The Gathering Storm - By Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson Page 0,147

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? If I 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, of firmness. 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 ignorance. You are misguided, and that means you can change, should you receive the proper knowledge.”

He looked at her, confused. Lower your eyes, fool. Don’t make me have you strapped for insolence! As if he had heard her thoughts, he averted his eyes, then lowered them. Yes, she had judged correctly regarding this one.

How precarious her position was! True, she had armies—but so many of them had been thrown away by Suroth’s aggression.

All kingdoms on this side of the ocean would need to bow before the Crystal Throne, eventually. Each marath’damane would be leashed, each king or queen would swear the oaths. But Suroth had pushed too hard, particularly in the fiasco with Turan. A hundred thousand men, lost in one battle. Madness.

Tuon needed Altara. She needed Ebou Dar. Beslan was well loved by the people. Putting his head on a pike after the mysterious death of his mother. . . . Well, Tuon would have stability in Ebou Dar, but she would rather not have to leave battlefronts unmanned to accomplish it.

“Your mother’s death is a loss,” Tuon said. “She was a good woman. A good queen.”

Beslan’s lips tightened.

“You may speak,” Tuon said.

“Her death . . . is unexplained,” he said. The implication was obvious.

“I do not know if Suroth caused her to be killed,” Tuon said, softening her voice. “She claims that she did not. But the matter is being investigated. If it turns out that Suroth was behind the death, you and Altara will have an apology from the throne itself.”

Another gasp from the Blood. She silenced them with a glance, then turned back to Beslan. “Your mother’s loss is a great one. You must know that she was loyal to her oaths.”

“Yes,” he said, voice bitter. “And she gave up the throne.”

“No,” Tuon said curtly. “The throne belongs to you. This is