The Court of the Beast-Emperor

1.

The poets say all the agonies of the last great war are upon the Beast-Emperor. It was very much His personal war, launched without counsel from any of His senior advisors, so He bore all of its madness and pain alone.

Though I was raised to be partial to the poets, I never believed in the Beast-Emperor's legend—at least, not until I came to the Court and heard His roar. Equal parts keen and thunder, it boiled from His secret place deep below my feet. The citadel trembled around the Equiton and I. Dust exploded from every surface. Even after the Emperor quieted, the quaking remained in the walls for a perceptible moment, as if the stones themselves were frightened.

Unperturbed by his master's agony, the Equiton shrugged his feathered robe into the arms of a servant and sat cross-legged on a cushion before me. Though he was younger than I—he was string-haired, jug-eared, and so skinny he might have rolled off a windlass—he had a mark of experience on him. His jaw had an unnatural twist and a bulge, giving him half of a monstrous underbite. This deformity exposed an oversized row of sharp teeth, which pressed against his upper lip like a sawblade.

As protocol demanded, I recited the petitioner's creed, giving honor to the Curse and the lawkult. When the Equiton nodded his acknowledgment, I began my story.

"Benevolence," I said, "my name is Evan Spandos, and I am before you for the sake of love." I brandished my papers. "For testimony, I offer these. They are the finest things ever uttered by our poets, but they speak to barely the hundredth part of my heart. With your leave, I will read—"

"No. Continue with your petition." His voice was perfectly mild. I resolved to respond in kind.

"When my love's parents were young," I said, "they were so burdened with obligations that they had to promise five children to the troops. My love was born sixth, the younger of twins. But her twin was frail, and suited for only the soft life. He died during the winter, after just a month on the frontier."

As I spoke, I saw the Equiton's tongue flick over and through his misshapen teeth, as if he were exploring them.

"The local columneer desired my love for a replacement," I continued, "and with good cause, because she is hearty and level-headed and an expert horsewoman. He claimed that since only four of her kin were in service, the contract was unfulfilled. Since he took her last spring, I have searched for a recourse, and now I come to you."

The Equiton studied me like I was a gamepiece. "And you wish to have her restored to you."

"I do."

"What are Lord Spandos's thoughts on this?"

"My father will not interfere. He loves the troops."

"I see." He shook his head. "You must know that I cannot override a frontier commander."

"What is the risk if you do?"

"If the border is pierced for the want of a rider, what will happen to me then, Master Spandos?"

"She is only a single rider," I said.

"But, as you say, a very capable one."

"Can I not appeal to love?" I asked. "It is said that love rules this Court. The Emperor himself has a poet's soul."

"He did, yes, but—"

"The columneer cannot ignore you," I interrupted, damning protocol. "One word from the Court...."

"I cannot give that word." He forestalled my next outburst with a raised palm. "But neither can I deny it."

My heart vaulted into my throat.

"Matters of the outlands must be judged by my seniors," he said. "Go below and serve our Court. You will be heard within the year. That is your privilege as a petitioner."

I bowed my head. "I abide—"

"There is nothing to abide yet." He stood. His servant replaced his robe on his shoulders and then he left without another word, his feet silent on the thick carpet of the room's privileged paths.

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