We were greeted by a man I recalled from Al Sorna’s trial, a beefy fellow in plain black clothing, bearing a set of chains in his meaty fists. Seeing little point in protest I climbed down from the saddle and proffered my wrists, expecting some growled threats from the gaoler as he snapped the manacles in place. Instead he greeted me with a deep bow and an expression of grave respect.
“My lord, long have I wanted to speak to you in person . . .” He trailed off, raising the chains with an embarrassed wince. “But not like this.”
“Leave it, Raulen,” Hevren told the gaoler.
“But he’s to be taken directly to the Empress, Honoured Commander.”
“The security of the Empress is my concern. I’ll convey Lord Verniers to the cells in due course.”
The interior of the palace is easily navigable thanks to its straightforward construction; all corridors lead to the centre where the Emperor, or rather Empress, holds court. However, the inordinate length of those corridors does leave ample time for contemplation or awkward conversation. “I was wondering,” I ventured to Hevren. “Regarding Emperor Aluran’s passing . . .”
“He was near eighty years old and grew more frail every day,” Hevren stated in a clipped tone. “There is no mystery or suspicion to be probed, my lord.”
“And his final testament?” It was tradition for the incumbent Emperor, once the impending end of his reign had become apparent, to compose a testament, praising those who had served him in life and offering guidance to their successor.
“Your legacy was generous,” Hevren said. “Lands on the northern coast, an annual pension, plus several rare volumes from the Imperial library. Whether you’ll be permitted to keep it . . .”
“I have no interest in my legacy,” I said. “Only in his guidance for the Empress.”
Hevren walked in silence for a time, his visage becoming notably more grim as we neared the entrance to the Imperial courtroom, great mahogany doors near twenty feet high. “It consisted of just one sentence,” he said. “‘Forsake all luxury.’”
“Hevren.” I stopped, forcing him to a halt, the surrounding guards part drawing their swords. I ignored them and stepped closer to the commander, speaking in low earnest tones. “She has to hear me. Whether I am condemned or not. She has to hear my words and the words of this woman.”
“I am a soldier,” he stated, turning as the doors were hauled wide. “Not a counsellor.”
