The Aether of Night Page 10

  Chapter Five

  Raeth awoke to a general feeling of wrongness. First, he noticed that he wasn’t on his cot, or even in his cubicle. He was someplace far softer, far more comfortable, and far more rich. In all, it was a feeling of wrongness that he could get used to. Unfortunately, a muted pain from the side of his head spoiled the comfort. He reached up, his eyes still closed, feeling the wound. Where had he gotten that?

  Twins! Raeth realized with shock, the events of Saedin flooding back to him. His eyes snapped open and he sat up. He was in the palace, laying on a plushly-matressed bed in an extremely richly furnished room—so richly furnished, in fact, that it was gaudy. Only one man had so much money and so little taste.

  “My Lord Hern,” a voice said, confirming his suspicions, “you’ve awakened.”

  Raeth turned as a short man walked into the room. “Tarrinon?” Raeth asked, recognizing his father’s steward.

  “Indeed, my lord,” the Shorriken man said. “How are you feeling?”

  “Happy to be alive,” Raeth said, “all things considered.”

  “Very well, then, my lord,” Tarrinon said. He was, in all ways, the perfect Shorriken. Short, dark-haired, and punctual, Tarrinon wore the traditional long beard of his people, a length of hair pulled to the side and threaded with beads to represent his bureaucratic position. Amongst his people, he was a very, very important man—few Imperium posts could compare with being the Emperor’s steward.

  “You have some important duties to see to today, my lord,” Tarrinon mumbled, ruffling through his appointment book—a mid-sized tome filled with loose papers and other notations. His robes rustled as he found the right page and, not looking up, began to read off appointments.

  “Tarrinon,” Raeth said, holding up a hand. “What are you doing?”

  The middle-aged Tarrinon looked up with a raised eyebrow. “My lord?” he asked.

  “Why are you here?” Raeth pressed.

  “You are Emperor now, my lord—though, I suppose, that won’t be official until the Senate ratifies you this afternoon. Which brings me to your next appointment. At mid-day the Senate expects you to… .”

  Emperor. Raeth blinked in surprise. It made sense, of course. Vaetayn was dead; the officially ratified heir assumed control the moment the old emperor joined the Ancestors. But…Raeth?

  By Vae! Raeth realized with widening eyes. Then, however, another thought struck him.

  “Tarrinon!” he interrupted. “What happened at Saeris Va?”

  The diminutive steward paused, lowering his tome. “No one’s certain, my lord,” he admitted. “Though, the Vo-Dari are speaking of Yenniv Lan.”

  Raeth grew cold. Tarrinon’s words, spoken with his normal, matter-of-fact tone, were foreboding nonetheless. Yenniv Lan. The End of Time. The day when the spirits of the Forgotten, those who had been rejected by the Ancestors for their crimes, were to be released upon the world one last time before the final cleansing.

  “Of course,” Tarrinon continued, “the Mahallen are rejecting this idea. They claim the creatures are demons, come to pay retribution on the Aedin for their continued trafficking in superstition and Aethers.”

  Raeth only barely heard the words. Yenniv Lan. Images flashed through his mind, images of dark warriors bubbling from the pool, of running through crumbling streets shrouded in night, of people screaming in pain and terror. He sat numbly for a moment, trying to digest what he had seen the day before.

  Tarrinon’s voice brought him back. “And, of course, you have one important duty above all others,” the short man said, adjusting the floppy Ammeldan hat on his head.

  Leading the people, Raeth realized with chagrin, Darro’s words from before returning to him. Vaetayn was dead, Hern missing. The people needed him.

  “I need to lead them,” Raeth whispered.

  “You need to choose a bride,” Tarrinon corrected with a firm voice.

  Raeth blinked, looking up with surprise. “What?”

  “You need to choose a bride, my lord,” Tarrinon explained. “Your blessed father joined the Ancestors before he made his choice known. Since you have no living grandfathers, the choice falls upon you. This is your most important duty, my lord.”

  Raeth snorted. “And what of these creatures?” he asked, climbing out of bed. He paused, frowning as he realized that he had no idea which bureau stored Hern’s clothing.

  “You needn’t worry about them,” Tarrinon said. “Whatever they are, they will be dealt with. The War Counsel is seeing to the northern conflict. My lord, do not underestimate the importance of choosing a bride. An unmarried Emperor leads to an unstable government—often, an Emperor already has an heir when he takes the throne. The Senate has declared that you will choose a bride by the end of the day.”

  Raeth paused, an open closet door swinging idly from his search. “Today?” he asked with surprise. “I have to choose a bride?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  This is wrong, Raeth thought, turning back to his searchings. I’m not Hern. I’m a Dari—I’m forbidden to wed.

  “Where is my brother?” he asked, finally locating a pair of trousers.

  “Lord Darro?” Tarrinon asked. “I’m not certain, my lord.”

  “Find him and send him to me,” Raeth said. “My brother and I have some. . .things to discuss.”

  #

  “I can’t do this, Darro,” Raeth said. “I have to tell them.”

  Darro closed the door behind himself. They stood in Hern’s study, another over-decorated room filled with fine Mahallen woods and expensive Dari paintings. Raeth recognized most of the work—he had met several of the artists. He had lived in the Irae with them. That was where he should be at the moment, not pacing awkwardly through his dead brother’s room.

  “They need you—”

  “Don’t try that,” Raeth said, shaking his head. “They don’t need me. The Imperium has survived the passing of Emperors dozens of times before. It doesn’t need me to lead it now.”

  “It does need you, Raeth,” Darro corrected, sighing and settling back into a plush chair. “Because if it doesn’t have you, then it’s left with me.”

  Raeth paused, turning slowly, looking into his brother’s round face. Darro was usually so jovial. It was odd to see anxiety in his eyes. “So that’s what this is about,” Raeth said quietly.

  Darro nodded, his face worried in the quiet light. The room, in the center of Hern’s quarters, had no windows, and was lit only by several lanterns.

  “I realized it when we got to the Sending platform, Raeth,” he said. “I. . .knew that without father and Hern, the responsibility to lead was mine.”

  “That’s how it should be,” Raeth challenged.

  “No it’s not,” Darro said with a shake of his head. “You should have been Heir, Raeth. If not heir, you should have at least been second-heir. Not me.”

  Raeth took a step forward, frowning as he regarded his brother. “You’re trying to avoid responsibility, Darro,” he accused. “You were so worried about the Bride Choosing because you feared your wife would tie you down. The throne would be far worse—the High Aedin barely tolerate an imperial son who acts as you do, let alone an Emperor. You were so afraid that the mantle would fall on you that you persuaded me to pretend I was Hern.”

  Darro looked down, his eyes ashamed. “That’s part of it,” he admitted. “Honestly, Raeth, can you imagine me as Emperor? I’d be horrible. I hate giving people orders. I don’t know what to do—I can’t read people’s motives, or play the political games. I would make a mockery of the throne.” He paused, looking up. “But you… .”

  Raeth held up a hand. “It isn’t right, Darro,” he said. “Father chose you as Second Heir for a reason. I will not do your duty for you. Besides, you know what the punishment for breaking Place is. Do you have any idea what the Senate could do to me if they found I’d been impersonating the emperor?”

  Darro continued to look down at the rug. Raeth nodded to himself, ignorin
g the tiny feeling of loss within him. You could have had it, a piece of his mind chastised. You could have been what you always wanted to be, what you always thought you should be. He turned to go—the sooner the charade ended, the sooner the Imperium could move on.

  “There’s more, Raeth,” Darro said from behind him.

  Raeth paused, then turned skeptical eyes at his brother.

  “Even if you do tell them, I doubt I’ll end up as Emperor.”

  Raeth frowned. “Of course you will. You’re Second Heir.”

  Darro shook his head. “You’ve been gone too long, Raeth. You don’t know court politics any more. The Senate never thought very…highly of Hern.”

  Raeth snorted. “I can’t think of anyone who did.”

  “It went further than that,” Darro explained. “There was a strong feeling among the Senators and High Aedin that the Imperium should never see a day when Hern was Emperor.”

  “I don’t see how that would be possible,” Raeth said, shaking his head. “Hern was Heir. They ratified him.”

  “They ratified him as a child,” Darro said. “There is a way to change that ratification, to choose a new Heir.”

  “Yes,” Raeth agreed skeptically. “But it would take a unanimous vote from the Senate.”

  “Last time father checked,” Darro said, “the unofficial count placed twenty-four Senators in favor of choosing a new Heir.”

  Raeth froze. Twenty-four out of thirty, eighty percent. That was a dangerous number. “Impossible,” he snapped.

  Darro shrugged. “They like me even less than they liked Hern,” he said. “I don’t know that they’d even let me get near the throne, recent events considered.”

  The words gave Raeth pause. He was well aware that Hern was not popular amongst the High Aedin, but a vote to dispose him? Such an event had only happened once in the entire history of the Imperium, and the action had only been taken once the Heir had been exposed as a murderer.

  Twenty-four Senators. It was too many to be unconnected. “Who?” Raeth asked. “Who thought he could take Hern’s place?”

  “Laene,” Darro replied.

  “Laene?” Raeth asked. “The High Senator? But he’s no better than Hern!”

  “On the inside, maybe,” Darro said. “But they say he’s very good at persuading people.”

  Raeth frowned, folding his arms and leaning against the room’s door—a door he probably should have used to leave. Now that he’d heard Darro out, he was beginning to second-guess himself.

  Laene, he thought with dissatisfaction. According to the law, any High Aedin was eligible to be Heir, but no one had ever been chosen outside the Imperial Amberite Line. Can you do it Raeth? Can you be the one who gives them the chance to oust us? Darro was right about one thing—the Senate didn’t approve of him. Darro spent far too much time in bars, fraternizing with lowborn citizens.

  “Raeth,” Darro said, standing. He walked forward until he was standing just before Raeth, his muscular bulk towering over his smaller brother. “There is more at stake here than the throne. You saw what happened yesterday. Do you know what they’re saying?”

  Raeth nodded slowly. “Yenniv Lan,” he whispered. “The End of Time.”

  “Something very bad is happening,” Darro said. “Something that still frightens me every time I close my eyes. The Imperium just lost one of the greatest rulers it ever had. What will happen to us if we begin squabbling over who should replace him?”

  This is what you were born to do, a voice whispered in the back of Raeth’s mind. This is what was taken from you.

  “You complained earlier that I was trying to pass my responsibility on to you,” Darro said. “Well, I’m guilty. But, if you walk out, you’ll be doing the same thing I did.”

  “It’s not my Place,” Raeth complained.

  “What if it is?” Darro asked. “What if the Ancestors put you in this position because they knew that you were the one the Imperium needed? The one who could lead us. I can’t do it, and I’m Twins-cursed certain that Laene can’t. But you…did you see how the men followed you last night. They trusted you, and you saved them.”

  Not all of them, Raeth thought. I rescued that Vo-Dari just so I could sacrifice his life for someone else’s. What right did I have?

  “Raeth,” Darro said quietly. “You are of the Imperial Line. It’s your duty to protect its people.”

  Raeth stood, frowning in contemplation. Why did he have to mention duty? He thought to himself angrily. As he thought, however, his mind returned to the night before, to the horrifying creatures of shadow and their dark pool.

  He’s right, Raeth thought. Something bad is happening. Can I really turn away now, return to my cubical and sit in meditation while men die?

  The answer—whether it came from his own selfishness or from a true desire to protect the Imperium—was no.

  “All right,” Raeth said quietly. “I’ll do it. For now, at least.”

  #

  Confronted with the beauty of Vae Annitor, it was hard to remember the terrors and nightmares that had happened just one day before. Yet, all D’Naa had to do was close her eyes, and the visions returned. Dark parodies of men creeping through the shadows, sucking the light and life away from that they touched. Death, bodies, screaming, and fire. It was all so similar to the haunting images of her childhood, when the Harrmen had destroyed her home village, slaughtering her parents.

  “D’Naa, dear,” Shaad said, resting her hand on D’Naa’s shoulder. “Here, drink this.”

  D’Naa accepted the hot cup of tea thankfully and turned away from the window and its view of the wondrous city. Now, in the face of destruction, it seemed more a testament to High Aedin arrogance than a work of beauty.

  “I thought you were dead,” D’Naa whispered.

  Hlin snorted from his place in one of the room’s oversized, plush chairs. He didn’t look up from the Mahallen ring-puzzle in his hands. “Nonsense, girl,” he informed. “It takes more than dark beasts from the nethers to frighten your grandparents. We’re world travelers! Why, all your grandmother had to do was give them one of her looks, and they ran away squealing.” He smiled, pulling the links apart with a twist of his fingers.

  Shaad rolled her eyes, but moved to get her husband a cup of tea.

  D’Naa leaned back against the window sill, sipping her own Kavir tea, its herbal scent reminding her of her homeland. The room before her was so lavish it was ridiculous. Instead of normal Kavir wicker furniture, everything was constructed from expensive Mahallen woods. Yet, as if to hide the beauty of the wood, most of the chairs and couches were also covered with various cushions and cloths. It seemed odd to her—why use such expensive woods if one was just going to wrap them in cloth anyway?

  She shook her head at the excess. There was even a mural on the wall, representing the four Aethers. Even as the King’s cousin, her quarters in Kavir had never been so lavish.

  Hlin set about reassembling the ring-puzzle as Shaad moved around the room, tidying things that didn’t really need to be tidied. D’Naa knew how her grandmother felt—she didn’t quite know what to do with herself, without something to clean, mend, weave, or wash. Yet, the palace servants were supposed to do all of that for them.

  This would definitely take some getting used to, D’Naa thought to herself.

  Her grandfather held the re-assembled ring-puzzle up with a triumphant smile. Shaad just shook her head and snorted. “You put it together wrong, you old sheep,” she informed.

  “No I didn’t,” Hlin defended. “I put it together differently on purpose. It was too easy the other way. I think I’ll take it back to the blacksmith and see if he can disassemble it. He needs to learn to make better puzzles—finest in the Imperium indeed!”

  D’Naa smiled to herself. She remembered her fear the night before as she searched thought the huddles of people looking desperately for her grandparents. She hadn’t been the only one—the arrival of the refugees had sent a panic through the city as
people feared for their loved ones. It hadn’t been until two hours later, when D’Naa had nearly given up hope, that she had discovered that her grandparents had been Sent to a different platform from herself.

  But, they survived, D’Naa thought to herself, quieting her anxiety. We all did. But, what about the Imperium? Are the stories true? Could this be it, what the Aedin are calling the end of the world?

  A knock came at the door, and Shaad answered it quickly, eager for something to do. It opened to reveal a young Shorriken page.

  He bowed neatly. “The Senate will be convening in two hours time. Your presence is requested, as the new Emperor will be choosing his bride at that time. Thank you.”

  The man bowed again, then turned to march down the passage on another errand. D’Naa’s grandmother stuck her head out after him. “You certain you don’t want some tea, young man?” she asked hopefully.

  There was no response, and Shaad eventually closed the door, frowning slightly. “I’d forgotten how uptight they all are,” she said.

  “They have important business to be about,” Hlin informed, sipping his tea as he reclined in his chair. “At least that answers one question. It appears that the choosing will still go forward.”

  D’Naa felt her stomach churn. “Yes,” she said. “And Hern himself will select.”

  “His father and grandfather are both dead,” Shaad said, pouring herself some tea. “It falls to him to make the choice on his own—that is the Aedin tradition.”

  D’Naa covered her bitter frown by taking a sip from her tea. “Well, I guess that means my chances of getting chosen just went from bad to horrible.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, girl,” Hlin said optimistically. “Why, you’re a pretty young girl, and exotic too. I think there’s a good chance you’ll catch the young prince’s fancy.”

  D’Naa blushed. “You didn’t hear what he said about me yesterday, grandfather,” she said. “When I presented myself, Prince Hern was…less than flattering.”