The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(125)

Jovis had a face like my father’s – immutable as a wall when he chose it to be so. I wasn’t sure what thoughts lurked behind that expression. Mephi chirruped and leaned his chin on Jovis’s shoulder. “A very good.”

Jovis’s face softened as he pressed his forehead to Mephi’s. He took in a breath and let it out, his eyes closed. He turned to look at me again. “Yes. I’ll help you.”

His words held the weight of some ages-old bargain, as though we were more than just one young man and one young woman, battered and bruised, trying to puzzle out the best path forward.

“Good,” Thrana cooed out.





48





Jovis


Imperial Island

Things could have gone much, much worse. The Emperor could have decided to have me hanged. She could have ordered her constructs to tear me apart. Or she could have sent me away, which considering my current state of mind, would have been worse. Emahla was dead. Whatever experiments the prior Emperor had conducted on her, she was gone. It hurt my heart to think of her here in this palace, alone, living out her final days in pain and anguish. I wished I’d been there for her, as she’d always been for me.

But grief was a wave I could keep my head above.

I tugged at the collar of the jacket Lin had gifted me. If I’d thought the soldier’s jacket an ill fit on Deerhead, this one fit even more poorly – despite the perfect measurements. It was dark blue and gold brocade, with golden buttons shaped like chrysanthemums. The high collar had just enough room around it to let my neck breathe, and it fell to mid-thigh. Lin had given me a golden sash to match, with a ring of keys hanging from it. Captain of the Imperial Guard was an odd title for a smuggler, a onetime Imperial navigator. She’d played up that second part in the proclamations, and downplayed the first. Either way, if I’d wanted a giant sign pointing out to the Ioph Carn where I resided – I’d gotten it. At least they’d hesitate to strike at me here, in the seat of the Empire’s power.

I’d sent a missive to my mother and father the day before, letting them know where I was, what I was doing and that I was safe. I thought often of how it would be when they opened it, my mother’s eyes filling with tears, my father holding the letter to his chest. I already knew what their response would be: when could I come see them, when could they come see me, this was what had been happening on our little island, the people who had left and died, the people who had married, the children who had been born. Life had been passing by while I’d been chasing a ghost.

“Sir, are you ready?” A servant stood in the doorway, his hands clasped. Lin had begun to hire more servants, and had ordered the buildings of the palace grounds to be repaired. Workers filled the walls, plastering and painting, cutting fresh wood. The faint scent of mud and sawdust seemed to fill the air, dust particles floating in every sunbeam. This seemed as much a symbol of rebirth as her hiring me on as Captain.

“I’m ready,” I said. “After you.” I followed the servant, Mephi bounding at my side. And that was the biggest problem. I’d arrived at the palace expecting hostility. I’d been at odds with the Emperor from the beginning. This Lin Sukai, this daughter that few had seen since she’d been young, she claimed to want something different. It was the same thing the Shardless Few claimed to want. A better life for everyone on the islands. Gio had other motives. Did Lin? I wasn’t sure.

I strode through the hallways, trying not to gape at the murals, at the carvings, at the gilt inlay. The governor’s palace at Nephilanu had been so gaudy as to seem cheap. This palace carried the weight of history in it, the art carefully cultivated, each piece complementing the next.

We made our way to the palace entrance hall.

The doors had been thrown open. The weather was auspicious for the wet season: faintly cloudy, breezy but without the scent of rain. Lin stood at the top of the steps, resplendent in the Emperor’s fiery phoenix robes, the headdress nearly dwarfing her small, wiry frame. Guards surrounded her, mostly newly hired, though she did not seem worried. Thrana sat at her side. In the last several weeks, the fur had begun to grow back on the bare patches of skin. She still looked worse for the wear, and she was still far too thin, but she was beginning to seem intimidating.

As I approached, I could see the crowd beyond Lin, gathered inside the palace walls. The public hadn’t been allowed inside the palace walls for the last twenty years. Even at this distance, I could see hope on their upturned faces. I stepped to the Emperor’s side and the crowd roared. Someone in the midst of the crowd began to sing the folk song about me; several others joined.

Could a person die of embarrassment?

All my limbs felt too long and rangy, my skin too blemished, my hands too rough and cracked. Songs were not written about people like me. People like me weren’t honored in ceremonies and given a lofty position by Imperial decree. I should have been a navigator, Emahla waiting for me at home, one or two children running about her feet. I closed my eyes briefly, waiting for the wave to pass me by. That was not my life.

This was.

“Kneel,” Lin said. Her voice resonated through the courtyard, filling the space. She held a medallion in her hands.

I knelt. Mephi sat beside me.

“Jovis of Anau, former Imperial navigator, I offer you the position of Captain of the Imperial Guard. Know that this position carries with it great responsibilities. You must swear your fealty to me, to the Empire, to all the known islands. For you are not a leader of men, but a servant of them.”