Age of War

Chapter 15

It was the first bright day she could remember in a long time. It was still cold, but the wind was not quite so biting as it blew in from the wide bay of Atlas. It almost felt as if spring could be on the way, but Vion knew that wasn’t true. Or at least, if spring did come, it wouldn’t be like the ones she remembered. There wouldn’t be blossoming trees or fledging birds. There would just be more rain, more cold, more mud and misery. How long could they last like this? She sat out on the terrace at a table that overlooked the gardens. Once this spot was beautiful: now it was a dreary place. The flightless birds that had pecked their way across the lawn for centuries were now dead, some to cold, some to hunger, and some to a shipment of diseased grain brought over from the mainlands. There were still places across the sea where the land was fruitful, but they were decreasing with each passing year, at least if her new Mistress of Spies was to be believed. How long until the ice hemmed humanity into just a narrow band of warmth girdling the earth? Or maybe it wouldn’t stop there: maybe it would eventually engulf everything. Maybe there really was no hope. Such dark thoughts were the fashion of this age, it seemed to her. Here, secure in the Enclave, life was more or less unchanged, but out in the streets she knew it was a different story. When this war was done, she’d need to take care of that: take care of her people. She wasn’t much of an Empress to them yet, but she would be. She’d be the greatest in history. Of that, she was certain.

She turned just as her guest arrived and favoured her with a smile and a nod of greeting. The poor girl. At least she was properly covered this time. The gown she’d been wearing during their last meal had been more suited to the bedroom than the dinner table, although that was no fault of her own. Atlantian styles weren’t made for Talosi women. Now Aethlan was wearing a woollen shawl that covered her bare shoulders – it looked like the rough spun work of her own Province – over a dress that was much more demure and opaque. The pale woman smiled back at her as she walked over to the table.

“Sister,” Vion said, rising from her chair. She took Aethlan in a brief embrace and then bade her sit.

“My Empress.” Aethlan waited for her to return to the table before she seated herself opposite. They were at a small table, marble topped, set with a few covered plates. Servants appeared and poured wine into goblets. This time it was white, from the warm vineyards of southern Oceanus, in the far east of Atlantis.

“This is a little game I’m trying,” Vion explained.

“Empress?”

“If I pretend it’s spring, maybe I’ll be able to convince myself and it won’t feel so cold.”

“I do not…”

The servants began to uncover their meal. Olives swam in oil flavoured with chilli pepper flakes, glistening mussels were piled in ice and a dressed crab on a bed of rice took pride of place. A year ago she would have thought this a fairly rustic lunch – now it was the finest money could buy. “In spring and summer, we prefer to eat food like this. In better times, this bay would be filled with the sails of fishing boats. One had only to dip a net into the shallow water along the cliffs and a harvest of shellfish would be your reward. Children would play in the rock pools, puling free limpets and mussels,” she gestured to the plate before them, “eating them raw there and then. Paradise.”

“It sounds wonderful. We have nothing like that in Talos.”

“No indeed. Fish is a staple though, if I recall my lessons?”

“In the north they fish for haddock, cod, herring. It is eaten salted and smoked. Nothing like this, Empress.” She cast her pale eyes across the table.

“I thought this would be more familiar to you. Last time I think perhaps you were…overwhelmed…”

“Some of the flavours were…yes…a little much.” She smiled shyly.