Part I continued

"In the Eye of the Hurricane"

Chapter 2

My father's face was the first I saw outside my royal chambers. He was leaning against the banister with his arms crossed, speaking with Lord Wainwright, my navy advisor. The elderly gentleman was a retired general and overseeing today's celebrated launch of the ISS Jessamine Kaldwin.

Walls of countless books lined the shelves from floor to ceiling, illuminated by a massive chandelier dangling in the center of the two-story chamber. Below I could hear the soft mumble of dignitaries, advisors, and other luminaries invited to my private reception for today's festivities. The lucky few. The rest were in the Formal Reception Hall, the mammoth chamber at the front of the palace far below.

Lord Wainwright turned towards me expectantly. He would be my first appointment for the day.

"Empress, you look well," he said cheerfully, his cigar-stained fingers resting over his bulging belly. How he'd managed to fit into his old navy coat after all these years was beyond me.

"Thank you, General," I said, my eyes flickering towards the sudden commotion below. I stepped next to my father and leaned over the banister, causing many below to raise their heads and, upon seeing me, immediately bow.

All except Advisor Leonora Helmswater, the source of the raucous noise. She was red in the face and shouting, her arm restrained by Captain Mayhew who looked none too pleased with the break in decorum.

"Damn your appointment book, Mister Plainstow!" Leonora cried. "The Empress must see me and now!"

"Your uncouth behavior will not be tolerated, Madam!" Erick Plainstow bumbled, out of sorts and clearly insulted as she rudely flapped a copy of the Dunwall Courier in his face.

I glanced at my father and we shared a look. The Crown Killer. Ichabod Boyle.

Corvo changed how close he was standing next to me, his demeanor at once possessive and threatening to all those who watched from below. It was a show of unity. Of strength. Now, more than ever, we had to visibly stand together, especially on a day like today.

I projected my voice below with cold authority. "Advisor Helmswater."

She stopped struggling and lifted her eyes to where my father and I were standing together, far above her. For a tense moment, she held our gazes, her beady eyes defiant and accusing, but then she broke away and bowed her head. In the silence (for the reception chamber had become deadly quiet), I looked to Alexi and nodded. "Bring her to my study, Captain."

Sighing, I pushed away from the banister and took the old general's hands. "I'm sorry, General. We must delay our meeting."

"It won't be long," Corvo promised, his eyes dark and simmering with annoyance. This was not the first time Advisor Helmswater had become hysterical over what she'd read in the paper––but this was the first time it had become so damn public! It was another omen, to be sure. The Crown Killer's body count was rising and I feared what damage it would do to my throne when it reached a crescendo.

I turned to Rosemary, waiting silent behind me, and touched her shoulder. "My darling MacKenzie, will you play for Lord Wainwright while he waits?"

"It would be my honor, Your Highness," she said with a deep curtsy. She gave Lord Wainwright a coy smile, snuggling his arm as she escorted him to the adjacent chamber. A lounge area awaited him where he could sit comfortably and partake of refreshments while Rosemary entertained him with music. Her sweet (and, yes, flirtatious) disposition often saved me from embarrassing social conundrums.

With that settled, my Royal Protector escorted me into my study, performing a routine check for intruders by opening a window and checking the stone ledge outside. It was wide enough to hold nimble feet––I should know; I'd used it many times before.

I would lock myself in my study, feigning important business, then sneak out the window and make the windy, perilous trip to my royal bedchambers. There, Wyman would anxiously wait for me, and as soon as he saw my shadow cross in front of the light, he'd reach out and pull me inside, kissing me deliriously.

"Your father is going to kill me! What if you had fell?" he had gasped that first time as we tumbled into bed.

"I never fall," I'd said, kissing him harder. "Except for you."

"Is that the best you've got?"

I smiled at the memory––but daydreaming was a luxury I could ill afford. I took to my desk, clearing a mental space for the verbal beating I was sure to get from Advisor Helmswater.

The old bat could be unhinged, but she'd been a long-time trusted advisor under my mother's reign, and so I hated to part with her.

"Don't let her get under your skin," my father uttered softly, his hand casually resting on the pommel of his sword as he slouched against the corner of my desk.

I nodded absently, my gaze turning towards the window. The skies were clearing, swaths of cheery blue fighting the morning gray. I wondered what Wyman was doing at that exact moment.

Probably retching into the sea, I thought with a tender smile. My Morley Red was no sailor.

Coral had been through. She'd left a silver tray of dark crusty bread and softened butter. I tore off a piece and tried to enjoy it, but it was hard going down. I had lost my appetite.

The worn, leathered surface of my desk was cluttered with correspondence, both loose papers and messy bundles of letters and envelopes tied together with blue ribbon. Wrinkled financial broadsheets were tucked under law books, and a large magnifying glass sat atop a priceless map embossed in gold. Scribbles of black ink stained the wood in places, though whether it was my own careless doing or Mother's I had no idea.

I liked to imagine it was her touch. In many ways, I still felt like everything belonged to her. Fifteen years had not erased the memory of my seven-year-old-self invading her study with childish antics: playing under her desk, bouncing on the sofa, and spinning the globe until she laughed and dropped whatever she was doing to hug me fiercely, calling me her naughty little girl.

"Emily…"

Corvo had seen the look on my face.

"Your Highness, I must protest! This is most unusual," Erick Plainstow cried from the hallway, breaking off whatever my father had been about to say. My agitated scheduling secretary could barely make it to the door before it was slammed in his face.

Advisor Helmswater looked quite pleased with herself as she stormed towards my desk, waving that stupid newspaper.

"You'll forgive me, Empress, but that sniveling guttersnipe you call your secretary is a disgrace to his profession," she said, slapping the paper down on my desk so brusquely it upended my royal stamp. Her wrinkly, gaunt face looked tired, but there was fire in her eyes. "How can I advise you if I never see you?!"

I smiled tightly. "It's a special day, Leonora. Everyone is quite busy with the launch preparations."

The door swung open again and Captain Mayhew leaned inside, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other suggestively on her long sword. Her always-serious mien brooked no rudeness directed at me or my father. "Your Highness, shall I remove Advisor Hel––"

"It's fine, Alexi," Lord Corvo said, his voice a deep rumble. He knew the old woman was no true threat. Let her bluster and complain; it gave us insight into the kind of reaction the news was having on the aristocracy. I could already see the ripples of horror and suspicion spreading like poison throughout my Empire.

Captain Mayhew curtly nodded and backed out, closing the door. I wished I could leave, too. In fact, I wish my mother was still Empress, I thought, not for the first time.

"Finally," Leonora grumbled, taking a soggy handkerchief from her breast pocket and sniffling into it. She glared at me, her nose bright red, and snapped, "Is there anything you wish to tell me, Majesty?"

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"We face yet another murder and I cannot remain silent on this matter!" she said, casting her accusing eyes back and forth between my father and I, so fast I imagined her beady eyes rolling right out of her skull unto the floor––an amusing thought I kept to myself, my Empress face held firmly in place.

She turned in circles as though speaking before an invisible audience, suspicion glazing her every word. "Strange, is it not, that all of the victims have openly opposed you! If not strange, then oh so very convenient."

I wanted to throttle her scrawny neck.

My father turned slightly, catching my eye. Stay calm, he radiated. I took a deep breath, steadying my gaze on his face, willing my anger to subside.

He's a good man, I thought. He didn't deserve to be smeared in the papers.

But he was used to it. Fifteen years ago, he'd endured worse. Framed for my mother's assassination and my subsequent kidnapping, it had taken sheer determination, extraordinary skill––and a father's love––to dig himself out of that dark pit, to clear his name and restore my rightful heritage to the throne.

"Have you nothing to say?!" Leonora blurted.

My father spoke first, so calmly you might think he was discussing the weather. "That's only what the rabble-rousers want you to think. The pattern holds no mystery, Advisor, and their motive is clear. They seek to undermine my daughter's throne by ruining her credibility."

"You ruin her credibility, Lord Protector! The papers say you're the Crown Killer!"

She was quite hysterical now, pointing a long bony finger at my father. I wanted to break it in half.

She faced me then, pleading with outstretched hands as though I was the Child Empress again, totally unprepared for the rule I had tragically inherited. "Majesty, please listen to me. How can I be an advisor to you if you don't include me in these most sensitive of endeavors?"

"I'm not––"

"Silencing your detractors is not the answer. If your mother knew––" She gasped in horror, pressing the handkerchief to her lips. I kneaded my forehead, sharing another look with my father behind my hand. Leonora certainly had a flair for the dramatic. She said, "Your father loves you, anyone can see that, but these gruesome assassinations are a misguided effort to protect you. You must command him to stop!"

I almost laughed.

Truly.

Instead I held tight to my Empress face, projecting dignity with all my strength. "Leonora, such conspiracy theories are unfounded. The Royal Protector is not the Crown Killer, and I can assure you, we will find this sadistic monster"––I glanced at my father, ice in my gaze––"and make him pay."

I pushed away from my desk, leaning back in my chair. "That will be all, Advisor Helmswater."

Her lower lip quivered.

I thought she meant to argue further, but she bowed and turned away with downcast eyes. At the door, though, she couldn't help herself. She turned back and cried, "Empress, don't leave me out in the cold! I fear your reign will be a short one if you do nothing."

Thus, was Leonora's dramatic exit.

"She's gone bloody mad," I grumbled under my breath.

At the door, Erick Plainstow waited for instruction. I sighed and waved my hand. "Bring the General."

"Your Highness," he acknowledged with a bow, departing.

In a sour mood, I moved from my desk to the credenza with the whiskey, pouring myself a small glass. I swung it back, staring up at the enormous oil painting. It pictured the Hounds Pit Pub, the secret headquarters of the Loyalist Conspiracy during the time of the Rat Plague. After my father had rescued me from my kidnappers, I'd been safely ensconced within under the watchful eye of Callista Curnow, my solemn-eyed friend and eventual governess.

I missed her terribly.

No, more than that, I missed those times.

Not the terror and uncertainty, of course––and even then Corvo had had it much worse. I'd been just a small child, barely understanding the turmoil surrounding me. I'd only known my mother was dead and I couldn't go home.

But in that hurricane, Corvo became my calm center, taking the time to listen to me chatter incessantly about my art drawings, or just holding my hand when I felt scared or alone.

Feelings of love and home are never more powerful than when they are threatened, I thought.

"She's right," Corvo said unexpectedly. I turned towards him, watching as he scratched his bearded chin. He only did that when he was angry with himself.

"What?"

He scowled. "About doing nothing."

"But your spies," I said, spreading my hands in confusion. "We have been looking for the Crown Killer."

"It's not enough," he said, curling away from the desk to look out the window. "The conspiracy is too thick. I can't see into it, not when I'm here in Dunwall."

I stepped beside him at the window, taking in the grand view of Wrenhaven River. I could see the USS Jessamine Kaldwin, maneuvering close to the waterfront. Crowds of well-wishers would be clogging the streets to catch a glimpse of their beautiful Empress and her glorious entourage––at least, that's how I wished to imagine it. In truth, there would probably be riots and unrest throughout the capital. More and more people were afraid of the Crown Killer and of speaking out against my father and I. Times were hard and getting harder.

"Then sail to Karnaca, Father," I said, my voice softening. I knew he feared greatly for my safety, but I had a strong retinue of elite guards protecting me night and day. And he had been teaching me swordplay and back alley fighting for years now. I could protect myself. "I will be safe, here, with Captain Mayhew. You trust her, don't you?"

"It's not that," he said, too sharply, looking away.

I knew. It was because of Mother.

Fifteen years ago, she had sent him away on a diplomatic mission to request aid from the other Isles in finding a cure for the Rat Plague ravaging Dunwall, only to return two days early to find himself utterly blind to the danger that had awaited him. He was her Royal Protector, but on that fateful day he had failed to stop an assassin's blade. Right in front of my eyes, my mother had been murdered and my ten-year-old self kidnapped by those who meant to use me as a pawn in their play for power.

In the end, Corvo had hunted each traitor down and took his revenge, cutting their conspiracy to pieces.

But it had cost him.

Even now he hid the Outsider's Mark, a burn on the back of his hand covered with black leather wrappings. It would always be a stain on his soul, a supernatural connection to the Void that had become both gift and curse. My father knew it would eventually eat his sanity and he'd fall into madness, the price to pay for such unnatural power.

But he had done it all for me––accepted the Outsider's Mark––so that I would be where I was today.

"You can't always be there to protect me," I whispered, my throat burning from the whiskey. "One day…" One day you'll be gone, either dead like Mother or lost to madness.

I feared which was worse.

My father grimaced, flexing the hand marked by the Outsider. He said, meeting my eyes, "I'll think on it, Emily."

"Good," I said, a simultaneous surge of fear and excitement blazing through my blood. I struggled to understand it. These past fifteen years, I had never truly been alone before. My father was always close by, protecting me from untold dangers. What would my days be like without his constant shadow? It was frightening to think of, but in a strange way I yearned for it. I would always love my father and appreciate all he'd done for me, but there was a part of me that needed to do something on my own. To take charge of my destiny and forge my own path.

I was twenty-five years old. If not now, then when?

Lord Wainwright entered my study, laughing heartily as Rosemary clung to his arm. She was bright-eyed and beautiful, and knew exactly how to lighten the mood.

My father and I turned away from the window and faced our new guest. I smiled politely at the general. "I hope your wait wasn't too long?"

"Guffaw! Time has no meaning when you're caught in a dream," he said, patting Rosemary's hands where they rested on his fat arm. "Thank you, my dear."

"It was my pleasure," she said coyly. To me, she curtsied. "Your Highness."

And as she turned away, her eyes flickered towards my father, but he had already moved on, resting once more at the edge of my desk, slouching casually. She was always seeking his attention and he was always denying her. After breaking up with me, Rosemary had noticeably turned her affections on my father. I still wasn't sure how I felt about that––beyond amusement, of course, and maybe a little bewilderment considering how hopeless it looked for her. My father was not a man to be trifled with, especially when it came to matters of the heart. As far as I knew, Lord Corvo had never taken a mistress after my mother died, and anytime I had even hinted that he should move on, he'd shut me down with a glare.

"This again?"

"It's been fifteen years, Father. I want you to be happy."

"Stop, Em."

"But––"

"Stop."

I had stopped asking, but not thinking about it. The question was always who? Who would be good for him? Certainly not Rosemary who was far too childish and whimsical for him, bless her heart. No, it would have to be someone he greatly respected, someone strong of will and… well… capable, perhaps. He respected strong, confident women––was not my mother the ideal in that regard?

Captain Mayhew, I wondered. Now there was a genuine friendship stretching back many years, but she was always so bloody serious and I couldn't imagine them flirting with each other. Perhaps Callista, my old governess, then. But that ship had sailed––literally. Six months ago, she'd left Dunwall and taken to the high seas aboard the Topaz Hunter, following her lifelong dream of journeying by sea. She would be gone for many years, the whaling ship navigating a circuitous route in and around the Isles with adventure as much as wind in her sails. I could imagine my father next to her, plying the strong seas together, but he was chained to me as my Royal Protector.

It could never be, I thought, feeling guilty.

"Is ought amiss, Empress?" the old general asked, his smile faltering.

"No, no," I said, mentally shaking myself. "Please, sit with me, General." I led him to the plush sofa near the window where we could talk quietly together and enjoy a gentle breeze. "Tell me, my lord, how did the shakedown cruise go? I haven't heard."

"Ah, the boys have been testing her for weeks now, Your Highness, and not one mishap. She's performing with flying colors!" He slapped his knee, his eyes shining with pride. "Jessamine will be the finest ship in the Royal Fleet."

"I'm grateful, General, and my mother, she would be honored, greatly honored."

"Long live the Empress," he said, lowering his gaze in customary sadness.

"Long live the Empress," Corvo repeated, glancing at me like they weren't just empty words.

I cleared my throat, straightening my back. "Now about that ship launch protocol..."

I hated when grief spilled out into the open. The Empire had lost an Empress, but I had lost a mother.

The anniversary of her assassination came every year, but tomorrow it'd be even worse. All my advisors wanted a more lavish remembrance ceremony with hundreds of invited guests pouring in from the Isles. Fifteen years, they said, as if the number itself was somehow special. I preferred the opposite, to mourn in private at my mother's rose-covered grave with my father beside me––and even then I knew he'd return later, alone.

Both of us dreaded the 18th day of the Month of Earth.

"Eh, yes, yes. Of course, Your Highness," Lord Wainwright said, wobbling his enormous belly as he tried shifting the satin pillow behind his back. "On the platform, we'll have a sacrificial bottle of King Street Brandy tied to a long tether that you will release to swing out against the hull."

"For good luck," I said. Sailors were a superstitious lot.

"Yes, Your Highness. Next, you'll speak to the assembled crowd. What you say during the ceremony is, of course, up to you, but here are some ideas intended to serve as food for thought." He dug his fingers into his coat pocket and removed a folded slip of paper, handing it to me.

I silently read the list, squinting at his terrible cursive. May a brisk wind hurry you to shores near, far, and fair. Or, May you shelter your crew from the perils of the terrible Ocean. And, of course, May you always sail for Gristol, true of heart, and homeward bound.

"I like the last one," I said, handing off the list to my father. He rose and took it, reading the choices for himself. "Though to be inclusive of the other Isles, I might go for the first instead."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. They are only suggestions. Traditions, really," the general said.

"And traditions should be respected," I said, smiling as sweetly as I could with my Empress face.

"Say all three if it pleases you," Corvo said, returning the list. He crossed his arms, his biceps bulging beneath his black coat. "What about security, Lord Wainwright? I have Captain Mayhew in charge of crowd control along the carriage route, but no one's responded to my inquiry about who's guarding the platform."

"Jessamine's loyal crew, Lord Corvo!" he said with an eagerness I found comforting. "And each of them handpicked to serve on the Empress's flagship. A rare honor, indeed!" He patted my leg. "Trust me when I say, Majesty, you'll be well-protected. Well-protected!"

I glanced up at my father, scrutinizing whether he was satisfied with this arrangement or not. With the Crown Killer growing bolder, my security was paramount.

"I want to see the crew manifest," Corvo said after a pause. "Before the carriage procession."

"Forthwith!" Lord Wainwright exclaimed, struggling to rise with his mighty girth. I quickly stood, lending a helping hand. "Thank you, Majesty. Now if you'll join me, Lord Protector…"

Together they made for the door, but my father turned back, his eyes steady on my face. "I'll have Captain Mayhew escort you to the carriage when the time comes."

"I'll be ready," I said. "Thank you, Father."

As soon as the door opened, Erick Plainstow popped in, his sizable appointment book splayed across his hands. "Your Majesty, we are behind schedule! Lady Burtzlaff is next––I've set up a private lounge with tea––and then we have the Meet & Greet down in Reception before we head to the carriage train."

"Of course," I said, sighing. "I'm coming."