Sarmin watched the face of each man in the room. Dinar and Arigu would have planned ahead; they would have spoken to every one of his courtiers, convinced them of the rightness of their complaint. ‘The duke has protected all of you from pattern-attacks.’ He did not mention Banreh. He realised Arigu had tricked him into keeping Banreh safe just for this display, and it was not something he wished to admit. ‘And my wife has proven her loyalty time and again. Did she not help me execute Helmar?’ At the foot of the dais Mesema stood very still, like a mouse in the sight of a cat, her men nearly as still behind her.
Dinar gave a chilling smile. ‘Before that she helped Beyon, heaven and stars with him now.’
Beyon had been buried with all honours and no citizen knew he had been marked; but the palace knew. They had deposed him for it. Now Dinar was skirting the issue of Pelar’s parentage, so Sarmin spoke carefully. ‘My brother was never one of the Many.’ Azeem and Grada flanked him now, both silent, one out of consternation and the other out of rage.
Arigu raised his hands, palms up, to show his honesty. ‘When I brought her from the Grass, I saw the empress – then the princess – caught in a furtive embrace with the traitor. Long before today she plotted with the chief.’
‘And I caught her with him in the temple of Mirra, in an intimate tryst,’ said Dinar. ‘Assar will attest to it. She is led by this chief and has sympathy for the Mogyrk cause.’
Assar backed away, his eyes shadowed. Arigu gestured at one of Mesema’s guardsmen. ‘Sendhil, tell him.’
‘Your Majesty,’ said the guard, presenting a sorrowful face, ‘the empress disappears for long periods of time, out of our sight, and I fear her secrets will lead us to the traitor and his Mogyrk allies.’
‘You see,’ said Arigu.
‘That is proof of nothing,’ said Grada. ‘I was with her – I am not Mogyrk.’
‘No. You are worse,’ said Dinar.
She took a half-step, gripping the hilt of her Knife, but Sarmin cut her off with a movement of his hand. ‘What is this about? The Yrkmen wait at the gate. The Tower has fallen. The Great Storm approaches and yet you are here, spreading rumours and division.’ A buzzing came to his ears and his skin tingled with the Scar’s magic; he shook it off and focused on Arigu.
‘My men won’t give their lives for a corrupted empire. The city is rotting for the indulgences you give to traitors and Mogyrks, Magnificence!’
A shocked silence fell over the room.
‘Give us the chief,’ Dinar said in a voice like smooth steel, ‘and put aside your wife. Then the men will fight. Your Majesty.’ To punctuate his demand Sendhil took Mesema’s arm as if he meant to take her to the dungeon, or worse.
The sight filled Sarmin with cold rage and he snarled, ‘You would bring Nooria to ruin over this?’ They knew he would never give up his wife – they would never allow them to take her – but they also knew that he could never abandon his city’s defences. It was a trap, designed so he would fail, but what then? Would they install Daveed on the Petal Throne, with Arigu as his advisor? Or would they find Pelar and groom him to their purpose? Trying not to look at the rough hand clenching Mesema’s skin he did a calculation: he had Grada and the four sword-sons. They had double that number – if no one switched sides.
Beyond Dinar’s dark robes he saw Duke Didryk, standing at the great doors, waiting to be announced. He carried no sword and his guards were not with him.
Sarmin wondered if things might have gone better had he just killed Banreh when his mother told him to – or if he had allowed Dinar to carve the man to pieces. It had never felt like the right time, the right action. Was it Mirra’s mercy, or Meksha’s restraint – had he held Her gift even before he went to the pool?
He understood Arigu’s fears: as a general, he depended on the strength of the emperor. Arigu saw no power in mercy; winning was all-important. Winning palace games, winning battles, winning wars: winning kept Nooria safe. And yet it was for Sarmin to shape the empire, for Sarmin to decide what things were worth killing for, what wars were worth fighting. What kind of man am I? What kind of man do I want to be?
Sarmin approached the high priest. ‘Dinar has been making his sacrifices regularly: a prisoner here, an innocent victim there, sand-cats, birds, jackals – has it helped our city? Has it helped our palace?’
‘Herzu is displeased with you and with your love of Mogyrk. Sacrifices do little in such a circumstance.’
Sarmin walked a slow circle around Dinar. He saw that the traitor guard still held Mesema in a tight grip and he clenched his fists. ‘You mean my curiosity, my wisdom, my love for Cerana. These are things you cannot understand. They disgust you.’ Grada moved closer, her hand ready on the hilt of her Knife.