Chapter 80
"The situation in Nesia ton Breton is indeed not yet fully stable, Nirma.
The conflict among the royal families still continues, as usual, as it always happens in any land where the throne is contested.
But overall, Henry Beauclerc is doing quite well, still strong enough to hold onto his throne, still clever enough to deceive his enemies, still fortunate enough not to die from poison or a dagger in his sleep."
He paused for a moment, his eyes still fixed on Nirma, then without looking away he continued in a slightly changed tone, a tone sharper and far more enigmatic.
"But what about the Holy Roman Empire, Nirma? How is King Heinrich IV?
Because I have heard rumors, rumors loud enough to reach our ears at headquarters, that chaos has broken out there, chaos caused by one of the king's own descendants.
Surely you know something about that, don't you?"
Nirma caught it immediately.
The signal, the smile, the tone of voice, all of it spoke in a language understood only by those accustomed to living in the world of disguises and intrigue.
Ashita was not merely asking about Heinrich IV; she was saying something else, something hidden behind ordinary words.
She was saying that she knew, that the Linear Time Police knew, that Nirma and Arya's disguise in Constantinople had never truly been a secret, that every step they took, every word they spoke, every person they met could be traced and exposed whenever they wished.
By mentioning the Holy Roman Empire, by pretending to regard Nirma and Arya as delegates sent to observe the crusader forces, Ashita was playing on the same stage of theater, saying that she would guard their secret as long as they guarded hers, that in this room, for now, they could speak in codes understood only by themselves.
Nirma replied with a smile just as thin, just as enigmatic, a smile that said she understood the game, that she could play by the same rules.
"Indeed, Ashita, there has been a small upheaval in the Holy Roman Empire.
A son rising against his father, traitors hiding behind masks of loyalty, all the old dramas we have seen far too often in the history of any kingdom.
But you know it yourself, Heinrich IV is not the type of king who surrenders easily.
Whatever happens inside his palace will not diminish his determination to regulate the path of the crusading armies preparing to depart for Jerusalem.
Because in the end, Ashita, what happens on the surface is often nothing more than a smokescreen for what happens beneath it. Just like our conversation now, perhaps?"
Arya beside Nirma could only remain silent, his eyes moving quickly between Nirma and Ashita, trying to grasp every nuance, every layer of meaning hidden behind simple words about distant European kings.
For several moments, no one moved in that room.
Nirma and Ashita stared at each other, Nirma's still-sharp left eye meeting Ashita's eyes filled with wounds and secrets, and between them flowed a strange current of understanding, the understanding that they were both players on the same chessboard, that they both knew too much to deceive each other, that they were both bound by a dark history that could never truly be erased.
On the other side, Arya and Tegar also looked at each other, but with a different intensity, a different language of body movement.
Arya with his hand still half-reaching for his sword, Tegar with his fingers calmly resting on the hilt of his keris, two young warriors ready to protect the person beside them by any means necessary, two loyal guards who would not hesitate to sacrifice their lives for their duty.
Four pairs of eyes locked in a silence so thick that each heartbeat sounded like war drums echoing in their ears.
And then the door opened.
The creaking of its hinges shattered the silence like a knife slicing through silk, and every head turned simultaneously toward the source of the sound.
A household guard of Ioannis Taronites appeared at the doorway, his posture upright, his uniform neat, his face wearing a formal expression that revealed nothing.
Ahem.
That small sound suddenly broke the silence that had built a wall between the four people facing each other, and in an instant four pairs of eyes turned toward its source.
The household guard stood at the doorway with an expression difficult to interpret, half embarrassed for interrupting, half firm in carrying out his duty, his hand still slightly trembling as it held the door handle he had just opened.
"Apologies for the interruption, Ladies and Gentlemen," he said with a voice that tried to sound formal, though it was clear he could feel the frozen tension in the room.
"Master Ioannis Taronites is ready in his chamber and invites all of you to enter. Together."
He pronounced the final word with slight emphasis, as if to ensure that his master's message was delivered clearly.
That the four important guests, regardless of the complicated relationship among them, were invited to enter together, without exception, without waiting for turns.
Nirma was the first to move.
She stepped forward without looking back, without waiting for Arya, without giving any signal to Ashita or Tegar.
Her stride was steady, her chin raised, her eyes fixed straight ahead toward the now fully opened door, and beyond that doorway she could glimpse a fairly large room with walls decorated by paintings and shelves filled with rolls of parchment.
Arya followed behind her, still carrying a vigilance he could not hide, his hand remaining close to the hilt of his sword, his eyes occasionally glancing toward Ashita and Tegar walking beside them.
Ashita walked gracefully, the long fabric of her dress whispering softly across the stone floor, her flower-shaped earrings swaying gently with each movement, and on her face remained the thin smile that could never be fully interpreted.
Tegar beside her walked calmly, his left hand still close to the keris at his waist, his right hand gripping something unseen, perhaps a hidden weapon, perhaps a communication device from the future—no one could be certain.
The four of them entered.
Inside the room illuminated by the warm glow of oil lamps, the four stood still for a moment, like statues that had just been placed in position by the careful hands of a museum curator.
Nirma stood slightly ahead on the right side, Ashita level with her on the left, Arya a few steps behind Nirma on the right, and Tegar a few steps behind Ashita on the left, a formation not planned yet unconsciously formed by instinct, a formation that allowed them to protect each other while also watching each other.
And before them, behind a polished teakwood desk, stood Ioannis Taronites, a true bureaucrat who had spent most of his life behind stacks of documents and rolls of parchment rather than on battlefields or atop a horse.
His body reflected his occupation perfectly.
Average height, perhaps one hundred sixty-five to one hundred seventy centimeters, neither towering nor physically intimidating.
His build leaned toward stoutness, portly as people often said, with a small protruding belly that tried to hide beneath his loose silk robe, a belly shaped by years of enjoying palace meals and moving very little.
To be continued…