The Hands of the Emperor, page 26
For a moment no one said anything, all staring at his Radiancy breathlessly instead, then Aunt Oura’s granddaughter Dora came wandering in, wiping her eyes sleepily and dragging a blanket behind her. She looked curiously up (and up) at Varro by the door, then marched determinedly over to Cliopher. “Cousin Kip!” she said, embracing his knees fiercely. He picked her up automatically and set her so she could see the room, at which point she noticed his Radiancy.
“My cousin Dora, my lord,” he said, and then closed his eyes at the gaffe. It was not, alas, the first time he had flubbed an introduction.
“You do have a remarkable number of cousins,” his Radiancy murmured.
Dora was staring at his Radiancy. “You look like the man on the money.”
His Radiancy smiled. “I am.”
“What’s your name?”
“Dora,” Aunt Oura whispered.
His Radiancy was still smiling. “My name is Artorin Damara.”
“That’s a long name,” she said, evidently approving of this fact. “Where are you from?”
“Originally from Damara,” he replied solemnly, “but I have lived most of my life in Solaara.”
“Do you work with Cousin Kip?”
Cliopher closed his eyes briefly, trying not to clutch Dora into silence. He opened his eyes again to see the lion gaze trained severely on his five-year-old cousin. “I do indeed. What of you? Where do you work?”
She giggled. “I’m too little to work, silly.”
It was almost certain, Cliopher thought, that no one had ever, ever, ever called his Radiancy that before.
His Radiancy chuckled. “My mistake! You must be a big enough girl to be going to school, though?”
“I start next month,” she said. “Cousin Kip says that when I’m big enough I can come visit him in Solaara and see the Palace.”
“What a good idea!” His Radiancy glanced around the room, taking in the faces staring owl-eyed at him. “Cliopher will be very busy over the coming few years as we prepare for the transition of government, and it would be good if his family were to come visit him. None of you have, I believe? Certainly he has never asked for time off to show you the sights.”
There was a very definitely embarrassed silence. Cliopher wondered if his Radiancy had any idea of how long, or how expensive, the journey from Gorjo City to Solaara was when one was not given the use of an imperial sky ship. He wasn’t sure how he could frame that comment without being totally boorish, however, and he tried not to sigh at the embarrassment and hurt in his family’s eyes. He did not blame them for not coming.
“Can we go on a flying ship?” Dora asked excitedly.
“Oh, I expect that could be arranged,” said his Radiancy casually.
Dora beamed. “That would be brilliant. Cousin Kip, did you hear what he said?”
“Yes, I did,” said Cliopher. “Thank you, my lord.”
After that, of course, it was hard to be quite so formal, and after perhaps a further three minutes of edge-of-the-seat behaviour his Radiancy managed to draw Quintus and Oura into a conversation about just how many Mdangs there were, and Dora wriggled off to go sit with Leona, and Cliopher sighed in relief and went to introduce Commander Omo and Ser Rhodin to Vinyë and Hugon. His mother, he noticed a few minutes later, was sitting watching his Radiancy with a determinedly blank expression on her face.
Cliopher was just about to go over to her when footsteps on the stair heralded yet another arrival. From his position he could see out the open door to the stairs, and saw yet another cousin bounding merrily up. Cliopher nodded reassuringly to Varro and Zerafin, who accordingly did not thrust their spears into Zemius’ face when he flung himself through the door.
“Good gracious, Kip!” he cried, striding up to give him a fierce embrace. “They are saying the most remarkable things about you in town today. I came down from the university and every third person was talking about you. The general consensus is that there must have been a collective hallucination at the Town Hall last night, unless His Serene and Radiant Holiness the Last Emperor really did make you the Lord Chancellor of Zunidh last night? What on earth happened to start that rumour?”
His tone was light and teasing, and he grinned at Cliopher without any fear at all that this rumour might be true.
“Well,” began Cliopher, for what felt like the fifteenth time, but before he got any further Zemius looked past his shoulder to share the joke with the rest of the room, and his gaze fell on His Serene and Radiant Holiness the Last Emperor.
“The Emperor,” he said weakly, and fainted.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“REALLY, ZEM,” CLIOPHER said a few minutes later, when his cousin had come round and was trying not to die of mortification, “what possessed you to faint?”
They were in the next room over, whither his Radiancy had suggested Cliopher take Zemius in order to revive him. Cliopher dreaded what conversation his Radiancy wanted to have without him present, but there was an order couched in the suggestion, and so he obeyed.
“Don’t even, Kip. What possessed you to bring the Lord Emperor here?”
“I didn’t, his Radiancy showed up on his own.”
Zemius opened his eyes to glare at him. “That is entirely absurd. What is he doing here?”
“His Radiancy came to talk to my mother, as best as I can make out.”
“Did he really make you the Lord Chancellor last night?”
“He did.”
“You sound very glum for a person who has just been ennobled.”
Cliopher winced. “We should go back in so I can present you.”
Zemius shook his head in wonder mixed with chagrin. “I have never imagined outside of my wildest pipe-dreams that I would one day be presented to the Glorious One.”
And whose fault was that?
“And then to faint ...”
“You always were a lightweight, Zem.”
“Kip, Aunt Moula sacrifices pigeons to him.”
They went back in so that Zemius could make his obeisance before the Presence. “My cousin Zemius dominus Mdang, my lord,” Cliopher announced. “Zemius is a professor of Zuni history at the University of the Vangavaye-ve.”
“Is he indeed?” his Radiancy said. “Rise, Domine. What is your special field?”
For a brief moment Zemius looked as if he had entered the realm of terror and had entirely forgotten his life’s work. Then he managed, “The history of the lords magi, Glorious One.”
His Radiancy looked at Cliopher with an inscrutable expression. Cliopher bowed slightly, not having any idea what his Radiancy meant by the look. His Radiancy smiled slightly and began to quiz the hapless Zemius on his research.
Cliopher circled around to where his mother stood next to the coffee cups. “Mama,” he said quietly, putting his arm around her. “Are you all right?”
She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “He is the lord you have written of all these years?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“And you never insisted. Not once. No matter how much we teased you about your job.”
He did not quite understand her tone. Should he have insisted?
He remembered too many scolds for getting a swollen head to think that was what she meant.
He thought of all the letters telling him to give up and come home. The comments that he had missed this or that or the other important celebration or festival or moment in his family’s lives. He had come for as many of his family’s great events as possible—weddings and significant appointments and other triumphs—but none of that made up, he had always known, for all the daily interactions that held together a family, a community, a culture.
No matter that they were descendants of the Wayfinders who had crossed and re-crossed the Wide Seas; his ancestors had taken their families with them on their voyages.
He smiled at her, the polite courtly smile that he knew said nothing, because if he spoke just then he would erupt with twenty years of suppressed resentment that nothing he accomplished—no, not though he became Lord Chancellor of the world!—ever made up for the fact that he had left.
Quintus spent ten months of the year sailing his ship to Nijan and half the southern islands, but his house was in Tahivoa. For all Cliopher knew his cousin had paramours (or even wives) in every port; but that did not stop anyone from considering him a full and respected part of the Mdang family. That extra month and the house made all the difference, apparently.
His mother lifted her chin to gesture across the room. “Should we go rescue Zemius?”
Cliopher collected himself, as if he were in some committee room with an unknown dynamic among its members. He spoke calmly. “One does not interrupt his Radiancy, Mama.”
She cast him a startled glance. Cliopher shrugged. He did wander over closer to where his Radiancy was still grilling Zemius on his research. Cliopher listened desultorily for a moment, then realized what they were talking about and why.
“Your Radiancy’s attainment to the lordship of Zunidh was unusual, indeed, but not entirely unprecedented.”
“How not? No other Emperors of Astandalas took upon themselves the lesser mantle.”
“The Emperor Aurelius Magnus did briefly take upon himself the crown of Ysthar after the death of the Lord Mirshave, my lord, during the wars with the Tanteyr,” Zemius replied, warming to the subject. “However, that was not what I meant, Glorious One. In the old tradition, when it came time for the Lord of Zunidh to consider his succession, there was a certain series of spells to be performed that were intended to draw him to that likely successor, and then he went questing to find him. On two occasions, of which your Radiancy’s accession was of course one, the successor was present in the very near vicinity of the sitting lord magus, and therefore the physical portion of the quest was unnecessary.”
Cliopher met Conju’s eyes. He wondered what his own expression revealed, and tried hard to govern it.
His Radiancy frowned. “Did Lady Jivane perform this spell?”
“She did, Glorious One,” Zemius said, “in the dark days of your Radiancy’s, er, indisposition.”
His Radiancy turned to frown at Ludvic Omo, who said, “I am sorry, my lord, but I was a very junior guard at the time.”
“Yes, given the unenviable duty of standing watch over my bier,” his Radiancy replied dryly. “I wonder if that spell is what woke me ... I have wondered. Have you written on this topic, domine? I should like to read further on it.”
Zemius bowed deeply. “I have written a monograph, The Succession of the Lords Magi of Zunidh from Ialo to, er, Artorin Damara, which was published out of the Universities of the Wide Sea Press three years ago, Glorious One.”
“Splendid. There will be a copy I can get from the Imperial Library, in that case.”
“That’s not a lending library,” Zemius said automatically, then looked deeply mortified when his Radiancy raised his eyebrows at him. “Of course that does not apply to your Radiancy, Glorious One.”
“No, it does not.”
“I believe I have a copy here, my lord,” Aunt Oura volunteered, into the strained silence. “I’ll go fetch it, shall I?”
“Thank you,” said his Radiancy. He glanced amiably around the fascinated room as Aunt Oura extricated herself from the corner. She let go of Dora as she did so, who came bounding over to stand next to his Radiancy.
“Will you pick me up?”
“I’m sorry,” he said, still amiably, “but that’s not allowed.”
She frowned, but it must have been as clear to her as everyone else that that was a definite no. Varro and Zerafin were standing very alert, though obviously unwilling to harm a child. Commander Omo extricated himself from his conversational group to stand next to his Radiancy.
“Why not?”
His Radiancy looked down at her. “It’s the custom, child.”
“Like for the statues in the temple?”
“Very like that, indeed.”
Dora brightened with ghoulish interest. “Would I be hit by lightning if I tried to touch you? That happened to someone who tried to steal the statue from the Sea Temple. He was all smoke afterwards. It smelled like a pig roast.”
His Radiancy visibly tried not to flinch. “I should hope not,” he said after a moment, “but it’s probably better not to tempt matters.”
It was painfully obvious when Dora decided on another tack, that of looking winsome. “Is it Sayo Dam—Dam—”
“Damara,” his Radiancy supplied, as various people in the room tried not to exclaim in horror. “No, it’s—it’s—it’s Lord Artorin.”
Cliopher noted the hesitation, and wondered with a small internal shock whether his Radiancy had ever introduced himself before.
“Lord Artorin,” she said, nodding with a gesture very like her grandmother’s. “I like your outfit, sir. What kind of yellow is that?”
“It’s called Imperial Yellow,” his Radiancy replied, brushing his hand down his silk outer robe. The yellow was familiar to Cliopher after so long in his service, but it was a remarkable colour, a clear rich yellow at heart with shimmering falls to gold and bronze and white shot through it. It was so familiar he had not even noticed that his Radiancy was wearing it rather than the silver of a priest-wizard.
“It’s very pretty,” Dora said, peering at it. She glared at Commander Omo when he frowned sternly down at her. She put her hands ostentatiously behind her back. “I’ve never seen it before.”
“You wouldn’t have. I’m the only one allowed to wear it.”
“Where does it come from?”
“It’s made to a very old recipe that requires ingredients from all the worlds of the old Empire. It represents the symbolic union under the Emperor.”
“What does symbolic mean?”
“It’s one thing that represents something else. Like a letter represents a sound.”
Dora gazed at him owlishly. “Is it your favourite colour?”
There was a pause. Cliopher could see his Radiancy adjusting. Then his Radiancy smiled. “No, I like red better.”
“What kind of red?”
“Scarlet,” he replied promptly. “What’s your favourite colour?”
“Blue. Kivi blue.”
“Kivi blue? And what is that?”
She stared at him in such astonishment that several people could not quite hide their smiles. “Kivi! Kivi and the Koala Kids! Don’t you have them in Solaara? Cousin Kip, you must have them in Solaara!”
“I believe they’re a toy, my lord,” Cliopher supplied, looking across at his mother, who nodded.
“Ah! Alas, Sayina Dora, I’m afraid I don’t have any.”
Dora made what was, for her, a grand gesture of generosity. “You can come see mine, if you like, Lord Artorin. I have nearly the whole collection. I’m just missing two. Which Grandma says I might get when I start school, if I’m a good girl. But I have more than Mindi and Zaia.”
“Oh, well, one ought hardly reject the honour of an invitation to see a connoisseur’s collection, ought one?” his Radiancy said, smiling, and stood up. “Shall we, then, Sayina Dora?”
“Come this way!” she cried, and ran out of the room, followed more slowly by his Radiancy. Varro and Zerafin swept out after him, leaving the rest of the roomful of people to stare at each other in consternation and amazement.
The silence was broken by Aunt Oura’s return, holding Zemius’ book triumphantly. “I’m sorry that took me so long to find, my lord,” she began, and then faltered when she discovered the noticeable lack of Emperor in the room. “Where did ...”
“His Radiancy has gone to look at Dora’s Koala Kids collection,” Cliopher said blandly, catching Conju’s furious eye as he did. “Don’t look like that, Conju. Think of what we will be doing when we get back to the Palace.”
“Not looking at children’s toys.”
“Most likely not, no.”
“This is all your fault,” Conju said with a sudden access of annoyance to Commander Omo. “Suggesting his Radiancy retire, indeed!”
Commander Omo nodded phlegmatically. “His Radiancy has devoted his considerably long life to his Empire and to Zunidh.”
“And now he knows there is a traditional, if apparently lapsed, method for the lord magus of Zunidh to find his heir,” Cliopher said, taking Zemius’ book from Aunt Oura. “Tell us, Zem, is there anything we should know about this method?”
“You don’t mean to say that the Glorious One will be following it, do you?” Zemius asked in disbelief. “I thought he was merely being polite. No one but me thinks that Lady Jivane actually followed it—generally people think that it was chance or politics that led the lords magi to their successors.”
“I am sure he was interested in your studies, but yes, I expect that his Radiancy will probably be quite happy to modify his original plans to make use of these. He is very aware of the importance of custom and tradition.”
Zemius swallowed. “If there is no heir in the immediate vicinity of the sitting lord magus, the tradition was that the lord go questing. Alone. The custom seems to descend from the old vision quests of the Eilmanius shamans, which of course is where the first Lady of Zunidh was from. The ancient custom was that the lord magus perform the ritual spell and then set out on his quest with only the barest minimum of equipment. The lists and references are in the appendix,” he added dolefully. “I have done extensive research, Kip, that is the custom. I didn’t make it up.”
“His Radiancy has always fulfilled all expected customary requirements,” Cliopher said with a sigh, all too able to imagine the work that would land on his shoulders as a result of this discovery. He was equally able to imagine his Radiancy’s joy at the prospect of setting off on a quest—a quest, of all things!—out of a book of fables. He twitched his mouth into his court expression so as not to give away either his amusement at the thought or the stab of envy that he would not get to accompany him on it. “I’m sure he will feel it incumbent on himself to do this one as well.”
