by Devin Madson
From my high vantage in the outer palace I could see the stage and upon it the players walked. Emperor Lan seated upon a wooden copy of the Crimson Throne with Jingyi beside him, the Chiltaen ambassador, the Minister of the Left, the Minister of the Right, and a whole bank of Imperial Guards there to keep the commoners from their god. And because such things are all about the spectacle there were eight blocks upon the platform. Eight blocks with eight headsmen. And dusted in snow the people of Mei’lian watched on, each clutching a desperate wish to their heart that this would not be the beginning of the end.
I heard the steps behind me but did not turn. Something in the creak of leather and the heavy tread warned me who it would be, and on the air the scent of sweat and oil.
“Why do people watch?” I said, not turning from the play unfolding beneath me.
“Curiosity, Your Majesty,” said General Kin, silk swishing as he bowed. “And perhaps for some the joy of seeing death.”
“Is that why you became a soldier, General?”
“No, Your Majesty. A soldier fights so others do not have to.”
“A worthy sentiment.”
He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, yet his presence weighed upon my attention, and I turned. His usual scowl was absent, leaving, if not a handsome face, at least a distinguished one, with a pair of dark eyes that always watched, windows to a mind that always turned. Most men at court were liars and schemers, pompous and self-important. Kin ought to have been. He had a position of great power, had the emperor’s ear, and yet his sneers were only ever directed at himself. In another life perhaps it might have been worth knowing him better.
“His Majesty is in the square,” I said, when still he did not speak. “Ought you not be with him?”
“He is well guarded, Your Majesty. He informed me that you would soon be departing and so I have come to offer some of my men as an escort to ensure your safety.”
Bitterness trembled in my smile, I knew, but I could hide it no longer. “Imperial Guards are only for the Imperial Family, General,” I said. “Since in a few days the council will declare me no longer the Empress of Kisia and my shame will be paraded before the people, I do not think I will be requiring the services of His Majesty’s guards.”
No blink of surprise. “Not then perhaps, but if you were to go now, today, I would personally see to it that you and Prince Takehiko are escorted by my finest men.”
“Koto was one of your finest men.”
There was yet no sign of him outside, only a patchwork of snow upon the platform. As though part of a ceremony, eight headsmen were sharpening their axes.
“Yes,” General Kin said. “He was. But he made a poor choice.”
I snorted a laugh. What was it Koto had said? “To be a leader is to make hard decisions,” I said, and wondered whether he still thought it was true in the shadow of death.
“Yes, Your Majesty, but I am his commander and so they are my decisions to make. I could have a carriage and a contingent of men ready to depart this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?”
No clue to his thoughts permeated his expression, but his gaze held mine with an intensity that made my skin tingle. For a mad moment I considered telling him about the secret alliance, but if anyone already knew it was Kin. He went everywhere with His Majesty – the emperor’s man to whatever end.
I could not hold his gaze, could not face the unbending assurance of the soul that looked out at me.
“No,” I said, turning back to the window. “There is still something I need to do before I leave. Perhaps I will be ready tomorrow, or the following day, but not today.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Though he bowed his scowl returned. “I do hope you will change your mind. Mei’lian is not likely to long be a... friendly place.”
“I do believe you are right, but I will stay nevertheless.”
General Kin bowed again and would have departed, but I said: “Tell me, General, before you go. I... I have not seen Cheng this morning though he is usually one of my guards.”
Once again I had expected surprise only to be disappointed. “He will be honoured to hear that you asked after him, Your Majesty.”
That quelled the worst of my fears. “Cheng was one of the first Kisians I ever met, General,” I said. “He served as part of my escort from Chiltae to Mei’lian as a bride, and was the only one who spoke to me like I was a person, rather than just a... a... thing that needed to be safely delivered.”
Kin remained silent, his hands clasped, but again his expression grew intent and I found I could not hold it. “I would hate to know something unfortunate had befallen him due to this mess.”
“Then I am pleased to be able to inform you that he has been reassigned, Your Majesty. Best you leave it there.”
“Perhaps as a kindness to me you would consider making him one of the party that is to travel with me upon my journey south, as it is to be my last.”
A beat of silence. Then: “Of course, Your Majesty.”
This time he didn’t immediately bow, didn’t turn, but lingered. A moment. Two. Stretching on until the silence grew awkward. How easy it would be if I could turn him into an ally, but the risk was enormous. If he was even half as loyal to the emperor as I thought then the chance of surviving such an admission was miniscule.
“Something else to say, General?” I said.
He parted his lips to speak only to press them shut again and shake his head. “No, Your Majesty.”
“Then that will be all.”
I peered back through the shuttered window at the scene below and listened to his retreating footsteps. He halted once, prickling the skin on the back of my neck, but I did not turn, not until he was once again walking. Then I glanced over my shoulder at the retreating figure, tall and proud in his crimson surcoat, the tail of his sash dancing beside him. Without again looking back he turned a corner to be swallowed by the palace.
Outside the crowd had grown restless. It was too cold to be kept waiting so long, no matter how grand the spectacle. Were it not for the presence of their emperor they would probably have started throwing things to make the wait more interesting.
Silence fell in a heartbeat when Emperor Lan rose from his throne. He got to his feet, arms outstretched, his grand crimson robe shimmering in the weak morning light. Snow dusted his dark hair, but the people down in the square would not see that. They would only see the spikes of the Hian Crown atop his head, their eyes drawn to the dozens of jade charms that hung from it upon strings of gold as fine as spider thread. A gift from the gods to the Otakos ‒ the ultimate symbol of divinity.
I sneered behind the safety of my shutter. A symbol of divinity forged by men. And in the name of those gods he would declare war upon Chiltae as soon as everything was in place.
The emperor spoke, but the whip of the chill wind kept his words from my ears. So rarely did he address his people that it was no wonder so many had come, as much to see their emperor in the flesh as to watch men die.
“Long live Emperor Lan!” the crowd cried, and that I heard, the combined strength of so many voices carrying far. “Long live Emperor Lan! Long live Emperor Lan!” It became a chant as the rhythmic beat of the death drum filled the square, only to fade voice by voice as new players climbed onto the stage. Eight guards this time, though stripped now of all that would once have identified them as the Emperor’s men. No crimson sashes, no surcoats, no weapons – just eight men in plain grey robes so thin they might well freeze to death first. I hunted for Koto amid the group, but distance stole their identities leaving them eight figures in a flurry of snow.
A man in white stood amid the same fall of snow, and raised his hand to halt the drum. Father Kokoro, the court priest, recognisable where the others were not. Again I could not hear him, but I had heard the prayer enough times to need no guide.
“In the hands of the gods may you find true peace,” I said. “In the hands of the gods may you find true justice. May Qi guid
e you gently. His wisdom is great. His mercy everlasting.”
Koto had known the risks, had known what he was doing, and yet I willed the world to change, to bend to my desires. Good men ought not die, ought not be cut down with so little honour.
“I used to think I was made to be an empress,” I said to the shutter, not turning away though the eight men knelt. “Now I am not so sure.”
Koto could have been any one of them, and since they all deserved my silent apology I looked to each in turn. The drum beat began again. Faster now. In his throne the emperor sat like the god he claimed to be, delivering justice, while safe behind my shutter tears coursed down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”
The beat of the death drums sped to a crescendo. The executioners lifted their axes.
“In shadows we fight. In shadows we fall,” I said, tears choking the words. “But it will not be in vain. History will remember.”
It was my own prayer of a sort.
One of the axes fell before the last beat of the drum, dropping the first head. I could not hear the thwack of the heavy blade severing flesh, nor the thud as the head landed upon the wood, but I used to sit at the emperor’s side and once you heard such sounds you never forgot them.
At the last beat the other seven axes fell. A few more heads hit the boards, but three axes lifted again for another strike. No cheer sounded, the crowd solemn as another head fell. But two were not fully severed and their executioners went again. It was butchery of the highest order, but I was as powerless as a sparrow. Beheading was not the Chiltaen way. We were people of the sea.
When at last the final axe hung silent I allowed myself to look away. Their souls had gone now, leaving behind only meat.
“You see what happens when you refuse me?”
No footsteps, no creak of floorboards, Gadjo was just there behind me as though he had always been there, a half smile upon his lips. Lips I wanted to rip off his face. “I see,” I said, forcing down the rage. “But you have already seen the emperor and told him what happened with Lord Epontus, you can do nothing more to me now.”
“See the emperor? Me? I am but a humble servant, Chiltaen, too, I am not allowed to do such things as be in the presence of your god.”
“That doesn’t alter the point. You are done.”
I made to walk past him, but he gripped my arm, digging in his fingers. “I am not done. I am here to take the boy.”
“Again you come to tell me so, why? Why not just walk into the nursery and take him?”
Gadjo sneered, but the moment of silence that filled the corridor was its own admission. “You can’t,” I said, before he could speak. “No, you’re afraid to!”
He made no answer though I laughed, cruel joy in the sound. “You are too afraid to take him without permission because you’ve seen what he can do. Well you can take your demands and—”
“Be careful what you say, Your Majesty,” he snapped. “If you think there is nothing more I can do to you then you are wrong. I have cut the string of one bow, but there are others you hold closer to your heart. Your sons could die. Your daughter. What mother would not trade one child for the safety of four?”
The words beat the breath from my lungs. “You would not get within reach of any of them before you were cut down,” I said though he had crept up on me twice without a sound. Whoever he wanted dead would die.
Gadjo let go my arm and cooed in sympathy as I backed away. “I know it’s hard to give up a child,” he said. “But it is for the greater good, that phrase so beloved by the men who walk in god’s shoes. You’ve tried, but though you stomp and shout no one hears you. But you’re a woman, a mother, your heart bleeds and so you know that the greater good is subjective.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Gadjo.”
“And why are you doing this? Why do you want a boy who can kill without leaving a trace? What will you do with him?”
“Whatever needs to be done.”
I snorted. “Who is stomping about in god’s shoes now?”
He grinned. “A hit, Your Majesty, foolish of me to have underestimated my opponent.”
“People do that, all men’s thoughts seem to stop at breasts.”
“I am not like most men.”
“And so once again we find ourselves at the question. Why do you want him? And if you say who would not want a boy who can kill with a touch I will hit you.”
His grin broadened. “You could try, but you would miss.”
“That is not an answer.”
Neither of us moved, our gazes locked in challenge. Never before had fear created such anger, and as it thudded though me his smile began to fade. His eyes darted about my face. “You’re not going to give him to me no matter what I say, are you?”
“No.”
“Then you will get no answer. And I will keep taking from you until you change your mind.”
“Then you will soon run out of things to take. And if you kill the emperor’s son then you make an enemy of the Emperor of Kisia and that, I think, is not a smart plan. Whoever you are, he is stronger.”
Again I made to walk past and again he gripped my arm. The sneer was back. “Perhaps. How about Kisia itself, Your Majesty? Would you give me Takehiko to save the people? From war, perhaps. From death and destruction?”
“Let go.”
For a moment his fingers dug deep as though to bruise my skin, then he let go. A step back and he bowed. “Your Majesty. I will be back at midnight. You have until then to change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
His smile was a hateful thing. “You will.”
Takehiko sat alone in the nursery, at one with his pile of furs beneath the brazier. His abacus must have been hidden inside for its clicks escalated when I entered, like the increasing tempo of the death drums.
“Juno says we have to go away.”
He didn’t look up, but the simple words broke my heart. He had known no other home, yet Nyraek had been right. The Imperial Palace was no place for an Empathic bastard. So much trouble and all because I had thought myself in love.
“Yes, my love,” I said. “Where is Juno?”
“She is talking to the nervous maid.”
The clack of the abacus beads went on.
Glad of Juno’s absence, I knelt upon the furs beside him. But my well-practiced words of explanation died beneath the stink of burned hair. “What is that—?”
A lump of black charcoal sat upon one of the fur blankets, a black ring of singed hair around it. “You ought not sit so close to the brazier,” I said, shaking it off. It rolled a little way only to be stopped by its angular shape. “That could have landed on top of you.”
“Juno says that is why I have to go away.”
“Because a coal burned your furs?”
“Because I hurt people.”
Still he didn’t look up, but then he didn’t need to. All he needed to know about people he felt with a different sense. I tried not to shiver. “That is nonsense, Takehiko. You—”
“I hurt Juno. And the nervous maid.”
“What do you mean you hurt them?”
At last the clicking stopped, but the silence was no better. “I tried to pick it up, Mama,” the little boy said, and held out the hand that had been sitting in his lap. It was bright red and blistered. “It hurt, but I didn’t want it to hurt so I gave it away.”
“Gave it—? Has the physician come?”
“Juno said she hoped it would swell up and kill me.”
His words sent a chill blade through my heart and I got to my feet so fast I almost knocked the brazier over. Anger swirled about my steps like the silk of my skirt. “Juno,” I said, approaching the far door that led to the children’s rooms. “Juno.”
The door slid as I approached, forcing me to take a step back or collide with Juno. She stepped inside and closed the door. Then, with her nose in the air she stared at me and said: “Yes?”
> “You forget yourself, Juno,” I said, clutching at fading tendrils of calm. “Prince Takehiko requires a physician yet I understand you have not sent for one.”
A sniff. “Takehiko is in no pain. His Majesty would not wish such a fuss made about nothing.”
“Nothing? He has burned his hand!”
“The gods spare those of great faith.”
No “Your Majesty”, no bow, but then I was not the empress anymore.
“I see,” I said, equally stiff. “I will see the princess now.”
I went to walk past her, but Juno stepped into my path. “No.”
“No? She is my daughter, Juno and you will stand aside.”
“His Majesty’s orders. I am to keep Princess Hana safe until you have departed Mei’lian.”
“Don’t do this, she is my only daughter, you must let me see her before I go. You must let me say goodbye.”
She shook her head and kept her hand on the doorframe. “I’m sorry but I cannot.”
I shouldered her out of the way. “Your Majesty!” she cried as I threw back the door, one of its taut paper panes snapping.
“Guards!”
No time. Heavy steps sounded to the beat of my own as I charged into the room. It was not large room but warm, the matting covered in tiger pelts, and upon their stripes sat the arched rockers of a wooden cradle. Despite the sound of pursuit the sight of my sleeping daughter slowed my steps. She lay still like a doll, her bottom lip tucked in as though in her dreams she suckled at the breast. Princess Hana, perfect from the wisp of blonde hair upon her head to the tiny fist she had formed in her sleep, and for an instant nothing mattered except the baby girl the Emperor would never again let me see ‒ the daughter Gadjo had threatened to kill.
My own fists clenched as a hand closed upon each of my arms. Looking up I found the implacable faces of two Imperial Guards, neither known to me. Not Cheng. Not Koto. Not Nyraek. I was truly alone.
“I could not stop her,” Juno gabbled. “She just pushed me out of the way.”
I hoped the emperor would have her whipped.
“Bring the boy, too,” one of the men said, jostling me through the doorway.