“Oh, I remember, racked with guilt and grief, Erebus returned to Muriel and begged for her forgiveness. She was moved by her father’s remorse but still could not look at him. He pleaded for her to name a punishment. Muriel needed time to let the fear and pain pass, so she told him, ‘Go to Elan to live. Not as a god, but as a man, to learn humility.’ To repent for his misdeeds, she charged him to do good works. Erebus did as she requested and took the name of Kile. It’s said that he walks the world of men to this day, working miracles. For each act that pleases her, she bestows a white feather to him from her magnificent robe, which he places in a pouch kept forever by his side. On the day when all the feathers have been awarded, Muriel promised to call her father home and forgive him. The legend says that when the gods are reunited, all will be made right, and the world will transform into a paradise.”
This really was one of Amilia’s favorite stories and she told it hoping for miraculous results. Perhaps the father of the gods would hear her and come to their aid. Amilia waited. Nothing happened. The walls were the same cold stone, the flickering flames the only light. She sighed. “Well, maybe we’ll just have to make our own miracles,” she told Modina as she blew out all but a single candle, then closed her eyes to sleep.
Amilia woke with a newfound purpose. She resolved to free Modina from her room, if only for a short while. The cell reeked of the scent of urine and mildew, which lingered even after scrubbing and fresh straw. She wanted to take Modina outside but knew that would be asking too much. Amilia tried to convince herself that Lady Constance had been dragged away because of Modina’s failing health, and not because she had taken her to the kitchen. But even so, no matter the consequences, Amilia had to try.
Amilia changed both herself and Modina into their day clothing and, taking her gently by the hand, led her to the door and knocked. When it opened, she faced the guard straight and tall and announced, “I’m taking the empress to the kitchen for her meal. I was appointed the imperial secretary by Regent Saldur himself, and I’m responsible for her care. She can’t remain in this filthy cell. It’s killing her.”
She waited.
He would refuse and she would argue. She tried to organize her rebuttals: noxious vapors, the healing power of fresh air, the fact that they would kill her if the empress did not show improvement. Why that last one would persuade him she had not worked out, but it was one of the thoughts pressing on her mind.
The guard looked from Amilia to Modina and back to Amilia again. She was shocked when he nodded and stepped aside. Amilia hesitated; she had not considered the possibility he would relent. She led the empress up the steps while the soldier followed.
She made no announcement like Lady Constance. She simply walked in with the empress in tow, bringing the kitchen once more to a halt. Everyone stared. No one said a word.
“The empress would like her meal,” Amilia told Ibis, who nodded. “Could you please put some extra bread at the bottom of the bowl, and could she get some fruit today?”
“Aye, aye,” the big man acknowledged. “Leif, get on it. Nipper, go to the storage and bring up some of those berries. The rest of you, back to work. Nothing to see here.”
Nipper bolted outside, leaving the door open. Red, one of the huntsman’s old dogs, wandered in. Modina dropped Amilia’s hand.
“Leif, get that animal out of here,” Ibis ordered.
“Wait,” Amilia said. Everyone watched as the empress knelt down next to the elkhound. The dog, in turn, nuzzled her.
Red was old, and his muzzle had gone gray, and his eyes clouded with blindness. Why the huntsman kept him was a mystery, as all he did was sleep in the courtyard and beg for handouts from the kitchen. Few took notice of his familiar presence, but he commanded the empress’s attention. She scratched behind his ears and stroked his fur.
“I guess Red gets to stay.” Ibis chuckled. “Dog’s got important friends.”
Edith Mon entered the kitchen, halting abruptly at the sight of Amilia and the empress. She pursed her lips, narrowed her eyes, and without a word pivoted and exited the way she had come.
Amidst the sound of pounding hammers, Regent Maurice Saldur strode through the palace reception hall, where artisans were busy at work. A year ago this had been King Ethelred’s castle, the stark stone fortress of Avryn’s most powerful monarch. Since the coronation of the empress, it had become the imperial palace of the Nyphron Empire and the home of the Daughter of Maribor. Saldur had insisted on the renovations: a grand new foyer, complete with the crown seal etched in white marble on the floor; several massive chandeliers to lighten the dark interior; a wider ornate balcony from which Her Eminence could wave to her adoring people; and of course, a complete rework of the throne room.
Ethelred and the chancellor had balked at the expense. The new throne cost almost as much as a warship, but they did not understand the importance of impressions the way Saldur did. He had an illiterate, nearly comatose child for an empress, and the only thing preventing disaster was that no one knew. Saldur’s edict restricting servants from leaving the castle had been issued to contain most of the gossip. Brute-force opulence would further the misdirection.
How much silk, gold, and marble does it take to blind the world?