He started and looked over. Her face was awash with genuine concern. Again, he wanted to grasp her small hand.
“I was only thinking on ... on a little nothing.”
At that moment, something—he never knew what—pulled his attention to the main doors. Jib’rail, the new commander of the imperial guard, came toward him. Something in the man’s face caused time to slow; his stride was steady, but his eyes were manic.
Nazhif stood only a few paces behind Ounyal’am. He would be watching the commander’s approach as well. A few others in the chamber noticed and cast curious glances.
Commander Jib’rail bowed upon reaching the table and spoke in a low tone that would not be overheard.
“My prince ...” He stopped as if stumbling over the title. “I beg forgiveness for this interruption. Could you please step outside with me for a private ... word?”
Something in the world shifted. Ounyal’am did not yet know what, only that it had. The moment stretched out.
“My ... my ...” Commander Jib’rail trailed off again, as if he had forgotten how to address an imperial prince.
With a quick glance at A’ish’ah, Ounyal’am dared to touch her hand once under the table to stop the worried furrow of her brow. He rose, and though he should have assured all present that there was only some minor matter to attend, his throat was too dry.
Gesturing toward the rear doors, he directed the commander out of the chamber. He followed, as Nazhif did so with two others of his private guard, but only after placing the fourth on watch over A’ish’ah. Once out in the rear passage, Ounyal’am faced the new commander of the imperial guard.
“What has happened?” he demanded, trying to sound sharp rather than anxious.
The imperial guards were renowned for their almost complete lack of visible emotion, but though Jib’rail spoke low, his voice broke when he answered.
“The emperor’s breath has stopped.” He paused and his voice grew more uneven. “I was on guard at his door when an attendant came to tell me the emperor could not be awakened. I checked his condition myself and then came directly to you.”
On some level, Ounyal’am knew what the commander had been about to say, but he still felt unprepared.
“Take me to my father, now,” he ordered.
Jib’rail bowed and turned quickly. The following walk through the palace felt endless, even with Nazhif’s welcome presence close behind him.
Three imperial guards stood before the emperor’s chamber, where three attendants whispered and fidgeted. All six dropped to one knee at Ounyal’am’s approach. That sight made his chest tighten and his stomach roil. He passed them without another glance and went straight for the doors.
“Nazhif, with me. No one else.”
He pushed through the doors into the overdecorated sitting room and on to the bedchamber. All was silent but for the sound of Nazhif’s light footsteps behind him, which halted when he did.
He peered through the gauze curtains at the enormous bed’s foot. Nothing appeared any different from what he had seen on the night he had come to use the imperial seal. The windows were closed, and the room now stank even more of decay. He stepped around to the bed’s side to clear his view.
What was left of his once powerful father was a shrunken, wizened form. Thankfully, the eyes were closed, but stillness did not confirm what had been said.
Ounyal’am stood so long, unable to move, until Nazhif finally stepped around him to the bedside and reached out with two fingers for the emperor’s throat. The very act was presumptuous, but someone had to verify death.
Nazhif straightened as his fingers came away. “He must have passed in his sleep.”
Ounyal’am stared down at the face of his dead father. A wave of unwanted regret passed through him, but how could he mourn?
Emperor Kanal’am had loved no one—perhaps not even himself, let alone his son. He had turned the court into a pit of vipers to match his own corruption. And yet, as a son, Ounyal’am had sometimes harbored a secret hope of someday changing their relationship, if only a little, to something better—perhaps mutual respect if not love.
This was his single stab of regret, as now ... that could never happen.
Nazhif dropped to one knee. “My emperor,” he said. “What is your command?”
Ounyal’am could only stand there and breathe. Though he tried to hold off the repercussions, they crept in upon him. He allowed them in slowly, one at a time.
“My emperor?” Nazhif repeated. “Should this be announced at the banquet?”
Ounyal’am’s thoughts tangled in what would happen if he made this public tonight with so many royals and nobles present in close quarters.
“No,” he answered. “Swear the attendants and guards to silence. I will return to the banquet and continue the celebration. The mourning horns are not to be sounded until dawn, when all guests are in their own quarters.”
Still on one knee, Nazhif nodded. “Yes. That is wise ... my emperor.”
Ounyal’am stiffened at the change of address. Nazhif, the closest thing he had to a friend, was far too good a man to offer empty condolences.
“I will need you most in the coming days,” Ounyal’am said. “More than ever before.”
Nazhif rose up, though he kept his head bowed. “I am ever at your side, my emperor.”
They left the room together. Nazhif stopped to speak briefly to Commander Jib’rail, and then the two of them continued on to the great domed chamber. Ounyal’am did not know how he could go back into the banquet, smile and eat, and pretend nothing had happened.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
Upon returning to the banquet, he managed to make some excuse for his brief absence. Later, he did not remember what it was. He remembered only sinking down onto his cushion beside A’ish’ah and how she’d studied his face in concern. Her eyes missed little.
“My prince?” she whispered.
He could not help cringing for an instant. After tonight, no one would ever again call him “my prince.”
A’ish’ah’s eyes suddenly widened as she took one glance back toward Nazhif.
She knew, and as he stared back into her eyes, a number of truths hit him.
He was emperor.
He could do almost anything he wished, though for some little things, only if he acted quickly.
The imperial guard was at his absolute command, and in time he could effectively clear the palace of the worst vipers. He could name anyone ... anyone as his first counselor. He could appoint Ghassan if he wished.
His eyes moved up and down over A’ish’ah’s face.
He could marry anyone he wished, and he now had the power to protect her.
“A’ish’ah ...” he began, nearly stuttering for the first time in his life. “After the banquet, I wish to speak with you. Will you walk in the gardens with me?” His tone held a note of urgency, but he did not want to order her, not ever. “Will you?”
As with a moment before, her expression took on a look of understanding. She knew what he was asking.
“Yes, my prince,” she answered firmly without looking away from him.
Chapter Seventeen
Just past dusk, Wynn stood in the cluttered main room of Ghassan’s hideaway with him and Magiere. In her open hand, she held the tracking device made from part of an orb key, and she couldn’t quite gauge their reactions at first.
“A sect?” Magiere repeated. “Another one, and it cut up an orb key?”
At that notion, Magiere looked outraged or stunned or something else—Wynn couldn’t decide which. Ghassan was another matter, eyeing the device like a treasure he didn’t know was possible. And he fixed on the device so long in silence that Wynn grew more uncomfortable.