Empress & Soldier: Chapter 19, part 2
In which Eudekia's advice is not taken.
I wrote as if I were arguing against a merchant’s plans to invest in an unsuitable business. Clearly, concisely, I laid out each objection to our marriage, each problem I could envision arising, both within Casil and in the greater world. I even pointed out the benefits of a marriage to the Qipërtani princess, the years of peace it should gain. And I fought back tears with every word, so that I did not blur the ink and show Philitos how I truly felt.
By the time I had sealed the letter and given it to Mahir to be sent, I was calm. My arguments were correct, and Philitos would see that they were. He had always listened to me, given my thoughts and reasoning weight. I had to trust he would now.
I didn’t stay in my room. If I did, I would cry, and I wanted no questions about reddened eyes. Tears would be forgiven when Philitos saw sense and withdrew his request for a betrothal. I would look at the account books from this morning’s session with the clients, to see what decisions Mahir had made.
I kept myself occupied—somehow—all day. I ate the evening meal with only my grandmother, who did not press me into discussions of my future role, but instead told me stories of my father’s childhood. I listened and smiled and asked questions, while all the time a hollow space grew inside me, aching and empty. But what I had done was right, I told myself. Whatever my feelings for Philitos, I was not meant to be an Empress.
I was preparing for bed when my father knocked at my door. At my call he came in, to hand me a letter and an amulet. A golden cat, seated, with a loop on its back to allow for the chain on which it hung. “From the Emperor,” my father said. “A betrothal gift. I was to tell you that while he cannot see you during his nine days of mourning, you are in his thoughts.”
The little cat was heavy in my hand. “Did he not receive my letter?”
“He did. His response is in the one I have given you. Good night, Eudekia.”
For a moment I stood, indecisive. Then I placed the cat on the table, drew the lamp closer, and read the letter. Or rather, note.
‘I would wish such precision of argument from all my advisors,’ Philitos had written. ‘Your advice is considered and rejected. This Emperor needs his Eudekia at his side.’ Then his name, and nothing else.
The political outcome would be what it was: Philitos had chosen me. Men of her land have accepted agony in her name. The words of the poem came unbidden. I reached for the amulet, curving my fingers around it, and laughed the thought away. What a life we would have, my beloved and I. I could learn to be an Empress, if it meant being Philitos’s wife.
~
In the night an idea came to me. I hadn’t been sleeping, thinking instead of a thousand things at once—the wedding, guests, clothes, furnishing our rooms, entertaining—with the wedding night itself never far from the forefront. I’d been thinking about guests when the idea appeared. I examined it for flaws, found none, and at the first stirrings in the household I rose to send a servant to my father. He joined me a short time later.
“The Qipërtani princess,” I said. “Was she not high in the hierarchy of a temple?”
“She was,” he said. “Why does it matter?”
“Can she not return to that temple with a generous endowment?”
He nodded his approval. “The idea had occurred to me. Now the Emperor has made it clear she can be no more than the Empress-Dowager, we will begin the negotiations. I am hopeful she will accept.”
“Is there anything I can do to encourage her?” Should I have asked this? I was still only myself. But my father regarded me thoughtfully.
“Not yet. Not until the Emperor’s mourning is over, and the betrothal formalized and announced. Then, perhaps, yes.”
“Where is she? Will she attend the funerary banquet?”
“She came to the palace yesterday. The Emperor has seen her, spoken with her. She will stay for the rituals and the banquet at the very least. After that, we will see.” My father fell silent: the kitchen girl had arrived with bread and oil and a bowl of figs. I thanked her. When we were alone, he spoke again. “Is this betrothal what you wanted, Eudekia? I worry my mother had too much influence over you, and I not enough.”
Had he asked this earlier, what might have I said? Or if I had gone to him with my fears, and not Avia? But now I was sure. I sought the right words. “A betrothal to Philitos is what I wanted. He is Emperor sooner than I had looked for, that is all.”
He touched my hand. “I will insist on several months’ wait before the wedding, to allow time for reconsideration.”
I shook my head. “It’s not necessary.”
“Still,” he said. “I want you both completely certain.” He smiled, then. “My daughter an Empress. I could not have foreseen this.”
Tears threatened, suddenly. “You brought me up,” I said. “Without the education you gave me, this would not have happened. I will not disgrace you.”
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