The Crown He Would Never Wear
Laniakea had expected the Empress Dowager's visit. A few days earlier, the last time she had seen Hyperion in the Main Palace, he had told her how the Dowager was moving.
"More people have been coming and going from the Dowager's residence. It seems she has had an entirely new wardrobe prepared. And she is making no particular effort to hide it."
Already, he said, the nobility knew precisely which colors and which designs she had ordered. For her affairs to be known in such detail, her side must have been letting the information out on purpose.
I never thought she would sit quietly for the rest of her life.
She was a woman who had spent her whole life chasing wealth, rank, and glory. Laniakea remembered with perfect clarity how the Dowager's arrogance had swelled as the late Emperor's illness grew graver. On the very brink of seeing that long wait bear fruit, she had lost everything.
For a time she had behaved as though the shock had unmoored her wits, but once enough days had passed, the Dowager must surely have settled on a thought. She would take back everything she had once enjoyed.
They say the Second Prince's wife has been meeting with the Dowager all along.
Laniakea called the woman to mind. The two of them had been very close, and for good reason: the Second Prince's wife bent herself to the Dowager in every particular. A daughter of a great noble house, she had fawned before the Dowager as obsequiously as any maid, forever smoothing the older woman's temper. She nursed ambitions hardly smaller than the Dowager's own, so the conduct was, in its way, only natural.
Two such schemers would never simply let slip what had already escaped their grasp. What they were aiming for was plain enough: to have the Second Prince's children confirmed in the line of succession as quickly as possible.
The moment her thoughts reached that far, Laniakea's hand rose of its own accord and settled over her belly.
When Hyperion had told her of the Dowager's movements, her mind had turned, inevitably, to the matter of an heir.
"I'm sorry. I ought to be doing better than this... I'll try harder."
Whenever the question of a successor arose, Laniakea could only bow her head. If she had managed things properly, word of an heir might already have reached Hyperion. As it was, they had not even achieved a proper union. They were still doing nothing but prepare.
"I did not say it to burden you. Pay the Second Prince's wife no more mind than you must, and let us see the banquet through first."
He had spoken in that same gentle voice he always used with her.
"Once the banquet is over, we can take our time and try again."
At those words, of course, Laniakea had flushed scarlet and found herself unable to answer. Once the banquet ended, she would have to steel herself. She was certain of it.
Come to think of it, I've only ever seen the Second Prince's children once.
The Second Prince had two children: a boy who would turn seven this year, and a girl of six. But the only one Laniakea had ever seen was the elder. At some banquet or other, the Second Prince's wife had brought her firstborn son and told the company:
"The younger one is such a sensitive, delicate child that she hates occasions like this. So I had no choice but to bring only the eldest."
Laniakea recalled the boy the woman had brought that day.
"Ugh."
A shudder ran through her before she could stop it.
He had been a truly appalling child. He had shoved over every little girl at the banquet that day and yanked their hair, then seized the gown of the child who had come most prettily dressed and ripped it to shreds until everyone around them was aghast. And the Second Prince's wife, far from restraining her son, had only remarked that he was so healthy and lively she had high hopes for his future. She had not been pretending ignorance. She had seemed truly to believe it, and the memory still raised the hair on Laniakea's arms.
And they mean, in the end, to give a child like that a claim on the throne.
If things went on as they were, that boy would become first in the line of succession. Laniakea clenched her fist. For everyone's sake, that could not be allowed.
I have to try.
And to that end, she first had to see today's coronation through without a hitch.
"What has the Dowager been doing since she arrived?"
"After a brief greeting with His Majesty the Emperor, she is standing toward the front of the nobles."
"Nothing more?"
"No. So far, nothing out of the ordinary."
That could not be. Laniakea could still see it as if it were before her eyes: the Dowager's glare, the way she had shrieked that she would not let this stand. A woman like that would never simply watch Hyperion's coronation unfold in front of her and do nothing.
What did she come here to do?
To the nobles, first of all, she would be announcing that she meant to move in society again. But that was something she could have managed without stepping forward like this. Besides, today's coronation had the new noble faction at its core, and few among them would welcome the Dowager with open arms. That she had come anyway, knowing as much, unsettled Laniakea.
She is plotting something. I am sure of it.
So she could not relax her guard until the day was over. Laniakea tightened her fist and spoke to Hilde.
"Hilde, I am counting on you. Let there be nothing lacking at the coronation. See it done to perfection."
At her mistress's charge, Hilde looked over the chamber overflowing with jewels and gowns and clenched her own fist.
"Do not worry, Your Majesty. I will make certain that everyone who attends today's coronation cannot forget the sight of His Majesty and Your Majesty until the day they die."
Seeing the two of them so resolute, the maids drew themselves up as well, breath sharp with purpose.
Let's do this.
The Great Cloister was packed with those waiting for the coronation. The guests stood in their places with bright faces, trading light conversation with whoever stood beside them. Merely being present was an honor in itself. Besides the nobles entitled to attend, there were people from the Academy, representatives of the other tribes, and the rest of what might be called the Empire's ruling class. They greeted acquaintances warmly and opened easy topics with strangers, spinning new connections as they went.
Even so, one place in the Great Cloister was conspicuously quiet: the space around the Empress Dowager. Her place lay between the Emperor upon the dais and the nobles gathered below. Watching her stand in that ambiguous spot, people murmured in low voices.
Amid the whispering, those who had come from the Academy caught sight of the Dowager, drew near, and offered their greetings.
"It has been a long time. Empress— no. Your Highness the Dowager."
The elderly Dean of the Imperial Academy offered the greeting with a gentle smile. She corrected the title as if it had been a slip, but the Dowager had seen at once that it was deliberate.
"How pleasant to see the Dean again. You must all have set out early. Yours were the first faces I noticed in the Great Cloister. A posture so full of loyalty was most agreeable to behold."
You came running quickly enough to wag your tails at the new Emperor. That was what she meant.
"We could hardly do otherwise. His present Majesty understands the importance of the Academy exceedingly well, and he is already supporting a great many of our studies. The Empire's future is bright."
She laughed, light and needling. Unlike you, this Emperor acknowledges our worth. In your day, when no one grasped how vital it was to invest in learning and craft, the future was pitch-dark... The Dean made no effort to hide the barb.
"There are many others I must greet, so I shall take my leave."
She offered a bow in perfect accordance with etiquette, then turned away. At that, the Dowager ground her teeth. To turn her back without leave—in the old days, such a thing would have been unthinkable.
She looked away from the nobles watching her with a mingling of pity and mockery. There, in the seat of honor above her, stood Hyperion. The sight of him standing higher than she did made her grind her teeth again.
I should have killed him when he was small.
If he had died in the monastery, she had feared the blame would fall upon her sons, and so she had let him live. After that she had sent him to the Northern Border, certain the savages there would kill him of their own accord. Even if the savages failed, she had believed the killing cold would take Hyperion's life in the end. But it was her sons who had died, and Hyperion who had survived.
While the Dowager was watching him, a maid attending the honored guests in the Great Cloister approached.
"Your Majesty the Dowager, I have come to tell you that there are those who request an audience once today's coronation is finished."
Those standing a little apart clicked their tongues when the maid addressed the Dowager as Majesty. Imperial protocol reserved that style for the Emperor and Empress alone. However exalted the Dowager might once have been, once her generation passed she was lowered a rank and addressed as Highness. And yet the girl had called her Majesty.
Those who had been about to object closed their mouths the moment they looked up and saw Hyperion standing above them. The coronation would begin at any moment. There was no need to raise their voices over nothing. The girl was merely ignorant. She would say her piece and withdraw of her own accord. Everyone was thinking as much when the maid, having drawn close, spoke in a voice small enough for the Dowager alone.
"They say it has been finished, just as you ordered."
At the whisper, a smile rose over the Dowager's rigid face. Her gaze went to Hyperion where he stood.
That thing will never wear the crown today.