Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [175]
“An occupational hazard of my lessons, my lady,” Randur offered, and smiled and bowed deeply before stepping aside to let the sisters talk alone.
The Empress leaned closer to her sibling. “You seem rather tender toward each other, the two of you. Are you sure—?”
“Would it be a problem?” Eir interrupted.
“Well, there are a dozen suitable capital owners asking for your hand. It is encouraged to secure progress in our territories … We do have duties, I think—”
“Let’s not talk about that now,” Eir said. “Please.”
Rika eyed her carefully.
Eir changed the subject. “You seem to have quite a crowd of councilors following you.” She indicated the men behind Rika.
“Yes, I feel I’ve begun to win them over to my way of thinking.”
A thoughtful silence fell between them. Eir could not help thinking again of the refugees and those suffering Caveside. This was Randur’s doing, this change of perspective, and how different the world now seemed.
They separated and the evening rolled on toward the dance competition. The band began to build up the anticipation, and then the music stopped abruptly.
A sudden gasp from the crowd.
Whispers fluttered all around her.
A troop of soldiers had marched into the ballroom at its far end. Eir gripped Randur’s arm nervously. What could possibly warrant such an intrusion? A dozen of the city guard approached her sister, surrounding her.
From behind these armed men, Chancellor Urtica himself emerged, dressed in his full Council regalia. He strolled toward the front of the ballroom where the band leader stood, fuming indignantly.
The chancellor waved him away, turning to face the crowd of dignitaries.
“Ladies and gentlemen, my apologies for the disruption,” Urtica began, projecting his voice to the far corners of the room, “but I bring grave news. I regret that I must take Empress Jamur Rika and her sister into immediate custody.”
He then paused, as if he was an actor on stage, for further attention, and was greeted with a hushed confusion, as faces tilted toward Eir. The whole scene became a blur of disconnected images.
Urtica said, “I have a document signed by both the Empress and her sister the Stewardess authorizing a mass execution of the refugees now encamped outside our gate.”
Several men advanced demanding explanations for the intrusion. Rows broke out, and the chancellor urged his military heavies forward.
Urtica palmed the air, remaining quite calm. “In an emergency meeting of the Council late last night, it became apparent that substantial evidence was building to prove the incident had been arranged by her—four witnesses in the Council, to name only a few. We could none of us stand by such a slaughter of the Empire’s citizens, no matter how dire the current predicament. The Council has decided that the Empress should be removed from office, pending trial—a precautionary measure. We merely wish to escort them to more comfortable surroundings for further questioning on the matter.”
Shocked, Eir glanced over at Rika, who was staring calmly at the chancellor, a couple of soldiers gently but firmly holding her arms. If the Empress felt any fear, she was not prepared to show it.
Eir looked up at Randur beside her. “It isn’t true …”
“I know,” he said, bringing her closer to him as several of the soldiers approached them.
“Stay away from her,” Randur demanded, holding out his palm to deter them. There was a further disturbance behind as a few of the other guests attempted to help the Empress, but the soldiers restrained them, smacking faces and breaking fingers. They weren’t messing around.
“Stand aside,” growled one of the men, pulling at the arm with which Randur held her.
“Leave her the fuck alone!” Randur threw a punch at one of the men, connecting with his jaw.
“Please, stop!” Eir shrieked in alarm.
Two other soldiers grabbed both of Randur’s arms, while a third set to work striking him repeatedly in the stomach, with swift and low and focused punches. When they finally released him, he collapsed to the floor, groaning. Another soldier kicked