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“Now,” drawled the Imperator, “we have established that opinions are not a crime. My question is, how do we know she is even a member? She said she’s not. Is she lying? Maybe. But in my honest opinion, I find it rather unbelievable that she would be. Why would someone want to interfere in the politics of a foreign country?”
I was seething. None of this courtesy had been afforded to me when I’d been expelled from the university for being powerless. And interfering in the politics of another country? That was what the Imperator lived for—what he and his brutes did every day. It was what his legion of two thousand soturi were doing right now as they occupied Bamaria and threatened the safety of my own citizens. His dangerous brutes were armed and causing fights in the streets.
Aemon’s dark eyes flicked to me. He no doubt had the same exact thoughts in his mind. He’d been present for my sham of a trial when I’d become a soturion, and he knew as well as I that the Imperator could not be trusted.
I took a shaky breath, feeling Rhyan closely watching me from the corners of his eyes. I had to stay calm. I had to play my role. I had to remember I was not on trial. I was not in trouble—neither were my sisters. And neither was Rhyan. It was my duty to keep it that way.
Control what they see.
But my intuition was igniting with certainty that the Imperator was laying a trap for me with every word he spoke. Like so many times before, I had to decide how to act, what role to play, how to survive his verbal assaults against my life and the safety of my Ka.
“Waryn,” the Imperator said suddenly. He turned to his brother, the Bastardmaker, the warlord of Korteria. “It’s getting rather chilled outside, even by southern standards. Fall is here, would you agree?”
The Bastardmaker’s beady black eyes focused on me, his gaze dipping to my chest as he grinned and nodded in response. “I can feel the cold in here.”
“And with fall,” said the Imperator, “comes Days of Shadows. The holiday is, by my calculation…two months from now?” He turned his gaze to me. “A mere month before Soturion Lyriana’s test by the Emperor, I believe. Now, Days of Shadows means costumes. Traditionally, black masks are worn. Yes?”
“Masks of akadim,” Arianna said.
“Yes,” the Imperator agreed and shrugged. “But I also have seen the new trends emerging with the youth. Newer costumes are being created each year. Now they’re dressing up as Afeya, as gryphons.” He bent down, picked up the Emartis mask, and tenderly brushed back its black feathers. “They’ve dressed as seraphim. Some are even inventing their own beasts in their creativity. I just think it’s a bit irresponsible to expel a girl who may turn out to be a surprisingly talented soturion when there is reasonable doubt as to why she’d associate with this group in the first place. She may very well have been wearing this mask, not because she’s an associate of the group, but because she wanted to put together a costume for the upcoming celebration.”
He had to be joking. That had to be the most absurd argument ever made in the history of Lumeria.
I looked to Aemon. He couldn’t allow this. He couldn’t allow the Imperator to roll over the proceedings like this and make such an outlandish ridiculous claim. I was no lawyer, but I’d read enough of the law scrolls in the Great Library to know what a childish, ridiculous, and immature argument this was. Anyone with a half a brain would know! Plus, at the end of the day, this was still a Godsdamned Bamarian matter. Why was he being allowed to have any say at all?
Because we belonged to the Empire. Because the Imperator was not just the Arkasva and High Lord of his country, but the overseer of all six countries below the southern border. Because his uncle was our Emperor.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the Soturi of Ka Kormac grinning and nodding in agreement. Brutish, slimy bastards.
I knew it was over—we’d lost. Of course, we had. I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath. This was what the Imperator did; he overreached and abused his position, used shoddy infantile arguments for personal gain, and with each argument, he obtained more power—again and again.
“I will remind you that you’re here as a courtesy,” Aemon said. “Not to offer the final say.”
I swallowed, barely daring to breathe, silently begging Aemon to hold his ground and to be the Ready not just on the battlefield but in trial as well. He had to throw the Imperator out, or at least tell him to be quiet. He had to punish Tani for actions that so clearly required punishment.
“And I am grateful for the courtesy,” said the Imperator. “I hope you don’t think I’m overstepping my bounds. I respect your judgment greatly. The Great Ready. The defender of the Lumerian Empire. Arkturion, of course, I hold you in the highest regard. But I, like all loyal sons of the Empire, understand that it is imperative to follow the law. The law is what keeps us united, and part of that is the chain of command. Let’s not forget who has the highest ranking here. Now it is, of course, your final decision, but I am offering a very important, and what many would consider weighted, opinion on a matter that does personally concern me.”
He’d as good as said that Aemon had no choice. Gryphon-shit bastard.
“I’m here with the evidence in my very hand.” The Imperator held up the mask, turning it over in his hands, black eyes narrowed to inspect it more closely. “And nowhere on this mask does it mention the Emartis. It looks to me like an elaborate costume mask. A mere holiday token.” He stepped forward, returning the mask to Tani, who grinned wickedly.
Aemon cleared his throat, watching the exchange closely. He rolled his shoulders back, releasing a black wave of energy from his aura. “After receiving wise council from his highness, Imperator Kormac, with his unusual logic brought forward, we may drop the charges against Soturion Tani regarding her connections to the terrorist organization known as the Emartis for reasonable doubt as to her association.”
I clenched my fists at my side. There was no doubt. The evidence was literally right in front of us. She was holding the Godsdamned black seraphim mask in her hands. Herself to Moriel. And the Imperator—fucking bastard. Tears burned behind my eyes at the injustice of it all.
“While we may have dismissed one charge, we are not done here,” Aemon continued. “There is the other matter. We are still obligated to punish Soturion Tani for attacking an heir out of bounds.”
The Imperator made a sound of irritation, glancing at Tani, a look of derision sprawling across his face. “Fighting an heir is a very serious offense. I am father to one, so I understand. Once again, I’m sorry to interrupt. But I do wonder…Aemon, remind me of the rules for fighting amongst your students.”
Aemon sighed but nodded. “A soturion may challenge another at any time during Academy hours with the exception of the morning run. Any group may also engage in a five—five soturi against another—again during Academy hours on Academy grounds in the Katurium.”
“And what time, Lady Arianna, did you see Soturion Tani fighting with her grace?” the Imperator asked.
“Close to three in the afternoon when I arrived,” Arianna said tightly.
“I see. Those are Academy hours, are they not?” the Imperator asked.
Aemon’s eyes darkened, his power surging out again before he called it back.
