Vessel

Chapter Nineteen The Emperor

The emperor pored over a stack of judgments. He couldn’t second-guess his judges, not without hearing the testimony for himself, but he needed them to know that he could overrule them if he chose. It was the best he could do at this distance from the palace.

Trust your people, his father had often said. An emperor isn’t one person; an emperor is all people, the embodiment of the empire. Rule with them, not over them.

He did trust them, at least most of them, on occasion and with supervision.

He added the flourish of his signature to a parchment, and then he massaged the back of his neck with one hand. Later, once they were within the desert, he wouldn’t have the leisure to attend to matters from the capital. He’d have to trust his people—just like they were trusting him now.

Suppressing a sigh, he picked up the next judgment, yet another petty land squabble. The number of cases had drastically increased due to the drought. Everyone was scrambling to hold as much land as possible, as if that would grant them security while their empire’s future shriveled around them.

“Your Imperial Majesty?”

The emperor raised his head. A soldier saluted him. He hadn’t knocked, a military habit that the emperor hadn’t tried to break. If a matter were important enough to bring to his attention, then it was important enough to skip the pleasantries.

“Our perimeter guards have apprehended a desert person,” the soldier said.

The emperor set down the judgments and straightened, aware he resembled a dog who had spotted a hare. The army often caught stray desert men near the border, but they rarely brought the matter to his attention. “And?”

“She demands an audience with you.”

“A bold demand,” the emperor commented.

“She was armed with only this.” The soldier laid a knife on the emperor’s desk. “A family heirloom, she claimed, and her gift to you.”

The emperor examined it. The blade was as clear as glass but felt harder than steel. He tested it on his desk, and it scored the wood as if the desk were sea foam, not the heart of an oak. He was certain that the blade was made from the scale of one of the glass sky serpents. His pulse raced, but he kept his voice as calm as a still lake. “Beautiful.” His scout had said that the serpent’s scales had cut like swords. The existence of this knife proved that the desert people had ways to defeat the sky serpents—yet another reason he needed them as part of his empire.

“She came to us in formal dress, unlike the other nomads we’ve encountered. She claims to be something called a ‘vessel,’ presumably a position of authority within her clan.”

A vessel, here. “Well. That is unusual.” He doubted that the soldier knew how much of an understatement that was. According to the magician, vessels never left their clans. Ever. They were treated like jewels—or prisoners. For a vessel to be here without her clan . . . Such a thing should be unheard of. “You were correct to come to me. I will see her.”

The soldier bowed. “Yes, sir.”

The emperor returned to reviewing the judgments, but he could not focus his attention on them. According to the magician, from the moment a vessel was “chosen,” he or she lost all control over his or her own life. Vessels were not allowed their own thoughts, their own choices, or their own futures. They sacrificed their lives to their clans long before their true sacrifice. He’d always been curious to meet one, and now he was flat-out intrigued. At the least, this should provide a welcome distraction while the army finished acquiring supplies.

Five soldiers marched into his tent. All of them halted, saluted, and then rotated to reveal a young woman. She was beautiful, as vessels were purported to be, with skin that looked like burnt cinnamon and features as perfect as a sculpture. Coiled in elaborate braids, her black hair shimmered in the light of the candles. Her dress flaunted every color in the sunset. Her hands had been tied in front of her, but she held her delicate chin high and her shoulders back as if she hadn’t even noticed the ropes. She met his gaze evenly with black eyes that were as clear and piercing as a sword. He’d imagined a subservient sacrifice. Instead she was a desert princess.

“Untie her,” the emperor ordered, his eyes not leaving hers. “Asking to speak with me is not a crime.”

The soldiers obeyed.

She held still while they cut the ropes, and her eyes stayed on the emperor’s. His soldiers removed the ropes and retreated, though not far. He approved of their caution. Even assassins could dress well. In fact, some of the finest assassins he knew were lovely.

“You have your audience,” the emperor said.

She raised her arms, and the sleeves fell back to reveal swirled tattoos on her arms. “I am Liyana, the vessel of Bayla of the Goat Clan, and I have come to tell you a story.”

Only a lifetime of habit kept the surprise from registering on his face. Keeping his expression carefully neutral, he gestured for her to proceed.

“Once, there was only sea. The moon loved the sea, for the moon was vain and her reflection was like a beautiful jewel on the water, but the sun wearied of the endless waves. All day he looked down on the same blue. So one day he burned hotter and hotter, and he dried the ocean. That night, the moon was horrified to see mountains and plains instead of her beloved sea. So she flooded the land. The next day the sun scorched the world again, and the next night the moon summoned the tides and covered it with water. This continued until at last there was only one creature left alive. It was a turtle, and she called to the sun and moon and begged for mercy—”

“You crossed a desert to speak to me about a turtle?” Most of his people considered stories fit only for children at bedtime. Certainly they’d never brave a desert crossing to tell their emperor a story. He had to fight to keep the excitement out of his voice and off his face.

“I speak of the turtle who was our mother,” Liyana said.

“I have heard many creation myths from the regions of my empire,” the emperor said, and he was pleased that his voice conveyed only mild interest. He was aware that his soldiers were listening. They knew it was a story that had led their emperor here—a story of magic that could save his people. But this woman couldn’t know that. “Fetch us water and dates,” the emperor ordered a soldier. The soldier bowed and exited.

The vessel continued. “She proposed a bargain: The moon could have an ocean if the sun could have an island. But when the sun created the island, he shone with such intensity that he scorched the center of it. In this barren desert, the turtle laid her egg. It hatched, and the desert people were born.”

“I had not heard this tale,” the emperor said. He continued to control his voice, as if this were only of passing amusement to him. In truth, he collected stories like past emperors collected rare jewels or exotic animals. This was the best way she could have chosen to capture his attention, but he wouldn’t let her know that. Accepting a golden dish of dates, he held it out to Liyana. She didn’t touch it. He ate one, and then poured water into two gold chalices. “You have a point in telling me, I presume?”

“The desert people exist to ensure that the moon remembers her promise to never flood again. If you threaten us, you threaten the whole of the world. You don’t want to do that. You want to leave and return to your green fields and blue lakes. Leave us to our sand. There’s nothing for you to gain here and much for you to lose.”