eyes and thought of Beyon.
I will not kill him. I won’t!
“No. I can’t take this,” she said.
“I command you. Take it-keep safe.” Sarmin closed his eyes again. His head drooped back upon the silk. He slept.
“I don’t want it,” she whispered, though he couldn’t hear. She crept to the door, dagger in hand, and began her descent to the palace.
Eyul pushed in the eye of Keleb and stepped through the wall into the hidden corridors. He guessed that Beyon had chosen these dark passageways-he would have, in the emperor’s place. He carried no lantern; better that he come upon the emperor unawares. When he had finished with the emperor, he would come back for Govnan.
A rustling sounded above him and to the right. He smiled to himself and crept towards the spiral staircase. Beyond that would be the bridge. It wouldn’t do to send Beyon’s body into the chasm; it had to be burned in the courtyard, before witnesses. He’d wait until Beyon had arrived safely at the other end.
At the top of the stairs he crouched, listening. Somewhere ahead, Beyon breathed. Clever for the emperor to stand on the bridge. He knew the law better than anyone.
“Eyul, is that you?”
Eyul listened. He heard only Beyon; the two bodyguards had either run or been sent elsewhere.
“Eyul, you are my sworn protector. You will not kill me.”
“I am sworn to protect the rightful emperor.”
“I am Tahal’s chosen successor.”
“You are a Carrier.”
“No.”
Silence. The darkness felt bitter, pressing in on Eyul’s skin. A smell of rot wafted up from the deep. His palm grew sweaty around the Knife’s hilt. He could hear whispers, soft as leaves in the wind, too low for him to understand.
“What do you say?” he murmured, twisting the hilt in his hand. The voices fell silent. Eyul stood and addressed Beyon, fixing his eyes where he knew the emperor stood. “I’ve seen the marks on you.”
“I carry the marks, nothing else.”
The stench of rot grew stronger. Eyul stood and peered into the dark. Beyon lowered his voice. “My brother is alive.”
Eyul listened now to the above and the below, for any footstep that would reveal another listener. Beyon was careless to speak out in the darkness.
“My brother is alive,” Beyon repeated, “and I am no Carrier. The true Carrier who stabbed my brother knew the secret ways. Someone had revealed them to her. Someone from the palace.”
Someone from the palace. Eyul knew who that must be, but his mouth was slow to follow his thoughts. “The attack…” He cleared his throat. “It’s not the first time. I believe…” Dangerous to say the words, unfamiliar. “Tuvaini arranged for the Carriers at the fountain.” Working with Govnan? The two of them, conspiring to bring down the empire. Why?
“You see,” said Beyon. “Come with me, and-”
“No. You’re still marked.” Eyul readied the Knife in his hand. “Tuvaini may be a traitor, but your brother is the emperor now, and you must die.”
He took a step forwards. He heard Amalya’s voice then, strong enough in his memory to bring back her warmth and her scents of spice and smoke. You should give him the benefit of the doubt. It matters to you. He paused, his leg extended, his grip faltering. It did matter. He lowered his Knife.
“You must die,” he said again, “but it won’t be me who kills you.”
A long silence fell between them. Fire crackled, and a lantern illuminated the bridge. Beyon stood at the midpoint of the crossing, the darkness on either s ide, his eyes darker still. He smiled, a tight stretch of the lips. Eyul couldn’t remember if Beyon had ever smiled at him before.
He sheathed the Knife and joined his emperor.
Chapter Thirty
'And the girl, Your Magnificence?” Azeem stood by the bottom step of the dais, his face polite, respectful, blank. Elevation to Lord High Vizier had wrought no discernible change in the man.
“Not important.” No grandson of Tahal would threaten him now. Tuvaini eased back into the throne. It was not a comfortable seat. He drummed his palms against its stone arms as his mind rushed through the corridors of the palace, out into the winding streets of the city and along the wide roads that led to every corner of the empire. He had so many plans that he could not decide where to begin.
“I wish to invite some of the greater lords,” he said at last. “We must make it clear that we will work with them. Lord Zell of the western province is the loudest when it comes to complaint. Send five men with silks, gems and fine wood-it must be a good load. And remind me, is Lord Zell married?”
“His wife died in childbirth three months ago, Your Majesty.” Tuvaini thought a moment. The girl. The gods had arranged everything perfectly for him. “The Felt are good breeders. Keep the girl here.” She wouldn’t marry a prince, but surely her father would be almost as pleased to see her with the empire’s richest lord. That would in turn please Arigu. “And Lord Zell will be further indebted, Your Majesty.” Tuvaini ignored
Azeem’s flattery and looked around the bare room-Beyon’s room. “Bring the cushions back, and the tapestries. It feels like a tomb in here.” Everything of Beyon’s felt empty and cold, as if he had just been waiting to die.
Well, tonight his time had come: his pyre would light the dark courtyard.
Tuvaini thought he would enjoy looking down on it from Lapella’s window.
He stood. “Where is Govnan?”
“In the treasury, Your Majesty, examining the texts.” Azeem met his eyes and the message was clear.
Examining my claim, seeing whether the supplicant, the last of a bastard line, has true right to warm the Petal Throne. No matter.
“Then I shall retire.”
Azeem fell into his obeisance. For a moment Tuvaini almost looked over his shoulder for Beyon or Tahal, for the emperor, but instead he walked from the dais and towards the doors. Everyone hugged the floor at his approach except for the blue-hatted guards at the door. They stood to attention, ready to follow him wherever he meant to go. Their eyes betrayed worry and sorrow. While not many had cared for Beyon, it had been said his soldiers loved him. Tuvaini had never seen that until now. He passed them without comment.
He walked, lost in thought, following long habit to Lapella’s quarters.
Zell had been the obvious lord to invite first, but things would be more difficult from now on. He would consult Donato in the morning about trade in the provinces. Whom he invited, how, and in what order would affect his plans for the city markets.
He passed the fountain and remembered Eyul’s fight with the Carriers.
How simple the man was. Tuvaini rubbed his tired eyes. He must reward the assassin and see to the finishing of Beyon’s tomb, empty though it would be. Work would be stopped by bureaucrats as a matter of course because of the succession. The wheels of empire, powered by the slaves of pen and scale, were designed to turn with little guidance, but Tuvaini would guide the wheels in this. The common folk must not know the Carriers had struck so deeply into the empire. It was important to renew work on the tomb, to make it great for the city’s unknowing eyes.
The familiar sight of Lapella’s door drew him back from his worries. Tuvaini wondered if she slept, and how long she waited for him every night before surrendering to dreams. He turned the handle as the guards took up position in the hallway. They must wonder what business he had in the servants’ quarters. Let them wonder. He smiled to himself, picturing her reaction when he told her that he sat on the Petal Throne at last. Tuvaini stepped into the night of Lapella’s room. A single wide candle burned on the windowsill, its flame nearly drowned by melting
