Daniel Abraham - The Dragon's Path

His first thought after the first wave of raw disbelief had passed was that Klin had discovered Geder’s betrayal, and that this was his revenge. As he stepped into the meeting chamber, Klin’s appointees peopling every seat except the one on the dais at the front reserved for himself, Geder had the suspicion again. His belly sloshed and he felt his hands trembling. His blood felt weak as water as he took the two steps up and lowered himself uncomfortably into the presentation seat. Once, the room had been a chapel, and the icons of gods in whom Geder didn’t believe surrounded him. Unsympathetic eyes gazed up at him, expressions blank at best, openly contemptuous at worst. A handful of seats were empty. Loyalists of House Klin who had chosen to resign commission and return with him to Antea rather than submit to the new order. Geder wished he could have gone with them.

“Lords,” Geder said. He sounded like someone was strangling him. He coughed, cleared his throat, and began again. “My lords, you will have read by now the orders of Lord Marshal Ternigan. I am, of course, honored and as surprised as I’m sure all of you are as well.”

He chuckled. No one else made a sound. Geder swallowed.

“It’s important that the city not suffer from a sense of unease during this change. I would like each of you to continue on with the directions and orders given by Lord Klin so that the… ah… change that we are—”

“You mean the policies that have him pulled back to Ternigan?” The questioner was Alberith Maas, eldest son of Estrian Maas and nephew of Klin’s close ally Feldin.

“Excuse me?”

“The orders,” the young man said. “They’re the same ones that put Lord Klin in the crown’s poor grace, and you want us to keep to them?”

“For now,” Geder said, “yes.”

“A bold decision, my Lord Protector.”

Someone sniggered. Geder felt a rush of shame, and then anger. His jaw tightened.

“When I order a change, Lord Maas, I’ll see that you know of it,” he said. “We will all have to work to raise Vanai up from its present disorder.”

So don’t cross me, or I’ll put you in charge of cleaning weeds out of the canals, Geder thought, but didn’t say. The young man rolled his eyes but kept silent. Geder took a deep breath, letting the air curl slowly out through his nostrils. His enemies sat before him, looking up. Men of greater experience, with greater political connections, and who had not been given the power that Geder now held. For the most part they would be polite. They would say the right things, though often in the wrong tone of voice. In private, they would shake their heads and laugh at him.

Humiliation fueled his rage.

“Alan Klin was a failure.” It was nothing he’d meant to say, and he threw the words out like a slap across the jowls. “The Lord Marshal gave him Vanai, and Klin pissed it away. And each of you were part of that failure. I know you are going to leave here and share your jokes and roll your eyes and tell yourselves it’s all a terrible mistake.”

He leaned forward now. The heat in his cheeks felt like courage.

“But, my very good lords, let me make this clear. I am the one Lord Ternigan chose. I am the one he picked to turn Vanai from an embarrassment into a jewel in King Simeon’s crown. And I intend to do so. If you would rather make light of me and of the duty we are given, say it now, take your things, and crawl back to Camnipol on your bellies. But stand off my path !”

He was shouting now. The fear was gone, the humiliation with it. He didn’t remember standing, but he was on his feet now, his finger pointing a general accusation at the group. Their eyes were wide, their brows risen. He could see unease in the angle of their shoulders and the way they held their hands.

Good, he thought. Let them wonder who and what Geder Palliako is.

“If Lord Klin has left pressing business, I’ll hear it now. Otherwise, I will have reports from each of you by tomorrow on the state of the city in general, your particular responsibilities within it, and how you propose to do better.”

There was silence for the space of four heartbeats together. Geder let himself feel a trickle of pleasure.

“Lord Palliako?” a man said from the back. “There’s the grain taxes?”

“What about them?”

“Lord Klin was entertaining a proposal to change them, sir. But he didn’t give a decision before he left. You see, fresh grain coming in from the countryside is taxed at two silver to the bushel, but sold from storage in the city runs two and a half. The local granaries appealed.”

“Put them all at two and a half,” Geder said.

“Yes, Lord Protector,” the man said.

“What else?”

There was nothing more. Geder stalked from the room quickly, before the heat of his temper could fully cool. When the brief certainty of anger passed, it passed completely. By the time he returned to his drawing room— his drawing room—he was shaking from head to foot. He sat by the window, looking out on the main square of the city, and tried to guess whether he was on the verge of laughter or tears. Below him, dry leaves skittered. The canal lay bare and dry, a team of slaves of several races hauling armfuls of weeds and filth out of it. A handful of Firstblood girls ran across the square, screaming in their play. He told himself that they were his now. Slaves, girls, leaves. All of it. It frightened him.

“Geder Palliako, Lord Protector of Vanai,” he said to the empty air, hoping that by speaking the words they would become plausible. It didn’t work. He tried to imagine what Lord Ternigan had intended when he’d chosen him. Nothing made sense. He took the letter out again, unfolded it, read each word, each phrase, searching for something to reassure him. There was nothing there.

“My Lord Protector,” the old Timzinae said. Geder jumped less this time. “Lord Kalliam has come, as you asked.”

“Bring him in,” Geder said. The old servant hesitated, as if on the verge of pointing out a breach of etiquette, but turned away after only a bow. Geder wondered if meeting in the private drawing room was supposed to be reserved for special occasions. He’d have to find a book on Vanai court etiquette. Next time he spoke to his hired scholars, he’d mention it.

Jorey Kalliam stepped into the room. He was in his best uniform, and bowed before Geder formally. Either Jorey was also exhausted and apprehensive, or else Geder was seeing all the world as a mirror. The Timzinae wheeled a cart in behind him laden with small shell dishes of pistachios and candied pears. Once the servant had poured them both crystal mugs of cool water, he retreated. The discreet click of the door latch left them alone.

“My Lord Protector wished to see me?” Jorey said.

Geder tried out a smile.

“Who’d have guessed it, eh? Me, Lord Protector of Vanai.”

“I think we all would have put long odds,” Jorey said.

“Yes. Yes, it’s why I wanted to speak with you in particular,” Geder said. “Your father’s active in court, isn’t he? And you write to him. You said that you write to him?”

“I do, my lord,” Jorey said. His spine was stiff, his eyes set straight ahead.

“Yes, that’s good. I was wondering if… that’s to say, ah, do you know why?”

“Why what, my lord?”

“Why me?” Geder said, and his voice had a thin violin-string of whine at the back that embarrassed him.

Jorey Kalliam, son of Dawson Kalliam, opened his mouth, closed it, and frowned. The lines at his mouth and brow made him seem older. Geder took a small handful of pistachios from their dish, cracking the shells open and eating the soft, salty meat within less from hunger than for something to do with his hands.