However, my attention was soon fully captured by the figure seated at the top of the dais. My last glimpse of her had been in Linesh on returning from the Isles. She had descended the gangplank to the wharf and strode off alone without a backward glance. We hadn’t exchanged a single word during the voyage and watching her pace the deck, face set in constant, unyielding spite, had convinced me there would never be any scope for accommodation between us. I had lost my hate but she clung to hers. It was then the decision came to me. My scholarly curiosity, rekindled by Al Sorna’s tale, yearned for answers to the many tantalising questions left in his wake. I would return to court, deliver my account of events in the Isles to the Emperor, and take ship to the Unified Realm. In time, of course, I came to regret making such a rash decision. Though, as I looked upon Empress Emeren I, I suspected it would have made little difference to my current circumstance.
Her face was set, the fine features impassive, composed and free of animosity. But she couldn’t keep it from her eyes, the way they bored into me, seeming to gleam with anticipation, told me that, whatever pretence to impartiality she might make, my fate had already been decided.
“Uncle Verniers!” I started at the joyous shout, my gaze snapping to the boy scampering from behind one of the pillars. Iveles had grown in the months since I had last seen him, taking on a lankiness that told of early-arrived adolescence, though he still retained a boyish spirit. He ran towards me, uncaring of the surrounding guards, a toy soldier in each hand, wrapping his arms around my waist, gazing up at me with eyes so like his father’s I found myself momentarily robbed of words.
“Did you bring me something from the northlands?” he demanded before speaking on with only the barest pause. “Bad people came to kill me and Mother but one turned into a good person and let us go and Hevren fought them and the villa burned . . .”
“Iveles!”
The Empress had risen to her feet, face still composed, though only barely. The guards had all drawn swords, save Hevren, who crouched to gently disentangle the boy’s arms from my waist. His face tensed in stubborn refusal and his arms tightened, attempting to hold on.
“It’s all right, Iveles,” I told him, placing my hands on his shoulders to gently push him away. “I’m sorry, but I forgot your present. I did bring a story though, one I hope to tell you soon. Now go to your mother.”
