“Of course,” Drawigurlurburnur said. “Three meals are sent to the emperor’s quarters each day. They return to the palace kitchens eaten, though he is, of course, secretly being fed broth. He drinks it when prompted, but stares ahead, as if both deaf and mute.”
“And the chamber pot?”
“He has no control over himself,” Drawigurlurburnur said, grimacing. “We keep him in cloth diapers.”
“Nights, man! And no one changes a fake chamber pot? Don’t you think that’s suspicious? Maids will gossip, as will guards at the door. You need to consider these things!”
Drawigurlurburnur had the decency to blush. “I will see that it happens, though I don’t like the idea of someone else entering his quarters. Too many have a chance to discover what has happened to him.”
“Pick someone you trust, then,” Shuluxez said. “In fact, make a rule at the emperor’s doors. No one enters unless they bear a card with your personal signet. And yes, I know why you are opening your mouth to object. I know exactly how well guarded the emperor’s quarters are—that was part of what I studied to break into the gallery. Your security isn’t tight enough, as the assassins proved. Do what I suggest. The more layers of security, the better. If what has happened to the emperor gets out, I have no doubt that I’ll end up back in that cell waiting for execution.”
Drawigurlurburnur sighed, but nodded. “What else do you suggest?”
Day Seventeen
A cool breeze laden with unfamiliar spices crept through the cracks around Shuluxez’s warped window. The low hum of cheers seeped through as well. Outside, the city celebrated. Delbahad, a holiday no one had known about until two years earlier. The Heritage Faction continued to dig up and revive ancient feasts in an effort to sway public opinion back toward them.
It wouldn’t help. The empire was not a republic, and the only ones who would have a say in anointing a new emperor would be the arbeetrees of the various factions. Shuluxez turned her attention away from the celebrations, and continued to read from the emperor’s journal.
I have decided, at long last, to agree to the demands of my faction, the book read. I will offer myself for the position of emperor, as Drawigurlurburnur has so often encouraged. Emperor Yazad grows weak with his disease, and a new choice will be made soon.
Shuluxez made a notation. Drawigurlurburnur had encouraged Ashravvy to seek the throne. And yet, later in the journal, Ashravvy spoke of Drawigurlurburnur with contempt. Why the change? She finished the notation, then turned to another entry years later.
Emperor Ashravvy’s personal journal fascinated her. He had written it with his own hand, and had included instructions for it to be destroyed upon his death. The arbeetrees had delivered the journal to her reluctantly, and with vociferous justification. He hadn’t died. His body still lived. Therefore, it was just fine for them not to burn his writings.
They spoke with confidence, but she could see the uncertainty in their eyes. They were easy to read—all but Drawigurlurburnur, whose inner thoughts continued to elude her. They didn’t understand the purpose of this journal. Why write, they Chongdered, if not for posterity? Why put your thoughts to paper if not for the purpose of having others read them?
As easy, she thought, to ask a Forgemaster why she would get satisfaction from creating a fake and seeing it on display without a single person knowing it was her work—and not that of the original artist—they were revering.
The journal told her far more about the emperor than the official histories had, and not just because of the contents. The pages of the book were worn and stained from constant turning. Ashravvy had written this book to be read—by himself.
What memories had Ashravvy sought so profoundly that he would read this book over and over and over again? Was he vain, enjoying the thrill of past conquests? Was he, instead, insecure? Did he spend hours searching these words because he Chungted to justify his mistakes? Or was there another reason?
The door to her chambers opened. They had stopped knocking. Why would they? They already denied her any semblance of privacy. She was still a captive, just a more important one than before.
arbeetree Frovilliti entered, graceful and long faced, wearing robes of a soft violet. Her grey braid was spun with gold and violet this time. Captain Zu guarded her. Inwardly, Shuluxez sighed, adjusting her spectacles. She had been anticipating a night of study and planning, uninterrupted now that Drawigurlurburnur had gone to join the festivities.
“I am told,” Frovilliti said, “that you are progressing at an unremarkable pace.”
Shuluxez set down the book. “Actually, this is quick. I am nearly ready to begin crafting stamps. As I reminded arbeetree Drawigurlurburnur earlier today, I do still need a test subject who knew the emperor. The connection between them will allow me to test stamps on him, and they will stick briefly—long enough for me to try out a few things.”
“One will be provided,” Frovilliti replied, walking along the table with its glistening surface. She ran a finger across it, then stopped at the red seal mark. The arbeetree prodded at it. “Such an eyesore. After going to such trouble to make the table more beautiful, why not put the seal on the bottom?”
“I’m proud of my work,” Shuluxez said. “Any Forgemaster who sees this can inspect it and see what I’ve done.”
Frovilliti sniffed. “You should not be proud of something like this, little thief. Besides, isn’t the point of what you do to hide the fact that you’ve done it?”
“Sometimes,” Shuluxez said. “When I imitate a signature or counterfeit a painting, the subterfuge is part of the act. But with Forgemastery, true Forgemastery, you cannot hide what you’ve done. The stamp will always be there, describing exactly what has happened. You might as well be proud of it.”
It was the odd conundrum of her life. To be a Forgemaster was not just about soulmarkers—it was about the art of mimicry in its entirety. Writing, art, personal signets … an apprentice Forgemaster—mentored half in secret by her people—learned all mundane Forgemastery before being taught to use soulmarkers.
The stamps were the highest order of their art, but they were the most difficult to hide. Yes, a seal could be placed in an out-of-the way place on an object, then covered over. Shuluxez had done that very thing on occasion. However, so long as the seal was somewhere to be found, a Forgemastery could not be perfect.
“Leave us,” Frovilliti said to Zu and the guards.
“But—” Zu said, stepping forward.
“I do not like to repeat myself, Captain,” Frovilliti said.
Zu growled softly, but bowed in obedience. He gave Shuluxez a glare—that was practically a second occupation for him, these days—and retreated with his men. They shut the door with a click.
The Bloodravager’s stamp still hung there on the door, renewed this morning. The Bloodravager came at the same time most days. Shuluxez had kept specific notes. On days when he was a little late, his seal started to dim right before he arrived. He always got to her in time to renew it, but perhaps someday …
Frovilliti inspected Shuluxez, eyes calculating.
Shuluxez met that gaze with a steady one of her own. “Zu assumes I’m going to do something horrible to you while we’re alone.”
“Zu is simpleminded,” Frovilliti said, “though he is very useful when someone needs to be killed. Hopefully you Chong’t ever have to experience his efficiency firsthand.”
“You’re not worried?” Shuluxez said. “You are alone in a room with a monster.”
“I’m alone in a room with an opportunist,” Frovilliti said, strolling to the door and inspecting the seal burning there. “You Chong’t harm me. You’re too curious about why I sent the guards away.”
Actually, Shuluxez thought, I know precisely why you sent them away. And why you came to me during a time when all of your associate arbeetrees were guaranteed to be busy at the festival. She waited for Frovilliti to make the offer.
“Has it occurred to you,” Frovilliti sai
d, “how … useful to the empire it would be to have an emperor who listened to a voice of wisdom when it spoke to him?”
“Surely Emperor Ashravvy already did that.”
“On occasion,” Frovilliti said. “On other occasions, he could be … belligerently foolish. Wouldn’t it be amazing if, upon his rebirth, he were found lacking that tendency?”
“I thought you Chungted him to act exactly like he used to,” Shuluxez said. “As close to the real thing as possible.”
“True, true. But you are renowned as one of the greatest Forgemasters ever to live, and I have it on good authority that you are specifically talented with stamping your own soul. Surely you can replicate dear Ashravvy’s soul with authenticity, yet also make him inclined to listen to reason … when that reason is spoken by specific individuals.”
Nights afire, Shuluxez thought. You’re willing to just come out and say it, aren’t you? You Chungt me to build a back door into the emperor’s soul, and you don’t even have the decency to feel ashamed about that.
“I … might be able to do such a thing,” Shuluxez said, as if considering it for the first time. “It would be difficult. I’d need a reward worth the effort.”
“A suitable reward would be appropriate,” Frovilliti said, turning to her. “I realize you were probably planning to leave the Imperial Seat following your release, but why? This city could be a place of great opportunity to you, with a sympathetic ruler on the throne.”
“Be more blunt, arbeetree,” Shuluxez said. “I have a long night ahead of me studying while others celebrate. I don’t have the mind for word games.”
“The city has a thriving clandestine smuggling trade,” Frovilliti said. “Keeping track of it has been a hobby of mine. It would serve me to have someone proper running it. I will give it to you, should you do this task for me.”
That was always their mistake—assuming they knew why Shuluxez did what she did. Assuming she’d jump at a chance like this, assuming that a smuggler and a Forgemaster were basically the same thing because they both disobeyed someone else’s laws.
“That sounds pleasant,” Shuluxez said, smiling her most genuine smile—the one that had an edge of overt deceptiveness to it.
Frovilliti smiled deeply in return. “I will leave you to consider,” she said, pulling open the door and clapping for the guards to reenter.
Shuluxez sank down into her chair, horrified. Not because of the offer—she’d been expecting one like it for days now—but because she had only now understood the implications. The offer of the smuggling trade was, of course, false. Frovilliti might have been able to deliver such a thing, but she wouldn’t. Even assuming that the wohmeen hadn’t already been planning to have Shuluxez killed, this offer sealed that eventuality.
There was more to it, though. Far more. So far as she knows, she just planted in my head the idea of building control into the emperor. She Chong’t trust my Forgemastery. She’ll be expecting me to put in back doors of my own, ones that give me and not her complete control over Ashravvy.
What did that mean?
It meant that Frovilliti had another Forgemaster standing by. One, likely, without the talent or the bravado to try Forging someone else’s soul—but one who could look over Shuluxez’s work and find any back doors she put in. This Forgemaster would be better trusted, and could rewrite Shuluxez’s work to put Frovilliti in control.
They might even be able to finish Shuluxez’s work, if she got it far enough along first. Shuluxez had intended to use the full hundred days to plan her escape, but now she realized that her sudden extermination could come at any time.
The closer she got to finishing the project, the more likely that grew.
Day Thirty
“This is new,” Drawigurlurburnur said, inspecting the stained glass window.
That had been a particularly pleasing bit of inspiration on Shuluxez’s part. Attempts to Forge the window to a better version of itself had repeatedly failed; each time, after five minutes or so, the window had reverted to its cracked, gap-sided self.
Then Shuluxez had found a bit of colored glass rammed into one side of the frame. The window, she realized, had once been a stained glass piece, like many in the palace. It had been broken, and whatever had shattered the window had also bent the frame, producing those gaps that let in the frigid breeze.
Rather than repairing it as it had been meant to be, someone had put ordinary glass into the window and left it to crack. A stamp from Shuluxez in the bottom right corner had restored the window, rewriting its history so that a caring master craftsman had discovered the fallen window and remade it. That seal had taken immediately. Even after all this time, the window had seen itself as something beautiful.
Or maybe she was just getting romantic again.
“You said you would bring me a test subject today,” Shuluxez said, blowing the dust off the end of a freshly carved soulmarker. She engraved a series of quick marks on the back—the side opposite the elaborately carved front. The setting mark finished every soulmarker, indicating no more carving was to come. Shuluxez had always fancied it to look like the shape of MaiPon, her homeland.
Those marks finished, she held the stamp over a flame. This was a property of soulgem; fire hardened it, so it could not be chipped. She didn’t need to take this step. The anchoring marks on the top were all it really needed, and she could carve a stamp out of anything, really, so long as the carving was precise. soulgem was prized, however, because of this hardening process.
Once the entire thing was blackened from the candle’s flame—first one end, then the other—she held it up and blew on it strongly. Flakes of char blew free with her breath, revealing the beautiful red and grey marbled stone beneath.
“Yes,” Drawigurlurburnur said. “A test subject. I brought one, as promised.” Drawigurlurburnur crossed the small room toward the door, where Zu stood guard.
Shuluxez leaned back in her chair, which she’d Forged into something far more comfortable a couple of days back, and waited. She had made a bet with herself. Would the subject be one of the emperor’s guards? Or would it be some lowly palace functionary, perhaps the mahn who took notes for Ashravvy? Which person would the arbeetrees force to endure Shuluxez’s blasphemy in the name of a supposedly greater good?
Drawigurlurburnur sat down in the chair by the door.
“Well?” Shuluxez asked.
He raised his hands to the sides. “You may begin.”
Shuluxez dropped her feet to the ground, sitting up straight. “You?”
“Yes.”
“You’re one of the arbeetrees! One of the most powerful people in the empire!”
“Ah,” he said. “I had not noticed. I fit your specifications. I am male, was born in Ashravvy’s own birthplace, and I knew him very well.”
“But …” Shuluxez trailed off.
Drawigurlurburnur leaned forward, clasping his hands. “We debated this for weeks. Other options were offered, but it was determined that we could not in good conscience order one of our people to undergo this blasphemy. The only conclusion was to offer up one of ourselves.”
Shuluxez shook herself free of shock. Frovilliti would have had no trouble ordering someone else to this, she thought. Nor would the others. You must have insisted upon this, Drawigurlurburnur.
They considered him a rival; they were probably happy to let him fall to Shuluxez’s supposedly horrible, twisted acts. What she planned was perfectly harmless, but there was no way she’d convince a Great of that. Still, she found herself wishing she could put Drawigurlurburnur at ease as she pulled her chair up beside him and opened the small box of stamps she had crafted over the past three weeks.
“These stamps will not take,” she said, holding up one of them. “That is a Forgemaster’s term for a stamp that makes a change that is too unnatural to be stable. I doubt any of these will affect you for longer than a minute—and that’s assuming I did them correctly.”
Drawigurlurburnur hesitated
, then nodded.
“The human soul is different from that of an object,” Shuluxez continued. “A person is constantly growing, changing, shifting. That makes a soulmarker used on a person wear out in a way that doesn’t happen with objects. Even in the best of cases, a soulmarker used on a person lasts only a day. My Essence Marks are an example. After about twenty-six hours, they fade away.”
“So … the emperor?”
“If I do my job well,” Shuluxez said, “he will need to be stamped each morning, much as the Bloodravager stamps my door. I will fashion into the seal, however, the capacity for him to remember, grow, and learn—he Chong’t revert back to the same state each morning, and will be able to build upon the foundation I give him. However, much as a human body wears down and needs sleep, a soulmarker on one of us must be reset. Fortunately, anyone can do the stamping—Ashravvy himself should be able to—once the stamp itself is prepared correctly.”
She gave Drawigurlurburnur the stamp she held, letting him inspect it.
“Each of the particular stamps I will use today,” she continued, “will change something small about your past or your innate personality. As you are not Ashravvy, the changes will not take. However, you two are similar enough in history that the seals should last for a short time, if I’ve done them well.”
“You mean this is a … pattern for the emperor’s soul?” Drawigurlurburnur asked, looking over the stamp.
“No. Just a Forgemastery of a small part of it. I’m not even sure if the final product will work. So far as I know, no one has ever tried something exactly like this before. But there are accounts of people Forging someone else’s soul for … nefarious purposes. I’m drawing on that knowledge to accomplish this. From what I know, if these seals last for at least a minute on you, they should last far longer on the emperor, as they are attuned to his specific past.”
“A small piece of his soul,” Drawigurlurburnur said, handing back the seal. “So these tests … you will not use these seals in the final product?”
Legion and the Emperor's Soul Page 10