Chapter 10
EMERE
“You may not, my prince! You would have to beat me to death with that walking stick before I let you pass!”
Difri refused to be persuaded. He was convinced Emere would be assassinated the moment he stepped out of the door, and Difri’s face was more wrinkled than ever as he grimaced, grabbing firmly on to his coat.
Difri had been like this as long as he could remember, not just to him, but to his siblings and his parents as well.
But Emere had just returned to him after twenty years of self-imposed exile.
Perhaps in the old butler’s mind Emere remained a princeling, liable to scrape his knee whenever he went out.
“The streets are filled with people!” Emere reasoned. “What harm could possibly come to me?”
In Emere’s pocket was a clay imprint of the insignia on the assassin’s sword.
What he had told Difri was that he simply wanted to investigate the attempt on his own life.
But that wasn’t the only thing on his mind.
What if the failed assassination attempt wasn’t a simple coincidence?
What if it was somehow connected to his dream vision?
He couldn’t stop thinking of what Loran had said in the vision.
You must become king. That is your destiny. Destiny passes by those who stand still. Reach out and grasp that which awaits you, up there.
When he first heard those words, he had thought of his youth wandering the world, searching for a way to fight the Empire.
Ever since the battle against the Imperial forces in Arland, Emere had thought his time was now past, and so he had gladly accepted his sister’s passing of the torch in the Capital.
Then, Loran said that there was something to reach out for, somewhere out there.
That was what he hoped to find by tracking down the assassin.
But king? Kamori had long forgotten their royal family. A mere twenty years had passed, but the Tree Lords and the holy groves were practically legends now. The Kamori of old was as extinct as Mersia. So, what was he supposed to become king of?
Difri’s shouts returned him back to the present.
“Filled with people? And was the square empty when you were shot during your speech?”
“The center of the city is different from the poorer quarters! Would you have me do nothing to find out who tried to kill me?”
But Difri was adamant. “Why must it be my prince who makes that effort? And what would happen to you if you really do find the assassin? No, it is the patrollers’ job! I cannot let you take one step out of this house until they do.”
Emere, annoyed, tried to snatch his coat from the butler’s grasp. “Do I still look like a child of ten or twenty to you?”
But the grasp of Difri’s wrinkled hands was unexpectedly strong.
“The princess is old and has returned home, and the crown prince has given up the world. If you were to meet tragedy, who would be left to inherit the throne? How would I be able to enter the Dark Forest and lift my head up before the king and queen?”
At Difri’s plea and his mention of Emere’s parents, Emere almost changed his mind to wait another day or two.
But unlike in the forests of Kamori, where nothing remarkable happened in a day or five, things moved swiftly in the Imperial Capital, and everything could change between breakfast and midday.
So, if he wanted to find out about the assassin, he had to move fast. He had already wasted days.
“Difri, just let me go, please!” he pleaded.
In that same moment, there were two loud knocks on the front door. Emere glanced toward it. Difri, startled by the knocks, let go of the coat. There were two more knocks, and then a woman’s low voice.
“Is anyone inside?”
Emere looked at Difri. Difri looked back at him uncomprehending, then quickly went, “Ah,” and hastened to the door.
When he opened it, there stood an Imperial heartlander woman in her thirties wearing a black cloak and her hair neatly pinned up. Difri looked her up and down, raised his chin a little, and said, “Good day. May I ask what your business is here?”
“Is this the house of Councillor Emere of Kamori?”
The woman’s gaze had already moved on to Emere, who walked up to the door. Difri took a step back and bowed his head.
“I was about to leave,” said Emere, seizing his chance. “Please come back tomorrow. No, the day after! Difri here will take note of your inquiry.”
Trusting Difri not to make a scene in front of a visitor, he made to exit, but this time, it wasn’t his butler but the visitor who stepped in his way.
“I am here upon request of Councillor Ludvik.”
So Ludvik did jump through the hoops to get him Intelligence protection. But if Difri couldn’t stop him, nothing could.
“I see. But as you can see, I am busy at the moment, so regretfully—”
As he tried to slip past her, she took a half step and blocked him again. Emere looked up with a slight frown, but she seemed impervious to disdain.
“I am Subdirector Septima. From the Ministry of Intelligence.”
He had heard of this name before. But from where?
He thought she had been commended for having done something heroic during the fire two years ago.
Fighting off rebel forces that had infiltrated the Senate or some such.
Yes, her name had been Septima, a ranking officer in the Ministry of Intelligence.
“An official! I shall prepare tea.”
Emere raised his hand, thwarting Difri’s attempt to use this visit as an opportunity to keep him at home. “No, as I said, I am on my way out. I cannot receive visitors right now, so please excuse me.”
“I heard you were in danger of being assassinated,” Septima said.
There was a hint of irritation in her voice, as in her expression.
There were probably many things she would rather be doing than watching over a figurehead politician from a province.
For example, torturing rebels, Emere thought wryly.
He forced a smile. “Nothing to concern yourself about. Please convey my thanks to Ludvik.”
“If only it were that simple,” said Septima dryly.
Difri frowned. “My prince, how could you refuse an offer of help when your life is in peril? As the last servant of the royal house of Kamori, I beseech you, please accept this help.”
“Difri, please, I told you not to call me a prince in front of others!”
He raised his voice in embarrassment. Difri bowed his head low and stepped away. Septima crossed her arms, watching it all with half-lidded eyes as if it were a play that was too tedious to behold.
Then he had an idea. “I guess I am in your hands, Subdirector Septima. Difri!”
The butler looked back.
“Subdirector Septima shall escort me around the city. You have the house while I’m gone.”
Septima blinked. Difri’s face was so wrinkled his grimace was just barely perceptible. But he finally seemed to give up and bowed.
Emere quickly stepped out the door and, turning to Septima, said, “Let’s go.”
He led the way. Septima followed, her pace quick.
They reached Victory Square, which featured the large marble fountain of Domitius and Aristomache, the heroes of the Northern Conquest, and Septima had not uttered a word.
It made Emere nervous. Was she really here to guard him or had she some other purpose?
Emere had always suspected that his sister’s sudden retirement and his appointment to the Commons Council was a form of punishment for his anti-Imperial activities.
Keeping the wayward member of the royal family of a province in the Capital under watch was a common enough practice.
But he had wondered if the assassination attempt that almost took his life was some form of extrajudicial execution on the part of the Ministry of Intelligence.
He sat down on the ledge of the fountain. The day was clear and the sunlight warm. Septima sat down next to him and eventually spoke.
“I wonder if the esteemed councillor cares at all.”
“Pardon? About what?”
“That he may die.”
Emere didn’t answer.
“The … work, that I do,” continued Septima, “allows me to become acquainted with a great variety of persons. The ones who are reckless with their own lives usually have no purpose in life, so they don’t care if they live or die.
But there are also those who are reckless because their purpose is too clear.
So clear, they don’t care if they die pursuing it. ”
Emere smiled. “And which am I?”
“Judging by that scene with your servant just now, I should say your purpose is too clear.” Septima paused before continuing, “That is a most dangerous person.”
“What’s a little danger if I’m going to die soon?” Emere joked.
Septima shook her head. “You’re dangerous for the people around you.”
“How?”
“You eventually endanger them.” Septima stared into space. “Two years ago, there was a rebel from a province who made an attempt at something in the Capital. You were not in the Capital back then, I don’t think. But you must’ve heard of the Great Fire.”
Emere nodded. Rakel had said her husband had died in that fire.
“The one responsible for that fire was killed, and their people and a mercenary too. Hundreds of innocents, having nothing to do with provinces or politics, died as well. And if we hadn’t stopped it from happening, the loss would’ve been greater.”
An unreadable expression crossed Septima’s face. Emere didn’t know where the conversation was headed.
“I heard it was you, Subdirector, who stopped it?”
Septima’s expression turned into a hard grin. “You can say that. And you can also say it wasn’t.”
Emere stared at her, and when she didn’t elaborate, he turned to the crowd.
There were many people around the fountain.
Through the many Imperial heartlanders, he saw a group of Rammanians who had covered their heads with black cloth, revealing only their eyes.
A huddled group of Thiopsian aristocrats wore elaborate red clothing and kept looking at the clock tower.
Emere found himself trying to find Loran in their midst. How could there be so many people here but not the one person he most longed to see and speak to?
Septima sighed and stood up. She unfastened the buttons of her coat, revealing the black stola she wore underneath. Pinned on her stola was a brooch with a green gemstone.
“That’s enough rest. We should get going.”
A completely different tone from before—completely devoid of annoyance or irritation. He was taken aback.
“Get going where?”
“There’s someone you ought to meet,” Septima said. “That’s why I came to you today.”
Emere felt a lightning bolt jolt its way up through his spine—something he hadn’t felt in two years, since meeting Loran.
“Not to protect me?” He somehow managed to speak.
“Oh yes,” said Septima, arching an eyebrow. “I know the man who was actually assigned to your protection detail. Pity he’s going to be bedridden for a while.”
She led the way.