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runicloreThe Prince
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: March 28 - real faith, my dear, is just a dream
Series: Fire Emblem 10
Character/Pairing: Sanaki, Soren, Sephiran, Rafiel, others
Rating: T
Words: 9029
Warnings: n/a
Notes: AU, part fifteen of the Summer Chronicle. This is a first and ongoing draft; a list of known issues is being compiled here.
This is apparently a transition chapter.
.............................................
Another day passed before Sanaki set aside the endless flow of letters and petitions and decided to see Prince Daein. She sent a knight to fetch him, accompanied by ten of the household guard, and had Marcia supervise the preparation of a drawing room on the first floor of the palace for the meeting. Sanaki wouldn't allow him the honor of seeing the inside of her office again, and she had no desire to visit his rooms or place herself in an environment he might consider his territory. It made a difference; in the past she and the other senior senators had attended functions or events at city manors - a feast at Tanas manor, a dance at Culbert's, a presentation of academic papers, several of which were written by Amelia, hosted at Lekain's home. He held his head higher, spoke more forcefully, though never rudely. He wasn't stupid.
Sanaki left her rooms early in formal attire, after a breakfast of toasted bread and fruit, and found tea waiting for her on a lacquered tray when she entered the meeting room. It smelled like raspberries. The table was by the window and accompanied by one chair, framed by cream curtains tied open with gold ribbons. The floor was marble, a polished white band around a red and brown carpet with gold tassles, worn flat by decades of feet. Her heels encountered the hard floor, no cushioning, when she walked across the room, around the chairs and couches.
Her agents said Nasir had already left with her message, and she hoped the prince would see another more detailed list of demands into his father's hands, and take himself out of Sienne with it. The idea met with opposition from her advisers, but Sanaki saw no benefit to keeping the prince in the capitol where he could interfere with the trial and warn his father of further developments. He was a useful hostage, they said, and yet Ashnard's deeds said otherwise. He didn't care for his son's safety, perhaps, or had faith in his ability to plan a way out of Begnion's deepest prison cell or oubliette; or, perhaps, he knew she would let Soren live. Maybe he counted on Sephiran's merciful nature to prevent tragedy - he certainly would counsel her to keep the prince alive, were she the type to retaliate by ordering his execution. Perhaps the prince and his father shared the opinion of her senators, thought her a puppet to her prime minister's will.
She sat down and poured a cup of tea for herself, drank it black, plain, the scalloped porcelain edge of the cup hitting her teeth. It was an antique; she recognized it by a description in the catalog of odds and ends belonging to the Empress - white, thin, the lip and handle decorated with gold painted scrolls and a picturesque garden painted on the side. The sun shined brightly outside, casting beams through the windows to illuminate a fine mist of dust that swirled when she heaved a sigh.
Commotion outside signaled the prince's arrival just when Sanaki had put her cup down and drawn a breath to call for Marcia, to what was taking so long. Two sharp raps preceded the opening of the door. The prince came in alone. She wondered if he'd tried to bring his retainer - if that was what took so long.
Too bad. One would think they were joined at the hip, the way Gawain's son hovered over the prince. "Soon I will draft a letter to your father with the results of our investigation," she said, crossing her legs. "You will deliver it. Preparations have been made to escort you to the encampment under General Zelgius's command, and from there you may negotiate your return to Daein's forces. I trust you can manage to get the message to him without incident."
"Of course. That will not be a problem." Soren slanted his gaze to the window. His hair was braided, pulled over his shoulder, and his fingers lingered on the rope for a moment, almost a nervous gesture - but it must be calculated. Everything he did was a fabrication, down to his smiles and his intonation. "I take it this is the end of our bid for engagement?"
Sanaki cramped her fingers to stillness, resisted the urge to tap the arm of her chair. "Was there ever any doubt about this outcome?"
He laughed softly, his eyes lidding slightly, and said, "You took your time in netting Lord Sephiran, your majesty. I wasn't sure."
She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. There was no hiding the flush in her cheeks, but she closed her eyes and reminded herself nothing would be gained by throwing her teacup at him, no matter how satisfying the impact might be. "That isn't your concern," she said, opening her eyes to watch him turn his face, clasp his hands behind his back. "You will apo--"
"Never," Soren's lip curled slightly. "This concerns me and everyone like me, even you-- but you're only an echo. You'd never understand what it's like to live with something that brands you an abomination in a way everyone can see. Although--" he shrugged, and his sneer became a smile. "Maybe you will now that your much-coveted successor will be named a heresy against your beloved goddess."
Sanaki dug her nails into the cushioned arm of her chair to conceal the tremor in her fingers and keep herself still. Never before had she wanted to slap a smile from someone's face so badly - not even Valtome's shrill giggles made her muscles coil or her heart pound against her chest, in her ears. "Your resentment is misplaced," she said. It came out too soft, but she was afraid her voice would tremble if she raised it. "I am not responsible for your status or your treatment as Branded. If anyone in my service has slighted you as a result of your background, name them and I will see they are punished accordingly."
The smile faded, but she couldn't shrug away the feeling he was still laughing at her. "I don't blame you, Empress. As a matter of fact, you show a great deal of potential, and it has been my pleasure to watch you challenge the senate. It's your unfortunate choice of allies I cannot forgive."
Her eyes narrowed. Forgive? The prince watched her closely. The sunlight diffused and faded, perhaps veiled by clouds, and left his eyes a dull shine in the dimness. "He is not responsible either!" Sanaki's arms and legs felt stiff, and she wanted to shift. "You gain nothing by attacking him."
He laughed, the tone and the slant of his eyes reminding her of the moment in the garden when he laughed with Ike, unaware of her presence. "Poor, naive little empress. You've let your ideals blot out reality and nearly missed your chance to cleanse your government of its disease." He had a perfect row of white teeth, and when he lifted a hand to rub his forehead, the mark, he had perfectly filed nails, the white crescents a sliver ending each finger. "You're lucky to have allies with enough foresight to set you straight."
She knew he was trying to make her angry - to prove he could, or for some other purpose - but Sanaki slapped her hands to the arms of her chair, jumped up, because he was looking down at her and she wouldn't allow that. "You have no right to interfere in my government! I don't care what you think is best for us - your concern is Daein--"
"That's right," Soren said, abandoning his laughter abruptly to speak over her, almost loud enough to shout. "Daein is mine. Daein is the country I want to set straight." He flipped his braid back and joined her at the edge of the rug, his toes pressing the tassels flat. "Begnion is in the way. Your senators have been interfering with my family--"
"They were taken care of without your help," Sanaki said.
Soren arched an eyebrow. "Your Prime Minister has tainted Daein. From the moment he met my father-- by encouraging him to break the pact, then standing aside and letting him convince my mother to give up her birthright - you'd think Lehran would have better sense, wouldn't you, but he sent her dancing right into that trap!"
Sanaki curled her hands into fists. "That was her decision." There was nothing to divine in his expression but a narrowing of his eyes, though she stared and searched; he was good at controlling his expressions, better than she was. She'd thought she knew how to read faces, but maybe that was just familiarity with the people she saw every day. "If this is some misguided attempt to have revenge on Sephiran, keep it out of politics. You're involving people who have nothing to do with your grudge. Even if the senior council is guilty as you say, the commons--"
"Empress." His almost-smile was back, as if she'd said something funny. "Do you have any idea what relations between Daein and your northern provinces are like?" She frowned, he shook his head. "Of course not. You've never left the capitol, have you? Except to go to Persis, which hardly counts."
She wanted to cross her arms and kept her hands at her sides. Defensive she remembered Sephiran labeling the gesture when she was young. Do you have something to hide? She wanted to look away, but stared into his red eyes and breathed in the strange, powdery tea scent that tickled her nose whenever he moved and his clothing shifted. "Even if he wanted a say in northern matters, he would not be given the time of day. I fail to see--"
"You do. But I don't blame you for that either, your majesty. You're terribly sheltered."
She was so close; her palm ached, her fingers twitched. It would be so easy to strike him before he had a chance to evade. She remembered taking his hand, helping him up one afternoon when a misfired attempt at silent casting knocked him off his feet. His hand, like Sephiran's, was a fragile frame of bird-like bones. Were the two races related? she'd wondered then, and forgot to ask. She was stronger. When he wore sandals instead of boots, as he did today, she was even a little taller - a finger, perhaps a little less.
"How gracious," she said, and pressed her hand to her thigh, fingers flat.
"You aren't an ally I would choose either," he said. "But my options are limited. And if I have to depend on you, I can't risk letting you make a mistake. If that means I have to force your hand to make the right decisions, so be it." Soren turned his back to her and put distance between them, glancing over his shoulder. "You can still have your precious Sephiran, you know, now that he has been declawed and put in his place - as long as you're willing to face their disdain." He waved his hand at the door. His hair brushed his face and hid his brows, his shoulder obscured his mouth, but she could imagine a mocking smile. "And you can do what you want with my father. I'm finished with him."
Sanaki almost laughed. She stared at him a second too long, watched him lean against the back of an armchair. "You must be joking."
"You can't have a revolution without clearing away all of the old game pieces. Haven't you learned anything from studying history?" Soren finally looked away, crossing his arms, inflicting his red gaze on the windows and the unfortunate birds chirping in the tree outside. "I've no sentimental attachment to the advisers I inherited. That would be your misfortune."
Surely Sephiran wouldn't scold her for hating the prince now - or for throwing him out of the palace bodily, and his belongings after him. That was merciful. Letting him live was already quite tolerant on her part, given Begnion's traditions. By staying he risked assassination, abduction, humiliation-- if her security let up enough. If her senators and their allies among the peerage were willing to believe the worst of Sephiran the moment the word 'laguz' was applied to him, they were equally eager to rain abuse on Daein and its half-blooded representative. The substitutes for Culbert and Seliora had already mentioned throwing him in prison where he belongs, filthy half-breed, and Shirin was the only person to take issue with his phrasing. Sanaki wasn't sure if the protest was motivated by an objection to racial slurs or simply habit.
The senior senators were aware of the royal family's background. Their underlings clearly were not, or none of them would make such comments in her presence. She wondered what would happen if the truth were to come out - if she could prove, somehow, without a brand, that she and her ancestors were all half-breeds.
"If Ashnard has not stopped his advance by the time you reach the Central Army camp," she said, "be sure you convince him to do so. Justice certainly will not be served by continuing a needless war."
Soren looked at her, eyes glinting like rubies. "I can't make any promises."
"I see." Sanaki could make promises - but those were best reserved for the letter. "You may leave."
The prince turned around and walked to the door. His dark hair was braided, tied with a chain of silver links, and swayed as he walked, hitting the backs of his thighs. "I would suggest another parent for your child, empress. Nothing but misfortune is going to come of this."
Sanaki watched him place his hand on the brass knob and turn. "This isn't Daein," she said.
"True." Soren spared her only a glance, and his parting words were faint, spoken as he left: "It's worse."
*
The report from Gaddos returned positive; Lekain did, indeed, have laguz working a mine just north of the provincial border under suspicious circumstances, though the missive Sanaki read didn't provide a detailed account of the conditions of the area, the establishment-- whatever it was. A mining camp, she supposed. The subtle differences between permanent camps and towns and barracks, slave or otherwise, were not something she felt like bothering with. The workers were unregistered, without citizenship papers or tokens. There was no evidence they were paid, no sign of an economy. The prisoners - so their keepers called them - traded only with each other; tin, tobacco, alcohol, even bread. With it came a missive from her new prosecutor; the paperwork was delivered, he'd done what research he needed, and they could go to trial any time. She set the date for the next afternoon - let the senate scramble to catch up with them.
She took the report to Sephiran when the work day was over and she'd eaten an early dinner, who wasn't surprised in the slightest, though he frowned when he skimmed the report, and commented on the messy hand and the incomplete courtesies - completely inappropriate, he said, for a letter destined to reach her hands. This agent had served him a long time. He should know better.
Sanaki piled his pillows up against the headboard of his bed and reclined with the rest of her evening reports, one leg bent, the other propped on her knee. He wasn't surprised by the letters she'd received after Daein's accusation either. He remained at the table by his window with the tome she brought along and his writing box open, writing in the margins to clarify the material she'd had a problem with, his face smooth and his posture relaxed. One wouldn't know he was confined to his rooms simply by watching him sit and work. She wished he would pace, or forget himself a moment and snap at her. She wished his handwriting would blot - something. She'd had to draft most of her letters twice that day to be sure there were no mistakes, second-guessing every sentence and squinting at the spelling of every word.
"What if they manage to prosecute you like we did the others?" she asked, stacking the reports against her knees and shoving them onto the night table.
He shrugged, dotted a letter. "So what if they do?"
"Sephiran."
"I've worked hard to maintain influence here I don't want anymore." He lifted his gaze a moment, slanted it her way. "I kept it only to help you. If clinging to my position will harm your cause, I have no need of it."
Sanaki pressed her lips together. He turned his attention back to the annotation.
"You are the most irritating man I know," she said, turning her head the other way. He chuckled, and she heard his pen tap the side of the ink pot, scratch the paper. She frowned at her reflection in the standing mirror against the opposite wall. Her hair was wet and spread over his pillows and the sheets, curling at the very ends, her robe still wet and plastered to her back. She turned onto her stomach, her back to the mirror.
How long was this going to take? She didn't mind the time spent with Sephiran, but she would have a perfectly reasonable excuse to bring him out of seclusion if she announced a pregnancy. The court's focus would shift to a new topic - goddess forbid, a half-breed child! - and the pressure to investigate him would be superseded by arguments over legitimacy. Sanaki didn't care for that topic either, but at least a few years would pass before the subject, her daughter, would be affected by the conflict. Perhaps by then it would be solved. She didn't need a brand; there were records somewhere on the births and deaths of former Apostles - not in the Archive, according to Tanith's afternoon report, but somewhere. How else would the senior senators know?
Maybe they saw the brand. Maybe her grandmother told them first - though why she would do such a thing when they were her opponents was beyond Sanaki. Or, maybe the information was passed from father to son among the important families, just as it was passed from mother to daughter in her own.
There was only one way to find out.
"Sephiran," she said, and his pen moved a few more seconds before he stopped and she heard it click when he put it down. "Where are the records on House Kirsch?"
Beside her the lamp's flame sparked against the glass. His chair creaked. "Why?"
Why must she always be questioned? What happened to her subjects jumping at her every command? "I want to see the notes on health and pregnancy, especially for the members without brands."
Sephiran lifted an eyebrow, a line creasing his forehead. "It hasn't even been a month--"
She waved that away and let her arm fall to hang off the mattress. "Your present situation isn't what I'd call ideal. Since I do happen to have a preference in the parentage of my successors--"
"A little patience wouldn't hurt." He pushed his chair back, and she heard him walk over. His weight tilted the mattress when he sat on the edge. "Your mixed blood might help, but it's no guarantee. When was your last cycle?"
Sanaki sighed into the pillow. "I don't remember."
"You don't remember--?"
"I have a war to think about!" She kicked the mattress, glaring at him over her shoulder, and then turned onto her side. "Not to mention your delinquency and the Daein prince. Ashera couldn't conjure any more work to drop into my lap if she woke up tomorrow!"
His eyes drifted down. He reached to fling a cord of hair over her shoulder, then his fingers pulled her sash loose. "You'll have to be more careful."
She slapped his hands when he tried to peel the damp fold of her robe open. "I won't be distracted. Where are the records?"
Sephiran smiled and showed a flash of teeth, flipped his hair over his shoulder, and leaned to push her off of the pillows, onto the sheets. "I'll tell you later," he said, pressing a leg between her knees, sliding his fingers into the part of her robe. "We have business to attend to."
Sanaki started to laugh, bit her lip. "You-- I'm not going to forget about this. Tell me--" and the now was muffled and silenced when he kissed her, worked her bottom lip between the scrape of his teeth, and slid his fingers down between her legs. It used to be tickling he would silence her with, or a sudden embrace, or a scalp massage, but she couldn't ignore or run away from the immediate press of his body or the silky slither of his hair tickling her breasts, and she didn't really want to stop him once he gave up on teasing and finally obeyed her commands to finish it right now-- right now.
She understood the ways he could have manipulated her if he chose to - but he didn't. He held her close afterward, her hair flung outward across the other side of the bed, scolded her softly for soaking the sheets with it, and his fingers traced her spine, followed the curve from the nape of her neck to its end. And when she pressed him for the information - she remembered, as promised, and doubted he intended to make her forget - he gave it to her. In the cathedral's second vault, behind the room holding the imperial treasures, she would find the documents she sought, locked behind a steel door warded to respond only to Altina's blood, and to his own. It should open the moment she approached with the intent of entering.
Before Misaha died - the last time anyone would have been able to enter aside from Sephiran - he suspected the senators had interfered with the files. There was no way to know for sure; he didn't dare go down there by himself and risk raising questions with his ability to open the room. The last Apostle had gone down there to find proof of her heritage before her proclamation, and it was there she was killed. She never reached the vault.
"Have the area swept and secured before you go in, and don't allow anyone to know. Your guards will draw attention." His brows knitted, barely visible in the moonlight darkness, and his hands tightened on her waist until the pressure hurt. "I'll give you the names of my agents and the means to contact them. Please don't put yourself at risk." Sanaki put her arms around his shoulders, moved him so his head rested on her chest, and stroked his hair down over his back. His hold on her relaxed. "My staff has the key to almost every ward on the grounds," he said. "Shirin will give it to you."
She remained awake long after he fell asleep and listened to his deep breaths, felt them dampen her shoulder and leave it warm and cold by turns. Aside from the safe rooms, which were built separately, she'd never visited the vaults beneath the cathedral; they were locked down after her grandmother was carried out, and had not been opened since. One of Kilvas's horrid stories involved the death of the assassin down there, locked in before he could escape, and his haunting of the vaults as revenge. She'd loved it as a child; his death was just, and the possibility of the cathedral being haunted was exciting when she was seven.
Sanaki didn't believe in ghosts, but the memory made sleep difficult. She woke a bit past dawn at Sephiran's prompting and felt her muscles twinge when she sat up and tried to straighten her legs. He helped her to the bath, and she left later than she intended because of it, then slept another hour in her own bed before Sigrun entered to wake her and help with the morning's preparations. And, while her knight was a perfectly capable substitute for the tasks Sephiran had reserved for himself - caring for and arranging her hair, her jewelry, her nails, adjusting her clothing - Sanaki felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach whenever she looked at the mirror and saw green hair instead of black, every time Sigrun spoke to her.
She bit her lip and examined her reflection - pale, the pallor a bit gray, or maybe it was just the light. Setting the trial for that morning was a foolish decision, she realized now; she wasn't feeling well - the smell of breakfast turned her stomach, and she stared at her empty plate the majority of the hour after Sigrun finished pinning her hair. The knight didn't know what Sephiran had done to steady the crescent headdress, nor could Sanaki remember exactly what adjustments were made, and she knew it was going to slip all day, every time she wanted to turn her face away from Lekain, and give her away.
The trial was scheduled at noon to allow everyone to rearrange their days to attend, and Sanaki went to her office at nine thirty. Her train dragged and whispered on the flagstones in the outdoor corridors, gathering lavender wisteria petals and pale cherry, swirling them into a trail behind her while half of her knights followed, Marcia carrying the box with her headdress and a round, lidded basket with her cosmetics inside, to be applied in the office before Sanaki left.
She should have told Sephiran she intended to do this. It slipped her mind when she was in his rooms, and she couldn't send a message without being obvious about it. He would advise her not to rush, but Lekain's sentence should have been passed two days ago - his trial should have started after Valtome's fate was decided upon, would have been without the interference of the prince. And now, she could only wish her minister were there, allowed to deliver the final blow himself as reward for the years, decades he spent in opposition to Gaddos and its conservative, imperialistic tendencies. Maybe that was favoritism. Maybe Sanaki wasn't impartial. How could she be, when these men were responsible for the decline of her empire as she saw it?
Asmin's representative came to see her twenty minutes after she arrived with a leather folder under one arm and his face drawn. She envied him his complexion, the way it concealed inconvenient details like shadows under the eyes, though his hunched posture made his fatigue obvious. When he bowed, she saw his dark hair was thinning at the top of his head.
"Do you need more time?" She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and watched his lips work.
"He does not need more time," Leveque said. He looked her in the eye, but his fingers fiddled with the corner of his folder. "Every moment we delay is a chance for his agents to interfere."
Until now Sanaki hadn't considered this man worth her time; he wasn't among Hetzel's relatives, did not stand to inherit anything important. Sephiran knew him and didn't object to his presence, and that was enough. But now Hetzel's family was disgraced - though none of his relatives were qualified to take his place - and Leveque was the highest-ranking Asmin official still standing. Like Shirin, he stood to lose nothing by supporting her; he had no family, no connections, only a title he managed to keep by, again, being the last man standing.
What an uncanny talent. Was it patience? Intent?
She tapped her knee with her fingers. His eyes flickered, down, up, and Sanaki said, "If you're confident, then we'll go on with the trial. Don't make any mistakes."
His thin lips curved up slightly, and the lines around his eyes creased. "Lekain destroyed my family, your majesty. I will not be intimidated this time."
Patience.
They discussed the order in which he should present the accusations and whether they should use the reports from the mines or not. Leveque didn't like the opacity of the report; it was too vague, he said. It could have been forged. It didn't matter whose agent was supposed to have written it; he himself had signed Hetzel's papers for the better part of a year when the old senator's hands made writing difficult, and she hadn't noticed-- had she?
No, Sanaki never noticed a difference. But she didn't tell him that. She agreed to keep the information out for the present because they didn't need it. That he participated in the auction and kept laguz as indentured servants - not 'slaves' of course - and profited from the trade of laguz to Daein for hunting, that was enough. Enough for execution, and the seizure of quite a bit of gold and property to compensate for the revenue he kept in Daein, which was now inaccessible to them.
How had she missed this? How did it fall beneath her notice? Was this her fault - did she neglect her duty, not try hard enough to see?
Was the pelt lining Prince Soren's coat a result of her blindness to reality?
She was rushing Lekain's trial. Her haste would appear to be a reaction to the removal of her Prime Minister, a lingering of his traitorous influence on her, and no longer an eagerness for justice as it might have appeared before. But even if her reputation suffered in Begnion, Sanaki hoped the listing of his crimes and the evidence gathered against him would speak for itself - to his enemies, to those unaffiliated, and to her peers on Tellius, who must have been quite aware of the disparity between her decrees and the reality of her subjects' actions, and simply too polite to mention it. He was going to die; if she turned her face away from Valtome's corpse, or Numida's, she would watch Lekain's blood stain the chopping block black and entertain, just for a moment, the possibility of putting his head on a pike at the city gates before she gave the order for the bodies to be cremated and the ashes scattered. No honor for traitors. No respect. No burial.
Sigrun came in at eleven thirty to pin the headdress onto Sanaki's hair, and Marcia was sent away to retrieve Sephiran's staff from his aide. Sanaki pulled a mirror from the deep bottom drawer of her desk where it rested with a comb and a brush atop a simple change of clothes, and painted her makeup on once her hair was done. Her stomach burned, but the scent of tea made her feel sick, and Sigrun's suggestion of toast was aborted mid-sentence when she saw the blood drain from Sanaki's face. Water then, she said, brushing her finger to the lip gloss to be sure it was dry before she walked across the room to the pitcher of water and the deep-bowled glasses turned bottom-up on their tray.
The water wet her throat and eased the sour, choking feeling. Sanaki felt it go all the way down, and tried to take it in small sips until the clock hand insisted it was time to leave the quiet of her office for the stifling audience chamber.
The day's heat was only just beginning to move beyond the tall cathedral windows and the colors cast by their stained glass when she walked downstairs to the antechamber with the three knights she knew best - Sigrun, Tanith, Marcia - while the others went to secure the throne, the nobles' gallery, and the senate. She suspected every seat was filled, and every windowsill, and the doorways blocked by bodies. Perhaps somewhere in the back row of the screened area reserved for nobles, with Amelia or without, Lady Gaddos was also present to witness her husband's downfall. Sanaki hoped she would have the presence of mind to stay hidden until arrangements could be made for her welfare.
The cinnamon-apple scent in her locket filled the antechamber while she waited for the hum of conversation beyond the door to die down and her knights to confirm the security of the chamber. She rubbed her fingers over the flat gold links of its chain, nudged the lace and pearl trim of her neckline, and heard the scuff of steps just outside the door by her throne, one set armored, the other inaudible, though she knew it must be there. Asmin's stand-in wasn't allowed within the privacy of this chamber. It was secured with spells, and the doors armored; she'd hidden here once from an attempt on her life and watched Tanith lock each door and slide heavy iron bars through the slots on either side. Don't worry, your majesty, Sigrun had said then. The doors are reinforced with steel. The bars are just here to make you feel more secure.
Was that true? She couldn't imagine what that was meant to protect her against, aside from an army - and in that case, it would be a trap. A coffin.
She went out to meet her audience when the taps on the door indicated the security sweep was finished, and Sanaki missed the sweet-smelling antechamber almost immediately. A thousand different perfumes clashed with the scent of the polish used to shine the floor and dust the chairs. The senate was present, to a man; above and opposite to them, high on the left wall, stretched the intricate wooden screen that hid the rest of the spectators. Coughs and whispers slithered through the cracks, distorted by the acoustics. Sunlight shined through the high windows, and the chamber was full of sparkling dust swirled by their movement, their breaths. Leveque, after bowing and murmuring a greeting, took Sephiran's place at her left hand and tucked his folder under an arm. If she kept her face turned toward the senate and watched him straighten his coat only with her peripheral vision, Sanaki could almost fool herself the white uniform belonged to her minister, not an impostor.
Sigrun tapped the butt of her spear to the tile, and her bid for silence split the air, made Sanaki's fingers clench around the arms of her throne. She would have let them talk a little longer, though the guard at the double doors motioned the arrival of their prisoner. Would he look as pathetically misplaced as Culbert, and just as naked without his symbols of rank and office?
His entrance was a disappointment. The whispers died down, the sound of chairs scraping faded, and the moan of the double doors turning slowly on their hinges held Sanaki's attention as well; they parted enough to allow the former senator and his guards to enter single file, then closed with a hollow pound and left behind the slap of Lekain's sandals, plain straw like Culbert's, and the heavy tread of his guards. She concentrated on loosening her fingers when she watched him kneel. The guards had to help him; his hands were bound at his back, and his legs lacked the flexibility to bear his weight down gracefully. That should have been humiliating enough. Someone - maybe even his wife, if she dared - had made sure he had clean, well-tailored robes which needed only the right decorations to be his formal attire, and clearly he'd washed and combed his hair back. She smelled the astringent oil he used to keep it smooth and styled.
Again, Sanaki made her fingers relax, trying to rest them flat on the curved end of the arm instead of gripping the edge. Her silence was stretching too long. He lifted his head while she stared at him, gaze climbing from the polished white of her sandals, over the white and crimson folds of her dress, and when he met her eyes it was difficult not to frown, or sneer. He looked contrite with his head lowered, but she knew he would open his overly large mouth and make this process as difficult as possible the moment Sephiran's substitute stepped up to apply his questioning.
"Duke Lekain of Gaddos," she said, raising her voice until it echoed. The use of his old title was more of an honor than he deserved. "You are here so others may bear witness to your crimes. This is not a process by which you may hope to be absolved. Our investigation has proven your guilt." She saw his mustache twitch up, wondered if it was a sneer. The feeling was mutual. "Your conduct will determine whether you leave this world with dignity or in shame. I pray for the former."
His eyes glittered. Sanaki had never been able to divine his thoughts aside from the obvious, gleaned from a rare genuine smile, or an unintended slip of tone or tongue. She thought it obvious he intended to intimidate her with his staring, but his attention had never made her skin crawl as some of the others did. He probably didn't think any farther than killing her, thank the goddess.
Sanaki lifted an eyebrow, and he lowered his head. She motioned for Leveque to step forward. "Begin."
*
Sanaki returned to her office at two thirty. The halls had to be cleared for her passage, and the air was clogged with the same clashing cloud of perfumes and dust and sweaty robes. She took a deep breath as soon as they left the cathedral, grateful for the open air and the scent of hot grass and cherry blossoms. Lekain's silence during the proceedings was convenient, but puzzling; their evidence, while extensive enough to condemn him, was weak in areas, especially regarding his dealings with the Daein royals. Exchanges of gold and other items, some illegal indicated such a relationship existed, but written records were difficult to find and vague when they were located and analyzed.
He might be able to embarrass her if Sephiran's agents missed an important fact or document. Without her minister by her side, a well-aimed criticism could be twisted into another rumor - of her apparent incompetence without him, perhaps, proof Sanaki was, in fact, simply a puppet. Nobody knew, of course, he was more likely to do as she said, and resorted to bribing or begging when he wanted her to cooperate in a matter she disliked - the headdress, for instance. Poor Sephiran. She'd been snappish when he made her wear that thing to Culbert's sentencing; it was such a stupid thing to be angry about, so unimportant, and she'd yelled at him.
He'd already forgiven her. He always did. But she wanted to apologize again, and she couldn't simply turn to him and say it anymore; she had to wait, had to make him wait, for nothing - her image, which was already tarnished if one believed Tanith.
Her office was already cleared for her arrival, and the two knights she'd assigned to the heron prince were waiting outside. One opened the door for her, and Sigrun preceded her, while Marcia followed behind and stationed herself by the windows. The sun was still above them, the light diffuse through her white curtains, and Rafiel rose from the ottoman she'd placed at the center of the rug for his last visit, extended a hand, and bowed over their clasped fingers. Wisps of golden hair drifted over his shoulders. His hand was moist at the creases, though he didn't appear as hot as everyone else. Sanaki felt her petticoat sticking to the back of her legs, and her sleeves to her elbows, and if the prince were not present she would have shed both her mantle and the lace coat, and perhaps even changed into the robe she kept in her drawer right there behind the desk.
"I was told you called Duke Gaddos to account, today," he said, releasing her hand. He smiled at Sigrun, but the expression was brief. "I would like to be present for his sentence, but I didn't think it would be today..."
Sanaki watched his hands curl together and tried to smile. She felt a little dizzy, but the feeling went away when she focused her eyes again. "Tomorrow or the next day - it depends on how cooperative he is."
"I was told the delay would be longer. Has something happened?"
She shook her head, felt the pins holding her headdress prick her scalp, and reached up to pull them out one by one, working the double prongs out of her hair without ruining the work Sigrun did to style it. The crescent slanted, and she held it with her other hand. "It should be over already." She circled around the prince and dropped the pins onto the desk, listened to them clatter, and placed the headdress more carefully so it wouldn't roll over and scatter them. "I will not allow Soren to obstruct justice for his own sake, or his father's. Waiting won't change the outcome."
"I met Prince Daein in the halls earlier today." Sanaki turned around. Rafiel was looking at the window, twisting a lock of hair around one finger until it looked like he'd sheathed it in gold. "That mark on his forehead... I didn't expect it to resonate the way it did."
"You can feel it?" She leaned back against the desk. "I'm told laguz don't like Branded, but I thought it was just the principle."
Rafiel faced her again, blinking, as if the windows left an afterimage across his vision. "They're called 'Parentless' because they don't belong to either race. Their scent is different. There is a vibration in the air around them, or something equally hard to describe, and many say they feel odd when they meet one." He seated himself again, stretching his wings back slightly to fit around the bulk of the ottoman. "His blood is familiar, but it was his worry that surprised me-- before he closed himself up, that is, upon seeing me."
Sanaki lifted an eyebrow. Soren was worried, was he. "I don't suppose you know why."
"Something to do with his brand." The heron prince shrugged, smiled - how did he find it in his heart to smile? "That's all I know."
It was more than she knew. Her people watched the prince every hour of the day; there were spies behind the walls, men and women guarding the doors, wards on the windows that even a dragon couldn't break, and still a matter as simple as his feelings was beyond her grasp. If only she had her grandmother's abilities - she would catch Soren off guard then, and divine his secrets. "You get these flashes of feeling from everyone, don't you."
Rafiel tilted his head, smile fading. "When there are enough people nearby, it becomes a single sound - like waves on a beach, if you have been to such a place?" She nodded, and he continued: "It becomes harder to distinguish between individuals."
Light glinted on the crown of his head. Sanaki rubbed her lip between her teeth. "And if there aren't many people nearby--?"
He paused, watched her for two or three seconds. "I'm not sure what you're thinking, empress, but anyone you wish to probe is probably adept enough to block my attempts."
"No." She pulled her eyes away from the shine. It was like looking at a box of glittering jewels - hard to look away, because if she did it would disappear, slip through her grasp. "I don't want you to do that." Sanaki turned her back, went around her desk, and sank into her chair. Her head thumped against the curved wooden back, cushioned by the rolls of her hair. "Not that it wouldn't be nice to pick my senators' brains. I have something quieter in mind."
Rafiel tucked a strand of hair behind his pointed ear. "Meaning?"
She moved her eyes away, looked at the ceiling and its colorless plaster pattern, the misty light leaving it gray and the heat giving the illusion of real mist - like rainforests, she'd heard; like tropics, though such climates existed only in books now. Her hair clung to the back of her neck. "Before she died, my grandmother intended to do one more thing in response to the treatment of laguz and other minorities in Begnion. I would like to continue her work, but my enemies may anticipate that and attempt to stop me. I was hoping you might be able to help me avoid them."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes flicking back and forth, perhaps even trying to probe her intentions. "It's true I can sense ill intent, as I told you." His lips closed, and she couldn't see his hands over the edge of her desk, but she thought Rafiel might have twisted them. "Your grandmother's talents wouldn't have been trained, but..."
Sanaki pulled at her heavy silk skirt, peeled it from her legs, and folded it over her knees differently to let her skin breathe. "This will be moderately dangerous. If you aren't comfortable risking yourself, I can't blame you, and I can go alone with Sephiran's agents."
"He knows about this?" Rafiel lifted his head a little.
"Yes." Though if Sephiran knew what she intended to do with the records when she'd finished her search, he would have broken his enforced arrest and pounded her door down - or had the guard do it for him. Sanaki leaned her head forward, breaking with the heron's gaze, and gathered her hair from her neck with one hand. "He doesn't like it. Maybe he'll feel more comfortable if you're with me."
He licked his lips. "And your guard?"
"Sigrun will come along. The others will be stationed along the corridors in case they're needed."
"You're hiding something from me."
Sanaki lowered her chin. His pale brows were drawn together, a line shaded between them, and his mouth was turned down slightly. "Of course I'm hiding something, Prince Rafiel." She smiled and pulled her braid over her shoulder. Years facing the senate had done her some good after all. "I'll tell you later - if you agree. The closer I keep this the better."
He heaved a sigh. "Not now?"
"I have meetings," she said. "Consider it carefully. I don't want to put you in danger your skills cannot avert."
"But you'll go alone if I don't accompany you--"
"I'll have Sigrun."
"But--" Rafiel lowered his head, and his arms moved; when she straightened to see over the edge of her desk, his hands were clasped tightly. "He would go with you if he could, and that means I must take his place."
"Why?" Sanaki fingered the arms of her chair. The wood was carved into a curl at the end, a spiral which had always reminded her of a cat's paw when she was small. Her hands used to fit on the top, where the wood widened like bones spreading, like the back of Sephiran's hand when she held his wrist. He would sit here during meetings, and she would climb up and listen to people talk from his lap; he was warm, and his arms steadied her, and he whispered clues as to the complicated nonsense the officials spouted--
He would go with her if he could. He went everywhere with her. Every function, every party. Every meeting. her chest knotted whenever he went on his sabbaticals, and didn't loosen and let her sleep properly until he returned.
"Don't underestimate your importance outside of Begnion, your majesty," Rafiel said, and her eyes focused on him again, on the hand that curled slightly against the clasp of his coat and his bright green eyes, which reminded her more sharply of who she wasn't looking at - who she wanted to see. Was he listening to these thoughts? "With the exception of Apostle Misaha, you are the only hope we have seen in this country for a very long time. At the risk of embodying the myth Daein has created, I--" He paused, his voice caught in his throat, and swallowed. "I want to help Lehran also - you're very important to him, and he is family."
She shifted her legs, recrossed them, the undersides of her knees slick with sweat. Her hairline felt moist, and she motioned for Marcia to open the windows. There was no breeze, but a few moments brought in the scent of green baking in the sun, leaves and grass and flowers, and at least it was different. Fresh. She wanted to go back up to her rooms and immerse herself in the bath.
Prince Rafiel wanted to help everyone - Kilvas, Lehran, and now herself, and even Hetzel. She didn't know when to draw the line. If he wanted to trust Kilvas, knowing what he did, she couldn't stop him from doing so, but to involve himself in her protection - Sephiran lived and worked in Sienne; he knew what he was doing, and Rafiel didn't have his thick skin or experience in the empire's politics--
"I know Begnion's history better than any beorc," he said, and Sanaki started, knocked her knee to the top of her desk. His lips curved slightly, then his smile faded away again. "I know what you're looking for, and I'll help if you promise to tell him what you're really doing."
She flattened her mouth to a line. "He won't change my mind."
"Let him try," Rafiel said. "Listen to what he says. You'll regret it if you don't."
Sanaki rubbed her knee, pressing her fingertips into the part that throbbed. "Is this a dream talking, or the wisdom of your years?"
He breathed a laugh, stood up, and inclined his head. "I can almost never tell until afterward."
Rafiel left then, his wings folded, a snowy shield to deflect her gaze. Tanith came in afterward to announce Leveque and the others standing in for the senior senators, and Sanaki straightened her hair and her skirt, pulled the mirror out of her bottom drawer to make sure she was presentable, and told her knight to make them wait for her call. There was a washbasin in the back room, which she used to wash the mask of makeup from her face with oil and a cotton cloth, and rose-scented soap. It was molded like a seashell, one of many souvenirs that came into her hands at the end of Sephiran's travels.
If times were better, he said to her some time ago, perhaps five years, we would visit the north together. You should see other cities and meet your peers in their natural environment. It will give you new perspective on politics here. Wouldn't it, though. Leaving Begnion would also be a much-needed vacation, but who ever heard of an empress taking a break? Taking the time to journey to Serenes or Goldoa would be unforgivable.
Sanaki left the back chamber and called the others in. Marcia stayed by the window, pretended to be absorbed in watching the sway of the maples and cherry trees in a hot breeze. Pellatiere kept looking at her over his shoulder, trying to catch Sanaki's gaze. She smiled at him and let the others make their greetings. Shirin wore a blue dress, loose like a robe, her pale hair swept up in a braided bun, and Sephiran's staff glinted in her hands, to be returned as ordered. If the others read into the gesture, so be it; if they thought Sanaki meant to turn her back on him, perhaps they would turn their focus to more pressing matters like the war looming on their doorstep, or appointing replacements for the provinces. It couldn't hurt. They didn't need to know she intended to give it back to him someday if he wanted it - his rank, his status, everything he said he didn't care about. How could he not care? Wasn't she a part of that world - chained to it, as it were, whether she liked it or not? If she couldn't leave, Sephiran would not escape the bonds of his oaths so easily either. Not as long as she had a say in the matter.
.................................................................................
So, the pregnancy issue. This is something I've been torn on for a while, and I'm running out of time to think about it.
I'm not a fan of the "get married, have kids, and live happily ever after" trend I see in a lot of fantasy. It's often used as shorthand for "look, they're so happy!" which I can't really relate to anyway. That makes me reluctant to do this. On the other hand, it's reasonable in context with the story, it's a problem she has to solve sooner or later since it's the issue propelling so many plot points, and well.
What tempts me, also, is speculation on laguz-branded relationships. Though Sanaki isn't actually Branded, she has the laguz blood, and I'm not the only one to have speculated that would negate certain results of cross-species mating, like loss of laguz abilities or difficulty of conception. Obviously that doesn't mean much for Lehran, butthat means Rafiel can be a ska-- no, bad, stop that. This isn't necessarily coming up TOMORROW, but my plans from now on may be altered if I make a decision.
Comments, responses, serious objections to cliche? Knowing other points of view might help clarify my own, or bring up possibilities I haven't thought of.
I'm not sure I like all of this chapter, but I guess you're used to me saying that. I think some of the conversations are choppy, but eh. Later. I need to get going on the next chapter and see if I can get it done before the real deadline, since this one is early.
Author: Amber Michelle
Day/Theme: March 28 - real faith, my dear, is just a dream
Series: Fire Emblem 10
Character/Pairing: Sanaki, Soren, Sephiran, Rafiel, others
Rating: T
Words: 9029
Warnings: n/a
Notes: AU, part fifteen of the Summer Chronicle. This is a first and ongoing draft; a list of known issues is being compiled here.
This is apparently a transition chapter.
.............................................
Another day passed before Sanaki set aside the endless flow of letters and petitions and decided to see Prince Daein. She sent a knight to fetch him, accompanied by ten of the household guard, and had Marcia supervise the preparation of a drawing room on the first floor of the palace for the meeting. Sanaki wouldn't allow him the honor of seeing the inside of her office again, and she had no desire to visit his rooms or place herself in an environment he might consider his territory. It made a difference; in the past she and the other senior senators had attended functions or events at city manors - a feast at Tanas manor, a dance at Culbert's, a presentation of academic papers, several of which were written by Amelia, hosted at Lekain's home. He held his head higher, spoke more forcefully, though never rudely. He wasn't stupid.
Sanaki left her rooms early in formal attire, after a breakfast of toasted bread and fruit, and found tea waiting for her on a lacquered tray when she entered the meeting room. It smelled like raspberries. The table was by the window and accompanied by one chair, framed by cream curtains tied open with gold ribbons. The floor was marble, a polished white band around a red and brown carpet with gold tassles, worn flat by decades of feet. Her heels encountered the hard floor, no cushioning, when she walked across the room, around the chairs and couches.
Her agents said Nasir had already left with her message, and she hoped the prince would see another more detailed list of demands into his father's hands, and take himself out of Sienne with it. The idea met with opposition from her advisers, but Sanaki saw no benefit to keeping the prince in the capitol where he could interfere with the trial and warn his father of further developments. He was a useful hostage, they said, and yet Ashnard's deeds said otherwise. He didn't care for his son's safety, perhaps, or had faith in his ability to plan a way out of Begnion's deepest prison cell or oubliette; or, perhaps, he knew she would let Soren live. Maybe he counted on Sephiran's merciful nature to prevent tragedy - he certainly would counsel her to keep the prince alive, were she the type to retaliate by ordering his execution. Perhaps the prince and his father shared the opinion of her senators, thought her a puppet to her prime minister's will.
She sat down and poured a cup of tea for herself, drank it black, plain, the scalloped porcelain edge of the cup hitting her teeth. It was an antique; she recognized it by a description in the catalog of odds and ends belonging to the Empress - white, thin, the lip and handle decorated with gold painted scrolls and a picturesque garden painted on the side. The sun shined brightly outside, casting beams through the windows to illuminate a fine mist of dust that swirled when she heaved a sigh.
Commotion outside signaled the prince's arrival just when Sanaki had put her cup down and drawn a breath to call for Marcia, to what was taking so long. Two sharp raps preceded the opening of the door. The prince came in alone. She wondered if he'd tried to bring his retainer - if that was what took so long.
Too bad. One would think they were joined at the hip, the way Gawain's son hovered over the prince. "Soon I will draft a letter to your father with the results of our investigation," she said, crossing her legs. "You will deliver it. Preparations have been made to escort you to the encampment under General Zelgius's command, and from there you may negotiate your return to Daein's forces. I trust you can manage to get the message to him without incident."
"Of course. That will not be a problem." Soren slanted his gaze to the window. His hair was braided, pulled over his shoulder, and his fingers lingered on the rope for a moment, almost a nervous gesture - but it must be calculated. Everything he did was a fabrication, down to his smiles and his intonation. "I take it this is the end of our bid for engagement?"
Sanaki cramped her fingers to stillness, resisted the urge to tap the arm of her chair. "Was there ever any doubt about this outcome?"
He laughed softly, his eyes lidding slightly, and said, "You took your time in netting Lord Sephiran, your majesty. I wasn't sure."
She clenched her teeth so hard her jaw hurt. There was no hiding the flush in her cheeks, but she closed her eyes and reminded herself nothing would be gained by throwing her teacup at him, no matter how satisfying the impact might be. "That isn't your concern," she said, opening her eyes to watch him turn his face, clasp his hands behind his back. "You will apo--"
"Never," Soren's lip curled slightly. "This concerns me and everyone like me, even you-- but you're only an echo. You'd never understand what it's like to live with something that brands you an abomination in a way everyone can see. Although--" he shrugged, and his sneer became a smile. "Maybe you will now that your much-coveted successor will be named a heresy against your beloved goddess."
Sanaki dug her nails into the cushioned arm of her chair to conceal the tremor in her fingers and keep herself still. Never before had she wanted to slap a smile from someone's face so badly - not even Valtome's shrill giggles made her muscles coil or her heart pound against her chest, in her ears. "Your resentment is misplaced," she said. It came out too soft, but she was afraid her voice would tremble if she raised it. "I am not responsible for your status or your treatment as Branded. If anyone in my service has slighted you as a result of your background, name them and I will see they are punished accordingly."
The smile faded, but she couldn't shrug away the feeling he was still laughing at her. "I don't blame you, Empress. As a matter of fact, you show a great deal of potential, and it has been my pleasure to watch you challenge the senate. It's your unfortunate choice of allies I cannot forgive."
Her eyes narrowed. Forgive? The prince watched her closely. The sunlight diffused and faded, perhaps veiled by clouds, and left his eyes a dull shine in the dimness. "He is not responsible either!" Sanaki's arms and legs felt stiff, and she wanted to shift. "You gain nothing by attacking him."
He laughed, the tone and the slant of his eyes reminding her of the moment in the garden when he laughed with Ike, unaware of her presence. "Poor, naive little empress. You've let your ideals blot out reality and nearly missed your chance to cleanse your government of its disease." He had a perfect row of white teeth, and when he lifted a hand to rub his forehead, the mark, he had perfectly filed nails, the white crescents a sliver ending each finger. "You're lucky to have allies with enough foresight to set you straight."
She knew he was trying to make her angry - to prove he could, or for some other purpose - but Sanaki slapped her hands to the arms of her chair, jumped up, because he was looking down at her and she wouldn't allow that. "You have no right to interfere in my government! I don't care what you think is best for us - your concern is Daein--"
"That's right," Soren said, abandoning his laughter abruptly to speak over her, almost loud enough to shout. "Daein is mine. Daein is the country I want to set straight." He flipped his braid back and joined her at the edge of the rug, his toes pressing the tassels flat. "Begnion is in the way. Your senators have been interfering with my family--"
"They were taken care of without your help," Sanaki said.
Soren arched an eyebrow. "Your Prime Minister has tainted Daein. From the moment he met my father-- by encouraging him to break the pact, then standing aside and letting him convince my mother to give up her birthright - you'd think Lehran would have better sense, wouldn't you, but he sent her dancing right into that trap!"
Sanaki curled her hands into fists. "That was her decision." There was nothing to divine in his expression but a narrowing of his eyes, though she stared and searched; he was good at controlling his expressions, better than she was. She'd thought she knew how to read faces, but maybe that was just familiarity with the people she saw every day. "If this is some misguided attempt to have revenge on Sephiran, keep it out of politics. You're involving people who have nothing to do with your grudge. Even if the senior council is guilty as you say, the commons--"
"Empress." His almost-smile was back, as if she'd said something funny. "Do you have any idea what relations between Daein and your northern provinces are like?" She frowned, he shook his head. "Of course not. You've never left the capitol, have you? Except to go to Persis, which hardly counts."
She wanted to cross her arms and kept her hands at her sides. Defensive she remembered Sephiran labeling the gesture when she was young. Do you have something to hide? She wanted to look away, but stared into his red eyes and breathed in the strange, powdery tea scent that tickled her nose whenever he moved and his clothing shifted. "Even if he wanted a say in northern matters, he would not be given the time of day. I fail to see--"
"You do. But I don't blame you for that either, your majesty. You're terribly sheltered."
She was so close; her palm ached, her fingers twitched. It would be so easy to strike him before he had a chance to evade. She remembered taking his hand, helping him up one afternoon when a misfired attempt at silent casting knocked him off his feet. His hand, like Sephiran's, was a fragile frame of bird-like bones. Were the two races related? she'd wondered then, and forgot to ask. She was stronger. When he wore sandals instead of boots, as he did today, she was even a little taller - a finger, perhaps a little less.
"How gracious," she said, and pressed her hand to her thigh, fingers flat.
"You aren't an ally I would choose either," he said. "But my options are limited. And if I have to depend on you, I can't risk letting you make a mistake. If that means I have to force your hand to make the right decisions, so be it." Soren turned his back to her and put distance between them, glancing over his shoulder. "You can still have your precious Sephiran, you know, now that he has been declawed and put in his place - as long as you're willing to face their disdain." He waved his hand at the door. His hair brushed his face and hid his brows, his shoulder obscured his mouth, but she could imagine a mocking smile. "And you can do what you want with my father. I'm finished with him."
Sanaki almost laughed. She stared at him a second too long, watched him lean against the back of an armchair. "You must be joking."
"You can't have a revolution without clearing away all of the old game pieces. Haven't you learned anything from studying history?" Soren finally looked away, crossing his arms, inflicting his red gaze on the windows and the unfortunate birds chirping in the tree outside. "I've no sentimental attachment to the advisers I inherited. That would be your misfortune."
Surely Sephiran wouldn't scold her for hating the prince now - or for throwing him out of the palace bodily, and his belongings after him. That was merciful. Letting him live was already quite tolerant on her part, given Begnion's traditions. By staying he risked assassination, abduction, humiliation-- if her security let up enough. If her senators and their allies among the peerage were willing to believe the worst of Sephiran the moment the word 'laguz' was applied to him, they were equally eager to rain abuse on Daein and its half-blooded representative. The substitutes for Culbert and Seliora had already mentioned throwing him in prison where he belongs, filthy half-breed, and Shirin was the only person to take issue with his phrasing. Sanaki wasn't sure if the protest was motivated by an objection to racial slurs or simply habit.
The senior senators were aware of the royal family's background. Their underlings clearly were not, or none of them would make such comments in her presence. She wondered what would happen if the truth were to come out - if she could prove, somehow, without a brand, that she and her ancestors were all half-breeds.
"If Ashnard has not stopped his advance by the time you reach the Central Army camp," she said, "be sure you convince him to do so. Justice certainly will not be served by continuing a needless war."
Soren looked at her, eyes glinting like rubies. "I can't make any promises."
"I see." Sanaki could make promises - but those were best reserved for the letter. "You may leave."
The prince turned around and walked to the door. His dark hair was braided, tied with a chain of silver links, and swayed as he walked, hitting the backs of his thighs. "I would suggest another parent for your child, empress. Nothing but misfortune is going to come of this."
Sanaki watched him place his hand on the brass knob and turn. "This isn't Daein," she said.
"True." Soren spared her only a glance, and his parting words were faint, spoken as he left: "It's worse."
*
The report from Gaddos returned positive; Lekain did, indeed, have laguz working a mine just north of the provincial border under suspicious circumstances, though the missive Sanaki read didn't provide a detailed account of the conditions of the area, the establishment-- whatever it was. A mining camp, she supposed. The subtle differences between permanent camps and towns and barracks, slave or otherwise, were not something she felt like bothering with. The workers were unregistered, without citizenship papers or tokens. There was no evidence they were paid, no sign of an economy. The prisoners - so their keepers called them - traded only with each other; tin, tobacco, alcohol, even bread. With it came a missive from her new prosecutor; the paperwork was delivered, he'd done what research he needed, and they could go to trial any time. She set the date for the next afternoon - let the senate scramble to catch up with them.
She took the report to Sephiran when the work day was over and she'd eaten an early dinner, who wasn't surprised in the slightest, though he frowned when he skimmed the report, and commented on the messy hand and the incomplete courtesies - completely inappropriate, he said, for a letter destined to reach her hands. This agent had served him a long time. He should know better.
Sanaki piled his pillows up against the headboard of his bed and reclined with the rest of her evening reports, one leg bent, the other propped on her knee. He wasn't surprised by the letters she'd received after Daein's accusation either. He remained at the table by his window with the tome she brought along and his writing box open, writing in the margins to clarify the material she'd had a problem with, his face smooth and his posture relaxed. One wouldn't know he was confined to his rooms simply by watching him sit and work. She wished he would pace, or forget himself a moment and snap at her. She wished his handwriting would blot - something. She'd had to draft most of her letters twice that day to be sure there were no mistakes, second-guessing every sentence and squinting at the spelling of every word.
"What if they manage to prosecute you like we did the others?" she asked, stacking the reports against her knees and shoving them onto the night table.
He shrugged, dotted a letter. "So what if they do?"
"Sephiran."
"I've worked hard to maintain influence here I don't want anymore." He lifted his gaze a moment, slanted it her way. "I kept it only to help you. If clinging to my position will harm your cause, I have no need of it."
Sanaki pressed her lips together. He turned his attention back to the annotation.
"You are the most irritating man I know," she said, turning her head the other way. He chuckled, and she heard his pen tap the side of the ink pot, scratch the paper. She frowned at her reflection in the standing mirror against the opposite wall. Her hair was wet and spread over his pillows and the sheets, curling at the very ends, her robe still wet and plastered to her back. She turned onto her stomach, her back to the mirror.
How long was this going to take? She didn't mind the time spent with Sephiran, but she would have a perfectly reasonable excuse to bring him out of seclusion if she announced a pregnancy. The court's focus would shift to a new topic - goddess forbid, a half-breed child! - and the pressure to investigate him would be superseded by arguments over legitimacy. Sanaki didn't care for that topic either, but at least a few years would pass before the subject, her daughter, would be affected by the conflict. Perhaps by then it would be solved. She didn't need a brand; there were records somewhere on the births and deaths of former Apostles - not in the Archive, according to Tanith's afternoon report, but somewhere. How else would the senior senators know?
Maybe they saw the brand. Maybe her grandmother told them first - though why she would do such a thing when they were her opponents was beyond Sanaki. Or, maybe the information was passed from father to son among the important families, just as it was passed from mother to daughter in her own.
There was only one way to find out.
"Sephiran," she said, and his pen moved a few more seconds before he stopped and she heard it click when he put it down. "Where are the records on House Kirsch?"
Beside her the lamp's flame sparked against the glass. His chair creaked. "Why?"
Why must she always be questioned? What happened to her subjects jumping at her every command? "I want to see the notes on health and pregnancy, especially for the members without brands."
Sephiran lifted an eyebrow, a line creasing his forehead. "It hasn't even been a month--"
She waved that away and let her arm fall to hang off the mattress. "Your present situation isn't what I'd call ideal. Since I do happen to have a preference in the parentage of my successors--"
"A little patience wouldn't hurt." He pushed his chair back, and she heard him walk over. His weight tilted the mattress when he sat on the edge. "Your mixed blood might help, but it's no guarantee. When was your last cycle?"
Sanaki sighed into the pillow. "I don't remember."
"You don't remember--?"
"I have a war to think about!" She kicked the mattress, glaring at him over her shoulder, and then turned onto her side. "Not to mention your delinquency and the Daein prince. Ashera couldn't conjure any more work to drop into my lap if she woke up tomorrow!"
His eyes drifted down. He reached to fling a cord of hair over her shoulder, then his fingers pulled her sash loose. "You'll have to be more careful."
She slapped his hands when he tried to peel the damp fold of her robe open. "I won't be distracted. Where are the records?"
Sephiran smiled and showed a flash of teeth, flipped his hair over his shoulder, and leaned to push her off of the pillows, onto the sheets. "I'll tell you later," he said, pressing a leg between her knees, sliding his fingers into the part of her robe. "We have business to attend to."
Sanaki started to laugh, bit her lip. "You-- I'm not going to forget about this. Tell me--" and the now was muffled and silenced when he kissed her, worked her bottom lip between the scrape of his teeth, and slid his fingers down between her legs. It used to be tickling he would silence her with, or a sudden embrace, or a scalp massage, but she couldn't ignore or run away from the immediate press of his body or the silky slither of his hair tickling her breasts, and she didn't really want to stop him once he gave up on teasing and finally obeyed her commands to finish it right now-- right now.
She understood the ways he could have manipulated her if he chose to - but he didn't. He held her close afterward, her hair flung outward across the other side of the bed, scolded her softly for soaking the sheets with it, and his fingers traced her spine, followed the curve from the nape of her neck to its end. And when she pressed him for the information - she remembered, as promised, and doubted he intended to make her forget - he gave it to her. In the cathedral's second vault, behind the room holding the imperial treasures, she would find the documents she sought, locked behind a steel door warded to respond only to Altina's blood, and to his own. It should open the moment she approached with the intent of entering.
Before Misaha died - the last time anyone would have been able to enter aside from Sephiran - he suspected the senators had interfered with the files. There was no way to know for sure; he didn't dare go down there by himself and risk raising questions with his ability to open the room. The last Apostle had gone down there to find proof of her heritage before her proclamation, and it was there she was killed. She never reached the vault.
"Have the area swept and secured before you go in, and don't allow anyone to know. Your guards will draw attention." His brows knitted, barely visible in the moonlight darkness, and his hands tightened on her waist until the pressure hurt. "I'll give you the names of my agents and the means to contact them. Please don't put yourself at risk." Sanaki put her arms around his shoulders, moved him so his head rested on her chest, and stroked his hair down over his back. His hold on her relaxed. "My staff has the key to almost every ward on the grounds," he said. "Shirin will give it to you."
She remained awake long after he fell asleep and listened to his deep breaths, felt them dampen her shoulder and leave it warm and cold by turns. Aside from the safe rooms, which were built separately, she'd never visited the vaults beneath the cathedral; they were locked down after her grandmother was carried out, and had not been opened since. One of Kilvas's horrid stories involved the death of the assassin down there, locked in before he could escape, and his haunting of the vaults as revenge. She'd loved it as a child; his death was just, and the possibility of the cathedral being haunted was exciting when she was seven.
Sanaki didn't believe in ghosts, but the memory made sleep difficult. She woke a bit past dawn at Sephiran's prompting and felt her muscles twinge when she sat up and tried to straighten her legs. He helped her to the bath, and she left later than she intended because of it, then slept another hour in her own bed before Sigrun entered to wake her and help with the morning's preparations. And, while her knight was a perfectly capable substitute for the tasks Sephiran had reserved for himself - caring for and arranging her hair, her jewelry, her nails, adjusting her clothing - Sanaki felt a twinge in the pit of her stomach whenever she looked at the mirror and saw green hair instead of black, every time Sigrun spoke to her.
She bit her lip and examined her reflection - pale, the pallor a bit gray, or maybe it was just the light. Setting the trial for that morning was a foolish decision, she realized now; she wasn't feeling well - the smell of breakfast turned her stomach, and she stared at her empty plate the majority of the hour after Sigrun finished pinning her hair. The knight didn't know what Sephiran had done to steady the crescent headdress, nor could Sanaki remember exactly what adjustments were made, and she knew it was going to slip all day, every time she wanted to turn her face away from Lekain, and give her away.
The trial was scheduled at noon to allow everyone to rearrange their days to attend, and Sanaki went to her office at nine thirty. Her train dragged and whispered on the flagstones in the outdoor corridors, gathering lavender wisteria petals and pale cherry, swirling them into a trail behind her while half of her knights followed, Marcia carrying the box with her headdress and a round, lidded basket with her cosmetics inside, to be applied in the office before Sanaki left.
She should have told Sephiran she intended to do this. It slipped her mind when she was in his rooms, and she couldn't send a message without being obvious about it. He would advise her not to rush, but Lekain's sentence should have been passed two days ago - his trial should have started after Valtome's fate was decided upon, would have been without the interference of the prince. And now, she could only wish her minister were there, allowed to deliver the final blow himself as reward for the years, decades he spent in opposition to Gaddos and its conservative, imperialistic tendencies. Maybe that was favoritism. Maybe Sanaki wasn't impartial. How could she be, when these men were responsible for the decline of her empire as she saw it?
Asmin's representative came to see her twenty minutes after she arrived with a leather folder under one arm and his face drawn. She envied him his complexion, the way it concealed inconvenient details like shadows under the eyes, though his hunched posture made his fatigue obvious. When he bowed, she saw his dark hair was thinning at the top of his head.
"Do you need more time?" She leaned back in her chair, folded her hands in her lap, and watched his lips work.
"He does not need more time," Leveque said. He looked her in the eye, but his fingers fiddled with the corner of his folder. "Every moment we delay is a chance for his agents to interfere."
Until now Sanaki hadn't considered this man worth her time; he wasn't among Hetzel's relatives, did not stand to inherit anything important. Sephiran knew him and didn't object to his presence, and that was enough. But now Hetzel's family was disgraced - though none of his relatives were qualified to take his place - and Leveque was the highest-ranking Asmin official still standing. Like Shirin, he stood to lose nothing by supporting her; he had no family, no connections, only a title he managed to keep by, again, being the last man standing.
What an uncanny talent. Was it patience? Intent?
She tapped her knee with her fingers. His eyes flickered, down, up, and Sanaki said, "If you're confident, then we'll go on with the trial. Don't make any mistakes."
His thin lips curved up slightly, and the lines around his eyes creased. "Lekain destroyed my family, your majesty. I will not be intimidated this time."
Patience.
They discussed the order in which he should present the accusations and whether they should use the reports from the mines or not. Leveque didn't like the opacity of the report; it was too vague, he said. It could have been forged. It didn't matter whose agent was supposed to have written it; he himself had signed Hetzel's papers for the better part of a year when the old senator's hands made writing difficult, and she hadn't noticed-- had she?
No, Sanaki never noticed a difference. But she didn't tell him that. She agreed to keep the information out for the present because they didn't need it. That he participated in the auction and kept laguz as indentured servants - not 'slaves' of course - and profited from the trade of laguz to Daein for hunting, that was enough. Enough for execution, and the seizure of quite a bit of gold and property to compensate for the revenue he kept in Daein, which was now inaccessible to them.
How had she missed this? How did it fall beneath her notice? Was this her fault - did she neglect her duty, not try hard enough to see?
Was the pelt lining Prince Soren's coat a result of her blindness to reality?
She was rushing Lekain's trial. Her haste would appear to be a reaction to the removal of her Prime Minister, a lingering of his traitorous influence on her, and no longer an eagerness for justice as it might have appeared before. But even if her reputation suffered in Begnion, Sanaki hoped the listing of his crimes and the evidence gathered against him would speak for itself - to his enemies, to those unaffiliated, and to her peers on Tellius, who must have been quite aware of the disparity between her decrees and the reality of her subjects' actions, and simply too polite to mention it. He was going to die; if she turned her face away from Valtome's corpse, or Numida's, she would watch Lekain's blood stain the chopping block black and entertain, just for a moment, the possibility of putting his head on a pike at the city gates before she gave the order for the bodies to be cremated and the ashes scattered. No honor for traitors. No respect. No burial.
Sigrun came in at eleven thirty to pin the headdress onto Sanaki's hair, and Marcia was sent away to retrieve Sephiran's staff from his aide. Sanaki pulled a mirror from the deep bottom drawer of her desk where it rested with a comb and a brush atop a simple change of clothes, and painted her makeup on once her hair was done. Her stomach burned, but the scent of tea made her feel sick, and Sigrun's suggestion of toast was aborted mid-sentence when she saw the blood drain from Sanaki's face. Water then, she said, brushing her finger to the lip gloss to be sure it was dry before she walked across the room to the pitcher of water and the deep-bowled glasses turned bottom-up on their tray.
The water wet her throat and eased the sour, choking feeling. Sanaki felt it go all the way down, and tried to take it in small sips until the clock hand insisted it was time to leave the quiet of her office for the stifling audience chamber.
The day's heat was only just beginning to move beyond the tall cathedral windows and the colors cast by their stained glass when she walked downstairs to the antechamber with the three knights she knew best - Sigrun, Tanith, Marcia - while the others went to secure the throne, the nobles' gallery, and the senate. She suspected every seat was filled, and every windowsill, and the doorways blocked by bodies. Perhaps somewhere in the back row of the screened area reserved for nobles, with Amelia or without, Lady Gaddos was also present to witness her husband's downfall. Sanaki hoped she would have the presence of mind to stay hidden until arrangements could be made for her welfare.
The cinnamon-apple scent in her locket filled the antechamber while she waited for the hum of conversation beyond the door to die down and her knights to confirm the security of the chamber. She rubbed her fingers over the flat gold links of its chain, nudged the lace and pearl trim of her neckline, and heard the scuff of steps just outside the door by her throne, one set armored, the other inaudible, though she knew it must be there. Asmin's stand-in wasn't allowed within the privacy of this chamber. It was secured with spells, and the doors armored; she'd hidden here once from an attempt on her life and watched Tanith lock each door and slide heavy iron bars through the slots on either side. Don't worry, your majesty, Sigrun had said then. The doors are reinforced with steel. The bars are just here to make you feel more secure.
Was that true? She couldn't imagine what that was meant to protect her against, aside from an army - and in that case, it would be a trap. A coffin.
She went out to meet her audience when the taps on the door indicated the security sweep was finished, and Sanaki missed the sweet-smelling antechamber almost immediately. A thousand different perfumes clashed with the scent of the polish used to shine the floor and dust the chairs. The senate was present, to a man; above and opposite to them, high on the left wall, stretched the intricate wooden screen that hid the rest of the spectators. Coughs and whispers slithered through the cracks, distorted by the acoustics. Sunlight shined through the high windows, and the chamber was full of sparkling dust swirled by their movement, their breaths. Leveque, after bowing and murmuring a greeting, took Sephiran's place at her left hand and tucked his folder under an arm. If she kept her face turned toward the senate and watched him straighten his coat only with her peripheral vision, Sanaki could almost fool herself the white uniform belonged to her minister, not an impostor.
Sigrun tapped the butt of her spear to the tile, and her bid for silence split the air, made Sanaki's fingers clench around the arms of her throne. She would have let them talk a little longer, though the guard at the double doors motioned the arrival of their prisoner. Would he look as pathetically misplaced as Culbert, and just as naked without his symbols of rank and office?
His entrance was a disappointment. The whispers died down, the sound of chairs scraping faded, and the moan of the double doors turning slowly on their hinges held Sanaki's attention as well; they parted enough to allow the former senator and his guards to enter single file, then closed with a hollow pound and left behind the slap of Lekain's sandals, plain straw like Culbert's, and the heavy tread of his guards. She concentrated on loosening her fingers when she watched him kneel. The guards had to help him; his hands were bound at his back, and his legs lacked the flexibility to bear his weight down gracefully. That should have been humiliating enough. Someone - maybe even his wife, if she dared - had made sure he had clean, well-tailored robes which needed only the right decorations to be his formal attire, and clearly he'd washed and combed his hair back. She smelled the astringent oil he used to keep it smooth and styled.
Again, Sanaki made her fingers relax, trying to rest them flat on the curved end of the arm instead of gripping the edge. Her silence was stretching too long. He lifted his head while she stared at him, gaze climbing from the polished white of her sandals, over the white and crimson folds of her dress, and when he met her eyes it was difficult not to frown, or sneer. He looked contrite with his head lowered, but she knew he would open his overly large mouth and make this process as difficult as possible the moment Sephiran's substitute stepped up to apply his questioning.
"Duke Lekain of Gaddos," she said, raising her voice until it echoed. The use of his old title was more of an honor than he deserved. "You are here so others may bear witness to your crimes. This is not a process by which you may hope to be absolved. Our investigation has proven your guilt." She saw his mustache twitch up, wondered if it was a sneer. The feeling was mutual. "Your conduct will determine whether you leave this world with dignity or in shame. I pray for the former."
His eyes glittered. Sanaki had never been able to divine his thoughts aside from the obvious, gleaned from a rare genuine smile, or an unintended slip of tone or tongue. She thought it obvious he intended to intimidate her with his staring, but his attention had never made her skin crawl as some of the others did. He probably didn't think any farther than killing her, thank the goddess.
Sanaki lifted an eyebrow, and he lowered his head. She motioned for Leveque to step forward. "Begin."
*
Sanaki returned to her office at two thirty. The halls had to be cleared for her passage, and the air was clogged with the same clashing cloud of perfumes and dust and sweaty robes. She took a deep breath as soon as they left the cathedral, grateful for the open air and the scent of hot grass and cherry blossoms. Lekain's silence during the proceedings was convenient, but puzzling; their evidence, while extensive enough to condemn him, was weak in areas, especially regarding his dealings with the Daein royals. Exchanges of gold and other items, some illegal indicated such a relationship existed, but written records were difficult to find and vague when they were located and analyzed.
He might be able to embarrass her if Sephiran's agents missed an important fact or document. Without her minister by her side, a well-aimed criticism could be twisted into another rumor - of her apparent incompetence without him, perhaps, proof Sanaki was, in fact, simply a puppet. Nobody knew, of course, he was more likely to do as she said, and resorted to bribing or begging when he wanted her to cooperate in a matter she disliked - the headdress, for instance. Poor Sephiran. She'd been snappish when he made her wear that thing to Culbert's sentencing; it was such a stupid thing to be angry about, so unimportant, and she'd yelled at him.
He'd already forgiven her. He always did. But she wanted to apologize again, and she couldn't simply turn to him and say it anymore; she had to wait, had to make him wait, for nothing - her image, which was already tarnished if one believed Tanith.
Her office was already cleared for her arrival, and the two knights she'd assigned to the heron prince were waiting outside. One opened the door for her, and Sigrun preceded her, while Marcia followed behind and stationed herself by the windows. The sun was still above them, the light diffuse through her white curtains, and Rafiel rose from the ottoman she'd placed at the center of the rug for his last visit, extended a hand, and bowed over their clasped fingers. Wisps of golden hair drifted over his shoulders. His hand was moist at the creases, though he didn't appear as hot as everyone else. Sanaki felt her petticoat sticking to the back of her legs, and her sleeves to her elbows, and if the prince were not present she would have shed both her mantle and the lace coat, and perhaps even changed into the robe she kept in her drawer right there behind the desk.
"I was told you called Duke Gaddos to account, today," he said, releasing her hand. He smiled at Sigrun, but the expression was brief. "I would like to be present for his sentence, but I didn't think it would be today..."
Sanaki watched his hands curl together and tried to smile. She felt a little dizzy, but the feeling went away when she focused her eyes again. "Tomorrow or the next day - it depends on how cooperative he is."
"I was told the delay would be longer. Has something happened?"
She shook her head, felt the pins holding her headdress prick her scalp, and reached up to pull them out one by one, working the double prongs out of her hair without ruining the work Sigrun did to style it. The crescent slanted, and she held it with her other hand. "It should be over already." She circled around the prince and dropped the pins onto the desk, listened to them clatter, and placed the headdress more carefully so it wouldn't roll over and scatter them. "I will not allow Soren to obstruct justice for his own sake, or his father's. Waiting won't change the outcome."
"I met Prince Daein in the halls earlier today." Sanaki turned around. Rafiel was looking at the window, twisting a lock of hair around one finger until it looked like he'd sheathed it in gold. "That mark on his forehead... I didn't expect it to resonate the way it did."
"You can feel it?" She leaned back against the desk. "I'm told laguz don't like Branded, but I thought it was just the principle."
Rafiel faced her again, blinking, as if the windows left an afterimage across his vision. "They're called 'Parentless' because they don't belong to either race. Their scent is different. There is a vibration in the air around them, or something equally hard to describe, and many say they feel odd when they meet one." He seated himself again, stretching his wings back slightly to fit around the bulk of the ottoman. "His blood is familiar, but it was his worry that surprised me-- before he closed himself up, that is, upon seeing me."
Sanaki lifted an eyebrow. Soren was worried, was he. "I don't suppose you know why."
"Something to do with his brand." The heron prince shrugged, smiled - how did he find it in his heart to smile? "That's all I know."
It was more than she knew. Her people watched the prince every hour of the day; there were spies behind the walls, men and women guarding the doors, wards on the windows that even a dragon couldn't break, and still a matter as simple as his feelings was beyond her grasp. If only she had her grandmother's abilities - she would catch Soren off guard then, and divine his secrets. "You get these flashes of feeling from everyone, don't you."
Rafiel tilted his head, smile fading. "When there are enough people nearby, it becomes a single sound - like waves on a beach, if you have been to such a place?" She nodded, and he continued: "It becomes harder to distinguish between individuals."
Light glinted on the crown of his head. Sanaki rubbed her lip between her teeth. "And if there aren't many people nearby--?"
He paused, watched her for two or three seconds. "I'm not sure what you're thinking, empress, but anyone you wish to probe is probably adept enough to block my attempts."
"No." She pulled her eyes away from the shine. It was like looking at a box of glittering jewels - hard to look away, because if she did it would disappear, slip through her grasp. "I don't want you to do that." Sanaki turned her back, went around her desk, and sank into her chair. Her head thumped against the curved wooden back, cushioned by the rolls of her hair. "Not that it wouldn't be nice to pick my senators' brains. I have something quieter in mind."
Rafiel tucked a strand of hair behind his pointed ear. "Meaning?"
She moved her eyes away, looked at the ceiling and its colorless plaster pattern, the misty light leaving it gray and the heat giving the illusion of real mist - like rainforests, she'd heard; like tropics, though such climates existed only in books now. Her hair clung to the back of her neck. "Before she died, my grandmother intended to do one more thing in response to the treatment of laguz and other minorities in Begnion. I would like to continue her work, but my enemies may anticipate that and attempt to stop me. I was hoping you might be able to help me avoid them."
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes flicking back and forth, perhaps even trying to probe her intentions. "It's true I can sense ill intent, as I told you." His lips closed, and she couldn't see his hands over the edge of her desk, but she thought Rafiel might have twisted them. "Your grandmother's talents wouldn't have been trained, but..."
Sanaki pulled at her heavy silk skirt, peeled it from her legs, and folded it over her knees differently to let her skin breathe. "This will be moderately dangerous. If you aren't comfortable risking yourself, I can't blame you, and I can go alone with Sephiran's agents."
"He knows about this?" Rafiel lifted his head a little.
"Yes." Though if Sephiran knew what she intended to do with the records when she'd finished her search, he would have broken his enforced arrest and pounded her door down - or had the guard do it for him. Sanaki leaned her head forward, breaking with the heron's gaze, and gathered her hair from her neck with one hand. "He doesn't like it. Maybe he'll feel more comfortable if you're with me."
He licked his lips. "And your guard?"
"Sigrun will come along. The others will be stationed along the corridors in case they're needed."
"You're hiding something from me."
Sanaki lowered her chin. His pale brows were drawn together, a line shaded between them, and his mouth was turned down slightly. "Of course I'm hiding something, Prince Rafiel." She smiled and pulled her braid over her shoulder. Years facing the senate had done her some good after all. "I'll tell you later - if you agree. The closer I keep this the better."
He heaved a sigh. "Not now?"
"I have meetings," she said. "Consider it carefully. I don't want to put you in danger your skills cannot avert."
"But you'll go alone if I don't accompany you--"
"I'll have Sigrun."
"But--" Rafiel lowered his head, and his arms moved; when she straightened to see over the edge of her desk, his hands were clasped tightly. "He would go with you if he could, and that means I must take his place."
"Why?" Sanaki fingered the arms of her chair. The wood was carved into a curl at the end, a spiral which had always reminded her of a cat's paw when she was small. Her hands used to fit on the top, where the wood widened like bones spreading, like the back of Sephiran's hand when she held his wrist. He would sit here during meetings, and she would climb up and listen to people talk from his lap; he was warm, and his arms steadied her, and he whispered clues as to the complicated nonsense the officials spouted--
He would go with her if he could. He went everywhere with her. Every function, every party. Every meeting. her chest knotted whenever he went on his sabbaticals, and didn't loosen and let her sleep properly until he returned.
"Don't underestimate your importance outside of Begnion, your majesty," Rafiel said, and her eyes focused on him again, on the hand that curled slightly against the clasp of his coat and his bright green eyes, which reminded her more sharply of who she wasn't looking at - who she wanted to see. Was he listening to these thoughts? "With the exception of Apostle Misaha, you are the only hope we have seen in this country for a very long time. At the risk of embodying the myth Daein has created, I--" He paused, his voice caught in his throat, and swallowed. "I want to help Lehran also - you're very important to him, and he is family."
She shifted her legs, recrossed them, the undersides of her knees slick with sweat. Her hairline felt moist, and she motioned for Marcia to open the windows. There was no breeze, but a few moments brought in the scent of green baking in the sun, leaves and grass and flowers, and at least it was different. Fresh. She wanted to go back up to her rooms and immerse herself in the bath.
Prince Rafiel wanted to help everyone - Kilvas, Lehran, and now herself, and even Hetzel. She didn't know when to draw the line. If he wanted to trust Kilvas, knowing what he did, she couldn't stop him from doing so, but to involve himself in her protection - Sephiran lived and worked in Sienne; he knew what he was doing, and Rafiel didn't have his thick skin or experience in the empire's politics--
"I know Begnion's history better than any beorc," he said, and Sanaki started, knocked her knee to the top of her desk. His lips curved slightly, then his smile faded away again. "I know what you're looking for, and I'll help if you promise to tell him what you're really doing."
She flattened her mouth to a line. "He won't change my mind."
"Let him try," Rafiel said. "Listen to what he says. You'll regret it if you don't."
Sanaki rubbed her knee, pressing her fingertips into the part that throbbed. "Is this a dream talking, or the wisdom of your years?"
He breathed a laugh, stood up, and inclined his head. "I can almost never tell until afterward."
Rafiel left then, his wings folded, a snowy shield to deflect her gaze. Tanith came in afterward to announce Leveque and the others standing in for the senior senators, and Sanaki straightened her hair and her skirt, pulled the mirror out of her bottom drawer to make sure she was presentable, and told her knight to make them wait for her call. There was a washbasin in the back room, which she used to wash the mask of makeup from her face with oil and a cotton cloth, and rose-scented soap. It was molded like a seashell, one of many souvenirs that came into her hands at the end of Sephiran's travels.
If times were better, he said to her some time ago, perhaps five years, we would visit the north together. You should see other cities and meet your peers in their natural environment. It will give you new perspective on politics here. Wouldn't it, though. Leaving Begnion would also be a much-needed vacation, but who ever heard of an empress taking a break? Taking the time to journey to Serenes or Goldoa would be unforgivable.
Sanaki left the back chamber and called the others in. Marcia stayed by the window, pretended to be absorbed in watching the sway of the maples and cherry trees in a hot breeze. Pellatiere kept looking at her over his shoulder, trying to catch Sanaki's gaze. She smiled at him and let the others make their greetings. Shirin wore a blue dress, loose like a robe, her pale hair swept up in a braided bun, and Sephiran's staff glinted in her hands, to be returned as ordered. If the others read into the gesture, so be it; if they thought Sanaki meant to turn her back on him, perhaps they would turn their focus to more pressing matters like the war looming on their doorstep, or appointing replacements for the provinces. It couldn't hurt. They didn't need to know she intended to give it back to him someday if he wanted it - his rank, his status, everything he said he didn't care about. How could he not care? Wasn't she a part of that world - chained to it, as it were, whether she liked it or not? If she couldn't leave, Sephiran would not escape the bonds of his oaths so easily either. Not as long as she had a say in the matter.
.................................................................................
So, the pregnancy issue. This is something I've been torn on for a while, and I'm running out of time to think about it.
I'm not a fan of the "get married, have kids, and live happily ever after" trend I see in a lot of fantasy. It's often used as shorthand for "look, they're so happy!" which I can't really relate to anyway. That makes me reluctant to do this. On the other hand, it's reasonable in context with the story, it's a problem she has to solve sooner or later since it's the issue propelling so many plot points, and well.
What tempts me, also, is speculation on laguz-branded relationships. Though Sanaki isn't actually Branded, she has the laguz blood, and I'm not the only one to have speculated that would negate certain results of cross-species mating, like loss of laguz abilities or difficulty of conception. Obviously that doesn't mean much for Lehran, but
Comments, responses, serious objections to cliche? Knowing other points of view might help clarify my own, or bring up possibilities I haven't thought of.
I'm not sure I like all of this chapter, but I guess you're used to me saying that. I think some of the conversations are choppy, but eh. Later. I need to get going on the next chapter and see if I can get it done before the real deadline, since this one is early.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 09:44 pm (UTC)So, more Soren and Ike in the somewhat near future. :D MAYBE IKE WILL GROW A PERSONALITY because I've really given him the shaft in this fic, poor guy.
Pregnancy might be torture for Sanaki. I'll have to do research on it though, because this story is going to be rough on her.
Thank you for your answer! I really appreciate another opinion.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-18 10:31 pm (UTC)HMMMM now I'm wondering about Soren's motivations. He's always quite an enigma in any world where his sole drive isn't to find the quickest path to Ike's cock.
And poor Ike. He is so 100% hero material (AS WELL AS THE MAIN CHARACTER), but definitely not one for INTENSE political scheming. Pointing him towards a castle with the bad guy in it may be the best course of action.
...I wonder what happened to Astrid.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-08 05:47 pm (UTC)I really think you should write a story on her being pregnant
no subject
Date: 2009-06-08 10:54 pm (UTC)