Michael Sullivan - The emerald storm

No one was more shocked then Amilia, but Saldur held her responsible. Rather than exploding in anger, he congratulated her. From that day on, his attitude toward Amilia changed-as if she had bought admission into the exclusive club of the deviously ambitious. In his eyes, she was not only capable of manipulating the mentally unbalanced ruler, but willing to do so as well. This raised opinion of her was followed by additional responsibilities and the new title of Chief Secretarye Grand Imperial Empress.

She took her directions from Saldur as Modina remained locked in the dark recesses of her madness. One of her new responsibilities was reading and replying to mail addressed to the empress. Saldur gave her the task as soon as he discovered she could read and write. Amilia also received the responsibility of official gatekeeper. She decided who could, and who could not, have an audience with Modina. Normally a position of extreme power, it was all a farce since absolutely no one ever saw Modina.

Despite its grandiose new title, her office was a small chamber, nothing but an old desk and a pair of bookshelves. The room was cold, damp, and sparse-but it was hers. It filled her with pride each morning when she sat behind the desk and pride was something Amilia was unaccustomed to.

"Are those more letters?" Amilia asked.

"Yes, I am afraid so," Nimbus replied. "Where would you like them?"

"Just drop them on the pile with the others. I can see now why Saldur gave me this job."

"It is a very prestigious task," Nimbus assured her. "You are the de facto voice of the empire as it relates to the people. What you write is taken as the word of the empress and thus the voice of a god incarnate."

"So, you're saying I am the voice of god now?"

Nimbus smiled thoughtfully. "In a matter of speaking-yes."

"You have a crazy way of seeing things, Nimbus, you really do."

He was always able to cheer her up. His outlandishly colored clothes and silly powdered wig made her smile on even the bleakest days. Moreover, the odd little courtier had a bizarre manner of finding joy in everything, blind to the inevitable disaster that Amilia knew lurked at every turn.

Nimbus deposited the letters in the bin beside Amilia's desk then fished out a tablet, looked it over briefly before speaking. "You have a meeting this morning with Lady Rashambeau, Baroness Fargal, and the Countess Ridell. They have insisted on speaking to you directly about their failed petitions to have a private audience with Her Supreme Eminence. You also have a dedication to make on behalf of the empress at the new memorial in Capital Square. That's at noon. Also the material has arrived, but you still need to get specifications to the seamstress for the new dress, and, of course, you have a meeting this afternoon with Regent Saldur."

"Any idea yet what he wants to see me about?"

Nimbus shook his head.

Amilia slumped in her chair. Certainly Saldur's visit had to do with Modina berating the clerk yesterday. She had no idea how to explain the empress's actions. It was the only time since her speech that Modina had muttered a single word.

"Would you like me to help you answer those?" Nimbus asked with a sympathetic smile.

"No, I'll do it. Can't have both of us playing god now can we? Besides, you have your own work. Tell the seamstress to meet me in Modina's chambers in four hours. That should give me time to reduce this pile some. Reschedule the Ladies of the Court meeting to just before noon."

"But you have the dedication at noon."

"Exactly."

"Excellent planning," Nimbus praised. "Is there anything else I can do for you, before I get to work?"

Amilia shook her head. Nimbus bowed and left.

The pile beside her got higher each day. She plucked a letter from the top and started working. While not a hard job, the task was repetitious as she said the same thing in each.

The Office of the Empress regrets to inform you that her most serene and royal Grand Imperial Majesty the Empress Modina Novronian will not be able to receive you due to time constraints caused by important and pressing matters of state.

She had only replied to seven of the letters when there was a soft knock at the office door. A maid popped her head inside hesitantly. It was the new girl. She only started yesterday, but she worked hard and quietly, which Amilia liked. Amilia nodded an invitation, and wordlessly the maid slipped inside with her bucket, mop, and cleaning tools, taking great pains not to bang them against the door.

Amilia recalled her own days as a servant in the castle. As a kitchen worker, she rarely cleaned rooms but occasionally would fill in for a sick chambermaid. She used to loathe working in a room with a noble present, always so self-conscious and frightened. You could never tell what a noble might do. One minute they might be friendly, the next they were calling for you to be whipped. She never understood how they could be so capricious and cruel.

Amilia watched the girl set about her work. The maid was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor with a brush, the skirt of her uniform soaked with soapy water. Amilia had a stack of inquiries to attend to, but the maid distracted her. She felt guilty not acknowledging the girl's presence. It felt rude. I should talk to her. Even as Amilia thought this, she knew it would be a mistake. This new girl saw her as a noble, the Secretary to the Empress and would be terrified if Amilia so much as offered a "good morning."

Perhaps a few years older than herself, the girl was slender and pretty, although little could be determined given her attire. She wore a loose fitting dress with a canvas apron, her figure hidden, a mystery lost beneath the folds. All serving girls adopted the style except the foolish or ambitious. While working in the halls of those who took what they wanted, it was best to avoid notice.

Amilia wondered if the girl was married. Might she have a family in the city that she went home to each night, or like herself, had she left everything, and everyone, to live in the castle? Despite her youth, she likely had several children by now. Pretty peasant girls married young.

Amilia chided herself for watching the maid instead of working, but something kept her attention. The way she moved and how she held her head looked out of place. She watched her dab the brush in the water and stroke the floor, moving it from side to side like a painter. She spread water around, but did little to free the dirt from the surface. Edith Mon would whip her for that. The headmistress was a cruel taskmaster. Amilia had found herself on the wrong end of her belt on a number of occasions for lesser infractions. For that reason alone Amilia felt sorry for the poor girl. She knew all too well what she faced.

"Are they treating you well here?" Amilia found herself asking despite her determination to remain silent.

The girl looked up and glanced around the room.

"Yes, you," Amilia assured her.

"Yes, milady," the maid replied, looking up.

She is looking right at me, Amilia thought, stunned. Even with her title, and a rank equivalent to a baroness, Amilia still had a hard time returning the stare of even the lowest nobles, but this girl was looking right at her.

"You can tell me if you aren't, I know what it is like to-" she stopped, realizing the maid would not believe her. "I understand new servants can be picked on and belittled by the others."

"I am getting along fine, milady," she said.

Amilia smiled, trying to set her at ease. "I didn't mean to suggest you weren't. I am very pleased with you. I just know it can be hard sometimes when you start out in a new place. I want you to know that I can help you if you are having trouble."

"Thank you," she said, but Amilia heard the suspicion in her voice.