The Consuming Fire (The Interdependency #2)(43)

“It’s conspiracy mongering.”

“I agree. But not all conspiracies crop up because someone forgot to adjust their tinfoil hat, ma’am. Sometimes they’re part of a disinformation campaign. And, you will forgive me for saying so, you’ve given some cause recently for people to stoke disinformation campaigns.”

“You’re talking about my visions.”

“Yes, among other things. I’m not here to doubt them, ma’am. I am saying they muddy the waters in ways that work against you as much as they work for you. But to be honest I’m less worried about that than the rumors swirling about your upcoming address to the parliament.”

“Ah,” Grayland said. “The one where I will be declaring martial law across the Interdependency.”

“That’s correct.”

“Our press people have already knocked down that rumor.”

Grayland sensed rather than heard Limbar’s reproving sigh at this comment. “Your Majesty, it is certainly true that no one expects you to confirm that you are going to announce martial law, until you actually announce it.”

“I take your point, Sir Hibert. But the fact remains that martial law is not on my parliament address agenda. I and my messengers have been very clear about this. I don’t know what else can be said about it.”

“That’s the point of rumors. They’re not based on anything, so nothing is very effective against them. Truth is no defense, and the people fielding these rumors know it.”

“You believe someone is leveraging all this to work against me.”

“You are the emperox, ma’am. Someone is always working against you. It’s in the job description.”

“To what end?”

“Probably several. I have people working on it. The point of telling you was not to make you worried or paranoid, ma’am. Merely to inform you what is out there, to help you craft your own messaging.”

“Yes, of course.” Grayland picked up her tea and sipped it. She put it back down and looked up at Limbar. “Do you believe Lady Nadashe is actually dead?”

“At this point we have no reason to believe otherwise.”

Grayland smiled. “You have a way of not directly answering the question.”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise, either,” Limbar said. “I’m also aware the bodies at the site were incinerated to the point where they are almost impossible to identify by forensic means. Everything is ash and denatured bone. And that is very convenient.”

“How paranoid do I need to be about this, Sir Hibert?”

“You should not be paranoid of anything, ma’am. The paranoia is my job. Leave it to me. I and my people will discover the truth, whatever it is.”

“Thank you,” Grayland said. Limbar bowed and excused himself and was immediately replaced by Obelees Atek, who would shuttle her off to her next meeting, and the next, and the next, forever and ever, amen.

Except this time Atek did not shuttle her off. “Archbishop Korbijn is here and wants to speak to you. I believe this is regarding Teran Assan.”

“What’s the schedule?”

“Your next several meetings are meet-and-greets. I can clear them for you.”

Grayland frowned. “Don’t clear them; just push them back. I have a half hour for lunch scheduled. Put them there.”

“You need to eat, ma’am.”

“I can skip an occasional lunch, Obelees. Bring along a protein bar. I can shove it into my face between you taking one group out and another in.”

Atek smiled at this. “I’ll bring the archbishop right in.” She exited.

Grayland finished her tea and frowned to herself.

She was having a bundle of contradictory feelings about the death of Nadashe Nohamapetan. The first, and she had to admit it, was relief. Nadashe had been an irritant literally since the beginning of her reign.

And not just Nadashe; the entire Nohamapetan family had been on her, unpleasant and sticky, the whole time. Nadashe with her plotting, Amit with his unappealing stolidness, and now the Countess Nohamapetan with what seemed like inexhaustible anger.

Grayland recounted her meeting with the countess once more. Grayland couldn’t deny her intent had been to roll over the countess, and she’d done just that. But she’d also extended the proverbial olive branch to the countess by offering clemency to Nadashe and placing her in the closest thing the imperial penal system had to a four-star hotel. Grayland had hoped this smallest offering of goodwill would be appreciated; instead the countess could hardly keep her rage in check. Grayland was aware she had missed a step in there somewhere, but for the life of her she couldn’t understand where she had.

Nadashe’s death, whatever else it did, cleared all of that away. No more worrying about Nadashe out there plotting; no more of the countess’s fury on her daughter’s behalf.

Don’t count on that, that annoying part of Grayland’s brain was telling her, and she had to admit that the annoying part of her brain was probably right about that. Limbar had told her that rumors were already spreading about her having Nadashe killed. They were ridiculous, and Limbar was correct that it wouldn’t matter, especially to someone like the Countess Nohamapetan. If the countess could get enraged when Grayland was showing her daughter mercy, she’d probably be a volcano of fury at the thought she had her killed.