...terrors and alarms which no man understood were perpetually broached, both in and out of Parliament, by one enthusiast who did not understand himself, and by-gone bugbears which had lain quietly in their graves for centuries, were raised again to haunt the ignorant and credulous... -- Charles Dickens, Barnaby Rudge

"A bargain?" Qihadal repeated, wary and ill-at-ease. "What sort of bargain?"

The translator paused to confer with the Emperor in the strange, lilting Carannish language. Qihadal strained her ears to listen, but she couldn't distinguish any words among the jumble of sounds.

"Emperor Tinuviel--" There was a strange edge to the translator's voice as she said the Emperor's name, as if she was laughing at a private joke, "--will allow you and your child to remain in this palace, unharmed, and in no danger of being sent back to be killed by your father. Whether or not you go through with the marriage is entirely your decision."

This sounded far too good to be true.

"And what does Emperor Tinuviel want in return?" Qihadal asked, shooting the Emperor a suspicious look.

"Information," the translator replied. "Specifically, information that your father does not want to be widely known. In other words, blackmail material."

~~~~

Chief Counsellor Dilves was proud of her almost-sixty years of service to the royal family. Years ago, as a young girl of only nineteen, she had found herself bequeathed a seat on the High Council after her father's death. She had served as a counsellor to Emperor Survadil for the last years of his reign. After his death she had been counsellor to his son Emperor Vretiel for the entirety of his reign. It was Vretiel who had made her Chief Counsellor, a position she took very seriously. She never took any action before first deciding if it was in the Empire's best interests.

And now, in the space of just over a year, she had found herself serving as Chief Counsellor to two Emperors, neither of whom was suited to reign in her opinion. Marin -- well, the entire Empire knew about him. Tinuviel was more of a mystery.

Her first impression of the current Emperor had been of a spoilt young man, barely more than a boy, who was far too used to getting his own way. In the months since then, she had grudgingly revised her opinion. Tinuviel did not disregard the Empire's traditions because he was used to getting his own way. He ignored or protested them because he honestly believed he was doing the right thing. He was too young and stubborn to see that the only way to preserve order was to keep things exactly as they were.

Willfulness was not a crime, though it was a flaw, but in time he could be brought to see sense. But there were other things about Tinuviel that worried Dilves.

There was something strange about how he looked at people. He looked through them, not at them, at something only he could see. And a curiously haunted look crept over his face when he thought no one was looking. Some might say it was grief; his sister was dead and his brother as good as dead. But Dilves suspected something more.

Most worrying of all, she had seen him smiling and laughing as if someone was talking to him when he was alone. And then there was his outburst when he learned of the proposal. All these pieces, put together, painted a very worrying picture.

Even if he wasn't mad, he still needed to learn that the Emperor could not do as he wished. And that was why Dilves was on her way to visit the Chief Inquisitor.

Chief Inquisitor Nimetath was one of the oddities of Tinuviel's reign. She had not been removed from her position as was traditional, which unnerved Dilves all on its own. It suggested there was some reason Tinuviel was afraid to remove her. And she was the sister of the former Empress Consort. She had a powerful family to back her up, even without her network of spies. Removing her now would be too dangerous, so the High Council could do nothing but stand idly by.

"Ah, Dilves Arviknam of Galmod, unless I'm mistaken," Nimetath said pleasantly when Dilves walked into her office. "Do sit down."

The Chief Counsellor eyed her suspiciously as she took a seat. What secrets did this woman know? Who worked for her? To whom was she loyal?

The Chief Inquisitor wasted no time on small talk. "What do you want?"

Dilves steeled her nerve. She would not be intimidated by a woman twenty years younger than her! "I wish to ask your opinion of Emperor Tinuviel. Have you seen any signs of... eccentricity about him?"

"Madness, you mean." Nimetath leaned back in her chair. "I have seen signs of him being under extreme and near-constant stress. That would make anyone behave oddly. Especially someone as young as he is. But other than that, I have seen and heard of nothing that makes me think him any less sane than you or I. Does that answer your question?"

It reassured her that they weren't dealing with a madman -- yet. It did nothing to assuage her worries about Tinuviel's actions.

~~~~

By the time Kilan left Qihadal to return to the capital, they had agreed to go ahead with the marriage but to marry in name only. Qihadal would stay in her palace, Kilan would stay in his, and after the child was born they would decide whether or not to divorce. In the meantime, Kilan had enough blackmail material on the Iqui to keep him from revealing anything for the foreseeable future.

"I think that was a good day's work," Death said, sitting down on a settee in the airship's lounge and pouring herself a glass of marth.

Kilan didn't answer. He stared silently out the window at the fields and towns below. He didn't turn his head to get a better look at anything, a sure sign that he wasn't really seeing any of it.

Death watched him for a moment. Then she got up and went to stand by his side.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, placing one of her hands on top of his.

Kilan came back to reality with a start. "I was thinking that I know more about how the Land of the Dead works than I do about my own empire."

Death raised an eyebrow. "You've had more time to learn about my land than yours, so of course you know it better."

"No, I mean--" Kilan broke off. He gestured at the land below them. "Look at this! I don't know the names of any of those towns. I don't know who their mayors are, or their politicians, or their history. I don't know how to stop the High Council nagging me. I don't know what to do when I hear a woman has been horribly attacked. I don't know-- Damn it, what do I know?"

Death wrapped her arms around his chest. "You're young, and thrown into a role you were never prepared for. You've done much better than many people in your position."

Kilan leaned into her embrace almost without noticing it. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against her shoulder. He wrapped one of his arms around her waist and pressed his forehead against the side of her neck.

"There's so much I must learn," he said quietly. "But how do I learn? I don't know where to begin."

Death hummed thoughtfully. "You could start by asking Ranoryin. Goodness knows she has plenty to say on every possible subject. And then you can ask your parents or your aunts. Your Aunt Linish would be especially helpful. She was Empress Consort for over thirty years, and though you won't read it in any book of recent history, she was the one who truly ruled for much of your uncle's reign."

She paused, realising with an jolt of something like amusement that she -- she! Death herself! -- was offering advice to a mortal Emperor. The thought made her laugh.

"What's so funny?" Kilan asked.

"Have you considered how odd it is that you ask me for help?"

He shrugged. "You're usually the only person I can ask for help. And is there anything in my life that isn't odd?"

~~~~

"The first thing I have to do," Kilan said that evening, when he was back at the palace and had recovered somewhat from the shocks of the afternoon, "is write to my parents. They'll know what to do." A horrible thought struck him. "But what if someone else reads the letter first?"

"I can tell one of my Reapers to deliver it for you," Death said, lying down on the sofa in front of the fireplace in his bedroom.

Kilan stared at her. "What?"

Death shrugged. "They like visiting the mortal world, and it'll give one of the younger Reapers something to boast to their friends about."

Kilan wasn't sure what to say to that. "Thank you, I suppose," he said dubiously. "But my parents will be very worried if a winged figure in a black cloak carrying a scythe appears at their door to hand them a letter."

She laughed. "I'd tell them to appear human so they won't alarm anyone."

He sat down on the arm of the sofa. "How do you and your Reapers do that? Change your appearance like that?"

Death shrugged. "You wouldn't understand if I explained it. It's less us changing our appearance and more us appearing as what a mortal expects to see. It comes as naturally to us as breathing does to you."

Kilan accepted that as the best answer he was likely to get. "I'm going to write the letter now. And then can you take me to see Ranoryin? I need her advice."

~~~~

Arásy was in the middle of making a miniature sculpture of a rose when her husband barged into her workshop. She started. The chisel in her hand left a deep scratch on one of the rose's petals. Arásy and Særnor winced in unison.

"Sorry to disturb you, dear," Særnor said, "but we've had a letter from Kilan."

Arásy threw the chisel down. "What does he say? Is he happy? Is he still engaged to that foreign woman?"

"I haven't opened it yet."

Even as he spoke, Særnor was breaking the seal. He pulled the letter out of its envelope. He and Arásy read its contents together.

"What?" Arásy exclaimed when she reached the end. "What nonsense is this? The Iqui is trying to start a war? But how? Damn it, why doesn't he write more?"

"He says he wants us to visit him at once," Særnor pointed out. "I imagine he'll explain more in person. Maybe he was afraid of someone else reading his letters."

Arásy pursed her lips. No one knew better than she did that such a thing was a real danger in the royal family.

~~~~

"What?"

Ranoryin's shout could probably have been heard a hundred miles away. The former Empress paced furiously around her garden. Her husband and son, who "lived" somewhere nearby and had come over for a visit, continued helping themselves to bowls of ice cream as if nothing unusual was happening. Kilan stayed as far out of his great-grandmother's way as he could without leaving the garden.

"This is an outrage! A scandal! That poor girl!" Ranoryin clenched her fists as if she wanted to punch the Iqui. "You must do everything you can to help her recover from this."

I would if I knew how, Kilan thought. "I've told my parents about it. Mother will know what to do better than I do."

Ranoryin didn't seem to hear him. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that High Council of yours were in cahoots with the Iqui. It's just the sort of tragedy High Councils love to exploit and make worse. And of course Death is in the middle of it." Her lips thinned. "Why would you ever trust her to be your translator? She might have put her own spin on the story."

"I trust her," Kilan objected.

"Why?" Ranoryin asked. "What has she ever done to prove herself trustworthy?"

That question lingered in Kilan's mind for a long time.

~~~~

Arásy and Særnor arrived in Esergot the next day via an express airship. Kilan had never been so happy to see his parents.

Arásy wasted no time on "how are you?" or similar pleasantries. She had no sooner hugged Kilan and Nadriet than she ushered her husband and children into Kilan's study and locked the door behind them.

"Now," she said. "First things first. Where is that poor girl, and does she truly want to go through with this wedding?"