The queen held court in what had been the house of Council-man Arklev, a sizeable mansion with extensive grounds that benefited from a tall surrounding wall and a large audience chamber. A small army of clerks laboured in the mansion’s many rooms to deal with the copious correspondence generated by an empire that now found itself part of a Realm. The issues were many and varied, from famine in the south to declarations of secession in the east where some Volarian military strength had contrived to linger, apparently due to the pragmatic attitude of the provincial governor who had taken his forces on protracted manoeuvres, thereby avoiding Imperial messengers bearing his death-warrant.
Over the weeks since the city’s fall the queen had faced a continual stream of petitioners, dozens at first, then hundreds. Various rebel groups sought recognition, representatives from the more quiescent towns and cities demanded protection from less placid neighbours and, most of all, merchants came with generous offers for exclusive trading concessions.
Vaelin was met at the chamber door by Lady Lieza, saved from the arena and now elevated to the queen’s side by virtue of her skill with correspondence, not to mention an intimate knowledge of the varied laws and customs of this newly conquered land.
“The queen bids you enter immediately, my lord,” the lady said in her rapidly improving Realm Tongue.
“How many today?” he asked as she bade the guards to open the door.
Lieza gave a tense smile. “Just one.”
The queen was speaking as he entered, her tone surprising in the anger it held. “And your Empress expects me to simply agree to this without negotiation?”
Lord Verniers seemed to have aged since Vaelin last saw him, though he also appeared to stand a little straighter now and displayed scant reaction to the queen’s ire. “She does you the courtesy of informing you of her actions, Highness,” he said. “And sees no scope for conflict in this matter.”
He fell silent at Vaelin’s entry, pausing to offer a shallow bow of welcome.
“Lord Vaelin,” the queen greeted him. “Lord Verniers, it seems, has gained stature since leaving us. May I present the Alpiran Ambassador to the Unified Realm.”
“Congratulations, my lord,” Vaelin told Verniers, returning the bow.
“He comes to tell me one of my own cities is now in the hands of his Empress,” the queen continued.
“Verehl was an Alpiran city long before the Volarian Empire even existed, Highness,” Verniers responded. “And I should point out its capture occurred whilst your war was still ongoing. The actions of an ally, in truth.”
“An ally would have sailed her fleet into the Cut and helped take this city, not steal another.” Lyrna rose from her throne, approaching Verniers, face tense with anger. “Does your Empress have any notion of the army I now command? Of the nature of the sword I wield? I took an empire in the space of a few months. Had I a mind to, I could take a world.”
“Highness . . .” Vaelin began but she waved him to silence, moving away and sighing in frustration. “I find, Lord Verniers, it would be best if you came back tomorrow, when my temper will be better suited to diplomacy. Lord Vaelin, you will stay. We have military matters to discuss.”
Vaelin touched a hand to Verniers’ sleeve as he bowed and made for the door. “The Volarian woman?”
Verniers took a deliberate step back from him, face unchanged as he said, “She died.”
“I’m sorry. We had intelligence there was an agent of the Ally in Alpira . . .”
“It died too.” Verniers bowed again and walked from the chamber.
“What do you think?” Vaelin turned to find the queen greeting him with a smile, her anger abruptly vanished. “A little overdramatic, perhaps?”
“I’m sure Your Highness knows best how to deal with an ambassador.”
“Actually, it’s a skill I’m having to learn with some rapidity. So, do you think we should retake Verehl?”
“The decision is not mine to make, Highness. And you have a Battle Lord to advise on the practicalities of such an undertaking.”
“I don’t need Al Hestian to tell me it would be impossible, not for another year at least. Verehl sits on the southern coast, a fairly unpleasant place by all accounts, surrounded by jungle and subject to yearly storms of legendary ferocity. Its only value comes from the spice trade, contributing less than one-half of one-hundredth to the Imperial treasury. I suspect Empress Emeren seeks to test me, baiting a trap to see if I’ll bite.”
“Given the animosity between our peoples, a city of little value seems a small price to pay to heal the rift.”
She gave a small laugh, shaking her head and moving back to her throne. “Always the peacemaker, even now.”
“I hoped Your Highness had called me here to discuss my petition.”
“Indeed I did, though it suited me to add a little theatre for Lord Verniers.” She settled onto the throne, accepting a cup of water from Iltis. “You want to go home.”
“With my sister, yes.”
Lyrna’s face clouded a little as she drank. “Lady Alornis is . . . improving I hear.”
“She has nightmares every time she sleeps and, when awake, tinkers constantly with the engines she built on your behalf. They grow more deadly by the day, she tells me. She seems keen to see them at work. I am not.”
“We agreed this war had to be won, Vaelin, and we all gave much in the winning. Your sister more than most, for which I’m sorry. But she is a grown woman and I never forced her to any action.”