III

 

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THE COUNCIL MEETINGS had never been his favorite part of ruling. There were always too many people with too many opinions just waiting to jump on the chance to get their own agenda through. Before the tour, he had tried to get out of them when possible, but there was no shirking his responsibilities now. Even though Lyra had scolded him relentlessly when he made it back with city dust up to his knees, she had helped him get dressed again as fast as she could. At least he looked the part. He squared his shoulders, held his head high, and conjured the needed air of assuredness it took to get people to listen. Then he headed in.

    The droning of conversation stilled when he stepped through the arched doorway, all eyes turning to him. He kept his back straight and swallowed the surge of unease. He was the emperor—he was allowed to be late. He just had to make sure he didn’t give them an excuse to think otherwise.

    The morning sun gilded the pillars supporting the domed roof and the feeling of being back truly hit him. He went to the rostrum while the white-robed councilors shuffled to their seats in the tiered semicircle following the curve of the room. Nearly all fifty seats were filled for his return. The gold trim on their councilor robes glimmered amid the sea of ivory silk. Pausing, he looked around at the mostly familiar faces. Ignotus nodded at him from the front row. He was dressed in the cobalt blue consul robe, with the golden star of Marmaras shining from his right shoulder. The council secretary, Hephakles, saluted him from his desk to the side.

    “It’s good to be home,” Domitris said, and gestured for everyone to sit down. After four months spent in the more informal halls of senator estates, it was surreal to be back in the stiff opulence of the palace. He pressed his palms into the familiar coolness of the marble rostrum while the councilors took their seats and Hephakles readied a scroll and stylus. Domitris steadied himself and found the appropriate voice.

    “I’m glad to see all of you again, here, back at the palace. My thanks to Consul Ignotus for acting in my place while I was away and to those of you who hosted the entourage in the provinces.” He made eye contact with a few and gave a nod. “Our scholars will be hard at work, processing all the information we gathered. The Supreme Emperor had lost touch with the state of the provinces and our job is to forge these allegiances anew. The good will of the senators has shown that the provinces will stand with Concordia and the crown under the new rule.”

    Councilor Gaius rose and Domitris made the mistake of halting, allowing him to speak.

    “We are glad to hear it, Your Highness,” he said, his deep voice ringing off the walls. That wasn’t what he had stood up to say. “We look forward to meeting the new Auxillien senator. When will they arrive?”

    If there was one thing Domitris hadn’t missed, it was Gaius’ stupid, smug face. He had to tell himself not to take the bait.

    “As you all know, the relations with Auxillien were strained during the Supreme Emperor’s regime. They still refuse to name a senator and are therefore without official governance.”

    “What a surprise,” Gaius said flatly with a quirk of his brow. Domitris noticed the young man beside him who was wrinkling his nose—a new face on the council. He recognized him as Gaius’ nephew, Cassian.

    “We cannot force them,” another voice said, taking Domitris by surprise. It was Opiter, a senator from a border province who had always spoken in sharp opposition to the terms of the treaty with Dassosda, though Domitris generally knew him to be a reasonable man. “Auxillien’s support needs to be voluntary. If we are to rush decisions and force compliance, we may as well have the Supreme Emperor still standing there,” Opiter continued, and the annoyance in his voice suggested this wasn’t the first disagreement between the two.

    It managed to shut Gaius up, and he sat back down. Domitris looked from one to the other, then out over the council. “If there are no more disturbances, let us return to the matters at hand. My delay has caused urgency. So tell me, Hephakles, how are the preparations coming along for the festival?”

    Hephakles scrambled among his notes while he got up.

    “We’re ready, Your Highness. The Dassosdan delegation has arrived, and we have planned the show for tonight with their arrangers. Tomorrow, Your Highness and the Minister will address the people together at the Panjusticia and announce the terms of the treaty. On the closing day of the festival, you will sign it at the theater.”

    At this, several of the council members shot up from their seats. Gaius was the first to speak.

    “Your Highness,” he said, this time with a sigh, his tone graver. “Are you sure this is what you want for our country? It will ruin us.”

    It was what he had expected from Gaius. This had been his attitude from the very beginning of their negotiations with Dassosda.

    “You need to accept that the times have changed, Councilor! Marmaras as a warfaring nation is history.”

    Gaius was ready. “If we learned anything from the Supreme Emperor,” he barked, “it is that anything can change! We never know what will happen, and this treaty will only make things more uncertain.”

    Domitris clenched his jaw. This sounded too much like the arguments they had already had months ago. He shot a look to Hephakles, who clapped metal against wood to quiet the room. Domitris took a breath while the steely echo settled.

    “Before I left the capital four months ago, it was decided by me, as well as a majority of this council, to support and accept the treaty unconditionally.     This was discussed thoroughly, then decided upon because there are no other viable options. Why is this debate still going on?”

    No one was eager to talk now.

    “Speak!” he said, looking at Gaius scowling back. Gaius rose.

    “Your Highness, the treaty isn’t signed. The military is what made our empire glorious; made it prosper. Giving in to their terms and diminishing the army will be a catastrophe.”

    When Gaius stopped talking, Domitris let him stew for a silent moment before addressing the issue.

    “Have you spoken your mind? I’ve made my decision and made the plans for our country unambiguous. The council will not discuss the issue any further. Tomorrow, the terms of the treaty will be announced to the public, and that will be that. No one can hinder the progress we are making now. Am I making myself clear?”

    “But Your Highness–” Gaius continued.

    “I will hear no more of this! How much longer, Gaius, will you continue to test my patience?”

    Domitris was boiling over, but Gaius plowed ahead.

    “You must listen! You will undermine the authority of the palace and everything our nation stands for. The people will–”

    “What do you care for the people? I, for one, will not march the children of Marmaras into an unwinnable war. I will not entertain this fantasy of domination any longer. It is not right. Face it! Generations of thoughtless military expansion has left us in this state. The only way forward is to break with that destructive tradition and embrace peace, open borders, and learn from our new allies for the benefit of all, not only the already too well off. Ensuring a good start to that collaboration is our biggest priority now.”

    Gaius’ face turned vivid maroon, and he scoffed. “How can we model our nation after those commoner barbarians?”

    Domitris pressed his palms against the marble to avoid balling them into fists. He shot a look to Ignotus, who also sat scowling at Gaius. He wondered how Ignotus had kept him in check.

    “You can’t be blind to the fact that Dassosda is doing better than us in all regards and that they without a doubt would win if it came to war between us. The days of thinking that we have a claim on their resources in exchange for civilization must end. We have much to learn. Some more than others,” Domitris said and looked stiffly at Gaius.

    “Dassosda is the runt of the litter. Their country is barely a human lifetime old!”

    Domitris’ insides grew hot, and the shaking in his hands threatened to show if he didn’t calm down.

    “That runt outpaced us long ago. That runt is outdoing us in education, technology, philosophy, even productivity, if what our ambassadors have observed is correct. The emperors that came before us squandered our ability to claim any such achievements, and unless we are to take the reins and change our course, I fear Marmaras is truly doomed. Not to mention that their military forces are said to be stronger than ours.”

    “Not if we control the forces of Auxillien!”

    “But we don’t. And we will not risk civil war by staking that claim!” He heard his own thundering voice ring off the walls around the circular room.     This was getting dangerous.  Domitris was losing control.

    Silence followed the echo of his words while Gaius looked as though steam might erupt from his ears, but he finally sat down.

    Gaius was feeling too comfortable. Who else was supporting this madness? Domitris spread his hand on the white marble and let it cool him.

    “I sincerely hope that this is the last I hear of the subject. You are my council. You are here to let me see all options and guide me, but the decision is mine to make and when I have spoken, you have no more say in the matter. Is that understood?”

    There were mumbles here and there, but no one else was eager to make objections. Domitris gave the word to Hephakles, who turned the debate to more practical matters. Domitris observed the face of each councilor while Hephakles spoke. He needed them on his side for this to work.

    When the midday bells finally rang, he was burning to get out of there. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the feeling that his head was going to burst.

    He did his best to sneak away from the council hall unseen but got only halfway back to his rooms before a raspy voice halted him.

    “Haven’t you forgotten something?”

    It was Hossia, his mother’s mother. She was wearing her white gold-trimmed councilor robe, which made Domitris look twice because she usually refused to wear it, even for larger ceremonies. She had always taken pride in being a contrarian.

    “Matre! I didn’t see you at the council meeting.”

    She came towards him. To his relief, her small frame looked no less vigorous than the last time he had seen her.

    “Good; I wasn’t there.” She cackled and reached her wrinkled hands up to embrace him. The strain in his chest melted away as the familiar scent of her spiced perfume enveloped him.

    “How can you get back after so long and not come to greet your old matre?” she asked with a glint in her lively black eyes.

    “Forgive me. It was a hectic morning and we only got back just before dawn. Why were you not at the meeting?”

    She shot a look around them in the empty corridor. Behind her, the light fell through the open windows onto a mural on the wall depicting a century-old battle scene.

    “I had some people I wanted to talk to. But don’t worry, I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open for you while you were away. I tell you, that council is a rowdy bunch of bastards. Only thinking about money, the lot of them. I still think you should get rid of them all.”

    “You know I can’t do that even if I wanted to. The council was part of the election.”

    Hossia clicked her tongue and waved a hand at the air. She had always been quick to conspire and had very little trust for anyone but herself. Even though she liked to complain about the state of the palace, Domitris suspected she enjoyed being back surrounded by people and intrigue instead of tolerating the quiet life at their estate in the province of Arenaria.

“So where are you sneaking off to since you’re not having lunch with the council?” she asked.

    “I need a moment to myself before meeting the Minister. Or I fear my head will implode.”

    Hossia smiled, making her brown skin crinkle like a prune.

    “Of course, my boy. Do that. But find time to sit with me one day.” She pulled him closer by the arm and whispered, “We have things to discuss. I have some suspicions.”

    “When don’t you?” he said with a smile, which only earned him a “Pfff” in return. She patted him on the hip and walked away with small steps, shooing him with her hand.

    “See you, Matre.”

 

In his room, Lyra poured him some water while he collapsed onto the reclining couch with a groan.

    “Was it that bad?” she asked, handing him the glass. He drank half of it and wiped his mouth.

    “Do you know how hard it is to get anything done when half the council only pledged to me because they saw no other option? All they do is hold on to the way things used to be. They don’t respect my decisions.”

Lyra frowned. “So what? You don’t need their respect. You’re the emperor!”

Domitris sighed.

    “I know what you need,” Lyra said, disappearing from the room. She returned carrying a tiny silver platter with pistachio biscuits. “These always cheer you up.”

    Domitris’ head fell back in amused annoyance. “It’ll take more than a few biscuits to solve my problems.”

    “Come on,” she said with a knowing grin. “It’ll make you feel better.”

    He took one and stuffed it into his mouth. The fragrant delicacy crumbled as he sunk his teeth into it and made his mouth water. Before he realized it, he was reaching for another.

    “Thank you,” he muttered.

    “Now, rest your head. You have to meet the Minister in an hour, and you don’t want to be late for that.”

    “I’ll get it together.”

    “Good,” she said, and left him with his thoughts.

    He stared up at the flowery frieze decorating the ceiling, as if there would be an answer written for him there. This constant uphill battle wasn’t what he had expected when he took on the role of emperor. The council’s bickering was already enough to bury him alive, and the treaty was only the first step. Afterwards, he would have his work cut out for him with reuniting the provinces and ensuring the very foundation of Marmaras wouldn’t crack. The Supreme Emperor had left such a strain on the provinces with conscription and taxation to fund his wars that Domitris feared the relations were irreparable. The more he thought about it, the more insurmountable the task seemed.

    With a sigh, he sat up and massaged the side of his jaw to loosen the tension. His solution for things he couldn’t fix was simple—he refrained from dwelling on them. Instead, he had to focus on what he could do something about: making sure he charmed the Minister.

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- END OF EXCERPT -