The Empress of Xytae Read online

  “What does that have to do with vengeance?” asked Otho in confusion.

  “Oh, never mind,” said Vitaliya because she couldn’t think of a way to explain the situation that didn’t make her sound deranged. “It’s not important.”

  “You said you’ve lost communities to the war,” said Ioanna, and Vitaliya was grateful for the change in subject. “Do you mean they were all drafted?”

  “Not all. Just enough the smaller ones could no longer sustain themselves. Villages don’t do well when there’s only tiny children and their grandparents. With no one to work the fields or the forges, they just wither. The children are orphaned or sent to live with distant family, and the grandparents die of old age or leave for larger cities.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ioanna. “I didn’t know—or else, I didn’t know it was this bad. If it’s any consolation, it’s always been my ambition to end the war with Masim. I’ve never seen the point in it.”

  “That sentiment might gain you some support,” advised Otho. “The war might be popular in the capital, but I’ve seen nothing but suffering come from it. And for what? Are we all meant to migrate to Masim once the war is done? I’ve no intention of doing that. Xytae is my home and always will be.”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Ioanna. “My father did always say Masim was a better place to live than Xytae.”

  “Did nobody tell him he could have just bought an estate?” asked Vitaliya. “No need to mess around with soldiers and wars. He could have had a very nice mansion and a pet lion and a giant statue of Zeneen in the front hall.”

  “I do not know,” said Ioanna. “I have never understood him. And he never understood me. I expect he did intend to make Netheia his heir. I suppose I can count myself fortunate he never had the chance.”

  Vitaliya was not sure what to say. Her instinctive response of why would anyone want to be an empress anyway? felt no less insensitive than it had earlier.

  “Well,” she said, “do you think your grandmother will support you?”

  “No,” admitted Ioanna. “I just think she won’t let Netheia kill me.”

  “It’s a start, I suppose. And maybe we can change her mind. Even if she doesn’t care about rightful succession, maybe she’ll care about not letting the country go to ruin.”

  “I don’t know if she’ll see it that way. I’ve never met a noble who thought the war with Masim wasn’t a glorious enterprise.”

  “Well, they would say that if they didn’t want to be in trouble with your father, wouldn’t they?”

  “Perhaps,” granted Ioanna, but Vitaliya could tell she didn’t really believe this.

  They rode on in silence for a time, moving at a sedate pace so they would not leave Otho, Daisy, and the chickens behind in the dust. As the day wore on, a few travelers passed them, some moving away from Xyuluthe but most traveling toward it. Everyone they encountered asked if they’d heard rumors of Emperor Ionnes’s death and wanted to share rumors. Whenever this happened, Ioanna stared down at her mount’s mane and let Otho and Vitaliya do the talking. Vitaliya imagined she must be nervous, afraid one of the passersby would manage to identify her. Or perhaps she simply hated to be reminded of her father’s death.

  Or maybe, like Netheia had claimed, she wasn’t very friendly.

  But Ioanna had been friendly to Vitaliya from the moment they’d first met. She was certainly shy—and who wouldn’t be, growing up at such a miserable court—but obviously she just needed someone to show her a bit of kindness, and she’d open up. Vitaliya could do that.

  The first town they encountered was quite small, by Vitaliya’s standards, but the fields were well-tended and clear, ready for the planting season, and she could see children running in the street as they approached. This would not be another eerie abandoned village.

  “This is one of my towns,” said Otho with some pride. “We can get supplies here.”

  “We need names!” Vitaliya realized. “They’re going to ask you about us—you’ll have to come up with fake names. Especially for Ioanna.”

  “You’re right,” said Ioanna. “In that case—”

  “I want to be Kreszentia,” interrupted Vitaliya, afraid Ioanna might have had the same idea and not wanting to lose out.

  “That’s an Ieflarian name,” pointed out Ioanna. “And you’re obviously not Ieflarian. They’ll know you’re lying.”

  “My mother was Ieflarian,” proclaimed Vitaliya. “I take after my father! Who was Vesoldan! But died! In a tragic…falconry accident.”

  Ioanna groaned and pressed her hand to her forehead.

  “Fine!” huffed Vitaliya. “I’ll be Floriana. You can be Kreszentia.”

  “Nobody is being Kreszentia.”

  “Why are you being so difficult?” sighed Vitaliya. “Fine. You’re Lucia. Otho, can you remember that? Floriana and Lucia.”

  “I’d like to hear more about the falconry accident,” commented Otho. “I’ve never known anyone to die in that way. And I’ve seen quite a lot.”

  “Oh, it was horrible!” cried Vitaliya, cheering up now since someone was playing along. “That’s why I won’t treat birds. I’m traumatized from the experience. If I see one, I’ll go into a panic. Cows and horses, certainly. Goats? I adore goats. But birds? I simply can’t stand them. I don’t even like couriers. The sight of them fills me with existential dread.”

  “You are traveling with chickens,” Ioanna pointed out, casting a glance in the direction of the wagon where the two were settled, apparently accustomed to the bumping and rattling.

  “Chickens don’t count as birds. They can barely fly.”

  “Perhaps we ought to let Otho do the talking,” advised Ioanna. “He knows these people best, after all. We don’t want to arouse anyone’s suspicions.”

  As they moved into town, people called greetings to Otho, pausing in their work to wave or, once they realized he was accompanied by two strangers, come over for a closer look. Vitaliya had the sense there wasn’t very much to do in town, and so someone coming by for a visit was more exciting than it had any right to be.

  “Floriana and Lucia,” explained Otho, once enough people had gathered that he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. “The temple in Xyuluthe has asked me to take on acolytes to gain practical experience. They’ll be assisting me for a while.”

  “You were in Xyuluthe?” asked one of the women. “Did you hear news of the emperor? There are rumors he was killed in battle.”

  “That is what I am hearing as well,” agreed Otho. “It seems to be the truth. But the empress has made no formal announcement yet—or if she did, I missed it.”

  Nobody in the crowd appeared particularly shocked or saddened by the news. Vitaliya wondered who they believed would be their next ruler. Would they prefer Netheia, or Ioanna? Or did they see them as interchangeable?

  “We had priestesses of Reygmadra visit last night,” commented another man. “We thought they’d come to convince more of us to join the army. But they were asking about the crown princess. Seems she’s gone missing. Claimed the empress had sent them to find her.”

  “We saw them too,” said Otho. “Rather aggressive. We were glad to see them go. They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?”

  “Searched every house,” said the man. “Had some of us wondering if they were priestesses at all, and not robbers who found some spare robes. But they didn’t take anything and left in a hurry. Doesn’t make any sense the crown princess would be gone, unless she doesn’t care to be empress after all. Like her grandmother.”

  “Who knows?” said Otho. “In any case, we’ve come to see what supplies you can spare. Ah, yes—” he added as a child thrust a kitten at him. “Is this one of Snowdrop’s? You see, she didn’t need our help after all, did she? Cats are clever like that. Would you like me to take a look at her anyway?”

  Otho would probably be a while, Vitaliya realized. Even if it wasn’t time for the lambing, the people of this town probably kept plenty of other animals t
hey cared deeply for. She wondered if it would be the same for her if she’d joined the Temple of Eyvindr. If her farmers would be just as happy to see her when she came to town. Probably not. She wouldn’t make a very good priestess. It was better for everyone that she not have a job as important as taking care of the kingdom’s crops. Anything could go wrong.

  She felt a little guilty Otho would have to use part of his stipend to purchase supplies for her and Ioanna, but she knew they could give him more of their jewelry to cover the cost. He would come out better for having helped them in the end.

  The villagers went back to their business, and Otho went to see to their animals. Vitaliya and Ioanna, still in the role of his acolytes, followed after to see if he would need any help.

  “I’m sure you’ve never seen a town like this before, have you?” Vitaliya murmured.

  Ioanna shook her head.

  “Don’t worry,” said Vitaliya. “I was intimidated too. When my parents first sent me to the farms, I mean. But I think people are just about the same no matter where they’re from or how they live.”

  Vitaliya could not tell if Ioanna was consoled or offended by this observation because her expression of calm indifference never changed. Vitaliya hoped she did not take offense to the implication she was frightened of the townspeople. She only wanted Ioanna to feel more comfortable.

  Their first visit was to Snowdrop, a white housecat who refused to come down from the roof where she slept and only flicked her tail a little when Otho called her name. The little boy who owned her said she sometimes went up there to get away from her kittens.

  After that, they conducted an examination of the sheep, who were all in good health, and a visit to a very old dog named Amble, who rose up on shaky legs to greet them as they approached. Otho said there was nothing more that could be done for him as his owner already fed him a special blend of herbs to ease the pain in his joints. He explained how to make it and said the concoction worked on Men as well as animals.

  Vitaliya found this very interesting, having never studied healing or alchemy even though her blessing would probably be conductive to the latter. She’d never really considered it even as a pastime. It might be fun to keep a little room filled with interesting plants, liquids, powders, and glass bottles. But maybe it was like farming: a bad idea for one as irresponsible and reckless as herself.

  Fortunately, there were no terrible injuries to tend or other tragic events that required Otho’s aid. Vitaliya hoped most of his visits were as pleasant and easy as this one had been.

  They left the town shortly after noon, the wagon loaded with enough supplies to last them into tomorrow, or perhaps the day after if Vitaliya found more fruit trees in the meantime.

  “Will we reach another town before nightfall?” asked Ioanna.

  “Unfortunately, I don’t believe we will,” said Otho. “But don’t worry, we’ll just set up a camp. I do it quite frequently when I’m caught between settlements.”

  “I wonder if we’ll see those priestesses,” said Vitaliya.

  “I doubt it. They’re probably far ahead of us now,” Otho stated confidently. “Besides, don’t worry—they’re looking for noblewomen, not acolytes.”

  Vitaliya nodded and hoped he was correct. If he came to harm because he’d chosen to help them, she would never forgive herself.

  Chapter Five

  IOANNA

  Vitaliya’s grass beds were unquestionably the strangest place Ioanna had slept in her entire life, but she supposed she preferred them to the wagon, all hard wood slats and chicken feathers. In any case, the grass nests weren’t terribly uncomfortable, just odd. Her only real complaint was she could never shake her worry that insects were crawling across her body and burrowing into her hair.

  “Do we have eggs?” she heard Vitaliya ask. “Chickens! Do you have eggs? Yes! Eggs! Eggs for us!”

  Ioanna opened her eyes and pulled herself free of the odd nest. Vitaliya sat in the wagon while Otho tended to the small fire they had built. Ioanna rubbed at her eyes and glanced toward the road, but once again, there were no signs of the priestesses.

  “Ioanna! Look! Eggs!” cried Vitaliya eagerly, holding one up in the air like a prize. “We can have eggs!”

  “Do you know how to cook?” asked Ioanna.

  “No! But I’ll work it out!” A cast iron pan clanged against the back of the wagon. “You just take food, add fire, and then it just sort of comes together—”

  “Let me help you with that,” said Otho, hurrying over. “Don’t want to burn yourself.”

  “Burning is learning.” But Vitaliya let him take the pan away and went back to cradling her eggs.

  Two eggs among three people was not a very generous meal, but Otho had a loaf of bread, which was only stale on one side. Vitaliya had spotted another orange tree yesterday, and the wagon now held a generous pile of fruit. Tiring quickly of oranges, though, Ioanna decided she would keep alert for vineyards today. She could not identify fruit trees out of season, but anyone could spot the special trellises farmers built to grow grapes.

  After a quick and not terribly satisfying breakfast, they set out again, headed north. Otho said they would probably reach another settlement before noon, a larger one where they could purchase hot meals at the inn. Ioanna suspected he didn’t frequently indulge in such things but perhaps was trying to accommodate the two princesses traveling with him.

  Ioanna appreciated the effort but wished she had the confidence to tell him it was not necessary. Only her fear he’d find her rude or ungrateful stopped her.

  After a few, uneventful hours, they came upon an obstruction in the road. At first, Ioanna took them for more travelers, coming from the other direction. But it didn’t take her long to realize they weren’t moving, and there were quite a lot of them, though all on foot.

  “Ah, yes,” said Otho. “Let me handle this.”

  “Who are they?” asked Vitaliya. “Soldiers?”

  “Bandits,” said Ioanna.

  “Don’t worry. Once they realize we’re with a temple, they’ll probably let us go without any trouble,” Otho reassured them.

  “Probably?” whimpered Vitaliya.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen any this near to the capital. Most have the sense to keep out of sight.” Otho shook his head minutely. “Let me do the talking. I can handle them.”

  Bandits were a fact of life, but the high percentage of the population with blessings from the gods meant they were not as common as they might have been otherwise. It was a risky line of work, and not just because the Xytan military would kill any they found and not bother with trials. There was no telling when an ordinary traveler had enough magic to fight off an entire gang with ease.

  “Hold,” called one, stepping forward. Ioanna supposed he was probably the leader. “This is a toll road. If you want to go any further, you’ve got to pay.”

  He was not, Ioanna realized, the burly, middle-aged fighter she’d been expecting. In fact, his face appeared soft and fair like a child trying on his father’s helmet. He was about the age he would probably be drafted into the army, if anyone could find him. Ioanna looked away from him and studied the other bandits gathered behind him. Some held bows, and others had short daggers, and all had hard, angry expressions on their faces. But nevertheless, there was no hiding the fact they were all young.

  “But you’re hardly bandits at all!” Ioanna exclaimed before she could stop herself. “You’re children!”

  “You—you’re children!” sputtered the leader. “Shut up! Or I’ll slice you open!” But Ioanna had spent a great deal of her life hearing threats far more detailed and credible than this, and so it had little impact.

  “Now, wait,” began Otho. “Let’s not lose our tempers.”

  “You shouldn’t have to resort to banditry at your age,” Ioanna said earnestly. “I’m certain we can help you.”

  “Shut up!” said their leader again. “Give us—just give us whatever you’ve got!”
/>   “You can have some oranges and these lousy boots, but you’re not getting the chickens,” said Vitaliya. “You don’t deserve them.”

  The bandit leader swung his sword in a wide, unpracticed arc. Ioanna was ready as it came around toward her. The sword was clearly cheaply made, and somewhat rusted as well, for the blade broke cleanly from its hilt as it collided with her shield.

  “What—?” he began, and the bafflement on his face made him look younger still. “How’d you—you can’t—”

  “Now you don’t have a sword,” observed Ioanna. “You should probably let us go.”

  “But you can’t do that!” cried the young man. “That’s not Cyne’s blessing!”

  “Well, that’s what happens when you accost strangers on the road. You’re bound to get surprised. Now, why are you doing this? You’re too young to be living this way.”

  “Maybe we want to! Not everyone is content staying in a boring town, working a boring farm, and having boring children. Out here, we’re nobody’s slaves. We do as we please and don’t answer to any priests or nobles.”

  The young man delivered the words confidently, but they were all lies. These children had turned to banditry because they had no other choice.

  “Where are your parents?” Ioanna asked.

  “Who cares? We don’t need those either!” That, strangely enough, was not a lie. Ioanna supposed these children had been alone for so long they legitimately believed they didn’t need guidance from their elders.

  “I expect they were all drafted,” said Otho. “And with no one to provide for them…”

  “Why are we drafting parents with children to care for?” Ioanna demanded of nobody in particular. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Well, you go on and tell the emperor that, then,” sneered the young man. “Sure he’ll be properly impressed and send everyone back home.”

  “Haven’t you heard?” asked Ioanna. “He’s dead.”