Chapter Forty-Four
‘Father.’ Cole steps forward, bowing his head.
Emperor Raffan’s narrowed eyes follow his movement with scepticism, lips pursed, a stiff wrinkled brow arched high in his age-spotted forehead.
He shuffles in his throne, an air of boredom to the looseness of the movement.
Cole’s head wavers as he holds his head down, awaiting the emperor – his father – to address him.
‘I have many sons,’ the emperor says finally, his tone flat, uninterested. ‘Remind me which one you might be.’
Cole slowly straightens his posture, a pain in the tightness of his jaw as he forces his mouth into something close to a smile.
‘Cole, Your Majesty. Astrid was my mother.’
Emperor Raffan nods slowly. ‘How brave of you to return here after turning your nose up at all I provided you with.’
Cole sighs, his shoulders slackening at his father’s pettiness. ‘You know I could not marry her, father. She was cruel.’ He holds back tears; an emotion I didn’t think him capable of welling in his eyes. ‘I did not love her.’
The mere concept of Cole being capable of love is barely believable to me. That he looks for anything other than bodily pleasure from women he finds in the brothels of Lessom.
‘She was a perfectly adequate match. Her wealth would have put you in good standing in court. A kindness not often granted to a bastard son.’
‘I did not love her,’ Cole utters under his breath.
Emperor Raffan cackles, clutching at the arms of his throne of clay. ‘Yes! That’s right, you had an absurd infatuation with the scullery maid, Orlessa.’
‘Alessia,’ Cole says through gritted teeth. ‘Her name was Alessia.’
The emperor waves him away, shaking his head. ‘Is this why you came here, boy? To remind me of your betrayal, of how you fled court in the night with that infernal girl?’
Cole stays silent, his eyes glazed over with a tearful memory, most likely of this girl. Alessia. Something must have happened to her, for this is my first time hearing about her, and in the story of how Eliaz and Cole met, there was no mention of Cole’s great love.
Eliaz pats his friend on the shoulder, presenting himself to the emperor. ‘There are, in fact, more pressing matters that have brought us to you, dear Emperor.’
Upon Eliaz stepping forward, I become fully visible to Cole’s father. He regards Eliaz with a sour expression, scanning him up and down with the utmost detestation. ‘You dare—’
And then his attention flits to me. The disgust and contempt tightening his features begin to dissolve into the looseness of complete and utter shock.
The emperor gets to his feet, never once taking his eyes from me as he hurries down the red carpeted steps to us.
His men, and my group step aside, parting to create a clear path from the emperor to me.
With tears brimming in his eyes, he holds his hands out, like a religious man approaching the god he prays to in the minutes before sleep.
‘You’re...’ His gaze falls to the necklace hanging on my neck. ‘...her daughter.’
He pulls my hands into his, surprise and heartbreak battling for dominance in his eyes. ‘Your features may directly oppose hers, but you hold that same gently determined disposition. Tell me, is your mother well?’
I blink at him. ‘My mother? She is… well, she is alive?’
It is almost impossible to hide my confusion. This man, who I came here to see after recovering correspondence between him and my father, asks only of my mother.
‘Eira. That’s what she called you. Her Eira.
’ He squeezes my fingers, his lips quivering with the threat of a smile amongst his amazement.
He talks so affectionately of her and seems to recall a time where she might have done the same for me, however long ago that might’ve been.
‘How enchanting you have grown to be. Do tell me why you have blessed me with a visit, Eira.’
I throw Eliaz a nervous glance, and he encourages me with a subtle nod of the head. I swallow down my anxiety, eyes returning to the emperor. ‘We believe you may have information that could help us. About the Divide, about the Virtuae Relic.’
His smile drops into a frown. ‘I am afraid I do not follow. Why do you think I am the person to ask?’
I reach into my dress pocket and pull out the folded-up letter, which he takes, eyes wide and frail fingers trembling. He picks oval spectacles from the chain hanging around his neck and places them on his nose. It is a few excruciating moments before he looks up from the parchment again.
‘Your father is a complicated man. I tried to warn him from that devilish magic.’
‘He was a complicated man,’ I feel the need to say. The emperor takes a step back, the letter crumpling in his fingers, mouth agape, skin blanched of all colour.
‘How—’
‘He was killed – murdered in his study. I found him,’ I cut him off, wishing to get the answer out before I have to bear hearing the question.
‘Who…’ he trails off, eyes growing distant, clouded. I know exactly what question he intended to ask. Who is responsible for the death of my father?
Who took a rusted old sword from his wall and plunged it into his body repeatedly until he was nothing but a mangled pile of blood and flesh on the floor?
There was so much blood. On the stone, pooling around the legs of his writing desk, on the knees of my dress when I fell to his body.
It was the one and only time I had visited after being sent away.
For my half-century birthday celebration.
I had sent them endless letters begging to be allowed to spend it with my family.
Everyone’s eyes narrow in on me, waiting, with bated breath and morbid curiosity. Who was responsible for the murder of the King of Reyhen?
Lillienne is a distinct colour of green, and holds a hand up to her mouth, knowing my answer. Knowing the pain of vocalising it. How bitter and stinging it is to pass over my tongue. A single tear falls from my cheek.
‘Ori,’ I whisper, my skin burning and my throat swelling with the threat of bile. ‘My brother took my father’s life in his study and fled. I have not seen him since.’
I cannot meet their eyes. The judgement is unbearable.
A secret I have kept from Eliaz in all my pleas for trust and honesty.
A truth I have refused to give space in my mind, for risks of losing what little memories of a happy family I have.
I can feel the joy in my memory of him slip away as I look to my feet, awaiting the reaction. My sweet, doting brother – the killer.
‘My deepest sympathies, Eira. A tragedy like no other.’ The emperor deposits the letter into a hidden pocket in his gown and wraps his arms around my shoulder, pulling me into a reluctant hug, trapping my arms beneath his embrace so that I am unable to return the action.
‘I would love for you, and your...’ He scans Eliaz stiffly before continuing. ‘...friends to join me tonight, for dinner. In honour of all we have lost. It would bring me great happiness.’
He releases arms from around me and I step back to look at him better. The strangely accommodating man who cares for my mother. The woman who refuses to admit the problem Reyhen faces.
‘And will you talk with us? We are most desperate to find the answers we need, our people they—’
‘I will talk to you – and only you – after we have dined. I do not much care for talking business on an empty stomach, or a sober mind for that matter.’
‘But we—’
He holds a hand up, signalling me to cease my protests.
‘I will not hear of any protestations,’ a strained sort of tension ripples in his voice. ‘You are stubborn like her too I see.’
He squeezes my shoulder before releasing me and stepping back to address his guards who stand by either side of his throne in wait for their next order. ‘Bring our guests and their things to the finest rooms we have. They should expect their every need to be met during their stay, as would I.’
The guards express their understanding and set in motion, rushing to escort us from the hall before we can protest further. I turn to the emperor just before I am directed elsewhere, and curtsy.
‘I look forward to talking with you. We appreciate your time, Your Majesty.’
‘Raffan, please. And the pleasure is all mine.’ He smiles and takes in the sight of me with a disbelieving laugh and a slight shake of the head. ‘I truly cannot believe the sight I currently behold. What luck that our paths have crossed once again. I will see you at dinner, Eira.’
I do not know about the luck that he speaks, but there is something in his demeanour that makes me think that he might not be as hot-headed and obnoxious as his son.
But then again, if today has proven anything, there is much more to Cole than what meets the eye.
And that is a worrying thought.
The rest of the palace is of the same stone and dripping red clay. I can’t help but eye those spikes up with a scepticism that they will not break loose and spear my skull with one heavy-footed step. It is not Finch that brings me to my allocated room, but another, less amiable guard.
A man who communicates solely in grunts and irritated huffs of the nostrils. He shows me to a room three floors up, tucked away in the corner of the hall, and from what I can see through the doorway, Emperor Raffan is certainly not short of coin.
The way the roof is paved with red clay, with depictions of dancing women carved into the surface.
A large bed of gold and white curtain, a wardrobe of the same design.
The window looks out into darkness, the same endless black as the sea at night.
I can’t even be sure where we are, or what role the emperor plays in this all.
He is the man who wrote the letter to my father, that much is confirmed.
But he is without the Relic’s power, and he has made it very clear his displeasure towards Neyktar, leaving much to be questioned about how he remains living after all this time.
‘Pssst… Eira,’ someone whispers from the door neighbouring mine, a lock of golden hair hanging from the open crack.