Modina watched them race out, then turned back to the council. She did not resume her seat but preferred to walk, taking slow steps, circling the long table where her ministers and knights waited. The only sounds in the room were the crackle of the fire and the click of her shoes. She walked more for effect than from need. As empress, she had discovered the power and necessity of appearances.
The dress was an outward expression of this. Stiff, tight, restraining, noisy, and generally uncomfortable, it was nonetheless impressive. She noticed the expressions of awe in the eyes of all who beheld her. Awe begot respect; respect begot confidence; confidence begot courage, and she needed her people to be brave. She needed them to cast aside their doubts even in the face of a terrible growing shadow. She needed them to believe in the wisdom of a young woman even when faced with annihilation.
The men at the table were not fools. They would not be there if she thought them so. They were practical, clear-thinking, war-hardened leaders. Such romantic notions as the infallibility of a daughter of Novron did not impress them. The count of spears and a calculated plan were more to their liking. Still, even such efforts she knew to be futile. Warriors on a battlefield and the belief in a demigod empress would stand equal chance of saving them now. They had but one hope and—as a goddess, or as a thoughtful ruler—she needed their blind acceptance to raise the payment needed to buy time. So she walked with her head bowed, her fingers tapping her lower lip in apparent contemplation, giving the impression that she calculated the number of swords and shields, their positions at the choke points, the river dams set to be broken, the bridges set to be destroyed, the units of cavalry, the state of preparedness of the reserve battalions. More than anything she did not wish to appear to these old men as a flighty girl who held no understanding of the weight she bore.
She paused, looking at the fire, leaving her back to the table. “You are certain, then?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Eminence,” Sir Breckton replied. “A beacon is burning.”
“But only one?”
“We know that the elves are capable of swiftness and stealth. It’s why we had so many signal patrols.”
“Still, only one?”
“It’s no accident.”
“No, of course not,” she said, pivoting on a heel so that her mantle swept gracefully around. “And I do not doubt it now, but it shows something of their ability. Out of twenty-four, only one man had enough time to lay a torch to a pile of oiled wood.” She sighed. “They have crossed the Galewyr, then. Trent has fallen. Very well, send orders to clear the countryside, evacuate the towns and villages, and break the dams and bridges. Seal us off from the rest of the world—except for the southern pass. That we leave open for the princess. Thank you, gentlemen.”
The meeting was over and the council stood. Breckton turned to Modina. “I will leave immediately to personally take charge of destroying the bridges in Colnora.”
She nodded and noticed Amilia wince at his words. “Sir Breckton, I hope you do not take offense, but I would like to have my secretary accompany you so that she can report to me. I don’t want to take you away from your duties just to keep me informed.”
Both of them looked shocked. “But, Your Eminence, I will be riding north—there is risk—”
“I will leave it to her, then. Amilia? Will you go?”
She nodded. “As my empress wishes,” she said solemnly, as if this were a terrible hardship that she would endure only for the sake of the empire. Amilia, however, was not a very good actress.
“As you will be passing by Tarin Vale, see that you check on Amilia’s family, and ensure they are sent here to the palace.” This time Amilia lit up with genuine surprise.
“As you wish,” Sir Breckton said with a bow.
Amilia said nothing but reached out and squeezed Modina’s hand as she passed her.
“One more thing,” Modina said. “See to it that the man—the one that lit the fire—see that he receives a commendation of some kind. He should be rewarded.”
“I will indeed, Your Eminence.”
Servants entered the hall carrying plates but pulled up short with guilty looks.
“No, no, come in.” She waved them forward. “Chancellor, you and I will continue in my office to allow these people to set up for the evening meal.”
Outside the great hall, the corridors and public rooms buzzed with dozens of people walking, working, or just gathering to talk. She liked it this way; the castle felt alive. For so long she had lived within a cold hollow shell—a ghost within a mausoleum. But now, packed tightly with guests, all fighting for access to washbasins and seats at tables, and arguing over snoring and blanket stealing, it felt like a home. At times, she could almost imagine they were all relatives arriving as guests for a grand party or, perhaps, given the lingering mood, a funeral. She had never met most of those she saw, but they were family now. They were all family now.
Guards escorted them through the corridor and up the central stairs. Since the Royce Incident, as Breckton called it, he insisted she have bodyguards at all times. They ordered people in gruff tones to step back. “Empress!” they would call out, and crowds would gasp, look around nervously, dividing and bowing. She liked to smile and wave as she passed, but on the stairs she had to hold the hem of her dress. The dress, for all its expense, was no end of problems and she looked forward to the end of the day, when she could retire to her room and slip into her linen nightgown.
She half considered going there now. Nimbus would not mind. He had seen her in it hundreds of times, and while he was a shining example of protocol himself, he was silent to the foibles she made. As Modina climbed the stairs, it occurred to her she would have no more reservation about changing her clothes in front of him than she would about doing so in front of Red or Amilia, as if he were a doctor or priest.
They entered what had once been Saldur’s office. She had had most of the church paraphernalia and personal items removed. The chambermaids might even have scrubbed it—as the room did smell better.
The sun was setting outside the window, the last of the light quickly fading.
“How long has it been?” she asked Nimbus as he closed the office door.
“Only two days, Your Eminence,” Nimbus replied.
“It seems so much longer. They must have reached Amberton Lee by now, right?”
“Yes, I should think so.”