Pelut looked up at the half-handed Desei Prince. “You would give him command of your nation’s resources?”
“He has given me command of his nation’s armies. Is this not a fair bargain?”
The woman on the throne flipped the fan around to point to Prince Pyrust. “Behold my warlord. He shall lead the defense of my Empire.”
This is not happening. Pelut opened his arms. “My Princes, if there is a point to this game, please, reveal it now. If you have reached an accommodation, share it with us. If you require us to join with our counterparts in Helosunde and Deseirion, we shall be pleased to do so. We will help you draft laws of succession. We can help you apportion the nations. But do not dishonor yourselves by elevating this woman.”
Cyron’s face hardened into a mask. “The point is that this is not a game-it never has been. Yet, for too long, you’ve treated it as such. You believe you know more and better than the rulers of a nation. Often you do because you choose the information we are given. You create an impression, then tailor our responses to fit the reality you shield us from.
“That approach no longer works, Minister Vniel. There is no more tailoring the dire news from the south. You hid things until well past the time I realistically could have done anything about it. This alliance you believe exists between Prince Pyrust and myself might, at one time, have been possible. But because of your scheming, I could not meet him on equal footing, so I was forced to deceive him; and here we are at this state of affairs.”
“You make it sound, Highness, as if I give your words and wishes no regard.”
Cyron laughed. “I point out a single instance and you turn it into an indictment of your performance since you entered the bureaucracy. Your rhetorical trick may have other princes retreating and praising your efforts. They miss the truth your trickery confirms: there are instances where you utterly disregard my orders. It is those instances in which you presume to place your judgment above mine. In doing so, you fail to serve the nation and, instead, serve only the bureaucracy.”
Pelut let shock rise on his face.
Pyrust dropped a hand to his sword. “Empress, allow me to take his head now. I will take all their heads, and we will replace them.”
The Lady of Jet and Jade waved that suggestion away. “Their heads are not gourds to be harvested. Each of these men is a spider who has spun a web. Their webs run together, and that network has value.”
She looked straight at Pelut. “Unlike the Princes, Minister, I have ample evidence of how you work. I have my own network of agents, and what you deny, here, to Prince Cyron, you gloat about in the safety of a trysting bed. So let it be understood that if you deal with this as a game, it is a game you will lose.”
Pelut pressed his hands together. “I am judged harshly. I fear those who serve me are judged harshly as well. It has been our duty, since the Empire was first established, to preserve order and maintain stability. If this is a vice, then I shall gladly be a criminal. Perhaps it should be best, in that regard, if Prince Pyrust were to harvest my head.”
“No, that shall not be necessary.” She snapped the fan open again.
“What is necessary, then, is the following.” Prince Cyron began reciting his wants and needs in an even voice. Various junior ministers scribbled notes. The rustle of rice-paper sheets reminded Pelut of autumn leaves scuttling over cobblestoned streets.
He did not listen. He could not. The words were blasphemy. Everything Cyron wanted would have to be gathered in haste, and haste bred incomplete and unreliable information. Acting on bad information bred disaster.
Only a fool would deny that the situation in Erumvirine required urgent action; but so much remained unknown about the invaders that it would be impossible to field a force to oppose them. Some tales suggested they were inhuman monsters. Others suggested they were superior beings who would drive Men from their Empire as Men had driven the Viruk from theirs. No one knew if they could be negotiated with, or even if they intended to head north. And what good would racing troops to the south do when so much coastline remained vulnerable to attack?
Too little was known. Cyron and Pyrust could play their game, but it would destroy them and their nations. It would leave the people without leaders or a means to survive. It would be worse than the Time of Black Ice.
And I cannot permit that. Pelut kept his face frozen. He would comply with Cyron’s wishes and give him what he wanted. All of it. He would overwhelm the Prince with details too vast and trivial to be of use. Once Cyron had been overwhelmed, he would leave the working of the world to those trained for it.
Then the game would end and the losers would be very sorry indeed.
TheNewWorld
Chapter Ten
23rd day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th Year since the Cataclysm
Jaidanxan (The Ninth Heaven)
“You are perplexed, my brother.”
Jorim had sensed Tsiwen’s presence, but had chosen not to acknowledge it until she spoke. He turned from the edge of his palace’s courtyard and leaned back. A balustrade materialized, preventing him from tumbling to the earth. He was not sure which of them had manifested it, but he let it accept his weight.
“I am, sister.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I have stood here and watched since my brothers left. It seems as if no time at all has passed, but nights and days have blinked over the face of the world. It hardly seems enough time to consider all I have been told-and certainly not to reach a decision about Nirati and her death.”
The goddess laughed lightly, the sound coming as gently to his ears as a warm spring breeze. “Our brother believes death is the solution to everything because he is the Master of it. Because of the magic you gave Men, he cannot touch your mortal sister.
“I do not believe I can, either.”
Tsiwen raised an eyebrow. “Dire news if true.”
Jorim waved her to the courtyard’s edge and the balustrade obligingly evaporated. “See, down there: Anturasixan. My grandfather used magic to create it.”
“Yes, I can feel the power in it and him.”
“My brother and I used to debate about whether or not a cartographer could become a Mystic. What would magic enable us to do? Draw maps without brush and ink? Would we be able to make one master map, and all maps drawn from it would change as the master changed? These were the lines along which we were thinking, but Qiro seems to be able to create lands by whim. He used to say that no place existed until he put it on a map, and now places seem to exist because he places them on a map.”
“So it would appear.”
Jorim scratched his throat with a gold talon. “But now he has created his own world. And wittingly or not, he has defied the gods and denied them access to his creation.”
Tsiwen hugged her arms tightly around her middle. “So even if Grija’s solution were the key, you could not simply appear there and destroy Nirati.”
“No. Nothing lacking a blood tie with my grandfather can set foot there. Nirati is allowed. The things he makes-some of them creatures plucked from nightmares I confided to him-are free to leave. I think he had created those things before he even made his continent, and they had ventured out to attack the Amentzutl. The Mozoyan became more complex over time as he unconsciously redesigned them, making them better.”
“If what you say is true, then nothing can reach your sister.”