Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(30)

This man, the one who complains about a lack of ale during the conclave, is the one the ministers chose as regent?

“At any rate,” the kenarang continued, heedless of her dismay, “I don’t think many of them much wanted me. In the end, I think they picked me because I don’t have any plans for the governance of this fine empire.” He frowned apologetically. “I’m not saying I’m going to shirk my duty. I’ll see to what needs doing, but I know my limits. I’m a soldier, and a soldier shouldn’t overstep himself when he’s not on the battlefield.”

Adare nodded slowly. There was a certain perverse logic to the decision. The various ministries were always jockeying for position: Finance with Ethics, Agriculture with Trade. No regent would actually try to seize power for himself, but the months during which Kaden was away would provide plenty of time to tip some very delicate scales. Il Tornja, on the other hand—the man was affable, a war hero, and perhaps most crucially, indifferent to political maneuvering.

“Well,” she replied, “the delegation left for Kaden just after my father’s death. If they have good winds to the Bend, they could be back in a matter of months.”

“Months,” il Tornja groaned. “At least it’s not years. What’s Kaden like?”

“I barely know my brother. He’s been in Ashk’lan for half his life.”

“Learning to run all this?” il Tornja asked, gesturing vaguely, presumably at the vast empire stretching away outside the walls of the tomb.

“I certainly hope so. The boy I knew liked to run around the palace waving a wooden stick in place of a sword. Hopefully he will shine as brightly as my father.”

Il Tornja nodded, looked over at the body of Sanlitun, then back at Adare. “So,” he said, spreading his hands. “Uinian. You plan to hold the knife yourself?”

Adare raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“The priest murdered your father. Once you go through the show of the trial, he’ll be condemned. What I wonder is, will you kill him yourself?”

She shook her head. “I hadn’t considered the question. There is an executioner—”

“You ever kill a man?” he asked, cutting her off.

“I haven’t had much occasion.”

He nodded, then gestured to the bier. “Well, it’s your grief, and I don’t mean to tell you how to handle it. Ananshael has your father now, and Ananshael won’t give him back. Still, when the time comes, you may find it helps if you execute the bastard yourself.” He held her gaze a moment longer, as though to be sure she had understood, then turned on his heel and left.

Only then, when she was finally alone, did Adare allow herself to turn to her father’s bier. Sanlitun hui’Malkeenian’s body had been scrubbed, dried, and dressed by the Sisters of Ananshael, his mouth and nose stuffed with sweet-smelling herbs to keep off the stench of the rot. Even Intarra’s favor can’t hold off the Lord of Bones. The Emperor was dressed in his finest robes of state, his strong hands folded across his chest, fingers interlaced. Despite his pallor, he looked almost like the father she had known. If he had cried out or struggled in his final moments, the Sisters had smoothed his features until they were as stoic and somber in death as they had once been in life.

His eyes, however, those fiery eyes were closed. I never saw him sleep, she realized. She must have, surely, maybe when she was only a small child, but if so, those memories had dissolved. Every recollection she had of him involved that blazing gaze. Without it, he seemed smaller somehow, quieter.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she took his hand. She had hoped for some message when his testament was read the week prior, some final note of love or comfort. But then, Sanlitun was never effusive. His only bequest to her was Yenten’s History of the Atmani, “that she might better appreciate our history.” It was a fine book, but just a book nonetheless. His true gift had been her appointment to the head of the Ministry of Finance, his belief that she was capable of the job.

“Thank you, Father,” she murmured. “You will be proud. If Valyn and Kaden are equal to their fate, then so am I.”

Then, anger welling inside her, she pulled the knife from the belt at his side.

“And, when the time comes for Uinian to die, I will wield the knife myself.”





8





“I think Tan’s trying to kill me,” Kaden said, straightening up from the bundle of tiles he had just hoisted up onto the dormitory roof and wiping the sweat from his brow.