Death and the Emperor

Book 3 Chapter XIII: Gialma and Varan

The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate...
-- James Shirley, Death's Final Conquest

Kilan woke up the next morning with a grimly determined air. It was far from easy, to know he and Qihadal were being forced into this fiasco. But he was determined that over the next few months they would become, if not friends, then at least better acquainted. Maybe this ordeal would be easier then.

It was an unfortunate fact that Carannish nobility allowed their children to associate only with people they had carefully selected -- usually cousins or people of a similar social standing to them. In many cases these children were able to interact easily with strangers once they were grown-up. But in some cases, like Kilan's, the children were left with very little idea of how to get to know people on their own. It was a flawed system, but it was the way children had always been raised. And if occasionally it didn't work, everyone shrugged and pointed to the cases where it had worked.

It occurred to Kilan as he finished his breakfast that Death was the only person not related to him who he knew well and with whom he could talk with ease. That did not bode well for his ability to befriend Qihadal.

Well, there was nothing else for it. He would just have to try his best. And putting things off never made them any easier. Kilan set off towards Qihadal's garden with an air of one facing an unpleasant task. If he had thought about this some more, he might have realised this wasn't the best impression he could give his wife of his attitude towards her.

~~~~

In Malish Qihadal had been expected to be quiet, demure and ladylike. She had been given no education in how to run a household, let alone a country. Her days had been endless stretches of boredom, occasionally interspersed with sewing meetings when the women of the palace got together -- ostensibly to sew, but mainly to gossip and grumble. She had been one of the Iqui's more than ninety daughters, born to a concubine who was not in royal favour. No nobleman would be interested in marrying her. She had had no prospects except a future of interminable monotony.

As Empress of Carann, however, she was expected to organise important events, to negotiate inter-province disagreements, to patronise charities, and to show an interest in the arts. If not for the existence of her husband in name only and the looming question of an heir, she would have enjoyed her new life.

From listening to her subjects' remarks when they thought she couldn't hear, Qihadal came to the conclusion that Tinuviel was seen as "weak-willed, not very impressive, reasonably competent, and at least he hasn't gone mad yet". The people's opinion of her was somewhat more positive. "Making an effort to learn our culture" and "not as barbarous as we would have expected" were the phrases that popped up most frequently. She got the impression that her people were judging her by a rather low standard, but at least she was surpassing their expectations.

Today she had a long list of requests made by various aristocrats, and had retired to her garden to read over them. A duke wanted money for a new factory. A baroness wanted more restrictions on the press. Several earls had gotten together and wanted a new medical school built that would serve students from all their lands. And a princess was complaining about the appalling state of the canals in her province, and asking for money to restore them.

Deciding which requests were important and which ones weren't took up most of the morning. She sat alone on a swing hanging from a tree branch, slowly and carefully reading the letters to be sure she understood them properly. The cool wind ruffled her hair and the birds sang in the trees. The scent of flowers filled the air. There was no one else in sight at all.