The Empress of Xytae Page 17

  It was not nearly as large, or as impressive, as Irianthe’s home had been. But that was to be expected, given Camillus and Sabina were hardly anyone of note. As she thought this, Vitaliya felt a bit guilty for her unkindness. But they did not hold a particularly prestigious title, and she wouldn’t have been shocked to find their situation far worse.

  The carriage arrived at the front of the villa where two of the baron’s guards approached. Before they could begin asking questions, Ioanna passed over a letter, signed and sealed by the Empress Mother Irianthe. One of the guards hurried off with it to inform his lord and lady, while the other nearly fell over his own feet to help Ioanna out of the carriage.

  Like Irianthe’s home, the baron’s villa featured a large central garden in front of the residential area. The remaining guard led them through it. Vitaliya glanced sideways at Ioanna and thought she seemed paler than usual. Vitaliya wanted to take her hand to comfort her, but such a gesture would probably not be appreciated at a time like this when Ioanna needed so much to appear strong.

  “Tell them about your blessing,” Vitaliya whispered to Ioanna. “I know you don’t want to, but it can only help you!”

  “There’s no need,” Ioanna murmured back, her eyes locked on the colorful tiles below their feet. “I can convince them without bringing it up.”

  Vitaliya silently cursed Ioanna’s parents. How had they managed to convince her that her blessing was shameful? It ought to have been impossible!

  Camillus and Sabina were about the same age as Vitaliya’s father, which was a little surprising because she’d been expecting them to be nearer to Irianthe’s age for some reason. Vitaliya could tell the pair were confused as they approached.

  “Crown Princess Ioanna?” Camillus said in disbelief. “Is it truly you?”

  “Yes. I have just come from my grandmother’s home. I expect you’ve heard the news from Xyuluthe,” said Ioanna.

  “We received word of your father’s death,” Sabina confirmed. “Please accept our condolences. Surely he is fighting in Vailyon now.”

  Ioanna did not respond to this. Instead she said, “Princess Netheia has driven me from Xyuluthe, hoping she will be crowned empress in my absence. I have found refuge with my grandmother, but I must return to the capital before the coronation. I anticipate resistance, though, and that is why I have come here.”

  Camillus and Sabina exchanged looks, and Vitaliya had a sinking feeling she knew what they were going to say.

  “We empathize with your situation, Crown Princess,” said Camillus carefully. “But Metis is struggling. The war has taken many of our residents. We cannot possibly contribute to a second army.”

  “I’m not asking for an army,” said Ioanna. “Nor do I intend to send anyone on a long campaign. I only need to get into Xyuluthe before the coronation to ensure my sister is not crowned. After that, all those who have supported me will be free to return to their homes. Furthermore, once I have secured the throne, it is my intention to bring our war against Masim to an end. Our forces will be ordered to withdraw from Aquiim and the Summer Strait completely.”

  Camillus and Sabina looked at each other again.

  “Tell me your concerns,” prompted Ioanna. “Do you believe I am lying?”

  “It’s a terrible risk you’re asking us to take,” said Camillus bluntly. “We’d be charged with treason if you fail. I won’t deny I want to see an end to the war—who doesn’t?”

  “Many don’t,” said Sabina dryly.

  “And many do,” Ioanna countered. “Their voices have not been allowed at court, but I’ve seen undeniable proof the war is doing far more harm than good. It is a war without reason, war for the sake of warfare. Even if the Masimi surrendered tomorrow, we would not gain back all we have lost. Regardless of what my father and his generals have claimed, this war has been waged for the veneration of Reygmadra. Any resources gained were only a secondary concern.”

  “We were unaware anyone at Xyuluthe felt this way,” said Sabina. “Least of all one of the princesses.”

  “The nature of my blessing has put me in the minority,” Ioanna explained. “I have never felt Reygmadra’s fury—it is foreign to me. My sister believes this makes me unsuitable for the crown. But I have always thought our empire is at its best when the Ten are venerated equally, none above any other.”

  “In that case, we certainly wish you good fortune,” said Camillus. “But we cannot grant you anything more. The risk to our family is too great.”

  “How much longer will you survive like this?” asked Vitaliya, speaking up for the first time. “Enessa didn’t care about your problems, and Netheia will be even worse. Times are already hard. How much longer before you go bankrupt and all your people starve to death?”

  Camillus and Sabina both stared at Vitaliya, obviously appalled by her rudeness. But Vitaliya regretted nothing, for someone had to ask these questions to remind them that ignoring reality wouldn’t work for too much longer.

  “She is not wrong,” Ioanna murmured. “But there is no shame in it. Many others are in the same position as you, and through no fault of your own. The war has even taken the priests of Eyvindr from our people. I find that unforgivable.”

  “Perhaps so, but do you truly believe you might have a chance to succeed?” Sabina seemed to be the more courageous, or perhaps simply the blunter of the two. “Xyuluthe is one of the most heavily defended cities on the continent, and you mean to fight your way up to the Imperial Palace with only whatever soldiers you manage to rally in the next few months? You’d be better off accepting your sister as empress.”

  “If that were the extent of my plan, then I would certainly agree with you,” said Ioanna. “But we are not working alone. My grandmother is in Xyuluthe already. She will convince my mother and sister there is no need to heighten security and turn as many as she can against Netheia in secret.”

  Vitaliya watched Camillus and Sabina’s faces carefully. Would the mention of Ioanna’s grandmother reassure them or only give them cause to worry?

  “My grandmother had words of her own for you, to ease your minds and perhaps help you in your decision,” added Ioanna. “It’s all in the letter I provided. I do not wish to pressure you into making a hasty choice. Perhaps we can discuss it in more detail after you’ve taken time to reflect on it. In the meantime…” Ioanna gestured to Vitaliya. “She would like to see to your fields. As a gesture of goodwill.”

  “Our fields?” Sabina repeated blankly.

  “I expect you’ve had a shortage of priests of Eyvindr?” prompted Ioanna.

  “I’m not a priestess—temple life never appealed to me—but I can still help,” Vitaliya explained. “If you haven’t started planting yet, I can still rejuvenate the soil. And if you have any orchards, I may be able to coax an extra harvest from them.”

  Both Camillus and Sabina looked skeptical, and Vitaliya did not think she blamed them. But Ioanna said, “You have my word that no harm will come to your fields. I only wish to offset the damage done by my family.”

  “We have one priest,” said Camillus. “In past years, we had more. When I was a child, there was an entire temple full of them. But they’ve been called away. First the priests, and then the acolytes too. It is too much work for one man, and we worry he may be exhausting himself.”

  “I will go to him immediately,” said Vitaliya, eager to prove herself. “He can direct me to the areas that need the most aid, and I’ll follow his instruction.”

  Part of Vitaliya had been expecting them to tell her it was too late, that she could go to him tomorrow. But Camillus nodded. “I will have one of our guards escort you to the temple,” he said. “If you are successful…” The implication of his words hung in the air, unsaid. Vitaliya’s magic would factor into their decision.

  She hadn’t been expecting her presence to be so crucial to their success but tried not to let her concern show on her face. If Ioanna could ask strangers to commit treason, then Vitaliya could raise a few plan
ts.

  The Temple of Eyvindr was located near the middle of town. It was large, fitting with Baron Camillus’s account of multiple priests and acolytes during his youth. And unlike many of the structures she’d seen during her time in Xytae, it was clean and well-kept as though the sole remaining priest harbored hope his colleagues might return any moment now.

  The guard that was sent along with her was one of the two who had met their carriage upon their arrival, and Vitaliya suspected they only had a handful of guards. Vel had either grown tired of the estate already or did not quite trust this mission because he also joined them.

  Both men lagged behind while Vitaliya approached the large double doors of the temple. She suddenly felt very impertinent, offering aid to a priest who was no doubt more learned and experienced than herself by a few decades, at the very least. She thought of the men who’d been brought to the palace to teach her, all of which had been at least as old as her father and as patient as the earth itself.

  “Hello?” called Vitaliya cautiously, pushing one of the doors open. “Is anyone in?”

  Inside the temple was just as clean as the exterior, but there was something cold and impersonal about it. Vitaliya had never been inside a Temple of Eyvindr that did not contain live plants and enormous basins of water and muddy footprints tracked across the floor. Even the Great Temple of Eyvindr in Bergavenna, where the archpriest lived, was prone to messes. Vitaliya had never minded this for it felt fitting given Eyvindr’s domain.

  This temple had large urns decorating corners and doorways. They may have once held plants, but now they were all empty. Vitaliya peered into the nearest one and saw the interior was perfectly clean, as though fresh from the potter’s shop.

  A few troughs lined the walls, and Vitaliya could see pipes that, presumably, had once fed water into them. But they were all dry.

  “Hello?” called Vitaliya again. She was just beginning to think that the very last thing Ioanna needed was for her to stumble upon the priest’s corpse when she heard a noise from above. She looked up at the low ceiling and realized there had to be a second floor to the temple—maybe a residential area?

  The noise was heavy like maybe someone was stumbling around. After a few minutes, a door that Vitaliya had not noticed before opened. A man dressed in the dirty clothes of a country farmer staggered in. In his hand was a crumpled green robe, the sort worn by priests of Eyvindr. His dark hair was messy, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

  “Oh, hello,” said Vitaliya. “I’m Floriana. Are you the priest here? I was sent by the baron.”

  “The baron?” The strange man blinked at her, obviously still disoriented. Had he been sleeping? “Why? What’s wrong? Is it the north fields?”

  “No, nothing’s the matter,” Vitaliya reassured him. “I’m here to help. Are—are you the priest?”

  The man nodded wearily. He was younger than she’d been expecting, probably not too much older than Vitaliya herself. For some reason, that was reassuring. If nothing else, he was likely to be less offended by the insinuation he couldn’t do his job properly.

  “I’ve—I’ve got some magic that can help in the fields. The baron said you were overworked. I hope you don’t mind?”

  “No. No.” The priest shook his head. “I’m sorry. He was right—I am overworked. I can use all the help I can get.”

  “We can come back in the morning if you need to rest,” said Vitaliya. She wasn’t going to deprive this poor man of sleep just because the baron wanted quick results. “I don’t want you to fall ill.” Or drop dead from exhaustion.

  “Just give me a moment,” he mumbled. “What was your name? Floriana? I’m Kaeso.”

  “Are you really tending all the fields here on your own?” That might be viable in a small town, but Metis obviously covered enough land that it needed multiple priests unless the sole remaining one was excessively powerful.

  “We’ve got some overwinter crops in the north fields, but most are empty, waiting for the spring planting,” said Kaeso. “That will be very soon. I’m trying to pour as much magic into them as I can to increase our yield, but I can only cover so much ground in one day before I run out of power. And I’m also needed to help with the tilling.”

  “Do you have any orchards?”

  “Yes, but those won’t be ready until summer. The fields are my priority now.”

  Vitaliya decided she’d leave the orchards for now. Maybe it could be a nice surprise for later. “Do you want me in the north or elsewhere?”

  “I’ve done all I can for the north fields. Best to work the empty ones before the planting. We’re not using all of them this year—not enough seeds, not enough hands. I’ll show you which ones.”

  “Vel, get the carriage,” said Vitaliya. “I’m not making this poor man walk all the way out to the fields again.”

  Kaeso pulled his robe on over his head. “West fields first. How long are you here for?”

  “I’m not sure, honestly,” admitted Vitaliya. “I just go where they tell me.”

  “Don’t I know how that goes,” Kaeso muttered.

  It wasn’t until Vel brought the carriage around that Vitaliya realized Kaeso would probably leave a fair bit of dirt behind. Vitaliya had never minded that, but she had a feeling Ioanna would, and so would Irianthe.

  But that wasn’t important. Impressing the baron was. Vitaliya would write home and have them send a new carriage if anyone complained.

  Kaeso, for his part, seemed to be too exhausted to realize the carriage wasn’t an ordinary wagon. In fact, by the time they rolled to a stop outside Metis’s walls, he was sound asleep. Vitaliya decided to let him rest and stepped out alone. The baron’s guard, who had chosen to ride in the front with Vel in order to direct him, went to open the gate.

  Vitaliya saw the ground had already been turned, which was good—her magic would be more effective if it was added to the soil now rather than before the tilling. She wasn’t entirely sure why—someone had undoubtably explained it to her at some point, but it wasn’t the sort of information she was good at retaining.

  In any case, the field was enormous and would probably take all of her magic to infuse. Vitaliya had done work like this before back in Vesolda, but never without other priests to aid her, and farmers and their families gathered around.

  It was a little bit sad in a way. Back in Vesolda, adding magic to the soil was a community affair akin to a local festival. In the morning, there would be black coffee and sweet biscuits passed around. And after the work was done, there was honey wine and herb-wrapped fish grilled over open fires.

  She shook herself out of the memories. She would return to Vesolda soon enough. For now, there was work to be done.

  Vitaliya knelt down on the edge of the field and dug her fingers into the soil. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and tried her best to clear her thoughts of anything except her own magic.

  The magic flowed from her fingertips, and the soft soil absorbed it like rainwater. She didn’t know what would be planted in this field—probably wheat if she had to guess, but maybe not. It didn’t really make a difference when she was only infusing the soil.

  She allowed her magic to spread deep and wide, filling the field in the same way a basin might be filled with water. She knew sometimes the priests would get up and walk to a new area when their magic wouldn’t extend any further, but usually there were enough of them spread around that they wouldn’t have to go far.

  Vitaliya gazed across the field and sighed. It seemed she was in for a good deal of walking.

  After a while, her mind began to wander. She thought of Ioanna and hoped she wasn’t too bored back at the baron’s villa or too lonely. She hoped Orsina and Aelia were keeping her entertained. Ioanna had been alone for such a long time, and so despite everything, Vitaliya was glad they’d encountered each other.

  She said she didn’t care if I make you empress consort later—

  Vitaliya’s eyes opened. She liked Ioanna and wanted t
o stay with her for as long as she was allowed. But empress consort…that was a terrifying title. Even ‘princess’ was too much for her some days, and she’d been born with that one. Agreeing to become empress consort would be akin to agreeing to walk around with her pockets full of bricks for the rest of her life.

  But it wasn’t as though Ioanna had offered! Not really. She’d only mentioned her grandmother had mentioned it. Vitaliya took a few deep, calming breaths before she stood up to move to a new area of the field. That hadn’t been an offer. Ioanna had merely been recounting a conversation.

  Besides, they did not know each other nearly well enough to be discussing matters so permanent. Any moment now, Ioanna might realize Vitaliya was selfish and flighty and irritating, and the whole thing would come to an end.

  And what about after she became empress? When people would no longer pretend to like her—when they’d genuinely love her. Good people. Wonderful people. People far more worthy than Vitaliya. And of course, there would be princes! Probably from every nation under the sun, flooding the imperial court until there was hardly room to move. And they would be calm and mild and thoughtful, and everything Vitaliya wasn’t. Ioanna would be able to talk with them for hours about matters of economics and philosophy and law, and then one day she’d think of Vitaliya and marvel at the fact she’d ever been lonely enough to associate with her.

  Vitaliya was having a nice time feeling sorry for herself now. She decided to design Ioanna a husband. Who would she pick? Maybe a Masimi prince, a sehzade, in order to cement the peace Ioanna hoped to establish.

  She got up and moved to the other end of the field where her magic did not quite reach. Neither Vel nor the baron’s guard said anything as they trailed after her. Perhaps they were afraid something might go wrong if they distracted her. But Vitaliya had performed these rituals while surrounded by shouting farmers and singing children and barking dogs. A little conversation would hardly throw her off.

  But for once, she did not feel like talking. And that was a little eerie.