The Blood of Whisperers Page 3

  At its head stood a replica of the Crimson Throne, its broad back figured in lacquer. There Kin sat, staring into the distance, the lines between his brows sure evidence of agitation.

  I knelt at the Humble Stone and touched my forehead to the floor. He did not immediately order me to rise, but when he did his voice was troubled.

  ‘Number forty-eight worrying you, Majesty?’ I asked.

  As he freely admitted the number of attempts made on his life, this made him laugh, and the sudden lightening of his expression improved his appearance. He was not handsome in the common way, his features too heavy, but he did not require beauty the way other men did. Emperor Kin had been the youngest general in Kisian history, a brilliant tactician at twenty-two years of age. He had been handsome then, but sixteen years of battling for stability had left their mark. Where most leaders grew fat in their power, Kin had wasted away in his, leaving lean strength where once there had been brute force.

  ‘You are as perceptive as ever, Darius,’ he said, indicating that I should come closer. ‘Come, sit.’

  ‘Thank you, Majesty.’

  I sat on the empress’s divan. Kin had never married, so it had become my place. As Minister of the Left, I was his chief advisor, his right-hand man as the commoners called me.

  ‘You would think that after so many attempts on my life I would be inured to them,’ he said, frowning again. ‘But I find there is nothing so bad as knowing one is coming. When death comes for me I would rather it took me by surprise.’

  ‘Like a warrior in battle?’

  For a full minute he was silent, considering. I was used to his ways and just waited, listening to the guards. There were four behind us and a fifth by the door.

  ‘I used to think so,’ he said at last. ‘But what is honourable about dying in battle? To fight another war would mean I had failed in my duty. Is stability not what an emperor should strive for? Prosperity. Health. No matter how many wars I have fought, I fought them for the right reasons.’

  ‘And Kisia is grateful.’

  Again he considered. ‘Is it? I wonder. Your father fought for me. I remember.’

  ‘Yes, Majesty.’

  It was hard to forget. He had fought for General Kin until sent home in disgrace, released from service for turning on his own men. I could feel the question in the air, tangible, prickly – had I inherited the madness as well as the title? I could not answer, and yet he seemed to expect something more. ‘He is quite difficult to forget,’ I said.

  Kin’s dark eyes watched me closely. I held his gaze, knowing I betrayed neither thought nor emotion. Rigid control. Without it I would lose everything. My father had proven that.

  I ran a hand down the skirt of my robe, smoothing the silk against my leg. ‘Was there a reason you sent for me, Majesty?’

  ‘I trust you have time for a game, Laroth.’

  Errant. It was always his choice in sleepless times, capable of clearing the head as little else could.

  ‘Of course, Majesty. There is always time for Errant.’

  The chancellor had been lying in wait, and with a nod from Kin he slid the board onto the wide arm of the throne. The board was a diamond shaped, carved and painted, its squares alternating white and red. A small box came next. The chancellor used a silver coin to prise the lid free and the scent of old spices wafted out. Kin tipped the box and a rain of wooden discs scattered across the board, red on one side, black the other.

  I drew back my right sleeve, folding the silk to keep it clear of my hand. Kin had carelessly rolled his despite the expensive fabric, drawing attention to his lingering inelegance. He looked well, had moulded over time into the image of an emperor, but his hands still gave him away. They were the hands of a soldier.

  I set my pieces, watching my opponent. Errant was a lord’s game, but Kin had developed no common skill. I had begun our first game sure that, whatever his tactical skill upon a battlefield, he would be as easy to read as any other soldier. I had been wrong. Kin had a restful, focussed state where there was nothing except the problem at hand, and it was a skill worthy of respect.

  Wasting no time, Kin made the first move and I mirrored it, all attention on the game. For a long time we did not talk, no sound in the long room bar the click-click of pieces shifting across the wooden board. I watched his hands. I watched his face. There would be a strategy in his game, no matter how random his choices appeared. He never did anything without reason. Watching a man play Errant once could tell one more than watching him live for a year.

  ‘Any more news on our expected assassins?’ he asked, moving a piece seemingly at random.

  ‘Nothing new, Majesty.’ He already knew the answer. That meant it was worrying him more than he was willing to admit. ‘The information may yet prove false. However, the guard has been doubled and a curfew will be rung.’

  ‘You know I hate curfews. All they do is force our enemies deeper into hiding. I prefer them where I can see them.’

  ‘In this case, General Ryoji has deemed it necessary. You are not as safe here as in Mei’lian.’

  ‘That is why most wait until I am outside the capital, which helps me to sleep at night.’

  ‘Well, you may sleep soundly, Majesty,’ I said. ‘No one will reach you here.’

  ‘Will you be sleeping soundly, Darius?’

  Another member of the court might have taken the opportunity to fawn over the emperor, but that was not the reason he kept me.

  ‘Yes, Majesty,’ I said. ‘I intend to be sleeping as well tonight as I do every night.’

  Kin scowled. ‘It is not you they are attempting to assassinate.’

  ‘Very true. Although I don’t think I would feel otherwise if it were.’

  He moved another piece, but he wasn’t looking at it. He was looking at me. ‘You’re a serene devil, Darius. No, composed. In calligraphy the word is more spiky. You know that people say you are the awakened dead?’

  ‘I have heard so, Majesty. The moment I start to smell like a corpse, I shall have myself buried immediately.’

  Kin’s smile faded as quickly as it had come. ‘Are you ever serious?’

  ‘Occasionally.’

  He snorted and moved a piece dangerously close to my king. I looked back across his field, seeing and discarding leaping strings and patterns until I could see his complete passage, cunningly hidden by two measly leaders branching off to one side. I took in the placement of my own pieces and knew I had lost.

  ‘You know I’ve got you,’ Kin said, his eyes flashing triumphantly. ‘Even in this court of liars you’re in a league of your own, but you aren’t made entirely of ice. What is the shell hiding, I wonder? Who is Darius Laroth?’

  He swept the pieces off the board as he spoke, impatient to start the next round. I watched, wondering what depths he himself kept hidden. No one had ever seen through me, especially not when it came to Errant.

  ‘He is your most loyal servant,’ I said.

  Kin tossed my pieces across the board. ‘Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. Tell me something real. Something true. I know all the stories about you; I hear everything. Tell me something I haven’t heard.’

  I just did, I thought, the sting of his rejection concealed beneath the face I could hardly shift, so set it had grown in its expressionless lines. It was no longer second nature to show nothing, to believe I felt nothing – it was first nature, so deeply ingrained it was rare I thought about it at all.

  ‘You don’t like my request,’ Kin said. He pointed at my left hand, where I was turning a piece over and over.

  I stopped and tugged on my sleeve. ‘I was merely thinking, Majesty, of something worthy of your time.’

  He set his last piece in place with a snap. ‘Well done, Darius. You remind me that as I am the emperor, there is no such thing as a friend.’

  I moved my firs
t piece, a strategy already forming in my head. Kin glared at the board and moved the front man. In someone else I would have put this down to stupidity, but in him it was moody resentment. He no longer desired to play. It galled me, but I hid the anger behind the mask, refusing to let him draw me out again.

  ‘I have not heard the name “Monarch” for more than a day,’ Kin said conversationally as I turned one of his pieces. ‘I hope the great rebel is not ill.’

  ‘It would be a sad end to his reign of terror, I admit.’

  ‘Have you heard the rumours?’

  ‘That Katashi is back?’

  Kin pushed a piece across the board with the tip of his finger, and for the first time I saw how far back the whites of his nails began. A childhood nail biter? It seemed unlikely. I had never seen him present anything but a confident exterior, restraint almost as important to him as it was to me.

  ‘It’s him.’

  My thoughts had wandered. ‘Pardon, Majesty?’

  ‘Monarch. Who but Katashi Otako would call himself that? He is too much like his father, though no one could say Grace Tianto was without honour.’ He didn’t even look at the board as he made his next move. ‘Councillor Ahmet doesn’t trust you, did you know that? He thinks you serve the Otakos. He tells me that you want me dead.’

  ‘I’m aware, Majesty. He and I have our differences. You seem to feel no such anxiety about my company.’

  ‘Sad that even members of my own Council cannot trust each other. He tells me you have a secret.’

  ‘And what do you think, Majesty?’

  ‘I think all men have secrets.’

  Thoroughly bored by the game, I took a piece and leapt it along a string of his, turning them as I went. The third one bore a crown on its underside. Kin was neither surprised nor annoyed, conceding the round with a shrug.

  The double doors slid back and a man dressed in full armour strode in.

  ‘General Hade Ryoji,’ the chancellor called, rushing to greet the newcomer. ‘Master of the Imperial Guard.’

  Half a dozen soldiers entered behind him, dressed in layers of leather over dark linen. A wide crimson sash proclaimed each an elite member of the Imperial Guard, loyal to the throne. When the general knelt each of his men knelt behind him.

  ‘What is it, Ryoji?’ Kin said as the man rose, pushing a lock of hazelnut hair back from his eyes. The guards stood in turn, hands falling to their weapons.

  All trace of General Ryoji’s usual sparkle was absent this evening. Many had thought him too young for his position, but for all the whispers he was well liked. Handsome and charming, he was a favourite at court, but his first year in the job had brought with it not only a dozen attempts on the emperor’s life, but the rise of the rebel Monarch. It was leaving traces upon his face. Bit by bit his countenance was growing stern, as Kin’s had done years before.

  ‘My apologies for the interruption, Majesty,’ General Ryoji said. ‘There is an intruder in the palace.’

  ‘An intruder? What sort of intruder?’

  ‘It is hard to say, Majesty. We don’t know how they got in, so I’ve brought you my best men and must request you remain here until we know more.’

  ‘A prisoner in my own palace?’

  General Ryoji bowed. ‘For your own safety, Majesty.’ He turned to me. ‘Your Excellency, your presence is required, if you would come with me.’

  ‘That sounds very much like an arrest, General,’ I said, trying to restrain my imagination as it leapt toward unlikely conclusions. ‘Am I under arrest?’

  ‘No, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Do you mean “not yet”? I am perhaps implicated in some severe misdeed? I suppose it is unnecessary to point out that I have been here all evening.’

  Emperor Kin pushed the Errant board away. ‘Speak, Ryoji,’ he ordered. ‘What has happened?’

  General Ryoji shifted his weight from one leg to the other. ‘As you wish, Your Majesty. In the course of her usual rounds, one of the maids has come across a dead body in the council chamber. A very recently-dead body, branded with the Traitor’s Mark.’ His eyes turned in my direction. ‘And the Eye of Vice.’

  I forced myself to breathe evenly despite the tightening of my chest. Ryoji was watching.

  All men have secrets.

  ‘And what has this to do with Darius?’

  ‘The body in question has been...’ the general paused, eyes flicking my way; ‘–has been propped, positioned, you could say, kneeling in Minister Laroth’s customary place at the council table.’

  In the silence that followed I thought I could hear the lanterns burning. Their orange light reflected off the gold fasteners that ran the length of Ryoji’s leather-clad arm.

  Getting no response, the general cleared his throat. ‘We are still attempting to identify the body. Minister Laroth’s assistance may be useful.’

  I got to my feet, shaking my sleeve back into place. ‘I am all yours, General,’ I said. ‘With your permission, Majesty.’

  Emperor Kin unrolled his own sleeve. ‘I will see this travesty,’ he said, rising. General Ryoji looked as though he would speak, but Kin held up his hand. ‘No, General, I will not be dictated to in my own palace, not by assassins and not by you. Bring your men if you will.’

  ‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

  I met the general’s gaze and shook my head. Kin was determined; not to see a dead body, for he had seen enough to no longer be curious about the workings of the human machine, but to show no fear. To feel no fear. One could not but admire his courage, though on this occasion I felt more like damning it. The Eye of Vice was the last thing I wanted him to see. It hadn’t always been called that, but there was a good reason it had fallen into aversion. It had become a calling card. His calling card. And I couldn’t even bring myself to say his name.

  The palace was quiet. It had grown late while we played. Out in the city the curfew had surely been rung, but for all General Ryoji’s caution, Kin would never be safe.

  In the anteroom my tea set had been cleared away, the room now bare but for the flicker of lantern light upon the wall. General Ryoji led the way into the labyrinth of passages, his men surrounding us. Kin did not speak. All I could do was follow him, our wooden sandals clacking out of time with each other’s step.

  The council chamber was reached via a long gallery, home to the Scroll of War. It was a replica of the scroll in the palace at Mei’lian, and stretched the length of three men. Emperor Wei’Li had commissioned it after the victory of Zishian Valley, both scrolls depicting the battle in great detail. Standing before it one could almost imagine the outcome. The ferocious soldier with the long ponytail would easily overpower the small man with the round helmet, perhaps running him through with his curved blade, after which it would be the work of an instant to add the man behind him to his list. I had spent many hours staring at the one in Mei’lian, watching the battle play out in my imagination, but now in the dim light I found something sinister in the way the tiny eyes seemed to follow me. Especially the man with the long ponytail.

  Dragging my gaze from the scroll, I found I was touching my chest, fingers gliding over silk in search of the raised scar. I let my hand fall. From the open doorway Kin was watching. He did not speak, just turned to enter the room.

  All men have secrets.

  Inside the council chamber two of General Ryoji’s men stood by the door. The only other live occupant was the emperor’s physician, Master Kenji. He had his chin propped on his hand, head tilted in thought as he surveyed the slumped figure at the end of the table. At our entrance, Master Kenji rose quickly to his feet then bowed before Kin. ‘Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘This is no pleasant sight.’

  ‘I am used to unpleasant sights,’ Kin said, the hem of his crimson robe sweeping across the matting. It had been clean matting, fresh last winter, and now not a single drop of blood had been spill
ed upon it. The room looked as it always did. The windows were closed, the paper screens whole and untouched, even the flat cushions upon which we knelt sat neatly squared to the table. Only the body was out of place. Was I looking for signs? There wouldn’t be any. He was always neat.

  ‘Who’s the boy?’

  Master Kenji shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Your Majesty,’ he said. ‘Shall we see?’ He did not wait for an answer, but gripped the dark hair and pulled up the head. Despite the branding on both cheeks, the face was all too familiar. My eyes slipped to the tea tray on the table. Each cup was painted with the Laroth crest. No wonder his skill had improved. The boy had been practising.

  ‘His name is Kun.’

  I felt every eye in the room upon me.

  ‘One of yours, Excellency?’

  ‘Yes, General. My new serving boy. He could count.’

  I felt the anger and had to fight the urge to curl my fingers, fight to keep the mask in place. No one would have begrudged me a show of emotion, but control had to be practised every moment of every day. It was my fault. I had shown him kindness. Who was it that had said the hand of every Laroth was poisoned?

  Brandings aside, the boy looked peaceful, as though he had merely fallen asleep at a dull task. The only sign of foul play was the blood splattered across his pale woollen robe.

  ‘These are fresh brandings,’ Master Kenji said, touching his forefinger to the boy’s cheek. There, blackened flesh stared back, three horizontal lines crossed by one diagonal. It was the branding of a traitor. Every guardhouse in Kisia owned a Traitor’s Iron. It was the mark on his other cheek that was more unusual.

  ‘The Eye of Vice,’ Master Kenji said, turning the boy’s head. ‘I never thought to see it. One hears stories.’

  An intricately patterned eye had been burned into his left cheek. It was all too familiar, and I went on staring at it long after Master Kenji moved on, searching for the wound that stole a lifetime of beats from the boy’s youthful heart.

  ‘The blood doesn’t seem to come from anywhere, Majesty,’ Master Kenji said, placing the boy’s arm back upon the table. ‘Apart from the brands, his skin is intact. There is no wound.’