Death and the Emperor

Book 1 Chapter VIII: The Emperor is Dead

'I think I should understand that better,' Alice said very politely, 'if I had it written down: but I can't quite follow it as you say it.' -- Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Esergot, the year 2529

Nimetath had carefully considered how to assassinate the Emperor. She had dismissed a hunting accident on the grounds that waiting until the hunting season before killing him would take too long, and who knew what could happen in the meantime? An attack by one of the rebel factions had much to recommend it, but she would rather not trigger a civil war if she could avoid it.

In the end she settled on switching the headache remedy Emperor Vretiel took for his frequent migraines with a similar-looking and extremely potent pain killer that would be fatal if taken in the doses the Emperor took.

When the end came, it was sudden and with no fuss or drama. It was just the Emperor collapsing at his desk and dying of a massive overdose. A lamentable accident, but no one's fault. Of all the people who came to pay their respects to his widow, not one of them suspected his death was anything but a mistake.

The Emperor is dead, Nimetath thought as she watched her brother-in-law's corpse be lowered into the crypt. Long live the Emperor, whoever he may be.

Linish had not told her who she had chosen as the next Emperor or Empress. It was plain common sense that it would be a child of one of Vretiel's siblings; probably Marin, as the eldest living child of the Emperor's eldest living sister. But the successor would not be officially announced until the week of mourning was past.

In the meanwhile, Nimetath had two cases of treason to cover up. Her own treason would never be discovered, she was sure. She had switched the medicines herself, thus removing the danger of a middle-man messing everything up or giving the game away. The late Emperor's treason would be harder to hide, especially when someone inevitably had the idea of going through his papers.

And so, late one night, she and two of her most trusted Inquisitors went through Vretiel's office and took every paper that held even a reference to the irregularities that first excited her suspicions.

~~~~

After the drama of discovering he was only half-married to Death, Kilan had hoped for some peace. Someone up there didn't like him, it seemed, since he came down to breakfast to find his mother in mourning clothes and his father looking unusually grim.

"What's happened?" he asked -- stupidly, since the death of a friend or family member was the only reason anyone would wear mourning clothes. "Who's died?"

"Vretiel has," Arásy replied tonelessly, clutching her cup of marth[1] so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

It took Kilan a moment to remember who Vretiel was. "The Emperor?"

The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wondered if he should have said "My uncle?" instead. But he had never met Emperor Vretiel. The man had been nothing more than a name and a face in a picture to him.

Death's words last night came back to him. I have an appointment in Esergot. He pursed his lips. He should have realised that the embodiment of Death would have only one sort of appointment. But even if he had, what good would it have done? He wouldn't be able to stop her, and he certainly didn't care enough for the uncle he'd never met to bargain away another ten years of his life.

"I'm sorry," he said, since there seemed to be nothing more to say.

Særnor frowned. "Feel sorry for the Empire, instead. Who do you think the next Emperor will be?"