Death and the Emperor

Book 3 Chapter IV: The Malishese Princess

NOT THE NICEST OF PEOPLE, said Death. A HANDY MAN WITH A BOTTLE OF POISON. FIFTH IN LINE TO THE THRONE LAST YEAR, NOW SECOND IN LINE. BIT OF A SOCIAL CLIMBER, YOU MIGHT SAY. -- Terry Pratchett, Mort

Arásy drummed her fingers against her arm of her chair as she waited for Kilan to appear.

Really, this is a bit much, she thought indignantly after twenty minutes had passed. Is my son so busy he can't even acknowledge my arrival?

She got up, walked out of the sitting room with a grimly displeased expression that sent several unfortunate servants running for cover, and set off for Kilan's office.

She found her son sitting at his desk with his face buried in his hands. Her annoyance faded at this unexpected sight.

"Kilan!" Arásy cried, startled. "Are you ill?"

Her son looked up. Shock and confusion briefly flashed across his abnormally-pale face. Then all emotion vanished, and he might as well have been wearing a mask for all she could tell of his thoughts. "Mother! I didn't know you were here."

Well, that explained why he hadn't come to greet her. But it meant the palace servants had become disgracefully incompetent. How could they have forgotten to inform the emperor his own mother had arrived?

Arásy sat down next to her son and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she had when he was a little boy. Right now it didn't matter to her that her son was now twenty-four years old and as tall as she was, an emperor, a husband and a step-father. It was easier to look at him and see the small child who had needed her help and guidance. But Kilan didn't cling to her as he had so many years ago. He didn't tell her what worried him. He hadn't done that for years. It had begun so gradually that she hadn't noticed until it was too late, and her son had somehow become a stranger to her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Kilan shook his head. "I can't tell you, Mother. I can't explain it. You wouldn't understand."

"I was an emperor's daughter, and now I'm a duke's wife," Arásy pointed out with a wry smile. "I think I understand many of the challenges you face."

Kilan got up, pulling away from her embrace. Arásy remembered again the little boy, barely six years old, who had run to her every time something went wrong. What had happened to that boy? Was there nothing she could do?

"One of the High Council is retiring," Kilan said in a perfectly even tone. He might have been discussing the weather for all the emotion he showed. What happened to the child who had shouted and stamped his foot when he didn't get his way? It wasn't a simple case of growing up. He had become quiet and withdrawn while still very young -- only eight or nine, if Arásy remembered correctly. "I have decided to appoint my cousin Gialma in her place."

Arásy's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't know you and Gialma were close. Wasn't he involved in that murder last year?"

"Yes," the emperor agreed quietly. "His name was mentioned in that case. I hope to keep an eye on him. And, if he has any political ambitions, giving him a seat on the High Council ought to cure him of them." Kilan grimaced. "No one could want a career in politics after sitting through one of the interminable council meetings."

There was still something wrong here. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she didn't like it. Arásy accepted, however, that it would have to wait until Kilan saw fit to explain it. "I've come to bring the baby home with me. Is Qihadal with her?"