Chapter 3

Bright sunlight filled the Hai Lei palace gardens. Aromatic breezes off flowering aeleos plants drifted through towering yew trees that cut the light in sharp, shadowed pillars. Over the green here and there was a splash of yellow flower, an orange butterfly, a gray rabbit scrambling for cover. The paths were all neatly cut and trimmed, and green banners flew the Hai Lei crest at intervals along the way.

The past year had been a busy one. Trips to the Old Hai Krun, now called the Dain Province. Massive construction around all the cities, rebuilding hastily erected defensive walls--those walls spoke volumes about the times--into something more permanent and pleasing. Then seemingly endless paperwork: the house charter, the payments to veterans and widows, the new draft of government buildings and messengers, the proposed wedding.

The lord Iordan, fourth of his name, walked slowly through the garden, inhaling deeply. He was a proud man, tall and strong, and he bore his title well. There was a new air about him, a rippling sense of authority that shined in his royal blood, and on the planes of his noble face. Dressed in a loose grass-fiber tunic, a bright yellow cape draped off his shoulders, he held his hands clasped behind his back, eyes turned down on the spot his next step would land.

Beside him was a smaller figure, though one to eclipse his presence completely. The High Empress cut a striking image, the deep black of her robe an almost deliberate statement of power in the face of daylight. An ghostly grace followed her movements; some would argue that her walk alone would distinguish her from the decoy-bodyguards following discreetly behind. With her hood pulled back, the otherworldly black of her hair marked her definitively as the legendary traveler from the stars.

The pair seemed unlikely: bright yellow with silver blonde hair; black on black. Iordan chose the color of friendship; black was the color of the Empire, though he wondered whether she also chose the color of caution. It left the great lord uneasy. Those bodyguards were unnecessary; there would be no assassins in his own garden! And if there were, no one better than the Empress could protect herself.

Anna--her name was Anna. Strange that he found it so difficult to think of her in that light after only a year.

"Miliana," began Iordan at last. The silence before seemed uncomfortable long, now.

"Lady," said the Empress, correcting.

"But you're not married."

"And I never will be."

A beat. "Bearing a child does not change your title." Would she take this first hint?

"No? I am wife and mother surrogate to all my people. Do you deny this?"

"Of course not, my Lady." The hint was ignored; she forced him to play with words.

And how formal she was! Remote. Almost cold. Iordan turned his head to study her face for a long moment. He remembered that face, those strange brown eyes laughing in his hall--his father's hall--only a year ago. How she had changed. There was no laughter in those eyes now, nor enmity. Not empty. Unfathomable: that was a good description.

He continued: "You're looking well."

"And yourself."

"Not terrible?" he asked, remembering a playful exchange.

A smile. "Not as much."

He returned the smile. "I've heard news of your progress. You sound very busy."

"I am."

A long pause. Iordan frowned for a moment, forming his thought. "I meant to visit your city, but I've been busy..."

"You know my feelings on that," she interrupted.

"Yes, I know." The second attempt deflected.

The pair turned a corner and faced the sun. An old stone planter was set into the slight hill, with the engraving 'Iosoan pina eta al Psiolia' in old Saanish. Eternal love: it was a bitter thought in some regards. At twenty-five, the great lord was the only member of his family left alive. His father, his mother, his sister; all of them dead and burned. He looked away, not reading the inscription a second time.

Pain is the price of power.

Iordan spoke again at last. "You received my charter?" Something inconsequential; still circling.

"It's renewed." Those brown eyes studied him, waiting. "Did you think I'd do otherwise?"

"How have the other houses responded?"

"They've been open. For the most part."

"Have any of them rejected your new empire?"

"You mean rejected me? Not yet, but a few will."

A few quiet steps in silence. Two spotted butterflies crossed the path ahead in a lazy flutter. There were no goals or ambitions in the minds of butterflies. A tree; a shadow. Iordan marked how the Empress melted into the shadow as they walked. The glossy white of reflected highlights in her hair sank into a pale, shifting blue. It was like watching water freeze.