I WAS LATE for the council meeting. I hadn’t thought I was expected to attend, but a servant came to fetch me, and I raced after. One did not ignore imperial summons. I burst into the council chamber, breathless. All eyes turned to me, and I nervously wiped damp hair out of my face as I stepped inside.
The only thing more out of place in this room than me was the bed. It stood at one end of the table, covered in pillows and draped in silk while the Emperor lounged on it. He was still pale, his skin a yellowish tone that crept into the whites of his eyes. His cheeks were sunken, and he looked as if he were struggling to remain upright, even propped up by a dozen down pillows.
“Here,” a servant said, tugging my sleeve toward a seat positioned against the wall, closer to the Emperor than the council table, but not close enough that it appeared as if I had been given preferential treatment.
The Emperor broke the awkward silence. “We begin.”
The council members all turned their full attention to him. “As we plan the best ways to meet the needs of the citizens of Lunar Island, one thing is clear: We need change,” he said, struggling to speak loudly. “The old policies failed our people. Let us see how the council meets this . . . unusual circumstance.”
He settled back on the pillow and glanced at me. I squirmed uncomfortably. It was rare for anyone to be a witness to a council meeting who wasn’t actually on the council.
At first, no one spoke. The lead members of the council, including the chair, were all missing, having fled after the Emperor took over Governor Adelaide’s position. Hamish finally spoke up. For such an inconspicuous man, he seemed determined to plow forward and carry on as if this were a normal governing day. “Our first priority will be filling the seats of the council members who are missing,” he started, turning to the rest of the council.
“No.” The Emperor’s voice was weaker now, but everyone heard him. “I need the people to see that I am a strong leader. There will be no point in establishing a council if the people don’t believe in me—they won’t believe in my council either. I must speak before them, show the people that I support them.”
Hamish winced. “But Your Imperial Majesty,” he started. “You have been so unwell . . .”
The Emperor leveled him with an unreadable gaze, his eyes cold and steady. “Do you really think they care whether or not I’ve been ill? They saw me as a tyrant. They wanted to overthrow me. And for what reason?”
Finip Brundl dared to answer him. “Taxes and levies,” he said. After a heartbeat, he added, “At least, that’s how the people feel.”
“They are the same taxes that all the colonies face. And you reap the same rewards from paying them. The streets are paved with granite from Siber. The trade routes are protected from pirates by my Imperial fleet. New medicine, textbooks for your schools, protection of the guards—all of this is what your taxes pay for.”
I saw the little muscle in Finip’s jaw clench, but he didn’t speak again.
“But you’re right,” the Emperor continued. “They don’t understand. So I must show the people that their Emperor cares about them.”
“Perhaps an article in the news sheets?” one woman suggested.
“The north,” I said.
Everyone turned to me. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken so loudly, but now it felt as if I’d shouted the words.
“Do continue,” the Emperor drawled.
I took in a shaking breath. “The north needs to see that we care, too. They were hit the hardest by the plague. And, frankly, they see the least benefit of the Empire’s aid. The roads aren’t paved in the north. The farmers and villages are struggling to survive.”
“You have extensive experience in the north?” the Emperor asked.
I felt my cheeks burning. The truth was that, no, I had not been farther north than the quarantine hospital or the pauper’s grave in the center of the island. I suddenly remembered Hart, which did have paved streets, at least by Father’s description of it.
The Emperor turned away from me, toward the council, and continued on as if I’d not interrupted. “Before we unravel the socioeconomic issues in one area, let’s consider a quicker solution to the immediate problem at hand. Morale is low. We need a celebration,” he said. “A rally of sorts.”
“You want to throw a party?” Several of the members of council shifted uncomfortably in their seats with Hamish’s countering of the Emperor’s words, but he didn’t back down. “Our people are still recovering from the plague.”
“That’s it,” the Emperor said, sitting up and shaking a finger at Hamish in approval. “We should celebrate the medical alchemists who worked so hard to fight the plague, and we should celebrate the survivors.”
“Perhaps a memorial for the dead . . .” Prinna, the councilwoman of finance, suggested.
Emperor Auguste shook his head, dismissing her suggestion. “No mourning. We must move forward. And to do that, we need to bring joy back to Lunar Island.”
“It would be, at best, merely a bandage to dire feelings of anger and distress,” Hamish started.
“I know.” The Emperor’s voice was stronger now. “This is not a solution to all of Lunar Island’s problems. I want to assure you—assure all my people—that I am not merely going to throw a party and run back to the mainland. I want to strengthen the people’s morale, and prove to them that I am not a weak man hiding in confinement as the news sheets claimed.”
His eyes drifted to me. “And,” he added, “let’s follow Astor’s suggestion as well. The north needs revitalization, as you say.” He paused, contemplating. “How would you feel about going there?”
It took several beats for me to realize he was waiting for my answer. “Me?”
He nodded. “We need a face of change. Someone new, someone young, someone energized. Someone the people can trust.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t have any experience,” I started, looking around me.
“This isn’t about experience,” the Emperor said. “It’s about appearances. We need someone the people will trust. Frankly, that excludes the council and anyone who’s already established in politics.”
“But . . .”
“My secretary can handle all the details,” the Emperor said, turning away from me. “Meanwhile . . .” He snapped his fingers. A steward came forward, spilling a pile of heavy linen paper on the table. I strained to see more. Each of the large papers bore a heavy wax seal beribboned and gilded—the sign of the Emperor himself.
Hamish picked up the top page. “Decrees for state buildings?” he asked. His frown deepened. “Orphanages, a new wing to the hospital, market stands . . .”
“Our coffers are empty,” Prinna said. “The banks cannot lend the government any more—”
“This is being paid for from my personal treasury,” the Emperor said. He smiled as the council applauded his generosity.
“But where are they to go?” Hamish said. “This one—a new orphanage in Blackdocks. We’ll have to condemn a factory, I think, or—”
“Make it work,” the Emperor ordered. “We must give this to the people.”
Hamish nodded silently, his eyes still on the papers. As city planner, he would be responsible for finding ways to make the buildings fit into the already crowded city. It would be difficult, but surely worthwhile.
Prinna shook her head, the ends of her hair bouncing off her cheeks.
“You have something to add?” the Emperor said coldly.
I saw the councilwoman of finance clench and unclench her fists under the table. She took a deep breath, but when she spoke, her words were loud and clear. “If our people must celebrate, let them do so with a hanging!” she declared. “What about the necromancer? Surely that is a crime that takes priority over a few new buildings and a party?”
My back stiffened. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the Emperor glance at me.
“My mind is heavy in regard to Nedra Brysstain,” Emperor Auguste finally said. “She violated the law against necromancy, but she also used it to free me. It is not a simple matter.”
“The law is clear—” Prinna started.
“It is.” The Emperor cut her off so smoothly that Prinna’s teeth clacked together as she snapped her jaw closed. “The law of the land and the law of the gods are both very clear: We must not suffer a necromancer to live among us.”
No one looked at me.
This is it, I thought. He’s going to demand her arrest. She’s going to be hung.
“Council is dismissed,” the Emperor said. A secretary rang a brass bell, letting it toll once before silencing the clapper with his gloved hand. The council got up from the table, muttering to one another in low tones. I stood, awkwardly, because everyone else was standing. I tried lingering, but I couldn’t catch the Emperor’s eye. I followed the council out into the hall, then made my way back to my rooms.
Could the Emperor condemn to death the person who had saved his life? By law, he should, but . . .
He made the laws.