‘Are you coming down yet?’

‘How long has it been?’ Eir had said, brushing down a cloud of dust with the side of her arm.

‘You should come down before they clip you round the ear. Eir. Ha! Ear Eir! You’re named after an ear!’

‘Shut up or I’m never coming down. Worse, I’ll say that you scared me up here, and made me stay here and cry for ages.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ Rika said.

‘I would. So how long has it been?’

‘Four hours.’

‘Give it at least two more. This book is good. The sweets are good. Anyway, I like the fuss being made. Makes a change.’

Eir had always been the one less likely to follow instructions, the younger sibling, testing the rules that had been first set for Rika. And she had a point: they would often be ignored. They were children, so she should not be so harsh on them. Their father was busy being Emperor. A tough man, he shouted at them and their mother for no noticeable reason. Then there were the beatings, memories she tried to repress. One could see the neglect upon her mother’s face, the withered features while in conversation with him, occasional bursts into tears as she sat staring out of the window. She had been beautiful. Sleek black hair, a pretty, oval face, tall and regal. Such dramatic clothing. Girls would help her select outfits, make-up, jewels, perfumes. Every bit the Emperor’s wife. To Rika women were worth more than just sporting trinkets, being repressed by a man, trapped by a family. Back then Rika would sit on her bed, dazzled, feeling lucky if her mother tried some of her items on her, smiling. She remembered her breath smelled of mint leaves-

A knock at the door.

For a moment she considered not answering. If she remained seated here by the window with her memories, it was possible that her day wouldn’t even begin. As soon as she got up, events would inexorably be set in motion – events that would lead to her being declared sovereign of the Jamur Empire. Instead she could just sit here and stare out at the city, allowing the hypnotic flakes of snow to take her mind away.

Easy to understand why her father had eventually become insane.

‘Rika, are you awake? It’s Eir.’

‘Just a moment.’ Rika rose to let her sister enter, pleased it was not another stranger.

Eir marched to the centre of the room, a heady waft of perfume following. She was wearing an outrageously fashionable red gown, high collar, black sleeves, her hair slick with oil, her face made up like nothing Rika had ever seen before. A fake red tundra rose nestled on her breast.

‘You’re not even dressed,’ Eir observed.

‘No, I’m not,’ Rika sighed. ‘I was watching the snow and just thinking.’

‘You’ll have plenty of time for that,’ Eir said. ‘We’ve got decades yet to go blind from the whiteness of it all, they say. The Night Guard and Council are assembling, as are all the major families.’

‘I’ve got a little while yet before I need to get there,’ Rika said. ‘I’m not sure how I’ll cope here, with all the fuss they make. How does one get anything done with so many other people interfering?’

‘I simply don’t know,’ Eir confessed, now sprawling across the windowsill. ‘It’s kind of fun to have such a bother made of us from time to time.’

Rika smiled. ‘You’ve become such a spoilt little brat.’

‘Don’t… you’re sounding like Randur.’

‘Who’s Randur?’ Rika demanded.

‘No one.’ Eir clenched her hands in a nervous manner.

‘Indeed.’ Rika took a step closer. ‘He wouldn’t be that young braggart strutting about these halls flirting wildly with every woman he meets, would he? I have certainly noticed him. Don’t tell me you’re predictably falling for his charms too?’

Eir laughed. ‘You’ve hardly been here so how could you even think that. No, I can barely stand having to dance with him.’

‘So you’re close to him, are you? Is this a frequent occurrence?’ Rika folded her arms.

‘He’s only my instructor.’

‘Is he at least any good?’ Rika enquired.

‘He seems to think so, at least.’

‘He’s certainly a pretty man,’ Rika conceded, inviting her sister to open up to her obvious infatuation.

‘Don’t let him hear you say that. He’d not let you forget about it in a hurry. Anyway, I don’t want to discuss him.’ Eir stood up. ‘Now how soon can we expect you to bless us with your presence?’

‘Just give me a few minutes. I’ll be down.’

Eir kissed her sister on the cheek, went to leave.

‘One moment,’ Rika said.

So many years had passed, and she now considered how her little sister had developed into an attractive young woman. Rika walked over to her, grasped her hands. It felt easy to be open with her. ‘Eir, I’m scared, at times, that I don’t think I can ever be an Empress. I’m not strong enough to do this. I just don’t have the experience-’

‘Rika, you’re the bravest, most sensible woman I know. You left this city to spend your life on a fringe island with nothing more than a few peasant farms and Jorsalir structures for company – that in itself takes quite some strength of purpose. You have spent time studying religion, so you possess a moral code that frames your thoughts. And, besides, now that father’s gone, it may be fun because everyone will want to impress you.’

After a brief silence, Rika said, ‘Are you sad? I mean, that he’s gone?’

Slowly, Eir put her arms around her shoulders, and Rika enjoyed the warm embrace. To be able to be close to her sister again moved her. They held each other for a minute. Eir whispered, ‘I only feel upset because of the relief he’s gone, and because now I might have to start growing up and taking responsibility.’

To Rika’s surprise, hundreds of people turned to face her as she stood at the top of the stairway leading down from the balcony, and the noise they made was alarming. It wasn’t as though this would be quiet, the death of the only person in the city that had been known to everyone.

Those who weren’t military wore vivacious dress, like her sister, that strange tradition in Villjamur to wear the brightest colours to see off the dead. There would be no morbid reflection here, guaranteeing a funeral day more colourful than any normal one.

At the foot of the stairs was a wheeled catafalque bearing a wooden casket.

Her father’s body.

Although she knew she should, she didn’t really feel all that much for him any more, but why was that? Had she spent so long alienating herself from the more basic human emotions that now she didn’t know what to think, or was it a relief at the passing of this man who had been so cruel to her mother, a man who had loved no one but himself?

Standing in a row immediately behind the casket was the Night Guard, what was left of it, just eleven members currently. Commander Lathraea stood to attention at the front of them, a vision of darkness in his black uniform, his pale face shining like some ghostly beacon.

Councillors loitered behind him, and then various nobles, in bright robes, further back. Ordinary citizens from the city had been allowed access to this privileged level, so crammed themselves, shoulder to shoulder, into any adjoining street that provided a decent view. All around the city she could see people watching from balconies, standing on walls, leaning from the windows of countless towers. Many of them were waving to her, and there was an element of excitement about the entire city. There would be narrations tonight, as there always were – they would linger on Emperor Johynn’s life until the red sun rose. There would be wine, beer, dancing. A few late-night walks where people would be saying how lovely she looked or what a sad time for her to follow in her father’s footsteps.

Rika strode down the steps to join her sister by her father’s casket. Some part of her wanted to lift the coffin lid, to see what his face looked like one more time, to wonder if her anger would be rekindled, or if she would open up her heart to him only to be met with a cold silence.