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birthing than any decent bride should. On the plains they open their legs to men and beast alike and drop bastards in the grass without a second thought.”
    “Mesema had no plains-children, Mother.” Sarmin took his hand from Daveed before anger tightened it. “She was taken too young from her family. She needs the Old Wives round her—she has laboured two days and a night.”
    “She has Old Wives—”
    “Only Lana is with her, and the Little Mother was never strong, less so since Beyon’s passing. Mesema needs strength now.”
    “My place is with my son,” Nessaket said, “I cannot leave him.” Sarmin turned to go.
    “The gods will strike you down the day you listen to those old men,” his mother said.
    No ifs. She already thinks I will break, that it’s just a matter of time.
    “The only danger to Daveed is your fear, Mother. Herran tells me of these plans to spirit my brother away to the estate of this lord or that lord, to use this passage, that guide. Fear breeds fear. The more you do to take the child from the palace the more the council mistrust your motives.” He sounded tired even to himself as he stepped towards the doorway. “Watch my brother well.” His hand still held the child’s warmth. He looked down at it, half expecting to find it bloody.
    Corridors led him and for a time Sarmin walked without direction. Bodyguards shadowed his path, dark as befits shadows, slave-bred swordsons from the Islands.
    If Mother knew that five men loyal to me guard Daveed for each of hers, what then would she think? He stopped before an archway. Beneath it Huna, last champion of the Parigols, stood outnumbered by Cerani, proud and many. Perhaps it’s in our blood to glorify our enemies and overlook the heroes of our own.
    “Magnificence!” A pale man running, wrapped in the blue silks of a servant, sashed in gold to denote command. “Magnificence!”
    “Paper!” For a moment Sarmin couldn’t remember the man’s true name. Even now it felt strange for Paper to speak after seventeen years serving in silence. “Charging at the emperor is a good way to lose height.” He spread his hands to calm the guards who had stepped in close. True to their training they relaxed only by the merest fraction, as if humouring him. Threats don’t vanish just because the emperor does not see them.
    “A child, my emperor!” Paper caught his breath and remembered himself. He fell into his obeisance. “The empress is delivered of a child, Mirra be blessed!”
    “Is she well? Is Mesema well? Are they both well?” A hollowness filled him.
    “Tired, Magnificence, but she is well. As is your son.”
    “A son?” How many gods had he asked for a daughter? “A son?” Beyon’s son. The true emperor.

CHAPTER SIX

    NESSAKET
    N essaket sat and watched her son Daveed. An hour ago he had begun to cry for his milk, a strong, healthy cry that seared her chest, but she did not lift him from his bed. He remained where his brother Sarmin had put him, waving his tiny fists and punching his feet at the ceiling. Over time his wailing grew thin, until finally he turned his face to the blankets, sucking at the silks, making little noises of disappointment. Shadows gathered around him, settling into the folds of his blankets, the curves of his hands and the hollows of his eyes. With the darkness came a chill, but she did not cover him. Perhaps the cold would sink in, make him frail, carry him off to his dead brothers. Perhaps that would be a mercy.
    Before the little savage pushed forth her cursed boy, Sarmin had named Daveed as his heir and promised never to hurt him. But within an hour everything had changed. Now Sarmin had a son and Daveed was both more and less than he had been. More of a threat, less of a necessity. Her prayers to Mirra had gone unanswered. Tuvaini lay in his tomb, Arigu remained far away in Fryth and she was alone.
    A wail rose from deep within her, but she made her throat tight so all that escaped was a