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Gebrem and Tiyana sat alone in the Chamber of Audiences, save for the ornately armored Emperor’s Guards. The presence of the guardsmen was only a formality; many generations had passed since the last time blood had been spilled in the Palace. As the Empire waned, its people clung ever-closer to the symbols of their previous glories, and of all those symbols, none stood higher than the Emperor.
Palace shamashas had placed cups of kef on the low table at which the Leba and his daughter were seated. Gebrem raised his cup to his lips, sipped slowly, and gazed at Tiyana through the faint wisps that rose from the hot liquid.
Tiyana noticed the concern showing in his eyes.
“What troubles you, Father?” she asked.
Gebrem smiled fleetingly as he placed his cup back on the table.
“I was remembering when the Fidi’s ship crashed into the dock after you fell into the water,” he said. “I thought I had lost you.”
Tiyana gave his hand a quick squeeze. She had been a small child when her mother, Membiri, died from a disease neither healers nor ashuma could cure. Gebrem and Membiri had no other children, and the Leba had never married again after his wife’s death. Being Leba was Gebrem’s duty; being father to Tiyana was his life.
An unspoken message passed between them as Gebrem took another sip of kef. They both knew the flawed First Calling no longer mattered; the coming of the Fidi was of much greater significance – perhaps greater than anything that had happened to the Matile since the Storm Wars ended.
“The Emperor is taking a long time to decide,” Tiyana said.
Gebrem grimaced and shook his head.
“Alemeyu decided before he went into Agaw’s Chamber,” he said.
“Then why – ”
Tiyana broke off as she realized the answer to the question she no longer needed to ask. By forcing her and Gebrem to wait, Alemeyu was asserting his authority. But she still didn’t understand why he needed to do so. Was he not the Emperor? She decided not to ask Gebrem to explain Alemeyu’s motives. Her father had a tendency to become rancorous whenever he talked about his exalted cousin.
“What do you think he decided?” she asked instead.
Gebrem shrugged.
“Alemeyu has always been difficult to predict,” he said. “But I don’t see any reason to keep the Fidis captive. Do you?”
Tiyana thought for a moment, thinking of the sliver of doubt that still remained in her mind; the single word Nama-kwah had spoken to her.
“No,” she finally said.
Danger ...
“For now,” she added.
Gebrem was about to respond to her equivocation when a stirring among the guards signalled the Emperor’s return to the Audience Chamber. When he came into sight, Dardar Alemeyu was shrouded in shadows, and his face betrayed no emotion.
As Gebrem and Tiyana rose to their feet, Alemeyu strode wordlessly toward the Lion Throne and settled into its seat. Without his crown and other regal trappings, he seemed diminished by the grandeur of the huge throne. But there was no lessening of the authority in his voice when he spoke.
“I have made my decision,” he said.
He paused, staring hard at Gebrem and Tiyana in turn. He allowed the silence to stretch uncomfortably before he continued.
“The Fidi have come from afar to be among us. We will grant them that wish. They will abide here as our honored guests.”
That was what Gebrem wanted to hear, although he allowed none of his gratification to show. However, the Emperor’s next words soured that moment of satisfaction.
“You, Leba, saved the life of the Fidis’ sorcerer, this Kyroun. What Kyroun does – or does not do – is your responsibility.”
Again, Gebrem concealed his true reaction. He did not yet know the true extent of the Seer’s sorcerous power. And he did not know what he would – or could – do once he did learn.
“As you wish, Mesfin,” was all Gebrem could say.