The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(43)

I honestly preferred it that way. Between Bayan and Father, eating in the opulence of the dining hall was like being invited to an elegant dinner among sharks. Was I here to eat the meal, or was I to be the main attraction?

Four more seats were at the end of the long table, no plates set at them. My spine stiffened as Father’s four highest constructs entered the room. The servants sped up in their work, and I knew they wanted to leave as much as I did. I envied that they could.

Tirang, Construct of War, an ape with clawed feet and a long, wolf-like snout. He sat nearest to my father, his claws clicking against the floor. Ilith, Construct of Spies, who took up twice the space of the other constructs, her many hands folding in front of her on the table. Mauga, Construct of Bureaucracy, a sloth’s large head on the body of a bear. He lumbered in like a bear just out of hibernation, and rolled into his seat. He rocked back and forth until he settled. And finally, Uphilia, Construct of Trade, a fox with two pairs of raven’s wings. She glided in on silent footfalls, her four wings folded at her sides. She sat on her cushion and started to clean her face with one front paw.

These were the four constructs I needed to gain control of. If I had them, I would have my father’s respect.

Father began to eat with trembling hands. I was afraid each bite wouldn’t make it to his lips. But when he spoke, his voice was strong. “News?”

Tirang spoke first, his voice like sand ground against stone. “Your soldiers are stretched thin. In addition to the governor they overthrew, the rebels are gaining a foothold in other islands among the Monkey’s Tail. A little over a hundred of your war constructs have been dismantled. I’d like to request a replacement.”

Father cast his spoon aside. “If Mauga’s bureaucracy constructs cannot repair them, then you’re short a hundred war constructs. There will be no replacements.”

Bayan leaned forward. “Perhaps I could—”

Father silenced him with a contemptuous glance. He looked to Ilith, and I held my breath.

Ilith’s mandibles clicked. “The Shardless Few is expanding its influence. People are unhappy with your taxes, and the recent destruction of Deerhead Island has stirred up more unrest. They don’t trust you to keep them safe – which brings me to my next report. Your people are ill content with the Tithing Festival. Even some governors are muttering about the necessity of it. It’s been a long time since the Alanga were driven out of the Empire, and people have been less inclined to think them a threat.”

“I work every day to maintain this Empire,” Father growled, his hand closing into a fist. “And these ungrateful brats think they’d be better off without me. The Tithing is a small price to pay for the protection I give them. I spend days of my life making constructs, keeping ever vigilant. In the days of my grandfather, the people were grateful. It was an honor to give up a shard. Now they mewl about how the Tithing kills some of their children, how it drains days of their lives – when I have drained my entire life.”

Both Bayan and I sat silent, knowing that if we spoke the wrong word, his anger would refocus on us. We could feel it like a living thing, a blind snake waiting for a mouse to move.

Finally, he sighed and waved a hand. “Mauga, have the old tales circulated again. Pay a troupe to travel the isles and have them put on a production of Phoenix Rise. Everyone likes the story, and it will remind people of what my ancestors have done for them. What we are still doing for them. Keeping them safe.”

Mauga grumbled a little to himself, claws clicking on the table as he shifted.

Ilith looked to me and Bayan, and then back to my father. “The tales may not be necessary. I’ve had some reports about Alanga artifacts . . . awakening.”

Father clenched his hands. “Artifacts are not the Alanga themselves. We’ll speak on that later.”

I looked to Bayan and found him looking back at me. Father might not have seemed concerned, but Bayan was.

“Very well. But another thing you should know,” Ilith said. “My spies have brought me a rumor. It could be nothing but the spawn of some wild dreams, but there may be someone stealing your citizens away from the Tithing Festivals before they are complete. His name is Jovis.”

The trade construct’s wings twitched, and Mauga lifted his sloth head. “I know that name,” Mauga said. “And so does Uphilia. We had posters made.”

My father leaned on the table, lacing his fingers together, his head bowed. “A fugitive?”

“A smuggler,” Mauga said, his voice a rumble in his throat. He snuffled. “He has been . . . hmmm . . . a problem. Two missing boxes of witstone from the mine at Tos. He does not pay any relevant fees.”

“Of course he doesn’t.” Uphilia’s tail lashed. “He’s a smuggler.”

“He pays his fees to the Ioph Carn. No one escapes both the Empire and them,” Ilith said.

“Ilith, keep your spies listening for more word of this Jovis,” my father said. “But he is a smaller problem next to the Shardless. Tirang, organize a strike against the rebellion on the Monkey’s Tail. Send some war constructs. Gather information first.”

And then he returned to eating his dinner, as though that took care of things. What about reaching out to the governors? What about the island that had sunk? It could have been my imagination, but I thought I felt a tremble beneath me, a tremor.