Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [107]
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“I didn’t think so. What does an empire do? We extend ourselves, we acquire new territories. We take control there. We grow. We make progress. We seize the world for our people, and we give them additional wealth as a reward. You’re a military man, commander. I expect better of you than to doubt our purpose.”
“Bohr, we’ve not had a skirmish in years—except for that incident on Dalúk Point, of course. And the lack of military action has been a positive thing. We’ve found more diplomatic ways to establish relationships with tribes locally. You think I’ve risen to the top of my career by rearing to fight everything I come across?”
“Did it never occur to you that you’ve risen so far so quickly because you were adopted by a wealthy family? That’s how things work in Villjamur. I’d hoped for more from you, Commander Lathraea. There’s a population of some millions out there that it’s our responsibility to feed and nurture. We need to raise them from the squalor of their mud huts, and give them a better quality of existence. Your role isn’t that of politician, but as a guardian of the Empire. That now means going to Tineag’l, to prevent a bigger threat than even the Varltungs may prove.”
The chancellor had a valid point, even if Brynd didn’t trust him, wondering how much of what slipped off his tongue was sincere. There were far too many bizarre happenings recently to trust the politicians, and perhaps the recent cycles of the moons were affecting more than just the weather. Maybe they were creating some kind of insanity across the Boreal Archipelago, generating a subtle tension you couldn’t perceive exactly. And in the years to come, things would only get worse.
CHAPTER 24
JAMUR RIKA PERCHED ON THE WINDOWSILL STARING OUT ACROSS THE early morning snowflakes sifting through the air in thick flurries, collecting on the rooftops, on stationary carts, upturned barrels, walls. People were shuffling in and out of bleak streets and alleyways, avoiding the worst of it, miserable faces sheltering from the sky, only children looking up with glee, maybe not understanding what it meant.
She could breathe the tension even from up here.
All a necessary distraction, but she had to turn around and face her bed chamber eventually. It was so unfamiliarly full of luxuries that weren’t her own—not that she’d possessed many before anyway. Leading a life studying Astrid had meant little need for such accoutrements. Purple furnishings, numerous gold and silver objects that she had no idea how to use, that perhaps had no real use anyway. Over there was the white silk gown she must wear for her father’s burial in the crypts. Its layered silk was so much richer than the simple, black cotton she wore to sleep in.
And why should those refugees have to suffer when she enjoyed all this? She wanted to help them somehow, had already drawn up an idea to present to Chancellor Urtica at the earliest opportunity. To feed them, send aid, a food package from the city, from the new Empress. A positive move that would say she was trying her best. Even after only a brief moment back in Villjamur, it seemed as if the Council made all the decisions. But if she was going to insist on one thing it would be that.
Sleep hadn’t come easy. Innumerable criers had stalked the evening until late, announcing her father’s funeral to the echoing walls, their clear voices filtering through to her dreams, filling her slumber with visions of death and rebirth.
Rika felt trapped in a place that wasn’t home, with such great responsibility. Jorsalir training had at least given her the luxury of accepting her fate. Now she felt such a longing, but for some time she didn’t know what for. Perhaps she missed the remoteness of Southfjords, where there was little to occupy her mind except the daily texts, interrupted with a few thoughts of her sister. That those days could never be repeated made them all the more desirable. She must seek out a priestess in this alien city,