“Your ability to both find and use the Horn of Gylindora.”
“But I don’t know anything about this—this horn thingy. What is it I’m supposed to do, exactly?”
“I don’t know.”
“What will happen if I use it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then I don’t know that I am going. You said that if everything works out, we’ll talk about who sits on the imperial throne, but I say we have that discussion now. I will go on this quest of yours, but in return I demand the throne. I want it in writing, signed with your hand, that I will be Emperor of Apeladorn upon my return, regardless of success. And I want two copies, one which I will take with me in case the other is somehow lost.”
“That’s outrageous!” Alric declared.
“Perhaps, but I won’t go otherwise.”
“Oh, you’ll go,” Mauvin assured him with a smirk.
“Sure, you can tie me up and drag me, but I’ll hang limp—a dead weight that will slow you down. And at some point you’ll need me to do something, which I assure you I will not. So if you want my cooperation, you will give me the throne.”
Modina stared at him. “All right,” she said. “If that is your price, I will pay it.”
“You’re not serious!” Alric exclaimed. “You can’t agree to put this—this—”
“Careful,” Gaunt said. “You are speaking of your next emperor, and I remember slights against me.”
“What will happen to Modina?” Amilia asked.
Gaunt pursed his lips, considering. “She was a farmer once, wasn’t she? She can go back to that.”
“Empress,” Alric began, “think about what you are doing.”
“I am.” She turned to Nimbus. “Take Gaunt. Have the scribe write up whatever he wants. I will sign it.”
Gaunt smiled broadly and followed the chancellor out of the hall. A silence followed. Alric started to speak several times but stopped himself and finally slumped in his seat.
Arista looked at Hadrian and took his hand. “I want you to go.”
Hadrian glanced at the door. “Being his bodyguard, I don’t suppose I have a choice.”
She smiled, then added, “I also want Royce to come.”
Hadrian ran a hand through his hair. “That might be a bit of a problem.” He looked toward Modina.
“I have no objection,” she said.
“We need the best team I can put together,” Arista added.
“That’s right,” Alric said. “If ever there was a need for my miracle team, this is it. Tell him I’ll make it worth his time. I still have some fortune left.”
Hadrian shook his head. “This time it won’t be about money.”
“But you will talk to him?” Arista asked.
“I’ll try.”
“Hey,” Alric said to Arista, “why is it that you feel compelled to go? I never remember you having any interest in Percepliquis before.”
“To be honest, I would rather not go, but it’s my responsibility now.”
“Responsibility?”
“Perhaps penance is a better word. You could say I am haunted.” Her brother did not appear to understand, but she did not elaborate. “We still need a historian. If only Arcadius had… but now…”
“I know someone,” Hadrian said, picking up Hall’s journal. “A friend with an appetite for books and an uncanny memory.”
Arista noded. “What about someone with sailing experience?”
“Royce and I spent a month on the Emerald Storm. We know a little about ships. It’s a shame I don’t know where Wyatt Deminthal is, though. He was the helmsman on the Storm and a fantastic seaman.”
“I’m familiar with Mr. Deminthal,” Modina said, drawing a curious look from Hadrian. “I’ll see if I can convince him to sign on.”
“That just leaves the dwarf,” Arista said.
“The what?” Hadrian stared at her.
“Magnus.”
“You’ve found him?” Alric asked.
“Modina did.”
“That’s wonderful!” Alric exclaimed. “Can we execute him before our departure?”
“He’s going with you,” Modina told him.
“He killed my father!” Alric shouted. “He stabbed him in the back while he was at prayer!”
“While I can see your point, Your Majesty,” Hadrian said to Alric, “there is a more pressing issue. He nearly killed Royce twice. If he sees Magnus, the dwarf is dead.”