Rise Of Empire (30 page)

T
he midday bell rang and Amilia stopped, uncertain of which way to go. As a kitchen servant, she was unfamiliar with areas reserved for nobles. Only on rare occasions had she filled in for sick chambermaids by servicing bedrooms on the third floor. She had worked as fast as possible to finish before the guests returned. Working with a noble present was a nightmare. They usually ignored her, but she was terrified of drawing attention. Invisibility was her best defense and it was easy to remain unseen in the steam and bustle of the scullery. In the open corridors, anyone could notice her.

This time she had no choice. Saldur had ordered her to his office. A soldier had found her on the way to breakfast and told her to report to His Grace at the midday bell. She lost her appetite and spent the rest of the morning speculating on what horrible fate awaited her.

The bell rang for the second time and Amilia began to panic. She had visited the regent’s office only once, and since she had been under armed escort at the time, the route had been the last thing on her mind. She remembered going upstairs, but didn’t recall the number of flights.

Oh, why didn’t I leave earlier?

She passed the great hall, filled with long tables set with familiar plates and shining goblets, which she had washed each day—old companions all. They were friends of a simpler time, when the world had made sense. Back then she had woken each morning knowing every day would be as the one before. Now each day was filled with the fear of being discovered a failure.

On the far side of the hall, men entered, dressed in embroidered clothing rich in colors—nobles. They took seats, talking loudly, laughing, rocking back in chairs, and shouting for stewards to bring wine. She held the door for Bastion, who carried a tray of steaming food. He smiled gratefully at her as he rushed by, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

“How do I get to the regent’s office?” she whispered.

Bastion did not pause as he hurried past, but called back, “Go around the reception hall, through the throne room.”

“Then what?”

“Just ask the clerk.”

She headed down the corridor and around the curved wall of the grand stair toward the palace entrance. Workers propped the front doors open, granting entry to three stories of daylight, which revealed the cloud of dust they were building. Sweat-oiled men hauled in timber, mortar, and stone. Teams cut wood and marble. Workers scrambled up and down willowy ladders while pulleys hoisted buckets to scaffold-perched masons. All of them were working hard to reshape visitors’ first impressions. She noticed with amazement that a wall had been moved and the ceiling was higher than the last time she had been here. The entrance was now more expansive and impressive than the darkened chamber it once had been.

“Excuse me?” a voice called. A thin man stood in the open doorway to the courtyard. He hesitated on the steps, dodging
the passing workers. “May I enter?” He coughed, waving a handkerchief before his face.

Amilia looked at him and shrugged. “Why not? Everyone else is.”

He took several tentative steps, glancing up fearfully, his arms partially raised as if to ward off a blow. A thin, brittle-looking man wearing a powdered wig, a brilliant yellow tunic, and striped orange britches, he stood taller than Amilia.

“Good day to you, my lady,” he greeted her with a bow as soon as he had cleared the activity. “My name is Nimbus of Vernes and I have come to offer my services.”

“Oh,” she said with a blank stare. “I don’t think—”

“Oh please, I beg of you, hear me out. I am a courtier formerly of King Fredrick and Queen Josephine of Galeannon. I am well versed in all courtly protocol, procedures, and correspondence. Prior to that, I was chamberlain to Duke Ibsen of Vernes, so I am capable of managing—” He paused. “Are you all right?”

Amilia swallowed. “I’m just in a hurry. I’m on my way to a very important meeting with the regent.”

“Please forgive me, then. It is just that—well, I have—” He slouched his shoulders and sighed. “I am embarrassed to say that I am a refugee of the Nationalists’ invasion and have nothing more than the clothes on my back and what little I have in this satchel. I have walked my way here and … I am a bit hungry. I was hoping I could find employment at the palace court. I am not suited for anything else,” he said, dusting his shoulders clear of the snowy debris that drifted down from the scaffolds.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but I’m not—” She stopped when she saw his lip tremble. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“Quite some time, I am afraid. I have actually lost track.”

“Listen,” she told him. “I can get you something to eat, but you have to wait until after my meeting.”

She thought he would cry then as he bit his lip and nodded several times, saying, “Thank you ever so much, my lady.”

“Wait here. I’ll be back soon … I hope.”

She headed off, dodging the lathered men in leather aprons, and slipped past three others in robes, holding measuring sticks like staffs and arguing over lines on huge parchments spread across a worktable.

The throne room, which also showed signs of renovation, was nearly finished and only a few towers of scaffolding remained. The marble floor glistened with a luster, as did the mammoth pillars that held up the domed ceiling. Near the interior wall rose the dais, upon which stood the golden imperial throne, sculpted in the shape of a giant bird of prey. The wings spread into a vast circle of splayed feathers, which formed the chair’s back. She passed through the arcade behind it to the administration offices.

“What do you want?” the clerk asked Amilia. She had never liked him. His face looked like a rodent’s, with small eyes, large front teeth, and a brief smattering of black hair on a pale, balding head. The little man sat behind a formidable desk, his fingers dyed black from ink.

“I’m here to see Regent Saldur,” she replied. “He sent for me.”

“Upstairs, fourth floor,” he said, dismissing her by looking back down at his parchments.

On the second floor, plaster covered the walls. On the third floor, she found paneling, and by the fourth level the paneling was a richly carved dark cherry wood. Lanterns became elegant chandeliers, a long red carpet ran the length of the corridor, and glass windows let in light from outside. She recalled how out of place Saldur had seemed when he had visited the
kitchen. She looked down at her dirty smock and recognized the irony.

The door lay open and Regent Saldur stood before an arched window built from three of the largest pieces of glass she had ever seen. Birdsongs drifted in from the ward below as the regent read a parchment he held in the sunlight.

“You’re late,” he said without looking up.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to get here.”

“Something you should understand: I’m not interested in excuses or explanations. I’m only interested in results. When I tell you to do something, I expect it’ll be done exactly as I dictate, not sooner, not later, not differently, but
exactly
how I specify. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” She felt considerably warmer than she had a moment earlier.

The regent walked to his desk and laid the parchment on it. He placed his fingertips together, tapping them against each other while studying her. “What’s your name again?”

“Amilia of Tarin Vale.”

“Amilia—a pretty name. Amilia, you impressed me. That is not easy to do. I appointed five separate women to the task of imperial secretary—ladies of breeding, ladies of pedigree. You are the first to show an improvement in Her Eminence. You have also presented me with a unique problem. I can’t have a common scullery maid working as the personal assistant to the empress. How will that look?” He took a seat behind his desk, brushing out the folds of his robe. “It’s conceivable that the empress could have died if not for whatever magic you performed. For this, you deserve a reward. I’m bestowing on you the diplomatic rank equal to a baroness. From this moment on, you will be known as Lady Amilia.”

He dipped a quill into ink and scribbled his name. “Present
this to the clerk downstairs and he will arrange for you to obtain the necessary material for a better—Well, for a dress.”

Amilia stared at him, unable to move, taking shallow breaths, not wanting to disturb anything. She was riding a wave of good fortune and feared the slightest movement could throw her into an unforgiving sea. He was not punishing her after all. The rest she could think about later.

“Have you nothing to say?”

Amilia hesitated. “Could the empress get a new dress as well?”

“You are now Lady Amilia, imperial secretary to Empress Modina Novronian. You can take whatever measures you feel are necessary to ensure the well-being of the empress.”

“Can I take her outside for walks?”

“No,” he said curtly. He then softened his tone and added, “As we both know, Modina is not well. I personally feel she may never be. But it’s imperative that her subjects believe they have a strong ruler. Through her name, Ethelred and I are doing great things for the people out there.” He pointed at the window. “But we can’t hope to succeed if they discover their beloved empress does not have her wits about her. It’s a difficult task that Novron has laid before us, to build a better world while concealing the empress’s incapacitation, which brings me to your first assignment.”

Amilia blinked.

“Despite all my efforts, word is getting out that the empress is not well. Since the public has never seen her, there is a growing rumor that she doesn’t exist. We need to calm the people’s fear. To this end, it will be your task to prepare Modina to give a speech upon the Grand Balcony in three days’ time.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, it’s only three sentences.” He picked up the
parchment he had been reading and held it out to her. “It should be a simple task. You got her to say one word. Now get her to say a few more. Have her memorize the speech and train her to deliver it—like an empress.”

“But I—”

“Remember what I said about excuses. You are part of the nobility now, a person of privilege and power. I’ve given you means and with that comes responsibility. Now out with you. I’ve more work to do.”

Taking the parchments, she turned and walked toward the door.

“And, Lady Amilia, don’t forget that there were five imperial secretaries before you, and all of them were noble as well.”

“Well, if that don’t put a stiff wind in your main,” Ibis declared, looking at the patent of nobility Amilia showed him. Most of the kitchen staff gathered around the cook as he held the parchment up, grinning.

“It’s awfully pretty,” Cora pointed out. “I love all the fancy writing.”

“Never had a desire to read before,” Ibis said. “But I sure wish I could now.”

“May I?” Nimbus asked. He carefully wiped his hands on his handkerchief and, reaching out, gently took the parchment. “It reads ‘I, Modina, who am right wise empress, appointed to this task by the mercy of our lord Maribor, through my imperial regents, Maurice Saldur and Lanis Ethelred, decree that in recognition of faithful service and commission of charges found to our favor, Amilia of Tarin Vale, daughter of Bartholomew the carriage maker, be raised from her current station and shall
belong to the unquestionable nobles of the Novronian Empire and will henceforth and forever be known as Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale.’” Nimbus looked up. “There is a good deal more, concerning the limitations of familial inheritance and nobility rights, but that is the essence of the writ.”

They all stared at the cornstalk of a man.

“This is Nimbus,” Amilia said, introducing him. “He’s in need of a meal, and I was hoping you could give him a little something.”

Ibis grinned and made a modest bow.

“Yer a lady now, Amilia. There isn’t a person in this room who can say no to you. You hear that, Edith?” he shouted at the head maid as she entered. “Our little Amilia is a noble lady now.”

Edith stood where she was. “Says who?”

“The empress and Regent Saldur, that’s who. Says so right on this here parchment. Care to read it?”

Edith scowled.

“Oh, that’s right. You can’t read any more than I can. Would you like
Lady
Amilia to read it to you? Or how about her personal steward? He has an excellent reading voice.”