“How often? Every month until the child is grown? Every week? How much would that cost the crown? Would Imperial Guard warriors travel to every smallest hut in every farthest village, to check if a farm boy is too thin?”
“We could just …,” I began, but stopped, biting my lip in embarrassment. I hadn’t actually calculated the cost of sending warriors to every village in Aritsar. The lodestone fare alone could vastly outweigh the price of running orphanages.
“But we have so much money,” Dayo blurted. “Surely the crown can do something.”
“I understand your objection,” Thaddace murmured. “Believe me, I do. When given the power of a High Judge, one wants to heal every wound in the empire’s body. But authority is not power. Not completely. It takes resources, sustainability. Popular support.”
“What about what’s fair?” I demanded. “For the children? For everyone?” I crossed my arms, staring at the notes I had worked on for weeks.
Adopted children must be permitted to call their carers “Mother” and “Father.” No caretaker shall be absent for more than one week, unless the child is informed of the caretaker’s whereabouts.
The child’s room must have a window, never to be boarded up.
The kindness did not leave Thaddace’s gaze, though the lines around his mouth deepened. “It took me many, many years to learn this, Tarisai. But justice is not about being fair. It is about keeping order.”
Wrong. Immediately, fire blazed in my chest, and I winced in surprise. The mysterious heat had rarely assaulted me since we left the Children’s Palace. What was wrong with me? I struggled to maintain my posture, breathing evenly. “If my ruling is impractical,” I asked, “what would you suggest instead, Anointed Honor?”
Thaddace considered for several moments, then sat up and rapped the table. “I have it,” he said, brightening. “You’ll rule in favor of Bipo, and win the hearts of every Arit noble in An-Ileyoba. But instead of the Lonesome Child Edict …” He took a new leaf from my desk, and a faint burning smell hung in the air as words appeared rapidly on the paper. I had never seen Thaddace use his heat-precision Hallow in person, though I’d received plenty of his calfskin letters before, inkless script tanned neatly into the hide. “You will introduce the Edict of Orphan Day,” Thaddace announced, and a new title smoldered at the top of my case notes. “A festival for family dreams. Decree a holiday in which all nobles take orphans into their homes for a day and a night. The nobility won’t require payment. They’ll do it because it’s fashionable, and to curry favor with the crown.” He snorted. “Hell, they’ll probably compete with each other. Who can lavish their orphan with the most luxury? It’s neat. Decorous.”
Useless, I thought glumly.
He put down the quill, wiping the ink from his fingers. “Children like your Bipo get a temporary family. A night in a villa, and a cartful of sweets. And no family is stuck with a child they won’t care for. Who knows? Maybe the nobles will get attached. They can be very sentimental.”
The ruling barely solved anything. But he had made my plan feel like fishing for the moon, while his looked so … plausible. Was it better to have a perfect solution that I couldn’t enforce? Or a weak solution that everyone loved?
Slowly, I gathered my draft of the Lonesome Child Edict and closed the papers in a drawer. “It certainly sounds orderly, Anointed Honor.”
“Good.” Thaddace smiled and then frowned, noticing my deflation. He produced a document from his robes. “I was going to wait before announcing this. But I see now that the sooner you are accustomed to the realities of running an empire, the better. This edict is just in from the capital. In time, His Imperial Highness would like your assistance in promoting it. Another goodwill campaign, perhaps.”
He laid the imperial calfskin on the desk, and Dayo and I leaned forward to read it.
By decree of His Anointed Honor, High Judge Thaddace of Mewe, in the name of His Imperial Highness Emperor Olugbade of Oluwan, descendant of Enoba the Perfect:
All griot drums, stories, and history scrolls of individual realms must be surrendered to the emperor’s forces. In exchange, citizens will receive gifts: new drums, scrolls, and songs, compliments of the crown.
These gifts will reflect the new stories of our beloved empire. The story of assimilation, of realms growing together instead of apart.
Families are encouraged to forgo realm names for their children, choosing instead names