Though it was the Emperor’s private day, the amphitheatre built under the left corner of the Iron Palace was filled. Nineteen of the twenty seats were taken, and several men and women stood on the stage before them. Aside from the crowded auditorium, only the Aura moved about the royal grounds. Aralim waited patiently on a stage as each of the candidates for the empty seat of Selected gave their introductions.
A short man with three rows of dark hair on the top of his head acted as the organizer of the audience session. He finally faced Aralim, from below the short stage, and said, “Please introduce yourself, Aralim.”
Aralim had never met the man, but the man knew him. Had he been there when Aralim first appeared before the Third Court with Miresh? It was ironic to introduce himself after that, but he said, “I am Aralim, a Walker of the Path. The Path has led me to the city of Rema from lands far south of here. My friend Miresh is apprentice to Grand Mage Rattar.”
There were a few more after Aralim too. Next, each candidate was asked a few questions, some basic, some specific. One of the candidates was Hov’na the lord of a nearby town known as Vagar, and another an enormous merchant from Rainrest known as Kivrad. Some people had vast plans they hoped to enact if given the opportunity to sway the minds of the Selected, such as a trading network that would require a new safe haven be built north of Nokire, in the Expanse. Aralim wasn’t certain why he was there aside from the request he’d received. He didn’t have any lands or holdings here.
At last his came turn. The organizer began with a few basic questions. “Where do you reside, Master Aralim?”
“Here in the city, on West Corid Avenue,” Aralim said.
“Do you have an estate then?”
Aralim shrugged. “I stay on the Emperor’s property.” A sigh went through the seats of Selected. They were not disappointed by his words—they were thrilled.
“And on what wealth do you live? Inheritance, industry?” the spokesperson asked. He smiled to Aralim.
“Also the Emperor’s,” Aralim said. Smiles appeared, but a few members of the Selected did not seem moved by irony of their situation and the other candidates gave him glares. Aralim tipped his head after the basic questions were done. “What other things would you ask of me?”
A thin man with an enormous wiry beard stood up. “Master Aralim, as a foreigner, what sort of responsibility or care do you have in helping to govern Rema?” The man sat back down to listen to his reply.
“I am a Walker of the Path,” Aralim said, inhaling. Had he not already said this? “My residence here is due to my interest in the power that has sustained this empire for so long. The easiest way for me to further myself along the Path from here is to attempt to use my power to strengthen an already great empire.”
A few nods were given at his praise of their land. The man who had posed the problem gave a nod and beckoned for the process to continue. Another stood up, a Raderan with a scar on his shaved scalp. “But what if you find another land with more power? Would you leave or would you stay?” A few others glared at the man’s nerve and potential disrespect of their fine city.
Aralim stifled a grin. “Do other nations have an Eternal Emperor, or the opportunity to one-day work along side him?”
A few applauded his words with an errant clap of hands or a smile. No one else posed a question to him.
“Thank you, Master Aralim,” the spokesperson said, after a moment passed. “We’ll make our decision in a few days.”
“I look forward to walking alongside you all soon,” Aralim said, with a smile.
“Next…” The speaker said. Aralim patiently waited for the audience session to end, as the remaining two or three candidates answered questions for the Selected.
When they were done, he walked over to the meditation hall and sat with Miresh for a while. The Iron Palace always felt so quiet and so tranquil on the Emperor’s day off, but the city of Rema produced enough din—hammers, saws, horses, harlots, swords—to echo into an indiscernible moan breezing through the leaves of Rattar’s precious kapok tree.
“How did it go?” Miresh asked him, when she finally opened her eyes. No vision.
“Fine,” Aralim said. “But I guess if I don’t get the position I won’t see any of them again. I generally go directly to the First Court with any of my problems.”
Miresh laughed, and even Rattar quirked a smile.
On the walk home from the Palace, Aralim thought more about Rattar. One of these days he would need to get to the bottom of that conundrum—‘Rattar’s flawed Crux’, as it had been called by General Ro and then by Grandfather Athanu. He passed a big tower, an ancient military outpost from the original days of Rema, and admired the enormous stone architecture.
When he reached West Corid Avenue, he moved on to thinking about other things. Hayan was probably in there reciting his lines yet again. He only had a few, in verse, and they made little sense to Aralim without the context of the play. He stepped away from his estate to let a large carriage wheel past. Then he had to push through the throng of citizens in its wake to reach his front gate. And even then, a short man with a long black braid was standing between the street’s edge and the metal gate.
“For you, sir,” the man mumbled, and pushed a folded parchment into Aralim’s free hand.
The Walker paused, leaning on his lantern staff and frowned. The man kept walking, and Aralim’s eyes followed him down the street and to the corner of a large general store. He carefully opened the letter and read its contents to himself.
“Your audition is complete. After retiring to your quarter momentarily, please exit your estate via the garden wall, unseen. Spend an hour socializing at an inn of your choice on Corid Avenue and then walk along the river front near Tathier. –O.”
Aralim glanced at the back of the page, shook his head, and walked inside. He said hello to Ko’nagar, listened to a few lines from Hayan, and then went upstairs. Without his usual robe, he started through the garden behind the estate. He used the old wooden door in the back corner, and cut through a few alleys before returning to Corid Ave. There was an inn he’d never been to about twenty minutes away called the Tall Stock Hall. He played some cards, the games he’d been taught by Naeen and Hayan, and drank mead, not ale. After an hour had passed and he’d lost a bit of the Emperor’s gold, he sought out the river and travelled north to the district of Tathier.
At one point, he was walking past one of the many docked boats along the Ake’ma River. The wooden deck was painted dark red, though it was flaking in some places, and the large cabin adorned with meaningless flags and white banners. A servant in front of the boat, a tall woman with a smooth green tabard draped down her long torso, held out her hand and stopped him. “They await you within,” she told him.
Aralim sighed and boarded the river boat. He waited a moment to collect himself before entering the small wooden cabin. Inside, he found Aglo and Ovoe, with a wine table between them and a third cushioned seat unoccupied.
“What a surprise, meeting you two here,” Aralim said.
Ovoe smiled. “Welcome, Aralim. Would you like wine?”
Aralim sat down on the cushions and shrugged. “I’m fine without, but if you wanted to drink my share, I’d appreciate it.”
“Ooh, I think I will,” Aglo said, pouring himself more wine. He was an enormous man, covered in swirling tattoos of mosaic design.
“Good to see you both in good spirits.”
Ovoe’s good spirits persisted, though he immediately got to business. “In arranging Miss Athanu’s rise to the Second Court, you’ve proven your usefulness to me, but not yet your loyalty. I am the master of information—I will answer any one question, if it’s in my ability to do so, as a reward for what you’ve done for me. Then we will discuss how you may prove your loyalty and become a true part of our cause.”
Aralim blinked. One question… that was his reward?! He should’ve taken the wine, he thought, but it was an internal jest. He was dealing with some swindler or snake-oil salesman, where the wrong wording or wrong question might be the last he got. Ovoe took a drink of wine while he waited for Aralim’s words. “It was once mentioned to me that Rattar wields a flawed crux. Do you know what it is, or why it is flawed?”
“We’ve long sought to answer the same riddle,” Ovoe said. He folded his arms and continued, “Posed by Grandfather Athanu, but it seems the solution is known only to General Ro… Ask another question.”
With an exhale, Aralim leaned further back in the cushions. He was given a second chance. “Last I saw you, you mentioned that you mostly understood the last words of the attacker on the palace. What exactly is the lie, and where did that man come from?”
“I cannot answer where that attacker came from quite yet, though I’d prefer to scapegoat your two questions by only answering that one, if I could. I can answer the other, however,” Ovoe said, quietly.
Of course he’d catch Aralim’s double question and shut that down.
“I don’t know how the man knew it, perhaps it was the ramblings of death’s reaching grip upon his mind.” Ovoe leaned forward and ran a hand through his long white hair, pushing it back behind his head. With a furrowed brow, he told Aralim: “But there is one massive lie in the heart of the Iron Palace. The Emperor is not a magician.”
Aralim blinked. It was surprising—Tag’na had given Miresh tips on magic a number of times, he was served by the magical Aura, his closest friend was a great wizard. That was likely intentional, now that Aralim considered it. But it didn’t change much. “Is that really that much of a discovery? Not being the one behind his longevity does not change his status as ‘eternal’.”
Ovoe scoffed. “It’s true. It may not reveal a weakness we can exploit. But it simplifies his downfall. One less variable, one less Crux to understand or spell to overcome. Of course, it goes without saying, this secret entered your ears, but does not leave your lips.”
Aglo leaned forward. He rivalled Narr and Karmawn in size and her certainly should not have been crammed into a tiny boat cabin like this. “Tell the religious worshippers that he is not a magician… the secret has much more power then.”
“They think him a deity not a magician,” Aralim said. “This truth could easily lend him power, rather than steal it. But it does mean the greatest obstacle is likely Rattar.”
“Agreed,” Ovoe said. He took a sip of his wine, scowled and poured more. “But your young friend and he are close, which means your loyalties may be compromised, in my books. My next task for you will be far grimmer than the first. Complete it, and I will no longer suspect the Emperor has a hand in your actions.”
Aralim pursed his lips. “I’m unlikely to agree to a task without hearing it, for a second time, Ovoe, but I’m not necessarily scared of grim scenarios.”
Ovoe smirked. “More than two hundred years ago, Tag’na’s wife Lira passed away. Four years ago, one of the many courtesans invited to meet the Emperor on his days off caught his eye. She is the spitting image of a young Lira, according to Grandfather Athanu’s account, him owning one of the largest art collections in Rema. If you want to prove you are against the Emperor, you will hurt him. Kill the whore. Her name is Zarru.”
“Outright murder. I guess that’s as grim as it gets. I don’t like it, but…”
“Many more will die if our goals are realized,” Aglo said. “People with families, achievements, reputations. What’s this woman against all that?”
Aralim looked at the burly business man. “I’m sure she’d argue with you.”
Ovoe shrugged. “Do it, or don’t. You’ll either hear from me again, or you won’t.”
Aralim raised his hands. “So, are you going to tell me where to find her?” He waited until Ovoe finished his wine.