Chapitre Vingt-Cinq

L'Impératrice

Lucien

How long had it been since he last stood in the courtroom of the Imperial Palace? It seemed a lifetime.

Crystal chandeliers lit up the room. Sprawled out upon the ceiling were paintings depicting the rise of the Baleine Imperial Dynasty, including the crushing of the Gotar Marauders' fleet by Clovis, the first Emperor. There in the painting Lucien could see Clovis twirling his sword in the air to conjure great waves to smash the enemy ships.

Great, gold-plated and marble statues of sea serpents and mer-folk lined the walls, a tribute to the Imperial Family's lineage. Ornate designs resembling various sea creatures and now-deceased members of the Imperial Family were carved into every wall and painted over in gold and royal blue.

Enormous stone columns, many times taller than any man, flanked every doorway, and blue curtains were pulled back over those same doorways.

Then there were the Imperial Guard. They wore steel breastplates over black uniforms, plumed helmets with face-masks, and a saber and pistol on each hip. It was both terrifying and glorious to see so many dozens of them. It made Lucien feel strangely safe to think that even Fitzroy would not dare attack anyone in this meeting hall with the Imperial Guard standing by.

Upon a throne made to look like an open clam-shell sat her Imperial Majesty, Empress Mariette VII. Her white hair fell about her shoulders in spiral curls. Upon her head sat a crown bejeweled with perfect pearls and the bluest sapphires. Her dress was covered in embroidered patters, with gold threads woven into the deep blue fabric. The pelt of a snow leopard draped over her shoulders, and her face was covered with make-up whiter than snow, with blood-red lipstick. She was the very image of imperial beauty that Lucien remembered her to be. A woman who conducted herself with the utmost dignity.

A woman with more authority than any mortal in the known world.

"Be seated," she commanded all those at court.

Every nobleman took his seat in the Amphitheatre surrounding her throne. Andre and Leon took seats on either side of their father. Lucien gave both of them a quick glance. Leon's eyes were transfixed on the Empress, as if he was pondering some silent question about her. Lucien couldn't blame the boy. It was his first time seeing her, after all.

Andre's eyes had wandered elsewhere, though Lucien couldn't tell in that brief glance what had gotten the boy's attention so.

"Bonjour to you all," said the Empress, her voice both sweet and fierce at the same time. "And thank you all for coming. As you all have already heard, we have recently had a string of petty uprisings within our borders. Soldiers have taken up arms against their fellow Salians. By Lyr's grace, it did not take long to crush these tiny rebellions. Most of the soldiers who joined in these uprisings died in battle, but many were taken prisoner.

"I have gathered you here today so that I may request your counsel in how best to handle this situation." The Empress paused, as if waiting for any murmuring to die down. But there was no murmur, no one dared to speak while Mariette spoke. "Duke Lucien of House Renart, since you were the first nobleman to fall under siege from these renegades, would you regale us with the events of that night?"

Lucien stood and bowed. "I would be delighted, your Majesty. Thank you for this most gracious honor." Lucien clasped his hands together and let his eyes wander to the eyes of his equals in the throne room. "My agents had reported that about twenty men were moving together through my lands on horseback. They appeared to be armed only with sabers and pistols. Now, some of you may consider that threat enough, and certainly we were keeping an eye on them, but we never considered that they meant to commit an act of war." Lucien paused to let the murmurs die down.

"Silly, really," said Lucien, "To even think that they meant to attack us like that. I thought for sure that the Treaty of Fausspaix would be enough to deter them. Even if it wasn't, I would have imagined that soldiers preparing to go to battle would have taken muskets and worn breastplates. I was wrong on both counts."

Lucien licked his lips and rested his hands on the table in front of him. "They arrived in the middle of the night, and rode in circles around my home. As they circled they fired shots into the second-story windows, undoubtedly hoping that one of those bullets would find my bed-chamber. By Lyr's grace I survived, as did my family."

So many of his peers leaned forward, on the edges of their seats. Some stared at him in disbelief. Not that he blamed them, the story sounded outlandish in an Empire that had not seen civil war in so long. He may as well have told a fairy tale for how removed this story was from what they considered reality.

Still, he continued, "Soon after their ride-by, they broke in through the front and back doors. My household guard, agents, staff, and even members of my family rose up to fight against them. My son Andre," Lucien gestured to his younger son, who still appeared to have his attention elsewhere, "personally fought two of them and slew both. My eldest son, Leon," at the sound of his name Leon rose to his feet. Lucien placed a hand on his shoulder and gently lowered him into his seat again. "He shot the ring-leader of this little insurrection, Magnus Forbin."

Leon gave Lucien a questioning look. Lucien merely nodded to him, hoping that he would be quiet. The story would be far better-received if it was the young lord, destined to one day be man of the house, who slew Magnus.

"It wasn't I who shot Magnus," Leon called out.

Damn it! Lucien lamented that he could not strike his son in full view of the Imperial Court.

Leon stood again and adjusted his coat. "My father does me too much credit. Yes, I fought with Magnus, the traitor, but it was Beatrice... my step-mother, who pulled the trigger. Her bullet ended the renegade's life, not my blade."

"Lord Leon," the Empress called out. "I commend you for wishing to set the record straight. Your honesty and sense of honor are an example for all of us. But, I must ask, did I call upon you to speak?"

Lucien could feel his face turning red. Why did Leon always insist on doing something embarrassing?

"Well... No, your Grace," said Leon.

"Furthermore," the Empress continued, "Did I ask you to interrupt your father?"

"No, your Grace," Leon said again, starting to look down.

"Eyes on me," said the Empress. Leon snapped his head back up to face her. "Please do not interrupt again. Many people here have stories to regale of the horrors the traitors brought to their homes. If we are to get through all of them we cannot afford to bicker over minor details. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your Grace."

The Empress smiled. "I'm glad. Please, be seated, both of you."

Lucien bowed and took his seat again, then glared at his son as he took his. There was no need for words, Leon knew exactly what he did wrong, the blush on his cheeks said that much. But Lucien hoped and prayed that his son would never forget this experience, and treat it as a harsh lesson.

More noblemen stood and recounted their tales of the night their homes fell under siege. Some even had their mansions burned to the ground before they finally managed to defeat the assailants. Others told of how soldiers violated their virgin daughters, or their wives. Still others spoke of soldiers who tortured members of their family and forced them to watch. Around the time that one nobleman told a story of a soldier who cannibalized his servants Lucien realized just how difficult it had been even for one as skilled at the game as he was to tell who was exaggerating and who was speaking truth.

Once the final story was concluded, the Empress said, "All of this stemmed from the manifesto that Magnus Forbin wrote before he laid siege to the Renart home. The Imperial Army has already dealt with every last member of the Forbin family left over after his treachery." Lucien heard Leon gasp in horror at the implications of this. Any members of the Forbin family still alive once Maxemilien, Marc, and Magnus had all gone to the grave would have been children, the sick, the elderly, or bastards. But surely Leon was not so naïve as to think that they wouldn't suffer repercussions of Magnus' actions. "As per the Treaty of Fausspaix, insurrection cannot be tolerated, so the remaining members of the Forbin Family have been sent to prison colonies, where they will labor for the Empire's glory until the end of their days."

How clever of her, Lucien thought, to make us think that she had them all slain, only so that she would seem more merciful when she revealed that they were, instead, imprisoned and enslaved.

But to some this was not kind enough, it seemed. From the corner of his vision, Lucien could see that Leon's fists were clenched and tears were welling up in his eyes. Please, Sweet Lyr! Don't let my son say or do anything stupid!

The Empress continued on. "With that in mind, we find ourselves in need of someone to replace Marquis Forbin, and soon, lest the barbarians discover the weak point in our borders and pillage the countryside. I would hear your suggestions for a replacement now."

Lucien raised his hand to get her attention.

"Yes, Duke Renart, you may speak," said said.

Lucien stood. "There is a young man from House Roche, Count Roche's younger brother. I believe Lord Olivier would make an excellent marquis. He has studied battle tactics all his life, and could be a great asset in keeping the barbarians at bay."

"House Roche?" said the Empress. "Is that not your wife's family?"

"Indeed it is," said Lucien. "This has allowed me to spend time with the young man and learn much about him."

"Is Count Roche present?" asked the Empress.

"I am, your majesty," came a voice from across the room. The count appeared to be only a few years older than Beatrice. It had been almost a year since Lucien had last seen him, but he knew that this young count was not likely to call Lucien out on his lies. Not when Lucien's efforts were only taken to strengthen the Roche family's assets.

"Do you concur with Duke Lucien's assessment?" asked the Empress.

"I do," said Count Roche. "My brother has spent many a late night pouring over books about military strategies and the histories of famous battles. He would be an excellent marquis."

"Very well, we shall take that into consideration," said the Empress. "Does anyone else wish to nominate a candidate?"

Duke Raul Loup raised his hand. For a fleeting moment, Lucien was eager to see this rival make a fool of himself by suggesting that one of the bandit lords he often dealt with should be marquis. But Lucien remembered that Raul was corrupt, not foolish.

"You may speak, Duke Loup," said the Empress.

"Thank you, your Grace," said Raul as he rose to his feet. "I think that the problem of replacing Marquis Forbin goes a lot deeper than merely needing a good leader at the border, you need someone the soldiers can relate to. Most of our soldiers were born commoners and sought to make something of themselves by taking up the musket. It only makes sense that they would find it hard to befriend those born in privilege, such as ourselves." Raul raised an index finger. "I would suggest granting the title to someone who is not of noble birth, but who has made himself richer than many of the barons in this very room."

Raul gestured for the man sitting next to him to stand, and his guest obeyed. "Micaedon here is a merchant prince, and one of the richest I've ever known. I've personally seen his gift for leadership first-hand, and he is no stranger to battle! As any good soldier will tell you, knowledge of tactics and strategy are all well and good, but when your blood is hot you have to be able to think on your feet. At the start of his career he personally protected his caravans as they traveled through bandit-infested forests. He picked up the sword and fought highwaymen with his own two hands."

Leon tried to hide his smirk. Of course Micaedon fought bandits, he was trading in your lands. Hopefully, he was not the only one who knew what a charlatan Raul was.

"Micaedon..." the Empress said. "That is not a Salian name. Tell me, merchant, where were you born?"

"I was born in Salia, your Grace," said Micaedon, giving a bow. "But my parents were both born in Piast. They immigrated across the sea when they were first wed, having heard of the glory of the Salian Empire. I was born two years later."

Raul's recommending a Piastian to replace Marquis Forbin? A bold move! Lucien pulled on the end of his beard and pondered this. Certainly, it was better than proposing that someone born of the barbarian tribes take the position, but to suggest that the son of foreigners be made a Salian aristocrat? Raul's recommendation was most unusual.

"Thank you," said the Empress. "I will take all of this into consideration. You may sit down. Do I have any other suggestions?"

"I have a suggestion, your Grace." All eyes turned to Duke Jehan Armand. Lucien noted that the duke appeared to be doing well, in spite of the panic his recent attempts to blackmail him must have caused.

"Speak," said the Empress.

"Thank you," said Jehan with a bow. "There is an old saying among soldiers, 'Even heretics pray to Lyr when they see the barbarian hordes approaching.' Soldiers tend to be most pious, religious folk because of the danger they face every day. With that in mind, would it not make sense to promote someone from the Church to the position? There is a priest I know of, Father Vaschel,"

Lucien cringed at the name. He was one of the many members of the clergy clambering to start an order dedicated to hunting down the witch-born. Worse yet, he was one who, in his youth, had personally overseen executions of dozens of witch-born babies. Those who witnessed those executions said they'd never seen a man so unaffected by the cries of infants, one who carried out his bloody task with heartless efficiency.

Jehan continued. "He has a thriving flock, composed mostly of soldiers and veterans. Better yet, he was once a witch-hunter, before he was finally ordained, which will come in handy when he combats the barbarians' warlocks and devil-worshipers." Jehan cleared his throat. "And, with all due respect to Duke Renart and Duke Loup, he is neither a man who learned all he knows of the battlefield from books, neither was he born to foreign parents from a heathen land. His family has been in Salia since before the Empire was founded, and he is descended from Saint Villette herself!"

Lucien almost laughed at this claim. Most of the clergy claimed Saint Villette was an ancestor of theirs, as if such a lineage gave them more legitimacy in a Church hierarchy which was based on merit, not blood.

"He sounds like a reasonable candidate," said the Empress, folding her hands on her lap. "My only misgiving is that as a priest he is forbidden to marry and have children. Either he must break his vows to the Church to fulfill his duties as marquis, or we must alter the rules to allow him to merely appoint a successor, as bishops do. I admit, I'm not terribly fond of the precedent that sets."

Jehan resumed his seat without being ordered to do so.

The Empress pondered for a moment, then said, "These shall be our candidates; Lord Olivier Roche, Monsieur Micaedon, Father Vaschel, and my son, Prince Damond. I wish for each of you to take one day to deliberate, and then return here tomorrow for the vote. As always, ultimately, the choice will be mine to make, but I wish to consider your thoughts. Dismissed."