“Why me? Surely there are others who have been here longer, who are more deserving.”
This time it was Dusaan’s turn to laugh. “In this case, Minister, the length of one’s service to the emperor is not necessarily proof of one’s worthiness. Still, you ask a valid question. I’ve chosen you-and in the short time that remains, I may well choose a few others-because I see in you qualities that will be of use to the movement in its final days of preparation, and to our people, as we assume authority over the people of the Forelands. You’re not afraid to speak your mind, and when you do, you often make a good deal of sense. Also, your powers are considerable.”
Gorlan looked at Nitara, his pale eyes locking on hers. “Why did you join?”
Because I love this man. Because he is like a god living among mortals. “I saw in the movement a way to improve the lives of our people, to ensure that my children, and their children, would grow up knowing that they could find paths to greatness that didn’t lead through Eandi courts, or leave them subject to the whims of foolish Eandi nobles.”
“But you swore an oath to serve the emperor.” Immediately Gorlan held up a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t answer. I already know what you’ll say.”
“What?” Dusaan asked with interest.
“She’ll tell me that we have a greater duty to our own people, and that there are many types of betrayal. Those who would put their service to the Eandi above such a movement are guilty of the worst kind of treachery.”
The smile returned to the high chancellor’s face. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. The question is, do you truly believe that, or were you merely anticipating her response?”
“You’ll think me a fool for answering this way, but I don’t know.”
“As I say, I admire your willingness to speak your mind.” A smile flitted across the Weaver’s face and was gone. “Even when you don’t know your mind. You have two days to think on it. After that I’ll expect a reply, and believe me when I tell you that I’ll know if you’re lying to me.”
The color drained from Gorlan’s face, but his expression didn’t change. “You don’t worry that I’ll go to the emperor with this?”
“No. I think you understand what will happen if you do. Our victory is close, Gorlan. Very close. And if I have to give myself away a bit sooner than I anticipated by killing you, then so be it.”
Gorlan looked at Nitara one last time, though she couldn’t say for certain what he was thinking. After a moment he stood, nodding to the high chancellor.
“Two days, then,” he said, and left.
A short time later, Dusaan made his way to the emperor’s hall, leaving Nitara in the corridor looking love-struck and just a bit sad. It was fortunate that he had this audience with Harel; much as he disliked the man, it served as a ready excuse to rid himself of the minister. Dusaan still thought her quite attractive-he had every intention of making her one of his queens when the time came-but he found her need of him stifling. She had killed for him, taking her blade to a man she once had loved, no less. There were few among his most trusted servants who could have done what she had. And she would be rewarded accordingly. But he remained convinced that her desire for him was as dangerous as it was bothersome, and that if he allowed her to lure him to her bed too soon, it might destroy all for which he had been working.
A part of him had hoped that she might be drawn to Gorlan; in many ways the minister reminded Dusaan of Kayiv, and also of a younger incarnation of himself. It seemed that these hopes were in vain.
He couldn’t say for certain what he thought Gorlan would decide to do. Faced with such a choice, most men, including those who opposed the movement in their hearts, would join with him and thus save their lives. But the Weaver sensed that this minister was different. In a way this made him that much more eager to have the man as an ally, but it also made what he had done today far more dangerous. If Gorlan concluded that he could not bring himself to join the Qirsi cause, he would go to the emperor. Dusaan was sure of it. There was no greater threat to a movement such as his than a man who didn’t fear death.
Reaching the emperor’s door, he knocked once and waited for one of the guards within to open the door and announce him to Harel. Instead, the door opened, and two guards joined him in the corridor.
They bowed to him, appearing somewhat uncertain of themselves.
“What is this?” he asked. “I was summoned by the emperor.”
“Yes, High Chancellor, we know. But we-” The man stopped, frowning and glancing at his companion.
“By order of His Eminence, Harel the Fourth, Emperor, of Braedon, Holder of the Imperial Scepter, Bearer of the Crown of Curtell, we must ask you to remove any arms you may be carrying before entering the imperial hall.”
He nearly laughed aloud. As if he needed a dagger to kill the man. He took his blade from its sheath and handed it hilt-first to the guard.
The guard swallowed. “We must also ask that you wear this.” He held up a white muslin hood.
Dusaan felt rage surge through him, so suddenly and with such force that it was all he could do not to shatter the man’s skull with a thought.
“What possible reason could the emperor have for asking this of me?” he demanded through gritted teeth.
“He knows that you have many powers, High Chancellor. He believes that you’ll be less capable of using them against him if you can’t see him.”
He would have liked to reveal himself then and there. Damned be his plans and his patience. He could kill them all in a matter of moments. With the help of just a few of the other Qirsi, he could control the entire palace within the hour. But he needed more time. Not much, but enough that he could not allow himself the luxury of venting his fury, at least not yet.
“I don’t get to see him-” He stopped himself, with a smirk and a shake of his head. “I don’t get to speak with him unless I wear this?”
“I’m afraid not, High Chancellor.”
“Very well.”
As they covered his head, tying the hood loosely at his throat, Dusaan vowed that he would avenge this humiliation, that whatever suffering he had originally intended for Harel would be trebled and more.
When the hood was in place, the two guards led him through the doors and into Harel’s hall. A Weaver had powers of perception that went far beyond sight and hearing, though Harel wouldn’t have known this, any more than he knew that Dusaan was a Weaver. It was the Eandis’ ignorance of Qirsi magic as much as anything that would bring their downfall. Even blind, Dusaan could sense the emperor and the other guards. There were eight of them in all. Two of Harel’s wives were there as well, eyeing the high chancellor with curiosity and, he thought, just a touch of amusement.
Laugh all you like, Eandi whores. In the end you’ll suffer as well. All of you will.
The guards led him to Harel’s throne, one on either side of him, as if he were a prisoner rather than high chancellor. Once there, the two men stepped back to the doorway, leaving Dusaan to kneel before the emperor.
“You may rise, High Chancellor,” Harel said, pushing himself from his throne and beginning to circle the chamber.
He hopes to make himself a more challenging target, Dusaan thought with some amusement. As if it would have mattered.
The Weaver stood, facing the throne, though he marked the emperor’s path with his mind. After a moment’s silence, he gestured at the hood. “You do me a disservice, Your Eminence.”
“Forgive me, High Chancellor,” Harel said, sounding anything but contrite. “But I feel safer knowing that you can’t see me. In light of recent events, you can’t blame me for taking certain precautions.”
“Have I given you cause to fear me?”
“The death of my minister-what was his name again?”