to monopolize it to drone on and on, and how he wished sometimes he could sew his mouth shut so he wouldn’t have to exert so much effort clenching his jaw to try not to speak.
Dar had always met his brother in his chambers or in the aviary after the Listening, so that Zarin would have someone to vent to. He’d had so many pent-up words to say, and he needed a safe receptacle to empty them into. I never minded listening to him.
He did mind listening to these sycophants.
He amused himself the way Zarin had told Dar he did: by imagining what animal the nobles would be reborn as and picturing a hippopotamus or a stork waxing on about flood levels and taxes. Sometimes it even helped. But only a little.
In front of him now was a woman whom Dar was positive would be reborn as a vulture. “Oh, Great Emperor-to-Be.” She bowed, a fraction lower than was strictly custom, and Dar wondered if his brother had ever stuffed cotton in his ears to dull their voices. “Accept my humble wishes for peace in your heart and allow me to express my deep sorrow that your brother’s reborn soul has not yet been presented for our adoration.”
Ouch. That one wasn’t even subtle.
Gritting his teeth, Dar inclined his head. The word “yet” hung in the air like rancid perfume. After an emperor died and was reborn, tradition dictated that he be found in his new vessel and granted a life of luxury in the palace, regardless of whether he regained any memories of his past life or not.
Dar had been a child when their parents died—young enough that he had only sketchy memories of them as they were. But he remembered how every day he’d visit a toad in one of the palace ponds that was supposed to have been their father, and how Zarin had insisted they spend one afternoon a week in the aviary with a river hawk that had once been their mother. Two noble rebirths. Both lived lives of comfort and honor, their father hemmed in by garden walls and their mother’s wings clipped so she wouldn’t try to fly from the palace. Their father had never given any sign that he remembered who he’d been, but their mother often seemed to understand them.
Zarin used to say he hoped he didn’t come back as a bird. He wouldn’t want his wings clipped, even for the fanciest aviary in the known world, which this was.
If he is a bird, Dar thought, I hope he’s flying free.
But if he was a bird, Dar also hoped he’d fly home soon. Tradition may have dictated the treatment of a prior emperor, but law dictated the treatment of the next one. Namely, Dar couldn’t become emperor until his predecessor was found and properly honored.
It was now approaching three months since Zarin’s death, with no sign of his new vessel.
“Your Glory-to-Be-Realized—”
Seriously? Is that what she’s going to call me?
“—I hope you understand the gravity of our concerns. There is much of importance that is frozen while we wait for your coronation. Construction has been halted on the East Temples, and the tombs of your forefathers have not been tended to. Of particular concern to the Fifth District of Mesoon is the unsigned law regarding fishing regulations . . .”
Dar resisted the urge to slump in his throne and shove his fingers in his ears.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care that construction couldn’t continue or laws couldn’t be signed. He did care about the problems of his people. It was that there was nothing he could do about it. He already had dozens of augurs combing Becar for any hint of a child, bird, tadpole, or insect with Zarin’s soul. He didn’t know what else he was supposed to do!
If Zarin were here, he could have asked him.
But of course if Zarin were here, he wouldn’t be having this problem. Dar would be back to being the spare brother, the one who was never supposed to become emperor, because Zarin was supposed to live, marry, and produce lots and lots of other heirs.
As always when he thought about marrying, Dar’s gaze slid to Nori. Across the throne room, Lady Nori of Griault laughed with her head tilted back at a comment Dar couldn’t hear. He wished he were with her, laughing with her, instead of stuck on the dais. She was in profile, beside a column, and the sight reminded him of all