Page 90 of The Cradle of Ice
Phenic nodded. “A royal warship and others are being readied as we speak. They intend to take flight with the next bell.”
Wryth groaned and turned to Keres. “Keep monitoring Skerren. Dispatch a skrycrow if there’s any further message.”
Keres frowned. “Dispatch a crow where? Where are you headed?”
“To that warship. Someone must go with Mikaen and try to keep him from another rash act, one that could set fire to all of the Crown.”
Wryth headed away, dragging Phenic with him.
Keres called after him, “Will the prince listen to you?”
Wryth didn’t answer for a simple reason.
I don’t know.
Still, another question plagued him as he left the chamber and rushed upward through the buried levels of the Shrivenkeep. Emperor Makar was a notoriously cautious ruler, one who pondered decisions over lengthy spans of time, seeking counsel from among his thirty-three Chaaens, along with countless soothsayers and bone-readers.
Makar was not one to act recklessly.
So why had the emperor moved so suddenly? Even after the savage bombing, Wryth had expected Makar to be slower in response, to consider and weigh all options before acting.
It made no sense.
What has changed over there?
39
PRINCE JUBAYR BOWED before the fury of his father. The eldest son of Emperor Makar ka Haeshan stood in the center of the judgement chamber atop the Bless’d Tower of Hyka, the ten-eyed god of justice. He kept his gaze lowered, his sandals square in the middle of the executioner’s circle of black onyx. Blood dripped from the scimitar in his hands.
On the far side of the chamber, his father glowered from his tall seat, its back rising in sweeps of golden wings. It was a quarter-sized replica of the imperial Klashean throne, which rose three stories in the main hall’s vault. Behind the chair, situated across three tiers, stood the emperor’s thirty-three Chaaen. Their silver runs of chains cascaded like a bright torrent from those rows to gather around the foot of the small throne.
Behind Jubayr, more tiers held silent witnesses, both members of the imperial court and those who had an interest in the outcome of certain cases.
The entire room waited for the headless bodies of two guards to be dragged away. The pair had manned the entrance to the Abyssal Codex and failed to protect it.
Zeng ri Perrin stood to the left of the throne. His arms were folded into the sleeves of his white robe, its golden embroidery glowing in the torchlight. Jubayr was surprised the Dresh’ri hadn’t also lost his head to atone for the destruction of the imperial librarie. His survival was a testament to the man’s worth to the emperor, both as a counselor and as an intermediary to the mystic worlds.
But not all would be so spared.
The door opened behind Jubayr. The next penitent would not beg for his life like the two guardsmen had. For that Jubayr was grateful. Weighted down by heavy shackles, the Fist of the Paladins entered the chamber. Tykl pa Ree oversaw the palace battalion who protected the royal residence. He had failed and knew the exacting punishment for it.
Jubayr swallowed as the tall man, dressed in light armor, marched into the room. Even shackled, he carried his helm under one arm. His gray hair and beard had been freshly oiled, likely by his wife and two daughters. Without needing to be dragged, Tykl stepped atop the penitent circle of white marble, though presently it was awash in fresh blood.
Tykl knelt, setting his helm aside. “I accept the judgement of Hyka and the emperor who embodies His justice.”
Makar nodded, sighing away some of his anger. Tykl had served the imperial household for longer than his father had been emperor. None had come to harm under his watchful attention.
Until two days ago.
The emperor stood. “You’ve served us well, Tykl pa Ree, for that your family will be spared the sword.”
Tykl bowed his head in thanks.
“But punishment must be enacted according to Hykan Code.”
“I would expect nothing less, Your Illustriousness.” Tykl lifted his head, baring his throat. “It has been my honor to serve you as Fist of the Empire.”
Makar motioned to his son, clearly wanting to make this quick for all of them. Regret shone in his father’s eyes. But even an emperor must adhere to the strict code of justice written four millennia ago. In this regard, his father was as chain-bound as any of them.
