Vessel

Chapter Sixteen The Emperor

The emperor signaled to his guards. At his feet, a man knelt, and the emperor knew the man was dying. He’d smelled the stink of infected wounds before, and he recognized the signs in the man’s mottled, red hands, bloated to stiffness.

“You have done well,” the emperor told him gently. “Your empire thanks you.”

The man shook his head. “They came from the sky. Blinding, like the sun. At the top of the mountains. We tried to fight them. As hard as we hacked, we couldn’t damage them. But their scales cut like swords, and they sliced us like we were wheat in a field. Three of us lived. Of them . . . I am all that is left. Your Imperial Majesty, forgive my failure.”

Escorted by the emperor’s guards, the doctor and his assistants entered the tent. The four men wore the traditional blue facecloths obscuring all but their eyes. The emperor held up a hand to halt them. He had to ask one more question. One more question wouldn’t change this man’s fate, but it could mean everything for the empire. “Did you see it?”

“Oh yes.”

“Describe it.”

“A green valley. Sheer cliffs. And a perfect oval lake. Most beautiful sight I have ever seen.”

The emperor nodded to the doctors, who rushed forward. One had a stretcher. The man collapsed onto it, and he and the smell of dying were whisked out of the emperor’s command tent in a swirl of blue robes.

The emperor wanted to sink down into the cushions and bury his face in his hands. But he was not alone, so instead he walked in a measured pace behind his desk and studied his collection of sculptures. Each was carved of diamond from the northern mountains of his empire. He picked up the falcon. It fit in the palm of his hand. The feathers caught and twisted the candlelight, sparkling like a thousand stars. Calmer, he placed it back on the shelf.

At least he knew the lake was real. He tried to console himself with that. Before, he had not been certain, and instead of engaging an entire army to discover whether he was chasing a myth, only one group of soldiers had suffered. But still he felt each death as if it were a knife to his gut.

He let none of his emotions show on his face. “Summon the magician.”

The emperor paced in a circle around his tent. The silk carpets whispered beneath his sandaled feet. The heat in the tent pressed against his skin. He paused to drink water from a silver pitcher. He couldn’t question himself, not now, especially not now. He should be glad to have confirmation. None of this was a waste, and they could proceed.

The magician entered and bowed low until his forehead nearly touched the carpets. The emperor let him stay in the bow for a few seconds longer than was strictly protocol. He’d learned it was best to start these conversations with a reminder of their roles. The magician often forgot, and that was something the emperor couldn’t permit to happen. His generals barely tolerated the man. If they ever felt that he received undue favor or carried greater influence than they . . . Emphasizing the difference and distance between the emperor and the magician helped keep the magician alive. Not that the emperor could explain that to him.

He had no one to whom he could explain any of his actions. His parents had had each other. He remembered how they used to stroll through the gardens, heads close together, deep in conversation. As a child, he’d trailed after them, playing in the flowerbeds and watching the birds with their jewel-like feathers. He wondered what his parents would have said about his actions here. Would they have been proud? Or would they too have believed he risked too much?

“Rise,” the emperor said. “I have my confirmation. I am satisfied. But it seems the sky serpents pose a greater threat than we anticipated.”

The magician threw himself prone on the carpets. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty. I did warn you, but—”

Every time the man groveled, the emperor had to resist the urge to kick him. He was certain that the man did not do it out of any real respect or remorse. It was merely a way to preserve his skin. The emperor wondered if the magician had ever respected anyone. “Get up.”

The magician scrambled to his feet.

“You warned me, and I took a calculated risk,” the emperor said. “It was my decision, and the responsibility and the burden are mine. Absolve yourself of guilt. So long as you share your knowledge, you do not need to concern yourself with how that knowledge is applied.” He paused. “I do hope you have shared all relevant knowledge?”

“Yes, of course!”

The emperor let the silence stretch. He’d learned that technique from his father—it often induced people to fill the silence with words they hadn’t meant to say. But this time, it didn’t. Unfortunate, he thought. He had hoped the desert man would cough up further helpful secrets. Perhaps there were none. “Very well. Once we have sufficient supplies, we will enter the desert. You will speak to any clans we encounter, explain our purpose, and solicit their cooperation.”

“They will not listen,” the magician objected. “I know my people.”

“It must be tried,” the emperor said. “If there is a chance that we can have the lake without bloodshed, then we must attempt it.”

“With all due respect, your Imperial Majesty, the desert people are not yours,” the magician said. “You don’t need to concern yourself with their fate.”

The emperor smiled. “And that, my good man, is why you are not emperor.”

“They will fight us.”

His smile faded in the face of that truth. “If they do, they will not win.”