Kuo sighed. “The Empire has fared wel .”
“Better than we had any right to expect, given the foibles of our class.”
“I hoped, of course. I’m sad that there’s no place for me. But I was resigned to that when I came to you.” Lord Ssu-ma nodded. “It hasn’t been a long time but it has been busy. A lot changed. Most importantly, the wars are over. Successful y, thanks to your foresight. But the exhaustion of the state and the legions are such that the surviving Tervola have put aside personal ambitions.”
“On the surface, perhaps.”
“No doubt temptation wil sway some who can’t see past the Empress’s sex, however sound her leadership and thorough her discipline.”
“What do you want from me, Lord Ssu-ma?”
“Right now, truly, only to see that you’re wel . Later, maybe something more. Assuming your own ambitions are now manageable.”
“They were never unmanageable. I did what I did for the Empire.”
“A good thing to know.” Every fal en Tervola would claim the same. Most would believe themselves. “I’l be back.
Probably sooner than this time. Time is less pressing.” Kuo said, “Lord, I wil make any adjustment necessary to get out of here.” Happily, he was not yet desperate enough to do something stupid.
The attempt would have been fatal.
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i held a low and cynical opinion of his fel ow Tervola. He viewed al they did through the lens of that cynicism and his own low birth. But he could and did grant kudos to those who rose above their nature. Kuo was one such man.
...
The routine in the prison tower remained unchanged.
Only the faces of those who brought the meals were different. They talked no more than had their predecessors.
Ragnarson was tempted to attack somebody to force an interaction.
He did not. The beast inside was cunning enough to understand that he would regret that sort of defiance quickly, deeply.
Mist’s remarks during her visit had begun to shape his thinking. He now spent too much time trying to figure himself out. It was embarrassing. He was glad that his beloved dead could not see him so enfeebled. Haaken, Reskird, Elana, and so many others would never have understood.
He came to fear that his ghosts would understand more and better than he did.
His own philosophy of life had shrunk to a smash-and-grab level.
Once the introspection vice set in nothing was safe from repeated review. Trivial incidents stuck in his head like musical refrains, cycling over and over.
Time flew, then. In sane moments he wondered if this was not just a way to escape the monotony of imprisonment.
Then he would recol ect an incident or decision that constituted another early brick in his edifice of despair.
Mostly he dwelt on mind-warps that had led him to rush through the Mountains of M’Hand and attack an invincible enemy already determined to exterminate him.
He could not identify the moment when confidence in his own talent and luck had become an irrational conviction that he could never be deprived of good fortune and victory.
He knew the seeds lay in the head butting with Varthlokkur over whether or not to tel Nepanthe what Ethrian was doing in the east.
He concluded, after numerous rehashes, that Varthlokkur was more culpable than he. That old man’s stubbornness, in the face of al evidence, had caused Kavelin’s downfal .
Insofar as Ragnarson knew there had been no softening of the wizard’s attitude. He would not admit that he was wrong.
Ragnarson could do that. Privately. To himself. He did not know if he could confess the failing publicly.
Days fled. Mist did not return. Ragnarson received no news. He could only imagine what was happening at home.
Imaging, he could only picture the worst. The worst he pictured was too optimistic.
He lost track of time. Days became weeks. Weeks became seasons.
It seemed like summer out there.
...
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i was nervous. He had been cal ed to the Imperial presence. The summons had been there waiting, like an unhappy promise, when he returned from the island in the east.
Reason said it would be Imperial business. Emotion feared that the woman knew what he had done.
And she was scarcely a hundred yards away, now, here in his own army headquarters.
He sent word that he was available and awaiting her convenience.
His messenger brought word that he was to attend her immediately.
Shih-ka’i got no sense of danger but remained uncomfortable.
The guilty flee where none doth pursue.
Shih-ka’i knew the aphorism had a similar form in most al older cultures. It had figured grandly in events leading to the destruction of Ilkazar. The Empire Destroyer had employed that exact formula to frighten the lords men of the old Empire.
The Empress was exhausted and gaunt despite the improvement in Shinsan’s fortunes. She beckoned him.
She seemed distracted, not angry.
This might not be about Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i after al .
She said, “I know you’re no expert but I trust your wisdom.”
“To what conundrum shal I bend my wise lack of expertise?”
“I have a secret.”
“As do we al . I would like to discuss mine with you someday when you’re feeling particularly generous.”
“I have two things troubling me,” the Empress said. “First, how do I guarantee the safety of my children?” She met his gaze straight on.
Did she imagine him to be a threat? “I may have missed an intermediate step in your thinking. I was only vaguely aware that you have children. Now that you mention them, where are they?”
“That would be the meat of my problem.”
Shih-ka’i tried to seem interested. He was seriously off balance. “I don’t understand.”
“When I returned from exile, during the events that displaced Lord Kuo…” She paused, suddenly remote.
Shih-ka’i took the opportunity to remark, “A good man, at least to me. He al owed me to prove myself against the Deliverer. He was a considerable resource to the Empire.” The Empress looked puzzled. “Everyone tel s me you have no interest in politics.”
“That would be true most of the time. The politics of the moment have to be acknowledged sometimes because they shape everything else. Kuo Wen-chin was my mentor, friend, and the man who let me grow into what I became.
The politics around him meant nothing to me except when they interfered with me trying to do my job. But you want to talk about your children.”
She gave him another odd look. “Yes. I do. I have two.
Ekaterina and her brother Scalza. Their father gave them those names. No doubt they’re comfortable with them and would rather not assume those secretly preferred by their mother. The girl is the oldest.”
Lord Ssu-ma smiled. “And you intend to stay vague because you’re afraid politics might overtake them.”
“I am. I left them behind because I knew they would be safer where they were. They were with people I trusted.” Shih-ka’i enjoyed an intuitive moment. “They weren’t people who trusted you.”
“So the results would suggest.”
