There go the loves that wither,
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
Red strays of ruined springs.
-- Algernon Charles Swinburne, The Garden of Proserpine

"I'm sorry, Niuyínkir, but the law is quite certain. Only the firstborn legitimate child can inherit. If there is no legitimate child, the property and title go to the nearest relative." The lawyer said all this in such a cool, uninterested tone that no one would have thought anyone's future depended on what she saw saying. "In this case, your aunt Kawaro."

Niuyínkir listened to this with an angry scowl on her face. "And there is no way for me to contest my aunt's claim?"

"No. No court would rule in your favour over hers."

The lawyer sorted the rest of her papers into her briefcase and showed herself out of the late countess's study. Said countess's daughter remained sitting in a chair by the desk, scowling at a portrait of her mother.

A stranger might have thought that under normal circumstances Niuyínkir was a reasonably attractive young woman of average height, with rather expensive clothes and hair that was always carefully-styled. The people of Traeron would have said that their countess's daughter was rather too concerned with her appearance and luxuries than her allowance could support. She had gone away to college, and while there some shocking rumours had circulated about her. Rumours of wild behaviour, drunken parties, frequent indiscretions... and other, darker things. Nothing scandalous had ever been proved about her. But when her mother heard the stories, she summoned her home at once.

If anyone could have seen Niuyínkir now, as she got up to pace around the room and occasionally stopped to glower at the portrait, they might have wondered if there was some truth in the gossip. Her face was drawn and furious, and there was a cruel light in her eyes.

She stopped her pacing after some minutes. She nodded once, as if she had reached a decision. And then she turned and stormed out of the room.

For all the people of Traeron heard of her in the weeks and months that followed, she might as well have vanished off the face of the planet.

~~~~

Gialma's first action the next day was to send a chenla-message to his parents. He told them of Tinuviel's offer, and his decision to accept it. Then he went to visit the counsellor whose place he would be taking.

He and Counsellor Glerval had a surprisingly amiable and informative discussion on what the High Council was, how it worked, and what his duties would be. Afterwards he returned to the palace for dinner.

Dinner at Zasordoth Palace was an unusual business. Perhaps this was the normal way of holding royal dinners. Gialma had no experience with such things. But it certainly struck him as odd. The Emperor, Empress, Princess Nadriet, and all the noblemen, important dignitaries, and diplomats who happened to be in the palace at the minute all had dinner together, and no one was allowed to leave until the Emperor dismissed them. Luckily for Gialma's nerves, Tinuviel seemed as little fond of awkward formal dinners as he himself was. The ordeal lasted only long enough for everyone to finish eating, and then they were dismissed.

As a member of the royal family and a first cousin to the Emperor, Gialma was given a seat almost at the very head of the table. He sat beside Princess Nadriet, and opposite him sat Aunt Nimetath.

Part of him, the part only too used to ambitious aristocrats all but literally throwing themselves or their daughters or sisters at him, wondered if there was an ulterior motive to his being seated beside Nadriet. Another part, the part that was constantly worrying if or when his treason would be discovered, wondered if he was seated across from Nimetath so she could keep an eye on him.

Empress Qihadal sat across the table from him beside Nimetath. She barely looked at anyone as she sat down. Occasionally Gialma glanced curiously at her. She no longer looked as depressed as she had in the garden, but she didn't look happy either. She and Tinuviel never spoke to each other.

Clearly, all was not well there.

The Empress had abandoned the Malishese clothes she had worn for her first few months in Carann. Now she wore Carannish clothes, and had her hair swept up in a Carannish hairstyle. At least she appeared to be trying to fit in with her subjects, the prince thought.

By the time dinner was over, Gialma had worked up the courage to speak with Tinuviel on the subject preying on his mind. He went to the Lord Chamberlain's office as soon as he left the dining room.

"I wish to request an audience with the Emperor," he said.

Gialma half-expected to be questioned on why he wanted to see Tinuviel. But the Lord Chamberlain didn't see anything unusual in the Emperor's cousin wishing to speaking with him officially.

"Certainly, your Highness." The Lord Chamberlain bowed to him. "I will tell the Emperor to expect you at--"

It took Gialma a minute to realise this was a question. "Would seven o'clock be convenient?"

"I believe so." The Lord Chamberlain bowed again.

~~~~

While this was happening, Death had arrived in her realm to find Ranoryin waiting for her.

Damn it, Death thought. She didn't even try to keep her annoyance off her face. What does she want?

"I heard a very strange story from one of the Reapers," Ranoryin said, folding her arms and glaring at Death. "It was so low, even for you, that I couldn't believe it at first."

Death thought back over the last few weeks. What had she done that would so infuriate Ranoryin? Nothing, as far as she could remember, except... Oh. Well, that would certainly drive the former Empress into a fine rage. But how could she know about it? Death's bedroom was forbidden and locked to even the highest ranked Reapers unless they were invited in. (This was a precaution she had learnt to take many millennia ago, after a few too many awkward interruptions.) No Reapers would have seen Death and Kilan together, unless they had been spying on them in the Land of the Living. That was highly unlikely. The Reapers were too afraid of Death's wrath to do something like that. So what was Ranoryin talking about?

"What was this strange story?" Death asked, feigning boredom.

Ranoryin's glare intensified. "This Reaper said that the day before yesterday she had finished her day's work and was on her way back here when she decided to check on Kilan. She said that she saw you and Kilan kissing, and -- not wanting to be scarred for eternity -- she immediately fled."

Death scowled almost as fiercely as Ranoryin. "And would this Reaper by any chance be named Grand Duchess Varan?"

The former Empress raised an eyebrow. "Do you truly expect me to tell you?" 

Very well, that subject could wait. First she had to deal with Ranoryin. "You do remember, your Majesty, that Kilan and I are married? What we do together is no business of yours."

Ranoryin instinctively reached for the sword that no longer hung at her side. "I also remember, your Majesty, that your marriage is not legal."

Were they really going to go through the rigmarole again? "We are married in my realm." Death spoke through gritted teeth. "What happened two days ago happened in my realm. And Kilan not only consented to it, he made the first move. So you have no grounds for anger."

She turned to leave. Ranoryin grabbed her arm in a vise-like grip before she could.

"Listen to me," she said quietly. "You might have fooled him into believing you care for him, but you will never fool me. I don't know what your plans are, but I know you're waiting until after my reincarnation. Reincarnated or not, if you do anything to hurt him or the empire, I will destroy you!"

Death looked at her silently. Then she took hold of the former Empress's wrist and tightened her grip until Ranoryin let go of her arm.

"You can do nothing to me," Death said in the cold, impassive tone she used when meting out judgement to condemned souls. "If I wished to, I could utterly obliterate your soul and all memory of you. Do not test me."

Ranoryin didn't even flinch at this threat. The End of all Things and the deceased Empress stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Death looked away. Something almost like reluctant respect briefly showed in her eyes.

"You needn't worry," she said with feigned carelessness. "I won't hurt Kilan. And I'm not the one who'll cause your empire's downfall. You should really keep a closer eye on some of your descendants. They're much more dangerous than I am."

She left with that parting shot.

~~~~

Kilan didn't know what to think when he was told his cousin wished to speak with him.

Has he changed his mind? he wondered. Is he coming to confess to treason? Does he think he can avoid suspicion if he seems to be on good terms with me?

None of Kilan's conjectures came anywhere near the truth.

At precisely seven o'clock Gialma was shown into Kilan's study. The emperor briefly wondered if his cousin had arrived early and waited outside to make sure he would be punctual.

"Your Majesty," the prince said, bowing. In his wide eyes and somewhat harried expression there was the look of a man who had come to get a deeply unpleasant task over with. "I wish to speak with you on a matter of considerable importance."

"What do you want to speak of?" Kilan asked, suspecting the answer related to plotting with Prince Nalginton.

Gialma hesitated a minute, as if gathering his courage. Their few interactions had given Kilan the distinct impression that his cousin was not a particularly brave man.

"Istogu, your Majesty. Doubtless other provinces too, but I can only speak of what I have personally witnessed."

This sounded like the precursor to an attempt to make Kilan hand Istogu over to the Iqui. Was this what Nalginton had asked his co-conspirator to do?

Kilan tried to keep his thoughts off his face. "What about Istogu?"

Gialma told him, at length and in considerable detail, what he meant about Istogu. Kilan listened, torn between shock and horror. How could such things happen in his empire without his knowledge? But even while he listened to everything his cousin had to say, he couldn't help but notice that the prince was suspiciously vague on why he had been in Istogu at all.

"I didn't know," Kilan said when his cousin fell silent. "I didn't know about any of this."

"But will you do something about it?" Gialma demanded. Belatedly he added, "Your Majesty."

He seemed to have entirely forgotten who he was speaking to until now. In his eyes there was the fire of someone fighting for what they believed was right. Kilan noticed it. With a sinking feeling of dread he realised that his cousin was no ordinary traitor. He was a visionary, that most terrifying and dangerous form of revolutionary. What would be the result of unleashing him on the High Council?

A headache for the Chief Counsellor, I hope, Kilan thought, and had to stifle a most unsuitable fit of giggles. Perhaps he should get Gialma and Dilves in the same room together and leave them to go at each other's throats. They might give him less trouble if they were too busy fighting each other.

"I will contact Princess Ixerthi and ask what we can do to help her people," he said. A thought struck him. "Perhaps you would like to contact her yourself, when you have seen so recently what the conditions in her province are."

Gialma looked torn half-way between being pleased and terrified.

When the prince was gone, Kilan reflected on their conversation with a mixture of surprise and alarm. There was a traitor in the palace, yes, but he wasn't at all the sort of character Kilan had thought he was. What had given Gialma his idea that he would make a good emperor? Why did he care so much for the people of Istogu? Was it a ploy or genuine concern?

And more importantly, what would be its results?