chamber, which adjoined his private quarters, but I could see the outline of the lantern-bearers through the rice-paper walls, just as I could see the kneeling outline of three men set before the Emperor, and the four kneeling behind them. It was an audience of the seven lords, I conjectured—though of course, I couldn’t be certain.
What did seem certain was that the Emperor would not be needing my services for such an audience.
“It grieves my heart deeply, even deeper still to make such a decree so soon after the death of our father.” That was Iseul. His voice was unmistakable. My heart began to contract in my chest.
“You are quite sure, my lord?” The question came from one of the seven, his voice less certain in the matter than Iseul’s, but I could recognize the timbre of loyalty.
“Quite,” Iseul said, the word like the sharp edge of a sword.
“You saw the way the young prince was speaking with the delegation from Volstov. Forgive me, my lord, but it’s the truth. And if the Emperor himself doesn’t think he can be trusted, then it isn’t for us to question.”
“Too true,” murmured another lord.
“It’s settled,” Iseul spoke, and his voice held no room for doubt. “As of this evening, Prince Mamoru is deemed a traitor to the realm, to be routed at any cost.”
I knew then why I had felt the heaviness in the air as an approaching thunderstorm, for now I was surely a man trapped in the very heat of it, lightning tearing the familiar shape of the sky I knew so well into jagged strips.
“Be discreet,” Iseul went on, “and be cautious. We wish for this matter to be dealt with swiftly, but we are loath to think of how our negotiations might be disrupted if the diplomats from Volstov were to learn of such a traitor in our midst.”
“Or how they might turn such knowledge to their advantage,” another lord cautioned.
“That was what most troubled my mind about the matter,” Iseul said. I could hear the shifting of silks; he had not yet disrobed for the night and was still dressed in his father’s finest. He was an emperor now, and my lord Mamoru only a prince. “It would seem that Mamoru is too well suited to be used by these men, rather than capable of using them. You know as well as I how weak he is. I would cut out my own tongue before I betrayed my own brother, but I would cut out the contents of my belly before I betrayed the Ke-Han.”
“It is for the Ke-Han,” the first lord said.
A murmur of assent passed among them. An answering echo of dread sounded in my chest.
It was more than I should have heard—more than I should have stayed to hear. My allegiance was to my Emperor; he owned my loyalty, my services, my soul and heart. Though I served my lord Mamoru, it was merely to serve my Emperor before him, and to serve my Emperor was to serve the Ke-H an.
It is for the Ke-Han, I thought, grateful as I always was that my father had trained me so well. No sound could be heard when I moved through the halls; my feet were silent even on the most ancient of floorboards.
I thought of my many years of service, of Mamoru as a baby, of the first fever he suffered, which had by no means been the last. It was true that he was not as strong as his brother—the gods had been unusually kind when they made Iseul the heir and Mamoru the second son—but he was not a traitor. If he had been, I would already have known it.
In his room, two doors from mine, my lord Mamoru was no doubt already asleep for the night. He had been proud of himself today; I’d watched him as he sat, learning the Volstovic vowels that so confounded me, in the long days and weeks that followed our defeat. I’d guided him in battle, taught him archery and the sword, and, when he was much smaller, held his hand through fevers or changed the final words of the saddest stories to keep him from weeping.
As my father had wished it, I’d endeavored to be a servant not only worthy of his name but worthy of the Emperor.
To know that my lord was in danger was to feel the point of the sword against my own throat. If the threat had come from any other