The documentary had been a superlative historical survey. It had also been scrupulously accurate, which had only made it even more effective for Perthis' purposes. By now, everyone in Tajvana had either viewed the Voicecast version, or read the print version, and been reminded of their city's glory days under the Caliraths.
Inevitably, there'd been some backlash. Much of it, Perthis admitted, was completely justifiable. Tajvana?and Othmaliz?were independent once more. They had better than two hundred years of independence and achievements in their own names of which to be proud. The thought of being once more submerged into someone else's massive embrace, losing that regained individuality as part of some vast, corporate whole, wasn't going to find a ringing welcome in every heart.
But against that stood the Calirath reputation for honor and responsibility. For the administration of impartial justice, and for fairness. And Perthis had been quietly astonished by how many Tajvanis?and how many people of other nations?had turned in their moment of greatest fear and uncertainty not to their own governments, but to the Calirath legend. The life of Emperor Halian had been recalled from the dusty archives, and with it the memory of of his death, personally leading his army in the defense not of his own people, or his own Empire, but of their Bolakini allies. He and his army had been hideously outnumbered, but they had been all that stood between a Bolakini city and the barbarian horde which had slaughtered its way across half of Ricathia.
The Ternathian Navy had been waiting, just offshore, prepared to whisk Halian and his troops safely out of the path of destruction. And Halian had refused.
Refused not simply to withdraw his army, but to have himself taken to safety. And so three quarters of his army had died, and him with it … but the walls of that Bolakini city still stood today, and the statue of the dead Emperor lay before the Halian Gate, exactly where his hideously hacked and hewn body had been found on the field of battle, surrounded by every member of his Imperial Guard.
Halian was not the only Calirath who'd made a similar decision. Oh, there'd been the occasional Calirath coward, even the occasional Calirath treacher or tyrant. At least one Emperor had clearly been insane, and there were persistent (unproven) rumors that he'd eventually been assassinated by his own bodyguards. But there'd been remarkably few of those over the endless, dusty centuries of the dynasty, and people had remembered that, too. Two hundred and thirty years of freely granted independence had not been long enough to erase the memory of millennia of just government and protection, and the groundswell not just here in Tajvana, but all across Sharona, was building steadily, exactly as Perthis had hoped.
No doubt that explained why the Seneschal had made such an unmitigated ass out of himself, Perthis thought with a wry grin. He'd never thought much of the Seneschal at the best of times, and the man's current conduct had knocked any respect Perthis might have had for him right on the head. Obviously, he was terrified by the notion that the Caliraths might, indeed, return to Tajvana?and not, Perthis suspected, simply because of the power and authority he would lose if they did. There'd been rumors for quite some time of serious abuses of office on the current Seneschal's part. Most probably, those rumors represented only the tip of the reality's iceberg, and the Seneschal must be sweating bullets at the thought of what an impartial investigation of his conduct as the Othmalizi head of state might reveal.
It was hard to think of anything the Seneschal could have done to improve his case, but the course he'd adopted had done exactly the reverse. Perthis had heard about the odd greeting the Seneschal's herald had produced … and Taje's response to it. He had no idea what that had all been about, but he fully intended to find out.
What mattered at the moment, however, was that everyone knew that whether they'd understood the subtext or not, the Seneschal had offered some deep and personal insult to the Emperor of Ternathia upon his arrival. Zindel's response to that insult (or, perhaps, his lack of response) had only underscored the pettiness and stupidity of the man who'd offered it. And, Perthis grin turned into a broad smile, Grand Princess Andrin's response?like her falcon's?had been magnificent.
Perthis had never seen the grand princess with his own eyes before. In fact, he'd discovered that there was remarkably little press coverage of Andrin or either of her younger sisters. All he'd really known about her was that she was about seventeen years old, tall, reputed to be both quiet and intelligent, and that she had already demonstrated that she possessed the Calirath Talent.
He hadn't been prepared for the perfectly poised, elegantly groomed, ice-eyed young woman who had inspected the rotund, squat, undeniably oily Seneschal as if he were some particularly loathsome slug she'd discovered on the sole of her sandal. She'd been perfect?perfect?standing there like a tall, slender statue of ivory flame, crowned in the fiery sun-glitter of her jeweled hair, and the Seneschal's obvious terror of her falcon had only made it better. Her father had made the Seneschal look petty; she'd made him look ridiculous, and that was far, far more deadly.
Perthis raised one hand in salute to the raven-haired young woman waving from the window of the hideously overdone, antique carriage rolling past below him. He hadn't counted on her, but he'd already set his research staff to work on her. She might just prove almost as effective for his purposes as her father.
Not, Perthis' smile vanished, that she was likely to thank him for it once she realized what he'd actually done to her and her family.
The approach to the Great Palace was lined with cheering crowds all the way to the ornate palace gates, which were guarded by men in Othmalizi uniform. They carried the same Model 10 as the Ternathian Army, something Andrin was proud of herself for recognizing. Her father had not allowed her to skip that portion of her education, just because she wouldn't be serving in Ternathia's armed forces.
The officers in charge of the guard details saluted sharply as the Seneschal's carriage passed through the gates, and their men presented arms crisply, but there was a taut professionalism under that military theater. Their eyes were sharp and intense, obviously screening the passengers in each of the carriages behind them in the long procession, as well. Andrin found that rather reassuring as she thought of the protesters she'd seen along the way.
The palace's drive ran down a short avenue of palm trees, then ended in a circular space before the glittering building's ornate main doors. Those doors, Andrin knew, were panels of solid, burnished silver, more than twice her father's impressive height. Her study of the Grand Palace's history had already told her that, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of their mirror-bright magnificence, and she swallowed a silent gasp of amazed delight as she finally beheld them with her own eyes.
If the Emperor was particularly impressed by the sight, he gave no sign of it. He simply exited the carriage first and handed her down. Then he stepped courteously aside for the Seneschal, and waited for their host to precede them across the stone-paved drive to the main steps. Those steps were of polished white marble, lined by liveried servants who bowed or curtsied nearly to the ground as they passed.
The enormous doors swung open as they approached. Each panel was a bas relief masterwork, illustrating key scenes of Ternathian history that Andrin recognized at a glance. She lifted the hem of her skirts as she stepped across the raised threshold?a curious architectural feature she'd never seen before?then paused as a servant bowed low and slipped her cloak from her shoulders. Other servants were taking the coats and cloaks of other members of their delegation, which followed discreetly behind, and Andrin stepped forward once again. Her footsteps clicked on the marble floors, and she managed to keep her lips closed against a powerful urge to gape.