“My father is the Ray?” Her mind spun. Asher cleared his throat. Merit was so dazed by the news she had almost forgotten his presence.
“Merit,” Asher continued, “this new position, it’s left your father isolated in the capital. He’s been eager to get through to you.” Merit started to speak, but Asher held up his hand. “I have other news, a matter of much greater importance,” he said, and swallowed hard. “The capital is a perilous place, and your father is uncertain of his safety. If anything should happen to him, there is another matter he needs you to understand.” He produced the small note, written in a child’s code, one Asher could not read. Recognizing her father’s blocky script, she took the note and read its brief contents in a single glance, her eyes working more quickly than her mind, her fingers nearly dropping the note when she understood its meaning.
There is no emperor. The throne room sits in ruins, the Amber Throne smashed. Smashed long ago, centuries, probably. There has been no emperor in the living memory of anyone in the empire.
45
The soldiers of the Protector’s Army arrived in columns at the Antechamber of the Ray, filling three adjoining halls, a wide vestibule, and the entirety of the courtyard beyond. More than five hundred well-armed, well-fed soldiers of the Alehkar assembled outside the Antechamber. From the look of them, all muscle and sinew, Arko guessed they were chosen from among the strongest and healthiest of the Protector’s sworn men. Behind the courtyard’s ring stood a second group, the Jundi, in their kilts and leather breastplates. Saad had spared no effort assembling this show.
When the last man stepped into line, the soldiers nearest to the Antechamber let out a shout, stomping their feet like fools, beating their bronze-tipped sandals in time with their war songs. A core of flagmen held red banners and waved them in time to the chanting. Saad would not come until Arko had had his fill of pomp and ceremony, the knock of spears, the stamping of feet shaking the ground. Like a herd of elephants out his window, Arko thought, or an army marching to war.
Earlier that day, as he waited for Saad’s arrival, he had asked Wat to post Tolemy’s proclamation. At the time, Wat had urged Arko to hold off until after his audience with the Father Protector. Arko had accepted Wat’s counsel and now he understood the wisdom behind it. His presence in the Antechamber, a rebel king ruling at the center of the empire, had obviously unnerved the young Protector, so much so that Saad had assembled five hundred of his best troops to stand at his side. If Arko had posted the decree that morning, Saad might have brought the whole army with him and Arko wasn’t ready for that—not yet. If it came to a fight, he would rather he had his loyal Harkan soldiers at his side, and since they had not yet arrived, he needed to bide his time and try to force Saad to leave Solus peacefully.
Presently, a noise went up from among the soldiers outside, a murmur either of approval or despair, Arko could not tell which. He went to the screened window and saw Saad crossing through his men, who parted to let him by. He had seen the boy only once, in the shadows of the Cenotaph, and was uncertain if this was the same man. He called Wat over and pointed to the figure coming toward the Antechamber of the Ray. “This man is the one who killed his own father? He looks barely old enough to hold a sword.”
A young man, bull-necked, his chin thrust out, Saad elbowed aside anyone who did not move fast enough for his taste. “He has the look of a second son, one who’s decided the throne should have been his all along.”
“That might not be too far off the mark.”
Arko watched Saad fling a young soldier to the ground and push his boot in the boy’s face. More than anything, Arko hated a bully, a man who ruled by force or fear. “Maybe he needs to remember his place.”
“Be cautious, sir,” Wat said. “Antagonizing him here and now might be costly.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
A knock at the door announced Saad’s arrival at the Antechamber, followed by two servants in yellow cloaks. “Now comes Amen Saad, Father Protector of the Dromus, Binder of the Circle, Guardian of the Walls and Keeper of the Chant, the son of Raden who twice vanquished the outlander horde—”
Arko smirked. Banners and chants he could understand, but the last was a stretch. When it came to the outlanders, Saad’s father had taken more hits than he had given. Arko stopped listening, but the list of titles and accolades continued. When he could bear no more, Arko held his hand up, interrupting the litany. “Thank you for informing me of the Protector’s might, but if he’s not planning on coming in soon, I might need a break to take a piss.”
Wat wrinkled his lip, knitting his brows together in concern.
The chanting grew to a crescendo as Saad’s men stomped their final beat and the Protector entered at last, taking his time still, his chin raised a finger’s width in a gesture Arko recognized as common to short men who built their muscles with intense exercise and diets of bull testicles, feeling they had something to prove to all the world. Arko disliked him immediately.
The customs of the place dictated certain formalities: Saad greeted him with a curt nod, then had his servant recite his own list of greetings for the Ray: “Hail Arko Hark-Wadi, First Ray of the Sun, Eye of Tolemy, Light of Mithra-Sol, the Brightest Star in the Heavens—”
Arko interrupted. “I think we can forgo the usual,” he said. “Welcome, Saad. I’ve heard much about you, and none of it has been exaggerated.”
Saad was too dim to understand when he was being insulted. “Thank you, sir. I welcome you to court. Suten Anu’s exit was long overdue.” His voice was higher than Arko would have imagined. A boy’s voice.
“I hope we may be able to work together,” Arko said. I doubt it, but I can hope.
He saw equal misgiving on Saad’s face. “We share the same hope. I am told you are a soldier-king, a man who leads from the front lines. My father was such a leader, and I intend to be one as well.”
When you grow a little taller. He was glad the boy showed some sense of honor. Or was Saad just telling him what he wanted to hear?
“It is a shame my father left the empire in such a mess,” Saad continued. “It will taint his legacy, I fear. I have spent some time reorganizing his men, promoting where needed, trimming where necessary.”
Murdering your father’s loyal generals, bribing the rest.
“It has … kept my attention at home.”
“I trust that is all over now?” Arko asked, more hopeful than confident.