Page 40 of Esperance

Marriset had started a fund for orphaned children in Palar when she was only ten years old, and her charitable pursuits had only grown with her. The cleric had known her since childhood, and he recalled fondly that she’d always wanted to live in the capital city of Craethen where “everything in the empire” happened. She was deeply involved in every event on the island she called home. She was the daughter of a highly respected lord and lady in Palar’s ruling circle. It was noted that she had a tendency to be blunt, and that shemayresent the isolation of her island upbringing. “She will undoubtedly make every effort to fit in with the others,” the cleric said.

Ivan was not religious. The cleric stated that no one in Ivan’s family—save the king and queen—had embraced the church. He was a quiet man, and his older brother had been killed during a rally against new taxes that got out of hand. Despite this, the cleric had never heard Ivan speak against the empire. He hadn’t joined the war effort, though, even after the emperor had asked specifically for the Wolves—an elite warrior force in Sibet, of which Ivan was a member—to travel to Harvari. That could be viewed as a treasonous leaning. Carver had made a mental note to bring up the war around Ivan to gauge his reaction.

Cora had an anxious personality, and, apparently, it had always been so. She was generally fine if she took her powders, but sometimes she could be overwhelmed by her surroundings. She preferred peace and quiet, and she hated confrontations. Her mother was the king’s sister, which made her a close relation to the ruler of Hafsin. Cora was noted to be religious, though her brothers were not. The cleric had even mentioned that Cora’s oldest brother, Kian, had been vocal about his sister’s appointment to Esperance. The letter allowed Carver to see Kian in a different light: an older brother, trying to protect his little sister. It didn’t make the man’s actions any less treasonous, but Carver had little sisters; he understood the need to protect. As he refolded the letter, he resolved to check in on Cora.

Finally, Carver picked up the last letter—the one he’d been anticipating the most.

Amryn had been born and raised in Ferradin, though the cleric who wrote the letter hadn’t known her until some tragedy years ago had placed her in her Uncle Rix’s care. King Torin viewed her as a ward, which meant she was highly elevated in his court—which was, undoubtedly, why she’d been chosen to come to Esperance. However, despite her station, Amryn rarely attended any social events or parties. She spent most of her days privately, often with books, or practicing music. She attended chapel with Rix weekly, though the cleric noted that many in Ferradin did so without truly feeling devotion to the Divinities; as the newest country to enter the empire and the church, it often took a full generation before people felt they could quit the religion without fearing some form of reprisal. At twenty, Amryn was old enough to have already been married, but according to the cleric, she hadn’t seemed interested in such a thing.

The information the cleric had shared only made Carver more curious about Amryn. What tragedy had she faced? It had presumably stolen her parents, but how? And how young had she been when she’d lost them? She was important in Torin’s court, but she was anti-social—why? And did that have something to do with why she hadn’t married before now? Even smaller details, like the fact that she had musical talent, grabbed his attention.

Overall, the letters had been helpful, but they also made Carver’s thoughts churn. He needed more time. If he had a bloody moment that wasn’t already arranged in a careful schedule, he might find the opportunity to actually have a conversation with Amryn. Until that happened, he wouldn’t get any answers. The same went for the others—he needed time to talk with them. Feel them out.

The clip of boots on stone announced Chancellor Trevill’s entrance into the room, and Carver shook off his thoughts.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” Trevill said, his voice echoing in the large chamber. “My meeting with the emperor ran long.”

“How is the emperor?” Darrin asked.

“Recovering well,” Trevill said, moving to take the empty chair on Argent’s left. “He will be leaving for the capital in another week or so.”

“Will we get to see him first?” Sadia asked.

“We should have a dinner with him before he goes,” Marriset said. “I’d be happy to talk to the cooks about making a grand feast!”

Trevill shook his head. “That is a kind offer, but unnecessary. The emperor doesn’t want to intrude or interfere in any way.”

It could have been Carver’s imagination—or his ridiculous attunement to Amryn—but he thought he saw her shoulders loosen at that.

Trevill lifted his chin, and his voice projected clearly. “This is the first meeting of the Craethen Council. This is a new political structure for the empire, and I hope you all realize what a privilege it is to be a part of something so historic. Now, as you’ve already been told, the council will be a voice of the people. Each kingdom in the empire will have a say, and a vote, before the emperor passes laws or instigates new policies. When the council is in session, you will reside in the capital. If the time comes that one of you are no longer able to perform your duties as a council member—whether due to taking the throne in your kingdom, illness, or any other reason—you will work with your local monarch to select your replacement for this council. They must be from your native kingdom, and be deemed worthy of this political responsibility.”

There were nods all around the table. This was information they’d all heard previously.

Trevill placed his hands on the table. “As I’m sure you all know, the emperor already has an advisory staff, of which I’m a lead member. The chancellors have always counselled the emperor, but since you will be instrumental in shaping the empire’s future, we will also advise you.” He nodded toward Argent. “Our prince is currently holding the Craethen seat on the council, but he will relinquish his spot once this year is done. The same is true for Princess Jayveh and Xerra’s seat. This is the emperor’s will, as they will have separate responsibilities within the government, and the point of this council is to be a voice of the people.

“During this next year, we will debate laws that are currently being considered, and discuss issues that concern the empire as a whole, as well as individual kingdoms. You will be assigned readings and attend lectures that cover a variety of subjects, taught by me and clerics who pursued other professions before their religious oaths were taken.”

He glanced around at them, his bearded face set. “I know this responsibility may feel overwhelming. Frankly, if you don’t feel a little anxiety, I don’t think you grasp the gravity of your role. But I’ll be here to help you find your footing, and you will be able to lean on each other for support. Now, are there any questions?”

Silence reigned.

Trevill leaned back in his chair. “Very well. Then let us begin by discussing the implications of an increased highway tax.”

Carver nudged Samuel’s elbow up. “Don’t let your arm fall. You need to be ready to parry the next blow, or strike your own.”

Samuel’s face was flushed, his forehead beaded with sweat. “How are you not breathing hard?”

Carver grinned. “Practice.” He lifted his wooden sword. “You go on the offensive this time.”

Samuel nodded and swung, not paying enough attention to his footwork, but Carver was pleased at the strength behind the blows; he was gaining confidence in his abilities.

Carver met the blows, slowly retreating. Dirt slid underfoot, scratching out a melody to accompany the crack of the leaded blades. Across the yard, Argent was practicing his archery alongside Rivard, and Ivan was dueling Darrin—and clearly playing with him, though Darrin didn’t realize how easily Ivan could win.

All of them had an excess of energy, after another morning full of meetings. It had been three days since their first council meeting; they’d just finished their second, and when Trevill had finally released them, the women had been led to their tearoom and the men had been shown to the field.

Samuel swung low, and Carver jumped back. “Remember, that sort of swing leaves your upper body open—you’re practically begging me to chop off your head.”

“Right. Sorry.” Samuel tossed back the hair on his forehead, sword dragging toward the ground. “I got carried away. I read about an expert swordsman who could sweep the legs out from under his opponent.”

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