Roosters, Eggs and the Grand Chamber

Meanwhile, the Restoration marched on. Davidt invited us to a formal dinner at Nieburn for a special announcement. We knew it treated in some way with the Emperor—at least, we hoped for something that would explain and reward all the time he had spent away from his family—but he had kept it a secret from all of his siblings until that very evening.

When he said it, however, he did not appear triumphant at all. He seemed neither somber, but one might normally have expected elation with word like this. But he merely raised his glass and proclaimed that it was a great honor for the Masdilts of Allonia, in recognition of their imperial blood, grand ducal status and early loyalty to the Emperor.

Alix was plenty enthusiastic, though. “Grand Chamberlain; that is wonderful news!” She cried, clasping her hands in excitement. “There are no nobles with any such high post!”

We all agreed and offered Davidt our congratulations. Even Nathia seemed pleased, for once glad to be part of such a southern pedigree. Then Adam asked just what authority the Grand Chamber carried. “Explain it for those of us less-experienced in the organization of government,” he requested, attempting to indulge his elder brother-in-law.

“Matters of diplomacy and administration. The Chancellor is the chief legal and spiritual officer, the treasurer controls all matters financial and I handle whatever does not fall therewithin.”

He seemed satisfied with the new position, at the very least. As he had described before, it was more a reward for having supported the Emperor at a critical moment than anything else. The Grand Chamber was a symbol of Imperial gratitude and trust, not some recognition that Davidt was perfect for the post.

It sounded like a terrible burden to me. He appointed all diplomats and selected all imperial governors. These were all subject to the Emperor’s approval, of course, but the idea of taking on such a task seemed needlessly unpleasant. To have to be ready at my sovereign’s hand to solve a diplomatic crisis as I labored meanwhile on land enclosure assents in Lylya bore no appeal.

But Davidt was not the man to worry himself with such things. He was not intimidated by the chore, but instead thought of it as a way to shape both foreign and domestic affairs. His influence would know no bounds, and he would wield considerable authority over every other peer, while holding near-sovereign power in his own grand duchy.

The drawbacks that Davidt perceived were much broader than mine. He confided to me later that week that he would no longer to be able to hold court at the Appero. “I can do nearly all of my duties from the capital,” he told me, “but almost none of them from elsewhere. Before the Emperor receives envoys, I must personally welcome them. There are matters of urgency—diplomatic situations, disputes between governors and local gentry—that all report to Acrola first. I must always be prepared for these. The smaller duties to be carried out in the other corners of the realm can be handled by my deputies, but no one can take my place at court.”

“So then if you must stay here, I suppose we all shall as well. If not a Grand Duke of Allonia, no one can run the Appero.”

This had been a serious concern for my family. Ever since the Restoration we had collectively fretted about those happy times at Enelt. We were in the capital now, but only for the coronation and wedding, alongside other imperial spectacles. Had it occurred to us that events might not continue as they had before, we might never have left the Appero in the first place. We all had visions of many more years at our own court, and until that very conversation with Davidt, I had no reason to believe that these visions were not an impending reality.

“Perhaps you or Davidt shall hold court there,” my brother told me, referring to his elder son. He had increased the speed of his words, likely in an attempt to dismiss this for the monumental news that it was.

“I suppose we could do that. But nothing could be a true Allonian court without you.” I tried to sound supportive, rather than dejected, but my talents are not at behaving otherwise than I feel. I am sure he sensed my disappointment.

But I must apologize for having moved too deeply into a scene too far ahead. For now it should suffice to say that Davidt’s concerns about the Appero’s downfall were valid. He also understood that his strong connection to a particular region would make him an easy target, especially from critics in hostile, distant Lylya. But that is also further head than I intend to go just now, and it should and will be borne out later.

I shall hasten back to Davidt’s initial announcement at Nieburn because of where the conversation turned not too much later. We began discussing other things—as families often will—when Kate asked about the eggs and the rooster once again. “You have not made mention of it since that initial morning, a week ago, and after Ariane recounted Ferand’s ridiculous rumor, I forgot about it entirely. Has the question been satisfied?”

Everyone trained their eyes on me. I tried not to look at Adam, knowing that he would pressure me to invent more lies than I already had. I had given the matter significant thought over the past week. I refused out of hand to believe the story of Joshua’s death. I knew that it was the source of Meline’s warning, but also that it was patently untrue. My mother would not have imprisoned her own young son, leaving him to rot in isolation. I knew she was incapable of it. But what bothered me most of all was that I had no fact to contradict it. My intuition and my memory told me it was wrong, but I had no disagreeing source or piece of information to prove it untrue. This lingering doubt—the conviction that my mother had not done it, without any negative proof thereof—has continued to haunt me from that day to this one.

Did I want to inflict this same somber sensation on my siblings? Was it worth them knowing the truth, no matter how much it might bother them?

“What story is this, Andrew?” Davidt’s wife, Kate de Platir, interrupted my thoughts.

Alix was on her toes, responding before I could. “Some woman at court was apparently warning others that their husbands and children are not safe when the offspring of Katharine Sillhardt are in town. How did she say it, Andrew? ‘Keep your rooster close and your eggs closer?’” She smiled slyly, as both of her sisters giggled at this foggy recollection.

“No,” Ariane interjected. “‘Take caution when a child of Katharine Sillhardt is near, as they prey upon both the rooster and the egg.’ Is it not, Andrew?”

“That is close,” I said. “The exact words were: ‘with the children of Iszmon at court, we should all sleep with one eye open, carefully guarding both our rooster and our eggs.” I shook my head. I had heard and thought so much about roosters and eggs over the past week that I never wanted to eat fowl again.

I studied everyone’s faces carefully. Ariane, Alix, Ferand and Tillenrow appeared confident that they already knew the plot of my story. The two Kates bore interest and curiosity, waiting for an answer that they did not expect to threaten their world views. Davidt was a bit more concerned. Did he know what Adam had said, or did he merely anticipate that the answer was less than savory? Adam, meanwhile, turned despondent. He knew that I would have no choice but announce the real root of this warning to my entire family. Or, rather, I did have a choice, but Adam and I both knew that I would not lie. I could see that he now regretted having told me in first place, as now Kate and everyone else would know what was supposed to be a secret.

The worst countenance of all, however, belonged to my wife. Nathia would surely perceive this as an attack on her; my harkening back to that day at Frontton. Of course, I had not been the one to bring up the subject that night, but I could already hear her shrieking at me nonetheless. “How could you tell all of your family about this? What business is it of theirs, or do you have no aspirations but to embarrass me?” I did not have to wait until tonight to know that I would soon hear these cries.

But I had every right to discuss this story with my siblings. It was about our mother, after all, and it did not even pertain to Nathia. She could not remember Meline and had not been present when I heard the warning. To a woman like Nathia, however, everything was either an act in her favor or an act against her. I can only be grateful that she still had the sense to save her scolds for later, when we found ourselves in private.

After a moment to consider my options, I reported back to my family. “I have learned that it has a deeper, more sinister root than I initially believed. With the permission of my informant, I will gladly explain.”

I had effectively cornered Adam into agreeing, but only after the situation had forced me to do so. If Adam remained silent now, everyone would eventually figure him for my supplier. He realized this, and finally admitted that I must tell the tale, as there was no other option available to us.

So I repeated it all, exactly as Adam had told me. I attempted to be more casual in tone, acting as though the very idea were ridiculous. I was not entirely successful in this, however, because when I concluded, everyone seemed agitated. No one spoke for several moments; a highly unusual occurrence for our very open Allonian family.

Then, abruptly, Alix scoffed. “Yes, I am sure our loving mother did such a thing. Have we not already heard a million such tales before? It has happened since the dawn of time and will continue to happen until the dusk: beautiful, charismatic women in positions of power will always be brutally criticized, even for things they have not done. There were a hundred women who wanted to drag her down and a thousand men who wanted her place. Of course people tried to do whatever they could to discredit and destroy her.”

It was true; mother had always inspired jealous criticism in those around her. We all outwardly accepted Alix’s explanation, but it had come with just too much delay. Clearly, they had all felt just as threatened by the story as I did. We knew our mother was innocent, but it bothered us that the story still described a possible incident.

Adam quickly changed the subject, returning it to Davidt’s appointment. But Joshua must still have weighed heavily on our minds, as it was a new and disturbing topic. I am sure I met some rebuke from Nathia as she and I retired that night, but it has so mingled with her other tantrums as to no longer be distinct in my mind.