Hol Saro, 9th of Fourthmoon 3045
Night had already fallen and the hours stretched well past midnight when Ren’i returned to his rooms and sent his Guards to rest. The initial interrogations and talks with eye witnesses had taken all night, and there weren’t many leads. Ren’i cursed quietly while unbuttoning his tunic. He didn’t dare disturb Ruan at such a late hour, though he knew that hardly anyone within the palace walls was asleep following the shock of the incident. The coming days were likely to prove long and unpleasant, and he wanted his servants to be as well-rested as possible, because he was unlikely to have that luxury himself.
He washed the makeup off his face, tied his hair on a loose ponytail and pulled a clean, long-sleeved shirt over his undershirt. He knew he must have been more tired than he thought, but adrenaline was still churning in his veins after the day’s excitement, and there was no hope of sleep. After some consideration he unclasped the belt on his hips and left it, along with his sword, on the chair with the rest of his equipment.
He dug out his old first-knife from the wardrobe and attached it to his thigh with a narrow belt, resembling the style the youths at the maturity ritual had worn just some hours prior. The scabbard was already worn and covered in scratches, but Ren’i had taken good care of it and sharpened the blade regularly. It was one of the first routines the army had instilled in him when he’d joined the forces at the age of 26; always keep yourself and your tools in working order.
Ren’i tried the edge of the blade with a fingertip and chuckled. He’d commit no acts of heroism with it, but it was sharp and felt comfortably heavy in his hand. He stuffed it back in the sheathe and left the bedroom.
The palace was silent during the hours of the night. The lanterns in the garden burned with a small flame, casting a bleak glow on saplings nodding in the flowerbeds and the budding trees freshly awakened to the approaching spring. Ren’i’s steps made scraping sounds in the sand as he headed through the central gardens towards the empress’s private rooms. He purposely allowed his movements make noise without trying to muffle his steps, as he’d been taught to do as a soldier. Though he didn’t run into a single soul he knew the empress’s bodyguards kept an incessant eye on everyone moving in the area from the citadel’s windows, towers and nearby rooms.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second and sent out a gentle, probing thought. Six, no, seven on the balconies, two in the garden, the rest behind closed doors and windows in the rooms adjacent to the gardens. There was no light coming from the empress’s private servants’ room, but Ren’i could feel that some of them were still awake. He jumped as he felt another consciousness brushing against his own. His hand was already on the hilt of the knife when he recognised the touch; it was Ellerram herself.
The doors to the empress’s apartments were guarded around the clock. The guards pushed the doors open upon seeing Ren’i approach, bowing lightly. Ren’i nodded to them in passing and marched in.
The gaunt corridor was dimly lit with wooden lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Various minerals had been mixed with the oil, creating flames in different colours – red flames marked the way leading to the empress’s personal drawing room. Ren’i thought he heard faint music and singing, both of which came to an end as he drew closer. He knocked on the door three times and stepped back to wait.
”Come on in, Ren’i,” Ellerram’s voice answered.
Ren’i opened the door and stepped in. To his surprise Ellerram wasn’t alone. Nahere was sitting with her on the floor beside a low Liqari style table, surrounded by cushions. Nahere had exchanged her festive outfit for a wine-red palace dress. Her ornamental tattoos could be seen throught the translucent left sleeve. A steaming porcelain pot and mugs stood on the table. Nahere stood up, took her kantele and bowed to the empress.
”I’ll leave you two alone. Good night, your majesty.”
Ellerram smiled and lifted a mug to her lips. ”Thanks for your company, my lady.”
Nahere glanced at Ren’i and flashed him a tired smile. She slipped her feet in the shoes waiting by the door and left before he’d had the chance to close it, taking quick strides towards the central garden.
”Shut the door and sit down,” Ellerram said. She’d wrapped a woollen scarf around her shoulders. ”It gets so chilly here at night.”
Ren’i left his boots in the same spot that had just been vacated by Nahere’s shoes a second ago and took a seat by the table across from his aunt. She quirked her eyebrows meaningfully.
”Nothing unusual has been found so far,” Ren’i answered the wordless question. ”My soldiers will be continuing the interrogations tomorrow. The firework masters knew nothing about it, and I saw no signs that they’re trying to hide something. They’ve all been in the imperial house’s employ for decades. Their apprentices have been reached and all recent arrivals will be searched with utmost care. We’ll perform a thorough background check on each of them.”
”And the assailant?”
The corners of Ren’i’s mouth twitched. ”Dead.”
”Suicide?”
He sighed and shook his head. ”No, it was our own fault. My soldiers were unnecessarily rough when apprehending them.” He smacked his fist against his knee out of sheer frustration. ”I reprimanded them thoroughly, but the worst had already happened.”
”You’ve said yourself that sometimes deploying harsher measures is necessary,” Ellerram pointed out, pouring herself a new drink.
”Never without a good reason. Only if nothing else helps.” Ren’i had personally spoken with the performers and some of the spectators, and had witnessed the fear in their eyes, not only of the assault, but also of his legions. Many had borne bruises in visible places; just as many had been unwilling to talk with soldiers present. ”If no other connections are found, how will we ever find out if someone had sent them, or if this was the act of an independent terrorist?”
”Were they taivashi? Mereshi?”
”Half-blood. Of asari heritage.”
Ellerram was quiet for a moment. ”So there are still insurgents in the city, just as I’d suspected.”
”We can’t know that for sure. Althought,” Ren’i added in exhausted tones, ”I suppose it would be naive to assume the incidents aren’t somehow connected.”
”Should we declare a curfew in the city while the investigations are on-going?”
”That would be an overkill. There are rebel bases in other cities, too, and frightening our citizens only serves to assist the rebels. The atmosphere is already tense enough as it is.”
”Then what would you suggest?”
”The people need a strong, visible leader to stand by their side. They have to know that the royal house endures and won’t bend under pressure.”
Ellerram looked amused. ”Your father didn’t agree. He suggested that half-bloods and empty-bloods be granted the right to an imperial audience, and the right to place their own representatives in the senate.”
Ren’i nearly dropped his cup. Hot chocolate spilled on the table and left stains in his trousers. ”He what?”
”I thought you might not share his views on the matter.”
”Did dad really say something like that?”
”I don’t know why you’re surprised. As a senator he sees the people’s needs in a different light than we do.” Ellerram chuckled. ”Not that he’s entirely in the wrong. It may be wise to consider some gestures of good faith. Regardless of heritage we all need the same things: the feeling that we’re valued and needed. That we’re all part of the same whole, despite our differences.”
Silence had fallen in the room. Ren’i remembered the tense looks on his father’s and Chuja’s faces, and understood at last what the matter was. Oerei had been trying to appeal to the senate for the better part of the past few years, urging them to listen to the rebels’ demands with little success. Chuja did not participate in politics like he did, nor did he sit in the senate, but Ren’i knew very well what his opinions were.
”Perhaps the army could be the answer,” Ren’i said slowly. ”Nullify the demand for demon blood. Give the empty-blooded the right to serve in the military, and to serve their country by our side.”
”A suggestion that could be taken as treason coming from anyone else.”
”A soldier has conviction and purpose. One who feels they’re important to their country is proud to serve it, and the path from pride to devotion isn’t long.”
Ellerram fixed him a searching look. A long moment passed, but Ren’i did not avert his eyes, though he felt his heart thrumming nervously in his chest, and finally his aunt smiled.
”You’re not afraid of me. That is good.” Ellerram placed her empty cup back on the table. ”I told you this because I wanted your honest opinion. It’s not appropriate for the ruling empress and her commander-in-chief to not be able to be frank with one another.” She crossed her arms. ”The suggestion is daring, but worth considering. I’ll speak with the senate myself tomorrow and give my recommendations, but the amendment will be made in your name. The gesture has more impact with the commander-in-chief’s authority behind it. I trust that you can keep the situation under control.”
Her tone was amicable, but Ren’i had been a soldier long enough to recognise an order when he was given one. He bowed towards his aunt, both arms crossed over his chest formally.
Ellerram placed her hand on his. ”All right, enough with the politics. Take some hot chocolate. It’s still warm.”
Ren’i sighed again, but poured himsef a cup anyway. There was something soothing in the sweetness of the drink, and for a time he and Ellerram just gazed out the window into the night-time garden. There were moths flocking above the pond. Every now and then the surface rippled as a moth flew too close to the light reflected from the water.
Ellerram adjusted the scarf and pulled it more tightly around herself. She was wearing nothing but a simple dressing gown, and her hair was collected to a messy bun at the back of her neck. Without her jewelry and makeup she looked quite ordinary, though one look at her posture told him that she’d grown up in the military, just the same as Ren’i had.
It was during moments like these that Ren’i could only see her as his aunt, the very same who’d once upon a time dangled him on her knee and read him fairytales while Oerei had been away from the palace.
Perhaps Ellerram was reminiscing about the same thing, for she said in thoughtful tones, ”you really have grown. It wasn’t so very long ago that little Ren’i returned crying from his games with his hands bruised and begged to be held in the safety of my arms.” She stirred the hot chocolate with a spoon, eyes still on the garden. ”Now that same boy has become a lion and is sitting right there, ready to march under my flag.”
Ren’i felt a rush of embarrassment. ”Come on. I’ll be celebrating my first century in just two years’ time.”
Ellerram huffed a laugh. ”Your grandfather treated me, your father and Chuja like a bunch of brats even when we were all your age. You’ll always be little Ren-Ren to me, whether you want it or not.”
Ren’i decided to switch subjects. ”So what was it that you wanted to talk about earlier?”
”That can wait ’till morning. No more politics tonight, remember?”
”Okay, you’ve piqued my curiousity. It’s something very important, isn’t it?”
”You’re always so serious.” Ellerram leaned forwards and brushed a loose strand behind Ren’i’s ear. Of all members of the imperial family Ren’i resembled his aunt the most. They had the same red hair and the same green eyes as Ren’i’s grandfather had had. The thought soothed him sometimes, as if in confirmation of the blood ties between them. ”I was much the same when I was younger. I took my responsibilities seriously, perhaps too seriously. I wanted to be ready for my duty.”
”Even thought you weren’t…” Ren’i hesitated.
”Though I wasn’t the heir? Yes, even so. Mushar was frail for a full-blood ever since she was little, and in our position you learn to prepare for anything. Even the things you’d rather not think about.”
Ellerram got up and walked to the polished dresser. She pulled the top-most drawer open and lifted out an object wrapped in cloth. It turned out to be an oaken tiaram game box. Ellerram placed it on the table and sat back down. She opened it with ease, spread the game board between them and dealt the dice, four to each of them.
”I know you’re no more tired than I am. Let’s play.”
Ren’i shuffled the cards and divided them into two stacks. They set their pieces at the opposite ends of the board, threw dice to determine who’d start, and began to play. Ellerram had always been a good player, which didn’t surprise Ren’i in the slightest. No one survived on the Kishan throne without a good tactical eye, and Ren’i had learned the rules of both games, of tiaram and that of the throne, on his aunt’s lap. The most important rule of all was the same for both: every move could prove pivotal, and no card was so worthless that it served no purpose.
The first two games ended in Ellerram’s favour, the third one in Ren’i’s. The fourth was very nearly a draw, but Ellerram beat him to it during the final round. The victory of the fifth, on the other hand, was Ren’i’s only after four rounds.
”Your game improves the longer you play,” Ellerram pointed out. ”But you’re still much too kind to me. You have to be more aggressive, more daring. I made clear mistakes in the previous game that you could’ve abused. When you see the opponent making a mistake, attack. Don’t give them time to recover.”
Ren’i grinned despite himself. ”I thought we weren’t going to talk politics tonight.”
”You’re the next heir to the throne. Your entire existence is politics, whether you like it or not.”
The remaining hot chocolate in the pot had cooled at last, and there were bitter dregs left at the bottom. Ren’i willed himself to force them down his throat.
The morning dawned gray and rainy. He’d only returned to his rooms in the small hours of the night and his sleep had been cut shorter than usual. He could see his own exhaustion reflected from his soldiers, but didn’t let it show on his face. He focused on maintaining his posture straight and his expression smooth as he marched through the old town, guided by his Guards.
A wooden platform and a podium had been erected on the old square of Menushe. There were already soldiers decked out in their half-plate armour all around it. Though it was nearly noon, the merchants’ stalls stood empty but for a few exceptions, and the citizens who were present didn’t seem to be interested in shopping. They stood scattered around the square in small groups, faces somber as they watched the soldiers’ every move. They were some taivashi in the crowd, but one could already tell from the faces and the shapes of their ears that a majority of the old town’s population were human, asari, and others species known as the empty-blooded – mortals. Those who didn’t have a single drop of demon blood in their veins.
Ren’i let his gaze wander from one end of the square to the other. The windows of many surrounding buildings were open. Occasionally, he saw the curtains move and shadows shifting behind reflections. On the opposite wall there still stood a faded drawing of a flame, similar to what had been scribbled with coal on the cloth covering the assailant’s face. There were similar drawings still all around Hol Saro; the stains left by paint and soot had sunk into the stone so thoroughly that no detergent could wash them away entirely.
The metal cheek plates of his helmet were cold against his skin, and the rivulets from the drizzling rain made his breastplate gleam. He was grateful that Ruan had insisted he wear a cloak. It was a majestic red (and most of all warm) as it hung from his shoulders, taking the worst edge off the chill that persisted after the rain. He kept his hands visible the whole time, intentionally at a distance from the sword’s hilt, and felt the spectators’ eyes boring into his back. The atmosphere was expectant, as though Menushe itself had collectively held its breath after yesterday’s events.
The Guards took their places around him as he stepped behind the podium. He took his time looking around calmly, as if the tension had gone entirely unnoticed by him, and accepted a folded paper from Hamr. He opened it slowly, making sure that the imperial seal was clearly visible.
”On the orders of the ruby throne and Her Imperial Majesty, empress Ellerram the Fourth,” Ren’i read in a carrying voice, looking at the audience without blinking. He had no need for the spell Ellerram had used to raise her voice at the Spring Festival: the silence was so total that he could have heard a pin drop at the other end of the square. ”We have thus the great pleasure to declare that the pleas of imperial Kisha’s people have been heard. From this moment on the imperial army welcomes all new recruits who fulfill the physical requirements for service, regardless of their background or heritage.”
Some viewers started, blinking or looking at one another in surprise, but the reception wasn’t as eager as Ren’i had let himself hope for during the dim hours of the morning. He didn’t let it show and instead went on with the same, steady voice, keeping his gaze on the gathered citizens.
”Be they of taivashi or mereshi background, a human, akheri, merjil, asari or half-blood or anything else, starting today the imperial army welcomes every soul willing to serve in its ranks. Let us not let our differences be as obstacles for the greater good, but rather let us find that which unites us – our shared love for our country. In the name of the empress, Kisha and Quan’s blood, thus be it.”
Ren’i waited for the audience’s reaction. The silence was only broken by a couple of solitary claps, but even those ended almost as quickly as they’d begun when no one else joined in. The viewers stared at him blankly, and in the end Ren’i resigned himself to just handing the speech back to Hamr. He turned to step down from the podium when something came flying through the air. It hit the podium with a thud and Ren’i felt something soft, wet and foul-smelling splatter his face.
”Take your stupid declaration with you!” shouted a small and agitated voice from the crowd.
Everyone on the square froze, soldiers and spectators alike. Ren’i saw some of them citizens glancing around, searching for the culprit with their eyes. The earlier blank stares were gone: in their place was now terror. Windows on the upper floors clanged as the tenants rushed to close them.
Captain Hamr was the first to recover from his surprise.
”Who was it?” he roared, hand already reaching for his sword. ”Who the hell threw it? Step out!”
”Captain,” Sava hissed beside him. ”Highness, are you all right?”
Ren’i didn’t get to open his mouth before Hamr repeated the order. ”Step out, I say, or we’ll have everyone present searched!”
The viewers pulled further away from each other until there was only one figure standing in the empty space between them. Ren’i wanted to do a double-take when he saw a small asari child holding his ground stubbornly, one more rotten fruit held in his hands. Judging by his height he wasn’t even old enough for school yet, but he watched the soldiers and Ren’i defiantly, without an ounce of fear.
Ren’i hastened to get down from the platform and stepped in front of the captain, lifting his hands in an appeasing gesture.
”Put the sword away, captain. It was just a fruit, nothing more.” Ren’i conjured a handkerchief from the pocket in his cloak and dried his face. He gave the dirty handkerchief to Hamr without glancing at him and walked towards the child calmly. Those standing nearest pulled back instinctively. Ren’i knelt down in front of the child and asked calmly, ”was it you who threw that?”
The child stared at him quietly, then nodded. Ren’i extended a hand towards him.
”I think that’s enough fruit tossing for now. Could you perhaps let me take that?”
Many long seconds passed until the boy finally dropped the fruit on his palm. Ren’i did his best to give the child his most good-natured smile, which didn’t seem to leave much of an impression, for the boy’s expression didn’t soften one bit.
”Thank you,” Ren’i said. He stood up and stuffed the fruit in his pocket, disregarding the fact that it was sticky and smelled of rot.
”You’re the one they call Ironfist. Aren’t you?” the boy asked. He had a severe face, gray skin and very pale gray asari eyes, so pale that they appeared almost colourless. Small, sharp horns protruded from his temples among his dark hair.
”I am. That’s me.”
The boy nodded again. Then he spun around and sprinted into the crowd, vanishing from sight within moments. No one so much as glanced after him. All eyes were on Ren’i and the soldiers, and Ren’i knew that he was one small mistake away from having another riot in his hands. He turned and directed his words at the captain, who was still glaring at the citizens with open suspicion.
”We’ve disturbed the merchants’ day enough already. We’re returning to the palace – right away.”
The streets were crowded and not all passersby bothered to make way for them. Ren’i barely noticed it. He was used to people not giving way or even shoving him as they passed, no matter where he went, whether he was alone or surrounded by guards. He heard Hamr grumbling something to himself as he walked, but couldn’t be bothered to lend an ear, instead letting his eyes take in their surroundings, thinking longingly of a hot bath and a long nap, neither of which he was going to get.
The crowd thinned for a moment and he caught a glimpse of something at the corner of his eye, something unpleasantly familiar, and he stopped as if he’d walked into a wall, heart racing like mad. Hamr didn’t notice quickly enough and slammed into his back.
Hamr swore. ”Your highness, please! Do not stop like that out of nowhere!”
Ren’i paid him no mind. He could have sworn that he’d spied a sudden flash of light at the edge of his vision, but there was nothing there but a fruit stall with its lanterns doused. Its half-blood vendor was dosing on a stool with no customers to serve. The alley behind the stall was empty and its lanterns had gone out in the rain. Ren’i took a step towards it on mere instinct. One of the walls of the alley was emblazoned with a red flame pattern and a graffiti in crude letters, its paint still dripping.
Unleash the fire.
Ren’i ripped his eyes off the graffiti and continued walking without hearing the captain’s complaints.
He heard the locals whispering in half-concealed tones, not caring whether he could hear them or not. He’d never dared to care that he usually heard his nickname accompanied by curses, but the name had a much hollower ring to it coming from a child’s mouth. Ironfist. It spread in whispers around him like a forest fire, escorted by fearful stares, but all he saw with his mind’s eye were the asari boy’s stone-cold eyes.