The ceiling of the grand imperial throne room was a dome painted to mimick the sky on a gentle summer’s day, and Modina still thought it beautiful. Dressed once more in her formal gown, she sat on the gaudy bird-of-prey throne with the wings, spread into a vast half circle, forming the back of the chair. The throne was mounted on a dais that had twelve steps to climb. She could not help remembering the days they had forced her to practice before it.
“Do you remember the board you ordered sewn into my dress?” she asked Nimbus, who looked suddenly uncomfortable.
“It worked,” he replied.
“Who’s next?”
Nimbus studied the parchment in his hands. “Bernard Green, a candlemaker from Alburn.”
“Send him in, and get another log on the fire. It’s freezing in here.”
Unlike the great hall, the throne room was rarely used, or at least that had been the case until now. When the empress had been a mythical creature, the room had been sealed. Now that she existed in the flesh, the room was opened once more, but it always felt cold, as if it would take time to recover the warmth after those years of neglect.
Nimbus waved to the clerk, and a moment later, a short, soft-looking man entered. His eyes were small, his nose narrow and sharp. Modina immediately thought of a squirrel and recalled how she used to remember the court of Ethelred by similar associations before she learned their names.
“Your Grand Imperial Eminence,” he said with a shaky voice, and bowed so low his forehead touched the floor.
They all waited. He did not move.
“Ah-please stand up,” she told him. The man popped up like a child’s toy, but he refused to look at her. They all did that. She found it irritating but understood it was a tradition and it would be even more unnerving for them to try to change. “Speak.”
“Ah-Grand Imperial Eminence-I, ah-that is-ah-I am from Alburn, and I-am a candlemaker.”
“Yes, I know that, but what is your problem?”
“Well, Your Grand Imperial Eminence, since the edict, I have moved my family here, but-you see-I have little means and no skills other than making candles, but the merchant guild refuses to grant me a license of business. I am told that I cannot have one as I am not a citizen.”
“Of course,” Nimbus said. “Citizenship is a prerequisite for applying to a guild and only guild members are allowed to conduct a trade within the city.”
“How does one obtain citizenship?” Modina asked.
“Usually by inheritance, although it can be granted to individuals or families as recognition for some extraordinary service. Regardless, one must be a member of a guild to gain citizenship.”
“But if you need to be a guild member to apply for citizenship and you need to be a citizen to be a guild member, doesn’t that make it extraordinarily difficult to become a citizen?”
“I believe that is the point, Your Eminence. Cities guard against invasions from outside tradesmen that might disrupt the order of established merchants and reduce the profitability of existing businesses.”
“How many citizens are there?”
“At present, I believe about ten to fifteen percent of the city’s population are citizens.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Yes, Your Eminence. It’s also a drain on the treasury, because only citizens are required to pay taxes. Also, only citizens have the right of a trial in a court, or are required to serve to protect the city walls in the event of attack.”
Modina stared at him.
“Shall I summon the city’s merchant council and organize a meeting in order to review the guild policy, say, tomorrow?” Nimbus asked.
“Please do.” She looked back down at Bernard Green. “Rest assured I will address this matter immediately, and thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
“Bless you, Your Grand Imperial Eminence, bless you.” He bowed once more with his head to the floor.
Modina waved her hand and the master-at-arms escorted him out. “I don’t so much mind the bowing-that’s actually nice. It’s the scraping I can’t stand.”
“You are not just the empress,” Nimbus told her. “You are a demigod. You must expect a little scraping.”
“Who’s next?”
“A fellow by the name of Tope Entwistle, a scout from the north,” he replied.
“A scout? A scout follows the candlemaker?”
“He just has a status report-nothing urgent,” Nimbus told her. “And the candlemaker had been waiting for three days.”
A stocky man entered wearing a heavy wool tunic with a little copper pin in the shape of a torch on his breast. He also sported wool pants wrapped in leather strips. His face was blotchy, his skin a ruddy leather. The tip of his nose was more than red; it was a disturbing shade of purple. His knuckles and the tips of his fingers were a similar color. He walked with an unusual gait, a hobbled limp, as if his feet were sore.
“Your Imperial Eminence.” The man bowed and sniffled. “Sir Marshal Breckton sends word. He reports that there has been no confirmed movement by the elves since the initial crossing. In addition, he sends word that all bridges and roads have been closed. As for the lack of movement on the part of the elven force, it is his estimated opinion that the elves may have gone into winter quarters. He has also sent several quartermaster lists and a detailed report, which I have here in this satchel.”
“You can give those to the clerk,” Nimbus told him.
He slipped the satchel off and sneezed as he held out the bag.
“And how are things in Colnora?”
“Excuse me, Your Highness.” He stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. “I’ve been fighting a cold for a month and my head is so clogged I can barely hear.”
“I asked, how are things in Colnora?” she said louder.
“They are fine in Colnora. It’s the road between that gets a tad chilly. Course I can’t complain. I’ve been up on the line in the wilderness and there it is colder than anything. Not even a proper fire allowed, on account of not wanting to give away our positions to the elves.”
“Is there anything you need?”
“Me? Oh, I don’t need much. I already had me a good hot meal and a sit near a hearth. That’s all I need. Course a soft, warm place to sleep awhile before I head back would certainly be appreciated.”
Modina looked at Nimbus.
“I will inform the chamberlain,” he told her.
“Thank you, Your Eminence,” the scout said, and bowed again before leaving.
“I never really thought about how it must be out there for them, waiting,” Modina said.
“Next is Abner Gallsworth, the city administrator,” Nimbus said, and a tall, thin man entered. He was the best dressed of the lot that morning, wearing long heavy robes of green and gold draped nearly to the floor. On his head was a tall hat with flaps that drooped down the sides of his head like a hound’s ears. His face was long and narrow, qualities made more noticeable by the sagging of age.
“Your Imperial Eminence.” He bowed, but more shallowly than anyone else so far, and there was no scraping to be seen. “While I am pleased to report that all the provisioning you have commanded has been achieved, and that the city is functioning at high efficiency, I nevertheless regret to tell you that there is a problem. We are becoming overcrowded. Refugees are still arriving from the surrounding towns and villages-even more so since the news of troops sealing the roads and passes has leaked into the countryside.
“We now have several hundred people living on the streets, and with the winter’s cold, I have daily reports coming across my desk of frozen corpses in need of disposal. At present we are carting the bodies outside the walls and piling them in a fallow field to await a spring burial. This solution, however, has attracted wild animals. Packs of wolves have been reported and those still outside the city walls are complaining. I would like to request permission to dispose of the bodies at sea. To do this, I will require access to a barge. As all ships are presently under imperial
