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I bring my attention back to Quin, pulling him away from the others so they aren’t disturbed. “No need for quarters in the garrison,” I tell him. “Has everyone arrived?”
“We wait only on the Emperor,” Quin says. The old man is a bit paler than before, having barely survived a brutal fight with his daughter.
“I have something for you,” he tells me, fishing a silver object out of his cloak. He opens his hand to reveal a mask.
“Elias’s,” he says. “You gave it to me last year. It will join with you, I think. The way it never joined with my grandson.”
I reach out to touch the living metal, warm and pliant. What a comfort it would be to wear a mask again, to remind all who encounter me of what I am.
“I thank you, Quin.” I run a finger along the pale slashes that mark my cheeks. “But I’ve gotten used to the scars.”
He nods and pockets it, before taking in my mud-spattered armor, my scuffed boots. About the only part of me that’s neat is my hair, and only because Laia insisted on re-braiding it while I was eating.
“A bit of mud on my armor won’t hurt, Quin,” I say. “It will remind the Paters that we just won a battle.”
“Your call,” he says. “The Emperor is en route and will be here within the hour. We have a pavilion ready for you and him in the garrison’s training grounds. Keris’s generals are chained and waiting to swear fealty there. I’ve had the troops form up, as you requested.”
Laia and the others join me, and we make our way through the empty camp, toward the vast training grounds, wide enough to accommodate the army: three thousand Martials and Scholars, and another two thousand Tribespeople—some of whom will settle in Estium while the Empire helps rebuild the cities of the Tribal desert.
A viewing area overlooks the grounds, and I make for a black canopy slung over a dozen chairs. Only a few yards away, Keris’s allies kneel in a row, chained to rings in the earth.
The clatter of hooves breaks up the buzz of conversation. A column of Masks led by Dex enters the grounds, with a carriage following. When it rolls to a stop, Coralia and Mariana Farrar emerge, Zacharias held to Coralia’s shoulder. He is fast asleep. Tas pops out afterward, and when he sees Laia, he runs straight for her.
“You’re alive!” He nearly bowls her over with the force of his hug. “Rallius owes me and Dex ten marks. Rallius—” The boy runs back to the big Mask, who shifts uneasily under Laia’s flinty gaze.
I’m inclined to run to my nephew, but I merely quicken my step, meeting him at the pavilion. Mariana murmurs a greeting, while Coralia drops into a half curtsy.
“Hail, Blood Shrike,” she says. “He was in a bit of a mood when he fell asleep.”
“Likely he’s as excited as I am about sitting through this.” I kiss my nephew gently on the head, hoping he’ll sleep through what will no doubtbe a great deal of gibbering and groveling from Keris’s former allies.
Coralia winces when Zacharias shifts, fearful he will wake. But to my surprise, Mamie steps forward and takes the child with firm hands. He opens his eyes, looks around, and scowls, his tiny nose red.
“He should not be in such thin clothing.” Mamie glowers at Coralia and Mariana, and holds a hand out to Laia. The Scholar offers her cloak without a moment’s hesitation. Mamie wraps Zacharias in it, offering him her brilliant smile. He stares at her as if she is the most fascinating person he’s ever seen. Then he smiles back.
“Do not worry for the child.” Mamie dismisses Coralia and Mariana with a wave. “I will make sure he does not disturb you.”
“Blood Shrike.” Musa settles into a seat behind me and looks to the other end of the grounds. “Your audience has arrived.”
I follow his gaze to the half a hundred Scholars in attendance—many familiar from Antium. Close by, hundreds of finely dressed men and women file into the viewing area. Paters and Maters from all over the Empire. Some are my allies, and some were Keris’s. There are as many Mercators and Plebeians as there are Illustrians. All told, they represent nearly five hundred of the Empire’s most powerful families.
Quin glances over and I nod approvingly. When those Paters and Maters witness Keris’s most stalwart allies on their knees, they will know to never challenge our emperor again.
The TribalZaldarsappear soon after, and once they are seated, Quin steps out from the pavilion.
“Paters and Maters, Scholars and Tribespeople—I beg your attention.” Quin’s voice booms across the training field and up the terraced seats.
“Five centuries ago,” Quin says, “Taius was named Imperator Invictusfor his prowess in battle. In time, he was named Emperor. Not because of his family. Not because he ruled by fear. And not because a group of white-haired mystics decided they knew what was best for the Empire. Taius was hailed Imperator Invictus because when our people suffered, he saved them. When they were divided, he united them.”
I frown at Quin and glance at the Scholars. “United them” is a rather inaccurate way of saying “decimated and enslaved our enemy.” This was not the speech he and I agreed upon.
“Like Taius, Helene Aquilla fought for our people—”
I start. Quin did not call me Blood Shrike. Instantly, I understand his intention.
“Quin,” I hiss.
But the old man thunders on. “Helene Aquilla could have left Antium to suffer the yoke of Karkaun rulership,” he says. “Instead, she rallied her troops and liberated the city. Helene Aquilla could have fallen to despair when her sister, the Empress Regent, was killed. Instead, she called up her army to seek revenge on the greatest traitor the Empire has ever known—Keris Veturia. Helene Aquilla could have stolen back the Empire for her nephew. Instead, she fought for all of the living—Scholars, Tribespeople, and Martials alike.”
