective. She didn’t know how she would reach her goal while keeping suspicion directed elsewhere, but in time she would figure it out because she always did.
A servant—Lorain avoided knowing their names—entered to finish fixing her hair. She had the woman pull the front away from her face but leave the back flowing freely in waves. She might be the late Empir’s intended spouse, but she wanted to appear open—if not immediately, then eventually—to pursuit by anyone who might be willing to assist in the raising of this child. So it would be mourning grey until the child emerged in September, followed by encouragement of new men of her class to come forward.
She dropped down on the bed and waved the servant out of the room. Suddenly the thought of giving herself over to the romantic illusions of someone other than Ariel had overwhelmed her. No tears, she commanded herself. Not now, not ever again.
Back stiff, head high, Lorain stepped into her antechamber. After one final fuss from the servant, she left her chambers and stepped to the guard at the old palace entrance. Not a word passed between them. The guard had a list of all those who had requested carriages for the trip to the arena, and they both knew she was on it. Although the great public gathering place stood but a few minutes’ walk away, nobility never walked, and Lorain felt it unseemly for a pouched parent to arrive straddling a horse.
She’d requested her own private carriage. She was the grieving spouse or, at least, the grieving-spouse equivalent, and she would allow no one to treat her as anything less. Even though she hadn’t taken part in the planning, a message had arrived yesterday inviting her to join the other dignitaries on the dais. As though she required an invitation to sit where she, by rights, belonged.
The trip took only a few moments. The carriage pulled into the receiving area under the arena, and an arena sentry opened the door. The woman offered Lorain her hand, and Lorain stepped down, sweeping past the sentry and into the staging area. Primate Niko rose to greet her, reaching out both of his hands to take hers. She recognized the gesture for what it was—the fulfillment of an obligation he could not avoid.
“I reach out to the One daily, my lord, on behalf of the late Empir and his child whom you carry.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she replied, feeling equally obligated to act civilly even when she didn’t feel it.
Tazori Dors, bless him, stood and stepped up beside her. “Come, Lorain,” he said softly, nodding to his uncle, the Primate, and then escorting her away to a bench in a corner.
“Thank you, Tazori,” she said softly so only he could hear. “I have no endurance to deal with the niceties today. And don’t even ask me how I’ll react to the usurper.”
“Think of me as your walking stick until you can function again.”
“It won’t be for long. This girl will not deplete me.”
“Your spirit amazes me.”
The arrival of the alleged Empir silenced Tazori, and he helped Lorain stand with the others. Nalin walked beside Empir Ariannas, and Lorain thought, He certainly got what he wanted.
“My lords, please,” the girl said, and Lorain stifled a sneer. “I’m sorry I’m late. Some sort of delay with sorting out carriages.” She sounded so cheerful, playful almost, and it turned Lorain’s stomach. “Shall we begin?”
Lorain watched as the dozen or so chosen to sit on the dais lined themselves up. She’d received her copy of the instructions outlining her place in the order of things, and they had positioned her processing into the arena just in front of Corday and the girl. She recalled less than three months ago her Ariel processing into this same arena before anyone else, eager to get his mother’s funeral over. She’d walked with him then and felt that she walked with him now, the child they’d begun together the manifestation of that moment’s promise which this usurper had ripped from her grasp.
After making their way past the dignitaries seated on benches arranged in rows on the floor of the arena, they reached the dais, each member of the group of principal mourners standing in front of their chair waiting for the Empir to sit. The girl had worn grey—how could she not?—and she’d draped her
self in the wide green stole of an Ilazer family member. Lorain had decided against the stole as it would have hidden her protruding pouch, and she wanted everyone to remember the life growing inside her, the proof of her Empir’s devotion.
When they’d all sat, the crowd following after, Lorain fought down the lump in her throat that threatened tears. Not much more than half the stands in the arena were full, unlike Flandari’s rites where very few seats had remained empty. They don’t know what he endured, she fumed. He may have been Empir but a few months, but he’d held things together in the transition after an assassination.
An assassination of his own doing, she reminded herself. If only Flandari hadn’t kept Lorain from him, hadn’t denied her access to him, she might have found a way to allow the woman to survive. No need to destroy a life to inherit its power. There were always ways to manipulate others into giving you what you want. On the other hand, it hadn’t been an entirely bad plan. And he might have gotten away with it if a previously unheard-of necropath hadn’t been present.
Lorain leaned forward a bit to look at the girl who sought to deny Lorain everything she’d worked so hard to obtain. The new Empir appeared to sense Lorain’s scrutiny and turned to smile towards her. Condescending, Lorain thought, then nodded, refusing to smile at a funeral, at the funeral for her beloved.
Primate Niko presided over the rites. He spoke briefly but kindly of Ariel, but that was part of his function as primate, wasn’t it? To speak well of the dead with sweet platitudes so that no one could dispute the sincerity of the remarks? He’d spoken well of Flandari as well, and if ever there were a person who deserved little or no compassion, it was Ariel’s sad excuse of a mother. Lorain dreaded the primary eulogy, to be delivered by the “alleged” sister who’d never known him. The designation of that relationship burned in Lorain’s throat and nearly left her choking. When the girl stood up, Lorain tried to shut her words out without looking inattentive, but she couldn’t help but sit up when she heard the girl’s opening sentence.
Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3) Page 5
