Idiot! I’m trying to save her!

Demos Devaton, the imperial treasurer, dropped his feather pen, let some hair down to cover the scorched side of his face, and stared at his guest. The woman’s head was topped with a conical headpiece, the height of which spoke to her status as a baroness.

“If I were in your shoes, I would immediately agree to the offer my house is making,” Demos said out loud. He gave the woman an appraising gaze. “My brother has good taste, though I can’t say the same of his brains. Your wisdom, on the other hand, I have every confidence in. Give me a yes, Lady Lisetta.”

“My husband…”

“He’ll survive this, as will my brother’s wife. Everything is ready. When is the bastard showing up?”

Lisetta Tiare jerked when she heard the rough, if accurate phrase.

“At the beginning of the fall.”

“In that case, you should spend the entire summer far from here. The baron is already in agreement.” Demos flashed his pointy teeth into a smile. It ended up crooked as always—some muscles in his face still hadn’t recovered. “You’ll head off for a cloister and stay there with the Keeper’s servants until the child is born and you’ve regained your strength, at which point you’ll return to the palace and keep everything a secret.”

His even tone seemed to do more to agitate the baroness than his disfigured face. Her eyes dropping to the floor, and she asked a subdued question.

“What will happen to the baby? What kind of future will it have?”

Demos shrugged.

“It’ll stay in the cloister until it turns seven. The superior has already been given a generous gift. If it’s a girl, she’ll serve the Keeper in Ulfiss or Berk. If the Keeper gives us a boy, the bastard will be turned over to the Order, for example, in Laklan or even Mirvir.”

“Oh, god, Mirvir? But that’s in Highligland…”

“The farther, the better for everyone,” Demos replied drily. “Help us keep this scandal under wraps, and I promise we’ll take care of the kid.”

“But the church? Is that really the only service you can find for the baby?”

“The bastard is a blot on the reputation of the empire’s greatest house!” Demos’ outburst caused the woman to cower back in her chair, and he was forced to regain control of himself. He cut an unpleasant enough figure as it was. His brother’s escapades were getting more dangerous every time, and Demos had less and less time to fix the problems they caused. “You should thank the Keeper for allowing the bastard to live.”

The baroness’ face hardened slightly before she could get a grip on her emotions. Demos appreciated the young woman’s composure.

“You have my agreement. Will we be permitted to see each other? Will the child know who its parents are?”

Devaton shook his head.

“With time, the kid will realize that its parents are high-ranking people, and we’ll see what happens them. Start preparing for the trip. My people will escort you to the cloister and make sure you have everything you need. Remember, everything will be okay so long as you don’t say a word.”

“I understand. Goodbye, Your Grace.” Lisetta Tiare got up from the chair and bowed slightly. “Thank you for your help.”

She even thanked me. Well, fine, so long as the issue is resolved.

Demos opened his ledger once more, losing interest in the conversation. His back, knees, and even elbows ached after landing poorly that night when the imperial office burned to the ground along with the emperor’s last will and testament. He’d been forced to save himself by jumping out the window. And ever since the tragedy, he’d had to keep a stiff upper lip in order to make sure the court officials didn’t suspect anything. Allantain, also, hadn’t shown up a single time in the intervening period.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Probably biding his time, the old bastard.

Skirts swishing, the baroness made her way toward the door, though she squeaked in surprise when it flew open. An out-of-breath secretary flew in.

“Your Grace!” he said with a hurried bow. “The chancellor summoned you. There’s urgent news!”

Speak of the devil.

Demos put his quill pen down again.

“What is it this time?”

The secretary glanced at the woman hesitantly. She nodded understandingly and stepped out of the room, leaving the secretary to close the door tightly behind her.

“Well?” The treasurer was losing his patience.

“The dowager empress… Lady Izara… She’s gone!”

***

“Duke of Belter and High Treasurer for His Imperial Highness Demos of House Devaton!” the herald announced, and a deathly silence blanketed the reception hall for a few moments.

Demos caught the looks fixed on him. His job as treasurer meant he was constantly in the palace, though it certainly did nothing to force a social life on him. Still, he understood why everyone was so interested in him right then.

Look, the Burned Lord himself is out for a stroll. I wonder if they’re imagining how the crown would look on my head or how my head would look on a pike.

Demos lazily looked around the once again animated reception hall. The large, well-lit space with its two marble arcades along the sides was packed with people. Noting where the chancellor’s servants were, Demos worked his way through the crowd accompanied by his usual Ennian bodyguards. This time, he had a man and a woman, their faces covered by colorful silk scarves that revealed nothing besides their dark and narrow eyes. The pair cleared a path forward for the treasurer, their job made easier by the fact that the nobility treated him as though he were a leper. Demos could taste the anxiety that hung lightly in the air.

Have these idiots already found something out about Izara? Doubtful. Or could somebody have said something?

In the five years Demos had served the empire in the capital, he’d seen it all. Almost—he’d never heard of an empress disappearing from her chambers without a trace.

Why would Her Grace have left the palace without saying goodbye to her late husband? Well, unless she decided that the same people who destroyed the last will would want to get rid of her, too. But could she have known about that?

The bodyguards stopped. Allantain’s servant, dressed in black and red livery, came over to Demos.

“Follow me, Your Grace. The chancellor is expecting you.”

They left the crowded hall by way of a long corridor bathed in light from a dozen torches. Demos felt a pain shoot through his knee—an old injury, one he’d sustained in his youth, told him of an upcoming change in the weather. His head ached again.

Finally, the servant stopped in front of a massive wooden door with flowers carved into it. He knocked several times, the sound echoing in the mourning silence that blanketed the imperial wing.

“I know where to go,” Demos said quietly when the door cracked open. “Thanks.”

Seeing Demos, the guards assigned to the empress’ quarters pulled themselves to attention and pulled the door wide. The Ennians stayed outside.

Irving Allantain thoughtfully paced the luxuriously furnished room, a scrap of paper clutched in his shaking hands. Golden sunlight streamed down onto his bald, speckled head. Hearing the door creak open, the chancellor turned, and his colorless lips curled into a slim smile.

“Hi, Demos. Come in.”

Devaton nodded a greeting and stepped closer.

“What’s that?” he asked, glancing at the piece of paper.

“A letter from the empress. A farewell riddle, if you will. I wanted you to see it with your own eyes.”

Demos took the page and read it with brows furrowed.

“Written by Izara’s own hand,” he said slowly. “I intercepted her communications, so I recognize it.”

“Read it!” the chancellor said impatiently. “Then, tell me what you think.”

This doesn’t make sense at all. She says she decided to devote herself to the service of the Keeper in the wake of losing her husband, but that’s hard to believe—Izara was never all that devout. And why did she pick the god-forsaken cloister in Ulfiss? That place is a freezing cold pit, and her delicate constitution won’t last long in that kind of climate. She might be just trying to hide from us all. But why Ulfiss when there are safer places?

Demos handed the letter back to the chancellor when he was done.

“Izara’s up to something, that’s what I think. If I were in her shoes, I’d run back home to Targos. Definitely not to a cloister in the north of the empire.”

“Exactly,” Allantain mumbled. “She at least has friends left in Targos. Queen Agala would have brought her sister in and kept her safe…”

As long as the two still have a good relationship.

Demos sank down onto a chair to massage his aching leg.

“Izara says she decided to become a sister for the Keeper. Noble widows often find solace in the service of god, since that can actually offer them more freedom. But why Ulfiss?”

Irving shrugged his decrepit shoulders.

“Figure it out. Despite your peaceful work as treasurer, I’m well aware that you have the necessary means to…uncover the truth, let’s say.”

That was diplomatic.

Demos nodded unwillingly.

“I’ll use them if needed.”

“Do what you have to do, but find Izara and bring her to Missolen. And do it quickly.”

Irving turned around, making it clear that the conversation was over. Devaton left the old man alone with the letter.

The Ennians hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time he’d be talking with the chancellor.

“Follow me,” Demos said as he hobbled off down the corridor. “Ihraz, send news to Master Archella. I need his people to check into something.”

I’d bet my life all these threads are connected somehow.