control over the eastern Midland Sea.”
All pleasant feelings left Josey. The war in the east was something she had inherited from the previous regime. Although there had been tensions between the two empires for as long as anyone could remember, it had never flared into war until the Church came to power with its persecution toward all who would not bow to the True Faith. She had seen the reports from the Treasury, read about the battles, the investitures, the list of towns won and lost. Sixty thousand men dead and countless more maimed at a cost of more than two million gold soldats, leaving Nimea on the brink of bankruptcy. All for nothing, as far as she could see. It was something she had argued with Hubert about in private. Although he shared her view of the war, he argued it was popular with the people and the nobles. Josey caught her fingers twisting her signet ring and forced them to stop.
“Ministers of the Thurim, in the name of peace and mercy I put before you a call to end this senseless conflict.”
There was silence. Then someone coughed, and that broke the floodgates. Voices rose throughout the hall, some of them violently. Josey squirmed on the throne.
“Good lords and ladies.” She tried to be heard above the noise. “For too long this war has clouded the empire’s conscience! It has destroyed families and sown discord throughout-”
No one was listening. Josey looked to Hubert, but he was too busy watching the arguments to notice. One of the people’s ministers, Lord Du’Quendel, stood up on his chair and clapped for her over the crowd of wizened heads. Josey gave him a small smile, hoping his enthusiasm would spread, but that did not seem likely. After a few minutes, a loud bang got the attention of enough people to quiet the din, and a petite woman in a long hunter-green dress made herself heard. The ministers quieted as Hubert announced her.
“The Lady Philomena shall address the court.”
The only woman on the Thurim, Lady Philomena looked a fragile figure among the ministers, but as she strode to the center of the hall she assumed a stance more like a battlefield commander than a wilting flower. Her dress was designed for austerity and plainness, and did nothing to accentuate her shape. She was older than Josey by several years, but was not an unhandsome woman; she had classic features and bright golden hair wrapped up in a bun at the back of her head. She might have been stunning if not for the pinched firmness of her mouth and the way her eyes bulged as if she had bitten into something sour. Josey didn’t know much about the lady-something about a wealthy husband who had died this past year, bequeathing to her his title and an enormous fortune. And Josey recalled something else as she glimpsed the golden circle brooch pinned to her breast. Lady Philomena was an ardent supporter of the Church.
Philomena got right to the point. “It would be a grave error to send envoys to the empire of Akeshia with terms of surrender.”
“Terms of peace, my lady,” Hubert interjected.
“One and the same to those savages. To show weakness would only encourage further aggression.”
“But we will not know that,” Josey said, “unless we try to make an accord with them.”
The lady lifted a delicate, plucked eyebrow. “It is a holy war ordained by God, received by His Holiness the prelate, and executed by the will of the Faithful.” After a moment, she added, “Majesty.”
Josey ground her teeth together. The Church had been willing to bleed the empire dry when it held power, and now this woman wanted her to continue the same insane policy. It was beyond ludicrous. She started to speak, but Hubert jumped in before her.
“I beg your pardon, my lady, but the continuation of the war in the east is no longer viable, things in the realm being as they are.”
“All things”-Lady Philomena looked directly at Josey-“are possible through the Light.”
Josey tried to bite her tongue and failed. “What does the Light say about the thousands of young men who have died overseas and will never see their homeland again?”
“Sacrifices made in the name of the True Faith are never in vain. As the Holy Writs say, those souls now dwell in glory at the right hand of the Prophet.”
Josey grabbed handfuls of her skirt to keep herself under control. Fortunately, Hubert stepped in just in time to prevent another eruption.
“Thank you, milady,” he said. “The empress will take your words under advisement.”
Josey glared at Lady Philomena’s back as the woman returned to her seat.
“Anything else, Lord Chancellor?” she asked, dreading the answer. She just wanted to get out of this hall.
“Duke Mormaer has asked for an audience.”
Josey stifled a sigh. Her forehead had begun to throb. “Very well. Send him in.”
At Hubert’s command, the guards admitted the next petitioner. Mormaer was an ample-sized man, bordering on stoutness. His wealth was displayed with many jewel-encrusted rings and a heavy gold chain around his neck from which hung seven huge emeralds. A footman in black livery marched a pace behind him. The duke stopped at the first step of the dais and presented a shallow bow that seemed to say, You may stand above me, but only a trifle.
“Duke Mormaer of Wistros, Margrave of Ebencross,” the footman announced.
Mormaer turned so as to face both the ministers and the throne. His dark eyes were half hidden under untamed, black brows that came together over a spongy nose. His lips were pressed together like battle lines.
“Majesty,” his deep voice rumbled through the hall, “and councilors of the Thurim. Twice I have come before this court to present my petition, and twice been sent away without an answer.” He held up a roll of papers clenched in a hairy fist. “I come this third time to be heard, or to return to my lands with the message that our empress cares nothing for the welfare of those who live beyond these walls.”
Josey didn’t know what this was about. This was the first she’d heard of any petition. But she didn’t intend to allow any man to barge into her palace and make demands.
“Duke-”
“Duke Mormaer,” Hubert interjected. “We have reviewed your petition most carefully, but feel it might be premature to raise that particular subject.”
Josey looked at Hubert, wishing he would turn around and see the look of shock that must be written on her face, but all his attention was focused on the petitioner.
Duke Mormaer shook the papers again. “It is the will of the nobles of this realm. What matter could be more important?”
Josey wanted to know, too. As Hubert reached for the papers, she stood up. Everyone rose from their seats, even Lady Philomena, although she did so with a languor that suggested she was only acting under duress. Trying to hide the stiffness in her posterior, Josey descended the steps of the dais.
“Your Majesty-” Hubert started to say.
She cut him off with a firm shake of her head and took the papers from Mormaer’s hand. She opened to the first page. Her stomach tightened as she read the scrawling script. The sensation worsened as she flipped to the next page and read the list of signatures attached. They went on for six more pages and included the names of significant families from every province of the empire.
Willing her insides to settle, she read the top of the first page again.
In the interest of the continued peace and prosperity of the realm , we, the signed, call for Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Josephine Corrinada I, to be wed before the turn of midsummer and begin the production of a line of heirs in a timely fashion, so as to ensure…
It went on to suggest a list of eligible suitors, starting with three names she recognized by their surname. The sons of Duke Mormaer.
Josey couldn’t believe what she was reading. Who are they to demand…? How dare they? Begin the production of a line of heirs in a timely fashion!
“Duke Mormaer.” She struggled to control her voice. Hubert watched with concern, but she charged ahead. “You will explain yourself and”-she thrust the papers at him-“this!”
Mormaer regarded her with a bland expression, as if he couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge her ire. The duke appeared about to say something, but Josey turned away.
“This audience is finished. Lord Chancellor, attend me.”
Without waiting for Hubert, she crossed to the exit. Everyone bowed as she and her bodyguards left the hall. As the chamber doors closed, Josey leaned against the wall. The ache in her head throbbed so that she could hardly
