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runicloreThe Child-like Empress - IV
Author: Amber Michelle
Pairing: Lehran/Sanaki (platonic)
Fandom: Fire Emblem 9-10
Theme: 27 - overflow
Gauntlet theme: 21 - Something in a shade of grey, something in-between
Words: 6538
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo. I'm not getting any money out of this, just satisfaction~
Previous installments:
+ Part One
+ Part Two
+ Part Three
Notes: Part of the Bloodline series of (mostly) canon storylines. Will have to be edited/reworked later, when I have access to a printer.
......................................................
Sephiran was wakened only a few hours after the party by Sanaki's small hands on his face, turning him to look at her. Tanith stood behind her, pale, gray in light cast by a lamp in the drawing room he didn't remember lighting. She shrugged and spread her hands, palms up, when he blinked, first at her and then at his empress. Why are you here? His voice was like gravel in his throat. As soon as he spoke, Sanaki twisted her arms around his neck, digging beneath his pillow and pulling his hair, her cheek wet on his shoulder.
Crying?
She didn't make a sound. She refused to lift her head once she nosed her way into his hair. Today she wouldn't calm down until we brought her to you, Tanith said, and Sephiran rested his hand on the back of Sanaki's head, looked down at the halo of gray and purple glint of highlights in her hair. He asked if this happened often, whatever it was, and Tanith told him the empress woke screaming some nights, and merely crying on others. She won't sleep without one of us there to sit with her. The knight glanced at the door, back at the empress. I'm sorry, Lord Sephiran, but I have to stay as long as Lady Sanaki does.
Sephiran relaxed against his pillows again and stroked Sanaki's short hair with his fingers. Tanith fetched a quilt from a chest on the far side of the room when he told her to, and the empress allowed herself to be bundled, though she refused to release her hold on his neck.
Every night, was it? Perhaps Zelgius was right; Sephiran should have erased the mother's death from Sanaki's memory.
There were many things he should have done. He should have kept her, taken her away, spared her the trials of the throne. Begnion would have fragmented and gone to war. His goal would have been achieved, and Sanaki would be a normal, happy child, unfettered by duty to family, government, the manipulations of her senators, and himself. She would spend her days running and playing and reading-- no stiff-backed chairs, no stifling costumes. He should have run with her to the forests of Gallia, where the largest trees dwarfed Begnion's mansions and towers. There were colorful butterflies there bigger than her two hands, gentle enough to land on one's arm and rest; they were the real majesty of Ashera's world, the flora and fauna untouched by beorc hands, and Sanaki would love them if she had the chance to visit.
He pitched his voice low and told her about them - the butterfly known as The Scarlet Empress for its vivid color and the scalloped edges of its wings, and others called Snow Angels or Ashera's Breath for the minute pattern of their white wings, which made them look like they were cut from expensive brocade. There were flowers near the southern climes that looked just like butterflies and moths - because that was how they gave birth to others like themselves, they tempted their winged pollinators with false promises of companionship. Very few of that species lived on Tellius. There were many varieties on other continents, and he described them to her, searching his memory for the images, the scents, the velvet of their petals. He almost smelled their sweet perfume while he talked, and remembered the deep purple of his favorite variety, a color very much like Sanaki's hair.
The puff of her breath on his throat slowed, evened, and Sephiran finished his description and let silence rest upon them, a cloak in the dark. He wouldn't have known Tanith sat by his window if not for the sound of her breathing; she didn't even shift. There were two others outside the hall door, audible when they moved and the butts of their spears scraped the tiled floor.
Sephiran fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and woke at eight when the empress whispered loudly for Tanith and asked to go to the bathroom. He let her think he was still asleep, and listened while the knight persuaded his empress to wait until they got back to her rooms - that it was unfair to infringe on his privacy, that she would want to get dressed, wouldn't she, and let him make himself presentable? Sanaki's lip swelled into a pout in his imagination, and her arms slid away, her warm weight suddenly lifted and her quilt slipping, folding onto his shoulder where she curled a moment ago. They whispered all the way out.
He opened his eyes and stared at the slight inward curve of the blue canopy. Sunlight pooled beneath the curtains, a silvery trim to their indigo, lighting his room in shades of gray. His door stood slightly ajar, and someone had opened the curtains in his living area - one of the pegasus knights, perhaps, and she had left the balcony door open to admit the scents of the garden: roses, wet stone, and pine. A breath of air cooled the sweat soaking the collar of his night shirt and his damp hair.
His day started in Sanaki's room at nine, so Sephiran grasped a post and pulled himself out of bed, and tried to ignore the stiffness in his arms, the tightening his back, and went to bathe and wash his hair. His maids had noticed his preferences in soap and provided oils in similar herbal scents for conditioning. One was mint, another lavender, and calendula, and rosemary. He chose sandalwood to rub between his hands and comb through his hair. The vial was as tall as his forearm was long, and he wondered how expensive it was - the scent was almost too strong for his nose. He cut it with vanilla, and hoped it wouldn't be necessary to wash it all out and start over, or Sigrun would come knocking at his door to wonder why he spent more time dressing his hair than a lady would trying her entire wardrobe-- as Zelgius once said of him, when little Sanaki was there to giggle behind her hand.
They'd only had opportunity to stay at two inns on that journey. Their party was too unusual - two men and a girl-child , well-armed and well-dressed. The assassins pursuing them would have known their location immediately. When they passed through Salmo, however, there were over a dozen inns to choose from, and parties stranger than theirs to command the attention of the populace. He remembered making Zelgius haul a wide wooden tub up from the innkeep's basement, and the water needed to fill it, so Sanaki, still only princess then and not an empress, could be bathed. Sephiran had used the water afterward, and endured Zelgius's commentary and the child's laughter while picking through the tangles in his hair and thinking it might be better to cut it all off.
His appearance might draw less attention if his hair were shorter, but every time he picked up a pair of scissors with the intent to rid himself of the nuisance, he remembered Sanaki's voice:
But you can't do that! It's so pretty. Can I braid it? I know how, I promise.
Lady Sanaki was already at the table when he entered her apartments, and breakfast was a spicy apple pancake they split in half, which she slathered with butter and coated with cinnamon sugar. Ruby-colored hibiscus tea and a bowl of pecans halved and salted served as companions to the confection. Sephiran ate his plain, and explained his schedule to her while she made sandwiches of pancake wedges and flat nut halves she cut with her fork and ate in dainty bites. The senior senators requested his presence, and there were papers he must review before bringing them to her for a signature. Another fitting would follow, and then his day would belong to her again.
She appreciated the last bit, but when he mentioned Oliver's request, she frowned. I'm the only one allowed to hold your hand. You make sure he knows, or I'll-- I'll fire him.
I'll mention it first thing, Sephiran promised, and hoped she didn't see the way his lips wanted to curve up and give way to a laugh.
His lady sent Sigrun with him - to make sure Oliver stayed in line, she said - and Sephiran went directly to the council chamber he remembered from the night they took him aside to discuss his promotion, on the second floor of the cathedral where it faced a rose garden and a tall hedge that marked the border to a water garden. Blue and green pools framed lotus blossoms there, veiled by the long arms of willows. It was his favorite place on the grounds so far, and he'd spoken to the groundskeeper about stocking the pools with different varieties of fish and aquatic plants so he might take the empress there to conduct lessons.
The room hadn't changed; the same red and white curtains were tied back to reveal the wide window, the chairs were arranged in the same semi-circular formation, their cushions white, some leather and some silk. Sephiran took the seat nearest the door, so he could see the pale green tops of the willows swaying in a breeze he couldn't feel, and Sigrun took a place behind his chair, perhaps against the wall. Hetzel was already there, and Seliora, and Numida with his square mustache and yellowed complexion. They held a murmured conversation by the window which he pretended to ignore, though he heard every word.
Daein is stepping up weapons production, Numida was saying, tapping his paunch and making his coat buttons click beneath his nails. Their ore is disappearing faster than it can be bought. Hetzel sighed, said the wyvern riders were sent to test their border, test provincial readiness, and Seliora was of the opinion Shiharam wouldn't stoop so low as to fight his former compatriots.
He deserted us openly. You doubt he has the gall to fly to battle against us? Daein has made assimilation difficult for them - reason enough to take up arms for Ashnard.
This is assuming Daein means to risk war with us at all. Crimea is a more likely target.
The door opened to admit Oliver's pear-shaped frame, clothed in a dark green coat, his fingers still beringed with gold so the bands clacked on the corner of the door when he pushed it closed. He wasn't fat enough to waddle, but his back strained against the weight of his stomach so he seemed to be leaning back even as he moved forward, and when he sat down, he dropped into the chair with a whoosh of a sigh. The wood creaked, but held.
Sephiran pulled his hair aside and leaned back. The musk of cologne made his nose itch. "So I am in need of proper companionship, am I?" His fat companion lifted his eyebrows, the fingers stroking his mustache into place pausing, and he said, "Valtome had some interesting ideas regarding my promotion."
For a moment he thought Oliver would play dumb; he blinked three times, mouth half-open, and then he snorted. "His own interpretation," he said, letting his hand drop onto the arm of his chair. "I'm sorry to say he is not fond of you."
Sephiran didn't like Valtome either. One need only look at the man for an example of the evils of vanity and materialism. He encouraged Sanaki's spoiled habits; he knew cultivating his own values in the empress would further his own goals, keep her stupid and uninvolved, interested only in her own pleasures. "And what was he interpreting?"
This time Oliver shifted his glance away. The direction of his gaze obligated him to nod to the others, but their discussion didn't pause. "It was mentioned in a meeting you would be a good candidate for a marriage alliance. Lekain is pursuing something currently, but your popularity is-- notable."
Sephiran stared at the glaring window. "Out of the question."
Oliver responded as if he hadn't heard. "You realize, given the empress's favor, a wedding would raise morale - it would give the city something to celebrate, and Lady Sanaki would have a family to call her own."
And this imaginary woman they wanted Sephiran to marry would do her best to influence the empress, no doubt. To whose advantage-- though it didn't matter. "As I said. I am not interested in this proposition."
The chair scraped slightly on the rug. "Are you already connected?"
The simplicity of the question made Sephiran look at him again. "I knew there were strings attached when I accepted this position, but I didn't think it would go this far." The senator had the sense to turn his gaze away and pretend to look out the window. "If I am?"
Oliver rubbed a finger over his lip, five rings glinting like a set of brass knuckles. "The matter will be dropped, of course."
Of course. After an investigation, probably; Zelgius told him the note he received had been read before it reached the barracks - the seal of the envelope was broken, and the messenger did a 'passable job' at concealing the intrusion, but the flap was off-center. The party only confirmed Sephiran's suspicion he was being watched. "Only Seliora and Numida are married, is that not so? I understand Valtome has an unsavory reputation."
"To put it mildly." Oliver rolled his shoulders, a shrug. His fingers curled together, seeking something to hold onto, and finding only the curved, wooden end of the chair arm. "You are not obligated to accept the proposal. The hour is premature. It would be far more advantageous to wait until we have better prospects lined up - a princess from Crimea, or a duchess, or somesuch."
"I see." Sephiran spread his hands on his knees, looked at his bare fingers. He still missed the gold band he used to wear on his left ring finger.
"Put it out of your mind," Oliver said. "I will tell them you heard the proposal, and encourage them to wait."
Sephiran said he would, and avoided looking at Oliver again until the others arrived - Lekain, Culbert - and he was given no choice but to pay attention to the matters at hand. Daein came up immediately, and Lekain's conclusion was similar to Hetzel's earlier criticism: if Ashnard expected to attack anyone, it would be Crimea, and the attack on Begnion's northern border was nothing but a feint - a test of their discipline, a new tool. He waved off protests involving the wyvern riders. Culbert reclined in a chair beside him, chin propped on his fist, silent.
So Lekain had an arrangement with some family, and now he ran the senior council, when Culbert had taken charge before. Lekain had been their spokesman for the last year, perhaps longer; he had charisma, of a sort, a charm Sephiran thought would draw people to him, which Culbert lacked. Thus the division of responsibility made sense, and yet, they were not consistent in their dealings with him. He was sure they did not consider him an equal. They'd met several times before this, after he was summoned and chosen to work with the empress. And Oliver-- one could hardly judge the man's behavior according to logical expectations, so his attention was difficult to attribute a motive to, unless his only desire was, as Sanaki suggested, to hold Sephiran's hand.
He did have an unfortunate reputation-- Duke Tanas. He'd caged more than one heron, it was said, only to have them wilt and die, and his misfortune - always his, not theirs - became a warning to slave owners who sought the birds of Serenes. He kept laguz and beorc alike as ornamentation, well-fed and well-dressed, but objects nonetheless. A lovely pixie of a child had served Sephiran the evening he accepted Oliver's invitation to his manor for tea, and he'd thought her a servant. What if she were less?
As it turned out, the senior council wanted to use Zelgius to command the troops sent to bolster the northern defenses. He has formed an impressive reputation while dealing with the insurgents near Salmo Culbert said (undefeatable, invincible, his sword is the hammer of the gods); He should consider this an opportunity for advancement-- but advancement for what, when he was already a general? Zelgius had no name, no family, but neither did Sephiran. They believed his claim to be a member of the imperial house, perhaps because word of his passage through the cellar wards was spreading, but Zelgius had no such luck.
Sephiran said he would relay their order, and remained silent while they discussed the other topics of the day: retaliation against Kilvas for his messenger's outrageous demand the other day; what should be said to explain Ashera's silence on such a disastrous matter when Sanaki should have had a dream or some sort of vision - they weren't specific about how the power manifested, and perhaps did not understand it as well as they claimed. Sephiran didn't think Ashera's dreams would linger on such an inconsequential mortal matter, but the senators thought her predictions of floods and earthquakes were meant to help her human subjects-- naturally, she would wish to spare Begnion's subjects from a shipwreck.
How naive. Worship of Ashera had grown as strange as Begnion itself since he was last there.
After the meeting Sigrun followed him to the office set aside for his use on the third floor, below the rooms his empress would use when she got older, as his chambers were below her apartment. Three wide, floor-to-ceiling windows opened the back wall and overlooked a rose garden; the white marble floor was bare, the desk to his left was large and wide - but bare, and the shelves set into the wall to his left were empty. He wondered if there were some symbolic meaning in the arrangement, something about the prime minister being the empress's servant in all things, but when he entered, he thought they must be determined to leave him with the most useless, ornamental trappings of rank they could manage without making themselves look bad.
A single folder waited on the chair cushion. He picked it up and flipped through the contents: all single documents, all waiting for the imperial seal. Nothing to discuss or decide upon.
"Is this what you meant?" He looked up. Sigrun waited by the door, gaze lingering on the file, and she lifted a pale green brow. "Your influence with them is negligible, you said."
"You heard it with your own ears," Sephiran said. "The empress is too young to marry off, so they want to use me instead. This," he flipped the folder closed and tossed it onto the desk, rounding the edge to stand at the window, "is comedy. I suppose they think Lady Sanaki will be quicker to sign them if I'm the one handing them over."
Each of Sigrun's footsteps was a loud tap with a distinct echo. She smelled of leather and soap when she paused at his right hand, a step better than the dust that tickled his nose when they first entered. "It is a reasonable assumption, unfortunately."
He counted the bushes arranged on his side of the gravel walk - ten, twelve, nearly two dozen, a mix of white and yellow roses. Red blooms lined the walk, standing out like blood drops, and unlit lanterns occupied the space between them. It was a lovely view, one he would enjoy if the room were meant for that - for tea, and talk, for bird watching and flowers. "That will make teaching her easier, but it was not my intention. I will help her unlearn that inclination if I can."
Her fingers tapped the hilt of her sword. "Really?"
"Two weeks is not very much time," Sephiran said. "I understand." He turned, faced her, the light glaring in his left eye and whitewashing her face. "I can take the throne - right now, if I want it. I can kill the empress, and a legion of swords can't stop me, is that what you believe?"
Sigrun's eyes slid sideways. Her fingers didn't still. "You didn't escape her assassins merely by running, Lord Sephiran."
"We had Zelgius."
"And your own abilities."
"If I were as useless as these men believe," Sephiran said, "Lady Sanaki would be dead."
A frown creased Sigrun's face. "You do like to remind me of that."
"There is nowhere else this conversation can go." Sephiran turned back to the window. "Shadow me until you're convinced, but don't interfere. I'll look forward to your apology when that time comes."
Sigrun spun on her heel so quickly her hair whipped out and struck his shoulder. If she'd had wings, they would have molted, flapped, hit the glass, as bird laguz often did when angry or insulted. He listened to her stalk toward the door and considered the rest of the room - the open space, the light, the limited shelf space. With rugs it might be warmer; with chairs, or one of the divans his lady was so fond of now, it might even be comfortable. Most importantly, it was different: empty, unassociated with audience, or work, or play.
He raised his voice. "Sigrun."
Her footsteps halted.
"Before you go to the empress, find the head of household and send the person here."
She snorted softly before a murmured yes, my lord came through her clenched teeth. The door slammed shut behind her.
Perhaps the situation was not a waste after all - he only had to learn how to use the tools given to him.
*
"Sephiran!" greeted him when he walked into the imperial apartments, followed by the slap of Sanaki's feet on the stone patio outside, then on the rug when she leaped inside and ran to greet him - because she couldn't step over the rut of the door frame, she told him earlier, it had to be jumped. She stopped a few feet away and hid her hands behind her back. "Sigrun said you might be late because you had to decorate your office."
He smiled, held the folder and its papers between thumb and forefinger and let it hang at his side. If he dropped it she would only take notice. Sigrun wasn't there to catch it, or he would have thrown it at her - or thought about doing so, at least. "Nothing so elaborate as that, your majesty. I had to make a few arrangements, that's all. It's the fitting that nearly made me late."
Sanaki reached for his other hand and pulled him onto the rug, toward the balcony door. "What do they have to fit you for? I thought you already had clothes."
Sephiran left the folder on the table when she wasn't looking and allowed himself to be led outside, explaining the difference between the plain white robes and coat he wore there, with her, and the formal costume they wanted him to wear when he stood beside her throne. There was embroidery to be done, gold to be cast for buttons, clasps, decoration. They wanted the fit of his attire to give a certain impression, and he confessed to her that he wasn't sure what that was, or why it was necessary - the empress was prettier on his arm than a special set of cuff links. She giggled and demanded he sit down on the bench by the rail so she could climb into his lap and plant a wet kiss on his cheek.
Pots of flowers lined the rail - orange chrysanthemum, white lilies, hibiscus, cuttings of hydrangea and wisteria, purple dahlia, everything she could have thought of to ask for in a neat row of white pots. Black soil littered the stage on which they were set. Sanaki folded her legs, arranged the ends of her long, purple sash over her knees so she appeared to wear a skirt, and pointed at the hibiscus, whose petals were nearly the color of her hair.
"I want butterflies," she said. "But all I've seen so far is a tiny white one. Why won't they come?"
Sephiran looked where she pointed, and tried to think of an answer. He hadn't known she was awake to listen to his rambling the night before; anything would have calmed her, and butterflies came to mind when he thought of his empress. "Perhaps they aren't the right kind." He didn't want to tell her how backward this attempt was to draw her target, yet she was already frowning at the mere suggestion. "Your balcony is terribly high up, my lady. Butterflies prefer easier targets, and there are dozens of them down in the garden."
She chewed her bottom lip, stared at the rail. He felt her fidget, but it was only to scratch her ankle, and then she leaned back against his chest. "But they can fly."
"They're drawn by certain properties," Sephiran said, and combed her hair with his fingers for one stroke, two. "Perhaps these aren't the right variety of blossom to attract what you want. Choosing correctly will require a bit of study."
Sanaki bent her head back to show him the upside-down oval of her face. Her hair tickled his hand. "Will you find out for me?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll help, if you'd like to look it up."
Her head snapped down and she kicked his leg hard - hard enough Sephiran felt a flash of pain, and he made himself grit his teeth to avoid showing it. But she didn't get up. She scooted forward to sit on his knees, her shoulders hunched, her hands clenched together in her lap, the back of her head blank and shining in the sunlight. Tanith came out of the double glass doors leading to the empress's bedroom, nodded, paced the rail. Something on her uniform jingled faintly in time with her steps.
Instead of doing what she wanted, he asked Tanith to bring the lady's sandals, and turned his head to watch a blue-jay screech and streak down from a tree branch to disappear beyond the rail. He heard her return and pace all the way across the balcony so she could kneel and work Sanaki's feet into the straps. She'd sprinkled powder on the soles, and it smelled fresh, almost like flowers.
"We will visit the garden first," Sephiran said when Tanith tied the last strap around the empress's ankle.
Sanaki slid from his lap and spun around, the blunt ends of her purple hair flying. "It's your job to do it for me."
He stood up slowly, tested his leg; it might bruise, but there was no pain when he put his weight upon it. "I am your aide. It is my job to provide information you do not have time to research yourself."
"That's why I'm telling you to look!"
"But what are you doing that prevents you from searching?" A frown turned her lips down in a dark crease. Sephiran went on quickly before she could respond. "Waiting for butterflies, yes? You'll find more downstairs-- and so will I, but they might not be what you want to find. You may send me down again and again to do your research, and wait twice as long for something you could have done correctly the first time with your own eyes."
Sanaki's frown turned to a glare, her golden eyes narrowing, glinting beneath her bangs. "But I told you to. You're supposed to do what I say."
He lowered his head, directed his gaze to the stone beside her feet. "If one makes too many demands, they lose their power to move one's subjects."
"Sephiran--"
"I'll wait for you by the lotus pond," he said, snapping his gaze back at the slap of her sandal on the floor. "You don't have to go down, of course, but it may be hours before my own wanderings produce the results you want." Sephiran walked back into her apartment, heard her draw a quick breath, and said over his shoulder, "Take your time, my lady. We have all day."
Her shouting started a breath before he pulled the parlor door closed behind him. One of the younger knights, a blonde with unusually dark eyes, lifted her brows at him when he let out a breath. "I invited her to a butterfly hunt," he said, and exited the antechamber quickly after her blinking, quizzical response, hoping the empress wouldn't have the presence of mind to chase him out. With witnesses, and perhaps servants nearby, he'd have no choice but to bend his neck.
Gardens occupied most of the palace grounds, those not given over to business or worship, as the north and west were; the rose garden and hedges visible from the offices became a water garden when they reached the palace, which stretched the length of the west wing until it gave way to beds of flowers and meandering paths, and then the trees and shaded alcoves facing the imperial apartments. He took the long way around to be sure the empress would see him from her balcony if she cared to look, scanned the flower beds for specimens. An iron gate at the end of his path opened to the water garden. Wisteria reached over the rest of the fence, grasped at the flowers with curled arms, bright green and unadorned by blossoms. Short, delicate maples and moss-carpeted dirt resolved into willows with drooping branches and neatly cut grass. Water flowed in the background, breaking around corners and over obstacles, but Sephiran didn't see it glitter until he reached the first wooden bridge and moved a curtain of branches aside with his fingers to look down at a stream narrow enough he could jump over it. Orange and yellow lilies crowded the shore, their perfume subtle on the air.
If the empress had made a habit of coming down to this place, he thought, she would not be able to resist returning again and again. Spots of sunlight glittered between the branches, but the shade was cool, and the water, the flowers, drowned the smell of burning wood and dirt and oil the city brought, and the blended perfumes of senators pacing in their wake like ghosts. A path of flat river stones led to a gazebo overgrown by flowering vines, and beyond a pool dotted by white and pink lotus blossoms. Lady Sanaki liked flowers, liked 'pretty things,' yet she hardly ever left her rooms, except to see the senate. No wonder she was so bad-tempered. It couldn't be his heritage skewing his perception - even beorc grew sullen and depressed when denied simple pleasures like wandering among the trees or chasing butterflies.
There weren't as many differences between the races as they liked to think. His empress responded to his cues like any laguz child would; she grew angry when criticized, when told no; she loved to be praised, to have her hair stroked, to curl up with another warm body. She sought someone trustworthy when afraid - someone she knew would defend her from the blade of an assassin-- or a lightning storm, as he'd done once before.
Beorc were better at rationalizing, while laguz simply didn't seek that kind of affirmation. But they were enraged as easily as any animal; when threatened, they struck without asking if their target happened to be deserving of their rage-- just like animals. Worse.
Sephiran waited by the white trellis of the gazebo and followed the movement of the ornamental fish near the bottom of the false pond, seeing fire in their gold when the sun struck just right and their tiny, gossamer scales glinted. He heard the steps clattering and sliding on the pathways, heard the murmur of female voices, but didn't turn around until someone took his hand and pulled - and it was the empress in her white sundress, vivid against the darkness of the trees and water.
"Your majesty," he said, bending to one knee. Her lips were flat, neither frowning nor smiling. "I apologize for my inattention."
Sanaki let go of his hand with a sharp hmph and faced the water.
Sephiran looked at Tanith. "I'm honored to have you join me." The knight shrugged. Her fingers tapped the hilt of her sword, as her superior had a habit of doing. The empress stared at the water when he turned back to her. "I noticed many varieties of flower on my way over here, and some are bound to draw what you seek. The yarrow especially, and perhaps the coneflowers." He didn't want to take her to the rose garden, as that would place her under the scrutiny of the senior senators. The roses there would surely draw all sorts of pollinators with their bright colors and heady scent. Perhaps on a holiday.
"I thought you said you weren't going to look," Sanaki said.
Sephiran watched her bite her lip inward. "I can look." He stood up. "I cannot read your mind, however."
Another sharp sigh, and her chin wrinkled. "You know what I want."
"Butterflies?" Her eyes narrowed to sharp slits, but he saw her face relax when she looked up and found his own face blank. Tanith paced away, a white smear on his peripheral vision. "The Gallian varieties. Is that it?" His empress nodded so emphatically her hair swayed and the ends caught on her lips. Sephiran brushed it back into place. "I'm afraid they don't live here, empress. They might like your garden, but they're more suited to the climate and environment in Gallia."
She frowned again, but her gaze became abstracted. "Can we bring them here?"
Sephiran's eyes flicked to the undulating surface of the lake, rippling before a breeze that teased his hair, cooled his forehead, and danced through the empress's bangs. "Possibly. At most they live a week, but their offspring can be nourished with the proper leaves. It would be a very difficult journey."
"They... would die?" Sanaki let go of his hand to chew on her knuckle. "Do we have the right food for them?"
"It would have to be imported."
Another frown, and a line creased her forehead. "But--"
He waited for her to finish. Tanith returned to his field of vision and paced in the other direction, perhaps to check on the gate. A hum like hummingbirds' wings and bees was beneath her footsteps, as if the air itself contemplated.
"Can you take me to Gallia?" His eyebrows shot up, and Sanaki grabbed his hands. "I don't want them to die! I just want to see one. Can't you show them to me just once?"
Sephiran tried not to frown. "It really would be easier to have a breeder bring--"
"No, that's horrible! I won't steal them away from their homes." Sanaki yanked at his hands, stopping only when he held them tightly still. "I want to go see. I promise I won't touch them. Please?"
Well at least she was asking this time, instead of ordering. Her eyes glinted, and Sephiran didn't want to refuse her; she saw it in his expression and started to say something, but he squeezed her hand and knelt beside her again. "I would like to." He raised his hand when she opened her mouth again; "This is something you must ask the rest of the council. I'm afraid it isn't within my authority to take you that far."
Sanaki looked away. He thought she murmured I hate them, but Tanith's jogging footsteps drowned the words out.
"It's almost time for lunch," she said, slowing at the edge of the path and saluting the empress, who presented only the back of her head. "Shall I have someone bring your meal out to the gazebo?"
Another breeze tossed the empress's bangs out of order, and Sephiran smoothed her hair with his fingers. "Please do," he said when Sanaki continued to stare at the pond, and listened to the knight walk away again. "There's no table just yet, but we should go up and sit on one of the benches," he told her.
She didn't respond, but followed the nudging of his hand when he stood up again and climbed the wooden stairs into the gazebo. A thread from her sash caught on a nail, ripped when she didn't bother to bend down to free it. Sephiran helped her onto a flat white cushion, sat beside her, and examined the embroidery to assure himself it could be fixed. He knew the craft - knew how time-consuming it could be, how it cramped the fingers, how the needles drew blood as often as thread even when one was experienced. Sanaki pulled her legs up and twisted to look over the trellis wall, down into the water.
There, at least, was an exotic world - a beautiful one, with its blue and green shadows, the sway of water grasses like corn silk on the wind, and golden fish mapping the paths between them.
Lady Sanaki was very much like a butterfly, though Sephiran thought she would thrive in the world, rather than wilt and die. Long ago, when her ancestress ruled this nation, he was the object of the comparison - and perhaps he would have died without the nurturing of his goddess, or his guardians.
The other senators would refuse her request. He knew she would make it, and knew their answer as though it were already written in the minutes.
"I'm sorry," he said.
The empress looked up from her contemplation of the water. Her eyes no longer shined with tears, but the sunlight seemed dull where it caught her lashes. "Tell me about others," she said, shifting her legs to the other side so she could lean on his arm and play with his hair where it spread on the cushion between them. "Tell me about the trees."
Sephiran leaned back against the rail. That he could do-- with pleasure.
.
Author: Amber Michelle
Pairing: Lehran/Sanaki (platonic)
Fandom: Fire Emblem 9-10
Theme: 27 - overflow
Gauntlet theme: 21 - Something in a shade of grey, something in-between
Words: 6538
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Fire Emblem is copyrighted by Intelligent Systems and Nintendo. I'm not getting any money out of this, just satisfaction~
Previous installments:
+ Part One
+ Part Two
+ Part Three
Notes: Part of the Bloodline series of (mostly) canon storylines. Will have to be edited/reworked later, when I have access to a printer.
......................................................
Sephiran was wakened only a few hours after the party by Sanaki's small hands on his face, turning him to look at her. Tanith stood behind her, pale, gray in light cast by a lamp in the drawing room he didn't remember lighting. She shrugged and spread her hands, palms up, when he blinked, first at her and then at his empress. Why are you here? His voice was like gravel in his throat. As soon as he spoke, Sanaki twisted her arms around his neck, digging beneath his pillow and pulling his hair, her cheek wet on his shoulder.
Crying?
She didn't make a sound. She refused to lift her head once she nosed her way into his hair. Today she wouldn't calm down until we brought her to you, Tanith said, and Sephiran rested his hand on the back of Sanaki's head, looked down at the halo of gray and purple glint of highlights in her hair. He asked if this happened often, whatever it was, and Tanith told him the empress woke screaming some nights, and merely crying on others. She won't sleep without one of us there to sit with her. The knight glanced at the door, back at the empress. I'm sorry, Lord Sephiran, but I have to stay as long as Lady Sanaki does.
Sephiran relaxed against his pillows again and stroked Sanaki's short hair with his fingers. Tanith fetched a quilt from a chest on the far side of the room when he told her to, and the empress allowed herself to be bundled, though she refused to release her hold on his neck.
Every night, was it? Perhaps Zelgius was right; Sephiran should have erased the mother's death from Sanaki's memory.
There were many things he should have done. He should have kept her, taken her away, spared her the trials of the throne. Begnion would have fragmented and gone to war. His goal would have been achieved, and Sanaki would be a normal, happy child, unfettered by duty to family, government, the manipulations of her senators, and himself. She would spend her days running and playing and reading-- no stiff-backed chairs, no stifling costumes. He should have run with her to the forests of Gallia, where the largest trees dwarfed Begnion's mansions and towers. There were colorful butterflies there bigger than her two hands, gentle enough to land on one's arm and rest; they were the real majesty of Ashera's world, the flora and fauna untouched by beorc hands, and Sanaki would love them if she had the chance to visit.
He pitched his voice low and told her about them - the butterfly known as The Scarlet Empress for its vivid color and the scalloped edges of its wings, and others called Snow Angels or Ashera's Breath for the minute pattern of their white wings, which made them look like they were cut from expensive brocade. There were flowers near the southern climes that looked just like butterflies and moths - because that was how they gave birth to others like themselves, they tempted their winged pollinators with false promises of companionship. Very few of that species lived on Tellius. There were many varieties on other continents, and he described them to her, searching his memory for the images, the scents, the velvet of their petals. He almost smelled their sweet perfume while he talked, and remembered the deep purple of his favorite variety, a color very much like Sanaki's hair.
The puff of her breath on his throat slowed, evened, and Sephiran finished his description and let silence rest upon them, a cloak in the dark. He wouldn't have known Tanith sat by his window if not for the sound of her breathing; she didn't even shift. There were two others outside the hall door, audible when they moved and the butts of their spears scraped the tiled floor.
Sephiran fell asleep in the early hours of the morning and woke at eight when the empress whispered loudly for Tanith and asked to go to the bathroom. He let her think he was still asleep, and listened while the knight persuaded his empress to wait until they got back to her rooms - that it was unfair to infringe on his privacy, that she would want to get dressed, wouldn't she, and let him make himself presentable? Sanaki's lip swelled into a pout in his imagination, and her arms slid away, her warm weight suddenly lifted and her quilt slipping, folding onto his shoulder where she curled a moment ago. They whispered all the way out.
He opened his eyes and stared at the slight inward curve of the blue canopy. Sunlight pooled beneath the curtains, a silvery trim to their indigo, lighting his room in shades of gray. His door stood slightly ajar, and someone had opened the curtains in his living area - one of the pegasus knights, perhaps, and she had left the balcony door open to admit the scents of the garden: roses, wet stone, and pine. A breath of air cooled the sweat soaking the collar of his night shirt and his damp hair.
His day started in Sanaki's room at nine, so Sephiran grasped a post and pulled himself out of bed, and tried to ignore the stiffness in his arms, the tightening his back, and went to bathe and wash his hair. His maids had noticed his preferences in soap and provided oils in similar herbal scents for conditioning. One was mint, another lavender, and calendula, and rosemary. He chose sandalwood to rub between his hands and comb through his hair. The vial was as tall as his forearm was long, and he wondered how expensive it was - the scent was almost too strong for his nose. He cut it with vanilla, and hoped it wouldn't be necessary to wash it all out and start over, or Sigrun would come knocking at his door to wonder why he spent more time dressing his hair than a lady would trying her entire wardrobe-- as Zelgius once said of him, when little Sanaki was there to giggle behind her hand.
They'd only had opportunity to stay at two inns on that journey. Their party was too unusual - two men and a girl-child , well-armed and well-dressed. The assassins pursuing them would have known their location immediately. When they passed through Salmo, however, there were over a dozen inns to choose from, and parties stranger than theirs to command the attention of the populace. He remembered making Zelgius haul a wide wooden tub up from the innkeep's basement, and the water needed to fill it, so Sanaki, still only princess then and not an empress, could be bathed. Sephiran had used the water afterward, and endured Zelgius's commentary and the child's laughter while picking through the tangles in his hair and thinking it might be better to cut it all off.
His appearance might draw less attention if his hair were shorter, but every time he picked up a pair of scissors with the intent to rid himself of the nuisance, he remembered Sanaki's voice:
But you can't do that! It's so pretty. Can I braid it? I know how, I promise.
Lady Sanaki was already at the table when he entered her apartments, and breakfast was a spicy apple pancake they split in half, which she slathered with butter and coated with cinnamon sugar. Ruby-colored hibiscus tea and a bowl of pecans halved and salted served as companions to the confection. Sephiran ate his plain, and explained his schedule to her while she made sandwiches of pancake wedges and flat nut halves she cut with her fork and ate in dainty bites. The senior senators requested his presence, and there were papers he must review before bringing them to her for a signature. Another fitting would follow, and then his day would belong to her again.
She appreciated the last bit, but when he mentioned Oliver's request, she frowned. I'm the only one allowed to hold your hand. You make sure he knows, or I'll-- I'll fire him.
I'll mention it first thing, Sephiran promised, and hoped she didn't see the way his lips wanted to curve up and give way to a laugh.
His lady sent Sigrun with him - to make sure Oliver stayed in line, she said - and Sephiran went directly to the council chamber he remembered from the night they took him aside to discuss his promotion, on the second floor of the cathedral where it faced a rose garden and a tall hedge that marked the border to a water garden. Blue and green pools framed lotus blossoms there, veiled by the long arms of willows. It was his favorite place on the grounds so far, and he'd spoken to the groundskeeper about stocking the pools with different varieties of fish and aquatic plants so he might take the empress there to conduct lessons.
The room hadn't changed; the same red and white curtains were tied back to reveal the wide window, the chairs were arranged in the same semi-circular formation, their cushions white, some leather and some silk. Sephiran took the seat nearest the door, so he could see the pale green tops of the willows swaying in a breeze he couldn't feel, and Sigrun took a place behind his chair, perhaps against the wall. Hetzel was already there, and Seliora, and Numida with his square mustache and yellowed complexion. They held a murmured conversation by the window which he pretended to ignore, though he heard every word.
Daein is stepping up weapons production, Numida was saying, tapping his paunch and making his coat buttons click beneath his nails. Their ore is disappearing faster than it can be bought. Hetzel sighed, said the wyvern riders were sent to test their border, test provincial readiness, and Seliora was of the opinion Shiharam wouldn't stoop so low as to fight his former compatriots.
He deserted us openly. You doubt he has the gall to fly to battle against us? Daein has made assimilation difficult for them - reason enough to take up arms for Ashnard.
This is assuming Daein means to risk war with us at all. Crimea is a more likely target.
The door opened to admit Oliver's pear-shaped frame, clothed in a dark green coat, his fingers still beringed with gold so the bands clacked on the corner of the door when he pushed it closed. He wasn't fat enough to waddle, but his back strained against the weight of his stomach so he seemed to be leaning back even as he moved forward, and when he sat down, he dropped into the chair with a whoosh of a sigh. The wood creaked, but held.
Sephiran pulled his hair aside and leaned back. The musk of cologne made his nose itch. "So I am in need of proper companionship, am I?" His fat companion lifted his eyebrows, the fingers stroking his mustache into place pausing, and he said, "Valtome had some interesting ideas regarding my promotion."
For a moment he thought Oliver would play dumb; he blinked three times, mouth half-open, and then he snorted. "His own interpretation," he said, letting his hand drop onto the arm of his chair. "I'm sorry to say he is not fond of you."
Sephiran didn't like Valtome either. One need only look at the man for an example of the evils of vanity and materialism. He encouraged Sanaki's spoiled habits; he knew cultivating his own values in the empress would further his own goals, keep her stupid and uninvolved, interested only in her own pleasures. "And what was he interpreting?"
This time Oliver shifted his glance away. The direction of his gaze obligated him to nod to the others, but their discussion didn't pause. "It was mentioned in a meeting you would be a good candidate for a marriage alliance. Lekain is pursuing something currently, but your popularity is-- notable."
Sephiran stared at the glaring window. "Out of the question."
Oliver responded as if he hadn't heard. "You realize, given the empress's favor, a wedding would raise morale - it would give the city something to celebrate, and Lady Sanaki would have a family to call her own."
And this imaginary woman they wanted Sephiran to marry would do her best to influence the empress, no doubt. To whose advantage-- though it didn't matter. "As I said. I am not interested in this proposition."
The chair scraped slightly on the rug. "Are you already connected?"
The simplicity of the question made Sephiran look at him again. "I knew there were strings attached when I accepted this position, but I didn't think it would go this far." The senator had the sense to turn his gaze away and pretend to look out the window. "If I am?"
Oliver rubbed a finger over his lip, five rings glinting like a set of brass knuckles. "The matter will be dropped, of course."
Of course. After an investigation, probably; Zelgius told him the note he received had been read before it reached the barracks - the seal of the envelope was broken, and the messenger did a 'passable job' at concealing the intrusion, but the flap was off-center. The party only confirmed Sephiran's suspicion he was being watched. "Only Seliora and Numida are married, is that not so? I understand Valtome has an unsavory reputation."
"To put it mildly." Oliver rolled his shoulders, a shrug. His fingers curled together, seeking something to hold onto, and finding only the curved, wooden end of the chair arm. "You are not obligated to accept the proposal. The hour is premature. It would be far more advantageous to wait until we have better prospects lined up - a princess from Crimea, or a duchess, or somesuch."
"I see." Sephiran spread his hands on his knees, looked at his bare fingers. He still missed the gold band he used to wear on his left ring finger.
"Put it out of your mind," Oliver said. "I will tell them you heard the proposal, and encourage them to wait."
Sephiran said he would, and avoided looking at Oliver again until the others arrived - Lekain, Culbert - and he was given no choice but to pay attention to the matters at hand. Daein came up immediately, and Lekain's conclusion was similar to Hetzel's earlier criticism: if Ashnard expected to attack anyone, it would be Crimea, and the attack on Begnion's northern border was nothing but a feint - a test of their discipline, a new tool. He waved off protests involving the wyvern riders. Culbert reclined in a chair beside him, chin propped on his fist, silent.
So Lekain had an arrangement with some family, and now he ran the senior council, when Culbert had taken charge before. Lekain had been their spokesman for the last year, perhaps longer; he had charisma, of a sort, a charm Sephiran thought would draw people to him, which Culbert lacked. Thus the division of responsibility made sense, and yet, they were not consistent in their dealings with him. He was sure they did not consider him an equal. They'd met several times before this, after he was summoned and chosen to work with the empress. And Oliver-- one could hardly judge the man's behavior according to logical expectations, so his attention was difficult to attribute a motive to, unless his only desire was, as Sanaki suggested, to hold Sephiran's hand.
He did have an unfortunate reputation-- Duke Tanas. He'd caged more than one heron, it was said, only to have them wilt and die, and his misfortune - always his, not theirs - became a warning to slave owners who sought the birds of Serenes. He kept laguz and beorc alike as ornamentation, well-fed and well-dressed, but objects nonetheless. A lovely pixie of a child had served Sephiran the evening he accepted Oliver's invitation to his manor for tea, and he'd thought her a servant. What if she were less?
As it turned out, the senior council wanted to use Zelgius to command the troops sent to bolster the northern defenses. He has formed an impressive reputation while dealing with the insurgents near Salmo Culbert said (undefeatable, invincible, his sword is the hammer of the gods); He should consider this an opportunity for advancement-- but advancement for what, when he was already a general? Zelgius had no name, no family, but neither did Sephiran. They believed his claim to be a member of the imperial house, perhaps because word of his passage through the cellar wards was spreading, but Zelgius had no such luck.
Sephiran said he would relay their order, and remained silent while they discussed the other topics of the day: retaliation against Kilvas for his messenger's outrageous demand the other day; what should be said to explain Ashera's silence on such a disastrous matter when Sanaki should have had a dream or some sort of vision - they weren't specific about how the power manifested, and perhaps did not understand it as well as they claimed. Sephiran didn't think Ashera's dreams would linger on such an inconsequential mortal matter, but the senators thought her predictions of floods and earthquakes were meant to help her human subjects-- naturally, she would wish to spare Begnion's subjects from a shipwreck.
How naive. Worship of Ashera had grown as strange as Begnion itself since he was last there.
After the meeting Sigrun followed him to the office set aside for his use on the third floor, below the rooms his empress would use when she got older, as his chambers were below her apartment. Three wide, floor-to-ceiling windows opened the back wall and overlooked a rose garden; the white marble floor was bare, the desk to his left was large and wide - but bare, and the shelves set into the wall to his left were empty. He wondered if there were some symbolic meaning in the arrangement, something about the prime minister being the empress's servant in all things, but when he entered, he thought they must be determined to leave him with the most useless, ornamental trappings of rank they could manage without making themselves look bad.
A single folder waited on the chair cushion. He picked it up and flipped through the contents: all single documents, all waiting for the imperial seal. Nothing to discuss or decide upon.
"Is this what you meant?" He looked up. Sigrun waited by the door, gaze lingering on the file, and she lifted a pale green brow. "Your influence with them is negligible, you said."
"You heard it with your own ears," Sephiran said. "The empress is too young to marry off, so they want to use me instead. This," he flipped the folder closed and tossed it onto the desk, rounding the edge to stand at the window, "is comedy. I suppose they think Lady Sanaki will be quicker to sign them if I'm the one handing them over."
Each of Sigrun's footsteps was a loud tap with a distinct echo. She smelled of leather and soap when she paused at his right hand, a step better than the dust that tickled his nose when they first entered. "It is a reasonable assumption, unfortunately."
He counted the bushes arranged on his side of the gravel walk - ten, twelve, nearly two dozen, a mix of white and yellow roses. Red blooms lined the walk, standing out like blood drops, and unlit lanterns occupied the space between them. It was a lovely view, one he would enjoy if the room were meant for that - for tea, and talk, for bird watching and flowers. "That will make teaching her easier, but it was not my intention. I will help her unlearn that inclination if I can."
Her fingers tapped the hilt of her sword. "Really?"
"Two weeks is not very much time," Sephiran said. "I understand." He turned, faced her, the light glaring in his left eye and whitewashing her face. "I can take the throne - right now, if I want it. I can kill the empress, and a legion of swords can't stop me, is that what you believe?"
Sigrun's eyes slid sideways. Her fingers didn't still. "You didn't escape her assassins merely by running, Lord Sephiran."
"We had Zelgius."
"And your own abilities."
"If I were as useless as these men believe," Sephiran said, "Lady Sanaki would be dead."
A frown creased Sigrun's face. "You do like to remind me of that."
"There is nowhere else this conversation can go." Sephiran turned back to the window. "Shadow me until you're convinced, but don't interfere. I'll look forward to your apology when that time comes."
Sigrun spun on her heel so quickly her hair whipped out and struck his shoulder. If she'd had wings, they would have molted, flapped, hit the glass, as bird laguz often did when angry or insulted. He listened to her stalk toward the door and considered the rest of the room - the open space, the light, the limited shelf space. With rugs it might be warmer; with chairs, or one of the divans his lady was so fond of now, it might even be comfortable. Most importantly, it was different: empty, unassociated with audience, or work, or play.
He raised his voice. "Sigrun."
Her footsteps halted.
"Before you go to the empress, find the head of household and send the person here."
She snorted softly before a murmured yes, my lord came through her clenched teeth. The door slammed shut behind her.
Perhaps the situation was not a waste after all - he only had to learn how to use the tools given to him.
*
"Sephiran!" greeted him when he walked into the imperial apartments, followed by the slap of Sanaki's feet on the stone patio outside, then on the rug when she leaped inside and ran to greet him - because she couldn't step over the rut of the door frame, she told him earlier, it had to be jumped. She stopped a few feet away and hid her hands behind her back. "Sigrun said you might be late because you had to decorate your office."
He smiled, held the folder and its papers between thumb and forefinger and let it hang at his side. If he dropped it she would only take notice. Sigrun wasn't there to catch it, or he would have thrown it at her - or thought about doing so, at least. "Nothing so elaborate as that, your majesty. I had to make a few arrangements, that's all. It's the fitting that nearly made me late."
Sanaki reached for his other hand and pulled him onto the rug, toward the balcony door. "What do they have to fit you for? I thought you already had clothes."
Sephiran left the folder on the table when she wasn't looking and allowed himself to be led outside, explaining the difference between the plain white robes and coat he wore there, with her, and the formal costume they wanted him to wear when he stood beside her throne. There was embroidery to be done, gold to be cast for buttons, clasps, decoration. They wanted the fit of his attire to give a certain impression, and he confessed to her that he wasn't sure what that was, or why it was necessary - the empress was prettier on his arm than a special set of cuff links. She giggled and demanded he sit down on the bench by the rail so she could climb into his lap and plant a wet kiss on his cheek.
Pots of flowers lined the rail - orange chrysanthemum, white lilies, hibiscus, cuttings of hydrangea and wisteria, purple dahlia, everything she could have thought of to ask for in a neat row of white pots. Black soil littered the stage on which they were set. Sanaki folded her legs, arranged the ends of her long, purple sash over her knees so she appeared to wear a skirt, and pointed at the hibiscus, whose petals were nearly the color of her hair.
"I want butterflies," she said. "But all I've seen so far is a tiny white one. Why won't they come?"
Sephiran looked where she pointed, and tried to think of an answer. He hadn't known she was awake to listen to his rambling the night before; anything would have calmed her, and butterflies came to mind when he thought of his empress. "Perhaps they aren't the right kind." He didn't want to tell her how backward this attempt was to draw her target, yet she was already frowning at the mere suggestion. "Your balcony is terribly high up, my lady. Butterflies prefer easier targets, and there are dozens of them down in the garden."
She chewed her bottom lip, stared at the rail. He felt her fidget, but it was only to scratch her ankle, and then she leaned back against his chest. "But they can fly."
"They're drawn by certain properties," Sephiran said, and combed her hair with his fingers for one stroke, two. "Perhaps these aren't the right variety of blossom to attract what you want. Choosing correctly will require a bit of study."
Sanaki bent her head back to show him the upside-down oval of her face. Her hair tickled his hand. "Will you find out for me?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "I'll help, if you'd like to look it up."
Her head snapped down and she kicked his leg hard - hard enough Sephiran felt a flash of pain, and he made himself grit his teeth to avoid showing it. But she didn't get up. She scooted forward to sit on his knees, her shoulders hunched, her hands clenched together in her lap, the back of her head blank and shining in the sunlight. Tanith came out of the double glass doors leading to the empress's bedroom, nodded, paced the rail. Something on her uniform jingled faintly in time with her steps.
Instead of doing what she wanted, he asked Tanith to bring the lady's sandals, and turned his head to watch a blue-jay screech and streak down from a tree branch to disappear beyond the rail. He heard her return and pace all the way across the balcony so she could kneel and work Sanaki's feet into the straps. She'd sprinkled powder on the soles, and it smelled fresh, almost like flowers.
"We will visit the garden first," Sephiran said when Tanith tied the last strap around the empress's ankle.
Sanaki slid from his lap and spun around, the blunt ends of her purple hair flying. "It's your job to do it for me."
He stood up slowly, tested his leg; it might bruise, but there was no pain when he put his weight upon it. "I am your aide. It is my job to provide information you do not have time to research yourself."
"That's why I'm telling you to look!"
"But what are you doing that prevents you from searching?" A frown turned her lips down in a dark crease. Sephiran went on quickly before she could respond. "Waiting for butterflies, yes? You'll find more downstairs-- and so will I, but they might not be what you want to find. You may send me down again and again to do your research, and wait twice as long for something you could have done correctly the first time with your own eyes."
Sanaki's frown turned to a glare, her golden eyes narrowing, glinting beneath her bangs. "But I told you to. You're supposed to do what I say."
He lowered his head, directed his gaze to the stone beside her feet. "If one makes too many demands, they lose their power to move one's subjects."
"Sephiran--"
"I'll wait for you by the lotus pond," he said, snapping his gaze back at the slap of her sandal on the floor. "You don't have to go down, of course, but it may be hours before my own wanderings produce the results you want." Sephiran walked back into her apartment, heard her draw a quick breath, and said over his shoulder, "Take your time, my lady. We have all day."
Her shouting started a breath before he pulled the parlor door closed behind him. One of the younger knights, a blonde with unusually dark eyes, lifted her brows at him when he let out a breath. "I invited her to a butterfly hunt," he said, and exited the antechamber quickly after her blinking, quizzical response, hoping the empress wouldn't have the presence of mind to chase him out. With witnesses, and perhaps servants nearby, he'd have no choice but to bend his neck.
Gardens occupied most of the palace grounds, those not given over to business or worship, as the north and west were; the rose garden and hedges visible from the offices became a water garden when they reached the palace, which stretched the length of the west wing until it gave way to beds of flowers and meandering paths, and then the trees and shaded alcoves facing the imperial apartments. He took the long way around to be sure the empress would see him from her balcony if she cared to look, scanned the flower beds for specimens. An iron gate at the end of his path opened to the water garden. Wisteria reached over the rest of the fence, grasped at the flowers with curled arms, bright green and unadorned by blossoms. Short, delicate maples and moss-carpeted dirt resolved into willows with drooping branches and neatly cut grass. Water flowed in the background, breaking around corners and over obstacles, but Sephiran didn't see it glitter until he reached the first wooden bridge and moved a curtain of branches aside with his fingers to look down at a stream narrow enough he could jump over it. Orange and yellow lilies crowded the shore, their perfume subtle on the air.
If the empress had made a habit of coming down to this place, he thought, she would not be able to resist returning again and again. Spots of sunlight glittered between the branches, but the shade was cool, and the water, the flowers, drowned the smell of burning wood and dirt and oil the city brought, and the blended perfumes of senators pacing in their wake like ghosts. A path of flat river stones led to a gazebo overgrown by flowering vines, and beyond a pool dotted by white and pink lotus blossoms. Lady Sanaki liked flowers, liked 'pretty things,' yet she hardly ever left her rooms, except to see the senate. No wonder she was so bad-tempered. It couldn't be his heritage skewing his perception - even beorc grew sullen and depressed when denied simple pleasures like wandering among the trees or chasing butterflies.
There weren't as many differences between the races as they liked to think. His empress responded to his cues like any laguz child would; she grew angry when criticized, when told no; she loved to be praised, to have her hair stroked, to curl up with another warm body. She sought someone trustworthy when afraid - someone she knew would defend her from the blade of an assassin-- or a lightning storm, as he'd done once before.
Beorc were better at rationalizing, while laguz simply didn't seek that kind of affirmation. But they were enraged as easily as any animal; when threatened, they struck without asking if their target happened to be deserving of their rage-- just like animals. Worse.
Sephiran waited by the white trellis of the gazebo and followed the movement of the ornamental fish near the bottom of the false pond, seeing fire in their gold when the sun struck just right and their tiny, gossamer scales glinted. He heard the steps clattering and sliding on the pathways, heard the murmur of female voices, but didn't turn around until someone took his hand and pulled - and it was the empress in her white sundress, vivid against the darkness of the trees and water.
"Your majesty," he said, bending to one knee. Her lips were flat, neither frowning nor smiling. "I apologize for my inattention."
Sanaki let go of his hand with a sharp hmph and faced the water.
Sephiran looked at Tanith. "I'm honored to have you join me." The knight shrugged. Her fingers tapped the hilt of her sword, as her superior had a habit of doing. The empress stared at the water when he turned back to her. "I noticed many varieties of flower on my way over here, and some are bound to draw what you seek. The yarrow especially, and perhaps the coneflowers." He didn't want to take her to the rose garden, as that would place her under the scrutiny of the senior senators. The roses there would surely draw all sorts of pollinators with their bright colors and heady scent. Perhaps on a holiday.
"I thought you said you weren't going to look," Sanaki said.
Sephiran watched her bite her lip inward. "I can look." He stood up. "I cannot read your mind, however."
Another sharp sigh, and her chin wrinkled. "You know what I want."
"Butterflies?" Her eyes narrowed to sharp slits, but he saw her face relax when she looked up and found his own face blank. Tanith paced away, a white smear on his peripheral vision. "The Gallian varieties. Is that it?" His empress nodded so emphatically her hair swayed and the ends caught on her lips. Sephiran brushed it back into place. "I'm afraid they don't live here, empress. They might like your garden, but they're more suited to the climate and environment in Gallia."
She frowned again, but her gaze became abstracted. "Can we bring them here?"
Sephiran's eyes flicked to the undulating surface of the lake, rippling before a breeze that teased his hair, cooled his forehead, and danced through the empress's bangs. "Possibly. At most they live a week, but their offspring can be nourished with the proper leaves. It would be a very difficult journey."
"They... would die?" Sanaki let go of his hand to chew on her knuckle. "Do we have the right food for them?"
"It would have to be imported."
Another frown, and a line creased her forehead. "But--"
He waited for her to finish. Tanith returned to his field of vision and paced in the other direction, perhaps to check on the gate. A hum like hummingbirds' wings and bees was beneath her footsteps, as if the air itself contemplated.
"Can you take me to Gallia?" His eyebrows shot up, and Sanaki grabbed his hands. "I don't want them to die! I just want to see one. Can't you show them to me just once?"
Sephiran tried not to frown. "It really would be easier to have a breeder bring--"
"No, that's horrible! I won't steal them away from their homes." Sanaki yanked at his hands, stopping only when he held them tightly still. "I want to go see. I promise I won't touch them. Please?"
Well at least she was asking this time, instead of ordering. Her eyes glinted, and Sephiran didn't want to refuse her; she saw it in his expression and started to say something, but he squeezed her hand and knelt beside her again. "I would like to." He raised his hand when she opened her mouth again; "This is something you must ask the rest of the council. I'm afraid it isn't within my authority to take you that far."
Sanaki looked away. He thought she murmured I hate them, but Tanith's jogging footsteps drowned the words out.
"It's almost time for lunch," she said, slowing at the edge of the path and saluting the empress, who presented only the back of her head. "Shall I have someone bring your meal out to the gazebo?"
Another breeze tossed the empress's bangs out of order, and Sephiran smoothed her hair with his fingers. "Please do," he said when Sanaki continued to stare at the pond, and listened to the knight walk away again. "There's no table just yet, but we should go up and sit on one of the benches," he told her.
She didn't respond, but followed the nudging of his hand when he stood up again and climbed the wooden stairs into the gazebo. A thread from her sash caught on a nail, ripped when she didn't bother to bend down to free it. Sephiran helped her onto a flat white cushion, sat beside her, and examined the embroidery to assure himself it could be fixed. He knew the craft - knew how time-consuming it could be, how it cramped the fingers, how the needles drew blood as often as thread even when one was experienced. Sanaki pulled her legs up and twisted to look over the trellis wall, down into the water.
There, at least, was an exotic world - a beautiful one, with its blue and green shadows, the sway of water grasses like corn silk on the wind, and golden fish mapping the paths between them.
Lady Sanaki was very much like a butterfly, though Sephiran thought she would thrive in the world, rather than wilt and die. Long ago, when her ancestress ruled this nation, he was the object of the comparison - and perhaps he would have died without the nurturing of his goddess, or his guardians.
The other senators would refuse her request. He knew she would make it, and knew their answer as though it were already written in the minutes.
"I'm sorry," he said.
The empress looked up from her contemplation of the water. Her eyes no longer shined with tears, but the sunlight seemed dull where it caught her lashes. "Tell me about others," she said, shifting her legs to the other side so she could lean on his arm and play with his hair where it spread on the cushion between them. "Tell me about the trees."
Sephiran leaned back against the rail. That he could do-- with pleasure.
.