Sins of Empire

Chapter 51

Vlora was shown into the foreign dignitary room of the capitol building the morning after accepting command of the defenses of Fatrasta. She wore her parade uniform: Adran blues with silver trim and crimson cuffs, the crossed rifles of the Riflejack Mercenary Company emblazoned above her left breast opposite two dozen medals for acts of valor she’d long forgotten.

The foreign dignitary room was a large, vaulted chamber decorated with yellow and white marble, lit by three enormous chandeliers and high banks of windows that looked out over the edge of the Landfall Plateau and out to sea. Opposite the windows were rows of tiered seating for the elite of Fatrasta, while an immense, oval ironwood table occupied the very center of the room, surrounded by dozens of high-backed chairs.

The room had seating for hundreds of people and could probably fit more than a thousand, but the only occupants were Vlora and Lady Chancellor Lindet.

Lindet sat at the table, a glass of iced coffee and a spread of papers in front of her. She looked up as Vlora’s boots echoed across the marble floors and gave a brief, condescending smile. Vlora didn’t take it personally. From what she understood, Lindet was condescending to everyone.

“Lady Flint,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The words were quiet, pleasant, pitched so as not to echo. Vlora rounded the table to be opposite of Lindet – likely where the Dynize delegation would sit in a short time – and leaned on one of the high-backed chairs. She inclined her head. “Lady Chancellor. Aren’t we expecting the Dynize ambassador any moment?”

Lindet consulted a pocket watch. “Thirteen minutes,” she said.

“Shouldn’t this room be… full?” Vlora had passed Fatrastan dignitaries twittering away in the halls of the capitol building by the score, the whole lot practically seething nervous anticipation. The emergence of the Dynize Empire from isolation was the most exciting thing to happen here since Fatrasta declared their independence from Kez. To the businessmen and politicians waiting outside, the fact that the Dynize had arrived with a fleet of warships was barely worth a mention.

Unfortunately, that made those warships entirely Vlora’s problem.

“I’ll allow them in when I’m ready,” Lindet said. She perused a page of stationery in front of her before signing the bottom and sliding it off to one side. “I’m so glad you took Jes’s offer.”

“It was enough money to let all of my men retire comfortably when this is over,” Vlora responded.

“Purely mercenary,” Lindet said with a small smile. “I can respect that.”

The money hadn’t been all of it, of course. Jes had pointed out, correctly, that if the city became blockaded the Riflejacks would not be able to leave. He also pointed out that an unattached mercenary company could easily be seen as an enemy of the state were the Dynize to prove antagonistic, and that his Blackhats would be forced to turn on her. More personally, Vlora relished the idea of defending the people of Fatrasta for once, rather than putting down their insurrections.

Vlora kept all of that in her head, instead answering Lindet with a nod. “If the Dynize have designs on Landfall, my men will hold it. I’ll admit I’m surprised that you’ve put me in command of the entire city defense.” Surprised didn’t even cover it. She’d been handed command of a fourteen-thousand-man garrison, five forts, and another six thousand auxiliaries. Unless she was reading the politics wrong – which was a possibility – that made her one of the most powerful people in Landfall, answerable only to Lindet.

“You’re the protégée of Field Marshal Tamas and the veteran of two wars and countless other engagements. Is there anyone else more qualified in the city?”

“No,” Vlora admitted.

Lindet signed another paper. “The worst-case scenario,” she said, “is that the Dynize are here to invade. In which case I’ve secured an extra brigade of riflemen and a decorated commander and removed the possibility of you being hired by my enemies. The best-case scenario is that the Dynize just happen to be out for a pleasure cruise with an entire fleet, and I’ve locked you into a four-year contract as defender of the shores of my nation. It seemed fairly win-win.”

“You could have bought ten brigades for what you’re paying us.”

“I don’t have ten brigades handy to buy,” Lindet said. “Are you in the habit of telling employers that they’ve overpaid, Lady Flint?”

“No, ma’am. Forgive me for asking, but do you have any particular reason for thinking the Dynize are here for any other reason than peace?”

“Other than thirty-eight warships and a whole flotilla of support frigates?”

“Yes, other than those.”

Lindet made a “hmm” sound that was neither an affirmative nor denial.

“Ma’am?”

Lindet looked at her over the tops of her spectacles, the brief smile returning. “I also understand that you’ve deputized the Mad Lancers into the Riflejacks. Is that correct?”

Vlora swallowed, noting that Lindet had dodged the question about the Dynize. She would have to come back to that. The subject of the Mad Lancers wasn’t one she’d been looking forward to, but she hadn’t hired them purely out of need. She’d also hired them because she knew it would cause an argument – an argument that would set the tone for her relationship with Lindet going forward. She braced herself for the coming fight. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”

“Excuse me?” Vlora struggled to hide her surprise.

Another page was signed and set aside. “It makes Styke your problem, and if it keeps him and Fidelis Jes out of each other’s hair for the time being, I consider that a bonus. I’ve instructed Fidelis Jes to steer clear of the Mad Lancers for now. I expect you to do the same for Styke. If you can. This Dynize fleet is more pressing a matter than internal squabbles.”

Vlora exhaled the breath she’d taken in anticipation of a shouting match. “I’ll keep Styke on a short leash.”

“Good luck with that.” Lindet checked her pocket watch again. “Eight minutes.” She raised her voice. “You may allow everyone inside!”

Vlora didn’t see any attendants, but the doors to the room were thrown open and a stream of people poured in. She recognized businessmen, politicians, Kressian ambassadors, and even the chief constable of the Landfall police. Within minutes the tiered seating was filled, as well as half of the chairs around the oval table. Vlora left the spot across from Lindet and rounded to stand beside her.

She spotted Vallencian off in one corner of the room, but when she raised her hand to greet him he looked away. The snub was not unexpected. The Ice Baron, she had assumed, would not be pleased that she had used his introduction to Palo society as a way to arrest Mama Palo. She didn’t consider herself terribly vain, but the knowledge that he was no longer an enthusiastic fan made her a bit sad.

But she had more important things to think about. “Where is Jes, by the way?” she asked, casting about for the grand master.

“Personally overseeing security,” Lindet answered. “The Palo have engaged in some light rioting since we executed Mama Palo. The last thing I need is some fool revolutionary taking a shot at the Dynize ambassador and causing an international incident.” Lindet glanced up, a look of annoyance crossing her face. “Would you please stop hovering and have a seat?” She indicated the chair to her right.

Vlora took the spot hesitantly. No one had told her she’d be sitting beside Lindet during the meeting. She wondered whether her place was expedience, or flattery. Probably a little of both.

A light hand touched her shoulder, and she looked up to find Olem standing just beside her. She didn’t realize that she’d been holding her breath before she let it out in a soft sigh. She gestured him closer. “I was not,” she whispered, “ready to get back into politics.”

“Really?” he asked. “Because you just dove in headfirst.”

“I thought I was agreeing to fight. Why the pit am I at this table?”

“Defender of Fatrasta comes with a little more than just a combat role, I imagine,” Olem commented.

“Pit. Will you be here through the whole thing?”

“I’ll be seated just over there,” Olem said, indicating a spot on the bottom row of seating behind her.

“Thank Adom. I feel like I’m sitting in a den of wolves.”

“You are, love. You are.”

The “love” was unexpected. Olem rarely got more informal than her first name in public, and she felt her cheeks redden. “Thank you,” she whispered back.

“For?”

“Being here.”

“Never want to be anywhere else.”

“You have no idea how much that helps. By the way, just how mad is Vallencian about the Mama Palo thing?”

“I found out this morning that no café in Landfall will serve ice to a Riflejack, if that’s any indication.”

Vlora took a deep breath. That was going to be a hit to morale. Ice was about the only way the boys were getting through this stinking hot summer. “Send him a present. Something handsome, but practical. Dig through my sea chest to see if I have any old souvenir that might soften him up.”

“I’ll give it a try.”

A messenger suddenly arrived, whispering something in Lindet’s ear. Lindet stood up, turning to the door. The rest of the room, Vlora included, stood up with her, while Olem hurried back to his seat.

The messenger announced in a loud, clear voice, “The esteemed Ka-sedial, adviser to the throne of Emperor Janen I, Admiral of the Black Fleet and carrier of the imperial seal.”

The man who entered the room was not, by any stretch of the imagination, impressive. He looked in his mid-sixties, with tufts of gray hair on the sides of a mostly bald head. His face was clean-shaven, a weak chin accentuated by a large nose and soft features. He wore a colorful gown of teal, purple, black, and yellow, raven’s feathers dangling from each ear. He walked slowly, his hands clasped behind his back, taking in the room and assembly with a pleasant but slightly disdainful air.

Vlora’s senses began to tingle, and she didn’t have to open her third eye to tell that this man had sorcery. She immediately dismissed the idea that he was a Privileged, and then a Knacked. He definitely wasn’t a powder mage. That left just one possibility, and it made her slightly ill.

He was a bone-eye, a blood sorcerer. The last time she’d met one of those had been Ka-poel. And she’d helped kill a god.

The bone-eye rounded the table, bowed briefly to Lindet, and then took a seat with the soft sigh of someone getting too old to spend much time on their feet. No one else came through the door, leaving Ka-sedial alone on the other side of the table, flanked by a dozen empty chairs. He didn’t seem to mind.

Vlora glanced sidelong at Lindet, whose expression remained as placid as the bone-eye’s across from her. She sat, and so did the rest of the room.

The room grew deathly still and silent. Someone in the hall outside sneezed. It felt as if the whole room was holding their breath, until Lindet lifted a single finger and one of her aides sprang to her side. “Where is his translator?” she asked. “We offered him one, didn’t we?”

“I don’t need a translator,” the bone-eye said in clear, barely accented Adran.

Lindet dismissed her aide by lowering her finger and turned her entire attention to the bone-eye. Vlora leaned into the corner of her seat, fingers on her chin, marveling at the power dynamic here. Lindet was the most feared person in this part of the world, and yet this single bone-eye seemed to be trying to upstage her in every way.

“Well,” Lindet replied, “that saves us the trouble. Ka-sedial, welcome to Fatrasta.”

“Thank you, Lady Chancellor.”

“It’s tradition,” Lindet said, “to ask guests about the news from their homeland, but I’m afraid that might take a while. We are a hundred years behind.”

Ka-sedial tilted his head to one side, looking slightly bored. “Not at all. There was a civil war. Millions died to sword, famine, and sorcery. It has taken four generations, but the imperial family has retaken their rightful throne and brought peace to Dynize.”

“Ah. Peace. I’m glad to hear it.” Lindet did not sound at all glad to hear it.

“As are we.”

Vlora noted that Ka-sedial did not reciprocate the question of news. He wouldn’t, she decided. Not when the Dynize had been spying on Fatrasta for who knew how long. She wondered whether Lindet had sent her own spies into Dynize. The countries of the Nine had stopped bothering to approach the Empire over fifty years ago, but with access to Palo that would speak the Dynize language and look the part, Lindet might have actually gotten the chance to crack that nut.

It wasn’t a great time to ask.

“I’m afraid,” Lindet said, “that my next question might come off as rude, but it is the foremost on our minds and I would like to put my people at ease.”

Ka-sedial smiled. “Why, you’re wondering, is there a fleet of warships outside your harbor?”

“Precisely,” Lindet said with a sour smile.

“It’s an expedition,” Ka-sedial said simply. “The Empire hasn’t had a fleet to speak of since the last squadron was sunk off the Ebony Coast over seventy years ago. We’ve barred our borders to outsiders, kept ourselves and our problems isolated to our country. We’ve only been at peace with ourselves for about seven years now, and in that time we’ve had to rebuild so, so much – including our ships.”

“And now that you’ve rebuilt them, what do you intend to do with them?”

Ka-sedial drummed his fingers gently on the table. “That depends on you, Lady Chancellor.”

An audible gasp came from the assembly, and Vlora didn’t blame them. The words were innocuous, but the tone held an unmistakable threat. The last person to publicly threaten Lindet, as far as Vlora knew, was the Kez governor who’d tried to relieve her of her post at the beginning of the Fatrastan Revolution. At the end of the war, his tongue was cut out as part of the peace settlement.

Vlora cleared her throat. “Ambassador, every expedition has a goal. What is yours?”

Ka-sedial turned his attention slowly toward her, like a lizard who’s spied a particularly fat mealworm. She wondered if his spies had reported her to him.

“Lady Flint, I presume?”

That seemed to be a yes about the spies, she noted. “That is I.”

“We’ve only come looking for what is rightfully ours.”

The whole room hung on the sentence, tension thick enough to cut. “I’m curious,” Lindet said, “what exactly you think that is.” Her expression had not changed, but her voice had gone dangerously quiet. The assembly seemed to lean forward as one, straining to hear.

Ka-sedial didn’t seem to have a problem hearing. “These lands belonged to the Empire at one time,” he said, almost wistfully. “You’ve built your little nation atop the great ruins of our ancestors.”

“And you expect to take that back?” Vlora asked flatly.

“No, no,” Ka-sedial said. “It’s been a very long century. My people are weary of war, and I understand that this is a modern age. We have no intention of conquering. We are only here for our rightful property, and once we have it we will be gone.”

You’re using the word “rightful” quite a lot. I don’t think that means what it once did, not since Tamas beheaded the rightful king of Adro. Vlora glanced at Lindet, but the Lady Chancellor had sunk back in her seat, examining Ka-sedial through a hawk’s narrowed eyes. She did not respond.

The silence dragged on for ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty. Ka-sedial finally leaned forward, his expression impatient. “We want the godstones returned to us.”

There was a confused murmur from the gallery behind her, only cut off by Lindet’s voice ringing out loudly. “Everyone out!”

The room was clear within a minute, leaving only the fifteen or so people at the oval table remaining. Everyone’s eyes were glued on Lindet.

“What are the godstones?” Vlora asked. Ka-sedial stared at Lindet. Lindet stared back. Vlora leaned over to her and repeated her question quietly. Lindet ignored her, turning to whisper to the Privileged sorcerer sitting on her left. Vlora’s attention was on Ka-sedial, but she caught the quiet response.

“We’ll have it secured, ma’am.”

Whether Ka-sedial heard their whispers, Vlora couldn’t be sure. He looked from Lady Chancellor to Privileged and then back again. “We know you have them, and you know they belong to us. Hand them over and we’ll leave these shores immediately.”

“Or what?” Lindet said.

Vlora resisted the urge to glance back at Olem. This conversation had turned badly very quickly. “What are the godstones?” she asked again.

“Or we take them by force,” Ka-sedial said.

“I thought you said your people are weary of war?” Vlora asked sarcastically. She wanted an answer about these godstones, and it was clear that everyone here was ignoring her questions.

“Hm. They are, Lady Flint. But some things are more important than a much-needed respite. We are weary, but we are also ready. If you think us broken by so much war, think again. Our armies are hardened veterans, raised on the taste of blood. I will let them drink again if I must.”

Vlora looked at Lindet, but the Lady Chancellor still had not answered. Vlora wanted to reach over and shake her. “What,” she demanded, “is so important about these godstones?”

“Everything,” Lindet said. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” Ka-sedial agreed. “Everything. The future of my very country depends upon their retrieval, and keeping them from us will be seen as an act of war.”

Lindet suddenly stood. “You will have my answer by tomorrow. Good day, Ambassador.” She left the table so quickly that the others scrambled to follow her, Vlora included. She glanced behind her as she left the room to find Ka-sedial still seated, with a determined expression that looked more like an avenging angel than a frail old man.

Vlora rushed to catch up to Lindet. “Are you going to explain to me what just happened?”

“Nothing that I had planned,” Lindet responded. “You have until tomorrow to prepare the garrison for war. Send out messengers. Recall all my armies from the frontier, and raise levies from every city in Fatrasta.”

Vlora’s stomach tightened, twisting over itself in knots. That was not the command of someone who expected a blockade. That was the command of someone who expected a full-blown war. “What,” she growled, “are these godstones?”

Lindet lifted her chin. “I believe you have work to do, General.” She strode off, leaving Vlora standing alone, openmouthed.

Olem found her a few moments later, after pushing his way through the crowd of confused dignitaries. “What happened after she kicked everyone out?” he asked.

“I’m still not entirely sure.” She looked at her hands, then up at Olem. “Have our men transitioned to Fort Nied?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts. Send word that we have until morning to prepare for an invasion.”