What connection can there be, between the place in Lincolnshire, the house in town, the Mercury in powder, and the whereabout of Jo the outlaw with the broom, who had that distant ray of light upon him when he swept the churchyard-step? What connection can there have been between many people in the innumerable histories of this world, who, from opposite sides of great gulfs, have, nevertheless, been very curiously brought together!
-- Charles Dickens, Bleak House

The letter arrived late one Ailmar[1] evening. Nadriet had spent a very long, very tiring day reading letters sent to Kilan by various well-wishers, as well as non-wedding-related correspondence such as a request for the pardon of a condemned man. Her thoughts had long ago turned longingly to a hot cup of tea and her nice, soft, comfortable bed.

Kilan was embroiled in yet another argument with his High Council, this time about the wedding guest list. Tomorrow Nadriet was sure she would hear all about it. But right now, she just wanted to finish reading this stack of papers so she could go to bed.

She had just opened the final letter of the pile when the door opened.

"A letter has just arrived, your Highness," a footman announced, holding out the sealed letter on a silver tray. "It is marked urgent, and is from the Emperor's fiancée. I was instructed that it must be passed on to him immediately."

"Thank you," Nadriet said, suppressing a sigh. There went any hope of getting to bed any time soon. "Leave it on the table, please. I'll see that he gets it tonight."

~~~~

Kilan left his council chamber feeling like he would dearly love to punch someone in the face. His High Council seemed to have somehow split in two, almost cleanly down the middle. On the one side was -- who else? -- Chief Counsellor Dilves and her supporters. On the other was Counsellor Tolceth, and her supporters. The disagreement was over how many members of the Malishese royal family should be invited. Dilves was of the opinion that practically the entire family should be invited to make sure no one would be insulted by feeling left out. Tolceth was of the opinion that it was far more important to invite Carannish nobles who might start plotting against the Emperor if they weren't invited, and so only the Princess's direct family -- father, mother and any siblings she had -- should be sent invitations.

The argument was well-underway before someone thought of asking Kilan for his opinion. When he informed them that in his opinion, there should be as few people as possible at this wedding, because everyone knew that it was a political alliance rather than an actual wedding... Well, he might as well have thrown oil on a fire. Within minutes both sides had stopped shouting at each other and started shouting at him.

So, when he entered his office to find Nadriet waiting with a letter, his immediate reaction was an exasperated groan.

"What is it now?"

"A letter from your... fiancée." His sister made a complicated face at the word "fiancée". It somehow conveyed bemusement, sympathy and exasperation all at once. "Apparently it's urgent."

Kilan blinked, surprised. "What could she have to say that's urgent?" A sudden hopeful thought occured to him. "Do you think she wants to break off the engagement?"

Nadriet shrugged. Her hair, which she still twisted into the innumerable ringlets she had worn as a child, danced wildly round her face. "Open it, and we'll find out."

Kilan broke the seal and took the letter out of the envelope. It was written on a curious, thick sort of paper that smelt of perfume and something eerily like decay. The letter itself was remarkably short.

It read, Emperor Tinuviel,

I have taken the liberty of writing to you...

Here Kilan stopped. His brow furrowed. Why would Princess Qihadal think that writing to her future husband was taking a liberty? He knew for a fact that his parents had written to each other frequently during their courtship and in the days leading up to their marriage. On their wedding anniversary they had made a tradition of reading excerpts from those letters. But then, their marriage had been one of love. Things would naturally be different for a marriage of politics and diplomacy.

...to inform you that there are matters of grave import to be discussed between us ere our wedding.

Her antiquated choice of words could be overlooked, as Carannish was not her native language. What could not be overlooked was how ominous "matters of grave import" sounded. What matters did she mean? Was the Iqui to make some new demand of him?

Kindly arrange for us to meet as soon as possible. In the interests of convenience and clarity, a translator would be helpful.

Thank you, from Qihadal dascasni Cuzevmiq[2].

Kilan stared at the letter for a long time after he finished reading it.

"What do you make of that?" he asked Nadriet.

She shrugged, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "That the princess wants to meet you for some reason."

"Yes, but why does she want to meet me? What could she have to say that's so important?"

His sister shrugged again. "I've no idea. But whatever it is, it can wait until morning. I'm going to bed."

~~~~

Kilan was looking forward to a nice, peaceful night's sleep. He was decidedly unimpressed, therefore, when he entered his room to find Death waiting for him, lounging in a chair by the fireplace with a wineglass in her hand. She took one look at his face and laughed.

"What have the High Council done now? Demanded you raise taxes? Insisted on buying new wallpaper for a sitting room that's never been used?"

"Nothing of the sort," Kilan said, undoing the buttons of his inkar[3] and throwing it over the back of a chair. He considered undressing and putting on his pyjamas, but decided it would be too much trouble. Besides, Death was there. "They were as annoying as they always are, and I just received an odd letter. Do you know anything about it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "A letter? Why would I know anything about that?"

True enough, Kilan thought.

"Now, do you want to come and visit Varan?"

Kilan hesitated. On the one hand, he wanted to get some sleep. On the other, there seemed to be no such thing as tiredness in the Land of the Dead. No matter how tired he was when he arrived, he was always wide-awake while he was there and when he returned.

"All right," he said.

~~~~

"...And this is a miniature sculpture of home," Varan said, gesturing to a small but quite accurate sculpture of Näcqayiv Manor. Just looking at it made a sudden wave of homesickness sweep over Kilan. "I thought I could start working on a full-scale replica to make Mother and Father feel at home when they arrive."

Kilan's head snapped up. "What? Are they going to die soon?"

He shot an accusing look at Death, who was sitting on the windowsill of Varan's living room. She didn't seem to notice.

Varan shook her head. "I don't think so. I haven't heard any rumours about it, and Death never tells anyone who's going to die or when. It's just in preparation for the day when they do arrive. Hopefully that'll be years away."

~~~~

Kilan still felt uneasy when the time came for him to return to the Land of the Living.

"Are my parents going to die soon?" he asked Death.

She blinked slowly, as if considering the question. "No, they will both live for a considerable length of time. Why do you ask?"

He almost felt ashamed to admit what Varan said had scared him. "I was just worried." Another thought occured to him. "How much is left of the ten years?"

"Just over nine years."

"Oh, good." He spoke without thinking. The words were already out of his mouth when he realised what he'd said.

Death froze in the act of reaching for his hand. "Good?" she repeated curiously, a faint smile beginning to play around her mouth. "Why do you think it's good?"

"It has nothing to do with you!" Kilan almost shouted, his face turning bright red. "It's just... I like visiting Varan and Ranoryin! Not you!"

Her faint smile had become a wide grin stretching from ear to ear. "Of course not. How could anyone ever think that?"

Oh, damn. She'd be insufferable now.

He took Death's hand, pretending not to see her wide grin. The empty, grim throne room faded away, and instead they stood in the middle of his bedroom.

Death let go of his hand, still grinning, and sketched a rather mocking bow. She had turned to leave when a thought occurred to Kilan.

"Wait! Do you speak Malishese?"

Death halted. She gave him a justifiably puzzled look. "I understand every language spoken by mortals, and if I want to, I can speak to them in a language that they hear as their own. So yes, in that way I do speak Malishese, in the same way as I speak Carannish. Why do you ask?"

"Because I'll need a translator for this meeting with Princess Qihadal."

Death stared at him. "And you want me to be your translator?"

"I don't know anyone else who speaks Malishese," Kilan protested, "and it would take time to find a professional translator. Especially when I don't want to involve the High Council unless I've no other choice."

Death laughed. "You have a talent for doing things no one else has ever done, Tinuviel. First you hugged me, and now you're asking me to be a translator. Whatever else they say about you, no one can ever call you boring."

~~~~

Nadriet had a busy day. First she had to arrange for an express airship to take Kilan to Gankolzasques. Then she had to look over the day's correspondence. After that she had to visit a newly-opened hospital in Kilan's place, giving the excuse that urgent business had detained the Emperor. And finally, after she had at long last had a chance to sit down, she decided it might be wise to inform Chief Inquisitor Nimetath of the reason for Kilan's absence.

Nadriet had never been in her aunt's office before. She had expected it to be something like her own office: full of paperwork, newspapers and general clutter. Instead it was perfectly tidy. Papers were stacked neatly on a corner of the desk, where they wouldn't get in the way. The wooden floor was covered with a brightly-coloured rug that looked like it had been imported from somewhere. There was a comfortable armchair facing the desk. A teapot and kettle sat on the shelf against the wall.

The Chief Inquisitor herself was a surprise. She was a woman in her late fifties, with greying hair, large glasses, and clothes in the fashion of three decades ago. She did not look at all like a woman who commanded a veritable army of spies.

Perhaps that's her greatest weapon, Nadriet thought as she accepted the cup of tea Nimetath handed her. No one would ever suspect her.

"Now," Nimetath said after pouring herself a cup of tea, "do you mean to tell me that this Malishese woman has insisted on a meeting with the Emperor for no apparent reason?"

"Yes," Nadriet said, "and she says it's urgent."

The Chief Inquisitor "hmm"ed thoughtfully. "Very suspicious. He's already gone? Did he take a bodyguard with him?"

"He said he couldn't avoid taking one even if he wanted to, or Mother would murder him." Nadriet smiled wryly. If she ever heard of this, Arásy would throw a fit. She had very decided opinions on the Malishese. There was a very awkward conversation in Kilan's future if this marriage went ahead. "And he took a translator with him as well. I've never seen her before, but Kilan assured me that he trusts her."

~~~~

Qihadal's servants woke her early in the morning with the news that the Emperor was coming. At those words, Qihadal's heart leapt into her throat. It stayed there for the rest of the day, as she had her breakfast, went for a morning stroll, and wrote in her diary. This was it, then. She would know in a few hours what her fate was to be.

At two in the afternoon, a servant came to her.

"The Emperor has arrived, your Highness."

Chapter Footnotes:

[1] Ailmar = The Carannish name for the day roughly equivalent to Wednesday.

[2] Like the Carannish, the Malishese royal family do not use surnames. Instead they use the month they were born in as a surname, with the word "dascasni" ("born in month of...") as a prefix. Qihadal was born in the month of Cuzevmiq, roughly equivalent to October.

[3] inkar = A sort of floor-length overcoat worn as everyday wear in many provinces of the Carann Empire.