Death and the Emperor

Book 3 Chapter VII: Royal Cousins

He is fragile, like a prince of ice, of glass. -- Philippa Gregory, The Lady of the Rivers

Kilan awoke the next morning to the disorientating knowledge that he was not in his own bed.  He stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling, half-way between sleep and wakefulness. He was still clinging tightly to Death, their bodies entangled with each other. The memory of the night before filled his mind, bringing a hint of a smile to his lips and a faint blush to his cheeks.

"Good morning," Death said, propping herself up on her elbow. "I hope you're going to skip the 'woe-is-me-I-made-a-terrible-mistake" angst this time."

This prompted a wry grin. "That only happened once. And you have to admit, it wasn't the most sensible decision at the time."

Death shrugged. "Good decisions rarely seem sensible at the time."

Kilan rolled his eyes. "What time is it? In my world, I mean?"

"About eight o'clock. Maybe later. Your cousin won't arrive until two in the afternoon."

How does she know that? Kilan wondered. Then he remembered the foolishness of wondering such a thing about someone who could see the future. Oh. That's how.

They lay in silence for a few minutes. Death rested her head on Kilan's shoulder. Kilan absently ran his fingers through her hair. It was... nice, and peaceful, in a way he had never realised simply lying beside his wife could be.

Oh no. His wife. Or rather, his other wife. What would Qihadal say if she knew where her husband was?

Death apparently sensed his change in mood. "Kilan. You're worrying again. You do far too much of that."

First Nadriet, now Death. Why did people think he worried too much when he had very good reasons for worrying?

"I was thinking about Qihadal," he said. "What will I tell her about this? About you?"

Death shrugged. "She already knows that we're married, and that we were married long before you ever learnt of her existence. I dare say she thinks we're intimate far more often than we really are."

That hardly made things better.

"But in the eyes of the empire, she's my wife!"

"And you, she and I all know that your marriage is a sham." A dark look, almost like jealousy, flashed in Death's eyes. It was gone before Kilan saw it. "I don't think she'll object to you spending time with your actual wife."

~~~~

The last time Gialma had visited Esergot, it had been to attend the royal wedding. He had been one of an enormous crowd of guests thronging the temple. The streets had been completely blocked by thousands of people from all over the empire. Compared to that scene of chaos, the city he saw now was almost unrecognisable.

There were still crowds of people on the streets. But they were hurrying to or from some mysterious destination, not standing around. The ribbons and decorations were conspicuous by their absence. The bells, which had rung all over the city for hours on end, were now silent except when they rang the hour.

Gialma looked out the windows of the zeim as he was driven through the streets. He kept comparing what he saw in the capital to what he had seen in Istogu. The contrast was shocking. Here the people were well-fed. Their clothes were well-made and protected them from the cold. Here there were prosperous shops full of expensive goods. Here there were few stray dogs running around, and no rats to be seen at all. There were still beggars, but they were fewer in number, and even they seemed to be better-fed and better-clothed than the ones in Istogu.