Chapter 7
EMERE
After Rakel had tended to his wounds, Emere spent three days on tedious business.
Word had spread that a new councillor had been subject to an assassination attempt, and so after visiting Gildas’s parents to express his condolences, Emere was besieged with so many requests for his time that he no longer even had a chance to eat a meal on his own.
He knew he could avoid visitors if he could avoid being at home, but his butler Difri insisted he stay at home since there was no knowing whether the assassin would strike again.
Emere was used to his fussing, ever since he was a young princeling.
Difri had been the chief caretaker of the royal household, and was as much a reminder of the old kingdom as any of Emere’s siblings.
The house his sister had bought within the Imperial Capital was referred to as a mansion for reasons of courtesy, but it was small—the Kamori royal family had exhausted its fortunes in fighting the Empire.
Kamori’s royal palace was now the seat of the Imperial prefect, and the old family villa in the orchards on the outskirts of Karadis, the Kamori capital, was where the former royals lived now.
But Emere could not stand the emptiness of that home, where they had a far-off view of the Imperial standard flying over the old palace in Karadis.
That was one of the reasons he had agreed so readily to replace his older sister as Kamori’s representative in the Imperial Commons.
His visitor that afternoon was a fellow councillor, Ludvik, from Tythonia, a province in the northeast. Out of all the politicians that Emere’s sister knew, Ludvik was the only one who regularly met with him, and the only friend he had made since coming to the Capital.
Emere knew that Ludvik was around his age, but Ludvik’s bald head and thick mustache made him look ten years older.
“Your sister once told me that you had been away from home for a long time in your youth. What did you do?” Ludvik continued their conversation as they settled down in the reception room after their lunch.
“I was looking for ways to bring down the Empire,” Emere said dispassionately, “like at least a few in your own country, surely.”
Emere had little reservation about telling Ludvik of his past. Over the ten years he lived in the underground palace in Dehan Forest, his sister had sent him letters from the Capital, with many kind mentions of Ludvik. The man hadn’t felt like a stranger when Emere was finally introduced to him.
Besides, Ludvik no doubt knew of Emere’s past, so he thought it best to be honest, though he would refrain from flaunting the fact that he had aided Loran in the Arlander rebellion and fought against the Imperial legion.
Ludvik was more than an ordinary councillor—he was also the head of the committee that oversaw the Office of Truth, the Imperial authority which managed all sorcerers and Power generators.
They also cracked down on religions throughout the realm, and had a spy network second only to that of the Ministry of Intelligence.
Ludvik might be from a faraway province, but Emere knew that nobody got to the position he was in now without strong allegiances to the Empire.
“Oh?” Ludvik said politely. “My country was brought into the Empire before I was born—I somehow doubt Tythonia has anyone who wishes to drive out the Empire.” He even shrugged, making the tassels of his epaulets dance.
A sartorial feature of Tythonia, not the Empire.
His dark gray trousers had been pressed stiff, with creases that looked like they could cut a finger.
There were councillors who tried hard to look like an Imperial heartlander, but Ludvik had always displayed his provincial origin proudly, saying that what was Tythonian had become Imperial, and vice versa.
“How can you be so sure?”
Ludvik was about to answer when Difri entered, carrying tea.
A luxury from the far south that Emere would rarely indulge in on his own.
Difri must’ve gone rummaging through his sister’s old things to find something worthy of serving his guests.
Ludvik beamed as he accepted his cup and saucer and nodded his thanks to the butler.
“And some honeyed peaches as well.” Difri politely gestured to the plate of large peach slices drenched in honey, clearly pleased that Ludvik has recognized the tea. “I hope you enjoy,” he said with a smile, before taking a step away from the table, standing just on the edge of Emere’s vision.
Ludvik took a tiny, bird-like sip of his tea, delicately holding his cup and saucer with his thick fingers. Unused to drinking tea in a proper Imperial manner, Emere followed suit.
“How can I be sure there is no Tythonian who wants to drive out the Empire … I suppose you’re a born royal and have not an inkling as to what I am going to say,” said Ludvik as he stared into the air before him, looking as if he was lost in thought.
“But as you are well-traveled, perchance you came across the king’s castle in Tythonia? ”
Emere shook his head. “I’ve never been to Tythonia but I did hear about the largest castle in the north. It now serves as a public park, I believe?”
In contrast, Kamori’s palace had been turned into the prefect’s office. In fact, almost every province he had visited with Rakel had their parliament or grand temple or royal palace renovated for Imperial use.
Ludvik nodded. “Well, it’s still the most impressive fortress indeed. There used to be a hammer of the thunder god that could rain down lightning on an approaching foe. The castle was built to fight off even the gigatherions for a while.”
Emere remembered the day the gigatherion had came to Arland.
He had been at the volcano, waiting for Arienne to free the ancient dragon, but the machine was large enough to be seen from there.
The machine had been a giant, taller than most castles, so strong that it had struck down the dragon with a single blow …
“But Tythonia fell quickly, did it not?”
“When it was rumored that the Empire was on its way, we killed our king,” Ludvik said, with more than a suggestion of pride.
“Killed your king?”
“And we opened our gates wide. We surrendered without fighting a single battle.” Ludvik cut into a peach slice and ate one of the pieces, clearly savoring the flavor. “Excellent. Difri, where do you get these?”
Difri smiled and said, “It is an old Kamori recipe, sir.” He turned to Emere. “May I have some sent over to Councillor Ludvik’s residence?”
“Of course, Difri,” Emere replied distractedly, eager to return to Ludvik’s story. “Were the people so afraid of the Empire that they would hand over their country without a fight?”
Ludvik frowned. “This is why I said a prince would not understand. Afraid of the Empire? No. The people so despised their king and the aristocracy that they gladly sacrificed them to the invaders. That’s how terrible the king’s rule was and how greatly the people suffered under it.
You say we handed over our country without a fight, but by then, the country had not been ours for some time.
We like to think that we took back Tythonia from that thief of a king. ”
Emere nodded, comprehending. He took a peach slice himself, slowly chewing while thinking.
It wasn’t difficult to understand—but the prefect of the Empire still had to collect taxes and ensure certain guarantees to Imperial merchants.
Emere, in the travels of his youth, had seen many a province impoverished by the Empire’s plundering.
Ludvik must’ve sensed his thoughts, for he answered Emere’s unasked question.
“The King of Tythonia … His name was Ludvik as well.” Ludvik chuckled.
“He had a vast army, and of course that castle I spoke of. Who do you think paid for the maintenance of all that? The common folk of Tythonia were squeezed dry long before the Empire ever showed up. They were willing to take their chances.”
“But why did Tythonia require such an army?”
Ludvik scoffed and took another sip of tea. “Because the king was afraid the Empire would invade.”
“Ah.”
“My grandfather was merely a low-ranking officer in the Tythonian king’s army.
But now his grandson is here in the Capital, representing his homeland.
When the king fell, it became easier for commoners of talent to rise.
” He pretended to take another sip as he gave a surreptitious glance at Emere.
“Oh my. The things I find myself saying in front of a true-blood prince.”
Emere washed the cloying taste of peach from his mouth with tea as he mulled this over for a moment.
“Well, as you say, I am a prince. Nothing to be done about it if it makes me a bit sentimental for that old kingdom of mine. Except to tell the Ministry of Intelligence about me, the radical dissident.” He paused for Ludvik’s hearty chuckle, then continued.
“But your name. Were you not named after the king? Did your people change their minds after the annexation?”
Ludvik emphatically shook his head, laughing. “No, no. The man who killed the king and lowered the drawbridge to the castle was also named Ludvik.”
At that, Emere couldn’t help but laugh, half in amusement, half at his own condition.
Emere thought of his brother, Gwaharad, the self-styled King of Kamori, hiding in his underground palace in the forest. While he wanted to believe Gwaharad would someday gather enough support to retake Kamori, the man was powerless, and so was Emere.
And perhaps such rebellion was never needed in the first place.
Who knew how many in Kamori welcomed the end of the royal dynasty and greeted the rule of the Empire with open arms?
If that was so, perhaps living as quietly and unobtrusively as he could was for the better. He suddenly felt desperate to see Rakel.
Ludvik broke the silence. “In any case, do you have an inkling as to whom the assassin may be?”