Cassias turned to the rows of kneeling servants. “Ninety-nine and one hundred,” he said. The two people in the back rose to their feet, bowed, and then scurried off.
The woman whispered again. “The paint was beginning to chip outside the Jai clan’s second-ranked auction house,” Cassias reported. “We repainted overnight, but the new coat was scraped and marred in the morning. The Jai clan reported our painters, but it was our top-ranked crew.”
Someone tugged on Lindon’s sleeve, and he leaned down to hear what Fisher Gesha had to say. Yerin leaned in next to them, listening.
“You’ve noticed the ranks, hm? Everything here in the proper Blackflame Empire has its place, numbered and categorized. You always know which restaurant is the best, which public lavatory is the worst, which servant is more useful than another. Everything they do here is about climbing one number higher, you see?”
Yerin huddled closer. “That’s a twisty way of doing it.”
Gesha hit Lindon on the side of the head. “The opposite of twisty, isn’t it? Everything’s clearly laid out. Higher-ranked businesses can charge more, the highest-ranked disciples get the best resources, and the top families get more support from the empire.”
“What did you mean the proper Blackflame Empire?” Lindon asked. “And why did you hit me?”
Gesha hit him again. “Blackflame Empire covers more land than you think. The Emperor holds the title to the Desolate Wilds, only there’s nothing he wants out there, so he leaves us to ourselves. The empire stretches past the mountain range to the west of us, but I couldn’t tell you just how far, could I?”
Lindon had grown up in the mountain range to the west of the Desolate Wilds, and he could say with confidence that no one there had heard of the Blackflame Empire. It was widely accepted that the land outside Sacred Valley was untamed and barbaric.
Eithan joined their conversation, speaking out one side of his mouth. “The Emperor hasn’t been able to hold on to the full scope of its territory for two generations now, though don’t let the imperial clan hear you spreading that around. As for the ranking, I’m proud to say that we are the first of the major servant families, subject only to the great clans of the empire. I myself am considered the eleventh strongest of the Underlords.” He flashed a smile. “But I’m first in charm!”
Lindon wondered if charm was actually ranked.
Cassias discreetly elbowed Eithan, concluding his report with, “Due to a series of anonymous reports, the Skysworn are currently investigating us for negligence. The Jai clan have publicly proposed that the Redflower family supervise sanitation, with our employees given to their authority. The Redflowers have repeatedly declined.”
Eithan straightened himself up and looked over the servants. “I have witnessed the business of the family, and let it be known that I am more than satisfied with our performance. The inner and outer members of the family have honored our name, and our employees have behaved with dedication and loyalty. I could not be more pleased with how this family has conducted itself in my absence.”
Cassias stared wide-eyed at Eithan as though he’d never seen him before. The servants all reacted differently: some bowed lower, some raised their heads to gaze on the Underlord, and others shouted loyalty to the Arelius family or insults to the Jai clan.
“We thank you for the honor, Underlord,” Cassias said, turning to the servants. “Dismissed.”
The servants shouted in unison once more: “The Arelius family thanks the Patriarch.” Their voices were surely Enforced, judging by how the shouts made the nearby sand shake. This time, Lindon was prepared for the noise, and he cycled madra to protect his ears.
Though they were dismissed, they stayed on their knees waiting for the Underlord and his entourage to leave. Eithan strode through the rows of prostrate figures, Cassias keeping pace beside him. He beckoned Yerin and Lindon to join them, so Lindon hitched his pack up on his shoulders and followed, his red Thousand-Mile Cloud drifting along behind. Yerin walked with him, and Fisher Gesha scurried behind on her spider legs.
“You conducted yourself with admirable dignity back there,” Cassias said to Eithan, as they passed into the giant rib cage. The ceiling between the ribs was painted in murals of a thousand colors, showing sacred artists locked in battle with dragons. The ribs themselves were etched with delicate scripts, though none of them were lit.
Eithan smoothed back his long hair as he walked. “They didn’t need a friend today, they needed to know I would solve their problems. I had to inspire confidence.”
Cassias looked him up and down. “It’s like I’ve never met you.”
“It was nothing much, but feel free to shower me with praise.”
They continued chatting even as they entered a vast chamber, but Lindon was absorbed by the noise and motion of the Arelius family in action. Workers in blue-and-black scurried here and there—some of them carrying brooms, others buckets. Some wore blood-spattered aprons, others carried sacks over their shoulders. A fireplace big enough to burn wagons took up a chunk of one wall, with a chimney carved into the bone. Servants separated piles of trash and tossed pieces into the flames.
Half of that same wall was taken up by a long desk with six smiling people behind it, all wearing Arelius badges on their chests. Workers lined up in front of them, only to be pointed in a certain direction; it must be where they received their assignments.
A collection of maps were tacked against the opposite wall, some freshly painted, others yellowed with age. Workers with white signs painted on their uniforms—Lindon took them to be leaders of some kind—looked at the maps and compared them to lists in their hands.
It all reminded Lindon of the bustle surrounding the construction of the Seven-Year Festival, but on another scale entirely. Instead of a hundred Wei clan members working on a dozen jobs over a huge arena, here were a thousand employees of the Arelius family packed into a single room while carrying out hundreds of tasks. This was what they did every day.
Yerin was gripping the sheath of her sword, not its hilt, and eyeing every person they passed. “Is it always this...noisy in here?”
Cassias heard her and turned, walking backwards and holding a hand on the hilt of his thin saber. He leaned the weapon to the side, moving the sheath out of the way of a passing servant without looking. “The empire prides itself on its appearance, and we are the ones who keep it beautiful. We must stay organized. This is only the seventh largest city in the empire, so there are only four central facilities like this one. In Blackflame City itself, there are a dozen, all bigger and busier than what you see around you.”
They passed out of the bustling room and into the sun again, which glared at them over the head of a pale stone statue that must have been ninety feet tall. It was rounded and smooth with age, but it depicted a figure with wild hair and torn clothes, eyes furious and teeth bared in a snarl. The statue had a dagger raised as though to strike.
It seemed like an odd likeness to carve outside a janitor's headquarters, but before Lindon could say as much, Eithan pointed to it.
“The family's original Patriarch,” he said. “There are legends about him all over the world. Serpent's Grave was one of the first outposts of the Arelius family on this continent. It isn't the headquarters anymore, even in the Blackflame Empire—they've moved to the capital city, to stay close to power—but everyone gathers here once every ten years.”
Cassias sighed. “Though that tradition may also be lost to time.”