Page 78 of The Poet Empress
“Father wants me near the old capital. He’s prioritizing debt repayment—the Great Clans with businesses there are pressuring us to build them new vineyards and plum orchards. And after that, we’re going to export apricots and golden loquats on the Salt Road, to replenish our treasury.”
“Ah,” Maro said quietly. “It makes sense. We have borrowed heavily in the years after Jinzha’s reign.”
They sat in silence for a while longer, then Isan yelled, “Look! Look! A burning star!”
Maro did; above them, a bright red streak cut across the sky and vanished.
“It’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Isan spun to look at Maro, eyes shiny with excitement. “On the day of my celebration, too! What do you think it means?”
Ten thousand stars in the sky, but only the burning ones made people pay attention. Maro smiled and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “It means you’re worthy, Isan. That one day, you can become anything.”
The time of no other options came the summer Maro turned eighteen, when Master Ganji called an urgent meeting. It was the first time the emergency signal had ever been used, and the entire council showed up thoroughly alarmed.
“We’re out of time,” snapped Master Ganji. “While you have been busy playing your little political game, Maro, our competition has been writingthe Aricine Ward. And he is just days away from finishing it.”
Maro’s whole body went cold. The spell his tutor spoke of was the most legendary spell in all of Tensha. The one the Metal Scorpion hadused to take down the First Emperor. The one that made its targetunable to die.
If Terren cast the spell successfully, his path to becoming emperor was virtually guaranteed. Their father, who favored strength, was sure to name the moreinvincibleof his sons heir—and even if he didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. Terren could simply seize the Crown by force.
And not one person would be capable of stopping him.
“I didn’t even know that spell was real,” stammered Mei Yu.
“It’s real,” said one of the black-robed literomancers in the room. “But it is widely regarded as the most difficult spell to write. Near impossible. Since the Metal Scorpion, it has not been done—and even the Metal Scorpion took a decade to compose it.”
But Terren could.Without a question. It would have taken him years as well, to be sure, but he was good enough to write anything.
From the looks on everyone else’s faces, Maro knew that they were all thinking the same.
“Are we sure he is writing it?” asked Master Len, white brows furrowing.
Master Ganji passed a paper around the room. “This is a copy of one of his verses. Look at it. Just look at it. Any literomancer with any competency can see it for what it is—and tell it is just a few lines away from completion.”
He was right. It was not a long segment of the poem, but Maro recognized it like he would the shape of a dragon. And from the subtle hum of the paper, from the way it glowed hot, he could tell just how close it was to being completed.
And the diction. The rhythm of the lines. The flow. There was no question who the author was. Maro would have recognized his brother’s poetry anywhere.
“Where did you get this from?” he asked, his voice shaky.
“Lady Autumn,” Master Ganji replied.
“What?”
Everyone else seemed just as shocked. Terren’s own mother, working against him? Things must have become truly dire in the East Palace.
“The window is short,” Master Ganji said, bringing the meeting back to focus. “Wemustend him before he finishes the spell.” When he said thelast sentence, he looked directly at Maro, as if expecting protest. But this time, Maro had nothing left to say.
For the rest of the afternoon, the council discussed strategy.
“Poisoning won’t work. The East Palace has silver needles and tasters in abundance.”
“We can’t break in with force either. His sigil is a strong one. We can’t bring bladed weapons anywhere near him.”
“Martial artists?”
“He’ll gut them before they can even get close.”
“Arrows, perhaps.”
