she had visited months ago, Dayo suddenly needed my assistance on a trip to Yorua Village.
I shook my head, dismissing my annoyance. Dayo was right. The years leading up to my First Ruling would pass quickly, and I needed all the preparation with Thaddace I could get.
High Judge Apparents were granted a coming-of-age ceremony called the First Ruling: a way to foster the empire’s confidence in the young new judge. In the palace Imperial Hall, the High Judge Apparent would hear a controversial case, weigh the evidence, and bestow an official ruling. By imperial law, a High Judge Apparent’s First Ruling was irreversible—even by the emperor. Thaddace had written to Yorua Keep, asking that I review court cases backing up the pipeline and pick one to consider for my ruling.
“I see,” the High Lord Judge intoned, shrugging off his tartan-lined council cloak, “that the goodwill tour hasn’t made you children less incorrigible.” He looked wan; traveling by lodestone had probably wreaked havoc on his stomach. I was surprised he could sit upright at all.
“I’m sorry I’m behind in my studies, Anointed Honor,” I said, stifling a yawn. “We’ve had some trouble sleeping.”
“Yes. Well.” Thaddace adjusted the red mourning sash he wore around his neck for the lost citizens of Ebujo. “I can only imagine, after what happened in the temple. Your council made quite a mess, though it has also done an impressive cleanup. When Ai Ling gave her speech last month, she made Arit citizens feel safe again. Riots are at a minimum. You could learn from your council sister’s methods.”
I frowned. “How would Ai Ling’s speeches help me solve cases? Beg your pardon, Anointed Honor, but I’m not trying to make people happy. I’m trying to be fair.”
“Fair.” The overhang of Thaddace’s brow deepened. “I often find that term … short-sighted. But you will learn in time. Have you selected a case for your First Ruling?”
I produced a dog-eared stack of pages. I had spent weeks looking for a case that didn’t bore me, and once I had found one, I had worked into the small hours of every morning, determined to come up with a flawless ruling. I might have failed Ye Eun, but this was my chance to change something, to help people. At last I would shake off this deep, ugly feeling that for reasons I could not remember … I was a threat to everyone who trusted me.
Thaddace frowned over my chosen case, then made an incredulous noise as he read the title. “‘Bipo of Nyamba versus the Imperial Council of Aritsar’?”
I nodded. “I thought it was a joke at first. But I checked the laws. If a citizen can prove that anyone—including the council—has hurt them unjustly, then they can submit a case to the Imperial Court.”
Thaddace’s brow wrinkled with amusement as he leafed through the pages. “I would be lying,” he said at last, “if I said I wasn’t impressed.”
“As you can see, Bipo is a beggar. He’s accusing our councils of being responsible for his life on the streets. When his parents died, he was kept at an orphanage workhouse, and never had a chance of learning a trade, or having a family.”
Thaddace’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “And what exactly,” he asked, “do you propose we do about it?”
I sucked in a breath. “Rule in his favor,” I said, producing another stack of paper. My heart beat with excitement as I pushed the stack toward Thaddace. “We’re the wealthiest empire in five oceans, so why do we still have children wandering the streets? I call it the Lonesome Child Edict. Think: If we give Arit families silver for adopting orphans and teaching them a trade, then orphanages would empty overnight. We’ll send Imperial Guard warriors to check on each family, making sure the adopted children aren’t harmed. The reward would be higher for older children and misfits … I’ve written out all the details here.”
“Am’s story, Tar,” Dayo exclaimed, flipping through the pages. “This is brilliant. Uncle Thad, why didn’t we think of it sooner?”
A deep V had formed on Thaddace’s brow as he glanced over my edict and shook his head. He sighed, making a tent with his hands. “It is an admirable notion,” he said at last. “But ultimately, a foolhardy one. Do you know how many millions of greedy hovel-dwellers would swarm the orphanages in hopes of silver? Do you think they’d care a whit about a child’s well-being?”
“That’s what the guards are for,” I countered. “They