The Bone Shard Daughter (The Drowning Empire, #1)(44)

No one else even so much as glanced downward. Just my mind playing tricks on me.

“Eminence,” Bayan said.

My focus turned to him and I picked up on details I hadn’t noticed before. He’d eaten not even half of his plate. The fingers of one hand curled around his napkin. He was nervous.

Bayan straightened. “The last construct I made – I changed the command out to the one you recommended. But is it possible to keep the original command and modify it to work the same way?”

And that was all that was said about politics. Constructs, my father could talk animatedly about for hours.

Father tilted his head to the side. “It’s possible,” he said, tapping his chopsticks against his plate, “although not necessarily advisable. A command, once written, cannot be erased or overwritten. It can be modified, but you run the danger of a less effective command. If you’re not careful, you can even run the risk of altering the command in a way you didn’t intend. A missed mark, or an unintended one, can change a meaning completely. It’s best to use a fresh shard and carve a new command.”

“But what if you run low on shards?”

Father snorted. “The Shardless Few and this smuggler aside, we will not run out of shards.”

“Nothing lasts for ever. Not even the reign of the Alanga.”

“The Shardless have no plan. They know what they don’t want, but they don’t know what they do want. No movement survives without a vision of the future, because without it, there is nothing to strive for. They rebels aren’t a real threat, and you don’t need to start hoarding shards.”

They spoke not just like teacher and student, but like father and son. In the soft lighting of the dining room, Bayan looked like a younger reflection of my father. No wonder he had chosen to foster him. No wonder he was considering replacing me with him.

I felt my brows furrow as I watched Bayan, and I smoothed the expression away before anyone could notice. His expression was calm, but his fingers still curled into his napkin. He hadn’t asked just out of curiosity. He’d asked because the asking had made Father comfortable. The question that made him twist his fingers was yet to come.

If I were Bayan, I would have been patient. I would have let the mood in the room relax further. But Bayan’s ambition was not a patient thing.

“Will you give me the key to the door with the cloud junipers on it? I’m ready.”

The cloud juniper door – the one I recognized from a past I no longer knew. I tried not to appear interested but I needn’t have bothered. Father’s attention was fully on Bayan. “I give you keys when I deem you ready. If I have not given you a key, you are not ready.”

Father said it calmly, but I watched the way he set his chopsticks to the side even though he wasn’t done eating. There was a warning in such calm. It was the retreat of the ocean from the shore, just before a tsunami.

Bayan didn’t notice. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me, and I’ve done things you’ve not even asked. Every time you go through that door, you come back invigorated. I want to know what’s behind it.”

Father’s hand lashed out far quicker than I’d thought possible for his age.

The blow couldn’t have hurt that much, but Bayan cowered, holding a hand to his cheek. And then Father grasped his cane. He started to lift it, and then, thinking better of the action, let it rest back on the floor. The constructs sat on their cushions like statues, watching with disinterested eyes.

He’d beaten Bayan before. It hadn’t occurred to me until now, but Bayan never knew his place, and Father was fond of reminding others of theirs. It must have hurt more, years ago, when my father had been stronger.

“You wait,” Father hissed, his breathing heavy. “And you keep covetous thoughts to yourself. If you ask for things you cannot understand, you’re more imprudent than I thought you were.”

Bayan wiped the spot where Father had struck him. The blow hadn’t been hard, but one of the rings Father wore had left an angry red mark. “If I was your true-born son, would you have shown me?”

So he was jealous of me. I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I’d been so jealous of Bayan I hadn’t thought of how he might feel about my station.

Before I could puzzle out my feelings, Father raised his left hand. “Tirang.”

The Construct of War rose. Father had only to crook one finger and the construct pulled a dagger from his belt and started toward Bayan.

No matter what little power remained in Father’s limbs, his mind was still sharp. And with that came the control of all the constructs on all the islands of the Empire.

Now Bayan was afraid, as he should have been before. I should have relished this victory. I should have gloated, the way Bayan had so many times over his keys.

Ah. I couldn’t. The idea of watching Tirang carve up Bayan just made me queasy, not glad. It swirled in my belly, spurring me to action.

“I have a question as well,” I blurted out. All four constructs looked to me, and Father’s crooked finger relaxed. Tirang stopped in the middle of the dining hall. “Is imprudence an inherited trait, or is it learned?”

By the Endless Sea and the great cloud junipers – I’m not sure what prompted me to speak except for pity. It worked, in a manner of speaking. Father stopped paying attention to Bayan. He seemed to have forgotten he was there. Tirang went to sit back at his seat by the table. Bayan slumped on his cushion, terror washing away like dust after a wet season rain.