Descendant of the Crane(85)

She met the gazes of as many as she could. A minister. A viscount. A marquis. A page. She let her eyes fall on Xia Zhong as she said, “We have turncoats in this city. People are printing these letters as we speak.”

A stir went through the ranks.

“And I have an inkling who they might be.” Neighbors looked to each other, and a pathetic trill of satisfaction went through Hesina. If she couldn’t out the minister, she’d at least raise the collective vigilance.

“Any news from the borderlands?” she asked the Grand Secretariat.

“Not as of this point.”

Good, because another disappearing village would be the people’s final straw.

Hesina was done playing games with Xia Zhong. She couldn’t sit around and let Kendi’a ambush Yan in its weakest moment. She had to make the first move, even if it meant conceding defeat.

“The truce ends here,” she said. “I want militias of the western provinces mustered, organized, and stationed at the border by the end of the week.”

“They’ll need a leader,” piped a marquis.

“I’ll go.” Sanjing stepped forward. “I’ve dealt with the Kendi’ans before. I know their tricks.”

His bandage had been removed; the cut on his temple had scabbed. But his real wounds were invisible, and Hesina didn’t want to send him away so soon. The kingdom had already taken so much from them. Why give more?

You must always love your people, came her father’s voice.

He must have conveniently forgotten that the sooths were people too. But his teachings were a part of Hesina. His love was the sky she turned to when she couldn’t breathe in this lacquer box of a home. She couldn’t forgive One, but One wasn’t the man who’d shown her how to plant a persimmon tree from a branch, or the man who’d spent so many nights entertaining an audience of one.

And now he spoke to her, whether Hesina wanted to hear him or not.

You must give them your heart.

And then? she thought bitterly. What do I give up next? But she already knew the answer.

Her name.

Her life.

Her ideals.

Right after she gave Sanjing up to his duty as her general. “Then I grant you high command.”

Her brother bowed. “I’ll ready myself now.”

This is what he wants, Hesina reminded herself as he went down the dais in two quick strides. The vassals bowed as he swept past. It’s too painful for him to stay here.

Still, something in her closed as the doors groaned shut behind him.

Exhausted, Hesina gripped the throne’s arm. “On to the matter of restoring order to the imperial city.”

Officials came forward with their proposals. Some pointed out that the majority of sooths were likely living in the underground sewage system and suggested burning them out. Others argued for letting the vigilante groups do the dirty work. Issues of costs and efficiency were raised, but no one, not a single soul, voiced Hesina’s thought: the majority of sooths were innocent. She ached to say it, but at a time when she needed the support of all her subordinates, she couldn’t alienate them by revealing her true heart.

She looked to Caiyan. He hadn’t said a word this entire time. A silly part of Hesina was waiting for him to swoop in with the best solution. But there wasn’t any. The people had decided.

What is power? Hesina had thought it was wielding the knife, or getting someone to wield it for her. Now she realized it was neither. Power was yielding. It was taking the bloodstained knife out of a thousand frenzied hands and making it hers alone.

“Silence.”

The court hushed.

“Tomorrow—” Her voice cracked; she tried again. “Tomorrow, I will make a tour of the imperial city. We will show the people I am alive and well. The procession will start and end at the terraces with the sharing of my decree. I—”

Her throat was in her stomach, and her stomach was in her throat, and her heart was somewhere between them, clawing to resurface.

“I will sanction a citywide cutting, to be conducted by the imperial guard and only the imperial guard, enacted sector by sector, ward by ward. Magistrates and hand-selected officials will oversee that everyone in the population records is processed equally. Any discovered soothsayers will be detained…”

Not at the palace, not after what had happened.

“…in the city guard barracks,” she finished, “where they will await further processing.”

“Death by a thousand cuts?” piped up an official.

Placate the people, and buy time. “We must wait to learn the total numbers of sooths before we decide how to proceed,” Hesina said before she could come up with the proper justification.

Caiyan provided it. “If the number of discovered sooths is high,” he said, his voice unusually gravelly, “then we can’t afford to carry out the executions to their fullest extent.”

The officials grumbled, protesting that foregoing the executions went against the Tenets.

Caiyan continued, his words hoarse and strained. “Every province is watching this city. Should we publicize that soothsayers comprise ten, fifteen, or twenty percent of our population, surpassing all prior expectations, the entire realm will turn on itself. The Kendi’ans will advance, and the militia won’t be able to stop a two-front war.” He glanced to Hesina, his chestnut eyes unreadable. “The queen is right. What happens after identifying the soothsayers will be determined by the numbers.”