The Promise of the Child by Tom Toner

Amaranthine.
    â€œWill you take sluice, Sotiris?” asked De Rivarol with something like relief, directing the attention of a pantaloon-clothed Melius to the gleaming jug at his side. The Melius moved silently to take the jug and approached Sotiris. He accepted, watching the creature pour in a flamboyant yet precisely controlled manner, and took a swig of the water. It was speckled with a silt of tiny rubies cut into the shapes of mythical creatures.
    â€œThe Parliament assumes you will apply for leave to visit the Old World,” said another Amaranthine, sliding a huge bound stack of gilded papers across the table beside him.
    Sotiris looked at the man, then at the stack. “I should imagine so.”
    The Amaranthine nodded briskly at the Melius, who lifted the papers and presented them to Sotiris. The giant’s massive, too-many-fingered hand then flourished a long plumed pen, cut from the black feather of a Gliese magpie. Sotiris studied the copperplate script for a moment, leafing through the declarations of intent.
    â€œThe Devout are aware of your loss, Sotiris. They will gladly accommodate you during your stay if you desire it.”
    He glanced back at the Amaranthine. Trang Hui Neng, fully twelve thousand, five hundred and twenty-eight years old, was third in line to the Immortal Throne by the old claims. Sotiris had never liked the man, though they had managed to remain icily cordial for many hundreds of years. It was no great secret that Hui Neng supported the Devout and their Pretender, this fabled Aaron the Long-Life, wishing to see him enthroned as the new Firmamental Emperor before the year was out. Sotiris failed to see how such a position might hasten Hui Neng’s own ascent to the throne, or benefit any of the influential Perennials who shared his views. The current Emperor’s mind had faded some time ago, much like that of Sotiris’s own dear sister. It would surely not be long before he was taken to the Old World to live out his final days, and the ritual of succession could begin anew.
    â€œI shall bear that in mind,” Sotiris said, touching the nib of the pen to the paper.
    â€œVery well,” Hui Neng said, watching Sotiris sign the declarations. “It may be prudent not to tarry in the Utopias. The pilgrims there say that the conflict brewing on the Old World is already spreading to the Upper Provinces.”
    He ignored the comment for a moment, perhaps designed to stir up some detail of his plans during his time on the Old World. Hytner had been right; even with news of Iro’s death they were playing him to see which way he would fall.
    â€œYou wish me to visit the Devout,” he said vacantly, “perhaps to see my old friend Maneker—is that it?”
    Hui Neng and De Rivarol smiled at each other. “Only once your mourning is complete, of course,” De Rivarol said. The sea winds wailed for a moment somewhere within the acres of golden cloisters beneath the dome, and Sotiris smelled the tang of salt in the air.
    â€œYou have not heard from him, I suppose?” Hui Neng asked, motioning for the papers. The huge Melius muttered under his breath and strode forward again to collect them and the pen from Sotiris’s hand.
    â€œManeker?” He shook his head. “Have you?”
    â€œWe have not,” Hui Neng said coldly. “There are Amaranthine who would see him captured, returned to the Firmament and perhaps humiliated for questioning the order of succession.” He spread his hands, indicating the quiet, seated figures. “We know you do not share their views, my dear Sotiris. We know you understand the importance of hearing this Immortal’s claim before judgement is made.”
    He looked levelly at Hui Neng. “I adhere to the wishes of the Most Venerable Firmamental Emperor, and those of the Satrapy Parliaments.”
    Hui Neng’s eyes met his, then dropped to his hands. “You have been given the