Empire of Night (4 page)

“If that's what you think, then you were as deluded as I. He told me you were simply someone he grew up with and trained with.”

“Which for Gavril is as close to a ‘friend' as one gets, as you well know.”

“I don't know anything about him. That is obvious.”

“No, you do. You know what kind of man he is, and for all his faults, lack of honor is not one of them. Nor is cruelty. Whatever is happening here, it is not what it seems. The Gavril I know would never have condoned the massacre of a village. When he realized what had happened, how did he react?”

I told him and he wouldn't believe it. He said I was mistaken. A foolish child. Then I took him back and he saw the bodies and . . .

She sucked in a breath at the memory, the look on Gavril's face.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “He was playing a role. He told me he was guilty. That whatever I thought he'd done, he had done. Those were his exact words.”

“To protect you. Because . . .” Tyrus sighed as she rose. “All right, I'll stop. Deep down, you
want
to believe he didn't do this, which is exactly why you
refuse
to believe it. You will not be made a fool. Back to tonight—if you choose to listen in, wait until late. It will be a very long meal.”

M
oria told Ashyn she was meeting Tyrus that night. Her sister didn't question the lateness of the visit. She'd made it clear that she thought the young prince was the perfect remedy for what ailed Moria, and a nighttime meeting seemed to prove the situation was progressing as hoped.

Before leaving, Moria had casually asked Ashyn about the king and sultan. Ashyn said both were minor players. Royalty whose land hadn't been taken during imperial expansion primarily because of their friendships with Marshal Kitsune. In return, both paid homage to Emperor Tatsu, as did most of the border rulers. The emperor had risen to power not by lineage but because of the vital role he'd played in the empire's expansion push. Since then, there'd been only minor skirmishes. An era of peace and prosperity. Which meant, as Moria knew Tyrus worried, that the army was ill-prepared for war.

By the time Moria arrived at the dinner party building, they were clearing the fruit course inside, and she wondered if she was too late. But it turned out the meal was only the opening act. Then came the entertainment. Eventually the troupe of performers left, replaced by courtesans.

There were many women in the palace, most of whom seemed to exist purely to serve the whims and pleasures of the emperor. Two wives, four concubines, and six or seven master courtesans. Moria was somewhat confused about the function of the courtesans. There were also houses of them in the city. The bards' songs made it clear they were not prostitutes, and yet sex certainly seemed to be part of the “entertainment” they provided. When she'd asked Ashyn for a more detailed description of their function, her sister had turned bright red and stammered meaningless nonsense.

While the palace courtesans were for the emperor's bed, it also seemed they could be lent to guests who had not come with their wives. Rather like fresh clothing, if they forgot theirs at home. At dinner that night, the courtesans sang and played the lute and recited poetry—and flirted. Moria wondered if they were doing more than flirting, but it did not sound like it. Which was rather disappointing. How was one to learn such things, if one had no exposure to them?

As for learning anything more critical, that was a bigger disappointment. While she did not expect the emperor to outright ask who had harbored the former marshal, she thought the subject of Alvar Kitsune would at least come up. Some offhand comment, allowing Emperor Tatsu to study the inebriated and unguarded reactions of his guests. When it did
not, she had to accept that Tyrus was mistaken. Love could blind one to a father's faults, and in Tyrus's case, filial piety was more than a duty. Sometimes one's father truly was one of the most important people in one's world. She knew that as well as anyone.

Finally, the dinner came to a close, and the emperor invited his two guests to select a flower to brighten their quarters. That seemed a strange offer . . . until she realized that by “flower,” he meant “courtesan.” He chose his own companion first and left the two men still deciding. Once outside, he told his courtiers to leave him for the evening and headed to his quarters with his night's companion.

Moria peered along the wall, making sure the way was clear before beginning the journey to her own quarters. She made it past two buildings. Then she heard someone speaking.

“I need you to go back to your quarters,” the man's voice said, and she looked about, as if he were speaking to her, but the voice came from at least ten paces away.

She peeked around the corner to see a broad-shouldered man in his fifth decade. Emperor Tatsu, who'd tugged the courtesan into a dark gap between buildings. He released her and pressed a box into her hand.

“A gift for your trouble,” he whispered. “Go and enjoy your evening.”

The courtesan stared at the emperor, a plaintive note in her voice as she said, “Your imperial highness. I thought . . .”

“No, child. Now go—”

“Have I offended you?” she blurted, then stumbled over herself apologizing for interrupting him.

“You have not offended me,” he said. “I had no intention of taking anyone to my quarters tonight. I have business to attend to, and it was merely an excuse to end my dinner engagement. Take your gift and go. Quickly now.”

The courtesan didn't linger, but it was clear she would have preferred a night in his bed over any gift he might offer. Which piqued Moria's curiosity. Clearly, given the number of women in the palace, the emperor was experienced in such matters. Was that the cause of the courtesan's disappointment? That she'd miss out on a pleasurable evening? Or was it more a matter of position and favor—that by sharing his bed she'd gain status in the court? It was a fascinating subject, but not one she was likely to better understand anytime soon.

The courtesan hurried off as best she could in platform sandals a hand's-length tall. Voices drifted over from the dining house. One of the guests was leaving, having made his choice from the courtesans. Silk whispered, and Moria glanced down the gap to see the emperor poised at the corner, watching his guest.

A moment later, the King of Etaria appeared, so tightly entwined with his courtesan that it seemed they'd begun the evening's activities without waiting for the privacy of a bedchamber. As they staggered, giggling, past where the emperor waited in the shadows, Moria realized they weren't so much entwined by lust as by necessity. The king was too inebriated to walk alone.

“Your highness,” Emperor Tatsu said, slipping from his dark post.

The king stumbled and the courtesan staggered under him.

“Allow me,” Emperor Tatsu said, sliding his arm under the man's shoulder.

“Your imperial highness,” the king slurred. “I appreciate the assistance, but I'm sure you have some young steward better suited—”

“Is that a hint that I've grown too old to hold your weight?” the emperor said with a laugh.

“No, of course not. I—”

“It's true.” Emperor Tatsu gave an easy grin that mirrored his son's. “We do grow old, don't we? But I'm still strong enough to support my friends. We are friends, I trust?”

“Y-yes, of c-course, your imperial—”

“Enough with the courtesies. You're among friends. Now, let's send this lovely flower off, so we may speak.”

The king sputtered at that. He certainly could not say he'd rather spend time with a courtesan. But he was drunk enough to let his disappointment show. Emperor Tatsu only smiled and joked about old men and young girls, and sent the courtesan off with a gift. For her part, she seemed only too happy to take it, and disappeared before the king suggested she wait in his quarters. Moria could not blame her. Despite his age, Emperor Tatsu was a handsome and well-formed man. The King of Etaria . . . was not.

When the girl was gone, the emperor turned to the king.

“So, friend,” he said. “Admittedly, it is a stretch to call you friend. We have not always seen eye to eye on matters of trade and politics. But I still consider you such because I believe that the friends of my friends ought to be mine as well. Do you agree?”

“Yes. Absolutely, your imperial—”

“It's Jiro. Formal titles are so tedious.”

The king hesitated. “Jiro, then. Thank you. I have always said that I wished my little kingdom could be of more service to the empire. We have a great deal to offer.”

“Oh, you do. You absolutely do. But when I say you are the friend of a friend, you do not ask who I mean?”

Silence. The king's mottled face strained with the effort of clear thought, as if he were passing a kidney stone.

“Why Alvar, of course,” Emperor Tatsu said. “There was a time—most of my life, in fact—when no man was closer to me than Alvar Kitsune. So, tell me, how is my old friend?”

Moria realized her mistake. A warrior must know tactics beyond the obvious. While Emperor Tatsu might not lead an army these days, the bards still sang tales of his victories as a warrior, fighting alongside the friend who would one day be his marshal. He understood the art of strategy . . . whatever the battlefield.

The king blinked and blustered and then finally found his voice. “Alvar Kitsune? He's long dead, and well he should be, for betraying your imperial—”

The king was cut off by a
whoomph
, air rushing from his chest as he landed hard on the cobbled path, flat on his back. The emperor had snagged the king's knee with his foot and yanked his leg from under him, and now the king lay there, gaping, mouth open as he heaved for breath.

“My—my—”

Emperor Tatsu leaned over the supine man, bending until his face was only a hand's breadth from the king's face.

“You accepted my invitation, knowing you had harbored a man intent on my destruction.”

“I—”

“You came without hesitation. You sat at my table. You drank my wine. You ate my food. And all the while, your ally has unleashed an unspeakable evil on my empire, on
his
empire, massacring his own people.”

“I—”

“Oh, I know why you came. In hopes of gaining intelligence you can feed back to Alvar. My stewards and my maids tell me you've asked many questions since you arrived.”

“Curiosity, your majesty. You are the most powerful man in the world. Naturally, I would have questions—”

“And you received no answers. But I will. Whatever it takes to get them.”

The king sputtered. “I am not some common courtier. I am—”

“I know who you are. The king of a country so insignificant I wouldn't risk the lives of ten warriors conquering it. Have no fear. I recognize your station. I will not throw you in the dungeon. You'll stay on, as my guest, while I question you. If you escape, I will send my fastest messenger to Alvar, to be sure he knows you were here, answering my questions.”

The king bleated some excuse, some denial, but Emperor Tatsu only turned and called, “Lysias?”

A man appeared, seeming to materialize like a spirit. He was almost a head taller than the emperor, his clothing and skin as dark as the surrounding night, his braids swinging as he slid from the shadows. Moria flinched, momentarily imagining
another face, just as stone-hardened and grim as this man's, but younger, with green eyes instead of dark. The green eyes of a sorcerer.

She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally spitting curses for her foolishness. Lysias was clearly from the mountains, like the Kitsunes, but resembled Gavril only in his height, coloring, and braids. He was at least ten summers older and wore the five-pointed star that marked him a member of the emperor's private guard.

“His highness has drunk too much,” the emperor said. “He stumbled and fell, and I fear I'm too old to carry him myself.”

Lysias twitched his lips, as if he'd been watching and knew full well how the king had fallen—and that Emperor Tatsu could indeed carry him if he so wished. But he only dipped his chin and said, “Yes, your imperial highness.”

“Place two guards at his door, please,” Emperor Tatsu said. “I've heard rumors that cause me concern for his safety. He ought to remain in his quarters until I come to visit him.”

“Of course.”

Lysias lifted the king and took him away without another word. Emperor Tatsu watched them go and stayed there, unmoving, his back to Moria as she hid around the corner.

“Come out of the shadows, child,” he said.

Moria jumped, but he could not be speaking to her. He hadn't even glanced her way.

“I know you're there.” He looked straight at her hiding place. “The young Keeper, I take it?”

Moria took a careful step backward.

“If you run, I'll have to send someone to fetch you,” he said.
“You need to work on your spying skills, child.”

Moria stepped into the moonlight.

“Where's your wildcat, Keeper? You ought not to be out alone—”

She'd left Daigo on the other side of the wall, but as soon as the emperor said that, the wildcat slunk around the corner, as if he'd been there the whole time.

“Moria?” a loud whisper cut through the night, followed by running footsteps. “Where have you—?”

Tyrus appeared behind the emperor and skidded to a stop. “Father?” Under his breath, he pretended to curse, then said, louder, as he gave a slight bow, “I'm sorry. This is my fault. Moria wished to see the palace gardens . . .”

“And you brought her this late in the evening?”

Tyrus's gaze dipped lower. “I had . . . other intentions. Moria realized that, and she fled. I came after her, to make sure she got to her quarters safely.”

“I see.”

Tyrus glanced over at her. “I'm sorry, Moria. I behaved dishonorably, and I am shamed. I'll call a guard to escort you back.”

“She is the Keeper,” Emperor Tatsu said. “Have you forgotten that?”

Tyrus kept his gaze on his father's sandals. “No. I—”

The emperor's voice rose, the edge cutting through the silent palace grounds. “This is not a pretty serving girl to dally with. She is the gift of our ancestors, sent to protect their spirits and protect us from evil. She is sacred.”

There were many lies Tyrus could tell if he wanted her to
follow his lead. But to suggest he'd been dishonorable? Moria could not allow this.

“Your imperial highness,” she said, stumbling over the honorific. “Tyrus didn't—”

“I was speaking to my son.” The emperor gave her a look that stoppered the words in her throat. He turned back to Tyrus. “I've allowed you to charm her and flirt with her. I see no danger in a few stolen kisses. But I trusted that you knew better than to take it further. Bringing her here, at night, a stone's throw from your quarters?”

“No, your imperial highness,” Moria said. “He did not. He would not. It was a misunderstand—”

“Enough. To my quarters. Both of you. Now.”