the nights they’d stood side by side on one of the palace balconies, looking out over the Heart of Becar. They’d been friends since they’d been kids, and Dar clung to the hope that someday they’d be more. If I ever get up the nerve to tell her how I feel.
They were distant enough cousins that she was royal without being too-close kin, so a match would make the nobles happy, and she came from an impressive fortune, which would make the royal coffers happy. He didn’t care about any of that, though. He just liked her for who she was.
She turned, her eyes meeting his—she must have felt him staring, or another noble had noticed and alerted her. Nori cocked one eyebrow at him and then mouthed the words, “Pay attention.”
Dar dragged his gaze back to the next supplicant, who was a man he shouldn’t have been ignoring, the ambassador from Ranir, the country that squatted on their southern border, beyond the desert. “—difficulty in explaining the situation to my superiors in Ranir,” Ambassador Usan was saying. “Our laws have no such condition, and they—we—do not understand why, if you do not possess the authority to renew our treaty, that another cannot be delegated to do so. My superiors are concerned that it is a negotiation tactic, or even a prelude to hostilities. If you could give me some assurance to pass on to them . . .”
Becar had a complex and tenuous relationship with Ranir, due to the king of Ranir’s tendency to invade at semi-regular intervals throughout history. During times of peace, Becar typically pretended those incursions hadn’t happened, because Ranir was such a valuable trading partner. Listening to the ambassador always gave Dar a headache—Usan could have sought an audience at any other time, but the ambassador deliberately chose the one time Dar was unable to respond. It was obvious that he wanted to emphasize the emperor-to-be’s weakness, but Dar thought the ambassador also just enjoyed being annoying. He’d likely be reborn as a housefly.
Dar had heard reports from some of his generals that the Raniran army had been conducting “training exercises” near the border, particularly in areas where the Becaran presence was weakest. But without the authority of the crown, he could not authorize troop movements to secure those areas. A stupid law, Dar thought—he agreed with Ambassador Usan, though he obviously couldn’t say so out loud, for multiple reasons.
He knew the history behind the law: five generations ago, during the transition period before a coronation, the military, acting of their own accord, had claimed they were defending the Heart of Becar, the capital of the empire, from an invasion. The invasion was a lie, though, and instead the generals ordered their soldiers to capture and kill the royal family, with the intent of installing one of their own as the next emperor. Only one child survived, a young girl who became known as the Empress of Despair, because she never got over the loss of her parents and siblings. She’d made the decree that during the transition period, the military could not authorize any troop movements. Any general who violated the law would be accused of treason and immediately executed. Needless to say, given the cost, the Becaran generals were meticulous about following the law. Sure, the law made sense then, Dar thought. But now? When the law was made, no one had ever anticipated that a transition period would last so long, and there were no provisions in place for complications arising from such a situation.
It’s all a mess, Dar thought, and the longer it continues, the worse it will get.
As if on cue, Ambassador Usan was replaced by Lord Mynoc of Leyand, who proceeded to list out all the ways things had already gotten worse: a riot in Seronne, incidents of unrest in Peron, a generations-old market shut down in Androc, news of protests planned outside the palace, complaints from the guild directors from nearly every guild in Becar of shortages, worker grievances over frozen contracts, and financial losses. . . . Becar, in short, was a pot of boiling rice, about to bubble over. “The mess will take decades to clean up,” Lord Mynoc said, “if a resolution isn’t found soon.”
I know, Dar thought. But he could say and do nothing but incline his head in acknowledgment.
At merciful last, the Listening ended, and Dar rose, his knees popping as if he’d aged three decades in the three hours he’d sat there.