Chancellor who dominated the advising, and she had come to realize that Triban Gnol had begun to view her as a rival. He was the principal organizer of the petitions, the filter that kept the numbers manageable, and his office had burgeoned accordingly. That his expanded staff also served as a vast and invasive web of spies in the palace was of course a given.
Thus, Nisall watched her Emperor, who had ascended the throne wading through blood, strive for benign rule, seeking a sensitivity too honest and awkward to be other than genuine. And it was breaking her heart.
For power had no interest in integrity. Even Ezgara Diskanar, so full of promise in his early years, had come to raise a wall between himself and the empire's citizens in the last decade of his rule. Integrity was too vulnerable to abuse by others, and Ezgara had suffered that betrayal again and again, and, perhaps most painfully of all, from his own wife, Janall, and then their son.
Too easy to dismiss the burden of such wounds, the depth of such scars.
And Rhulad, this youngest son of an Edur noble family, had been a victim of betrayal, of what must have been true friendship – with the slave, Udinaas – and in the threads of shared blood, from his very own brothers.
But each day, he overcame the torments of the night just gone. Nisall wondered, however, how much longer that could last. She alone was witness to his inner triumph, to that extraordinary war he waged with himself every morning. The Chancellor, for all his spies, knew nothing of it – she was certain of that. And that made him dangerous in his ignorance.
She needed to speak to Triban Gnol. She needed to mend this bridge. But I will not be his spy.
A most narrow bridge, then, one to be trod with caution.
Rhulad stirred in the gloom.
And then he whispered, 'I know what you want, brother . . .
'So guide me . . . guide me with your honour . . .'
Ah, Trull Sengar, wherever your spirit now lurks, does it please you? Does this please you, to know that your Shorning failed?
So that you have now returned.
To so haunt Rhulad.
'Guide me,' Rhulad croaked.
The sword scraped on the floor, rippling over mosaic stones like cold laughter.
'It is not possible, I'm afraid.'
Bruthen Trana studied the Letherii standing before him for a long moment and said nothing.
The Chancellor's gaze flicked away, as if distracted, and seemed moments from dismissing the Edur warrior outright; then, perhaps realizing that might be unwise, he cleared his throat and spoke in a tone of sympathy. 'The Emperor insists on these petitions, as you are aware, and they consume his every waking moment. They are, if you forgive me, his obsession.' His brows lifted a fraction. 'How can a true subject question their Emperor's love of justice? The citizens have come to adore him. They have come to see him for the honourable ruler he is in truth. That transition has taken some time, I admit, and involved immense effort on our part.'
'I wish to speak to the Emperor,' Bruthen said, his tone matching precisely the previous time he had spoken those words.
Triban Gnol sighed. 'Presumably you wish to make your report regarding Invigilator Karos Invictad and his Patriotists in person. I assure you, I do forward said reports.' He frowned at the Tiste Edur, then nodded and said, 'Very well. I will convey your wishes to his highness, Bruthen Trana.'
'If need be, place me among the petitioners.'
'That will not be necessary.'
The Tiste Edur gazed at the Chancellor for a half-dozen heartbeats, then he turned about and left the office. In the larger room beyond waited a crowd of Letherii. A score of faces turned to regard Bruthen as he threaded his way through – faces nervous, struggling with fear – while others studied the Tiste Edur with eyes that gave away nothing: the Chancellor's agents, the ones who, Bruthen suspected, went out each morning to round up the day's petitioners, then coached them in what to say to their Emperor.
Ignoring the Letherii as they parted to let him pass, he made his way out into the corridor, then onward through the maze of chambers, hallways and passages that composed the palace. He saw very few other Tiste Edur, barring one of Hannan Mosag's K'risnan, bent-backed and walking with one shoulder scraping against a wall, dark eyes flickering an acknowledgement as he limped along.
Bruthen Trana made his way into