The Power and the Glory

Book 2 Chapter V: Confession

...the still night drifted deep
Like snow about me, and I longed for sleep.
-- Edna St. Vincent Millay, The Suicide

There were three things Irímé knew about Empress Raivíth. One, she took a very dim view of people who disturbed the peace. Two, she took an equally dim view of ill-advised plots. Everyone remembered the time Abihira had been caught in the forbidden archives. They'd all expected that because she was a princess the archivists wouldn't press charges. Even if they did the judge would let her off with just a slap on the wrist. But then the empress got involved. She looked at the facts, listened to Abi's terrible explanation, then gave her the full fine anyone else would have faced and ordered her to work in the kitchens of the Silver Palace for a week.

Three, and as a direct result of one and two, she would not be pleased with Irímé's story.

At this time of night most of the city was silent. The meteor shower was over. The crowds who had gathered to watch it had now dispersed and gone back to their homes. Only in a few corners of the city were people still awake. Those people, the ones who frequented pubs and parties long after all sane people were asleep, were usually found on the opposite side of the city. Here, amidst the royal palaces, there wasn't a sound to be heard or a light to be seen over any of the fences and walls. Even the street-lamps burned with a pale and wan light, as if they knew how late it was and were sleepy too.

Irímé rubbed his eyes. He didn't feel tired as such, but they were uncomfortably heavy. It was a struggle to keep them open as he made his way towards the Silver Palace. At any other time he would have been terrified by the thought of where he was going and who he would soon face. Right now he hardly felt anything at all. The only thing that bothered him was how cold it was. His highly impractical clothes for the festival had not been made to keep their wearer warm. A stupid oversight, really, when the main part of the festival only started at night.

He distracted himself with mentally composing letters of complaint to the tailors for the rest of the trip. At last he found himself outside the Silver Palace's main gates. The guards were clearly taking their duties more seriously now than they had earlier. Four were stationed at the gates, two on each side, while flickers of light moving around the driveway showed where other guards were patrolling the place with torches.

The guards at the gate eyed him suspiciously. Irímé could just imagine what he must look like. He was mildly surprised they didn't arrest him on the spot for being there at all.

"Who are you and what do you want?" one of them demanded gruffly. She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword in a transparent attempt to intimidate him.

Irímé looked at her apathetically. It would take a lot more than her to frighten him after everything he'd already seen tonight. "I'm Irímé Yedrethussilru of Neleth Ancalen. I have to see the empress."

Abihira's betrothal and the identity of her fiancé were hardly secrets. He expected the guard would put two and two together and figure out who he was.

In hindsight it was a foolish thought. There were so many royals, nobles, hangers-on, and pretenders that no guard could know all of them. She gave him an incredulous look.

"You expect us to let you see the empress at this time of the night? Get out of here!"

Under more normal circumstances he would have obeyed. As it was he had just endured the most stressful night of his life. Haliran would report Abihira in the morning. All hell would break loose unless he got to the empress with his version of the story first. 

He didn't move. "I'm her granddaughter's fiancé. You have to let me see her. It's about what happened this evening."

All four of the guards looked at each other. Perhaps they were capable of telepathically communicating. Maybe they were just exchanging looks of the "can you believe this idiot?" variety. At last they turned back to Irímé.