“The forensics from the scene are confused, Your Majesty,” said Imperial Guard head Sir Hibert Limbar. The Guard was responsible for the emperox’s security. Sir Hibert was pretty sure that he would soon be out of a job. “Some witnesses said they saw something launch from the crowd outside the cathedral and strike the balcony, but there is no conclusive video of that. Even if there was something launched from the crowd, the balcony is intentionally designed to withstand anything short of an artillery attack. We figured whatever was exploded there was planted there some time before. But we don’t know. It will be a bit of time before we have it sorted out.”
Cardenia nodded. She was in her private apartments at the palace, ears still ringing and on a medical watch due to concussion, but otherwise unharmed. At least physically. Where her heart was, there was a Naffa-shaped hole. She was attended by Limbar, by Archbishop Korbijn, and by Gell Deng, who was at least temporarily acting in the role Naffa held. Also in the room, Amit Nohamapetan, for reasons Cardenia did not understand yet but assumed she would soon learn.
“Reports are additionally complicated by the bombs that went off in the crowd near-simultaneous to the explosion on the balcony. It added chaos to an already chaotic scene,” Limbar concluded.
“How many dead in the crowd?” Cardenia asked.
“Ma’am, you shouldn’t worry about that right now—”
“Why not?” Cardenia said, and slipped into imperial mode, which gave her just enough emotional distance to deal with these people in her space, telling her horrible things. “Are we not emperox? Are those not our citizens? How many?”
“At least eighty, ma’am. Another hundred wounded, many critically.”
“And in the cathedral? How many dead?”
“Two, ma’am. Naffa Dolg and a member of the guard. Another guard member is critically injured.”
“And who was responsible?”
“We don’t know for sure. No one has come forward.” Limbar nodded to Amit Nohamapetan. “But Lord Nohamapetan has some information you may find relevant.”
Cardenia turned to Amit, regarding him tiredly. “What is it, Lord Nohamapetan?”
“Your Majesty, as you may know, a few years ago my younger brother Ghreni went to End to represent our interests there. In the time since, he has become a confidant and advisor to the Duke of End, who has been fending off a well-organized and well-funded rebellion. Your father and parliament authorized further funding and equipping of the duke and his forces, if not the direct, overt involvement of the marines at End’s Imperial Station. My brother wrote in his confidential reports that when news of that vote reached End, the rebels there vowed to retaliate.”
“You’re saying this is the work of End rebels?” Cardenia asked.
“My brother’s reports are of course delayed by a substantial amount of time, ma’am,” Amit said. “This is one of the problems with a far-flung empire. News is slow if it comes at all. But, yes. My brother was emphatic on the point that they were planning something.”
“When was this report from your brother?”
“We received it roughly three standard months ago, ma’am, which means he filed it nine months earlier.”
“And you did not think to inform our father?”
“The House of Nohamapetan did not presume to trouble your father on the matter without further investigation, especially during his illness. We have confidential reports from all our system representatives, which outline all sorts of local unrest, wherever our interests are. This proclamation was not in itself that noteworthy. Also, our analysts presumed that any retaliation would be focused on imperial interests on End, not here. You may be assured that Ghreni, my brother, would have informed local imperial authorities so they could take precautions. In retrospect, of course, we should have shared the information further. I apologize, ma’am.”
“No one thought they would have this far a reach,” Archbishop Korbijn said.
“You represent the executive committee here,” Cardenia said, to her. “Tell us what their thinking is.”
“Their thinking is livid,” Korbijn said. “An attempted assassination on the day of your coronation. The damage at one of the church’s holiest places. And scores murdered in a cowardly attack on innocents. The committee is ready to support you whatever you decide to do, ma’am. As will the guilds, the parliament and, I most strenuously assure you, the church.”
“We all stand ready,” Amit said.
Cardenia nodded. “We thank you.” She turned to Limbar. “Your thoughts on this End theory?”
“We need to investigate further, but the information Lord Nohamapetan has already shared with us is compelling. We’re looking for any End nationals here on Xi’an and Hub and digging into their histories to see what comes up. If there’s a connection here, we will find it.”
“Find it soon,” Cardenia said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What will you do now, ma’am?” Korbijn asked. “This is an indelicate question, but many thousands are still here, waiting to hear how you want to proceed with respect to your coronation. The rest of the Hub system is also anxious to know. It’s already been a day.”
“How long were the coronation celebrations going to last?”
“Five days, ma’am,” Gell Deng said.
“We’re in a period of mourning for five days, then,” Cardenia said. “From the moment of the coronation forward. See to it that the victims are honored.” She turned to Korbijn. “You will hold a service for them tonight in the cathedral.” Korbijn nodded. “At the end of the mourning period we will address the entire system, and the Interdependency.”
“The parliament will not want to wait to address this,” Korbijn said.
“We did not suggest work or investigations stop during this period.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“In the interim, publicly at least, we will be in seclusion.” She nodded to Deng. “Gell here will be your point of contact for the next several days.” She looked back at Korbijn. “We trust the executive committee will not protest handling administrative issues a short while longer.”
“No, of course not.”
“I will send updated reports when I have them and be available if you have questions,” Limbar said.
“We thank you,” Cardenia said, and rose. Everyone else rose with her, taking the hint they were dismissed. Only Deng remained sitting; he knew he was still needed.
“Your Majesty, a private word, if I may,” Amit Nohamapetan said, as the others exited.
“Yes, Lord Nohamapetan,” Cardenia said. She was still standing and did not offer to have him sit, and she assumed that he would take the hint that any word he wanted to have would be brief.
Amit picked up the hint, and his eyes flicked to Deng, still seated, registering that the word would not be all that private, either. He approached Cardenia instead, stopping at a still respectful distance, and spoke in low tones. “I wanted to personally convey my condolences to you in this moment of loss,” he said. “I know you and Naffa Dolg were close. It is hard to lose anyone we love, as my own sister learned with the loss of your brother.”
Oh, nice, Cardenia thought. Even in attempting to express a moment of condolence, Amit Nohamapetan couldn’t help but remind her that his family still considered the position of the emperox’s spouse their own property. She looked at him and saw the unremarkable face and unremarkable body and behind both, the reportedly unremarkable mind happiest in the pursuit of unremarkable pleasures. The sister and the younger brother were apparently the brains of the Nohamapetan outfit. This one was a lump. His appearance in this meeting was obviously an attempt to ingratiate him toward Cardenia by offering up useful information, followed by the humanizing moment that was happening right now. All delightfully scripted for her consumption.
Cardenia thought about the prospect of being married to, and having children with, this lump, and barely suppressed an impolite shudder. “We thank you, Lord Nohamapetan, and are gratified for your concern.”
If Amit picked up on the fact that Cardenia was still using the imperial address, he didn’t let it stop him. “I hope, after an appropriate time, that we can meet again in happier and friendlier circumstances.”
“It is to be hoped,” Cardenia said. Those circumstances being you no less than thirty meters away, she thought.
Amit, however, was not a mind reader and chose to interpret the carefully ambiguous words in a manner that was positive toward him, which was exactly how Cardenia had planned it, as much as she hated the necessity of it at the moment. He smiled, bowed, and exited. Cardenia waited until he was out of the room before she sagged a bit.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” Deng asked.
“No,” Cardenia said. “My friend is dead and this creep is still trying to arrange a marriage with me.” She stopped suddenly and turned to Deng. “I apologize, Gell,” she said. “I didn’t mean to speak like that. I’m … I’m used to Naffa being here. And speaking freely to her when we’re alone.”
The old secretary smiled at his emperox. “Your Majesty, I was loyal to, and silent for, your father for nearly forty years. It’s in the nature of the position. I would not presume to be in the place of your dear friend. But I promise you that you may always speak freely near me, if you choose. My loyalty is to you now.”
“You don’t even know me,” Cardenia said.
“With respect, ma’am, I disagree. I’ve known you for years. First through your father and his peculiar but fond relationship with you. And for the last year, I’ve seen enough of you to get a sense of you. If I know nothing else, ma’am, I know that you are worth being loyal to.”
Cardenia’s eyes suddenly welled up. “That’s one of you, at least. That’s a start.”
“What may I do for you now?” Deng asked.
“Can you bring back Naffa?”
“No, ma’am.”
Cardenia jerked a thumb back in the direction of Nohamapetan. “Can you tell this creep to take a hike?”
“If you wish it, ma’am.”
“But you don’t advise it.”
“I don’t consider it my place to give advice to emperoxs, ma’am.”
“I need someone to give me advice right now. I don’t have anyone else.”
“Rather than my own advice, let me tell you what your father thought of the Nohamapetans, to help you make your own decisions,” Deng said. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me telling you now.”
“Please.”
“He thought their ambition was admirable. He didn’t consider them particularly wise, however. He thought that left unchecked they would eventually cause him, as emperox, to, as he called it, ‘make a mess to get them back into line.’ Which is why he eventually manipulated the Nohamapetans into suggesting that Nadashe Nohamapetan should marry your brother. He believed that as a couple their ambitions were in accord, and that then the Nohamapetans would have a reason to act with less stupidity. That was his word, not mine.”
“So you think my father would want me to marry Amit Nohamapetan. To keep them in line.”
Deng looked slightly pained.
“What?” Cardenia asked.
“This will not be kind,” Deng said.
“Say it anyway.”
“Your father believed the marriage of your brother and Nadashe would work because they were complementary to each other. Complementary with an ‘e,’ not ‘i.’ He didn’t believe you and Amit were complementary. He considered you passive, and Amit unintelligent. And the marriage of the two of you would leave Nadashe, who is the power of her generation of Nohamapetans, unfulfilled in terms of ambition. And that would spell trouble for you. And for the throne.”
“Maybe he would have preferred I marry Nadashe,” Cardenia said.
“Oh, no,” Deng said. “She would have rolled right over you. Uh, or so your father believed,” he added, quickly.
“My father didn’t think much of me.”
“On the contrary, he thought very well of you, ma’am. He just wished your brother had lived to be emperox.”
“Well, Gell. So do I. But he didn’t. So here we are.”
“Yes, ma’am. And what are the emperox’s wishes?”
“When is Naffa’s funeral?”
“It is two days from now.”
“I will attend.” Deng looked pained again. “What is it?”
“I have a note from a Dolg family representative, ma’am. It arrived earlier and I’ve waited to speak to you about it. The family notes that your presence at the funeral would be a disruption, because the security around you would be immense, especially now. Also, Naffa’s parents are republicans, as will be many of the people at the service, and your presence might provoke some of those friends to do or say something improper.”
“They don’t want me to start a riot.”
“That’s the gist of it, I’m afraid.”
“I want to talk to her parents, then.”
“The letter also suggests that you wait on that, too. My understanding is that the parents have said they don’t blame you. But there’s a difference between not blaming you, and being reminded their daughter is dead because she worked for you. It would be … difficult for them right now.”
Cardenia hitched in her breath at that and sat silently with it for a few moments.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Deng said, eventually.
Cardenia waved him off. “At the very least, I don’t want them to pay for anything.”
“Her parents?” Deng asked. Cardenia nodded. “You mean regarding funeral expenses.”
“I mean for anything, ever again. Their daughter’s dead. She was my friend. If I can’t do anything else right now, at least I can do this. Yes?”
“You are the emperox,” Deng said. “This is something you may do.”
“Then do it, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Deng stood. “Will there be anything else?”
Cardenia shook her head. Deng bowed, collected his materials, and moved to leave.
“Where will you be?” Cardenia asked. “In case I need you?”
Deng turned and smiled. “I am always nearby, ma’am. All you have to do is call.”
“Thank you, Gell.”
“Ma’am.” He left.
Cardenia waited until he was well out of the room before she had a good long cry, maybe the seventh or eighth she’d had since Naffa’s death.
Then she remembered where she last saw Naffa, and what Naffa had said to her. Not in real life, but in her dream.
Cardenia looked over to the door to the Memory Room, sat there for a couple of minutes thinking. Then got up and let herself into it.
Jiyi appeared the moment she entered. “Hello, Emperox Grayland II. How are you?”
“I am alone,” Cardenia said, and immediately hated the adolescent drama of the statement, but it was true, and there it was.
“You are always alone in the Memory Room,” Jiyi said. “And in another sense, you are never alone in it.”
“Did you think that up yourself?”
“I do not think,” Jiyi said. “It was programmed into me years ago.”
“Why?”
“Because eventually every emperox tells me they are alone.”
“Every emperox?”
“Yes.”
“That … weirdly makes me feel better.”
“That is a frequent reaction.”
“The Prophet is in here, yes? Rachela I.”
“Yes.”
“I would like to speak to her, please.”
Jiyi nodded and shimmered out, replaced by a woman. She was small and in this image nondescriptively middle-aged, which was different from the usual depictions of the Prophet, which showed her young and with flowing hair and striking cheekbones. The image did not look anything like this.
It also did not look anything like Naffa. Cardenia felt a momentary spasm of disappointment about this, then inwardly chastised herself for it. There was no reason she should have expected the Prophet to be Naffa outside of her dream.
“You are Rachela I,” Cardenia asked the image.
“I am.”
“The founder of the Interdependency, and the Interdependent Church.”
“Basically.”
“Basically?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, in both cases. But we decided that having me be the founder of both would serve the mythology the best, so that’s what we said.”
“Were you an actual prophet?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew the things you were saying about the Interdependency and the principles of interdependency would come true.”
“No, of course not.”
“But you just said you were a prophet.”
“Anyone can be a prophet. You just have to say that what you’re talking about is a reflection of God. Or of the gods. Or of some divine spirit. However you want to put it. Whether those things come true isn’t one way or another about it.”
“But what you said did come true. You preached for interdependency and it happened.”
“Yes, it was good for me that it turned out that way.”
“So you didn’t know they would.”
“I already told you that I didn’t. But we certainly worked hard to make them happen, and to give it the appearance of inevitability. And of course the whole mystical angle helped too.”
Cardenia furrowed her brow. “You’re a founder of a church.”
“Yes.”
“But listening to you, you don’t seem to be particularly religious.”
“Not really, no.”
“Or to believe in God. Or gods.”
“I really don’t. And when we designed the church, we intentionally made the divine aspect of it as ambiguous as possible. People don’t mind having the mystical aspect of a church being poorly defined as long as you make the rules of the church clear. We did that. We modeled a bit off of Confucianism, which strictly speaking wasn’t a religion, and added bits we thought would be useful from other religions.”
“So you don’t believe in your own church!”
“Of course I do,” Rachela said. “We created a set of moral precepts to bind the various human systems together. We did it because we thought it was desirable and to some extent necessary. Since I believe in those precepts, I believe in the mission of the church. At least, the mission of the church when we founded it. Human institutions tend to drift from their creators’ intent over time. Another reason to have clear rules.”
“But the divine element is fake.”
“We decided that it was no more fake than the divine aspect of any other religion. As far as the evidence goes, in any event.”
Cardenia felt a little light-headed. It was one thing to believe the predominant church of the Interdependency was bunk, which was a thing Cardenia had believed for as long as she could remember thinking about it. It was inconvenient when, strictly speaking, you were now head of that church, but she could at least keep that to herself. It was another thing to have the founder of the church, or at least the core of memories that comprised her, confirm it was bunk.
“Naffa was right,” Cardenia said. “The Interdependency is a scam.”
“I don’t know who Naffa is,” Rachela I said.
“She was a friend of mine,” Cardenia said. “I had a dream where she appeared to me, as you, telling me the Interdependency was a scam.”
“If I were telling this story, I would have said that I had had a mystical vision of the Prophet,” Rachela I said.
“It was just a dream.”
“In our line of business there is no such thing. Emperoxs never just dream. They have visions. That’s what we do. Or what we were supposed to do, when I became the first emperox.”
“Well, I had the thing, and it wasn’t a vision. It was a dream.”
“It was a dream that made you think. A dream that caused you to search for wisdom. A dream that made you consult me, the Prophet. Sounds like a vision to me.”
Cardenia gawked at Rachela I. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I worked in marketing,” Rachela I said. “Before I was a prophet. After, too, but we didn’t call it that after that point.”
“I’m having a hard time believing what you’re telling me.”
Rachela I nodded. “That’s not unusual. Sooner or later every emperox activates me to have a conversation like this. Most of them respond like you do.”
“Most of them? What about the others?”
“They feel happy they guessed it correctly.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I don’t feel anything about it. I’m not alive. Strictly speaking, I’m not here.”
“‘You’re always alone in the Memory Room, and never alone in the Memory Room.’”
Rachela I nodded again. “I said that. Or something close enough to it, anyway.”
“Is the Interdependency a scam?” Cardenia asked, directly.
“The answer to that is complicated.”
“Give me the short version.”
“The short version is ‘Yes, but.’ The slightly longer version is ‘No, and.’ Which version would you like?”
Cardenia stared at Rachela I for a moment. Then she went to the bench in the Memory Room and sat.
“Tell me everything,” she said.