Death and the Emperor

Book 2 Chapter III: Revelations

If it is a lie, it is painfully like the truth. -- Frances Hodgson Burnett, Little Lord Fauntleroy

Kilan's heart seemed to have become lodged in his throat. As he was escorted through the long hallways of the palace, his mind kept thinking of increasingly alarming reasons Qihadal had requested this meeting. Was it to be an assassination attempt? Was she going to declare war on her father's behalf? Did she just want to discuss the menu for the wedding reception?

"For goodness' sake, stop worrying," Death said as she walked beside him down a hallway lined with suits of armour. "You won't die today, whatever else happens. And I'll have a great deal to say to anyone who tries to kill, maim or otherwise harm you."

Death, in her guise as a translator, had donned a nondescript pale orange dress and a straw hat that seemed to be eternally in danger of flying away. If he had less to worry about, Kilan would have thought she looked ridiculous. But no matter how silly her choice of clothing was, he was glad to have her by his side. He wasn't in much danger of an assassination attempt when Death was there -- paradoxical though this sounded.

The guard led them into a large, airy sitting room. Princess Qihadal was waiting for them. Standing behind her were a group of servants.

The first thing Kilan noticed was that she wasn't wearing the veil she had worn the only other time they'd met. Without it, he could see that there were dark shadows under her eyes, and an angry yet worried look lurking behind her polite expression.

"Emperor Tinuviel to see you, your Highness," the guard said.

Princess Qihadal nodded silently. She dismissed her servants with a wave of her hand. The guard left too. And then it was just Kilan, Death and the princess.

Death spoke first. Whatever she said was in Malishese. Qihadal nodded again, but did not seem particularly reassured.

Death turned to Kilan. "I told her that you had received her letter, and that I am your translator."

"Ask her what she wanted to speak to me about," Kilan said.

Death asked her. Qihadal's reply was in a low tone, with frequent pauses.

"She said it's a matter of 'extreme delicacy'." Death somehow managed to sound exasperated and faintly sympathetic at the same time. Kilan spared a moment to wonder why she would be sympathetic. "That's an understatement if ever there was one."

Something about her choice of words awakened Kilan's suspicions. "Do you know what this is about?"

"I don't know, but I have my suspicions."

One of these days, he was going to have a very long talk with her about what she should tell him in advance. Springing these nasty surprises on him was not good for either his nerves or his temper.

While Kilan was lost in thought, Death had said something to Qihadal. The Princess replied, in a tone that was simultaneously detached and determined. Once, on one of his visits to a hospital, Kilan had overheard a doctor giving a family bad news about their relative. Qihadal's tone reminded him of nothing as much as that doctor's tone -- hating what she had to say, but forcing herself to say it anyway.

"I suspected this was what she wanted to say," Death remarked when Qihadal had finished speaking. "She's pregnant."

I must have misheard, Kilan thought. She couldn't possibly have said what he thought she had just said. "What did you say?"

Death rolled her eyes. "You heard me the first time, or you wouldn't be staring at me like I'd thrown a bomb at you."

Kilan stared at her, then at Qihadal. The Princess met his eyes with an angry, defiant look, but she was trembling. He tried to marshal his thoughts.