Under Heaven

“Perhaps,” said Shinzu. “But I must tell you, I would dismiss any adviser who had urged me to send those men.”

“Ah! The prince wishes now to discuss the staff of the first ministry?”

“Too boring in every possible way.” Shinzu smiled thinly.

Wen Zhou did not smile back. “My lord prince, this man has not yet been received by the emperor. He is placed in the list for attendance. Until he appears before the Phoenix Throne he cannot leave the city. The horses matter, as you have said yourself. Therefore I sent for them. What, my lord, do you wish to tell me is improper about that?”

It sounded impeccably reasonable. It wasn’t. Tai opened his mouth, but the prince was before him.

“I wish to tell you that those men were stopped on the imperial road last night, at the first posting station.”

This time Zhou stood up.

Protocol was taking a fearful beating here, Tai thought. His heart was racing.

“No one would dare such a thing!” Wen Zhou snapped.

“A few of us might have thought it necessary, but only one would dare. You are almost correct, first minister. Your riders were halted by soldiers of the Second Military District, who happened to still be at Ma-wai after escorting Master Shen Tai from the west.”

“What is this? How can we defend ourselves against Roshan if we—?”

“If we ignore very clear information as to the conditions under which those horses will be released! Master Shen is required by the Tagurans to collect them himself. They are his!”

Zhou shook his head. He was taut with fury. “The Sardian horses are a gift to Kitai from the exalted emperor’s own beloved daughter. The Tagurans would not embarrass themselves by denying a gift merely because a small aspect of the transfer—”

“Please!” said Tai. Zhou stopped. They all looked at him. “My lord first minister, allow your adviser to speak. For himself, not for you. Brother, did you urge this course upon him?”

Liu cleared his throat as all eyes turned to him. He was an accomplished speaker, with a real skill at pitching volume and tone to circumstances. He had worked at this all his life, from before he could grow a beard.

He was visibly uneasy now. He looked from Wen Zhou to the prince. He said, “His gracious lordship, the prince, was surely correct when he suggested we require those horses more than ever, with the need to communicate over great distances.”

“Which is why I invited your brother to join us,” said Shinzu. “The horses are an honour given to one man. If twenty soldiers simply ride up to the border and demand them we’ll be insulting Tagur by ignoring their conditions. We’d shame ourselves with our actions!”

“Who stopped my men?” Wen Zhou said, ignoring what the prince had said. There was a hard edge to his voice. A wolf cornered, Tai thought—or thinking he might be.

Tai knew by now. Zhou had to know, as well.

“Your cousin gave the orders,” said Shinzu quietly. “The Lady Wen Jian told me I might say as much, if asked.”

It would have had to be her, Tai thought. And it meant so much, that she would do this, that she was watching her cousin so closely. The empire was facing open rebellion and the two men she’d favoured, had tried to keep in balance, were at the centre of that. One in this room, one with his armies moving even now.

The prince paused, then added, even more softly, “Also, I was to tell you that she has now spoken with that man of yours, the one stopped some weeks ago, riding south.”

The one who had killed Xin Lun.

“A conversation I should enjoy learning about,” said Zhou, with genuinely impressive calm. “But this is a far more important matter!”

“My lord first minister,” Tai said, and he said it formally this time. “The august prince is surely right. We risk losing two hundred and fifty Sardian horses. The terms of a supremely generous gift, one far beyond my deserving, were conveyed. I wrote myself, so did the Tagurans, so did the commander of Iron Gate Fortress.”

“How vulgar and vainglorious to see yourself as so important, second son of Shen Gao. And do note: supremely generous gifts are in the giving of the emperor of Kitai, not tributary, subordinate nations who beg imperial daughters from us as a sign of heavenly favour.”

Tai knew what he had to do next. It was not in his nature, and he was realizing that more and more with each passing moment. This was not where he wanted to be, not now, and perhaps not ever. But he could dance a little here.

He held up his hand, with the ring. “I know all too well how supremely generous to his least-deserving servant our beloved emperor can be, may he live and rule a thousand years.”

There was a short silence.

“May it be the will of heaven,” said that emperor’s son and heir. Zhou said nothing.

Tai turned to Shinzu. “My lord prince, do you wish me to take men and go west for the horses? I am at the service of the court. They are being held across the border from Hsien.”

“So we understand.”

“I am prepared to leave immediately.”

The prince shook his head. Zhou was still on his feet, Tai saw. He faced the first minister, down the length of the council space in a vast and echoing chamber. If Zhou had somehow obtained the horses, Tai thought, there would have been nothing to stop him from having a certain second son killed. Nothing at all.

The prince said, “As it happens, the prime minister is correct in one respect. You cannot leave Xinan while awaiting an audience. Your name has been put forward.”

Tai stared at him. “I would rather serve the emperor, as best I can, than seek an appearance at court.”

Shinzu smiled. He had an effortless charm. It might have been, Tai thought, one of the things that had kept him alive all this time. That, and a reputation—disappearing moment by moment—for indifference to imperial affairs.

The prince shook his head again. “Events must flow as they are decreed under nine heavens, Master Shen. The palace and the empire will spin into disarray if they do not. When the periphery is unstable, as the Cho Master taught, the centre must be firm. My father will receive you. You will be given honours that—because they must—will exceed those given by Sangrama in Rygyal. This is the way the world unfolds. And then, if it should be the desire of the Phoenix Throne, you may be asked to ride for your horses.”

“My lord, time might matter.”

“Which is why I sent for them!” interjected Wen Zhou.

“Is it?” asked Prince Shinzu. The prince looked at Tai. “Time always matters. But order, right conduct, right thinking have always mattered more. It is our way.”

Tai lowered his head. He felt self-conscious now, standing so conspicuously. “I do understand, my lord. But if that is so, why am I here? You said you asked for me …”

A flicker of amusement in Shinzu’s eyes. This was, Tai suddenly thought, the son of a man renowned for intelligence and command. If the emperor had grown old and weary (thoughts not to be spoken), it did not take away from the lineage.

The prince said, “I asked for your attendance as soon as we learned of those riders sent for the horses. Those men would have been rejected at the border. We all know it, or should have known it. Your presence will be required there, and then the horses will be required by the empire, if you are good enough, of course, to make them available. Accordingly, I have asked you here, in the presence of the first minister, because we have need of his great power.”

Tai blinked. He looked at Zhou.

And only now did Shinzu turn that way. “First minister, I would dedicate myself and my own limited abilities to protecting this man, for the sake of Kitai and my father, but the times are dangerous and my own resources are meagre. I ask you, in the presence of this council, to pledge your office and life to guarding him for us. Only someone with your wisdom and power can ensure his safety in troubled times, and we