The False Martyr (53 page)

“
I fear so,” the unknown
voice rose slightly so that Ipid could catch the words. “He may be
all the catalyst they need.”

Eia answered more slowly,
words lost.

“
As you wish, my lady,”
the voice answered – Ipid almost had it placed. “You know my fear.
I will leave it to your discretion.”

The top of the stair
appeared. Ipid placed his hand on the ball atop the railing and
eased himself around. Eia caught his eye as soon as it appeared.
She watched him, disappointment clear. “He’s here,” she said to the
man standing across the staircase from her. Even in the near
perfect darkness, Ipid could tell it was Ambassador an’ Pmalatir.
“Go now. I will send for you tomorrow.”

“
No,” Ipid managed.
“Ambassador, if you have news, you will tell it to me.” He felt his
anger rising but managed to keep it under control so as not to
rouse the guards or wake the household. What was Eia trying to do?
Why was she meeting the man who was to be his eyes and ears without
him? Why was she sending him away? Why was he listening to her
rather than him?

“
Ambassador an’ Pmalatir
is leaving now,” Eia said. “His news is best discussed in the light
of the day when all heads are clear.” She climbed the stairs in
graceful, effortless strides. Her eyes held his, so that he could
not seem to look away. Behind, the Imperial ambassador thumped down
the stairs without another word.

“
What . . . where . . . I
did not . . . .” Ipid protested, voice rising.

“
Shush,” Eia reached him
and put a finger to his lips. “You will simply create a commotion
where none is needed. Please, return to the room with me, and I
will explain.”

Ipid allowed her to take
his arm and lead him back to the room they shared. Several times he
tried to argue. Eia stopped each time with a gentle squeeze of his
hand and barely audible “Shush.”

“
I am sorry that you saw
that,” she said when he was through the door to the room. She slid
it closed behind them until it latched.

Ipid turned and looked at
her. He was fuming, fighting to keep his voice and fists in check.
“Only sorry that I
saw
it. You are meeting with important officials without me,
making decisions without my writ, receiving reports without my
leave. What’s more, I haven’t heard anything from that bloated fool
since he arrived. If he knows something, I need to hear it.” He
paused then realized what he had stumbled upon. “Did Belab send him
to serve you instead of me? Is that what’s happening
here?”

“
Calm down,” Eia
approached and put a hand on his chest.

Ipid brushed it away. “I
will not! Tell me the truth! Tell me what this is all
about!”

“
I assure you there is a
reason for everything, but now is not the time to discuss
it.”

“
Now is the only time. You
will answer my questions immediately. I will hear no
excuses.”

Eia cocked her head and
looked at him.
Was that disappointment in
her eyes? Did she think he was some kind of child seeking
indulgence?
“I am trying to protect you,”
she said with a sigh. “The news he brings needs to be considered
carefully, with clear eyes.” She sighed again and tried to move
toward him. “Trust me that it can wait. Everyone needs sleep,
including you. That is far more important than anything you could
do with Vontel’s report.”

“
Vontel . . . ? How long
have you . . . ?”

“
Shush,” Eia continued
easing toward him and put a finger to his mouth. “Are you jealous
of that great jelly of a man?” She cocked her head. “Though I hear
he has some interesting tastes, I also believe that women share
them only through payment or blackmail. Can we return to bed now? I
can remove your emotions again if that will help.”

“
No.” Ipid brushed her
reaching hands away and retreated another step. “And stop trying to
change the subject. This is not about jealousy. This is about my
ability to run this nation. I need to know what is happening. I
need to know what that bastard knows. Even more, if it is something
that will make me lose sleep.”

“
Is there anything that
won’t make you lose sleep?” Eia cooed. “Trust me. Tomorrow, Vontel
will return, and you can spend the rest of the day stewing on his
words. There is no use in spending the night on them as
well.”

“
It cannot be worse than
what my imagination will muster.” Eia had forced him back all the
way to the bed. His legs bumped against it. He nearly fell. “I am
wide awake. I might as well start thinking on it. Then I might have
an answer in the morning. And that is not the . . . .”

Eia stepped into him, put
her hands on his hips, standing close enough as to be touching. He
tried to keep his distance, but there was nowhere else to go. “He
is not one of your subjects,” she interrupted, voice a whisper,
mouth in his ear. “Your authority with him derives from the request
of his Emperor, which in turn derives from the Belab.” Eia’s hands
had somehow found the tie to his robe. It opened. Her lips brushed
his chest, hand moved down to feel him. “And you should be happy
you found me talking with him rather than in the room of someone
who truly is your subject. Now
that
would undermine your authority.”

Ipid could not help the
thoughts that came into his mind. He imagined Eia again with one of
the other men, and for some reason, his body responded.

“
Hmmm,” Eia smiled. Her
lips found his. He could not help but kiss her. “Apparently, I
needed you more upset, not less. I’ll remember that for the
future.”

As his desire grew, Ipid
found it harder and harder to maintain his anger. His robe had
somehow fallen away. Eia’s joined it on the floor. She went to her
knees, and the concerns of his beleaguered nation became
trivial.

#

“
The news can’t all be
good,” Ipid fumed. He glowered at Jon, convinced the man was part
of Eia’s conspiracy and no longer willing to keep quiet about it.
“What are you keeping from me? Why are you lying to me?”

“
Lord Chancellor,” Jon
stammered. He looked down at the papers before him with fear and
confusion, nearly wincing as if expecting to be struck. Ever since
they’d toured the work in the Capital District, Jon had been like a
beaten wife around a drunk husband. Beyond that, he was clearly
exhausted and nearly failing under the stain of his innumerable
responsibilities. “I . . . I have told you everything. These are
all the reports I have.”

“
How dare you?” Ipid’s
fist hitting the table. “You have never . . . .”

Eia placed a hand on his
arm. He glowered at her, but she just smiled. “It is not Jon,” she
explained in Darthur. “He is perfectly loyal.”

“
Then what was last night
about?” Ipid’s attention stayed on Eia, but she just looked at him.
Finally, Ipid realized that he had fallen back into his own
language. He repeated himself in Darthur – they’d told Jon, Tyne,
Wallock, and Landon about Eia’s true identity but still used the
invader’s language when secrecy required it. Across from him, Jon
watched the door, clearly wondering if he should remain for what
was, by all indications, a martial dispute and desperate for an
escape even so.

“
Vontel can tell you when
he arrives,” Eia responded calmly. Her hand caressed his arm. She
was a model of composure and watched him as if she might transfer
some of that composure to him. “Now, apologize to Jon. You are
scaring him.”

Ipid just barely kept
himself from growling. He bared his teeth, and Eia patted his arm
like a mother calming an overworked child. “He is telling you
everything he knows,” she tried again. “The transfer of power, the
work on the roads, the take of food have all met or exceeded
expectations. He is doing an excellent job and should be commended.
So apologize and commend him.” She squeezed his hand, face turning
from disappointment to command.

Across the table, Jon
looked like he wanted to disappear. He could not have understood
their conversation, could only imagine it was some lovers’ spat
that he wanted no part of. He was clearly exhausted, stressed,
overwrought, but he was here. He kept coming back. His own family,
wife and four daughters, were safely outside the city. Did he miss
them? Undoubtedly. And he could have gone with them. He did not
need to show himself at the inauguration, did not need to take the
risk, did not need this aggravation. And he really had done a
remarkable job. The rationing system was working far more smoothly
than Ipid had any right to expect. The work crews were efficiently
organized. Life was far from ordinary, but the city still worked,
maybe even more efficiently than it had before – granted with
three-quarters of its previous population for all the people who
had fled. And Jon had organized it all, had created a staff from
nothing, had implemented Ipid’s directives, had seen that they
reached every corner of the nation, and nearly worked himself to
death to do it. Certainly, Eia was correct. He deserved
better.

“
I am sorry, Jon,” Ipid
said with a sigh. “You have done a remarkable job, far better than
I ever would have thought possible. You have done so well that it
is difficult to believe. It is beyond cruel for me to defame your
success. You deserve my and the Kingdoms’ thanks.”

“
Thank you, Lord
Chancellor,” Jon smiled stiffly but continued fidgeting nervously.
“I have simply implemented your edicts. As always, you have
provided the blueprint. I simply turn it into reality. Yet. . . .”
He cut himself off as if unsure whether to continue.

“
Yet, what?” Ipid pounced.
He knew there had to be clouds behind the silver linings. Nothing
was ever this easy.

“
It is . . . well . . . it
is not really for me to say, sir.”

“
Speak, Jon. I need to
know the hard truths. We will never make it through this if you
withhold your opinions from me.”

“
Yes, sir.” Jon looked at
the table and picked at the already bleeding skin around his thumb.
“I don’t know how long things will continue this way. I have no
numbers or official reports to back my words, which is why I
hesitate to share them, but I fear this is as good as the news will
get.”

Ipid sat forward, eyes
boring into his
chief
advisor
. Jon was notoriously cautious. He
almost never spoke without clear evidence to back his words. At the
same time, he knew exactly how to get the most out of his people,
how to organize them, how far and hard to push them. “Tell me,”
Ipid demanded.

“
I have no proof,” Jon
demurred. “No one has reported anything, but . . . .“ he paused and
seemed to change direction. “At the mill, we paid the workers far
more than they would have made in the fields.” Ipid nodded,
thinking back on his arguments with Dasen, at his son’s allegation
that more was not the same as enough. “The men were always happy
when they first came, but it never lasted. Too often, that extra
money went to drink and gambling. They ended up grumbling that they
needed more, that their children were hungry, even though they
earned far more than they’d ever had. Sometimes, their gripes would
become more than that, and we’d have to fire them, but it was easy
to get rid of the discontents because there were three others
waiting to take their jobs.”

“
Where’s this going, Jon?”
Ipid looked at his hands, growing impatient.

“
I’m afraid we’re going to
see the same thing here,” Jon blurted. Ipid looked up. He suddenly
understood, but Jon misinterpreted his expression. “Let me
explain,” he said quickly. “Right now, people are just happy that
no one’s blowing up their homes. Most of those that stayed stocked
up on food before the attack, so they’re not even hungry yet. The
work is hard and dangerous, but it’s still better than war. But
it’s not going to be long before their children are hungry, their
backs ache, they see the man next to them die in one of those
accidents, and they start thinking. Most men only see what’s right
before them. They never see the danger over the hill or how much
worse things could be. They are either happy or unhappy
now
.”

“
And you fear that this is
as happy as they will get?”

“
I do, sir. And that is
not to say they are happy, just that they are . . . compliant. Men
who come to the mill from the field aren’t usually happy, just
happier than they were. Soon the memories of the fields fade, and
they just think about how much their backs ache that
day.”

“
I see.” Ipid appreciated
the insight but had already anticipated such dissatisfaction. If
anything, Jon had explained why it wasn’t arriving as quickly as he
expected.
Was that the message from
Ambassador an’ Pmalatir?
The question
jumped into his mind, setting his every nerve on edge.

“
There’s one other thing,
sir. At the mill, we sacked the grumblers. If men were causing
trouble, the foremen let us know, and we got rid of
them.”

“
You want to know how we
will get rid of the troublemakers?” Ipid asked.

“
No, sir.” Jon wrung his
hands. His eyes clouded as his mind clearly went to Ipid’s
inauguration when he’d seen exactly how his
employer-turned-Chancellor planned to deal with dissent. “I . . . I
don’t . . . I mean, you’ll do what you have to do. What I mean is .
. . how do we find the troublemakers?”