The Iron Palace had a completely different ambience during the Emperor’s private days. Aralim intentionally waited until most of the morning was gone before heading to the capitol; now that he was on the other side of the battle lines, he’d rather not encounter his Ascendance, training with swords in the courtyard.
Of course, once he got there and faced the line of Aura that veiled the entrance to the Palace with brown robes, he remembered just how foolish a notion that was.
“What business do you have on the Palace grounds?” asked one of the armoured warriors on duty.
Aralim pursed his lips a moment, and said, “I wish to speak to Ovoe the Keeper.”
The guard stiffened and stepped aside. “In your go, sir.” Aralim walked through the open archways of the Palace and through the line of patiently standing men and women in robes. One of them stepped out of line and, with one palm, bade Aralim follow behind him. They crossed the empty courtyard—even the amphitheatre was a skeleton of its usual self. Up the long flight of small steps, they walked, and beneath the distant ceiling of the Iron Palace.
The Emperor’s stronghold was quieter too; on the way he was led, he didn’t see anyone through the cold pillars. There was no one around, and then suddenly there was. Another member of the Aura, a short man with a scar on his neck, stood quietly between two pillars and raised his hand to halt the two newcomers. Then he went to check the way ahead—likely, to confirm that Ovoe would see him.
He returned a moment later, but did not speak. After a moment had passed, Aralim asked, “Will I be waiting long?”
The short man in orange raised one hand and patted the air, to indicate patience.
A few moments later, another member of the Aura walked by. Trailing behind him were two women. The first had black hair and black skin; she wore long green leggings and carried a dress her arms, not hiding her bare chest at all. The other had hair she had dyed with blue and silver paint and wore a short silk tunic made with a fishnet pattern. As they passed, Aralim’s Aura led him through the columns once more.
Thankfully, Ovoe wore pants, at least. He was doing some stretches as Aralim approached, his muscular bare torso gleamed with a thin layer of sweat. His dark skin stood out against the light outside the Palace, while his combed and bleached hair nearly seemed to disappear in contrast. He didn’t look at Aralim. “Wine,” he said, as he interlocked his fingers and stretched them toward his feet. The Aura brought a small round table and a tall glass bottle, while Aralim glanced around the space. There were a set of cushions to lounge upon, and a wooden chair at a cluttered desk.
When Ovoe straightened, he poured himself a glass and turned to face his guest. “Aralim,” he said. “What’s this? No Miresh?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Aralim said. He leaned as his lantern staff. “Miresh is quite busy these days.”
“Oh,” Ovoe said, raising his glass and scoffing. “No disappointment, friend. I always found you much more interesting than her. What can I do for you today? Need me to spy on your neighbors? Sadly, I cannot bring your friend Brallo back to life.”
Aralim laughed. “No, no, none of that. I came to deliver the news everyone enjoys receiving—you were right.”
Ovoe didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, everyone did come to visit you?”
“Indeed, everyone came asking about the intruder’s attack, excluding the one man who has the resources to get me more information,” Aralim explained.
“You don’t need more information.” Ovoe took another sip of his wine as he rolled his eyes and paced across the stone floor. “Aralim, I am the Keeper of Information. And, which Court do you serve on…?”
“And here I thought you’d be interested in helping someone without obligations,” Aralim said, shifting his weigh off the arched, blue staff.
Ovoe looked at him with a glint in his eyes and looked him over. He tilted his head indecisively, then resolved, “I’ll keep my gloves on for now, I suppose.” He took a drink of his wine to calm whatever gleam had looked out from his visage and spoke more gently than that one phrase. Their game of words continued, “You made certain everyone knows you will not bear obligations. A man without a tangible goal is no line, no, not even a goat. You are grass in the wind to me.”
“But grass continues to grow, until it is eaten by insects, which are in turn eaten by birds, then cats, and so on until it comes to dwell within the strongest of creatures. When that creature dies, it becomes part of something stronger still as the carcass rots: Gethra itself. Such is the way of the path. I have been earnest in that goal since the beginning.” Aralim finished his speech and was surprised by the passion of his own words. He tapped his lantern staff against the carved stone tiles beneath his feet for added dramatic effect.
Ovoe scrunched his face up in confusion as Aralim spoke, and spread his arms at crooked angles in a shrug of perplexity. Then he mimicked following points of logic with his index finger and said, “So, you’re not grass. You’re dirt.”
Aralim stared at him.
Ovoe took a sip of his wine and shook his head. “So, once again, why do you disturb my rather enjoyable morning?”
Aralim inhaled, then quietly exhaled through his nose. “You know the intruder’s final words, I presume?” While he spoke, he paced over to Ovoe’s desk and picked up a quill. He glanced up at Ovoe before choosing a page to write upon and the man did not protest.
“I do,” Ovoe drawled, “and I know what they mean, more or less.”
As he spoke, Aralim dabbed his feather into an ink-quill and wrote onto the scrap of parchment, “‘This is all a lie’, and I would not have it so.”
Ovoe looked at the page, then held it over the fire. He tossed the note onto the floor tiles as it became embers. “So, you’re looking for obligations now?”
“You’ve been playing these games for a long time, Ovoe. You know everyone wants to gain more than they give,” Aralim said. He stepped away from the desk and leaned on his lantern staff once again. He took a breath. “But I have a lot to gain.”
Ovoe nodded, and smiled. The correlation between give and gain need not be overstated. He poured himself more wine and looked over at Aralim again. “I think you’d have a lot to gain by speaking with your friend Vas’vir Athanu.”
Mistress Athanu had been Aralim’s sponsor to reach the Second Court when Miresh and he had first arrived in Rema. He would not be standing here in the midst of these plotters and cutthroats if not for her. “If that is where the Path leads,” Aralim murmured, “then perhaps I will find myself walking that way.”
The spy master ran a hand through his hair and said, “Whatever.” He lifted the wine glass to his lips once more.
“I suppose I’ll leave you to your morning endeavors,” Aralim said. Ovoe smiled and raised his wine to him. Aralim didn’t need to follow an Aura to find his way out. He swam through the cool, breezeless shadows of the Iron Palace and began to descend the steps outside.
Rattar and Aglo the Industrialist were climbing the stairs as Aralim came down them. Aglo and Aralim had only spoken once or twice. The man had dark skin tattooed with blue and white flowers, and short, well-trimmed brown hair. They were speaking in quiet tones until they saw Aralim. “Have you heard?” Rattar asked.
“Heard what?”
Aglo spoke up. “Yakalaka hasn’t been seen in about a week.”
Rattar nodded and squinted his eyes at Aralim. “No one has been able to learn anything,” he said, and gave another tilt of the head. He meant what he was saying, as a courtesy to Aralim.
“That is quite concerning,” Aralim said. Yakalaka had tried to kill Brallo because of a debt. Brallo had lived, and then died. There was a list of people who wanted Yakalaka dead, but most of those names were invisible to Aralim still. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“We’ll let you know,” Rattar said. “We didn’t even start looking for her until she missed a second day at Court.
Aralim put in a jab for her job. “Does she have that small of a presence in the Court?”
Aglo chuckled and gave Rattar a smile. “The First Court doesn’t convene that regularly, Aralim. And no foreign issues were brought forward so we didn’t have need to fetch her.”
“I see,” Aralim said. He gave Rattar a glance again; it seemed very strange that Yakalaka would vanish in the midst of all this. After the brief exchange on those stone stairs, Aralim hurried home. For once, he was glad that Narr stood guard in the foyer. He had half-expected to find the foreign minister hiding in their living room.
He’d go and visit Mistress Athanu shortly, he decided. To see what he could ‘gain.’