Read Online Gods of Nabban by K. V. Johansen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: K. V. Johansen
Ads: Link
rage. A punishment of the gods, striking him down? The Minister had been executed by Emperor Otono as his first act in his fatherâs memory, followed by the proscribing of Prince Dan as traitor and heretic. Dan was inspired by such very prophecies as this man had spoken, the foolâs dream of the golden age the Traditionalists celebrated, a time when lords were answerable for how they used their folk, the emperor a mere priest of a land of petty princes and shrines, and slaves were debtors with a term to serve, no more. Or unknown.
Interestingly, Dan had not been condemned for the murder of his father. Too evidently an act of the gods.
Rat was not so certain. She had not been in the palace, then, but what she had seen since . . .
They were condemning the victim as a false prophet now, too, as if they could kill him two and three times, pile crime upon crime. Had he cursed them in the name of his gods, of Father and Mother, whose poor wandering dreams he had tasted, as they tortured him? She hoped so. She remembered the actor, the voice that seemed as though it spoke to you and you alone, giving living breath to the old, old poetry of the plays.
The land wanted to change, yet Mother and Father vouchsafed no clear visions at all to their servants in these times, unless the vague words of prophetsâdrunk, mad, imbecile, as though such fragmented and open minds caught the edges of anotherâs uneasy dreamsâwere truly holy. Some few might truly be moved to speak by a godâs hand falling upon them, Rat supposed.
She could hardly deny that the gods might reach out and touch their folk, after all.
Emperor Otono stirred unhappily on his little folding chair, the only one who might sit here. She might hope conscience made him uncomfortable, that he might suddenly declare an end to this, order someone to behead the man and have done with, but Otono, from what she observed, was a man who would cling to what had been done, because it had been done. Weak. Uncertain. Cursed by the gods, it was whispered in the palace. Three wives, as permitted an emperor under Min-Janâs law, but childless. An epidemic of croup had swept through the palace around the time of Yaoâs death, and many children had died, slave, free, and imperial. All six of the emperorâs sons and daughters.
Poison or wizardry rather than disease, Rat would have said, but the imperial physicians and the wizards of the corps said otherwise. Rat considered that they were blind fools, but it was not her place to say so, being a slave in the household of the elder princess, Buri-Nai, Otonoâs full sister.
A slave, and yet she wore court robes of silk and had jewelled combsâthe jewels were only glass, but nonethelessâfixed in her cropped hair. The nobles were like a garden of scented flowers, bright, sweet, whisperingâwhispering robes of silk, so thin, so fine, almost iridescent, so heavy in their multilayered wonder. Whispering voices hidden behind painted fans, as if they viewed an entertainment and must discuss it as it happened. Compare it to previous such entertainments. The emperorâs robes were the grandest, the most translucent, held the most colours: a garden of a dozen red flowers in shades ranging from palest rose to deepest carmine, each just short enough to expose the embroidered hem of the one below, with an over-robe of cloth of gold. His broad sash was a red so dark it was nearly black. His cylindrical cap was cloth of gold as well, and an array of golden, ruby-headed pins fastened the bun at the nape of his neck. She saw the glint of them as he turned his head to murmur some word to the captain of the Wind in the Reeds, the imperial assassins and spies, who stood at his side. He wore gloves, not to sully imperial hands with any touch of the mundane world, and his slippers were embroidered in golden thread on crimson.
This was how you dressed to watch a man be torn apart to die?
The princess
Interestingly, Dan had not been condemned for the murder of his father. Too evidently an act of the gods.
Rat was not so certain. She had not been in the palace, then, but what she had seen since . . .
They were condemning the victim as a false prophet now, too, as if they could kill him two and three times, pile crime upon crime. Had he cursed them in the name of his gods, of Father and Mother, whose poor wandering dreams he had tasted, as they tortured him? She hoped so. She remembered the actor, the voice that seemed as though it spoke to you and you alone, giving living breath to the old, old poetry of the plays.
The land wanted to change, yet Mother and Father vouchsafed no clear visions at all to their servants in these times, unless the vague words of prophetsâdrunk, mad, imbecile, as though such fragmented and open minds caught the edges of anotherâs uneasy dreamsâwere truly holy. Some few might truly be moved to speak by a godâs hand falling upon them, Rat supposed.
She could hardly deny that the gods might reach out and touch their folk, after all.
Emperor Otono stirred unhappily on his little folding chair, the only one who might sit here. She might hope conscience made him uncomfortable, that he might suddenly declare an end to this, order someone to behead the man and have done with, but Otono, from what she observed, was a man who would cling to what had been done, because it had been done. Weak. Uncertain. Cursed by the gods, it was whispered in the palace. Three wives, as permitted an emperor under Min-Janâs law, but childless. An epidemic of croup had swept through the palace around the time of Yaoâs death, and many children had died, slave, free, and imperial. All six of the emperorâs sons and daughters.
Poison or wizardry rather than disease, Rat would have said, but the imperial physicians and the wizards of the corps said otherwise. Rat considered that they were blind fools, but it was not her place to say so, being a slave in the household of the elder princess, Buri-Nai, Otonoâs full sister.
A slave, and yet she wore court robes of silk and had jewelled combsâthe jewels were only glass, but nonethelessâfixed in her cropped hair. The nobles were like a garden of scented flowers, bright, sweet, whisperingâwhispering robes of silk, so thin, so fine, almost iridescent, so heavy in their multilayered wonder. Whispering voices hidden behind painted fans, as if they viewed an entertainment and must discuss it as it happened. Compare it to previous such entertainments. The emperorâs robes were the grandest, the most translucent, held the most colours: a garden of a dozen red flowers in shades ranging from palest rose to deepest carmine, each just short enough to expose the embroidered hem of the one below, with an over-robe of cloth of gold. His broad sash was a red so dark it was nearly black. His cylindrical cap was cloth of gold as well, and an array of golden, ruby-headed pins fastened the bun at the nape of his neck. She saw the glint of them as he turned his head to murmur some word to the captain of the Wind in the Reeds, the imperial assassins and spies, who stood at his side. He wore gloves, not to sully imperial hands with any touch of the mundane world, and his slippers were embroidered in golden thread on crimson.
This was how you dressed to watch a man be torn apart to die?
The princess
Similar Books
