TT2_QueenKalasin1

Note: Okay, I know I said that the sequel would probably take place primarily in someone else's fantasy world (Does my unnamed Empire count? Any suggestions?), but since it’s only a year later, it shouldn’t stuff things up too much (fingers crossed). Same deal with disclaimers, as in Kalasin’s betrothal. Tortall, all its characters, settings, past histories, etc, is the property of Tamora Pierce. It is not my intention to claim them nor to use them in any way counter to the wishes of their creator.

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Prologue – Winter Chill

Bersone, the Empire, sometime in the middle of winter

Queen Kalasin of Sarain slipped out of bed and padded over to the window. Even after a week in the Imperial capital, she was still surprised each morning to find the marble floors perfectly warm, and her apartments at a comfortable temperature, even though a blizzard howled outside.

Yevgen wasn’t there, of course. Since they had arrived at his childhood home for the coronation of his eldest sister, he had spent much of his time catching up with old friends, and roaming around his old haunts. He was usually gone long before she woke up and Kally rarely saw him before the formal Court entertainment in the evening.

Kally sighed as she traced abstract patterns in the glass, marveling at how she could not feel the snow, even as it buffeted against the outer walls. Yevgen had explained how it was done, that the window was in fact several layers of glass, each with a thin layer of air in between for insulation.

Yevgen…she sighed. After more than a year of marriage, he still treated her with the polished, elegant courtesy he had at their meeting. It could have been worse, she supposed, he could have been a complete boor, or neglectful, or patronizing.

Yevgen was none of those things. They had what Buri would have called a ‘good working relationship’, they were friends, trusted each other, cared for each other. In their first year as rulers of Sarain they had managed to rebuild much of the capital, re-establish a workable currency (Imperial coinage), and secure the trade routes for at least large caravans to cross the country. They had also managed to broker agreements between lowlander Saren and the K’mir and Doi tribes – which was far more than any ruler had done for well-nigh a quarter of a century. Hence, despite grumblings about the ‘foreign’ blood in the new monarchs (Yevgen could trace his lineage back eight centuries without a drop of non-Imperial blood, while Kally was half-Tortallan, quarter K'mir and quarter Saren) the change in power in Sarain was by and large accepted with relief among the long-suffering people.

After one year as Queen of Sarain, Kalasin could see the next few decades spread in front of her. She imagined that even twenty years hence, Yevgen would probably still rise when she entered a room and glare the other courtiers into doing so, and she would know exactly what he would do when faced with any thorny diplomatic issue (as he already knew what she would do), but still have no idea what he was really like.

She knew she ought not to be dissatisfied. Yevgen was pretty much as good as they come as far as politically-arranged suitors were concerned. He was barely a year older than her, handsome, intelligent, and had very good manners, and absolutely no problems with her martial and equestrian interests. Of course, considering that nearly every woman in his close acquaintance was a knight, that was hardly going to be an issue. Kally had long since seen the irony of the situation, that, having surrendered her girlhood dream of knighthood to facilitate a political marriage, her chosen suitor came from a land with a centuries-long tradition of knighthood for both sexes.

She laughed at her pickiness, wanting Yevgen to be just that little bit more perfect, when she knew that he was already beyond her wildest dreams when she envisioned an arranged bridegroom. He respected her intelligence, sought her opinions on matters of governance, and treated her with courtesy and consideration. Had he been a Tortallan squire or knight, she would have quite happily allowed him into her very select circle of swains. She shook her head as she moved off to her dressing room. She had more than many a young woman of noble birth could possibly hope for – respect, courtesy, real authority. She could not possibly hope for the passionate, romantic love of her husband as well. Yevgen had been scrupulously honest. He offered her friendship, and partnership, because that was all he could give.

It wasn’t his fault that Kalasin had long since fallen hopelessly in love with him.

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Reintroductions

“You know, kingship has really changed you. Or it could be marriage. Either way, you’re different now. More mature. More confident, somehow,” Dama Radanae Gavrillian of the Imperial Diplomatic Service scrutinized her friend and the Empress-to-be’s younger brother with a dispassionate eye. They’d been in the same graduating class of the Imperial Knights’ Academy.

“Thank you,” Yevgen said dryly, accepting a mug of hot spiced cider to ward off the chill from his cold sleigh-ride.

Like most junior diplomats who did not need to impress anyone but extremely minor functionaries in private, Radanae’s offices were small and drafty. Her considerable private wealth and enormous family fortune, however, had rendered her more fortunate then most, with a charcoal brazier, expensive wine warmer (with just as expensive a collection of wines, ciders, and spices visible behind the desk) and large, soft rugs taking up space in her already cramped office. However, if he knew her well, Radanae was too clever to allow her wealth to be a source of overt envy, and he had a feeling that her office had become the unofficial gathering place for all the younger diplomats, assured of warmth, something hot to drink and maybe a pastry or two whenever they dropped in.

The Tortallan trip that had resulted in his marriage to Princess Kalasin of Conté and ascension to the throne of Sarain had brought changes to others as well. His friend Radanae’s promotion from diplomatic aide to junior diplomat in her own right was only one of many changes in status among his former acquaintance in the capital.

“How’s been Ris coping?” he asked bluntly. He’d had only a few chances to speak to his eldest sister in private since his arrival a week ago, hardly conducive to deep, meaningful, family discussions.

“As well as may be expected. Corin is good for her.” Radanae grinned at his look, “Yes, I know you think he’s a bit of a wet blanket, but you can’t deny that he is steady. He’ll keep her grounded and focused.” Yevgen did not know his recently-wed eldest sister’s husband terribly well, being several years behind them at the Academy, but evidently Radanae did. Much to his regret, he and Kally had not been able to attend the wedding due to the unusually early closure of Chitral Pass, unseasonal storms, and a minor crisis along the Saren-Gallan border. They’d had to settle for a mage-link to the ceremony, and to speak to the principals.

“Kay should help as soon as she gets here.” Radanae continued, referring to Yevgen’s twin sister and now the Imperial Heir, Princess Berenice, “The Qsendil River is frozen upstream so she’s coming by horseback and sleigh.”

There was a comfortable silence, broken only when Radanae felt the need to throw another handful of sweetly scented wood onto the brazier.

“Have you finished mopping up Nhqetl affair yet?” Yevgen asked, referring to a rather serious security breach during his wedding the previous year when someone had tried to kill both he and Kalasin.

“Yes, finally,” Radanae leant over and unscrewed the tap of the wine warmer to get some more cider. She tasted it, and then used tongs to move another coal from the brazier to the little dish under the urn to get the cider hotter. “It was more complicated than any of us had ever thought. It is fairly amusing, though, how much wasted effort went into that stupid conspiracy, when it was so patent that there was absolutely no need for it.”

“Good. Nothing like looking over your shoulder for assassins to ruin a perfectly nice holiday,”

“Rather.”

There was another silence, longer this time, long enough for Radanae to rummage in her desk drawer and bring out a small box of cookies from the capital’s most famous bakery.

“How’s Kalasin?” she asked, at last.

“Fine, I think.”

“You think?” Radanae raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I can’t know exactly,” he said defensively, “it’s not as though we’re all that close.”

“Oh? Do tell,” without even a diplomatic attempt at disinterest, Radanae laid aside her mug and looked at her friend with undisguised curiosity. “We’ll just lay aside the fact that you’ve been married and living together in that gloriously beautiful castle for a year, building up a country almost from scratch, and somehow still managing to have the time to get caught doing things in the baths that would have got three months stable duty back at the Academy, won’t we?”

He blushed hotly at that, but didn’t bother with any outraged outbursts. He knew what the ‘Imperial Diplomatic Service’ was a euphemism for, and, in retrospect, he would have been more surprised if somebody in the Service didn’t know. It was hardly a secret in Sarain. The unfortunate interruption of a bathhouse attendant meant that certain private details of the royal couple were still doing the rounds in Saren taverns.

“We’d had too much to drink,” he muttered sourly, “it was just after we’d finally managed to wrangle an agreement on pasture between the K’mir and the lowlanders. You know how much of a nightmare it is getting that lot to sit in the same room without killing each other, much less shake hands on a ten-year deal.”

Radanae raised an eyebrow at that, as though she didn’t quite believe him, but was letting him get away with his delusion. He did not back away from her scrutiny. “No…it’s not just the marriage or the kingship…though I agree that’s part of it. It’s something else. Something I don’t often see.”

“Radanae, do you mind? I did not take a sleigh ride out here at the crack of dawn to be analyzed by the woman who used to say that my essays were histrionic tripe, thank you very much!”

“Then why did you come out here?” she asked.

He hesitated, then looked around. “What have you got on Barnesh’s refortification of the old forts on my western border?”

Radanae gave him a look that congratulated him on his quick thinking (for she was sure that he had simply chickened out of discussing a far more interesting topic) and led him to a place where they could have a more private conversation.

Kally had just finished dressing when she heard the outer door of the suite open and footsteps on the marble floor. Expecting it to be yet another court functionary deputized to show her around the Palace compound or familiarize her with Imperial protocol, she left the dressing room, to find that it was her husband.

He’d obviously been out in the storm. While an attendant had probably removed his outer layers, his hair was wet with melting snowflakes, and his nose was red with cold. He carried a large box that smelled delicious and a pile of papers.

“Oh,” he looked mildly surprised that she was already up and dressed. Kally had despised getting out of bed in winter, especially during a snowstorm, the previous year in Sarain. She was hardly going to tell him that the main reason she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed then was because he was in it. “Good morning. Umm…err…. I’ve just been over to the Diplomatic Offices to see what they think about Barnesh on the western border…umm…I picked up some pastries on the way back.” He laid the box and the papers on the dining table in their suite and made his way quickly to his own dressing room.

Kally allowed herself a moment to admire his back view before sitting down and perusing the paperwork. They had ‘classified’ stamped on them, and showed sketches and calculations of their western border with Maren. The box contained a dozen delightful-smelling cakes, pastries, scrolls, and other baked goods, all of them unfamiliar. She supposed that they must be specialties of the capital. A knock at the door heralded the entrance of a horde of the servants that served the Imperial family, bearing trays of cups, pots, and unfamiliar flasks, and pushing a trolley on which lay several more covered trays. Kally stood as they came towards her and quickly moved the papers out of the way as they began to efficiently set the table, place the cakes on stands, and vanish out of the room with bows before she could so much as thank them.

In his dressing room, Yevgen heard the whirlwind that was the Palace Staff as he hurriedly changed his clothes. Winter clothing, in his mind, might have been warm, but it was dreadfully inconvenient. At least his valet was taking care of his overcoat and gloves, for he was having enough trouble with his tunic –high necked, double breasted, with silver buttons running from hip to neck. It came to his knees, though there were slits on either side that came to his hips for ease of movement. He paused a minute to get tangled up in his braces, before peeling off the doeskin breeches and his knee-length boots and leaving them all in a mess in the middle of the room for his valet to clean up. He had planned to have breakfast set up, and be changed before he woke her up. Kally never got up early in winter. He should know.

What is bothering you? A part of his mind asked She’s perfectly entitled to change her habits.

I know, but it was a bit of a surprise coming in when she was already dressed.

Why? It’s not as though you don’t know very well what she looks like in the nude. Are you that disappointed you couldn’t get back into bed with her?

There was no use arguing with himself, particularly when at least half his mind was in the gutter. Muttering things about being juvenile, Yevgen quickly selected a clean shirt, tunic and breeches, and quickly laced up a pair of soft indoor boots before returning to the main room, where Kally was again seated at the table, managing to clear a small space in the jumble of crockery and glassware to peruse the sketches. She looked up as he entered.

“You know,” she began, “I’ve never seen you wear those before.” She certainly would have noticed before. The breeches fit like a second skin, and the tunic was similarly closely tailored. Back in Sarain, both of them wore simpler clothing, in keeping with their task in rebuilding the country rather than squandering what little surplus there was in the treasury. Imperial funds, as well as Kally’s dowry and Yevgen’s personal fortune, were hardly to be sneezed at, but establishing a country took a great deal of money.

He looked down at his attire. “Oh,” he shrugged, “fashions change here so quickly, so I picked up the trick from Kay. She doesn’t bother packing clothes to wear here when she needs to come. She just sends her measurements to the Palace tailors a few weeks before she leaves and she has a whole wardrobe ready when she gets here. It saves on packing.”

Kally was feeling a little silly at having ordered a few more gowns from seamstresses at home before she came. She was already quite aware that she dressed very differently from most of the other young female aristocrats.

Yevgen noticed her expression as she sat down. “You know, I’ve seen at least three versions of that dress in the windows of the city’s most exclusive couturiers this morning alone,” he said lightly, as he uncovered plates that contained all manner of strange food. “You’ve quite taken the Bersone fashion scene by storm.” He concluded, examining the pots. He turned to her with a breathtaking smile. “I just realized that you haven’t had a full traditional breakfast yet, so I thought I’d come up and surprise you with one.”

The breakfast had familiar things, like ham, sausages, and eggs, though the herbs and spices were unfamiliar, and she’d never seen eggs cooked quite so many ways. There were also stranger things that she’d never thought to see for breakfast, like delicate hot smoked fish, and a range of meat and vegetable stuffings in mysterious silky white pastry, which Yevgen explained was a sort of steamed rice paper. There was also a wide range of breads, cakes, tarts and pastries, steamed, fried and baked, with more fillings than she had ever imagined. The pots contained teas, coffees, hot chocolate, spiced cider and mulled wine. Kally wondered aloud how they were supposed to finish it.

Yevgen laughed, a little sheepishly. “Well, usually, there are meant to be more people at a traditional breakfast – it comes from feeding hordes of starving knights - but I wanted you to try as much as possible. Good breakfast chefs are quite rare – you’ll notice that I couldn’t manage to persuade one to come to the castle.” He grinned. Problems with the kitchen had become a comfortable joke between them. Sarain was not exactly known for its gourmet cooking, and previous attempts by both the King and the Queen to import chefs had ended with more trouble than a decent dinner really warranted. At present, they were making do with a local, though both the King and Queen usually started their meal only after making sure that nobody else in the Great Hall was gagging.

“The sketches are quite interesting. Despite Barnesh’s protestations that he’s only restoring historical monuments, I don’t quite buy it,” Kally spread the pictures out after a cleaning crew came in and cleared the table as swiftly as it had been laid. Yevgen took it all in his stride. Kally sighed and wished that the domestic staff at home were quite as competent.

“Neither do I. There are just a few too many gaps for catapults in the walls for it to be purely historical, don’t you think?” Yevgen moved one in particular, where the ‘classified’ stamp was extremely obvious. He met Kally’s eyes. “Yes, I do have clearance to get these, don’t keep looking at me like that. We’ve got a meeting with Ris to discuss this in the afternoon. I was going to tell you last night, but you were already asleep when I got in.”

She hadn’t been, but she was ridiculously relieved to note that he had been only exhausted, and did not smell of either perfume or wine.

“What do you think?” she asked as all the sketches came into view. It was very much a rhetorical question, as it was clear that from these sketches and what their own operatives were reporting, the string of garrison forts on the Maren border was not just for show. Optimistically, the forts might be no more than part of a planned restoration of border security, especially with the continual threat of Saren instability spilling over the border, and the ever-present refugee problems associated with such instability. However, if it was so, there had been two decades for Barnesh to do so. Why restore just when Sarain was stable again, and had the backing of the largest Empire in the known world, larger even than Carthak? That Maren posed any threat at all to the Empire was laughable. That the Empire could easily take Maren, with or without border fortifications on the Saren front, was easily apparent.

“I think that he’s playing a far deeper game. I went and had a talk to Radanae Gavrillian this morning – do you remember her? She used to be Ambassador Lansherry’s aide in Tortall...”

“Oh, how is she?” Kally interrupted, “and ‘used to be’?”

“She got a promotion after she got back to Bersone. Full-fledged diplomat, the youngest in the Service. Her House is still working out how to congratulate her. Gavrillian’s all full of fighters, so they’re completely baffled as much as proud at how they managed to produce a diplomat. She hasn’t been at the social functions this week as she’s got a cold, but she’s ordered me to tell you that if you ever want ‘girl talk’ – whatever that is,” he made a comical face, “you’re more than welcome to go to her, since Kay and the other female knights who were in Tortall last year won’t be here until nearer to the coronation.”

“That’s nice of her,” Kally said neutrally. She did know Radanae, and the rest of her husband’s friends who had come to Tortall, slightly, but she couldn’t really imagine exchanging giggling confidences with the knight.

“It’s more than being pleasant,” Yevgen said softly, “She didn’t say it in so many words, but she is involved in the Imperial Intelligence Service, so by ‘girl talk’ she doesn’t just mean where the best couturiers or the finest jewelers are, though I have no doubt that you will hear her very lengthy opinions on that, if you’re so minded.”

Kally understood him perfectly. She had a feeling that their morning meeting wasn’t just about reminiscing on old times and locating old friends. The sketches on the table between them were probably just the physical evidence of a very lengthy discussion on the characteristics, strengths and weaknesses of the Maren King. Kally smiled at how King Barnesh had once been half-heartedly considered as a potential husband, though it hadn’t been very funny at the time. He was famed for his intelligence and cunning, but he was also older than her father, outlived four wives, each younger than the last, and had a very low reputation among female servants. Her smiled faded as she remembered her younger sister Lianne, still unbethrothed, though that was due more to her parents unwilling to make a choice from among so many unpromising choices than any lack of offers.

No, she vastly preferred her personable, intelligent, charming, handsome Yevgen (she knew she was in trouble when she noticed how many adjectives she was using) to anyone else, especially King Barnesh. On a more practical level, Yevgen was richer, and it wouldn’t have ever occurred to him to stop her doing anything she wanted to, unless it was phenomenally stupid (though that hadn’t happened yet). Even if he treated her as partner and friend instead of lover, despite the very persuasive physical evidence to the contrary.

In her office, where the brazier didn’t quite ward off the chill, Dama Radanae Gavrillian took a break from her extremely boring paperwork to mull over her conversation with the King of Sarain that morning. She recalled what she had seen at the State Dinner several nights ago as she passed on an upper gallery on the way to her Palace apartments (as heir to one of the most powerful Houses, Radanae took full advantage of the suite her family always kept in the Palace. Her parents, warriors to the core, despised social functions with a passion and preferred the family ‘townhouse’ – a huge mansion – in the city proper. They were, however, more than happy for her to live there, where it was closer to the Diplomatic Offices). Radanae began to chuckle as she finally put it together. Neither Yevgen nor Kalasin were particularly demonstrative people, so it hadn’t been as obvious as it was for some. She wondered if Kalasin knew that her husband was in love with her. Then, as she went to refill her mug, and recalling a younger Yevgen’s childish assertion that one can fall in love but once in a lifetime, wondered if he realized it himself.

She stirred raspberry-blossom honey into her cider as she contemplated the situation. It wasn’t really a subject she could discuss with Rislyn, close as she and the Empress-to-be were these days (Radanae was an unofficial adviser), unless it was very late at night, they were very bored, overdosed on chocolate, and in dire need of a diversion. However, the same could not be said of Princess Berenice, the Empress’s younger sister, and Yevgen’s twin. Soon, she and her assistant, Radanae’s best friend and former roommate Dama Justinia Ferox, would be arriving in the capital for the coronation. For very obvious reasons, Kay’s other assistant, Dama Felara Eriel, would be remaining in their northern base, literally minding the fort (Lara was Yevgen’s former lover. While they had ended their affair when Yevgen’s betrothal plans were announced, nobody saw any point in making social situations more awkward than they really had to be). The three of them had managed to interfere in far more complex things than a simple romance before.

She smiled as she sipped her drink. This winter, things were going to be more interesting that the usual regime of clothes-fittings, overeating, and cold-catching. She could hardly wait.

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Lunch with an Empress

The soon-to-be Empress Rislyn of the Imperial House of Delmaran, handsome, clever and enlightened, with an unblemished reputation and a pleasant disposition, seemed to exemplify the ideal ruler of the vast Empire, even by the lofty standards, by and large, that had been set by her predecessors; and had lived nearly twenty five years in the world knowing that she would one day be the ruler of that Empire.

Kalasin knew her sister-in-law only slightly. She had come to Sarain for the coronation of Yevgen and Kalasin the previous winter, and had seemed a pleasant, friendly, if slightly aloof young woman, genuinely fond of her younger siblings. In royal families, that usually only meant that they did not send assassins after each other, but Kally did see that the three Imperial children were quite close. Though he never even intimated it, Yevgen was much happier having the sort of sibling relationship characterized warm letters exchanged across half a continent. He had spent much of his life in the shadow of his more outgoing twin, and, for reasons of survival, both had consciously taken second place to their elder sister. No matter how much he might complain after a long day wrangling with equally stubborn lowlanders and K’mir, Kally knew that he enjoyed his comparative independence with her in Sarain.

The Empress’s cavernous complex of private reception rooms, studies, and offices for her staff were quite close to the Imperial Family’s living quarters where Kally and Yevgen were staying, so it was a short walk to join Rislyn and her husband Corin for lunch. Kally had no idea how they were going to manage lunch after such an enormous breakfast, but Yevgen seemed to have no problems with it. He appeared to have finished all the roaming and catching up that he wanted to do in the previous week, and instead spent the rest of the morning showing her around parts of the Palace complex that she hadn’t seen yet. She felt ridiculously pleased that he did know where she’d been with the faceless, polite guides she’d had over the last week. He explained that most knights who weren’t actually stationed at the Palace did not tend to come to Court over the winter. Unlike Tortall, where winter was the social season, winter for Imperial knights was a time to prepare for the year ahead, whether it was specialist training in different terrain, or planning their investments or spring planting.

The set social season, such as it was (for Yevgen explained that there were functions at the Palace all year round), instead was concentrated around a few weeks each summer, when the year’s new knights would demonstrate their talents, and hopefully be granted knighthood by the Empress. In the Empire, graduation from the Academy and consequent knighting, was probably the single most important event in the life of an aristocrat, namely as, without knighthood, one wasn’t considered a proper member of the aristocratic class, with the considerable privileges and responsibilities that entailed. It was the official entry into one’s House as a full member, the formal acknowledgement of adulthood, and one’s debut upon the betrothal-market (for the few that bothered with formal vows), all rolled into a single ceremony.

Therefore, he finished (by this time he was running somewhat short of breath), he hadn’t been able to find any off-duty old friends who knew the Palace better than he to show her around while he caught up with on-duty friends, and tidied up those more personal aspects relating to the sudden passing of the Empress Vanaria, that related to him. Those mainly concerned things like his share of the private Delmaran fortune (as opposed to the Imperial Treasury, which was all Rislyn’s, and the trust fund that had been set up for him and to which he already had access). He’d also finally finished wrangling with his banker to transfer what remained of the legacy he’d inherited from his late father to Sarain. Cornelian Seferius might have been a very useful financial watchdog for a young prince who had very good taste in clothes and horses, but he was rather over-fusty for a new King with a country to literally build up from scratch. Yevgen was perfectly aware that Sarain wasn’t much of an investment opportunity, but, as he finally (eloquently) bellowed at the older man, he wasn’t an investor, he was a King.

That shut the banker up. Of the considerable fortune left by the Empress Vanaria’s Consort, most of the real estate – mines, farms, forests, pastureland, an impressive portfolio of residential, industrial, and commercial leases, as well as more than a few trade routes, had been left to Kay, who spent much of her time in the North where those interests were concentrated anyway. Yevgen got the entirety of the ready cash, plus collections of art and horses (and the stud farm that went with the horses). The art was renegotiated with his sisters for more cash, all of which (minus two years worth of clothes and horses) was now in the Saren treasury.

It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of conversations, but then again, Kally couldn’t recall if they’d ever had a romantic conversation – they always had too much to talk about regarding Sarain. She heaved a little inward sigh as Yevgen sprouted on about whether it would be better to establish a linked postal service first, or perhaps if they should establish an irregular cavalry group like her mother’s Riders? It could be worse, she told herself, he might never ask my opinion on things, keep me locked away and just trot me out every now and again to keep the K’mir happy. Why do I always have to think of how it could be so much better?

“Kally?” Yevgen’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Are you alright? I thought the Riders thing could go first, because it might take a while to establish a suitable herd of message horses and to get the roads to a reasonable standard. What do you think?”

She must have said something worrying, for he looked at her with concern then and pulled her into an alcove where there was a cunningly hidden padded seat. “Are you alright?” he repeated, sounding anxious. “You’ve been a bit quiet lately.”

“No, no,” Kally waved a hand. “I was just thinking about the idea with the Riders.” She said quickly. “We’ll have to make sure that there’s a visibly open recruiting and training system, though, or the lowlanders will be complaining that it’s K’mir dominated, or vice versa.”

He nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that.” He exhaled softly, “Well, if you’re sure you’re feeling okay…” he trailed off. “I…” he began, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a colorless court functionary.

“Your Royal Majesties?” the woman’s voice was dull and bored, “If you so please, her Imperial Highness the Princess Rislyn and his Excellency Sir Corin request the pleasure of your Royal Majesties’ company for lunch.”

Yevgen sighed and rose from the seat, reflexively holding out a hand to help Kally up. One of the more stiff-necked ones, he thought. Most had begun to call Rislyn ‘Imperial Majesty’ already.

Kally didn’t really need the help, but she appreciated his gesture, automatic as it was. She knew that he only did it for her – she had a feeling that all his female friends – knights to the last woman – would have looked askance at the suggestion that they were incapable of getting up from a padded seat. Then again, so would have Kally in ordinary circumstances. She realized that she was making absolutely no sense whatsoever and resolved to put an end to that line of thought.

By then, they had reached the drawing room where they were to have lunch with the soon-to-be Empress and her Consort.

“Wonderful to have a chance to speak in private finally,” Rislyn greeted them warmly as they were seated and Corin dismissed the surplus servants.

Sir Corin Neshan was a handsome, elegant man in his late twenties, with thick dark hair that curled slightly, and blue-green eyes.

“How have you been finding the capital, Kalasin?” Corin asked, his voice a pleasant baritone, “I understand that it’s your first visit.”

“Yes, it is,” Kalasin answered she started on some unfamiliar-looking vegetables. While what she had tried of high Imperial cuisine so far was pleasant, very little of it was recognizable. “However, I haven’t seen much of the city outside of the Palace.”

“Haven’t you?” Rislyn raised an eyebrow. “Yevgen, why don’t you show Kalasin around sometime before the coronation? We can’t run the fountains in this weather, but there are ice-sculptures and snow-castles in the parks, and I have ordered the whole hot-chestnuts and mulled cider thing. Keeps the quiet when there are so many more people in the city.” She explained.

“I was going to, Rislyn, but, in case you haven’t noticed, there have been storms every day since we arrived.” Yevgen abandoned his usually exemplary manners to mumble through a mouthful of crisp-fried quail. Recalling those manners, he swallowed before continuing, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve been rather engaged with Master Seferius lately, not to mention that little matter with Barnesh slobbering on my border!”

“Is that so?” Rislyn’s voice was amused.

Too late, Kally realized that her previous slightly teasing tones were no more than an older sister’s right to annoy a younger brother, not any real malice.

Rislyn sighed. “I’m perfectly aware that Barnesh is a slippery character. Those little rocks on your border aren’t to be sneezed at, I know. Did you know that he’s recruiting very heavily for militia units in his eastern fiefs?”

“No,” Yevgen looked rather displeased. “But it doesn’t make sense though. Surely he doesn’t think that any force he could gather would be much against the Swords?” He gave the nickname for the combined forces of Imperial Army, Navy, and the elite squads that were technically the Empress’s bodyguard but were closer to a sort of police force-cum-commando unit. Not that Rislyn would consider them her private bully-boys and girls, but she could not deny that certain of her predecessors had done so.

“I don’t think it’s meant as a serious threat.” Rislyn said, buttering a roll. “Barnesh is trying to make us see more than what’s there. Our emissaries last year…shall we say…did not mention certain facts, such as…”

“Geography?” Kalasin interrupted with a smile. Over the last year, she had learned from her husband just how vast the Empire and its resources truly were. When the Imperial delegation had visited Tortall, until the time came for them to offer troops for a minor war against Scanra, even those at court had thought that it was an Empire like Carthak – large, certainly, wealthy, and possessed of a considerable army, but not nearly as powerful as it truly was. It stood far greater chance of any significant trouble from within than from any of its neighbors.

“That’s one way to put it,” Rislyn poured herself some wine and offered Kally some. “Barnesh, as we see it, is reacting to what he perceives as some sort of competent leadership on his eastern front,” she nodded to Kally and Yevgen as servants discreetly changed their plates and set out a light dessert of poached fruit and sweetened marscapone cheese.

“Which is all credit to you two,” Rislyn continued, sprinkling cinnamon on top of her serving, “that he feels that even after one year that you’ve managed to bring Sarain into some sort of reasonable nation-state thing after twenty-odd years of war, and worth reinforcing borders against should you get any funny ideas about his wheat fields. Yes, I shall have the Service keep a further eye on it, but so far, we’ve no indications that it’s anything more than a very enthusiastic belated round of renovations. Yes, I know what you’re about to say, Evie, I do know you spoke to Gavrillian this morning. The upgrade and the increased recruitment are causes for further attention, I quite agree about that, but if Barnesh wants to expand his borders, he’ll look west rather than east.” She caught Kally’s curious glance, then continued. “We have quite reliable intelligence that the King of Tusaine has finally gone completely mad. After the deaths of Count Jemis and that middle brother whose name I can never remember, his Majesty was quite unable to cope with the trails of governing a country the size of father’s horse farm…”

“Sister dear, it’s my stud now, in case you’ve forgotten,” Yevgen said in a sweet, sugared tone that Kally had never heard him use before, but would certainly not wish to be directed at her. “Get to the point.”

“The point is that Tusaine is now being governed by an incompetent Council that can’t be bothered to keep its squabbles quiet, under the auspices of a bubble-brained hysteric regent for a five-year old…”

“The Second Queen,” Corin explained to Kally as Yevgen and Rislyn started arguing about Tusaine politics and the affect any instability would have on Maren, Tortall, Tyra, Galla, and any other country that was so unfortunate as to have any dealings at all with that land. “Queens One, Three and Four and their offspring have all died in most tragic and unfortunate circumstances in the last few years.” His expression was neutral, but Kally was rapidly
becoming aware that the handsome face in no way meant the next Consort was at all deficient in the brains department. Rislyn had picked a very capable partner.

“Oh very well, you can have the bloody granite and the architects in summer!” Rislyn conceded.

Kally had missed most of the conversation between the Imperial siblings, though dessert was over and they were trying a range of coffees and dainty biscuits. Corin had been entertaining her with stories of Yevgen’s early exploits at the Knights' Academy, and with his subsequent short military career prior to the conquest of Sarain. Though he had taken no part in the annexation, she was somewhat surprised to be discover that his military career had been spent on the Empire’s previously westernmost provinces, at the foot of the Roof. It explained why he spoke the main Doi dialect passably well, and picked up a more than adequate amount of K’mir with comparative ease.

“At the lower rate,” Yevgen insisted, “and I’ll need a barge for the horses from the stud farm.” At Rislyn’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “we need mounts for the postal service and the irregulars,” he explained, “At the moment, we’ve a choice between miniscule mountain ponies or enormous leviathans that some fool thought were destriers. Neither is suitable for messenger duty or light cavalry, regular or not. Besides,” he concluded practically, “if what Radanae was complaining about this morning is true, there’s going to be a glut in the horse market next year anyway, so my taking away some of my contribution is going to stop the Society of Horse Breeders from pounding on your door in a few months!”

Rislyn nodded tightly, though Kally though it was more the fact that her younger brother had managed to win the argument than any real reluctance to help secure the newest Imperial province. For Kally was not so blind as to think that Sarain’s virtual autonomy was the same as being an independent nation in its own right. It now used Imperial currency; the Imperial flag and seal took precedence over its own symbols. The new King and Queen, no matter how carefully the Queen had been chosen, were set up by the previous Empress. Oaths of loyalty came to the Empire first, and Sarain second. What passed as a national army was really a series of Imperial companies and battalions full of soldiers who had drawn a dodgy posting and young knights from unimportant families hoping to get noticed by the son and brother of Empresses.

She hoped the people thought the price they paid for their peace was worth it.

The conversation drifted back to more innocuous things, now that the main purpose of the lunch was dispensed with. They spoke of the upcoming coronation, Rislyn gave Kally the names of good couturiers should she choose to expand her wardrobe (sneaking a look at her very well-dressed in-law, Kally made a mental note to do so), recommended several good theatre productions in the city (she had a habit of slipping out to see them incognito. Judging by the looks exchanged between the other three at the table, Yevgen was no stranger to similar behavior), and invited them to yet another dull court function that evening.

The bored functionary returned to remind the Empress-to-be that she had a meeting with some economic advisers regarding the setting of interest rates by the central bank (a supposedly independent body, which meant that it was controlled by an Imperial cousin). With that, they parted, promising to speak at the function later in the evening.

Kally and Yevgen started to head back to their quarters. As soon as they were in a quiet area of the corridor, she turned to him with amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Evie?” she asked breathlessly, before collapsing into fits of uncharacteristic giggles, as much at the horrified expression on his face as the childish diminutive.

It took him a minute, before a sheepish expression took over, and his soft laughter joined her own, spilling out down the lonely corridors and over the gently falling snow.

Gently falling snow, however, is a good deal more romantic when it is outside and you are in. One person, however, did not have that luxury as she waited impatiently, the cashmere tunic, warm boots, and fur cloak not quite taking away the need to blow her nose on a fine silk handkerchief. At last, the object of her impatience came into view, a small column of mounted knights, and she dragged herself away from the comparative shelter of the portico to greet them.

“You’re late and it’s freezing. Get in before my nose falls off with cold.” Radanae snapped as her two closest friends, Princess Berenice and Dama Justinia dismounted. Then, like any self-respecting wildmage, she greeted their horses with a deal more formality and assured the exhausted Nightwraith and Uma that she had indeed organized heated stalls and warm mash for them both.

She waited until her friends and their escort had handed their mounts over to chilled grooms, and waved casually to those among the escort she did know, before ushering them all into the warmth of the Palace, the wonders of central heating and hot drinks. The escort waved a farewell as they separated to their private suites if they were from important families, or to the Knights’ Barracks if they were not.

The three women waited until they were gone before making their way to Kay’s expansive apartments in the Imperial Family’s wing.

“Are my brother and his wife here yet?” Kay asked as they climbed the stairs, ignoring a toadying minor noble who bowed at them.

“Yes, last week,” Radanae informed her. “Speaking of which, are the two of you going to the Grand Bore? (all groaned at her feeble pun) Because if you are, can you two check out Evie and Kally tonight and tell me if I’m on the right track about those two…..”

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