Page 70 of Beyond

“I would very much welcome any suggestions from the Record Keeper about how to keep scrutiny off us while we’re emptying the countryside,” she said. “And even more would I welcome ideas about how to keep the Emperor from taking out his ire on the ones left behind. I think about ten percent of them are going to stay, based on what I know right now. And we can’t force them to go, Kordas, so don’t suggest that I bespell them or something to make them go. I won’t do it.”

He shrugged helplessly. I don’t know. I just don’t know. And I certainly can’t lie and say I know, because she knows I don’t know.

But Star had that “listening” look about it again. “The Record Keeper suggests that you and Kordas’s cousin Hakkon have an affair.”

Kordas was glad he wasn’t drinking anything, or he would have choked. He had never seen Isla look so surprised in all the time he had known her, not even when he’d put a grass snake down her back. Her eyes popped, her mouth fell open, and it looked as if someone had hit her on the back of the head. It was several long moments before she took a breath.

“What?” she finally replied. “What the hell?”

“The Record Keeper suggests that you and this Hakkon have an affair,” Star said calmly. “A very open one, where you are often seen going into each others’ bedchambers. The moment any Imperial spy discovers this information, they will buzz about the rumor like flies around jam, and will ignore virtually everything else going on. If you string it on, it will pull the spies along with it.”

“I … I … I …” Isla stammered, for once taken entirely at a loss. She was silent for so long that Kordas began to wonder if she was literally stunned. Finally she spoke. “That’s … not entirely a bad idea.”

“The Record Keeper believes it will occupy their attention,” said Star, “since salacious information is far more attractive to humans than any other sort.”

Kordas just shrugged again. “I have nothing to add to this suggestion,” he said.

“I will …consider it. And consult with Hakkon,” she replied hesitantly.

“You should cease this conversation soon,” Star advised. “The mages are waking.”

“Three days,” said Kordas. “Good luck with the messenger.”

“Three days,” confirmed Isla, and he waved his hand to end the scrying.

Kordas picked up the mirror and hid it again, and glanced over at Star. “Did the Record Keeper really suggest that?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes. The Record Keeper has been studying humans the longest of any of us, and those here at the Palace around the Emperor the most. The Emperor is very fond of salacious information, and even fonder of using it. You may be sure he will wish to hear every possible detail to use in humiliating you and tormenting you. He has done this before, many times.”

“Why?” Kordas asked, unable to help himself. This seemed petty, for someone as powerful as the Emperor.

“This one does not know. The Record Keeper does not know. We can only observe. Our most educated guess is that the Emperor is essentially an awful person.”

Kordas pondered that as he went back to bed, exhausted enough that he wouldn’t need to feign sleeping late. The scrying had taken more out of him this time—possibly because there had been substantial emotional content to it. Possibly because it was still all coming out of him, and he was not about to trust any source of power around here but himself. He might not be “in love” with Isla, and he knew very well that Hakkon had no interest whatsoever in women, but facing the prospect of being lambasted in public as a cuckold was exceedingly unpleasant.

And how was he going to respond to that? He certainly wouldn’t have to imitate being humiliated. Even though he knew it wasn’t true. Even though if Isla had wanted to take a lover, he probably wouldn’t care. Well, he would if they were still married, but if she was truly in love with someone, he’d be perfectly willing to have the bond annulled.

He could only decide, ugly as it was going to be, that he’d have to play at feeling betrayed. Oh, he could pretend not to believe it, but he was pretty certain that when the Emperor or his sycophants pulled this one out of the bag for his humiliation, they’d have lots of evidence he couldn’t deny. And doing something like shrugging and saying, “Well, arranged marriages, don’t you know. I have my own little playthings put where she can’t find them,” wouldn’t give the Emperor what he wanted. No, the Emperor wanted amusement out of his pet bumpkin, and the best amusement for the Emperor seemed to be mental torture. They were getting close to the Regatta, and the closer they got, the more likely it was they’d be discovered. At all costs, the eyes of the Emperor had to be diverted from Valdemar proper, lest the leakage of people and resources be seen.

And we must, for the sake of Valdemar, give the Emperor what he wants.

“This just seems so … petty,” he said aloud, but Star had left, and there was no one there to hear.

“Petty” seemed to be what the Emperor reveled in.

Too much inbreeding, he thought sourly. Though that was not really the answer. The Emperor was a petty, cruel tyrant, a man who was the center of his own universe—but the reasons that he was the way he was? They could be complex.

Maybe the Emperor himself had been bullied and humiliated as a child. Maybe that was why he was the way he was. But Kordas knew well that however tragic an origin, or however brilliantly joyful, such events were only incubation organs for the person who emerged from them. Some terrible people could be redeemed if they weren’t too far gone. Some kind people could turn hate-filled and cruel. Some liars became the most honest, loyal friends possible. Or not. It really was up to them. Some saw the benefits of empathy and helpfulness, and gained the ecstasy of validation by love. Others, not so much, and just a few more weaponized their pasts. Whatever their origin story, an asshole was an asshole.

Or maybe he’s just a stupid, miserable excuse for a pile of shit on two legs who wants to be the cancer he is. I think I like that answer the best. Anything else makes me examine him, and examine myself, and look for pity for him, and that opens up last-moment “but he can change” redemption as an idea, and that’s just stupid. Expose your heart and a viper laughs after it strikes you dead. He’s had decades to change, with every expert available to him, and he chose bloody tyranny. I don’t want to pity him. I just want to be as far away from him as I can get. Let him die.

And then exhaustion took over and he slept again.

* * *

Delia once again marveled at how clever her sister was. Isla had taken the Doll’s advice with a grain of salt. They both knew very well how much sixty thousand of those little slips of paper were going to weigh, and how large the satchel that held them was going to be, and Isla probably didn’t want the messenger to think about that for one moment longer than he needed to. So as soon as the scrying ended, Isla sat in thought for a long moment before standing up. “Go down to the stable, and have Grim harness up one of the ponies to a pony-cart. I’ll be right there to give him further instructions.”

So Delia did just that, as Isla went off in another direction.