Those Below: The Empty Throne Book 2 (7 page)

There was no discussion, no debate. The Cuckoo who had spoken looked round at his fellows, and when none met his gaze he swallowed hard and moved out of the way, and the rest of them soon did the same, ferules flaccid in their hands, Pyre and Hammer shuffling through the sudden aperture swiftly and with blades still drawn.

‘You’re always welcome at a meeting, brothers,’ Pyre said, just before turning to sprint downslope towards freedom, yelling over his shoulder, ‘The truth comes to all who are willing to hear it!’

T
he stars peeked through a cloudless autumn evening and into the great open hall that made up some modest, some minor, some negligible portion of the Aubade’s estate. Great braziers of scented wood were set out at even intervals, each tended by an immaculately dressed house-slave. Other servants – there were many, many servants, there seemed more servants dedicated to the party itself than there were in the entirety of Eudokia’s estate, and each was dressed in finery that would have shamed a noble, shamed them as much for the style and cut as for the expense – carried trays of strange and exotic food from guest to guest. Sweetmeats covered in green pistachio, smoked bacon wrapped round freshly cut melon, and where had they gotten freshly cut melon this time of year, Eudokia wondered? Specific sets of servants carried trays to the Others in attendance, though the food did not seem substantially different, or at least not different in any way that a casual glance could detect. To the north one could gaze out at the bay, and the infinite sea beyond, watch the light sparkle on the turning waves. Or one could go eastward a few hundred steps and stare out over the first Rung of the Roost, the innumerable watchtowers and citadels, the houses that were like cathedrals, perfection writ in stone.

If Eudokia was not Eudokia, she might even have been impressed.

Two days prior the Aelerian deputation had entered the Roost, met at the gates of the city and carried via palanquin to a guesthouse on the Second Rung, overlooking a wide canal bereft of boat or vessel, its disuse one of the innumerable small signs reminding passers-by that however many human souls resided within the Roost did so to the benefit of Those Above. Not, it had to be said, that this seemed any great imposition or dishonour to the people of the Second Rung. Quite the opposite, in fact – submission to the Eternal seemed a sign of social status, raised above even the most accomplished of the human establishment, the bureaucrats and high-ranking custodians, the foreign merchant princes, the banking magnates. So far as the Roost was concerned, that human responsible for cleaning the chamber pot of an Eternal was to be envied more than the wealthiest scion of the oldest family on the Second Rung, and both were to be regarded above everyone residing outside of the Roost’s borders, though he be Emperor of Chazar.

Having seen the First Rung now, in all its splendour, this was a sentiment that Eudokia could appreciate if not share. The Red Keep, the Prime’s ancestral demesne, was quite the most spectacular building that Eudokia had ever seen. In terms of scope, the only thing Eudokia could think to compare it to were some of the castles along the border with Salucia, large enough to hold a small army and the provisions to sustain it for months or long years. But in intricacy and refinement it did not, in Eudokia’s estimation, resemble any edifice built by the hands of man; it could more profitably be compared to an engagement ring or a music box, to something tiny and precious and crafted out of love or at least vanity. And it was one of thousands of similar structures clustered about the First Rung, finer than many, perhaps, but essentially similar, a vast catalogue of unique and unfathomable wonders.

Jahan stood a few steps behind her, a silent, brooding presence, squat and tight-muscled and ugly, alert as ever for any hint of danger to his mistress as he had been for the more than twenty years he had been in her service. He nibbled at a bit of finger food, but apart from that the wonders of the Roost held little interest, eyes dull and dispassionate.

Out of the corner of her eye Eudokia watched the Prime sitting silently on a throne reserved for that purpose, still and idealised as a statue or a poem. Nearer, two Eternal conversed in their incomprehensibly beautiful speech, a male and a female though it was difficult to tell the difference, each a near reflection of the other’s perfection. Her own species, Eudokia did not scruple to admit, had little to gain by comparison. In one corner Senator Gratian was talking to a Roostborn girl, not one of the household servants. It had taken them two and a half months to traverse the distance between the capital and the Roost, covered wagons on well-made roads, a large escort of hoplitai, and Gratian complaining every single moment of it; Eudokia had forced herself to keep silent despite her annoyance, as Jahan was an obedient servant and an errant word on her part would require a swiftly dug grave and all sorts of frantic manoeuvrings.

Which was not to suggest that the notion of arranging some … accident for the senator was one with which she had entirely dispensed. Back in the capital the senator’s follies and foolishness were easily covered up, particularly in so far as his was not a caste known for their discretion. Indeed, by the standards of some of the rest of his august fellowship, he was virtually a monk – he had never tried to make his boy lover third consul, for instance, and his nose had not yet rotted off from the pox. Regardless, here in the Roost they had rather thinner room for error. It was Eudokia’s understanding that Those Above were utterly amoral in terms of sex, had no notion of it as sin, perhaps had no notion of sin at all – but they certainly had a notion of etiquette, and of style, and by the gods, if that fat-titted little sybarite did something to embarrass her in front of the demons, he would find himself not waking up one morning. It was an eventuality that Eudokia had planned out well before accepting this mission to the Roost. Half of his staff were hers, a few drops of something in his drink, a few weeks wearing black, of course they would need to send for another senator, though it would be months and months before he arrived, and in the meantime Eudokia would simply have to muddle through as best as she was able, by default becoming Aeleria’s sole representative within the Roost.

Eudokia closed her mind around the fantasy of homicide. It was a dangerous thing to start thinking too far in that direction – one began to look around and see all sorts of people that the world did not, strictly speaking, require the continued presence of, began to to count them off one after another, how much simpler the machine would run with a few dozen less souls in it.

Gratian caught her looking and waved, wrist fat wobbling. She smiled and nodded in return.

Eudokia turned her attention to one of those few members of the assemblage whose presence was neither indifference nor burden, indeed, one of those few individuals on the breadth of the planet who could claim this happy distinction. Her nephew Leon leaned against the balcony, enraptured by the beauty of the First Rung – or, perhaps by the long-necked woman who stood next to him. The son of a cousin she scarce recollected, whose death had introduced him to her household when he was still a child. She had brought Leon because she had thought it might be good for his education, and because, and this was a truth that Eudokia could only vaguely bring herself to admit, she actually enjoyed his presence, found his combination of quick wit and boyish innocence to be a pleasant seasoning with which to take the day.

‘And what captivating creature have you stolen away this time, dear nephew?’ Eudokia asked.

‘I have the honour to present Calla, Sensechal of the Red Manor,’ Leon said. ‘Calla, this is my aunt, Eudokia Aurelia, Revered Mother.’

‘May the moonlight illuminate your path,’ the girl added.

No, not girl, woman, Eudokia thought after a moment, recognising metal when she saw it. She was young enough, and she had the bright eyes and high bosom of someone on the kinder side of thirty. But one did not rise higher than sensechal to the Prime, not if one had five fingers on one’s hand at least. And also she met Eudokia’s eyes coolly, civilly but without any excess of kindness, and no one who could long bear the gaze of the Revered Mother could justly be called a child.

‘It was my understanding that the women of Aeleria held no titles, and had no role in the workings of the state,’ Calla said.

‘We are a modest lot,’ Eudokia assured her. ‘And my rank is ceremonial in nature. It indicates I am the head priestess of the cult of Enkedri, and entitled to certain … exaggerated honorifics on his behalf.’

‘You are a long way from the temples of your god, Revered Mother.’

‘But the Self-Created does not reside only in the great stone of his cathedrals. He has another citadel, preferred and longer lasting – the righteous heart of his followers.’

‘How … pious,’ Calla said, as if not liking the taste. ‘But still I have difficulty in understanding why the servant of your god, however widespread his powers, would be required as part of the peace embassy that Aeleria has sent to the Roost.’

‘I admit to a bit of string-pulling on that one. I am an old woman, and it will not be so very long before Enkedri calls me back to his bosom. I had hoped, since I was a young girl, to see the magnificence of the Roost, and took the opportunity of our embassy to do so.’

‘Then your presence here is that of a traveller? You have no public role to play?’

‘Think of me as but a simple tourist, hoping only to see the wonders of Those Above before I shuffle off into the night. Of course, any assistance I might give in counselling the peoples of our lands towards peace would be a glory almost too much for my aged heart to bear.’

‘Let us hope you prove capable of handling the strain,’ Calla said smoothly

As engaging a diversion as she was, Eudokia felt, with characteristic grace, that the seneschal’s time might more profitably be used flirting with her nephew. She excused herself and found another drink, sipped it and spent some time staring at the Aubade, or the Lord of the Red Manor, or the Prime, as he was now known, trying to determine if there was something that set him apart distinctly from the handful of other Eternal in attendance, or if it was only her knowledge that he had recently been made whatever passed for leader among the Four-Fingered that was giving him such weight. She decided ultimately that it was the former. Of course, all of Those Above were physically ideal, but there was something about the Aubade, some indefinable quality of excellence, notable in the way he sat casually on his seat, and the way he stared off into the darkness, as if there were things there that he alone could properly observe.

Even among the Others, it seemed there were gradations of nobility.

Eudokia had practised the Eternal greeting until she could have performed it with a bottle of liquor inside her, until she could have done it with an arrow sticking out of her chest. Absent either of those handicaps she performed the series of gestures as naturally as if she was sitting down to toilet. ‘My Lord Prime, may the moon bathe you in its rays.’

‘Revered Mother,’ he said, ‘may tomorrow’s sun find you well.’

‘It flatters me to suppose the Prime has had time to familiarise himself with our delegation.’

‘The Sentinel of the Southern Reach has written of you,’ he said, rolling over her pleasantry as if she had not offered it. ‘She indicates that you are the one to speak with from your nation, that this other man you sent is an ignoramus and a lecher, your puppet and nothing more.’

It seemed that, for all their superiority in various other regards, the Eternal had no very keen grasp of subtlety. Of course, no one in the world had so sharp an understanding of that quality as the Revered Mother, but still … ‘I’m afraid she rather overstates the case. My position is purely a ceremonial one. Senator Gratian, to whom I must politely insist your Sentinel does an injustice, is the only official representative of the Empty Throne. Any concerns or questions you might have would be best raised with him.’

She was coming swiftly to realise that whatever physical tics Those Above used to indicate mood or change of emotion, assuming they had any, were too delicate for her to grasp clearly. For a woman such as Eudokia, who had long been used to reading the minds of her interlocutors from their blinks and intakes of breath and fidgeting fingers, it was like having to navigate blind. It also gave her a swift little jolt of excitement, a rare enough emotion for one so used to easy victory.

‘Then the senator is the individual whom I ought to be speaking to, if I wish to understand the cause of Aeleria’s recent belligerence, bellicosity and intransigence?’

‘There is, perhaps, no need to distract him at the moment. I cannot answer you in any sort of official capacity, but perhaps I might be allowed to offer you some insight into the mind of an Aelerian patriot. For twenty-five years, the Salucians have held the city of Oscan, the very heartland of Aeleria, within their palm, held it and mistreated its people. Two and a half years ago we called for a conference to discuss the issue, a conference that was attended by our beloved Senator Andronikos, a man who loved peace above all other things, a man who wished for nothing more than to see the differences between our nations amicably resolved. A man who was as close to me as a brother,’ this added with a hiccup of emotion, hinting at a wellspring of despair beneath. ‘I am sure my Lord has heard of the … atrocity that befell him, his brutal murder at the hands of the Salucian population. Surely the Regent would not ask that Aeleria remain supine before this injustice? What would the Roost do, if their representative, invited freely into a foreign land, were butchered? What vengeance would they pursue, in reckoning for such an evil?’

It was a very fine speech, Eudokia thought. Certainly those in earshot, humans and High-born alike, turned to look at her, and she made sure to take advantage of the moment, displaying a facade that was at once contrite and stern, saddened and stoical.

‘We had heard,’ the Prime said, ‘of this unexpected and unfortunate development, one which the Salucians seem willing and more than willing to make good upon. And yet we have heard also that their pleas for peace find no purchase in the minds of the Aelerian Senate, that they will not consider the recompense offered, nor engage in negotiations of any kind.’