A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (54 page)

He gestured airily. “Sit down. Please.”

She looked at the chair, then across at the duke. He picked up the bottle, leaned forward and filled the glass before the empty chair. Cautiously, she seated herself, settling back into the chair, warily watching Ahasz.

“Well?” she demanded.

“Try the wine. I think you’ll like it.” He sat back. “And there’s no need for rudeness.”

“Forgive me if I don’t look upon you as a friend.” Nonetheless, she reached for the wine and took a small sip. It was, as Ahasz had, of the type she found most appealing—a rich ruby red in colour, redolent of dark berries and with a spicy aftertaste.

Ahasz snorted at her expression. “I have supplies shipped in on the railway,” he explained.

“And the Palace?”

“I should hope they’re drinking vinegar by now.” He took a deep mouthful from his own glass. “Would you have come back if I’d let you leave?”

“Probably not,” Finesz admitted. “But you let the others go.”

“They’re inbred nincompoops. They wouldn’t dare not return.”

Finesz agreed with his assessment, but she gave no sign of it. “I think I should be flattered,” she said.

“Doubly so.”

She raised an eyebrow coquettishly and took another sip of wine.

Abruptly, her behaviour caused her to bark a laugh. Flirting with the duke! In this of all places; and now of all times.

Sobering, she asked, “I should?”

Ahasz gave a tight smile. “I don’t as a rule invite my prisoners to join me over a glass of wine.”

“And why have you? I should have you know I don’t believe in battlefield romances.”

Now the duke laughed. “I’m sorry I never met you when you were at Court.”

“As I heard it, your heart was given to another.”

Ahasz did not reply. Finesz wondered if that had been a quip too far. He’d asked for Princess Flavia’s hand in marriage and she had refused him. And now she was en route to Shuto to fight him. A person with no knowledge of the clones might think this war nothing more than revenge.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said at length. “I brought you out here to talk.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Tell me what’s going on out there, what they say about my siege, about me. I know you move in high circles, for all your relatively low rank.”

In the light of day, the duke appeared older than Finesz had imagined—drawn, haggard. His jacket’s frogging was encrusted with dirt, and one epaulet torn. It was strange, she reflected, to see a high noble in such a state of dishevelment. They had always to her seemed a breed apart, with their pampered looks and finery. While she had striven for that effect, they had made it appear a natural consequence of good breeding.

As if reading her thoughts, Ahasz said, “I do vaguely recall you at Court. Did we ever meet?”

“No, your grace.” Impishly, she added, “Not for want of trying on my part.”

“Then your subtlety does you credit—I never knew.” He leant back in his chair and peered at her over the rim of his wine glass. “But you were very good at that, I understand.”

He’d had her investigated. It came as no surprise—she would have done the same—but she disliked the sudden vulnerability she felt. She hid it in her own glass, gazing down into the dark liquid and focusing on her warped and undulating reflection.

“Come, come,” he chided. “I didn’t mean to offend. If you’d rather I didn’t mention those years, then I shall not do so.”

He thought her embarrassed.

“What would you like to know?” she asked, looking up and fixing the duke with a level gaze.

“Whatever you see fit to tell me. How is the world outside reacting to my siege?”

“You’ve not left the District since it started?”

Ahasz laughed. “I am safest here, inspector. Who knows who would try to save the Emperor if they saw me out and about in Toshi?”

It was a valid point. Nobles were liable to take matters into their own hands, particularly if they benefited. The irony of it—that Ahasz himself had done exactly that; against the Emperor! She took another sip of her wine as she considered her reply.

“Life,” she at length, “carries on as it did before. No one out there seems at all bothered by what you’re doing. It’s business as usual.”

“No one?” Ahasz leant forward intently. “Nothing has been said in Congress?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Finesz gave a shrug. “They’re waiting to see what happens.”

“Do they expect me to win? Or —” He gestured dismissively in the direction of the defaced Imperial Palace.

“I shouldn’t think it matters much to them.” She held up a hand, reconsidering her statement. “No, that’s not true. If you had won quickly, then perhaps they might have done something. But now? Now, they expect you to fail, I think. They don’t understand how you could afford such a long siege.”

“I can afford it a damn sight more than the Emperor can!” Ahasz slung back the last of his wine, and then grabbed fiercely for the bottle and sloshed more liquid into his glass. “It’s costing me crowns, this escapade, but I’ll not be beggared when it’s done. The Throne’s already a pauper.”

Finesz laughed.

“You think I jest? Not at all. The Imperial coffers have been empty since the Pacification Campaigns. The Throne is permanently in debt.”

“But…? How?”

“The Admiralty grabbed the Throne’s riches to fund the Pacification Campaigns. Since then, it’s been getting by on Tithe and hand-outs from the Electorate. And
they
make sure there’s just enough to pay the bills.”

“But the Emperor is rich,” protested Finesz. “All those pageants and assemblies! The Imperial Palace itself!”

“Oh, there’s been a lot spent, but there are no reserves. Willim has his family fortune—that’s not been touched. But I’ll wager that doesn’t match mine, or any of the top families. The Mishuans have double my fortune and they could buy the Shutans ten times over.”

“So you were never after the Throne’s riches?”

She had disappointed him. “Please, don’t be so foolish,” he said. He waved away Finesz’s question and returned to the subject at hand: “Do you know when she will arrive?”

There was no mistaking to whom he referred.

“A matter of days, I expect. I wasted a lot of time getting here from Linna.” She shrugged. “Assuming she won at Geneza, of course.”

“She did,” confirmed the duke.

Finesz wondered how he knew… and then remembered Ormuz’s strange ability. Of course, Ahasz would have it too. But… He had not left the Imperial Household District since the siege had begun.

How could he have visited the nomosphe
re?

The next day, a Vonshuan militia officer fetched Finesz once again. This time, she was led across the garrison to the corner nearest the Imperial Palace, and told to climb the staircase to the battlements. At the top of the wall, she found the Duke of Ahasz gazing out of an embrasure, his hands on the merlons to either side. Finesz stepped up to him and saw his vantage point gave him an excellent view of the trench system he’d had built along Palace Road.

“Made quite a mess of it, haven’t you,” she said.

Ahasz spoke without turning. “The Palace?”

“All of it: the Palace, the gardens, the Road.”

A cannon in the Palace fired. Its bolt of directed-energy hit to the rear of the trenches, throwing up a cloud of dirt and smoke. One of the duke’s basilisks responded: it rushed forwards, a foot above the churned mud and craters, loosed of a bolt of its own and just as quickly retreated. A piece of the Palace’s facade exploded, raining stone down on the remains of the entrance portico.

“It’s going to cost a fortune to rebuild,” Finesz said.

“My fortune will cover it.”

“You still expect to win?”

Ahasz stepped back from the embrasure and turned about. He folded his arms across his chest and gazed sadly at the inspector. “No, I think not. But neither do I expect to survive.”

“I don’t understand.” Did he, Finesz wondered, intend to commit suicide? There was precedent…

“My estate will be sequestered by the Throne.” He gestured contemptuously. “Willim is not going to pay for this out of his own pocket if he can help it.”

“What about Casimir?” Finesz asked. Surely Ormuz was the duke’s heir? And he’d fought
for
the Emperor.

“Who? Oh, you mean the clone. He’ll get nothing.”

“But he’s you.” She shrugged a shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“He’s a prole, Sliva —” He raised an eyebrow, as if asking her permission to be so familiar. “He’ll be lucky if he’s not tried for arrogation.”

Finesz shook her head. “No, the Admiral will protect him.”

For one long moment, Ahasz peered at Finesz, his features blank. Abruptly, he laugh. He turned from her, put a hand back on the merlon and laughed. “No,” he said. “No.”

“No? ‘No’ what?” Had the man gone mad? What was wrong him?

He turned back to her. “She’s fallen for him, has she? Has that cold heart thawed?”

“Well, I wouldn’t quite put it that way but…”

Still chuckling, the duke began to walk along the battlement, away from the tower on the corner. Finesz joined him and, side by side, they strolled along the wall. There was a railing beside her and she ran a hand along its banister, grateful for its presence. She had no desire to stumble and fall thirty feet to the ground.

“How long has it been going on?” Ahasz asked.

“Since they met. On Linna.”

“She won’t protect him, you know.” Ahasz glanced searchingly at her.

“Why not?”

“She’s a better… Shutan than her father. Much better than her idiot brother, Hubret. If Willim had any sense, he’d make her his heir.”

“He still might.”

Ahasz shook his head. “No. The Electorate won’t let him. They want Hubret to succeed because they think they’ll be able to control him. More so perhaps than they have Willim.”

Despite her years at Imperial Court, all of this was new to Finesz. She knew a great deal about many important nobles—from gossip, pillow talk, indiscrete remarks overheard—but little of it had pertained to the
real
government of the Empire.

“But they wouldn’t be able to control you?” She had phrased it as a question, but knew it to be a statement of fact. Ahasz was not a man easily controlled. As his rebellion had shown.

“No.”

“Shouldn’t the civil government act as a check to the regnal government?”

“You’re being disingenuous, Sliva. You know as well as I that the entire edifice is riddled with corruption. Nowhere is immune. Except, perhaps, the Martial Orders.”

“You think they might be corrupt?” Finesz was shocked. The Orders’ incorruptiblity was legendary.

“Let’s say I think they may be pursuing their own agenda.”

That prompted a laugh from Finesz. She had known immediately who Ahasz meant. “The Involutes.”

“Among others.”

“Before I came here I found out that Gyome is an Involute,” she told Ahasz. And wondered why she had revealed it.

“Gyome? Ah, Norioko.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t surprise me. He could not have amassed so much power without some help.”

True, Norioko’s father had been a nobody on a minor world. He did not have Ahasz’s advantage: a noble heritage stretching back to pre-starflight days on Geneza.

“I suspect,” Finesz said, “my career might be over.”

Ahasz glanced at her sharply. “You’re safe enough here. I’ll not have you harmed.”

“I meant afterwards.”

“Ah. Of course. Now you know Norioko’s secret.” He snorted in amusement. “Perhaps he’ll invite you to join his Order.”

“I’d refuse.”

Ahasz raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. May I ask why?”

“Because then I’d be as bad as he is.”

The duke chuckled. He stopped and turned to gaze out over the battlements. “But the alternative is, well,
this
.” He put out a hand to indicate the ruined Imperial Household District. “And I don’t see you being quite so… destructive.”

“No, I’d have preferred more subtle approach, I think,” she replied lightly, and grinned.

“Ha! Indeed.” He dropped his head and spoke, his voice sober, “This will be over soon enough. What happens next will…” He sighed.

“Your grace.” Finesz reached out a hand touched the duke’s shoulder. “It’s perverse of me, but I find I’m glad you took me prisoner.”

He nodded. “Perhaps under better circumstances we might have become friends.”

“Had we met while I was at Imperial Court, that wouldn’t have been my intent.”

He laughed. “That too might have been fun.”

“You’d have been my best catch, certainly.”

“Yes.” He turned to her, gazed at her silently for a long moment, and then abruptly sketched an abbreviated bow. “We shall probably not meet again.”

“You’ve had news of the Admiral?”

“No, but I must prepare for her arrival.” He stepped to the railing, looked down, and then waved at a figure below. “Lieutenant Alak has a couple of bottles of wine. You may take them back to the stockade and enjoy them with your fellow inmates.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “They’re treating you well?”

She nodded. “Well enough. And thank you for the wine, your grace.”

He looked away and said flatly, “You may go now.”

Finesz walked back along the battlements to the corner-tower. A militia officer awaited her at the top of the stairs down to the ground. He carried a pair of wine bottles and so must be Alak. She nodded as she passed him and descended the stairs. Halfway down the flight, she stopped and looked back. The militia officer had followed her, but she gazed past him at the duke. Ahasz remained at the railing. He stood there, his hands to the banister, gazing off across the garrison.

He was not, she had to admit, the man she had imagined him to be. Urbane, yes. Supremely confident. The product of centuries of breeding. But she had not expected him to be so thoughtful or considerate. This campaign of his had not been driven by a desire for power—in fact, she could not quite determine his motives. One moment, he seemed to genuinely want the Imperial Throne; the very next, he behaved as if his failure had been planned from the beginning.

And his voice when he spoke of the Admiral, Imperial Princess Flavia umar Shutan. She had heard the wistfulness in it, had heard the never-healed wound. She did not doubt that he loved her still. Yet he had expected her to oppose him, expected her to defeat him.