The Sheening Of The Blades (Book 1) (30 page)

“
Your Majesty,” he began before she had come to a stop.  “There are several things we need to discuss, perhaps the most alarming being your hint that we might return fully to the tribute system—”

“
There is ONE thing we need to discuss,” she interrupted crisply.  “And that is preparation to mobilize every force we have if this truly turns into war.”

His face
froze, a study of shock and anger.  “Your Majesty,” he managed, “The Empire is ruled by Throne AND Council.  We shall have to debate—”

“
There is nothing to debate.  There are a few situations in which the Imperial monarch is constitutionally given absolute and direct authority.  One of those will arise if I announce we are at war.”

“
We are not even close to war!” he sputtered in outrage.  Channing was new to the Council, new to her, and of late was being repeatedly and unpleasantly disillusioned of his assumptions that she was a malleable, young, scatter-brained female (because weren’t they all?).  Not Landed, he was unable to even aspire to a Council seat in the traditional way; his was a lateral election from an equally high government position.  Unfortunately, as Archjustice he was used to having instant and absolute compliance—his word, literally, was law—which meant some painful readjustment as Prime.

“
Doesn’t it strike you as odd that we, ONE of FOUR Realms, are the only one that seems to think that is true?  And that all the others, who, incidentally, have much more experience in that area than we do, are quite convinced of the opposite?”

“
We are the Empire,” she was told frigidly, Channing having gathered himself into a cold ball of composure at this criticism he’d already heard.  “We have nothing to apologize for, nor to be embarrassed about, nor to
consider
; if we are the voice of sense and reason in an insanity of hearsay and, frankly, unbelievable nonsense—”

“
We alone are unprepared to face a threat to our very integrity as a Realm,” she said loudly, regretting the servant gossip she was providing, but it couldn’t be helped.  “Even if that threat never develops, do you want to run the risk of not even planning for the contingency?  Because if the Enemy DOES attack, looking foolish for not taking the Border Realms seriously will be the least of the charges held against us.  We have a responsibility to the North to prepare her for any eventuality that may endanger her.”  Channing’s abrasive insensitivity and lack of diplomatic acumen had been chafing her for days; it was a positive relief to get this out.  Every other Realm was so sure of the rise of the South, they could no longer ignore it—why couldn’t he see that it didn’t cost anything to consider, to prepare, just  in case?

“
The Traditionalists have turned your head, enthused your sense of romance,” he said coldly in scathing echo of her thoughts, “seeing ghosts where there is only peace, imagining    supernatural happenings where there is only coincidence and acts of nature.”

“
And if there is war?  You are willing to chance unimaginable death and destruction for the meager cost of a few precautions?”

“
It is not cheap to jump at every shadow that falls across the road!” he snapped.

For a moment she stared at him, mind racing
to come up with a distraction, for some way to get around behind him.  Perhaps if it could be seen as a diplomatic concession…to appease the other Realms in the interest of—what?

 
“If you are unable to entertain the possibility of a threat to national defense for its own sake,” she said crisply, “then consider readiness in light of interrealm relations. A healthy part of the reason behind this state visit I’m making south is to develop a relationship with a Realm that is almost a stranger to us.  How are we to accomplish that by disdaining to even consider what is the highest priority to them?  Whether or not there is a war, it is ludicrous and shameful, in this day and age, that two of our Border Realms are virtually unknown to the Empire.  We are the most progressive Realm there is; it is time we look outside ourselves to the bigger world.”

His face rippled with scorn. 
“We are the Empire.  We do not need other Realms to validate our existence.”

Several violent options of how she could remove that smirk
from his face flitted through her mind.  She turned away from him, releasing some fury as she walked absently around the end of the table, finger tracing a figurine she didn’t even see. 

“
Tell me,” she said casually, as if changing the subject.  “What percentage of our trade revenue is from the Rach?”

He frowned, supercilious smile vanishing.  They were both well aware the number hovered distressingly near zero.
“They’re Rach,” he said disdainfully, but he watched her closely.  His political background had not been in economics, but trade and commerce figured prominently in pretty much every Imperial profession.

“
One
of those horses would bring enough tirna to line a whole street with gaslights,” she said quietly.  “Do you know how many full-blooded Aerachs there are in the North?  Almost none.  No one can afford them.  What if we opened up that trade artery, provided a supply for all that demand?”  He watched her with deceptive disinterest, listening closely.  “The Rach can run bigger herds of cattle by leagues than any place in the North—we could have beefsteak for tirnal.  And I’m not even touching on copper.  Cobalt.  Coral.  Glass.  Exotic fruits.”  She leaned toward him seductively, “Salt.”

His eyes sharpened and s
he knew she had him with that.  Merrani, who had a monopoly on salt, had just cheekily raised their prices by a third.  The North was in uproar.  He was definitely swayed, though obviously wary of appearing to be swayed.  Pride warred with avarice in an ill-concealed little storm across his patrician features.

Unfortunately, at just this tender moment, the Queens
guard at sentry outside ducked his head in and said, “General Androssan, your Majesty.” 

She held up a finger—have him wait one moment—an
d with a resigned sigh refocused on her Prime’s face, now clearly awash with fury.

“
You would go behind the Council’s back and command the General directly?!” he accused her in frothing anger.

“
I told you that is my intent.”  She faced him, and with poised dishonesty, said, “I know both of us, in the end, want what is best for the Empire.”  She doubted he’d ever thought of it, personally, but such was the way of Imperial councilmen.

“
Yes, and apparently someone must represent the common man—” that was one of their favorite political slogans “—of that Empire while you wish to go running off in chase of shadows of threat through lands of make-believe!  We have issues at HOME that require our attention!”

“
If there is a war, there may not be a home, for we cannot protect it.”  Her words fell like icicles into the sudden heat of the discussion; he stared at her, incredulous.  “And how well do you think the
common man
will take it, to know that the Council refused to even consider protecting the Empire—whether there is war or not?  Play this carefully, Channing,” she lowered her voice to an insulting whisper, dropping all pretense for a moment.  “Council members are elected.  Queens are not.”

He just stared at her, nostrils flaring white with
fury.  Then with a sharp dip of his head that would probably have his neck hurting later, he pivoted on his heel and stalked out.

He passed General Androssan on his way, swishing his robes away from him so disgustedly that it made the General feel
vaguely diseased.  He hated politics, but he was no stranger to it.  In his experience, the Council were moody as women. 

Sable summoned him in,
feeling her shoulder muscles loosen just at the sight of him.  They’d had little to do with each other in Archemounte, but on the trip down they’d exchanged enough talk that she realized he had a keen mind, despite being in the military, a refreshing sense of the ridiculous, and a novel horror of bureaucrats.  He was also handsome, well-built, and marked by the athletic grace of the active man.  If he hadn’t been married with a couple of children, he probably would have been high on her List.

The General, for his part, greeted her warm smile formally and thought wryly that someone should tell her to donate that dress to the poor.  It made her look
like a teenager, even with her dark hair up and the tiara of state winking importantly from its nest of curls.

“
I apologize for neglecting you,” she began, referring to a promise on the trip down.  “I would much rather have had you as my Council these past few days.”

“
I am sorry to hear there’s friction, Majesty.”

“
Are you?” she asked dryly, hardly expecting such platitudes from his normally refreshing bluntness.

“
Not really.”  Her dimples flashed and he heaved an internal sigh, striving like any professional man to stay clear-thinking and detached in the face of feminine loveliness.  “You wished to see me, Your Majesty?”

With her normal, much safer, composure, she said instantly,
“I did.  Before we part, I wish to hear your feedback from this Kingsmeet, your thoughts and impressions.”

She was quite serious, looking expectantly up into his face, and he felt a thrill of professional pride
over that so casual request—under the current Council, his presence and advice were rarely—read never—requested, and his
impressions
?  What a laughable thought.

Warming considerably, he said,
“Your Majesty, I will tell you that we are the ONLY Realm that does not see war as inevitable, and I don’t mean skirmishing along the Borders, but the real thing, threatening even the Empire.”  He was unprepared for her quick nod, as if she’d already thought about it.

“
All the members of the foreign forces I spoke with are concerned only about the details of what they see as certain engagement.  The Cyrrhideans are concerned with the ‘when,’ the Rach with the form it will take…the Merranics, of course, just that they get their fair share of the fighting.”  They shared sardonic looks of perfect sympathy.

She didn
’t stop him, so he gamely continued, hardly daring to believe his luck.  “There was unprecedented opportunity to speak with the other warleaders.  Cyrrh’s Lord Regent—that’s their commander of forces—was only here for a morning, but he is exactly the tough, dependable, knowledgeable kind of leader the North can work with.  The Sentinalier was also not here…but the Sky Captain was.  A, um, fascinating discussion.”

Her eyes danced. 
“Whatever did you all talk about?  Gryphon patrols?  The use of air cavalry?”

He smiled ruefully, charmed in spite of himself at her winsomeness.  She was never like this around her own courtiers. 
“I…have much to learn about the Cyrrhidean Forces.”  Wiping the smile off his face with military precision, he said quietly, “The Foxlord was here as well.  Cyrrh is alive with foreboding.”  He was pleased to see her face still into alertness and surprised that she had the patience to listen to war talk without interrupting.  Most women didn’t.  “Jag scouts have picked up significant activity along the Tamarisks…there have been Enemy all the way up in the
Swamps—
not just selling the odd slave, but conducting business.” 

This was not the traditional view of Enemy activity, but she said with a game attempt at objectivity,
“Well, Enemy transacting business is an indication they ARE transitioning to a peaceful nation.”

“
Fox that were sent to corroborate the Scouts’ reports…think their business has been mostly with the Asps.”  They looked at each other gravely. 

“
Hiring spies…” she murmured, more disturbed than she let show.  It sent shivers down her back, after the past few days of clarification on exactly what the Enemy had once been to the Realms.  It was like knowing you were going to bed in a mattress laden with lice—you could feel them crawling all over you before you ever lay down.

“
They wouldn’t be above it.  Even for mercenaries, they haven’t shown themselves to be particularly overburdened with honor.”

To get her mind off
the chilling implications, she asked, “What was Cyrrh doing so far south?”  The Tamarisks were the western border of the Sheel, far outside the Realms.

“
More than scouting.  The Foxlord had sent several of his own men down…searching for the ’Shard.  He agrees with Rach Kyr; he’s pretty sure they’ve found the Enemy road to Zkag.  The Rach are seriously excited—there were three Shagreen up for the ’Meet and every one of them was lit up like a torch at Winterfest just at the thought of it.  It won’t be long before they mount an invasion force, mark my word.”

Her
slender eyebrows rose in amusement at such impulsiveness, but she said, “I didn’t think Shagreen ever left the Ramparts.”

“
They don’t, as a rule.  It’s a testimony to how quiet the Sheel’s been.  Restless, they are.  And fierce as bloodhawks—the better relations we have with them, the better.”

She looked pleased.
“My thoughts exactly.  So, General, your overall impression after this multicultural bombardment of military perspectives?”