Burning Glass (Burning Glass #1)(82)
Councilor Ilyin’s lips pursed. His gaze returned to the map.
“And what of you, General Lazar?” The emperor looked to the sharp-cheeked man seated two chairs from Count Rostav. “You have often lamented the state of our navy and said we could better defend ourselves against Estengarde by utilizing the Artagnon Sea. How many times have you told me we should bypass the Bayac Mountains altogether to settle our quarrels with the Estens?”
General Lazar grunted. “Too many to count, My Lord.”
The emperor nodded with sympathy as he accepted the general’s censuring tone. “We have never been able to afford a resplendent navy, not with the expense of maintaining an army massive enough to fortify the sheer breadth of our nation.” Lifting his brows, Valko held up a finger. “But if we conquer Shengli, our resources will double, our empire will flourish with more wealth and prosperity. Then we can reinforce our navy—build it up to unrivaled size and daunting strength. Don’t you see?” Valko smiled. “We could do better than merely defend ourselves against Estengarde. We could conquer it from the seas. And you, General Lazar, would captain the undertaking!”
The general scratched the back of his neck, all traces of his disgruntlement gone as he stared at the rendering of a conjoined Riaznin and Shengli. In his mind, he must be erasing the dotted border between our empire and Estengarde, as well—that and pinning another silver badge on his regimentals.
He wasn’t the only one evaluating Valko’s proposal in a new light. Every councilor’s gaze traveled over the map with growing hunger.
Soon no one had any qualms about lowering the draft age or partitioning a large percentage of our Torchev military to bolster our forces for the Shengli invasion. No one but Anton. His words last night rang through my mind: Revolution always comes at a cost.
Valko’s dream of Riaznin was the emperor’s own kind of revolution, but his came at the expense of war. The earth would soak up the blood of millions, no matter which country prevailed in battle.
Anton’s hands were folded together on the table in a picture of calm reasoning, but his knuckles were white and his aura white-hot. “Assuming Riaznin could rise up to be the marvel of the last millennium by actually defeating the Shenglin,” he said to Valko, his voice cool and even, revealing only the finest grain of contempt, “what is in this for the woman who loses her husband and her sons for this shining empire you have shown us? What is in it for those who fight and come out victorious, but have no rights? The nobility need not fear. They are exempt from military service, so they will flourish and build up their estates.” He waved a hand over the map. “They will attend your universities and dine in your great hall, while those who sacrifice for you”—his voice rose and lanced through his mask of complacency—“will continue to do so through taxes your nobles aren’t required to pay. Those who give the most for their empire’s glory will remain in ignorance because they’ll have no means to educate themselves.”
The emperor, who had been in the midst of pointing out a new road he could pave from Torchev to Gensi, paused to level a narrowed gaze on his brother that turned my bones to ice. “The people are already divided,” Valko said. “They will always be divided. We need a thriving noble class to set an example.”
“Of what?” Anton shrugged. “Something they can never attain, neither by bloodline nor by wealth?”
Valko didn’t reply. His coldness invaded my aura and threatened to frost my breath.
Anton looked to Count Rostav. “Wouldn’t you agree, Nicolai?”
The count blanched and shifted in his seat. His eyes darted to the other councilors before landing on Valko. Nicolai swallowed and cleared his throat. “I appear to be the exception. My title came by my father’s merits in his service to the empire, not by his wealth or ancestry.”
They were fine enough words, fine enough logic, but they contradicted the shame pulsing off the count in waves. He wouldn’t return Anton’s disappointed stare, but he shot me a guilt-ridden glance. He knew I must feel him out for the coward he was.
“There!” Valko grinned at the count. “You see, Anton? The system isn’t flawed. Those who are truly superior will always rise to the top.” My blood warmed as the chill abated, but I didn’t feel relief. I knew, in the end, I could never do enough “rising” for Valko. I had no wish to marry the emperor, but it bothered me greatly that he would never see me as an equal, despite his professions of admiration.
“In fact,” Valko continued, “that is why I’ve invited Nicolai today. His father was a champion in the Five Years’ War. I was a child at the time, but I know my history well. Count Rostav the First rose in the ranks to become a lieutenant-general. Many believe his actions changed the tide of battle and gave us the winning edge over the ‘undefeatable’ Shenglin. If you remember, brother”—Valko cast a haughty glance at Anton—“Riaznin proved to be a marvel then as we drove out our intruders and reestablished our border.” The emperor sat down in his chair, his aura greedy as he focused on the count. It scraped the lining of my stomach with pangs of endless appetite. “Perhaps he shared with you some of his tactics,” he said to Nicolai.
Everyone turned to the count, who paled a shade further. Two seats beside him, General Lazar flared his nostrils and my skin prickled with gooseflesh. No doubt the general didn’t appreciate someone else giving the emperor advice in his stead, for that was surely what Valko had implied Nicolai should do—assist him in battle strategy.