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May. 26th, 2009 09:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spryngI finished editing chapter two, so here's chapter one of Mili, a story about a rebel, recently released from prison and now fleeing capture and certain death, while seeking out her fellow conspirators to overthrow the new emperor, also with gods, undead assassins, midnight fights and escapes, unlikely explosions, and magical bandits.
Chapter One
Mili wakes, flutters her eyes open and catches the glow of the early morning seeping in through the window high in the wall. Still bleary with sleep, she casts her hands about for the metal spoon that the guards had left behind the day before, her palms brushing across the dirt floor. She finds it and grips the cupped spoon end in one hand, wiping the dirt off the other onto the coarse linen of the bulky pants she wears. Mili sits up and crawls over to the bars where she leans herself against the wall and considers the bars. Then she runs the end of the spoon across them.
Clink, clink, clink, as metal connects with metal.
Then the other way...
Clink, clink, clink.
... and back again.
Clink, clink, clink, clink -
The door opens and Mili chucks the spoon behind her. She hears it hit the wall and hopes that it stays out of sight in the shadows. The guard enters, his heavy boots announcing his progression from the entrance of the jail, down the hallway, and then around the corner into sight. His graying hair is frazzled and dark circles hang beneath his eyes. Mili catches the frown he sends her and matches it with a blank stare.
The guard walks straight up to her cell, arms crossed. “What are you doing in here?”
Mili spreads her hands. “What am I doing in here? Maybe you should let me out then, if I'm not supposed to be here.”
The guard narrows his eyes, already well acquainted with her sarcasm. “You'd best keep that talk under wraps today, prisoner. Won't be just me keeping guard soon.”
Mili sits up straight. “What's that supposed to mean?”
But the guard is already turning around and his shoulders shrug an answer. Mili watches him go. For a brief moment she considers grabbing the spoon again and continuing the ruckus. But she decides against it; she knows the guard is awake and that is her only reason for pulling such stunts so early in the morning. That and harassing those guards she doesn't like. This guard, however, is older than the others and much less bent on trying to assert control he otherwise doesn't have outside of work. He isn't that bad. At least, he isn't bad for someone keeping her in a place Mili doesn't want to be.
Mili returns to her place along the back wall. There she draws her knees up to her chin and waits for the morning meal to arrive. She gathers a vague sense of the progress of time by watching the square patch of sunlight as it travels along the far wall. Mili therefore knows when the time has passed for the guard to return and when even more time than usual has passed after that. Her stomach clenches in empty agony, trying to digest itself, while she stretches her legs for the fourth or fifth time. She would stand and pace to wear away the time, but already she is too weak and discouraged from hunger. What can be going on to keep the guards from delivering her food? Mili reaches back blindly for the spoon and then crawls toward the bars, where she sits and begins to run the metal back and forth again, hypnotizing herself and helping her ignore the gnawing pain.
Clink, clink, clink, clink... clink, clink, clink, clink...
The door at the end of the hall opens and Mili shoves the spoon into the waist of her pants. It is not, however, any of the guards she knows nor does it seem to be her food. Two guards round the corner with a man between them, his orange-haired head down so that she cannot see his face. Two more guards follow, closing the door with more force than is necessary.
“Put him in that one; it's fresher,” says one of the rear guards and points.
Mili's entire body twitches as the guard's finger indicates her cell, but then she forces out her breath when she realizes he is pointing at the one next to hers. Of course, putting the new guy in with her would be ridiculous. There are so many empty cells in this prison. The first two guards move the man forward.
“Move back, prisoner,” says a guard in the front.
Mili, however, stays in place, her hands glued to the ground beside her. She has lost track of the days she's been in her cell, but during that indeterminable time there has been only her kept imprisoned here. She's never been certain why – certainly there must be other prisoners. Maybe in a different building. Now she has a fellow prisoner and he isn't even wearing prison garb. He's wearing civilian clothes, nice civilian clothes, probably even court clothes. They're light yellow, almost white, with red embroidery and completed by soft white leather shoes, already grey with dust.
Mili glimpses all of this as they hustle the man past and into the cell next door. She knows this man. She should have recognized him as soon as she saw the hair, but the shock was only just then setting in. As the click of the lock echoes in her ears she can't but wonder if this means they succeeded.
As the guards begin to file out again, one of them lingers in front of her cell and glares inside. Mili realizes too late that she's gripping the bars of her cell. Before she can let go the guard has pulled loose his sword and rapped the broad side of it against her fingers. She releases the bars immediately, biting back a yelp, and jerks her stinging hands towards her.
“Traitor,” hisses the guard. He makes a face and spits at her. Most of it misses, but Mili feels a small wet glob hit her calf. “Is this what you wanted? Is this what your lot was striving for?”
Mili meets his glare until a guard down the hall calls him away. She wonders if he's right, and this had been the doing of her “lot.” Would she still be here if they'd won? Or were they still waiting? Waiting for what? Control, yes, stability too, of course, but...
Mili brushes dirt against her leg to clean off the guard's spit and scoots closer to the adjacent wall. Even though he is the emperor, even though he is the one she and Arjen and Flen and the others had been working against, conspiring against, the red-haired man on the other side of the wall is a prisoner now and he might tell her what is going on outside.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Hey, what's going on? What's happening out there?”
No answer is immediately forthcoming. Mili leans against the wall and waits. Eventually she hears a fresh draw of breath and a swallowed sigh from a foot or two away, on the other side.
“It crumbles, of course.” The sound of the emperor's voice unnerves Mili, who does not expect a man still so young to sound so old and tired. “Ejhiel had me put in here. In a day or two there will be an execution.”
Surprising even herself, Mili slams the cold wall with the palm of her hand. “Kem take it! Ejhiel? The people can't be that stupid!”
The emperor gives no reply and Mili does not expect one.
Mili rubs her palm with her fingers, working out the sting from the impact and wondering what those still out there and alive will do now. They – Mili and Flen and the others – have been working towards reestablishing the Senate and curbing the power of the emperor sitting in the cell next to her. Ejhiel, aside from being the momentary distraction they have meant him to be, has not been a part of the greater plan. As the emperor's son, a son the emperor would not even acknowledge, the people are reinforcing a line of succession. Lines of succession, as Flen reminded them time and again, lead to monarchies, and monarchies lead to self-important goose-heads who think it is their Rekedi-given right to rule. Her work, their work, has been geared toward removing the man in the cell next to her from power, but now his son, a highly erratic but exceptionally charismatic young man, rules. What will they do now? Continue, of course. It will be harder. The former emperor had barely tolerated their antics; the new one will likely have them all killed.
“What is your name?”
Mili turns out of habit although she knows she cannot see the emperor no matter how much she might try. She remembers what he looks like and she pictures his bold brass face and orange hair on the other side of the bricks as she replies. “Mili. Mili Anrek.”
“And were you born in the city?”
Mili frowns. “Yes...”
“And your mother An...?”
“Also born in the city.”
“Yes, of course...”
Mili wonders at the questions until she realizes that she likewise knows little about the emperor in the cell next to her. The man she has been fighting for all of her adult life, and all she knows is that he had been an important general in the beginning of the northern war before he was elected to the seat of emperor by the Senate during a rush of public approval. “You... you were not born in Kis, am I right?”
“You are.”
When the emperor is not forthcoming with any details, Mili presses on. “From the north?”
“In a little town you would never have heard of, yes.”
“Try me.”
“Trust me. I'm not even sure myself if it still exists after the last wave.”
“You never tried to find out?”
“Why should I? I had no reason to return there. My father is long since dead, my sisters as well, and the town otherwise does not concern you.”
“What about your mother?”
A pause. “Never knew her.”
Mili nods, familiar with many of the perils of child birth. Her own mother had been a midwife. After such a childhood, Mili still feels that she never needs to have a child. The pain, the mess, the screaming, the high risk of death, none of it seems worth a child to her. Besides, she has better things to devote her life to.
Silence fills the seconds and the seconds stretch between them. Mili is unsure how much time passes, but the light is receding when another guard finally comes in. This time he has food, which he pushes underneath the bottom of the bars of each of the cells. Mili greedily attacks the bread and thin piece of meat, ashamed at her lack of restraint but unable to keep from inhaling nevertheless. Kem take them for being so late, Mili thinks to herself.
“Are they always so sparse with food?” asks the emperor after they have both finished.
“Usually it comes earlier.”
The emperor notices the contempt in her voice. “But you receive two meals a day?”
“Sometimes.” Mili pushes her empty plate around in the dirt, making circles.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, sometimes. Some of the guards like to 'forget,' you know,” says Mili, annoyed with his sudden air of concern.
A pause, then, “No matter. I suspect you'll be released soon and I... I will not have to worry about it, either.”
Mili has sat up straight at his first comment, the plate forgotten. “What do you mean, I'll be released soon?”
“Well, you were for the new emperor, and I heard the guards talking about the release of political prisoners -”
“I'm not for any emperor!” says Mili with more anger than she intends.
Silence. Then, “An anti-imperialist then?”
“Pro-senate.” Mili leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“Ah. The senate was a good idea.”
“Is still a good idea.”
“...for another people. A smaller country. But Elarkis needs leadership, not pandering.”
“Not when that leader is no longer subject to the laws of his country.”
The emperor sighs in answer, then says, “how old are you?”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Less than twenty summers, I would guess. And I'm right, aren't I?”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
“You're not married, either.”
“How would you know?”
“Those who take their mother's name instead of their father's tend to marry later, is all.” He pauses again, but before Mili is able to think up a suitable remark, he says quickly, “what will you do when you're out? Surely you must have thought about it?”
“When I'm out?” repeats Mili in order to give herself time to switch her thoughts. “I don't know...”
“Yes you do,” says the emperor. “You'll find your friends, won't you? The ones that we didn't find. But that would be a mistake.”
“And why?” asks Mili hotly. His tone has passed the point of grating her nerves.
“He'll find you if you do.”
Mili doesn't need to ask who the emperor means. “So he'll let me go and then hunt us down? That doesn't make sense.”
“But it does. Clemency is always the best way to start. But if you were opposed to me, then certainly he realizes you'll be opposed to him. He won't want you out there.”
“Is that what you would have done?”
“No.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “No, I would have kept you here. My situation is different than his. He is coming in with public favor. I would otherwise not be in here, with you.”
“If your situation were different, then...”
“Then I would likely do the same.”
Mili laughs joylessly. “Where the father wanders, so does the son.”
“I'm giving you advice. I don't expect you to take it. But if you would believe me, Ejhiel will be worse than me. Much worse. He knows nothing about ruling outside of his mother's jealousy. I made mistakes, I can admit that. But his will not always be mistakes. So when he lets you free, flee. Do not go to your friends. Find somewhere to hide. Outside of the city. Keep them and yourself safe. You'll only lead him to them.”
“Right. Because that will help... how?”
“It won't. But neither will letting yourself be an easy target for them. You can help when the tide turns against him, but before that...”
“I get what you mean.” Mili struggles for a moment with whether to continue being antagonistic towards the emperor or to believe him. He could be using her. He could have placed himself in the adjacent cell on purpose in order to convince her... Mili stops her train of thought, reminding herself that those kinds of thoughts led to paranoia and although a little would keep her safe and on her toes, an excessive amount would just get her killed. Mili knows what she is doing. She knows what she will do, once they let her go. She doesn't need to listen to a condemned man.
The silence wears on and neither of them makes a further attempt at conversation. Mili sits sullenly in the corner, brooding. From time to time she wonders what the emperor must be thinking in his cell. He mentioned that they have sentenced him to execution, which Mili believes he deserves. She hopes that he is rethinking his atrocities and regretting that he never abdicated. When the guard comes with their evening meal Mili wakes up, having dozed off without realizing it. The light from the high window is reddish now, the fading light of a dying sun. Aser is shrouding the world in dusk and escorts the souls of those who have died that day to the world beneath. Although Mili feels certain that the others are safe, she whispers a quick prayer to Aser just in case.
Mili and the emperor eat in the same silence. Soon a guard has come to light the torches for the night and take away their plates. Mili crawls into the most comfortable corner and falls asleep. When she opens her eyes again she first looks to the window, but there is no light. She turns over, searching the darkness for the reason she woke up. She sees nothing, hears nothing, except... is that a sniffle? Mili listens closer and after nearly fifteen empty seconds there is another. Can the emperor actually be crying? Mili creeps closer to the wall, unsure of what to think of such behavior. Emperors don't cry.
“You crying?” she asks quietly.
“Laif? Is that you?” says the emperor, although Mili hardly recognizes his voice.
A chill touches her spine. Laif was the name of his sister. The sister he himself ordered to be executed. That single act had turned a large amount of the city against him, Mili and her co-conspirators included. At the time it had seemed that the emperor had gone mad.
“Laif?” His voice is plaintive.
“Are you dreaming?”
Silence. Another sniffle, and then so quiet it takes Mili a moment to assemble the syllables into meaning, “Forgive me, Laif.”
“I'm not Laif, emperor. It's me, Mili.”
A pause. Then, “call me Sen.” His voice is stronger, more awake. She hears him shifting in his cell, probably sitting upright.
“Were you dreaming?”
“They'll be here soon. You'll be released after, I expect. His first act of clemency. Lucky you.”
“Will you fight them?” she asks, although she already knows the answer.
“I'm too old for that. No, I will go and when all is done I will ask Kem why he left.”
Mili blinks. “Kem?”
“If there is one thing you should never do, Mili Anrek, you should never trust Kem.”
Mili is confused but does not ask for his reasons. Kem, the god of death, is not one she would trust anyway. She wants the morning guard to come and take the emperor away. Not because she cannot bear his presence, but because she cannot wait any longer. Mili does not like the idea that Sen, the man in the cell next to her, is the same emperor who will die soon. A living sacrifice that should have symbolized the restoration of the senate and the voice of the people and not the power of a new tyrant. And her cellmate. His talk had angered her, but that is only because so much of what he said rang true. Too true.
She wants to talk to him more, but cannot think of anything else to say. There must be something that she can fill his mind with beyond his impending death, but nothing comes. And soon, too soon, the guards have returned. They ignore her and go straight to his cell, bringing the silence of a funeral procession with their steps. Mili listens as Sen rises from the floor while the guards unlock his cell. Two of them carry unsheathed swords. They lead him from the prison much more pleasantly than they delivered him just a day before and on their way out Mili seeks one last look at him. Sen's hair, a dim orange flaked with grey, is matted and his garb is indeed royal wear, although dirty, as if to get him to the prison in the first place they had to drag him through the dust of the streets. Perhaps they had.
The door shuts behind them unceremoniously. Mili settles into a more comfortable position, waiting for her own release, thinking about Flen, trying not to think about Sen. She recollects the smell of the house, the sweet oak of the walls and Flen's cooking, for she never properly learned to cook and Flen had never asked her to. His house isn't that big, although Flen can certainly afford something nicer. He puts most of his money toward the cause. And he built an army with his money. An army to challenge the emperor.
Only, where is that army? Are they still out there? Are they still alive? Questions she had never thought to ask Sen rise in her thoughts, becoming more and more crowded as she slowly realizes the finality of his exit. Will they come and let her free before the execution? No... she knows Sen was right. Clemency will be Ejhiel's first official act, probably the first in a string to help ease the severity of killing his own father.
In a way, she is happy that she does not have to watch Emperor Sen die. Her own mortality has been more than palpable lately, a feeling which she doesn't like to face. And now, if they let her go, she will... what will she do? Sen told her to flee. But she knows she has to see if Flen is all right, first. Surely she will have a few days before anyone comes after her. Ejhiel will be busy, distracted. Who would care about a little upstart? One who, really, when all things come down to it, is probably the least of their worries? Mili knows she is insignificant in the shadow of Flen and others whose names she was never told, a fact she, for the first time, takes comfort in. She will have a few days. And then she will go, as Sen wished. She can do that much, but she will not hide for long. Perhaps she and Flen can hide in the countryside and build their revolt there instead. Yes, of course, she can see it now...
She has become so lost in structuring the next rebellion that she at first does not notice the door open again. Two guards have entered and the sound of their solid boots on the stone ground rouse her out of her thoughts. One smiles at her. It is the old man whom she had grudgingly given her respect.
“The new emperor has ordered your freedom, prisoner,” he says, picking the proper key from his ring and inserting it into the cell door. “Lucky you.”
The door opens and the other guard slips inside, grabbing Mili's arm and hoisting her up from the floor. “Come on.”
Quickly – too quickly for Mili – the guards escort Mili out of the prison, into the evening sun, and out of the stronghold itself. They leave her outside standing with the old clothes and dagger they had confiscated on arrival held in her arms. The elder guard pauses for a moment by the door, gives her another smile and a nod, then returns inside.
With that, Mili is free. She stands for another moment in front of the stronghold - the imperial palace, the castle, whatever it might be called now – and then, pulling on the clean dress over her dirty prison clothes and tying the belt around her waist, sniffs the clean air. Free, and all the world laid open to her once more.
She heads in the direction of Flen's house.
When I finish chapter three and edit two, I'll post two. This chapter's kinda weak; I like the next a lot better.
Chapter One
Mili wakes, flutters her eyes open and catches the glow of the early morning seeping in through the window high in the wall. Still bleary with sleep, she casts her hands about for the metal spoon that the guards had left behind the day before, her palms brushing across the dirt floor. She finds it and grips the cupped spoon end in one hand, wiping the dirt off the other onto the coarse linen of the bulky pants she wears. Mili sits up and crawls over to the bars where she leans herself against the wall and considers the bars. Then she runs the end of the spoon across them.
Clink, clink, clink, as metal connects with metal.
Then the other way...
Clink, clink, clink.
... and back again.
Clink, clink, clink, clink -
The door opens and Mili chucks the spoon behind her. She hears it hit the wall and hopes that it stays out of sight in the shadows. The guard enters, his heavy boots announcing his progression from the entrance of the jail, down the hallway, and then around the corner into sight. His graying hair is frazzled and dark circles hang beneath his eyes. Mili catches the frown he sends her and matches it with a blank stare.
The guard walks straight up to her cell, arms crossed. “What are you doing in here?”
Mili spreads her hands. “What am I doing in here? Maybe you should let me out then, if I'm not supposed to be here.”
The guard narrows his eyes, already well acquainted with her sarcasm. “You'd best keep that talk under wraps today, prisoner. Won't be just me keeping guard soon.”
Mili sits up straight. “What's that supposed to mean?”
But the guard is already turning around and his shoulders shrug an answer. Mili watches him go. For a brief moment she considers grabbing the spoon again and continuing the ruckus. But she decides against it; she knows the guard is awake and that is her only reason for pulling such stunts so early in the morning. That and harassing those guards she doesn't like. This guard, however, is older than the others and much less bent on trying to assert control he otherwise doesn't have outside of work. He isn't that bad. At least, he isn't bad for someone keeping her in a place Mili doesn't want to be.
Mili returns to her place along the back wall. There she draws her knees up to her chin and waits for the morning meal to arrive. She gathers a vague sense of the progress of time by watching the square patch of sunlight as it travels along the far wall. Mili therefore knows when the time has passed for the guard to return and when even more time than usual has passed after that. Her stomach clenches in empty agony, trying to digest itself, while she stretches her legs for the fourth or fifth time. She would stand and pace to wear away the time, but already she is too weak and discouraged from hunger. What can be going on to keep the guards from delivering her food? Mili reaches back blindly for the spoon and then crawls toward the bars, where she sits and begins to run the metal back and forth again, hypnotizing herself and helping her ignore the gnawing pain.
Clink, clink, clink, clink... clink, clink, clink, clink...
The door at the end of the hall opens and Mili shoves the spoon into the waist of her pants. It is not, however, any of the guards she knows nor does it seem to be her food. Two guards round the corner with a man between them, his orange-haired head down so that she cannot see his face. Two more guards follow, closing the door with more force than is necessary.
“Put him in that one; it's fresher,” says one of the rear guards and points.
Mili's entire body twitches as the guard's finger indicates her cell, but then she forces out her breath when she realizes he is pointing at the one next to hers. Of course, putting the new guy in with her would be ridiculous. There are so many empty cells in this prison. The first two guards move the man forward.
“Move back, prisoner,” says a guard in the front.
Mili, however, stays in place, her hands glued to the ground beside her. She has lost track of the days she's been in her cell, but during that indeterminable time there has been only her kept imprisoned here. She's never been certain why – certainly there must be other prisoners. Maybe in a different building. Now she has a fellow prisoner and he isn't even wearing prison garb. He's wearing civilian clothes, nice civilian clothes, probably even court clothes. They're light yellow, almost white, with red embroidery and completed by soft white leather shoes, already grey with dust.
Mili glimpses all of this as they hustle the man past and into the cell next door. She knows this man. She should have recognized him as soon as she saw the hair, but the shock was only just then setting in. As the click of the lock echoes in her ears she can't but wonder if this means they succeeded.
As the guards begin to file out again, one of them lingers in front of her cell and glares inside. Mili realizes too late that she's gripping the bars of her cell. Before she can let go the guard has pulled loose his sword and rapped the broad side of it against her fingers. She releases the bars immediately, biting back a yelp, and jerks her stinging hands towards her.
“Traitor,” hisses the guard. He makes a face and spits at her. Most of it misses, but Mili feels a small wet glob hit her calf. “Is this what you wanted? Is this what your lot was striving for?”
Mili meets his glare until a guard down the hall calls him away. She wonders if he's right, and this had been the doing of her “lot.” Would she still be here if they'd won? Or were they still waiting? Waiting for what? Control, yes, stability too, of course, but...
Mili brushes dirt against her leg to clean off the guard's spit and scoots closer to the adjacent wall. Even though he is the emperor, even though he is the one she and Arjen and Flen and the others had been working against, conspiring against, the red-haired man on the other side of the wall is a prisoner now and he might tell her what is going on outside.
“Hey,” she whispers. “Hey, what's going on? What's happening out there?”
No answer is immediately forthcoming. Mili leans against the wall and waits. Eventually she hears a fresh draw of breath and a swallowed sigh from a foot or two away, on the other side.
“It crumbles, of course.” The sound of the emperor's voice unnerves Mili, who does not expect a man still so young to sound so old and tired. “Ejhiel had me put in here. In a day or two there will be an execution.”
Surprising even herself, Mili slams the cold wall with the palm of her hand. “Kem take it! Ejhiel? The people can't be that stupid!”
The emperor gives no reply and Mili does not expect one.
Mili rubs her palm with her fingers, working out the sting from the impact and wondering what those still out there and alive will do now. They – Mili and Flen and the others – have been working towards reestablishing the Senate and curbing the power of the emperor sitting in the cell next to her. Ejhiel, aside from being the momentary distraction they have meant him to be, has not been a part of the greater plan. As the emperor's son, a son the emperor would not even acknowledge, the people are reinforcing a line of succession. Lines of succession, as Flen reminded them time and again, lead to monarchies, and monarchies lead to self-important goose-heads who think it is their Rekedi-given right to rule. Her work, their work, has been geared toward removing the man in the cell next to her from power, but now his son, a highly erratic but exceptionally charismatic young man, rules. What will they do now? Continue, of course. It will be harder. The former emperor had barely tolerated their antics; the new one will likely have them all killed.
“What is your name?”
Mili turns out of habit although she knows she cannot see the emperor no matter how much she might try. She remembers what he looks like and she pictures his bold brass face and orange hair on the other side of the bricks as she replies. “Mili. Mili Anrek.”
“And were you born in the city?”
Mili frowns. “Yes...”
“And your mother An...?”
“Also born in the city.”
“Yes, of course...”
Mili wonders at the questions until she realizes that she likewise knows little about the emperor in the cell next to her. The man she has been fighting for all of her adult life, and all she knows is that he had been an important general in the beginning of the northern war before he was elected to the seat of emperor by the Senate during a rush of public approval. “You... you were not born in Kis, am I right?”
“You are.”
When the emperor is not forthcoming with any details, Mili presses on. “From the north?”
“In a little town you would never have heard of, yes.”
“Try me.”
“Trust me. I'm not even sure myself if it still exists after the last wave.”
“You never tried to find out?”
“Why should I? I had no reason to return there. My father is long since dead, my sisters as well, and the town otherwise does not concern you.”
“What about your mother?”
A pause. “Never knew her.”
Mili nods, familiar with many of the perils of child birth. Her own mother had been a midwife. After such a childhood, Mili still feels that she never needs to have a child. The pain, the mess, the screaming, the high risk of death, none of it seems worth a child to her. Besides, she has better things to devote her life to.
Silence fills the seconds and the seconds stretch between them. Mili is unsure how much time passes, but the light is receding when another guard finally comes in. This time he has food, which he pushes underneath the bottom of the bars of each of the cells. Mili greedily attacks the bread and thin piece of meat, ashamed at her lack of restraint but unable to keep from inhaling nevertheless. Kem take them for being so late, Mili thinks to herself.
“Are they always so sparse with food?” asks the emperor after they have both finished.
“Usually it comes earlier.”
The emperor notices the contempt in her voice. “But you receive two meals a day?”
“Sometimes.” Mili pushes her empty plate around in the dirt, making circles.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, sometimes. Some of the guards like to 'forget,' you know,” says Mili, annoyed with his sudden air of concern.
A pause, then, “No matter. I suspect you'll be released soon and I... I will not have to worry about it, either.”
Mili has sat up straight at his first comment, the plate forgotten. “What do you mean, I'll be released soon?”
“Well, you were for the new emperor, and I heard the guards talking about the release of political prisoners -”
“I'm not for any emperor!” says Mili with more anger than she intends.
Silence. Then, “An anti-imperialist then?”
“Pro-senate.” Mili leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“Ah. The senate was a good idea.”
“Is still a good idea.”
“...for another people. A smaller country. But Elarkis needs leadership, not pandering.”
“Not when that leader is no longer subject to the laws of his country.”
The emperor sighs in answer, then says, “how old are you?”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“Less than twenty summers, I would guess. And I'm right, aren't I?”
“That has nothing to do with anything.”
“You're not married, either.”
“How would you know?”
“Those who take their mother's name instead of their father's tend to marry later, is all.” He pauses again, but before Mili is able to think up a suitable remark, he says quickly, “what will you do when you're out? Surely you must have thought about it?”
“When I'm out?” repeats Mili in order to give herself time to switch her thoughts. “I don't know...”
“Yes you do,” says the emperor. “You'll find your friends, won't you? The ones that we didn't find. But that would be a mistake.”
“And why?” asks Mili hotly. His tone has passed the point of grating her nerves.
“He'll find you if you do.”
Mili doesn't need to ask who the emperor means. “So he'll let me go and then hunt us down? That doesn't make sense.”
“But it does. Clemency is always the best way to start. But if you were opposed to me, then certainly he realizes you'll be opposed to him. He won't want you out there.”
“Is that what you would have done?”
“No.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “No, I would have kept you here. My situation is different than his. He is coming in with public favor. I would otherwise not be in here, with you.”
“If your situation were different, then...”
“Then I would likely do the same.”
Mili laughs joylessly. “Where the father wanders, so does the son.”
“I'm giving you advice. I don't expect you to take it. But if you would believe me, Ejhiel will be worse than me. Much worse. He knows nothing about ruling outside of his mother's jealousy. I made mistakes, I can admit that. But his will not always be mistakes. So when he lets you free, flee. Do not go to your friends. Find somewhere to hide. Outside of the city. Keep them and yourself safe. You'll only lead him to them.”
“Right. Because that will help... how?”
“It won't. But neither will letting yourself be an easy target for them. You can help when the tide turns against him, but before that...”
“I get what you mean.” Mili struggles for a moment with whether to continue being antagonistic towards the emperor or to believe him. He could be using her. He could have placed himself in the adjacent cell on purpose in order to convince her... Mili stops her train of thought, reminding herself that those kinds of thoughts led to paranoia and although a little would keep her safe and on her toes, an excessive amount would just get her killed. Mili knows what she is doing. She knows what she will do, once they let her go. She doesn't need to listen to a condemned man.
The silence wears on and neither of them makes a further attempt at conversation. Mili sits sullenly in the corner, brooding. From time to time she wonders what the emperor must be thinking in his cell. He mentioned that they have sentenced him to execution, which Mili believes he deserves. She hopes that he is rethinking his atrocities and regretting that he never abdicated. When the guard comes with their evening meal Mili wakes up, having dozed off without realizing it. The light from the high window is reddish now, the fading light of a dying sun. Aser is shrouding the world in dusk and escorts the souls of those who have died that day to the world beneath. Although Mili feels certain that the others are safe, she whispers a quick prayer to Aser just in case.
Mili and the emperor eat in the same silence. Soon a guard has come to light the torches for the night and take away their plates. Mili crawls into the most comfortable corner and falls asleep. When she opens her eyes again she first looks to the window, but there is no light. She turns over, searching the darkness for the reason she woke up. She sees nothing, hears nothing, except... is that a sniffle? Mili listens closer and after nearly fifteen empty seconds there is another. Can the emperor actually be crying? Mili creeps closer to the wall, unsure of what to think of such behavior. Emperors don't cry.
“You crying?” she asks quietly.
“Laif? Is that you?” says the emperor, although Mili hardly recognizes his voice.
A chill touches her spine. Laif was the name of his sister. The sister he himself ordered to be executed. That single act had turned a large amount of the city against him, Mili and her co-conspirators included. At the time it had seemed that the emperor had gone mad.
“Laif?” His voice is plaintive.
“Are you dreaming?”
Silence. Another sniffle, and then so quiet it takes Mili a moment to assemble the syllables into meaning, “Forgive me, Laif.”
“I'm not Laif, emperor. It's me, Mili.”
A pause. Then, “call me Sen.” His voice is stronger, more awake. She hears him shifting in his cell, probably sitting upright.
“Were you dreaming?”
“They'll be here soon. You'll be released after, I expect. His first act of clemency. Lucky you.”
“Will you fight them?” she asks, although she already knows the answer.
“I'm too old for that. No, I will go and when all is done I will ask Kem why he left.”
Mili blinks. “Kem?”
“If there is one thing you should never do, Mili Anrek, you should never trust Kem.”
Mili is confused but does not ask for his reasons. Kem, the god of death, is not one she would trust anyway. She wants the morning guard to come and take the emperor away. Not because she cannot bear his presence, but because she cannot wait any longer. Mili does not like the idea that Sen, the man in the cell next to her, is the same emperor who will die soon. A living sacrifice that should have symbolized the restoration of the senate and the voice of the people and not the power of a new tyrant. And her cellmate. His talk had angered her, but that is only because so much of what he said rang true. Too true.
She wants to talk to him more, but cannot think of anything else to say. There must be something that she can fill his mind with beyond his impending death, but nothing comes. And soon, too soon, the guards have returned. They ignore her and go straight to his cell, bringing the silence of a funeral procession with their steps. Mili listens as Sen rises from the floor while the guards unlock his cell. Two of them carry unsheathed swords. They lead him from the prison much more pleasantly than they delivered him just a day before and on their way out Mili seeks one last look at him. Sen's hair, a dim orange flaked with grey, is matted and his garb is indeed royal wear, although dirty, as if to get him to the prison in the first place they had to drag him through the dust of the streets. Perhaps they had.
The door shuts behind them unceremoniously. Mili settles into a more comfortable position, waiting for her own release, thinking about Flen, trying not to think about Sen. She recollects the smell of the house, the sweet oak of the walls and Flen's cooking, for she never properly learned to cook and Flen had never asked her to. His house isn't that big, although Flen can certainly afford something nicer. He puts most of his money toward the cause. And he built an army with his money. An army to challenge the emperor.
Only, where is that army? Are they still out there? Are they still alive? Questions she had never thought to ask Sen rise in her thoughts, becoming more and more crowded as she slowly realizes the finality of his exit. Will they come and let her free before the execution? No... she knows Sen was right. Clemency will be Ejhiel's first official act, probably the first in a string to help ease the severity of killing his own father.
In a way, she is happy that she does not have to watch Emperor Sen die. Her own mortality has been more than palpable lately, a feeling which she doesn't like to face. And now, if they let her go, she will... what will she do? Sen told her to flee. But she knows she has to see if Flen is all right, first. Surely she will have a few days before anyone comes after her. Ejhiel will be busy, distracted. Who would care about a little upstart? One who, really, when all things come down to it, is probably the least of their worries? Mili knows she is insignificant in the shadow of Flen and others whose names she was never told, a fact she, for the first time, takes comfort in. She will have a few days. And then she will go, as Sen wished. She can do that much, but she will not hide for long. Perhaps she and Flen can hide in the countryside and build their revolt there instead. Yes, of course, she can see it now...
She has become so lost in structuring the next rebellion that she at first does not notice the door open again. Two guards have entered and the sound of their solid boots on the stone ground rouse her out of her thoughts. One smiles at her. It is the old man whom she had grudgingly given her respect.
“The new emperor has ordered your freedom, prisoner,” he says, picking the proper key from his ring and inserting it into the cell door. “Lucky you.”
The door opens and the other guard slips inside, grabbing Mili's arm and hoisting her up from the floor. “Come on.”
Quickly – too quickly for Mili – the guards escort Mili out of the prison, into the evening sun, and out of the stronghold itself. They leave her outside standing with the old clothes and dagger they had confiscated on arrival held in her arms. The elder guard pauses for a moment by the door, gives her another smile and a nod, then returns inside.
With that, Mili is free. She stands for another moment in front of the stronghold - the imperial palace, the castle, whatever it might be called now – and then, pulling on the clean dress over her dirty prison clothes and tying the belt around her waist, sniffs the clean air. Free, and all the world laid open to her once more.
She heads in the direction of Flen's house.
When I finish chapter three and edit two, I'll post two. This chapter's kinda weak; I like the next a lot better.
