The Gathering Storm

remained kneeling. Selucia stood and stepped up beside the chair, her golden hair in a braid down her right side, the left side of her head shaven. She did not wear the ashes, since she was not of the Blood, but the white band on her arm indicated that she—like the entire Empire—mourned the loss of the Empress.

Yuril, Tuon's secretary and secretly her Hand, stepped up to the other side of the chair. The Deathwatch Guards moved in subtly around her, dark armor glittering faintly in the sunlight. They had been particularly protective of her lately. She didn't blame them, recent events considered.

Here I am, Tuon thought, surrounded by my might, damane on one side and Deathwatch Guard on the other. And yet I feel no safer than I did with Matrim. How odd, that she should have felt safe with him.

Directly in front of her, lit by indirect sunlight from the open balcony behind, was a collection of the Blood, Captain-General Galgan highest of them. He wore armor this day, the breastplate painted a deep blue, nearly dark enough to be black. His powdery white hair ran in a crest with the sides of his head shaven, and was plaited to his shoulders, for he was of the High Blood. With him were two members of the low Blood— Banner-General Najirah and Banner-General Yamada—and several commoner officers. They waited patiently, carefully not meeting Tuon's eyes.

A gathering of other members of the Blood stood several steps behind, to witness her acts. Wiry Faverde Nothish and long-faced Amenar Shumada led them. They were both important—important enough to be dangerous. Suroth wouldn't be the only one who saw opportunity in these times. If Tuon were to fall, practically anyone could become Empress. Or Emperor.

The war in Seanchan would not end quickly; but when it did, the victor would undoubtedly raise him- or herself to the Crystal Throne as well. And then there would be two leaders of the Seanchan Empire, divided by an ocean, united in desire to conquer one another. Neither could allow the other to live.

Order, Tuon thought, tapping the black wood of her armrest with a blue-lacquered fingernail. Order must emanate from me. I will bring the calm airs to those beset by storms.

'Selucia is my Truthspeaker,' she announced to the room. 'Let it be published among the Blood.'

The statement was expected. Selucia bowed her head in acceptance, though she had no desire for any appointment other than to serve and protect Tuon. She would not welcome this position. But she was also honest and straightforward; she would make an excellent Truthspeaker.

At least this time, Tuon could be certain that her Truthspeaker wasn't one of the Forsaken.

Did she believe Falendre's story, then? It stretched plausibility; it sounded like one of Matrim's fanciful tales of imaginary creatures that lurked in the dark. And yet, the other sul'dam and damane had corroborated Falendre's tale.

Some facts, at least, seemed straightforward. Anath had been working with Suroth. Suroth—after some persuasion—had admitted that she had met with one of the Forsaken. Or, at least, she thought she had. She hadn't known that the Forsaken was the same as Anath, but she seemed to find the revelation believable.

Whether or not she really was Forsaken, Anath had met with the Dragon Reborn, imitating Tuon. And had then tried to kill him. Order, Tuon thought, keeping her face still. / represent order.

Tuon gestured rapidly to Selucia, who was still Tuon's Voice—and her shadow—even with the added responsibility of Truthspeaker. When ordering those far beneath herself, Tuon would first pass the words to Selucia, who would speak them.

'You are required to send him in,' Selucia said to a da'covale beside the throne. He bowed himself to the ground, touching head to the floor, then hurried to the other end of the large room and opened the door.

Beslan, King of Altara and High Seat of House Mitsobar, was a slender youth with black eyes and hair. He had the olive skin common to the Altaran people, but he had taken to wearing clothing like that favored by the Blood. Loose trousers of yellow and a high-collared coat that came down only to the middle of his chest, a yellow shirt underneath. The Blood had left a clear passage down the middle of the room, and Beslan walked through it, eyes lowered. Upon reaching the supplication space before the throne, he went down on his knees, then bowed low. The perfect image of a loyal subject, except for the thin golden crown on his head.

Tuon gestured to Selucia.

'You are bidden to rise,' Selucia said.

Beslan rose, though he kept his gaze averted. He was a fine actor.

'The Daughter of the Nine Moons expresses her condolences to you for your loss,' Selucia said to him.

'I give the same to her for her loss,' he said. 'My grief is but a candle to the great fire felt by the Seanchan people.'

He was too servile. He was a king; he was not required to bow himself so far. He was the equal of many of the Blood.

She could almost have believed he was just being submissive before the woman who would soon become Empress. But she knew too much of his temperament, through both spies and hearsay.

'The Daughter of the Nine Moons wishes to know the reason you have ceased holding court,' Selucia said, watching Tuon's hands move. 'She finds it distressing that your people cannot have audience with their king. Your mother's death was as tragic as it was shocking, but your kingdom needs you.'

Beslan bowed. 'Please have her know that I did not think it appropriate to elevate myself above her. I am uncertain how to act. I meant no insult.'

'Are you certain that is the true reason?' Selucia Voiced. 'It is not, perhaps, because you are planning a rebellion against us, and do not have time for your other duties?'

Beslan looked up sharply, eyes wide. 'Your Majesty, I—'

'You need not speak any further lies, child of Tylin,' Tuon said directly to him, causing gasps of surprise from the assembled Blood. 'I know of the things you have said to General Habiger and your friend, Lord Malalin. I know of your quiet meetings in the basement of The Three Stars. I know of it all, King Beslan.'

The room fell silent, Beslan bowed his head for a moment. Then, surprisingly, he rose to his feet and stared her directly in the eyes. She wouldn't have thought the soft-spoken youth had it in him. 'I will not allow my people to—'

'I would still my tongue if I were you,' Tuon interrupted. 'You stand on sand as it is.'

Beslan hesitated. She could see the question in his eyes. Wasn't she going to execute him? /// intended to kill you, she thought, you would be dead already, and you would never have seen the knife.

'Seanchan is in upheaval,' Tuon said, regarding him. He appeared shocked at the words. 'Oh, did you think I would ignore it, Beslan? I am not content to stare at the stars while my empire collapses around me. The truth must be acknowledged. My mother is dead. There is no empress.

'However, the forces of the Corenne are more than sufficient to maintain our positions here on this side of the ocean, Altara included.' She leaned forward, trying to project a sense of control, offirmness. Her mother had been able to do so at all times. Tuon did not have her mother's height, but she would need that aura. Others had to feel safer, more secure, simply by entering her presence.

'In times such as these,' Tuon continued, 'threats of rebellion cannot be tolerated. Many will see opportunity in the Empire's weakness, and their divisive squabbling—if left unchecked—would prove the end of us all. Therefore, I must be firm. Very firm. With those who defy me.'

'Then why,' Beslan said, 'am I still alive?'

'You started planning your rebellion before events in the Empire were made known.'

He frowned, dumbfounded.

'You began your rebellion when Suroth led here,' Tuon said, 'and when your mother was still queen. Much has changed since then, Beslan. Very much. In times like these, there is potential for great accomplishment.'

'You must know I have no thirst for power,' Beslan said. 'The freedom of my people is all I desire.'

'I do know it,' Tuon said, clasping her hands before her, lacquered nails curling, elbows on the armrests of her chair. 'And that is the other reason you are still alive. You rebel not out of lust for station, but out of sheer