brother’s vessel . . . Eh, who am I kidding? I will nod politely because it’s what Zarin would have wanted me to do. You know, I never expected the absence of a brother would have more impact on my thoughts and actions than the presence of one.” He flopped onto a pillowless couch.
“Dar . . .” Yorbel stopped. He shouldn’t be hesitant to speak his thoughts to Dar. He’d known him since Dar was a young boy—he’d been his tutor for a half-dozen years, while perfecting his augur skills, and then his friend after—and Dar clearly hadn’t changed how he treated Yorbel since becoming emperor-to-be. Still . . .
“One minute,” Dar said. “You’re going to say something inappropriate that you don’t want every spy in the palace to overhear. I’m fairly certain Ambassador Usan spends his afternoons personally eavesdropping on my conversations, and I know the faction from Griault has at least one professional spy in the palace. Let me give them something else to listen to.” He hopped up off the couch, strode to the door, and stuck his head outside again. “Your emperor-to-be would like to hear some singing.”
“Your Highness?” one of the guards said. “With all due respect, my husband claims my singing can curdle milk and cause dogs to drop dead in the street.”
“Excellent. Then sing very loudly.”
Dar shut the door as the two guards outside began to bellow off-pitch one of the traditional Becaran ballads. It was utterly unrecognizable which one.
“Clever,” Yorbel said. “You need to know that the search does not go well. Based on the most recent soul reading before his death, the temple predicted that your brother would be reborn as a golden tamarin monkey—there are fewer than three thousand colonies of such creatures in Becar, and we searched them all within the first week. We now have augurs examining every creature of a similar status, but . . .”
“But what if the augur who last read him was wrong,” Dar said, finishing his sentence. “Or what if Zarin’s soul changed significantly between his last reading and his death?”
“It has happened before.” Yorbel hesitated. “The high council worries they’ll offend you if they suggest broadening the search. But if your brother’s soul isn’t found within the next season . . .” He let the sentence dangle.
Dar sighed heavily. “I know. Believe me, I know. Becar needs an emperor, and her loyal subjects won’t wait forever. I cannot ask them to. If I cannot produce Zarin’s vessel . . . then Becar needs an heir who is not of Zarin’s direct line, and therefore not required to find him in order to be crowned.”
Yorbel knew what Dar didn’t say: in order for another to be crowned, Dar would have to die. Sometimes Yorbel truly hated politics.
“What do you suggest?” Dar asked.
“We have every augur available searching for every conceivable vessel for the late emperor,” Yorbel said. “What I propose is that we also search the inconceivable. Send an augur to examine creatures we have not considered.” He phrased it as delicately as he could, but he knew Dar would understand what he meant.
Dar took a step backward. “No.”
Keeping his face placid, Yorbel said, “I pass no judgment on your beloved brother.”
“You think Zarin . . . You think he . . . my brother . . . your emperor . . .” He paced across the room, then paced back, all coiled anger. “I could have you killed for even thinking it. If you weren’t my friend . . .”
“But I am your friend,” Yorbel said.
That stopped Dar.
Yorbel pushed on. “And as your friend, I am telling you: we have to consider everything if we’re to save your life. Let me speak to the high council about redirecting a few augurs—”
Dar cut him off. “Absolutely not. Speak of your suspicions to no one, and keep all available augurs searching where they are. If you believe this absurdity is necessary, then you do it.”
He meant it as a ludicrous suggestion, Yorbel could tell. He, Yorbel, search for a soul’s new vessel? That was a task reserved for lower-level augurs. Though Yorbel wasn’t one of the high augurs, he was one of the most adept. He was in continuous demand by the aristocrats for readings, which meant a steady revenue stream for the temple. This, in turn, allowed other augurs to offer affordable readings to the working class and near-free readings to the poor. But matters are desperate if even the palace guards are