Chapter Text
His Radiancy is in a good mood, Cliopher decides half an hour into their day. And it’s not that he’s often in poor mood, but, well. He generally tries to avoid any show of feelings whatsoever.
But it’s a blue, clear day, and when Cliopher arrived his lord insisted on inviting him to the balcony to linger for a few minutes over coffee. He’s pacing now as they start on reports, but not in the feral, constrained way that signifies frustration. Just slow, weaving strides, like someone loping through a pleasant forest-path for a walk.
As he finishes transcribing a letter to the Minister of Trade, Cliopher spares a moment to picture that. In the old days the emperors were hidden from the sun and moon both, not allowed outside on anything but occasional new-moon nights. On the few occasions great works of magic brought him outside the city, his lord was always followed by parasol-wielding attendants.
But would the sun or moon really care, if he chose to take his reports in the garden one day? Cliopher doesn’t dare risk the suggestion today, when his lord already seems perfectly relaxed and it might only sour him. But he shelves the thought for consideration.
“What is next?” asks his Radiancy, and for a minute it seems he falls into a sweet humming. Cliopher hesitates, straining to hear; but the sound fades.
Cliopher shuffles his papers. “Next on the agenda is a request for mediation between Jilkano-Nomoi and Jilkano-Lozoi…”
“You would think they’d be able to work things out between the family,” his Radiancy murmurs, not very quietly. A good mood, indeed, if he’s comfortably uttering rude thoughts about his more annoying courtiers. “Let me guess, another dispute about the silk trade - “
He’s cut off by guards pounding their spears by the door. “My lord – the Grand Duchess requesting to see you,” Pikabe calls.
His Radiancy twists on heel. Both he and Cliopher regard the door in surprise. Cliopher fumbles for his schedule. “No request for a meeting,” he says, baffled.
Pikabe clears his throat. “She says it is a family matter, my lord.”
After a pause, his Radiancy says, “Let her in.” He whirls around to sit at his desk. Cliopher bows his head over his papers, uselessly organizing them.
Everyone knows – and Cliopher knows this most assuredly – that his Radiancy’s barely ever spoken to his sister. She never presumes on their relationship; on the few occasions they speak, by demand of courtesy, he is always my lord or glorious one or your serenity…
A family matter, Pikabe said. A thread of unease worms through Cliopher; he shakes it off. Not his business.
Grand Duchess Melissa ignores Cliopher entirely as the guards let her in. She makes a perfect curtsy, head bowed deeply – deeper than usual, even toward Himself. “My lord. There is something I would discuss with you in confidence.”
“Of course,” his Radiancy murmurs. “Please, sit. My guards will not betray you.” He does not glance at Cliopher, either.
There are, of course, only the two chairs; one behind his Radiancy’s desk, and the second in Cliopher’s corner. An attendant fetches a lovely soft seat for Lady Melissa, who sits primly on the edge; her fingers curl and twist, much as his Radiancy’s sometimes do behind his back.
She says, “The first time we met, you rose a Wall of Silence for our conversation.”
His Radiancy regards her quietly a moment. He brings up a hand. When he responds Cliopher can see his mouth move without sound.
He ducks his head again.
Cliopher can’t help but look, though, when just a few seconds later his lord jolts violently. His golden eyes go wide, staring. He leans forward and speaks urgently to Melissa. Whatever she replies does not seem favorable; he closes his eyes, leans back, and steeples his fingers. He sits there for a long minute.
Then he waves his hand. “Cliopher – send a page for Commander Omo and Ser Rhodin. Pikabe, Oginu, you will wait outside when they arrive.”
Well. That doesn’t sound good.
The guards, of course, do not protest, and Cliopher finds a page in the outer antechamber to run off. He returns. “Do you want me to leave for this conversation, my lord?”
“Of course not,” says his Radiancy absently. He rises; Lady Melissa watches in polite bewilderment as he starts to pace.
The restless, frustrated sort of pacing, Cliopher notes sadly.
So much for a good morning.
It takes nearly half an hour for Rhodin and Ludvic to arrive, by which point Conju has plied the Duchess with tea and failed to coax his Radiancy into sitting. Cliopher wishes he knew what was happening, but his lord is clearly in deep thought; he busies himself silently composing answers for some of the less-important items on today’s agenda. His lord probably won’t mind the presumption.
His lord finally retakes his seat when Ludvic and Rhodin arrive. “More chairs, Conju,” he says absently, and the Duchess sits with her lips pursed tight as Rhodin and Ludvic sit. Cliopher is bade to join them, until they’re all in an odd conference around the desk.
His Radiancy, says, bluntly, “My sister is pregnant.”
Cliopher only manages to keep from gasping through sheer will-power, though his face probably contorts in the same way way as Conju’s. Ludvic looks as inscrutable as ever, and Rhodin immediately leans back with an expression of sober consideration.
“The father is not important,” says his Radiancy. The way Melissa twitches takes some credence from this, but she doesn’t contradict him. Conju wrings his hands. “The relevant part is that termination is not an option; you can predict how the Ouranatha will react, and the court.”
His Radiancy has never taken a consort, nor concubines. The Grand Duchess never married; the Princess of Xiputl is too old for more babes. This divinely-descended family was meant to die with the Last Emperor.
But now there’s an heir.
“We must act swiftly to prevent the court from taking advantage.” His Radiancy turns to Melissa. “You are familiar with Commander Omo and Sayo Mdang, of course; Ser Rhodin is my spymaster. And the Cavalier an Vilius can ensure – discreet attendants. But we must determine the details of your protection.”
She nods. Her fingers twist, twist, twist into her skirts. Lady Melissa doesn’t often attend court, but Cliopher’s never seen her discomposed. Like all the living royals she’s perfected her mask.
“It is quite likely the Ouranatha will try to kill me,” says his Radiancy like it’s nothing. Lady Melissa snaps her head up to regard him with shock; his Radiancy is careful never to let on how much he loathes the Ouranatha, how much they still chain him, and Cliopher wonders what she understands of that dynamic. Even Cliopher doesn't quite grasp it; but his Radiancy has more influence over his court, these days. They still resent the power lost after the Fall. “They would find it much more convenient to mold a babe from birth, certainly. People may try to kill Lady Melissa before the birth, or steal the child after… force her into marriage...”
“My lord,” Cliopher blurts, a horrible thought occurring to him. “The – the Royal Decency Proclamation, my lord, of the 79th regime - “
He falters under their stares. His Radiancy’s brow furrows. “Ah,” he murmurs. “And there is that. A horribly old-fashioned law; I cannot believes the empresses allowed it…”
“You could overrule it, surely?” Cliopher asks. Melissa looks between them, brow furrowed.
His Radiancy contemplates. “I do not know; I will have to see if it is tangled in the Taboos. That was about the time my family thought it was a splendid idea to deliberately shift more encumbrances onto their children…” he trails off.
“I am afraid I do not know that law,” says Ludvic, even.
“Of course; it mandates that any woman of the royal house must be married before having a child, or else face execution for treason.”
Treason being the sentence because it was generally assumed the woman should be marrying their cousins, brothers, and uncles.
Lady Melissa sits pallid as they consider this. His Radiancy slants her a glance. “And I presume your answer is not changed; it would only create further complications, in any case,” he murmurs. Cliopher doesn’t know what that means, but she nods tightly. “Quite; we don’t need to give anyone more reason to view the child as my heir, anyway, presuming it is your desire to keep them away from the throne.” She nods again.
Cliopher abruptly feels stupid. Marriage between the siblings would be a perfectly normal way of solving this for the royal family. Appalling as it seems to him, no one else reacts to the implication.
“Is there anyone who you could marry, your Grace?” Rhodin prompts her. “Anyone you trust? They wouldn’t necessarily need to be a lover.”
She shakes her head, beautiful dark hair flouncing. “No – no, not for this. I trust my attendants, mostly, and a guard or two… but to withstand the court by my side? To commit their lives? And if – if something did happen to my brother - “ Cliopher sees the way his Radiancy is perfectly serene, expressionless, as she names that relation for perhaps the first time in public, “ - then I would be expected to serve as either Empress or regent; I trust no one who could survive the court.”
“It may not be a consideration,” Cliopher says. Everyone looks at him. Cliopher doesn’t want to say, most imperial children are stillborn; and anyway, he’s not a doctor. Presumably Melissa isn’t pregnant by her brother, so maybe without the same levels of incest this one will fare better. But he ventures, “This all assumes the pregnancy will be – successful. May I ask, your Grace, how far along you are?”
“Nearly four months,” she says, unhappily. “My doctor says it’s going well. And there are – unusual circumstances.” Probably a polite way of saying what they’re all thinking.
“Then we must give the matter some thought,” his Radiancy murmurs. “I assume your physician is under vow - ? Good. Cliopher, please make it a priority to find the exact law and consider it from all angles; we will do the same from a magical standpoint. I cannot ask the Ouranatha for assistance, of course. Ludvic, she will need a guard; we need not explain why.” Occasional assassination threats aren’t uncommon, and no one should wonder too much at his Radiancy providing his nearest living relative – his presumed heir, should anything happen – with guards. “Rhodin, alert me at once if it seems like anyone suspects.”
Conju offers to help Lady Melissa with adjusting some gowns to hide the change; she graciously accepts. It’s all so polite and well-mannered Cliopher can’t help but think of his own family. A pregnancy announcement ought to be met with joy.
“Do you want a child?” he finds himself asking.
Everyone goes quiet; he flushes, realizing his own rudeness. But the Duchess meets his gaze evenly. “I have always wanted a family,” she says. “But not one chained to the Empire.”
“Then congratulations,” he says firmly. “The Empire is dead, your Grace. And we are not going to let anyone use you.”
For the first time in this conversation Melissa gives a little smile; he smiles back.
When he looks up, though, he finds his Radiancy regarding Cliopher with a thoughtful expression.
Cliopher spends much of the week in the Imperial Library, politely refusing the assistance of earnest librarians to conduct his own research. He doesn’t want anyone to suspect what he’s doing; fortunately the combination of ancient Astandalan law-code, Imperial history, and magical theory is unlikely to make anyone suspect ‘illicit royal pregnancy.’
The world will not slow for them, of course. The day to day tasks of court must be handled; and every day Melissa’s condition will progress, too. Upon tentative inquiry, his lord confirmed he cannot disguise Melissa with magic. The Ouranatha would sense the illusions in an instant. They must depend on Conju and Lady Ylette’s skills for now.
Cliopher finds himself thinking a lot about family over these days of research. He has tried not to contemplate his Radiancy’s personal affairs; it never seemed like his business. But it would be terribly hard, he thinks, to have so small a family; to not speak with the few alive. Cliopher is far from from his relations, and he hasn’t felt truly relaxed and comfortable among them in many years.
But if Cliopher went to Vangavaye-ve tomorrow, it’s true they would scoff and tut and ask him when he’s coming home, when he’s going to stop disappointing his mother and the tana. But they would help with anything he needs, too; would welcome him to their homes and tables, even if he came with nothing. His Radiancy has never had that unquestioning support to anchor him.
And Lady Melissa -
Well. Cliopher joined the service after Shallyr’s death; he never knew the crown prince. But he’s heard rumors. He knows some people whisper that Melissa killed him, and why. He can’t imagine she understands the concept of familial support either.
But she came to his Radiancy; he is helping her now. Perhaps something good can come of this mess.
At the end of the week his Radiancy again dismisses the usual guards in favor of Ludvic and Rhodin. Ludvic has no issues to report. “Is anyone suspicious of our sister?” he asks the spymaster.
Rhodin bows. “My lord. The current rumor is that you’re considering marriage with the Duchess, and that’s why you’ve met with her in private.”
His Radiancy could be made of stone. “Better than the alternative,” he allows. Cliopher isn’t sure he agrees. “People have speculated about a marriage for centuries; that is not our concern. Cliopher – have you found anything?”
“Nothing useful, your Radiancy. It is possible there are names that have been removed from official record - “ Likely, even, “ - but in every instance I can find, your female ancestors either wed, or were executed summarily after birth.”
Cliopher does not elaborate on one particular family that haunts him; Emperor Derdrek had eight daughters. One became Empress. All the others begot heirs for the Imperial family, unwillingly through their uncles, and were promptly killed. Supposedly it was an attempt to add more males to the bloodline; though what point there is in ‘diversifying’ the blood through more incest, Cliopher certainly doesn’t know.
None of the infants survived more than a year.
His Radiancy closes his eyes, nodding. “That matches my own conclusions. The proclamation is wound into the Taboos. I am not certain her death would be necessary, with the way the Taboos have weakened… but it is not a risk I would be comfortable taking. I have spoken with Melissa, and she agrees.” A pause. “She has also agreed to a candidate for marriage. I will speak with Cliopher alone.”
Ludvic and Rhodin exchange grim looks, salute, and leave without looking at Cliopher.
It’s an ugly business all around. Cliopher does not, precisely, oppose the idea of arranged marriage; just the way it often happens, unwillingly, with all parties unhappy and resistant. He can understand willing matches between political allies or business-owners, longtime friends raising children together, and so forth. But Melissa’s case certainly falls into the non-consenting category; he does not want to imagine what the conversation was like, or how his Radiancy narrowed down choices.
He’s a little surprised, though, that his lord bade away Ludvic and Rhodin. Maybe they’ve already run the requisite background checks.
“Sayo Mdang – Cliopher.” His Radiancy considers him. “I want to be very clear. I am asking you to be entirely honest in your response, and not fear my reaction. I hope you understand by this point that I will not punish you for speaking your mind; and what I have to ask you today far exceeds any reasonable expectations of your service.”
Cliopher becomes aware that Ludvic and Rhodin didn’t just retreat to their posts; the room is empty except for Cliopher and his lord. He’s never been fully alone with the Sun-on-Earth.
“If you are willing,” his Radiancy says, “Melissa agrees that you would be an excellent choice for her husband.”
Cliopher isn’t sure what his face does, but he jerks back against the chair, staring. Silence stretches as he tries to comprehend this outrageous pronouncement.
Finally he manages, “My lord?”
His Radiancy keeps studying him, like he’s cataloging every response. “Melissa will need a partner canny enough to help fend off political threats; and to support her claim as regent, should I die before passing on the title of Lord-Magus. You already essentially run my government,” which would be a blasphemous statement from anyone else, “and you are therefore perfectly positioned.”
“I could support her in my current role,” says Cliopher, a little faint.
“You could. But not as well; and I greatly fear the influence her spouse would have.”
“I’m – I am not any sort of noble, my lord.”
“Despite my constant offers, that is true,” says his Radiancy wryly. “But it does not matter. I am the only one who needs to allow the marriage. And even if our fears never pass, and you remain my Hands, it would serve you well to have the authority of a Duke.”
Duke. No. What? No.
Cliopher can’t be a duke. Bertie would laugh at him.
He scrambles for a response. “She cannot have agreed?”
“The Duchess concurs that you would be the best suited to assist in the event of a regency. And that you would be a capable father.” His Radiancy hesitates. More gently: “She also stated that you always seem quite kind and just, in Council, and that she respects you.”
Cliopher opens and closes his mouth.
That’s – that’s very flattering, and a bit harder to argue. He sinks back in his chair, stunned.
“I understand, of course, if it is too much to ask,” his Radiancy continues. “Especially if you have any other plans in that regard - “
Cliopher snorts despite himself. “You know I do not.” His lack of romantic interest is a thing of constant speculation. He clasps his hands; shakes his head. Sees the way a light dies in his Radiancy’s eye, preemptively disappointed. “My lord… allow time to consider; and to speak with the Duchess,” he adds, on impulse. “I can very sincerely say that I have never given thought to the possibility of a political marriage.” He has not thought of marrying anyone since Ghilly, refused. “You truly think this is best?”
“Can you think of anyone else who would suit?”
Cliopher mulls this over. He’s not sure whether the question is rhetorical, but offers, “Ser Rhodin is nobly-born, and obviously excels at intrigue.”
“Ser Rhodin worships underground dinosaurs and thinks my sister is the divine reincarnation of Empress Varavasky the third,” says his Radiancy. Which, what?? “I am not certain Melissa is equipped for his particularities. Nor the rest of Zunidh, for that matter.”
“...I now would like to divert the conversation so you can elaborate on Rhodin’s religious beliefs,” says Cliopher, after a pause. His Radiancy waits, serene, and Cliopher shelves that for later too. “Conju?”
His Radiancy manages to look exasperated without changing expression. “Conju would certainly be safe, but he is not a politician. And Melissa is a woman, you may have noticed. He is well-known for taking many lovers.”
Whereas Cliopher hasn’t bothered dating anyone in at least.. three centuries? Four? Which rather rules out the issue of potential entanglements.
There are other nobles Cliopher likes well enough, but someone they could trust with a future heir to the throne… someone who can’t be bribed or threatened, who excels at politics, unmarried, lacking personal ambitions, who will not quail before the Council or the Ouranatha...
Oh, gods. He is the best choice, isn’t he?
“Oh,” Cliopher murmurs.
His Radiancy nods at whatever he sees in Cliopher’s face. “Take a few days and discuss it with Melissa,” he says. “You are not obligated in any way, Cliopher, I will emphasize that again. This is a choice; refusing will not affect you.”
Except for the way refusing may affect all of Zunidh. “I understand, my lord.”
He will talk to Lady Melissa; but Cliopher already knows what answer he’s going to give.
“The Duchess will be with you shortly.”
Lady Dara is a mostly-insignificant noble of an old Alinorel house. Just from the cool, calculating way she assesses Cliopher, he knows at once that she’s loyal to her mistress and that she knows exactly what this meeting’s about. She purses her lips – he’s reminded amusingly of Conju – and stalks away without offering refreshments.
The sunroom is pleasantly warm, with a wide window overseeing the lower levels of the Palace. The Duchess rarely attends court, but she’s one of his Radiancy’s only relatives left in this world. She has a permanent set of rooms, close as can be managed to the Imperial Apartments. Cliopher waits patiently until she enters. He rises.
She doesn’t look pregnant, really. Mostly. There’s something in the way she walks that suggests it; but maybe that’s Cliopher’s imagination. “Your Grace.”
She waves him down, faintly impatient in a way that reminds him of her brother. “Sayo Mdang. Thank you for meeting with me. The Glorious One has told you of our request?”
“Yes.”
She sits across from him, folding her hands over her lap with prim composure. “Any noble would be honored by my attentions,” she observes, correctly. “But the entire court knows you have rejected titles, in the past. How do you feel about the idea?”
How does he feel; an interesting question. Feelings are so often irrelevant in politics. “Baffled, mostly,” he admits with a wry smile. “I would hope you have allies in Damara, my lady?”
“Some; none I would trust with this, who would be unmarried and willing. Who could put aside their own ambitions... I hope this child will not be Empress or Emperor. But if they are, I need someone to defend them from the vipers of Court. You are the best option, I assure you; it was not a conclusion we made lightly.”
No, of course not. Cliopher puts forth a challenge he uses often for his underlings. “Explain to me what this arrangement would include.”
She considers him. “I assume you are not angling for favors? No, of course not. You would need to accept a title. We would have to live together; either here, or my brother has offered the apartments usually reserved for the Lord Magus. There is sufficient space to sleep separately, of course. And I…” Here, she hesitates. “My brother informs me you would take duties as a parent seriously.”
“Yes.”
“I do not expect that of you; just the marriage, the appearance, would suffice.”
“Would you object to it, your Grace?”
She sits quietly with this question awhile. Her fingers twist and turn. “I would not,” she says at last. “I would not object to my son or daughter having a father; as long as I am always their mother, and they are not taken from me.”
His heart aches at the resignation in that statement. “Certainly not,” he says, more gently. “I have always wanted children. If we decide upon this course, if I am to be called a father, I would want to treat your child as my own.” She nods, thankfully, and does not seem surprised. “And certainly my family would storm the Palace to strangle me, if I did not,” he adds wryly.
“Your family?”
Cliopher blinks. It occurs to him that he probably needs to provide a slight… warning, if this is going to happen. “Let me tell about the Mdangs, in the Vangavaye-ve...”
His Radiancy heaves a great sigh when Cliopher gives his answer. “I always ask so much of you, my dear secretary; and yet you always exceed my hopes. Are you certain?”
Cliopher’s lord has never spoken about his own childhood. Cliopher has been told – everyone knows – that he was raised largely alone, in exile, seeing no one until he was summoned to take the throne. He did not know his parents; he did not know his sister, his aunt. To Cliopher it sounds unbearably lonely.
If he can protect his Radiancy’s niece or nephew from that fate, and Lady Melissa from having her child stolen in such a fashion, his choice is obvious. “Entirely,” says Cliopher, and his Radiancy smiles.