The Aether of Night

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Despite his dislike of Laene, your father was probably going to choose Alean for you,” Tarrinon explained quietly. “However, the situation has changed drastically. The other representatives will all be wondering if, perhaps, they might have a chance. If you imply that they might. . . .”

  “They’ll be afraid to vote against me, lest they lose their chance,” Raeth realized. Then he smiled ruefully. “And I was expecting this to be a simple evening.”

  Tarrinon smiled. “You’ll do fine, my lord.”

  Raeth nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped forward to begin mingling.

  Chapter Nine

  “So, your father is Senator Allenshor?” Raeth asked conversationally.

  Kallana looked up at him, opened her mouth slightly as if to reply, then blushed and turned away again.

  Raeth sighed quietly, rolling his eyes. Dances with the other brides had been awkward, but of them all the Shorriken woman was by far the worst. At least the other women had responded to his questions—though, for the most part, their answers had been stiff and formal.

  Kallana, however, had yet to look him in the eye without blushing, and she spoke in such quiet, unaffecting tones that Raeth could barely hear her. Like many Shorriken women, she was short and of hefty girth—more plump than the average Aedin woman, but that was what her people considered attractive. Raeth didn’t have much of a problem with her looks, but her shyness was driving him crazy.

  The song is almost over, he told himself, forcing his feet to continue in the formal dance’s circular pattern. Kallana moved smoothly, but she still refused to look at him. If she blushes one more time… . Raeth thought.

  Fortunately, the song finished at that moment. Raeth stepped back stiffly and Kallana moved nearly as eagerly, curtseying before scurrying back to her chair.

  Raeth exhaled in relief. Only two more left, he thought. Two more dances and the night would be over. He moved off the dance floor, people parting quickly to let him through, and made his way to the wine table, where he found a familiar form.

  “Darro?” Raeth asked, selecting a cup of Mahallen blue.

  The large man looked up, smiling. “Ho, brother,” he said, raising his cup.

  “You’re a bit late,” Raeth noted.

  Darro shrugged. “I hate these things,” he said. “Everyone looks at me funny if I drink too much—as if that weren’t why the wine is here—and now that my choosing has come, none of the women will dance with me. Besides, I had something that needed looking at.” He glanced down at his arm, and Raeth could make out signs of a bandage underneath the folds of clothing.

  “They told me you weren’t wounded!” Raeth said with concern.

  Darro took a slurp of his wine, and waved dismissively. “It was nothing,” he said. “I didn’t even have it looked at until I got back here.”

  “They hit you through your armor, didn’t they?” Raeth asked. “They cut through it.”

  Darro nodded, frowning slightly. “The High Aedin are all trying to pretend it’s nothing, but… .

  Raeth nodded. The day’s failure was a dangerous precedent. “Don’t get too drunk,” Raeth said, turning away. “When the ball’s over, I want to talk to you about the battle.”

  Darro nodded, and Raeth stepped away, moving through the crowd toward Tarrinon, who was waving at him with a subdued motion.

  “What is it?” Raeth said as he approached.

  The Shorriken aid gestured toward the edge of the platform, where a middle-aged Mahallen man stood, watching the dance quietly. He had a short beard with a long, thin mustache. His Kall-em-kan was extremely elaborate, ringing his head with gem-studded gold cloth and tassels that hung down past his shoulders. Whoever he was, he was important.

  “Mahallen Senator?” Raeth asked.

  “Yes, and more,” Tarrinon said. “That is Rall Hannin. The Mahallen King.”

  Raeth regarded the man with interest. He’d heard of Rall Hannin—he was known to be a shrewd businessman. Rall Hannin was the only King who actually accepted a Senate seat; the others simply sent representatives.

  “All four of the other Mahallen Senators are cousins of his. He’s as important an ally as you could hope to make, my lord.”

  Raeth patted Tarrinon on the shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, stepping forward.

  Rall Hannin bowed his head in deference as Raeth approached, then turned his eyes back toward the party, a cup of wine raised loosely before him. “Good evening, your majesty,” he said with a smooth, almost practiced-sounding, Mahallen accent.

  “And to you,” Raeth said, accepting a cup for himself from a passing server. What was the best way to approach such a man? Supposedly, even the Mahallen king was Raeth’s subordinate. However, he had difficulty feeling superior before Rall Hannin’s careful aristocraticness.

  “I hear troubling news from the war front in the north, your majesty,” Rall Hannin said with a speculative tone. “Perhaps you can confirm events for me. I hear you were observing when the conflict occurred.”

  “The War Counsel is certain they can stop the Forgotten advance once it reaches the northern border,” Raeth said, frowning slightly. Rall Hannin leaned carelessly with his back against the balcony’s railing, something Raeth felt uncomfortable even approaching.

  “The War Counsel is wise,” Rall Hannin said, still watching the figures dancing a short distance away. His precise words almost seemed in rhythm with the music’s beat. “But, they are a group, not an individual, so there can be disharmony in their actions. Perhaps what the Imperium needs is a single, capable leader for its martial efforts.”

  Raeth raised an eyebrow at this. Rall Hannin was known for his shrewdness, but the last comment had been strikingly obvious. “You’ve been speaking with Laene and the other senators, I see,” Raeth surmised.

  Rall Hannin smiled. “You haven’t been subtle with your intentions, your majesty,” he said, his eyes flickering toward Raeth as he took a sip of wine.

  “I apologize,” Raeth said. “I’m new at this.”

  Rall Hannin shrugged lightly. “Sometimes a forthright attitude prevails over the most clever of schemes, your majesty. If everyone’s certain of your intentions, at least they won’t misunderstand you.”

  “I suppose,” Raeth said. “So, what do you want for your votes, your highness?”

  “Five votes is a lot, your majesty,” Rall Hannin replied. “Assuming they were for sale—which, of course, they are not, for the Senate is above such pettiness—they would come at quite a price.”

  Raeth paused. How was he to proceed? Laene and the other Line Heads had been far more simple to read—all Raeth had to do was imply their brides weren’t ruled out, and the men had been delighted to hear his opinions. Rall Hannin seemed more…comfortable than the others, less easy to influence.

  “The Mahallen bride is quite fair, your highness,” Raeth said carefully, his eyes flickering to where the brides sat. His words were an understatement—the sultry Mahallen girl’s lithe beauty was very distinct from the more fleshy and pale-skinned Aedin women. Of course, the stories said that such beauty came with a price—the fairness of Mahallen women was matched only by their tempers.

  “She is, isn’t she,” Rall Hannin said fondly. “Nahan is my daughter, you know.”

  Raeth blinked in surprise. “I…wasn’t aware, your highness,” he admitted.

  “En Mahall would offer nothing but the best for its Emperor, your majesty,” Rall Hannin replied.

  “She would certainly make a tempting bride,” Raeth said. “I certainly wouldn’t eliminate her as a choice.”

  “So you told Laene about his daughter, Hatha about his cousin, and Arasisae about her Line’s offering,” Rall Hannin said speculatively. “For a man who claims to lack inspiration from his Ancestors, you certainly do have a propensity for making implications, your majesty.”

  Raeth flushed, an action that prompted a laugh from Rall Hannin. There was a moment of silence before the Mahallen spoke again.


  “You’re nothing at all like what I’ve been lead to believe, my Emperor,” he said, changing the subject. “Imagine my surprise when I discovered the supposed buffoon of an Emperor playing the Senators against themselves. Don’t blush so, your majesty. Watching you tonight has given me no end of mirth. That in itself is nearly worth any Senate vote.”

  “I’m not certain whether to be honored or embarrassed further, your highness,” Raeth replied frankly.

  “Be neither,” Rall Hannin replied. “Let us deal instead. I’m not certain I want you in control of our armies, but on the other hand I’m not certain our charade of a War Counsel is doing any good. I have four cousins in the Senate. I’m certain I could persuade them to back you, if it was in our kingdom’s best interest.”

  “You want your daughter as empress?” Raeth asked uncertainly. He didn’t want to make any promises yet.

  “Yes,” Rall Hannin replied. “But that is none of my concern.”

  Raeth paused. “It isn’t?”

  “Of course not,” Rall Hannin said, sipping his wine. “Catching a husband is Nahan’s duty. I cannot do it for her. Let me warn you, however, that she’s been watching you. If she’s as impressed with your budding political talent as I am, then you might find yourself hunted quite vigilantly.”

  Raeth took a sip of his wine, a bit uncomfortable with the concept of being ‘hunted.’ “I’m certain it will be…invigorating.”

  “Indeed,” Rall Hannin said with a laugh.

  “So, if you don’t want to influence my choice of brides, what do you want?”

  “I’m not certain,” Rall Hannin admitted. “Honestly, I came to this ball tonight expecting you to make an utter fool of yourself—ordering people around, insulting your allies, and generally wreaking havoc on the court. Since you’ve decided to play the game instead, I’m left somewhat unprepared.”

  “I planned to call a vote within the week,” Raeth said.

  “Then make it, your majesty,” Rall Hannin said, clapping him on the shoulder. “And perhaps En Mahall shall support you.”

  Raeth paused, frowning. “Why would it?”

  “Because,” Rall Hannin said. “You will feel indebted to us. That was far more than I expected from your reign, your majesty. Enjoy the ball.”

  Raeth stood, somewhat dumbfounded, as Rall Hannin bowed and strolled over toward a group of rich Aedin merchants, a smile on his lips.

  “That was very well done,” Tarrinon approved stepping up beside him. “Rall Hannin is the most experienced member of the court. He usually chews up his opponents and spits them up half-eaten.”

  “I’ll admit to feeling slightly nibbled,” Raeth said, still frowning. Then he sighed. “What next?”

  “Next, you should probably dance,” Tarrinon said, checking his watch chain. “In fact, I would suggest taking the last two brides in a row. It is growing late, and people are beginning to look like they’d rather leave. However, it would be politically uncouth for them to do so until you’ve finished your dances.”

  “All right,” Raeth said, eyeing the last two women. He’d gone directly down the line in an attempt to appear impartial. Only Alean and the dark-haired Kavir girl were left. The first was the least appealing choice in his mind, if only because he knew how much Hern had desired her, and the second the most appealing, though he barely dared admit it to himself.

  Stay focused, Raeth, he warned himself. You’re going to avoid marriage if you can. If you can’t…well, a bride from Kavir wouldn’t do anyone any good. Besides, you don’t even know her. She’s probably as quiet and annoying as Kallana.

  “All right,” he said, gesturing for an aid to approach Alean. “You know, Tarrinon,” he admitted. “This has actually been kind of fun.”

  “You’re High Aedin, my lord,” Tarrinon said, lowering his appointment book and backing away as Alean stood and approached. “Politics is in your blood.”

  Raeth stepped forward and accepted the girl’s hand. She was quite beautiful, he was forced to admit, but in an almost packaged, redundant way. She looked like any number of High Aedin beauties, bred carefully to bring the Line a favorable match. True, Alean was probably the most perfectly-manufactured bride in the Imperium, but she still felt artificial to him.

  That feeling left the moment she stomped her foot down on his toe. Raeth’s eye opened wide with surprise and shock, but he managed to squelch a cry of agony.

  “What is this all about, Hern?” Alean hissed as the crowd parted and allowed the two of them—Raeth covering a limp—to walk onto the dance floor.

  “Excuse me?” he asked uncomfortably as the minstrels stopped their song and began a new tune for his benefit.

  “This charade,” Alean said, her eyes angry, her perfect face marred by a slight frown. “Why wait so long to make a decision? Why forbid me to visit you?”

  Raeth raised an eyebrow. “I refused all appointments from brides, Alean,” he informed. “I didn’t want to look biased.”

  “You’re supposed to be biased!” she snapped. “You aren’t going back on our agreement, are you?”

  Raeth paused. Agreement? “I… .”

  “I did not warm your bed for years simply so that you could discard me when convenient, Hern,” Alean informed, her eyes intense. “You promised me your father would make the right decision. Well, we don’t have to worry about that anymore, do we? Don’t tell me you’re equally untrustworthy.”

  Alean and Hern… ? Raeth thought with surprise. How much trouble did that man get me into?

  “I’m…not trying to go back on our agreement, Alean,” Raeth informed, thinking quickly. “But, an Emperor’s first month is often his most difficult. Senators often try to pass bills and make decisions while the new monarch is still uncertain of himself, and doesn’t know that he has power to overrule.” He had to force himself not to flush when he made the comment, realizing he’d fallen into the exact trap he was now claiming to have foreseen.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I thought it best to put off my decision for a while. That way, I could use the choosing to manipulate the different Lines to my side. We may know who I’m going to choose, but they don’t have to.”

  The words placated Alean a bit, and her hostility began to melt away—it was replaced, however, with confusion. “You never thought about such things before,” she noted. “You kept saying the Twins could take the Senate for all you cared about it.”

  “Um…I wasn’t Emperor then,” Raeth said. “I didn’t realize the responsibility. I may be arrogant at times, Alean, but I’m still High Aedin. Duty is the foundation of my soul.”

  Alean’s eyes thinned with suspicion.

  “Besides,” Raeth added with a harsh voice, “how dare you question me, woman! I am the Emperor now. I shall do as I wish.”

  Alean snorted. “Not if you want my father’s help, Hern,” she snapped. “He is the High Senator. If you spurn me, then he’ll make your life so miserable you’ll wish you were Forgotten.”

  The song ended, and the two stepped back. “By the way,” Alean hissed, “your dancing is growing awkward, Hern. You must be too dull to remember the steps.” With that, she preformed a snappish curtsey and stalked back to her seat. As she moved, however, Raeth saw a hint of something in her eye. She was still suspicious. Most of the people at the ball knew Hern only tangentially—he had spent a lot of time during the last few years on the border. If he and Alean had been involved in a relationship, however… .

  Raeth stood, sighing. Oh, Twins… . he thought to himself, shaking his head lightly. Then he nodded to a page and sent him after the last girl.

  #

  “He’s ready for you, my lady,” the young Shorriken aid said, bowing slightly before D’Naa.

  Oh, he is, is he? D’Naa thought, rising from her seat, glad for the opportunity to stretch. Finally ready for me? After putting me off until last?

  She covered her annoyance as she walked out onto the dance platform. She knew all of the standard dances
, of course—she was of aristocratic blood, even if that blood was Kavir. She stopped before him, curtseyed stiffly, then proffered her hand. No matter what Hern did, she was determined not to let him make a fool of her.

  The music began when he took her hand in his own. His grip was light, and his hand surprisingly soft. Hern was said to be a great warrior—indeed, the image of him appearing from the darkness, Amberite sword in hand, still rested powerfully in her mind. She would have expected his palm to be callused and rough.

  A great warrior does not make a great man, D’Naa, she reminded herself. They were her cousin’s words, the King of Kavir, spoken in reference to Emperor Vaetayn.

  Hern regarded her with a contemplative face. He looked almost nervous, for some reason. But, that didn’t seem possible. Perhaps he was just anxious to be rid of her.

  “You…come from Kavir?” Hern suddenly asked.

  D’Naa frowned. She had expected an insult, not a question. Was he trying to set her up? “I do, your majesty,” she replied slowly.

  “It, um, must be cold there,” Hern replied with an almost floundering tone.

  “Sometimes, my lord,” she said as they flowed to the sounds of the minstrels’ strings.

  Hern flushed slightly. What in the name of D’Lum is wrong with him? D’Naa wondered with confusion.

  “The ball,” Hern said. “What do you think of it?”

  D’Naa paused. Should she be honest. Why not? She thought. He’s not acting much like a self-absorbed High Aedin lord; why should I pretend to be a subservient, perfect bride?

  “Frankly, my lord,” she replied, “I think it’s inane. You’re not going to choose a bride based on our personalities, so why bother to dance with us? Besides, isn’t the Imperium at war right now?”

  Hern cocked his head to the side, a bit taken back. Then he smiled slightly. “I suppose we are,” he admitted. “The ball wasn’t exactly my idea.”

  D’Naa raised an eyebrow as Hern spun her.

  “The Senate,” he explained, catching her other hand as the dance’s second cycle began. “They think I’m trying to avoid choosing a bride.”