brought back some complex thoughts to his mind. What does it mean, sleeping with a substitute for my mother? And in sleeping with whores, well, he was just becoming like his father, wasn't he? Bohr, families can fuck you up… Urtica slid out of bed, walked over to the fire to throw another log on it, then on went his favourite green tunic.
A guard entered the room. 'Sir, Commander Lathraea approaches the city with the new Empress.'
So, she was back at last, and it was time to see exactly how easily he might manipulate her.
He walked over to a window, pulled back the tapestry to reveal the view over the fore-city. A gust of wind whistled in, but he didn't even feel it.
Such beauty, such potential… Until his gaze focused on the refugees camped outside the gates of the city, their numerous little fires already coughing smoke weakly into the air. Their makeshift homes stretched far into the distance, where disease was spreading rapidly. Decent people feared leaving the city. Resentment at this encroachment was growing, and with it a feeling of hatred.
Other concerns loomed now in his thoughts, first and foremost the final campaign against the Varltungs. He had to convince Commander Lathraea to be out of the way so that Urtica himself could assume full control of the military. The Empress, too, would need to be persuaded to put her trust in him, but that fitted in nicely with the troubles now erupting on the northern fringes of the Empire. In fact he needed Brynd's expertise in handling this crisis, so that wasn't just a lie.
*
Rika leaned out of the carriage, looked up at the grey sky. The wind whipped her hair around her face as she pulled strands of it back. 'Why have we stopped?' she asked.
Brynd rode over, the spires of Villjamur towering behind him on the hilltop, and the sight of the city sparked a thousand memories in her, and she was overcome by a strange sensation in her stomach. This was the home of her youth that she hadn't seen for years. A part of her that she had almost forgotten about. It was an uncomfortable feeling to realize she wasn't that same person any more. A famous ancient scribe had once recommended never returning to a place with happy memories, because it could never be the same. What about bad memories – would they diminish too?
She had to confront the girl – now woman – she had once been, and remember the day she had walked out on her family. Well, her father, anyway, but he was gone now.
'I wanted to advise you of a problem, Jamur Rika, before you approach the gates of Villjamur.' Brynd steered his horse till he faced her directly.
His sinister appearance: burning red eyes, black horse, black uniform, narrow white features belied his true nature. The brooch of the Empire glistened reassuringly on his chest. She had never seen anyone quite like him in her life. There was something about his demeanour that said she was safe in his hands, that he would protect her. It was those things that really mattered, not the colour of skin or eyes.
'What is it you're saying, commander?' she demanded, hoping she sounded very much like an Empress.
'I must warn you there are thousands of refugees outside the city gates. They are hoping to find protection inside the city during the Freeze.'
'And they can't come in?' Rika said.
Mild regret in his eyes, despite his military firmness.
'No,' Brynd admitted. 'It's been decided there's a limited capacity for Villjamur once the gates finally close. The city has to protect its own interests during the many years of ice to come.'
'So please stop me if I'm incorrect in my assumptions that no one can come into the city? And these people will die here. In front of us. As we watch on?'
'Pretty much,' Brynd said. 'But they'll die anyway. Meanwhile military personnel will be allowed in and out – or people with the right documentation, of course. It's the only way the city could last for so long.'
Rika pressed on, 'And nothing can be done? Nothing in our hearts can be found for their plight?'
'Not my place to say, Empress,' Brynd replied. 'There are many other things I'm involved with at the moment. As soon as I'm equipped and rested, the Night Guard will be leaving to investigate some skirmishes in the north.'
'How significant are they, these skirmishes?'
'Too early to tell, my lady.'
So much for her to take in. She could have done with Brynd staying with her for a while longer, because although alarming on first sight, he radiated confidence, a quiet compassion – as much as any military man could. 'Commander, can I trust you?' she said. 'I feel… quite vulnerable here. As if people might take advantage of my naivety.'
'Empress. I was sworn in as one of your father's favoured guard, to be sent on any mission in his name, to uphold his honour. As his chosen successor, you inherit my service also, and that of my soldiers. Of all the Jamur armies, in fact. And as soldiers we're not paid to think about our orders, and we serve only your word. Though I can fully appreciate how great that responsibility must seem right now.'
She sat back further into the carriage. 'Thank you, commander. Your skill with words and encouragement are a great help to one so new and unversed as myself.'
She then heard the commander order the escort of Dragoons to move on, and the carriage was in motion.
Next stop: Villjamur.
*
Lines of troops kept back the refugees by sword and bow, making sure none dared closely approach the roadway. They formed two distinct lines on either side of the route stretching all the way from the city gates, and she could hear the helpless moans, the cries of fear as metal was brandished in their direction, and the cursing of soldiers as they shouted for them to keep back, stay off the road. The stench of their encampment was awful, intense.
She was the Empress, or would very shortly be, so surely she must do something to stop this ill-treatment of her own people? Or perhaps this was the first lesson she would learn: her own powerlessness to achieve everything she might wish.
Brynd was riding to one side, and turned to nod at her briefly before again scanning the troubled scene. She saw the gaunt, muddied faces of her people staring at her carriage between the lines of Dragoons and horses. Shouts of commands. Then the gates of the city were opening, whereupon more soldiers streamed forward in a clatter of armour and weaponry. Garudas circled above her, ever watchful, as screams from the refugees reached a crescendo.
Her eyes widened at the alarming spectacle. All this fuss just for her – she refused to believe it. The carriage rocked its way onto the cobbled streets of the city, and within a few moments she was inside Villjamur, safe, the noise of the refugees muffled as the doors closed behind.
Then they stopped. Was this where she must get out? Again that uncertainty.
The commander leaned into the carriage. 'We'll now progress through the main streets of the city. People may stare in at you. They don't really know you from sight. You may remind some of the older citizens of your mother, perhaps…' He stopped at that sensitive point, and changed tack. 'Many of them probably don't know the current state of rulership despite the announcements that should have been made.'
'Very kind of you to warn me, commander. But I'm sure I'm capable of looking after myself.'
Brynd retreated, ordered the entourage to ride on.
Rika stared up at the city, her city, its landscape furnished with a sense of possession, so nothing would be the same as before.
Everything was as she remembered, and bittersweet memories lapped over her. The dream-like spires that disappeared up into damp mist. The hanging baskets everywhere encaging the beautiful flowers of the tundra. The soaring bridges, the grey-red stone, the ever-busy people. And Balmacara in the centre. Her own history came back in flashes: a childhood spent staring out of windows at these same sights, not being permitted to have much contact outside Balmacara. Days of boredom. The trauma of her father beating her mother, of beating Rika herself. And little Eir brightening random moments with her naivety, a child's voice echoing down the corridors. It was amazing what mere clusters of assembled rock could do to the mind.
Forget about all that. It's the past. Think of the future.
*
Her sister already stood waiting for her inside, her face erupting in emotions. After the initial formality, Eir and
