A Sky Beyond the Storm (An Ember in the Ashes #4) - Sabaa Tahir Page 0,172

of gibbering and groveling from Keris’s former allies.

Coralia winces when Zacharias shifts, fearful he will wake. But to my surprise, Mamie steps forward and takes the child with firm hands. He opens his eyes, looks around, and scowls, his tiny nose red.

“He should not be in such thin clothing.” Mamie glowers at Coralia and Mariana, and holds a hand out to Laia. The Scholar offers her cloak without a moment’s hesitation. Mamie wraps Zacharias in it, offering him her brilliant smile. He stares at her as if she is the most fascinating person he’s ever seen. Then he smiles back.

“Do not worry for the child.” Mamie dismisses Coralia and Mariana with a wave. “I will make sure he does not disturb you.”

“Blood Shrike.” Musa settles into a seat behind me and looks to the other end of the grounds. “Your audience has arrived.”

I follow his gaze to the half a hundred Scholars in attendance—many familiar from Antium. Close by, hundreds of finely dressed men and women file into the viewing area. Paters and Maters from all over the Empire. Some are my allies, and some were Keris’s. There are as many Mercators and Plebeians as there are Illustrians. All told, they represent nearly five hundred of the Empire’s most powerful families.

Quin glances over and I nod approvingly. When those Paters and Maters witness Keris’s most stalwart allies on their knees, they will know to never challenge our emperor again.

The Tribal Zaldars appear soon after, and once they are seated, Quin steps out from the pavilion.

“Paters and Maters, Scholars and Tribespeople—I beg your attention.” Quin’s voice booms across the training field and up the terraced seats.

“Five centuries ago,” Quin says, “Taius was named Imperator Invictus for his prowess in battle. In time, he was named Emperor. Not because of his family. Not because he ruled by fear. And not because a group of white-haired mystics decided they knew what was best for the Empire. Taius was hailed Imperator Invictus because when our people suffered, he saved them. When they were divided, he united them.”

I frown at Quin and glance at the Scholars. “United them” is a rather inaccurate way of saying “decimated and enslaved our enemy.” This was not the speech he and I agreed upon.

“Like Taius, Helene Aquilla fought for our people—”

I start. Quin did not call me Blood Shrike. Instantly, I understand his intention.

“Quin,” I hiss.

But the old man thunders on. “Helene Aquilla could have left Antium to suffer the yoke of Karkaun rulership,” he says. “Instead, she rallied her troops and liberated the city. Helene Aquilla could have fallen to despair when her sister, the Empress Regent, was killed. Instead, she called up her army to seek revenge on the greatest traitor the Empire has ever known—Keris Veturia. Helene Aquilla could have stolen back the Empire for her nephew. Instead, she fought for all of the living—Scholars, Tribespeople, and Martials alike.”

“Gird your loins, Shrike.” Musa gives me a sidelong glance. “You’re about to get quite the promotion.”

“We have been torn asunder by civil war,” Quin goes on. “A fourth of our standing army lies dead. We betrayed and destroyed cities in our own protectorate. Our Empire stands on the brink of dissolution. We do not need a regent. We need an Imperator Invictus. We need an empress.”

He turns and points at me. “And there she stands.”

At that moment, the sun, drifting in and out of the clouds all morning, breaks through, washing the training ground and the river beyond in pale light.

“Witness!” Quin isn’t one to waste a moment of drama. “Witness how the skies crown her!”

The sun hits my braid and the crowd titters in awe. A part of me wishes Laia hadn’t re-braided it, for if my hair was a mess, perhaps this nonsense would end.

“Empress! Empress!” The chant begins with the Martial army. It spreads to the leaders of the Plebeian Gens. Then the Illustrians. The Mercators.

The Scholars remain silent. So do the Tribespeople.

As they should. For I cannot accept the crown. My nephew still lives. He is Emperor, no matter what Quin says.

“I don’t want this.” I glare at Quin. “I don’t even want to be the bleeding regent. We have an emperor.”

“Shrike.” Quin lowers his voice. “Your first duty is not to yourself or your Gens or even your nephew. It is to the Empire. We need your strength. Your wisdom.”

The Martials still shout. “Empress! Empress! Empress!”

Harper, I think. What the bleeding hells do I do? What do I say? But he is