Tasia said nothing, and Norix took her silence as an invitation to continue his lecture. He shook his finger at Tasia.
“You are many things, my dear girl. Impudent, churlish, impulsive, mule-headed — these all describe you well. Still…” he said, almost as if to himself, “they are traits you can learn to temper, should you decide to. Traits you could use, even. As your father has. Statecraft, strategy, the right balance of daring and caution: These are things I can teach you. But loyalty — ahh, loyalty cannot be taught. And the one thing I know you are not is a traitor. So when your father brought up the idea about making you his heir, I agreed with him. Encouraged him, even.” He gave her that sly smile again, but showed more of his yellow teeth this time, giving him a wolfish look. “The trait of loyalty runs strong in the bloodline of the House of Dorsa. And in these precarious times, it is loyalty — to House and to Empire — that the next ruler will need the most. Someone without that loyalty…” He spread his hands wide in a who-knows-what-will-be gesture. “There has never been an Empire as mighty as ours. That doesn’t mean it is incapable of falling.”
The statement sent a chill down Tasia’s spine. “So it was his idea?” Tasia asked, checking that she understood what the Wise Man had said. “Not yours?”
Norix gave her an incredulous look. “You think that I would propose you as his heir?” he said. Before Tasia could react with offense, he added, “It is not suitable for your father’s senior Wise Man to suggest an heir. After all, given the absence of your mother, should your father die unexpectedly without an heir who is of age, the role of Regent would pass to me. So yes, Princess. It was your father’s idea. I merely agreed.”
Tasia stared at him without saying anything. Heir to the throne. Ruler of the Four Realms. Her. She remembered their conversation from the night before, when Father brought up the Empress Adela, the warrior-queen who’d saved the nascent Empire after a series of wars that had nearly destroyed it. Adela’s father had only the two daughters, and the younger one died before reaching adolescence. Rather than marrying Adela off and turning her husband into the heir, he named Adela the heir and never forced her into marriage.
“Why tell me this?” Tasia asked Norix. “Why tell me before Father does?”
“The Emperor is going to bring it up with you soon,” he said. “Probably later today. I didn’t want him to take you by surprise. I wanted you to be prepared, to show him the cool head that you are occasionally capable of demonstrating, rather than call into doubt his decision.” Norix gave a small shrug. “As advisor to the current Emperor; to his father, the previous Emperor; and possibly to you, the future Empress, I take a certain pride in guarding the continuity and stability of the House of Dorsa. That continuity is critical to Empire’s and its long-term health.”
“Alright,” Tasia said. “Alright. I will respond… appropriately.”
“You do realize that being the heir comes with certain responsibilities, I hope?” said Norix. “You’ll be expected to attend council meetings, attend ceremonial events, and join in when your father meets with his advisors.”
“Yes, I know,” Tasia said, remembering how much Nik hated having to accompany his father all the time once he turned thirteen.
Norix cocked one bushy eyebrow. “You’ll also need to take your education more seriously.”
“I do take it seriously,” Tasia argued.
Norix let out a cough that might have been a laugh. Tasia bristled.
“And until we know who tried to have you killed, it’s no longer safe for you to leave the palace without a full guard.” He lifted his chin, indicating Joslyn, who still stood posted near the door. “Even with your new bodyguard. Even… erm, under the cover of darkness.”
Tasia felt her cheeks coloring, and hoped the light in the dusty tower room was too dim for Norix to see it. “I know,” she said. She straightened in her chair. “If my father sees fit to name me his heir, then I will not disappoint him.” Or the House of Dorsa, she added silently. Or the Empire.
Not disappointing the Empire. The thought suddenly made Tasia understand the weight of responsibility that her father was about to lay on her shoulders. It was bad enough to be royal; it had never occurred to her that she would also have to carry the burden of making safe and prosperous the lives of over a million souls.
Norix gave Tasia a satisfied nod. He laced his fingers together before him and smiled.
#
The spiral staircase leading down from the Wise Man’s tower seemed more dizzying than usual as Tasia left her tutoring session with Norix, and she walked down cautiously, one hand keeping the hem of her gown well above her feet, one hand trailing along the rough stones of the wall beside her. Joslyn walked down the stairs ahead of her, hands free to pull a sword if necessary.
Even when the spiral of steps stopped, the dizzy feeling did not. Her head felt muddled — no doubt the combination of lack of sleep, the previous night’s assassination attempt, and Norix’s unexpected revelation all conspired to cloud her thoughts.
Her head wasn’t the only thing that felt uncomfortable; her stomach ached, too. And not from hunger or from over-indulgence. Instead, it flashed alternately too hot and too cold, knotting and twisting in pulsating time with the images racing through her mind.
Fear: The assassin’s black blade arching above her the night before, its downward course interrupted only at the very last moment.
Anticipation: What her father would say when he raised the possibility of her ascendency as heir.
Fantasy: A fleeting image of herself seated in her father’s chair at the council table, crown atop her head, gazing out regally into a room full of lords and ambassadors.
How did she feel about such a future? How did she feel about becoming the Empress? How would the lords react? Tasia wasn’t sure.
Loss: Imagining herself wearing her father’s crown only reminded her that she wasn’t supposed to be the one to wear it. It was supposed to be Nikhost.
Nik. Her baby brother. Her best friend.
How she missed him. How she would trade anyone — even Mylla — to have him back, even for a single day. If only so she could tell him goodbye.
Gaze fixed on the heels of Joslyn’s boots ahead of her, Tasia followed a few paces behind her new guard without a word, content to let the nomad lead the way back to her apartments while her head and stomach both churned.
Joslyn stopped abruptly to let a chambermaid cross the corridor ahead of them, and Tasia, unprepared, rammed forehead-first into the guard’s back.
“Excuse me,” she mumbled, rubbing her forehead.
The guard turned, met Tasia’s eyes. Joslyn’s irises were so dark that it was hard to distinguish iris from pupil. Nonetheless, Tasia thought she saw a look of concern in those dark eyes.
“Are you alright, Princess?”
“Yes. It was only a slight bump.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Tasia narrowed her eyes. “No? Then what did you mean, guard?”
And as if she had been party to Tasia’s thoughts, Joslyn said: “The meeting with your tutor took a… turn I don’t think you expected. And only last night someone made an attempt on your life. It is quite a lot to stomach. For anyone. So when I asked if you were alright, that was what I meant.”