Page 68 of The Poet Empress
“What use is building roads when we have enemies everywhere?”
“Doesn’t the first son seem a little weak? All he does when he returns to the fortress is sleep.” A bout of mocking laughter.
Maro ducked his head as he sped up his walk. He was dimly aware that he could have them beheaded for the way they spoke—he was too young to issue the command himself, though he could tell Commander Remi or someone else with the authority. But what would that accomplish?
Everyone would think even less of him.A prince who can’t take criticism,they would say, only more in private.He is as despotic as he is worthless.
And besides, he didn’t want to kill anyone. Especially when they were right.
He crawled into his bed and lay there for a long time. He was tired enough that he just wanted to go to sleep, but the day was a momentous one. So eventually, despite the stone-heaviness in every limb and the ringing pain in his skull, Maro forced himself to sit at his desk and write in his journal.
He was still awake when Terren entered with a tray of food—steaming buns, cumin lamb skewers, and hot water that smelled vaguely of honey. “Master Len said you haven’t eaten anything all night.”
Maro kept his eyes on his journal. “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”
Terren put the tray on the desk, beside Little Sparrow, and gave him one of his kitten hugs. “You know, I’m really happy. About my sigil.”
“Good for you.”
“Because I can protect you now. Instead of always the other way around.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“Family is for keeping each other safe.”
“We’re not a real family.”
“And one day, when you’re better, we can spar again.”
“I’m not going to get better.”
“You won’t have to be mad at me this time, ’cause I’ll play the game right.”
“I’ll always be mad at you.”
“Maybe I’ll even learn to use a steel sword!”
“Go away.”
“I love you, Maro.”
“Go away.”
Little by little, the Salt Road crawled towards completion—but it was no longer what was top of everyone’s mind. Instead, they were all speculating on what missions Terren would be sent on once a response finally came from the capital.
“I told you,” Master Ganji said bitterly. “The Maple Pavilion has come to sabotage us. I did not think there could be anything that would overshadow the Salt Road, yet here we are. We should never have let that usurper and his advisors stay.”
Maro kept his head down and worked silently. Whether there was fanfare around it or not, the Salt Road still needed to be built. The nation still needed his magic.
On the day the delegation from the palace finally did arrive, both brothers—along with the entire fortress—waited eagerly by the gate. It was near sunset, but heavy clouds had come to cover the mountains, and instead of a spectrum of brilliant colors there was only gray. The imperial messenger gave updates on shifts within the Great Clans, promotions and demotions of important officials, new memorials the emperor had stamped.
Then, an edict for Terren.
It was written in the pen of the emperor himself, detailing the second son’s next mission. Terren was allowed to remain at Fallen Sun Pass until the completion of the Salt Road—I sensed that Hesin had done some persuasion work behind the scenes—but after that, he was to immediately ride to the occupied district of Tieza, in the north. It was as everyone had speculated: his first campaign would be against the Lian.
An army of seven thousand men would meet him there, along with martial artists from the Fog Enclaves and one of Tensha’s best living generals, Cao Myn, the Evening Tide. It was going to be one of the most monumental campaigns since the Shouyuan era.
The entire fortress was abuzz with excitement at the news. Soldiers and military men were jostling each other to approach Terren or his advisors, asking if they would bring them on the mission. There had been no greater source of shame for Tensha in recent years than having lost Tieza-North; retaking it would be a huge step towards restoring the dynasty’s glory. And everyone wanted a piece of it.
