“Perhaps he really does want his Ancestors’ blessing,” Laene speculated.
Alean shot him an icy stare. “He’d better not try and escape our agreement,” she whispered.
“I’m certain he wouldn’t dare, Alean,” Laene assured. In a way, the emperor’s death had served her as well as it had Laene. Her relationship with Hern had been a gamble—there was no guarantee that Vaetayn would have chosen her, though the covert romance between Alean and Hern had placed some pressure on him. Now Hern himself could make the choice—Alean’s success was virtually assured.
Alean stood, arms folded in dissatisfaction. “He didn’t seem quite like himself,” she mumbled.
“He’s just trying to put the senate off-balance,” Laene hypothesized.
“That had better be it,” Alean finally said. “Play with your attendants, father. I am going to go arrange a way to spend some time with our new Emperor and make certain he knows his place. A ball, perhaps. Now that I’m officially a bride offering, they won’t let me get close to him unless the other women are allowed the same opportunity.”
“Yes, Alean,” Laene said, as she stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her. As soon as she was gone, Laene shook his head, leaning back in his chair. She would have made a wonderful Heir, he thought with a measure of disappointment.
Just as he was beginning to relax, however, another voice whispered into the room. “You should warn her, High Senator,” the quiet voice hissed. “Becoming bride to the Tribe of Amberite is not a healthy choice in these times.”
Laene jumped, his head turning toward the room’s back wall. The chamber was a small one, with only four stone pillars and a single fireplace. Something moved in the darkness to his right, beside one of the pillars.
“You,” Laene whispered, shivering to himself. “How did you enter this place?”
The figure did not respond. It remained in the shadows, barely visible.
“What do you want?” Laene asked, forcing his voice to remain even despite his worry. The events at Saedin had surprised even him—he hadn’t expected such destruction. Though he himself had been promised safety, it was still unnerving.
“Our promise is fulfilled,” the voice whispered. “The End of Time has arrived, and with it the end of an empire. A new Time must begin.”
“I have done my part,” Laene said, wiping his brow with a scented handkerchief. “I’ve taken the Heirship.”
“Heirs and rulers matter not,” the voice said. “Your people will be safe not because of what you do, but because of what you are. Your tribe is pure.”
“I have your word,” Laene said, forcing his voice to sound firm. He didn’t understand why the dark figures always referred to the Lines as ‘Tribes. “The Verdant Line will survive?”
“Verdant and Ferrous will survive,” the voice promised. “Amberite and Bestarin must be destroyed, lest the world be thrown into destruction and chaos, Slaughter and Despair rising again. It is difficult to bear, but it is what must be.”
The room fell silent. Laene didn’t hear a door open, but he knew somehow that his visitor had left.
Laene relaxed in his chair. He felt tired, as if he had undergone some rigorous strain. A few minutes later, Harridel announced his first formal visitor. But, for some reason, Laene found it impossible to rekindle his earlier glee.
Amberite and Bestarin must be destroyed… . Over half of the Aedin population, a full seventy percent of the Imperium’s military, were made up of those two lines. And they were to be destroyed. It was enough to give even Laene qualms.
It can’t be helped. You’ve seen the proof. They must die, for the good of the Imperium, for the good of Vaeria itself.
And, of course, it didn’t hurt that once they were gone, Laene would be the only one suited to fill the void in leadership.
#
The Imperial Throne was a thing of lore and legend. It was the seat of the most powerful man in the known world, the symbol of Aedin strength, duty, and law. In addition, Raeth discovered, it was incredibly uncomfortable.
Who had the clever idea to construct a throne completely from gold, anyway? He wondered with a frown, trying to look as regal as possible with an aching posterior. He shuffled in his seat as he greeted courier after courier, most of them Shorriken aides sent by Senators to convey their support of Raeth’s rule.
Darro was gone—he had abandoned Raeth a couple of hours before, complaining of thirst. He was probably off in one of the haunts that had made him so infamous amongst the High Aedin elite.
As Raeth sat, greeting endless lines of dignitaries—or, in many cases, messengers from dignitaries—he couldn’t help worrying that he should be doing something more important. Unfortunately, he couldn’t quite think what that would be. Every time he asked, Tarrinon sent an aid to the War Counsel to check on progress, but each time it came back with news of simple troop movements. For the moment, there was nothing to do but sit, so he might as well see to Imperium business while he did so.
Of course, it would have been nice to find a more comfortable place to sit. “How many more are there?” Raeth asked, rubbing his temples as the latest courier left. The throne room was a massive, column-free chamber on the third floor of the palace. It had enormous windows at the far end, overlooking the city. Raeth could see the sun setting in the distance—he’d been seeing appointments for six hours.
“Only one, my lord,” Tarrinon said as he scribbled a notation in his book.
Raeth sighed. “Can it wait for tomorrow?” he asked. “I still have to commission the Ynaa for my Bride Choosing.”
“Actually, your majesty,” Tarrinon noted, looking up from his book, “this is one appointment that I don’t think can wait until tomorrow. By then he will likely be dead.”
Raeth sat up a little straighter in the uncomfortable throne, his Aether scraping the gold armrest as he moved his hand. “What?” he asked with a frown.
Tarrinon nodded to the very end of the room, where a small group of soldiers was approaching. At their center walked a man with blotchy, dark blue skin. Shateen, the Shentis ambassador. The guards split, allowing Shateen to approach, though they kept a wary eye on him, the Verdant soldier’s hand extended threateningly to wrap Shateen in vines should he prove dangerous.
Shateen bowed, then raised his hands to show Raeth the Verdant vines that held his hands bound. “The events of last evening seem to have gained me an uncomfortably short reprieve, your majesty,” he said. “Though I won’t have the opportunity to bathe in your Aedin pool of defective souls, the headsman’s axe will likely prove an effective substitute.”
Raeth frowned, raising his hand to rub his stubbled chin. “The Senate has reordered your execution?” he asked.
“Slated, conveniently, for tomorrow morning,” Shateen said with a nod.
“And what do you wish of me?” Raeth asked.
“Um, one would think that would obvious, your majesty,” Shateen noted with a wan smile. “I did, after all, save your royal neck.”
Raeth sat thoughtfully. He wasn’t certain what to make of Shateen—the creature certainly wasn’t what he would have considered a regular Shentis. Elethis, Shateen’s elderly predecessor, had been skeletal and clandestine, a man of few words. Raeth had come to expect such from the demon Shentis. Shateen’s lively, even personable, attitude seemed incongruous beside his nature as a purported undead devourer of human souls.
“My father tried to stay your execution,” Raeth said. “The Senate rejected his suggestions. Why do you think I would be more successful?”
“Your father only sought to postpone my demise, my lord,” Shateen said. “He didn’t want my execution to upstage the Bride Choosing. He submitted a proposal to the Senate, but he did not pardon me.”
Raeth raised an eyebrow at Tarrinon. To his credit, the Shorriken advisor immediately knew what the look meant. “An imperial order of pardon cannot be undone by the Senate, my lord,” Tarrinon said quietly. “The Shentis is correct�
�your father simply tried to downgrade the execution from Capitol to criminal, that latter being punishable by beheading rather than the Pool of Forgotten.”
“Why didn’t he use a pardon instead?” Raeth asked quietly.
“Ambassador Shateen’s crimes were grave, my lord,” Tarrinon explained. “He is responsible for the disappearance of thirteen children. Public, and Senatorial, opinion of his people is quite violent right now—and your father agreed with that opinion. He wanted Shateen dead as much as everyone else, he just didn’t want it to happen right before the Bride Choosing.”
Raeth frowned again as he studied the Shentis. What are you? He thought, looking over the man’s bruise-like skin. He’d always disbelieved the stories of Shentis being demons, but if the truth was known, they really did look like walking corpses.
“Do you deny the charges against you, ambassador?” Raeth asked, leaning forward.
“No, your majesty,” Shateen replied.
“You kidnapped thirteen children?” Raeth asked with a frown.
“No,” Shateen corrected. “I purchased them.”
“You cannot purchase children, ambassador,” Raeth said with a hard voice. “Even orphans.”
“Then, perhaps some one should tell the orphanages that, your majesty,” Shateen returned. “And, once you do so, you might want to warn the Mahallen brothels. No one seems to mind when they perform the very same act I have.”
“What they do is illegal, ambassador,” Raeth replied. “Their sin does not make yours any more forgivable. Return the children, and I will see about lessening your sentence.”
“I cannot, your majesty,” Shateen said.
“And why not?” Raeth demanded.
“Because they are dead,” Shateen said, his voice losing its affable edge and becoming flat.
“And how did they die?” Raeth asked.
“I cannot tell you that, your majesty.”
Raeth ground his teeth in frustration. He was new to being an Emperor, but he was fairly certain people weren’t supposed to treat him in such a way. He looked into the creature’s eyes—eyes that were unnervingly human. What are you not telling me? He wondered. There was more to the story than Shateen wanted him to know. Whatever the secrets were, it appeared that the ambassador was willing to die for them.
Or, was he? He had somehow survived the Forgotten attack. Coincidence?
“Your majesty,” Shateen said, his voice frank. “You accuse me of sins. I admit that I preformed the acts, but I will accept no guilt for them. To me, they were no sin. Is it a sin to seek your own survival?”
Raeth paused. I should order him killed, he thought. However, something held him back from making the command. Perhaps it was the look in the Shentis’ eyes—a determined look, but not a dangerous one. Perhaps it was the curiosity. Whatever this man knows, I cannot let him take it to the grave, Raeth decided.
“Tarrinon,” he asked quietly, “if I pardon him, can I change my mind later?”
Tarrinon looked at him with surprise. “Technically, no, sire,” he said with a shake of his head. “However, you can order his execution again. The Senate will have to ratify the execution, of course, but all things considered, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good,” Raeth said, turning back to the waiting Shentis.
“My Lord… .” Tarrinon said warningly.
“I know,” Raeth said. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
From the roll of the Shorriken’s eyes, Raeth guessed this wasn’t the first time Tarrinon had heard such words from an Emperor.
“Shateen,” Raeth said, “consider yourself pardoned.”
Shateen perked up, a slight look of surprise on his face. “Why, thank you, my lord.”
“And, at the same time, I order you arrested for defying my will. The punishment is execution.”
Shateen paused. “That…seems a bit redundant, your majesty,” he noted.
“Defying the Emperor, however, is not punishable by Capitol Execution, so I can put the sentence off as long as I want. Therefore, I order the execution to take place in one month,” Raeth said. “You have that much time to tell me what you did with those children and why,” Raeth said. “Until then, enjoy the dungeon.”
Shateen frowned.
“It’s better than losing your head,” Raeth noted dryly.
“Agreed, your majesty,” Shateen said, smile returning as he bowed.
“That will be all, ambassador. You have one month to reconsider your silence.”
Shateen bowed, and Tarrinon hastily scribbled out a list of orders for them.
“That was clever, your majesty,” Tarrinon noted as the group left. “Your father spent months trying to find a way to do exactly what you just did.”
Raeth shrugged. “So, is that all of the appointments?” he asked.
“For today, my lord,” Tarrinon agreed.
“Fine,” Raeth said, standing and stretching. “Send a page to the Patriarch for me, if you would. I still need to commission that Ynaa.”
“Yes, my lord. Shall I write out the specifications for you?”
“No,” Raeth said, walking toward the Corpate tunnel. “Just ask the Patriarch to send a particular Dari to my chambers—a man named Jaenor. I want him to perform the Ynaa.”
“Yes, my lord,” Tarrinon said with a bow, waving a page over.
“Oh,” Raeth said as a Corpate climber appeared in the tunnel to bear him upwards, “see about finding a cushion or something to put on that throne, would you?”
#
Raeth didn’t have to wait long for Jaenor to arrive—even for talented Dari, an Imperial invitation was a rare privilege.
“Your Majesty… ?” a nervous Jaenor asked as a page led him into Hern’s—Raeth’s—study.
Raeth looked up with a smile, closing his book on courtly protocol. With everything that had been happening, it was good to see a face from his old life. Raeth stood, walking over to the uncomfortable Dari, gesturing for him to take a seat in one of the room’s plush chairs. “Jaenor, good to see you. Please, sit down.”
“Um, yes, your majesty,” the young man said, sitting stiffly.
“How are the Dari reacting to recent events?” Raeth asked, sitting in his own chair.
“Um, they’re nervous, my lord,” Jaenor explained. “No one’s certain what is going on. There’s talk of the End of Time, and of Forgotten, but most of us are just confused.”
“You have a right to be,” Raeth said with a smile.
Jaenor just nodded uncomfortably. Then, the two simply sat in tense silence, Jaenor staring at the floor. “Um, your majesty?” the Dari finally asked. “Is there a specific reason you summoned me?”
Raeth paused, frowning slightly. You can’t tell him, Raeth, he realized. What were you thinking, summoning him? To Jaenor you are Hern, his Emperor. Not his friend.
It was a difficult realization—he and Jaenor had been friends for years. And now, despite the fact that they had spoken amiably just the day before, Raeth knew that it was over.
Raeth stood stiffly. “Yes, Jaenor, there is a reason I summoned you,” he said, turning back toward his desk. “My brother spoke often of you, and of your talents as an artist.”
Jaenor’s face fell slightly at the words. “Yes, my lord. Raeth was a good friend. Will there be a funeral for him?”
Raeth nodded. “With my father’s. Tomorrow. Right now, I need a favor from you.”
“Anything, my Emperor.”
“I need a Ynaa, Jaenor,” Raeth said. “And it needs to be a very special one. You may have heard about my Bride Choosing?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Jaenor said with a nod. “You…you really want me to perform your Ynaa prayer?”
“Yes,” Raeth said with a nod. “I know of no one more suited to the task.”
“I…yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” Jaenor said with a blush, lowering his head.
“Petition my father for me, Jaenor,” Raeth said, his voice growing
soft. “Beg him to inspire me with wisdom. If I ever needed his hand of guidance, I need it now.”
“Yes, my lord. I will compose the most powerful Ynaa of my life, and will read it to the finest painting I have ever produced.”
Raeth smiled, then nodded. “Thank you, Jaenor. You are dismissed.”
“Yes, my lord,” Jaenor said, bowing and backing from the room.
“Oh, Jaenor, wait a moment,” Raeth said.
The Dari paused in the doorway.
“I need something from the Irae,” Raeth said. “I would know more about Yenniv Lan. If the End of Time really is here, then it is imperative that I understand what that entails. Please send me a copy of the Kaennis Sha.”
Jaenor’s eyes opened wide with shock. “You…you know of the Kaennis Sha, my lord?” he asked. “But, only Dari… .”
“Dari, and Emperors, Jaenor,” Raeth lied. The holy books had been such a part of his life over the last few years that he’d forgotten that they were forbidden of most people. “Send the book to me.”
“Yes, my lord,” Jaenor said, bowing.
Raeth watched the young boy go. There was something final about the exit, as if somehow Jaenor had taken Raeth’s old life with him.
I told Darro that I would bequeath the Throne once this was all over, but that won’t give me my old life back. If he continued to pretend he was Hern, they wouldn’t let him back in because they wouldn’t know he was a Dari. If he revealed who he really was, they would reject him for the falsehood he lived—assuming the Senate didn’t execute him immediately. The Irae, the life of a Dari, was lost to him forever. Until that moment, he’d never realized just how completely he had excised himself from his old life.
Fool, Raeth thought to himself. Only yesterday you were thinking about how horrible your life was in the Irae. Now you want to go back?
But, the life of a Dari hadn’t been horrible. The Irae had treated him well, as had the Patriarch—the kindly leader of the Vo-Dari. Raeth would never have made a spectacular Dari, but at least he had been comfortable there. He had known his Place. What was he now? An imposter living his brother’s life? An arrogant fool who assumed he could perform in a Place that he had not been given?
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