The Holy City was burning.
It was late, but Korvan was not asleep. He stood in his darkened council chamber, gazing out the window. He was often here of an evening, whiling away the hours when rest would not come to his uneasy mind. Yorek was almost always at hand on nights like this, a silent companion; he was there now, sitting with a goblet of wine and awaiting Korvan's pleasure.
The emperor was watching as a distant quarter of the city went up in flames. The fire was brilliant in the night, drawing the eye, and Korvan found it impossible to look away. Plumes of black smoke billowed up, wafted over the pale blue orb of the first moon, and finally became invisible against the autumn night sky. This chaos was taking place in a low part of the city, a place where only Arcborn rabble lived, and the emperor was unmoved by the sight. He knew that his soldiers and his mages would control the blaze and keep it from touching anything of importance.
"Wine, Your Grace?" asked Yorek.
"No," Korvan said without turning. Something in the Sovereign Square had caught his eye: a figure on horseback, cantering through the square. Even from so high above the square, Korvan recognized the stocky form. The figure was followed by two soldiers, also mounted. When the leader of the trio reached the statues in the center of the square, he threw himself off of his horse and ran with a familiar gait. It was Prince Koren.
Something stirred in the depths of Korvan's heart: a sense of wrongness, a sense of fear. He pushed away the feeling and turned to face the door of the council chamber, clasping his hands behind his back. "I think there is news," he said.
Yorek rose to his feet, leaving his goblet on the long council table. "I pray it is happy news, Your Grace," he said.
But Korvan did not pray, and he knew better than to hope. The search of the city went on apace, and any news from that front could wait until morning. No; he thought Koren brought urgent news of the raid on Hanpe.
Time passed. In his mind's eye, Korvan pictured his oafish elder son clattering up the stairway and charging like a bull down the polished hallways of the palace, huffing and sweating. It was a distasteful image, but there was little about Koren that pleased the emperor.
The door burst open a few minutes later, and Koren stumbled in, ruddy-faced and panting. He had not knocked. He made no obeisance and gave no greeting; his wild gaze swept the dark room until he saw Korvan standing near the window, silhouetted against the hellish light of the conflagration.
"Kaori is dead," Koren said.
The shock of it clutched Korvan's heart with icy fingers. His first conscious thought was regret: regret that he had lost Kaori rather than this other son. He drew a breath and lifted his chin. "And Mhera?"
"Lost." Koren shook his head. "Message said only that they couldn't find her."
"The message."
"Aye, a bird from Ellishan. What remains of the force we sent into the Duskwood limped their way to the southern post. Useless bastards." Koren had caught his breath now. He took a few steps forward, thrusting a hand into the pouch at his waist. Before he could reach Korvan, Yorek stepped smoothly around the council table to intercept the prince.
"Your Highness," Yorek said, extending a hand at the same time as he made a slight bow. "I thank you."
Koren cast a dark look at the councilor, then thrust a slip of grubby paper into the portly man's hand. Yorek crossed the room and reached out to touch a spirit globe. The enchanted object cast a pallid light, and Yorek squinted at the missive. "Prince Kaori fallen. Lady Mhera not recovered. Three score men remain. Await His Grace's command."
Korvan closed his eyes. He could hear his son slump into a chair, his armor creaking. The boy smelled of smoke and filth, even from across the room.
"Father," Koren said. His tone was suddenly hollow. "Father, he's gone."
The emperor turned back to the window and opened his eyes. He stretched out a thin, shaking hand to rest against the window sill of cold stone. "He should not have gone. He is not a fighting man. I forbade him."
"How can you have forbidden him? I urged him to take up the sword. He could not bear to sit idle while—" Koren slammed his fist down onto the long stone table. "But she must be dead."
"We cannot know what she suffered at their hands," Yorek said. "Goddess grant rest to her blessed soul, and to Prince Kaori's."
Korvan could not spare the energy, the anger, to properly address what Koren had said. To know that Koren was responsible for Kaori's fatal choice to disobey him, to go to Hanpe ... He drew a shaking breath to control himself. "They have taken everything from me," he said. Now that Yorek had illuminated the spirit globe, he could see his own face reflected in the pane of glass, a ghostly image overlaying the burning city.
He felt like a shadow of himself, and it was all the fault of those wretched, tainted people.
The Arcborn had taken his peace, his happiness, his family; they had taken from him the hope of a future which once had been secure. They had taken his favored son, Koreti. They had taken Kaori, his last chance for a proud legacy. And they had taken Mhera, the innocent, the niece he loved as a daughter.
"Father, we must crush them," said Koren. "We must—"
"What?" Korvan turned to regard Koren, fixing him with a stare. He disliked the sight of the boy, slumped in his chair with his sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He would make no emperor. But now he was all that was left. "What would you propose we do?"
"March on them. Take a force they cannot best. Go to them and burn their forest to the ground."
"And then, with our city left undefended? What will you do about the riots in the streets, Koren? What will you do when they march upon the palace and drag your wife, screaming, from her bed?"
Koren hesitated. He raked a hand through his hair, and scratched the back of his head. Looking at him turned Korvan's stomach. "We shall keep enough here to defend our own."
The emperor's mouth twitched into a frown. He watched Koren's piggish eyes searching his face, desperate. The boy sensed that he had failed this test. Korvan crossed the room toward the door. Yorek followed a pace behind.
"Father, wait!" Koren stood up and, in a few quick paces, moved past Korvan. He turned to face the emperor, interrupting his progress. "Wait. Tell me what I must do, and I will do it."
Korvan felt old, very old. Nevertheless, he drew his authority around him like armor and stood as tall as he ever had. He looked down at Koren, seeing nothing of himself in that broad, stupid face. "I shall be brief, and I shall be blunt, Koren."
Koren nodded. "Good—tell me."
"Kaori would have been my choice to succeed me to the throne. An imperfect son, but the best choice. His passions, at least, were tempered with prudence. He had no head for war, but he had a mind far superior to yours. He has been taken from me."
Koren appeared to think for a moment. Hurt crossed his features, but it was followed by something else: triumph. Korvan watched as his eldest son realized that what he had always wanted would be his—the crown. It must be, after all. Both of Koren's brothers were dead.
"Yes, my son. The crown must fall to you."
Koren sank to kneel at his father's feet, looking up at him. Victory gleamed in his eyes.
"You must do one thing for me, Koren. There is one thing I ask of you."
"Anything, Father—speak, and it is my command!"
Korvan reached out one hand to rest on Koren's shoulder. He pushed him hard to the side, and Koren fell sprawling onto the polished floor. He looked up at his father with a bovine, bewildered expression on his face.
"Stay out of my way."
Korvan passed out of the council chamber, his soft court shoes making hardly a sound. Yorek hurried to catch up to him. As the two men turned down the hallway, Korvan said, "Bring me the archmage."
***
Emperor Korvan and his councilor were in the grand dining hall when Archmage Jaeron came to them, seen in by a Starborn servant. Korvan had rid the palace of all the Arcborn, and already the place seemed brighter. Purer.
Korvan was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, staring up at the portrait that hung on the wall. In it, Esaria was young and beautiful. Kaori and Koreti were young and beautiful, too.
"Your Grace."
Korvan cast a brief glance at the archmage, catching the man's bow, which was barely more than a nod of the head. Without invitation, Jaeron moved across the room, approaching the emperor.
Looking up again at the portrait, Korvan let his gaze linger on the painted image of his middle son, Kaori. "Archmage. Thank you for coming. It is late."
"Your Grace knows I am at Your Grace's service, no matter the hour."
"Please, be seated." Korvan moved to take his own seat at the head of the long table. Tea awaited them on an ornate platter. Korvan himself poured a cup for the archmage, but he took none for himself and offered none to Yorek.
"I need something from you, Jaeron. Your prison was not sufficient to hold the rebel leader, Matei. I thought him no more than a nuisance, but now that Rhodana has been dealt with, this other is a thorn in my side. In fact, he has come to threaten the very order of our realm. I intend to restore it."
The archmage picked up his tea, set the small cup to his lips, pretended to taste it. "I am not unaware of the chaos that reigns in the western part of the city. If I may in any way assist Your Grace, it will be my pleasure."
"I intend to purge the Holy City of the evil-blooded. I intend to leave none of them standing within our walls. They are a blight and a curse, and there is but one benefit to their presence here."
"I think I understand, Your Grace."
"Prince Koren will lead the assault. He is good at breaking things. He shall have the support of my captains of the guard. You will supervise the effort to capture what we may of their power as we rid ourselves of this menace. And, archmage ..."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"It would benefit us to make clear to those outside of our city what is happening. Find me someone who can serve as such a messenger. I wish to draw their leaders out like pus from a wound."
***
Very early the next morning, when the rose moon hung low in the sky and dawn drew close, Korvan lay in his bed. Shed of his embroidered coat, his gleaming crown, and his attendants, he reposed in a simple linen nightshirt, just a man.
He would not sleep that night, not that it mattered. The world he knew, the one he and his ancestors had built, was falling down around him. He could have no true rest until he restored order and balance to his world.
The one chance he had to restore what had been taken was to kill the rebel king. He should have done it before, when he had had both of them in hand. He had seen to the end of the queen, but her whelp he had misjudged; now, even in the Holy City, the Arcborn peasants were restive and violent. Because of their so-called rebel king, they thought they had the right to more than they had been given.
Korvan had been shown the foolishness of waiting. When one has a chance to crush an enemy, any enemy, one must take it. He knew that now.
Beneath his embroidered blanket, Korvan twisted the simple golden band he wore on his finger round and round. It was smooth and warm beneath his fingertips. Familiar.
Esaria had given him this ring when they wed. Beautiful, sweet Esaria. The world had loved and honored her. She had been a white rose, the perfect wife for him. From the moment they had met, she had been as biddable as she was elegant and lovely.
Turning his head, Korvan looked at the empty space beside him in his bed. Another man, widowed and alone, would have taken a new wife, or at least a mistress. But not Korvan. No pretty face nor comely silhouette would ever turn the emperor's head again.
Esaria had been his one and only wife, his one woman. After her, he had never so much as looked twice at another.
No; for him, Esaria had been quite enough.