by Wight, Will
And in passing, every day, they'd been invested by the Emperor himself. At the slightest urging, the floor of the Imperial Palace courtyard came to life.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
My goal is not to persuade the people to serve me. To serve one man is a small thing. But to serve the Empire, the entire world...that's worth the dedication of a lifetime. Even a lifetime as long as mine.
—The Emperor
~~~
Five years ago
Every time Shera trained with Jarelys Teach, she ended up with her face in the dirt.
Still blinded by soil, she rolled away, using her legs to push herself behind a tree. She couldn’t release her shears, so she used the backs of her knuckles to scrape mud from her eyes.
The situation was even worse than she'd thought. Meia squirmed and growled under Teach's red-and-black-plated boot, which was planted on her back. Lucan crouched with a shear in each hand, his back to Shera, but he was panting as though he'd run up a mountain.
Teach loomed over him, her colored armor gleaming in the sun. As usual, she wore no helmet, her pale hair cut close to the scalp.
One gauntleted hand reached over her shoulder, grasping the black hilt of her ancient sword. She didn't need to touch it to draw on its power, Shera knew—they were surrounded by trees, all of which had started out green and vibrant at the beginning of the afternoon. Now their trunks were gray and twisted, their leaves black and lying on the ground. Teach had ended them with a touch, first to demonstrate her power, and later to eliminate hiding places for the three Gardeners.
Lucan reached behind his back, fingers dipping into a pouch and emerging with a small, glowing orb that looked like a tiny quicklamp. As soon as he grabbed it, he whipped his arm around to throw it at Teach.
She tugged on the hilt, enough to bare an inch of black blade.
Shera shivered. She'd been told before that she was about as sensitive to Intent as a plank of wood, but the weapon projected the same sense of formless dread that she felt in a nightmare. It was a paralyzing, hopeless, oppressive fear. She'd only seen Teach fully draw Tyrfang three times, and in all three cases, everyone in the room had been frozen in fear until the sword was back in its sheath. Even this glimpse of the blade felt like a predator passing dangerously close.
But it was good practice. This was what it would feel like if they had to face the Emperor in combat.
The strength went out of Lucan's arm, the glass globe falling to the grass and shattering in a spray of hissing yellow liquid. He dropped to his knees, made a choking sound, and passed out completely.
The power of a Reader brought many advantages, but Shera wasn't sure she'd want the sensitivity that came along with it.
“That's the end, Shera,” General Teach announced. “I have instructors lined up for these two, to point out where they went wrong. I'll give you my notes personally.”
Shera wasn't foolish enough to respond. She crept around, sticking to the treeline, shears in her hands.
Meia struggled under Teach's boot. “No, ma'am! I'm...not...finished!”
On the last word, she lifted the Guild Head's foot off her.
For about an inch. Then Teach ruthlessly pressed back down, pinning Meia to the ground like a dagger pinning a target. “This exercise has ended, Shera.”
Shera passed soundlessly out of the trees, moving up behind Teach. The Guild Head wasn't a Reader; she wouldn't be able to sense Shera's Intent. The woman should be wide open.
The bronze shear struck the back of Teach's knee, in a spot that would theoretically allow Shera's knife to penetrate. But Shera didn't drive the blade home. She tapped it, looking up.
“Disabling strike?” she said hopefully, but it came out sounding like a question.
Teach looked back over her shoulder. “Nice try. Pack it up and come with me.”
It felt like all of their training sessions lately had ended the same way: with all three Gardeners beat up and lying on the ground.
At some point, she thought, we're going to start winning.
If only the High Council of Architects would let her get to that point before they insisted she do the impossible.
After only a glance at Lucan to make sure he was breathing steadily—Meia didn't merit any concern, as Meia could survive anything short of a cannon barrage—Shera followed General Teach on her way out of the miniature forest. She knew enough to be impressed at the way the trees had been tucked away in the complex of the Imperial Palace; they were walking on fresh, fertile soil one step and stone tiles the next, having moved from the edge of a park into an open hallway. The entire “forest” was a square, fifty yards to a side, that the Greenwardens had managed to construct in weeks.
Only when they'd left the trees and begun walking through the palace corridors did Shera venture a question. “Was there something special about today's training?”
Teach shot her a sidelong glance. “Special?”
“You've never taken me apart before. That means you have something to say to me and not to the other two.”
It wasn't praise. Teach didn't believe in compliments. It would be some mistake, but if Shera had done something to be reprimanded or punished out of the sight of her two friends, she couldn't think of it.
Then again, there was one other possibility. That the Guild Head meant to discuss the one thing Shera did not have in common with Meia or Lucan: her regular visits from High Councilor Yala. If the Head of the Imperial Guard knew that the Consultants wanted to speed the Emperor on his way to the grave...
At least her death would be quick.
Then again, the Emperor might keep me alive. Or not. There was her indiscretion to consider—she was bound by Imperial command not to disclose the details of her assignment. Telling Yala why the Emperor was keeping three assassins close might be worth Shera's execution on its own. Of course, perhaps the Emperor already knew, and he had chosen not to punish her for his own reasons.
It was a headache to consider, and Shera didn't feel nearly clever enough to unravel all the possible twists and turns of her situation. She would default to her training: keep everything as secret as possible. Safer that way.
Finally, after ten minutes of walking through the palace complex, Teach finally stopped at their destination.
The staff bathhouse.
The bathhouse was actually a separate building from the rest, its walls covered in mosaics of red and white ceramic rather than paint. Steam rose from its high windows.
Shera typically used the shower down the hall from her bedroom, to avoid crowds. Why did Teach care where she bathed?
As the General walked up the path, the two Imperial Guards on duty saluted. A man with prominent, furry ears guarded the men's side, while the woman guarding the women's side saluted with two right hands.
“My guest and I are here to bathe,” Teach said, and the two guards bowed and walked inside.
Beginning twenty seconds later, the bathhouse began to empty. Men bowed to the Guild Head as they hurried out, still buttoning buttons or buckling belts. Women moved even faster and bowed deeper, some running out with wet hair and towels wrapped around them, carrying bundles of clothing under one arm.
None of them complained, which showed the breadth of Teach's authority inside the Imperial Palace.
“Why evacuate the men?” Shera asked. She could roughly understand why the women's bath needed to be emptied—the Head of the Imperial Guard had to take some security precautions. But the men's side was separated by a sturdy wall. There should be no threats from that half.
“For their own protection,” Teach said, and Shera's stomach twisted with nerves. Maybe this would be more dangerous than she'd assumed.
Only when the two guards returned and swore the house was empty did Teach march inside, already beginning to unbuckle her breastplate.
The first room was outfitted in wood, with a long bench in the center and cubbies along the wall to hold discarded clothes. Shera peeled off her blacks in seco
nds, placing her gear in one cubby and her clothes in a second.
Her shears were too big to hide, but she palmed a small knife. Just in case. A knife wouldn't protect her against Teach if the General decided to attack her, but there was always the possibility of another threat.
“What are we doing here?” Shera asked, grabbing a nearby towel and sitting on the bench. She would have to wait for Teach to remove her complex armor, which could take five or six minutes.
The Guild Head stripped off the layers of her armor with practiced ease, causing Shera to revise her estimate downward. It might only take her two minutes to take the armor off completely, and unaided no less. Shera wondered if the speed was thanks to Teach's skills, her enhanced abilities, or the design of the armor.
“We're going to take advantage of this facility's usual purpose,” Teach said dryly. “I suspect we could both use a bath. You must be sweaty.”
It was becoming increasingly rare that Shera didn't end a day covered in sweat. It was hardly worth worrying about, but she didn't complain.
Shera nodded to Teach's sheathed sword, which she had laid on the floor next to the bench. “I've never pictured you letting that out of your sight.”
“I can't very well bathe with it, can I?”
“You're not concerned about thieves?” Anywhere except on the Gray Island, Shera kept burglars and opportunistic robbers at the front of her mind. In her experience, anyone who could make off with something valuable would take the opportunity.
Teach made a gesture as though casting something away. “If there's a thief smart enough to follow me and stupid enough to touch Tyrfang, he deserves what he gets.”
After the cubby room, they entered the second chamber: a series of shower stalls. Shera walked into one, threw her towel over the door, and placed her knife in the corner. She reached up, pulled a chain, and waited.
It was fifteen seconds before the pipes groaned to life, a sputter of water steadily increasing in force. Twenty more seconds before the stream started steaming. Shera stepped under the water, rinsing off.
That stream lasted precisely one minute before the water trickled off. She pulled the chain again, twice this time, and a stream of soapy water came out of the showerhead. The soap was created and mixed in alchemical basins beneath the bathhouse every day, with a certified Kanatalian alchemist down there full-time to ensure the proper mixture.
After another minute of that, she pulled the chain three times, and more water poured down.
Shera left her shower stall as Teach did. Water ran down Shera’s body and into a drain on the sloped floor. She carried her knife under her towel, but didn't bother drying off.
She was sure that Teach would say something now, but Teach walked on without a glance in her direction.
The third room was a vast pool of water, kept perpetually steaming by a combination of alchemy and invested Intent. Instead of walking down the steps and into the water, Teach hopped directly into the pool, sending a wave up and over the sides. It was a breach of propriety that would have set the bath attendants on her if any had been present, but it was a small surprise for Shera.
She had always pictured Teach as the same kind of person as Meia: dedicated to the rules, even when no one was watching. But that little gesture, ignoring even that simple rule, taught Shera something new. The Guild Head was willing to ignore the rules when it suited her.
She wasn't sure what that meant. Probably nothing significant.
Teach leaned back with her elbows against the side of the pool, lounging with her eyes closed. When Shera finally entered the water, keeping her knife palmed and concealed, Teach spoke.
“Stay still for me,” the General said, eyes still closed.
Shera froze, wary. Was this another test? She was growing sick of surprise ambushes, no matter how common they were in a Consultant's life.
Three breaths later, an inhuman squeal came out of nowhere, as though a sheet of metal were being torn in half. Space warped in a dark, smoky haze around Shera and Teach, rippling outward through the bathhouse.
General Teach exhaled and opened her eyes. A smile touched the edges of her mouth, and Shera realized she may have never seen the Guild Head relax before.
“If there was anything alive in the bathhouse besides us,” Teach said, “there isn't now. We can speak freely.”
At least that explained why she'd had the men's bath emptied as well.
“And now that we're secure, the Emperor has asked me to speak with you specifically. He wants me to help you...” She hesitated, as though she was having trouble getting the words out. “...bring him to rest.”
Shera almost relaxed herself, but part of her was still wary of a trap. “Can you help me?”
She worked her jaw in place for a moment. “As I was ordered, I will give you whatever assistance I can to…kill the Emperor.” She fixed eyes with Shera, waiting for the Consultant's response.
Shera couldn't shake the feeling that she was being baited into a trap. When the Emperor's personal guard was offering to help his potential assassin, there had to be a catch.
“Do you want to see the Emperor dead?” Shera asked. People responded more honestly to simple questions; most importantly, they tended to give simple answers.
Teach flinched as if the question pained her. Shera had seen her take a musket-ball to the helmet with less of a change in expression.
“As I said, the Emperor asked me to tutor you personally. My preferences matter not at all.”
So this wasn't her idea. Good to know. That meant that the Guild Head might try to work around the Imperial command, if she got a chance. Under the water, Shera clenched her hand around her hidden knife.
“And what are your preferences?” Shera asked warily.
General Teach studied her. She had a penetrating stare, one that she used to scan for threats and intimidate her lessers, but this was different. She looked honest, curious, somehow more real. As though she had wondered, for the first time, what kind of person Shera was.
Teach raised her hand to her collarbone. “Do you know how I got this?”
A scar ran down her collar and between her breasts, splitting into a ragged X over the center of her chest. Shera had never seen it before today, having never seen Teach in anything less than some form of armor. The general didn't always wear full plate, sometimes opting for mail, leather, or strips of invested cloth, but she was always wearing some kind of protection. Until now.
“I'd guess it has something to do with the Imperial Guard.” Every member of the Guard had one of his or her body parts replaced with a Kameira equivalent, a secret process of alchemy and Reading that the Guild jealously protected. The new limbs gave their bearers enhanced abilities, as well as binding them to the Guild—once you had a monster's arm or a dragon's eye, no one else would accept you.
But Jarelys Teach, the Head of the Imperial Guard, looked completely human. She had no obvious Kameira appendage, no clawed arms or reverse-jointed legs, and yet she obviously enjoyed heightened strength and endurance nonetheless.
Rumor and gossip, therefore, ran rife within the Imperial Palace. Some speculated that her Soulbound Vessel made her enough of a monster for the Imperial Guard, and others that she wore the armor because only her head still appeared human. The rest of her looked more like an insect, or a lizard, or a shifting mass of Elder tentacles, depending on who you asked. Still others whispered that she seemed devoid of emotions because she'd had her heart replaced with that of a Kameira.
It seemed that this last group had struck closest to the truth.
“I failed the physical test for the Imperial Guard,” Teach said, smiling to herself. “Three times, if you can believe it.”
Shera almost couldn't. General Teach was the physically strongest person she'd ever met, and it was a stretch to think of her as frail. Then again, she'd seen firsthand what had happened to Meia.
“But I wouldn't quit. I got it in my head that not only was I going to make it i
n to the Guard, but I was going to aim for the top. You see, at the time, the Guild didn't have anyone who could bond with the sword. So anybody that could touch it and live had a chance to inherit the whole Guild.” Her inflection made it clear that she was talking about Tyrfang, the executioner's blade with lethal Intent that stretched back before the Empire.
“I wasn't the brightest kid, but I had a head like a mule. I didn't quit. After my third time failing, I went straight to the Magisters, asked them what I had to do to carry Tyrfang. They laughed in my face. I tried to apply for the Champions, to see if they would make me stronger, and they said I was too old. The alchemists said I was too poor. All of them said I would be better off begging in the streets than touching the sword.”
She shrugged. “Easy for them to say. They've never tried begging.”
Shera had. It was an increasingly distant memory, but before Maxwell had taken her in—kidnapped her, really—she’d spent her days begging for spare change alongside her drug-addled mother.
Hearing the same from Teach made the woman seem more human, but it roused no emotional response. Plenty of people had hard times in their past. You lived through them and moved on.
“Finally, I'd crept onto the roof of the Imperial Guard barracks.” Laughter slipped into her voice. “Light and life, I haven't thought of this in years. I snuck onto the building, and I waited for sundown. Othaghor take me if I have any idea how I made it. Even then, there were Guards that could see warm bodies through walls, or hear me breathing at fifty paces. Somehow they didn’t see me coming. Anyway, as soon as it got dark, I slipped in at the first changing of the watch. That easy.”
She sank deeper in the water, eyes staring into the past. “Looking back, I know why it was so lightly guarded. There were a hundred men and women eager to catch thieves in there, and nothing worth stealing. Nothing that actually could be stolen, anyway. But I was determined to try taking the sword. Once I had it...I don't know what I was going to do. I had this vague idea of taking it to a Reader and getting him to make it my Vessel.
