the golden breakfast tray and brought it to his nose. Biting into it, he said, “Yes, I’ll see him, too.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Tuvaini smiled. He could afford that much for Azeem.
“The Empire Mother waits upon your attention, Magnificence.” Tuvaini chose another date and bit its dark flesh. “Does she,” he murmured. Nessaket of the flowing robes and dancing hair waited on his whim. He let that roll around in his mouth with the sweet fruit. “Let her wait. Come with me, Azeem.”
He had walked the emperor’s path to the throne room countless times, first with Tahal, and then with Beyon. Azeem walked beside him now, playing his own former role as faithful servant. Tuvaini hoped Azeem would be more faithful than he had been. He warranted watching.
On the dais the throne sat, tall and gleaming. He ran his fingers along the cool armrests and looked out over the room. Slaves hung tapestries and leaned soft pillows against the wall. Closer, at the foot of the dais, Arigu knelt in obeisance, waiting for him. Tuvaini waved Azeem off to fetch Donato.
As the great carved doors closed behind Lord High Vizier Azeem, Tuvaini said, “Rise, General.”
Arigu rose to his feet, but kept his gaze low to the floor. Tuvaini smiled. Everyone, from his slaves to his generals, was wondering how much he would remain the same, how much he would hold to his former habits and promises. “Why have you come, old friend? Is there a problem?” Arigu should be on his way into the desert by now if he wanted to get to the horse tribes before winter.
Arigu raised his eyes, concern painted on his face. He spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “I wanted to express my regrets at the terrible loss of your cousin, and pass along my best hope that Beyon will be captured.”
“I pray the same to Keleb, good General.”
“Our gods are strong, my Emperor, stronger than any other that might try to insinuate itself in our land.”
A look passed between them.
“You speak of the Mogyrks.”
Arigu had the feel for the common people—he always had. It was something Tuvaini lacked, but he could appreciate the value of a little rabblerousing.
“I do. In the desert, Your Magnificence, I happened upon a Mogyrk church, and around it, I saw the pattern.”
“The same pattern that marked our emperor.” Tuvaini lifted his hands above his head, getting a feel for the drama. He met the eyes of everyone in the room, especially the guards, and raised his voice. “An assassin silenced Prince Sarmin’s heart. An assassin, brought to the palace by Beyon himself.”
“A Mogyrk assassin,” Arigu met his eyes again, gaining confidence as he interjected, “from Yrkmir.”
“A foe once distant in both leagues and time,” Tuvaini said.
“But now so close as this very palace, Majesty.” Arigu stepped forwards, ignoring the bodyguards who drew steel and blocked his way.
Tuvaini kept his face still. This was Arigu’s moment. He would let him talk.
“We had forgotten the dangers of that faith,” Arigu continued. “They worship the dead god. They brought the pattern-curse to the emperor and killed Prince Sarmin.”
A cold shiver ran along Tuvaini’s spine. Arigu’s words made him feel something was missing, a gaping hole he hadn’t noticed before, as if he might step off the dais into empty space.
“A Mogyrk assassin,” he said. He looked out across the throne room at the tapestries depicting the Reclaimer’s victory. Once they had felt celebratory to him; now they read like a warning. “We will have our revenge.” Where is Eyul?
“The army loved Beyon well enough.” Arigu placed his boot on the first step of the dais. “He had a warrior’s soul. But the army best loves the man who puts it to its intended use.”
Tuvaini brought his eyes back to the general. Arigu smiled inside his beard. Behind him the guards looked at one another, excited. The wisdom of Arigu’s performance impressed Tuvaini.
“Nothing pleases the people like holy war, Majesty, old friend.” Arigu pushed a bodyguard’s blade out of his way and leaned closer. “That faith flows around our borders, a stinking tide, waiting to overwhelm us.” He spoke softer still. “Yrkmir is at the heart of what is not ours.”
Tuvaini rose and addressed his audience of slaves, guards and stray administrators. “The Yrkmen came to our doors with their evil faith in the time of my grandfather’s father. The years have weakened them and made us strong, and in their jealousy they took our prince. Let us now pay them a