Maybe the Emperor himself had been bullied and humiliated as a child. Maybe that was why he was the way he was. But Kordas knew well that however tragic an origin, or however brilliantly joyful, such events were only incubation organs for the person who emerged from them. Some terrible people could be redeemed if they weren’t too far gone. Some kind people could turn hate-filled and cruel. Some liars became the most honest, loyal friends possible. Or not. It really was up to them. Some saw the benefits of empathy and helpfulness, and gained the ecstasy of validation by love. Others, not so much, and just a few more weaponized their pasts. Whatever their origin story, an asshole was an asshole.
Or maybe he’s just a stupid, miserable excuse for a pile of shit on two legs who wants to be the cancer he is. I think I like that answer the best. Anything else makes me examine him, and examine myself, and look for pity for him, and that opens up last-moment “but he can change” redemption as an idea, and that’s just stupid. Expose your heart and a viper laughs after it strikes you dead. He’s had decades to change, with every expert available to him, and he chose bloody tyranny. I don’t want to pity him. I just want to be as far away from him as I can get. Let him die.
And then exhaustion took over and he slept again.
* * *
—
Delia once again marveled at how clever her sister was. Isla had taken the Doll’s advice with a grain of salt. They both knew very well how much sixty thousand of those little slips of paper were going to weigh, and how large the satchel that held them was going to be, and Isla probably didn’t want the messenger to think about that for one moment longer than he needed to. So as soon as the scrying ended, Isla sat in thought for a long moment before standing up. “Go down to the stable, and have Grim harness up one of the ponies to a pony-cart. I’ll be right there to give him further instructions.”
So Delia did just that, as Isla went off in another direction.
By the time Grim had arranged for the cart and pony, and brought them around to the yard, Isla appeared at the stable. “I want your driver to watch for someone waving a red rag down there at the manor gate,” she said, pointing in the direction she meant. “I’m expecting someone to come from the Emperor, but I’m not supposed to be expecting him. So I’m leaving a lookout. He’ll be standing out of sight of the Gate, but within sight of your driver. When you see the rag, send the cart and driver. Pick someone who can do a good job of pretending to be surprised to see someone at the Gate.”
“Oh, aye, milady,” Grim said, nodding. “I see where you’re a-going with this. We’ll have a nice little story. He’ll say he’s going to cut his errand short, on account of the Emperor’s messenger is more important than some small task, and bring him back here.”
“Perfect,” said Isla, and quirked her finger at Delia, who followed her back into the manor.
The sun was barely peeking above the horizon, so they had plenty of time to arrange a tasty little feast of heavily salted snacks. And for the drink, Isla herself went down into the cellar and brought back a bottle of distilled spirits, far more potent than even the strongest beer or wine.
The sun was about two fingers above the horizon when the pony-cart came clattering back with its burden of Imperial messenger and satchels. One was the usual light messenger-case, but the other was nearly the size of a rucksack, and very heavy indeed. But Grim’s chosen driver was a lot stronger than he looked, and heaved the latter out of the back of the cart with such ease it looked as if it could be no heavier than a book or two. Without asking or commenting, he took it into the manor, while Isla thanked the messenger for coming, accepted the receipt for the tribute-horses, then exclaimed, with deep sympathy, “But you must have had quite a journey, bringing those account books with you as well! I am so sorry you were burdened with them! Let me offer you some refreshment before you go—and I’ll have the cart take you back once you have rested.”
Oh, clever, Delia thought. It was true that account books frequently traveled between the manor and the Capital; the Emperor took nothing for granted, and often made checks on Kordas’s honesty. Or rather, the Imperial Exchequer did. Usually those did not come and go by Imperial messenger—but once in a very great while, within recent memory in fact, they had. So now the messenger had the thought lodged in his skull that the Duke of Valdemar had been singled out by the Exchequer, that he had cursed heavy account books, and the messenger was well rid of them.
He was . . . well, not precisely drunk when he took his place on the pony-cart seat again. But he also was extremely cheerful, and stowed in the messenger’s satchel was the tightly corked bottle of distilled spirits that Isla had pressed on him.
“You are too clever by half,” Delia told her sister, once the messenger was out of earshot. “He’ll want to come back.”
“Well, the dear man deserved some reward, after being saddled with our accounting books,” Isla replied, giving her a sidelong glance of warning. “Now if he’s asked to bring something else here, at least he won’t be laggard about it, because he knows what will be waiting when he gets here.”
Delia flushed, realizing she’d been careless, and followed Isla silently into the manor and into that little side room.
“I’m putting you in charge of equipping our home-barges,” Isla told her as soon as the door was closed. “Go down to the barge-yards, pick three, and then start bringing everything down from the manor that we’ll need to make permanent living spaces out of them. I was going to do that, but if Hakkon and I are supposed to be conducting an affair, I can’t be in two places at once. There will almost certainly be eyes on us. I don’t expect scrying—” she sneered a little “—mostly because the Emperor is not going to permit anyone to enjoy their own little bit of salacious entertainment.”
Delia didn’t object—although a few days ago she might have, because she had certainly never equipped a barge with anything before, much less equipped one for living in for who knew how long. By now, she’d already done so many things she’d never dreamed of doing before that she just nodded. Besides, she was more interested in the answer to another question. “You’re going to do it, then? Pretend to have an affair with Hakkon, I mean?”
Isla sighed heavily. “Not precisely willingly. But this Record Keeper has already proven not only shrewd and clever, but full of good advice. And if the Emperor brought Kordas to the Capital with the notion of making him a figure of amusement, this will certainly fill that bill. Nothing is more amusing to a lot of salacious man-boys than the opportunity to mock someone for being cuckolded. The Record Keeper is probably correct. There are two of Merrin’s spies watching the manor, and if Hakkon and I can keep their eyes elsewhere, then that’s what we should do.”
So Delia found herself once again on Sundrop, once luncheon was over, on her way to the barge-builders.