Read Online The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Addison
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answered, bowing. “Do you wish to breakfast in bed or…”
“No,” Maia said. He felt vulnerable in this enormous expanse of bed, dressed only in a nightshirt. “We will rise, thank you.”
“Serenity,” Nemer said, bowing again, and effaced himself.
“Serenity,” another voice said from the opposite corner of the room, startling Maia into a yelp and very nearly into falling off the bed.
It was Beshelar. He had clearly chosen his position so that he could watch every corner of the oddly shaped room, and of course it was Beshelar, whose great talent seemed to be for making his emperor feel like a gauche and grubby boy.
“Don’t you sleep ?” Maia said, more waspishly than he had intended.
“Serenity,” said Beshelar. “There was not time yesterday, but today it is hoped the Adremaza and Captain Orthema will be able to choose seconds for Cala Athmaza and ourself. Assuming they are acceptable to Your Serenity, we will then be able to guard you in shifts. But we,” with a sudden access of ferocity and the plural to include Cala, “are your First Nohecharei.”
Maia could have lowered his head into his hands and wept. Here he had been resenting Beshelar, while Beshelar had been shouldering a burden he, Maia, had not even had the wit to recognize. Thou grow’st arrogant already, he said to himself. Accepting it as ordinary that those who guard thee should be on duty constantly. A smaller, darker voice added: As thou art. Maia moved with sudden decisiveness to get out of bed.
As if they had only been waiting for their cue, Esha and Avris came in, telling him that his bath had been drawn, that Dachensol Atterezh and his apprentices had labored all night and sent several sets of garments with assurances that His Serenity’s coronation robes would not be delayed in the slightest. There was no comfort in their words or their ministrations, but Maia followed where he was led, noticing with bitter amusement what he had been too fatigued to see the night before: the emperor was granted the illusion of privacy by certain cunningly placed panels of frosted glass; he bathed, dressed, allowed Avris to dress his hair—although he dismayed his edocharei greatly by refusing all jewelry. “Not until we are crowned,” he said. In truth he would have preferred to wear no jewels at all. They reminded him of his father.
He sat down to breakfast with both nohecharei in attendance and the same shy server he had had the night before. With his first sip of tea, the door opened to admit Csevet, burdened with another great stack of letters, and Maia, whose mind had been running moodily on jewelry, forestalled whatever Csevet might have said by asking, “To whom do we speak about our imperial signet?”
“Serenity,” Csevet said, setting down the stack of letters at the end of the table; the server fetched another cup. “That is traditionally the purview of the Lord Chancellor.”
“Is it?” Maia said thoughtfully.
“The Lord Chancellor is the Master of Seals,” Csevet said carefully, almost uneasily.
“What did you use to seal our letters yesterday?”
“The Drazhadeise house seal,” Csevet said. “We think it unlikely that anyone will claim they are forgeries.”
“Most unlikely,” Maia agreed, and Csevet seemed to relax slightly. “But Lord Chavar surely does not design signets himself.”
“Oh! No, of course not. That is the work of Dachensol Habrobar.”
“Can you … that is, do we summon Dachensol Habrobar to our presence, or…?”
“We will take care of it, Serenity.”
“Thank you,” Maia said. “We see you have brought us more letters.”
“Yes,” Csevet said. “The Corazhas are not the only ones made uneasy by an emperor who does not parade himself before them.”
“Ought we to?” Maia said. “Parade ourself?”
“No, Serenity,” Csevet said. “It does your courtiers no harm to be a little unsettled. They will see you soon enough.” He coughed politely and said, “There
“No,” Maia said. He felt vulnerable in this enormous expanse of bed, dressed only in a nightshirt. “We will rise, thank you.”
“Serenity,” Nemer said, bowing again, and effaced himself.
“Serenity,” another voice said from the opposite corner of the room, startling Maia into a yelp and very nearly into falling off the bed.
It was Beshelar. He had clearly chosen his position so that he could watch every corner of the oddly shaped room, and of course it was Beshelar, whose great talent seemed to be for making his emperor feel like a gauche and grubby boy.
“Don’t you sleep ?” Maia said, more waspishly than he had intended.
“Serenity,” said Beshelar. “There was not time yesterday, but today it is hoped the Adremaza and Captain Orthema will be able to choose seconds for Cala Athmaza and ourself. Assuming they are acceptable to Your Serenity, we will then be able to guard you in shifts. But we,” with a sudden access of ferocity and the plural to include Cala, “are your First Nohecharei.”
Maia could have lowered his head into his hands and wept. Here he had been resenting Beshelar, while Beshelar had been shouldering a burden he, Maia, had not even had the wit to recognize. Thou grow’st arrogant already, he said to himself. Accepting it as ordinary that those who guard thee should be on duty constantly. A smaller, darker voice added: As thou art. Maia moved with sudden decisiveness to get out of bed.
As if they had only been waiting for their cue, Esha and Avris came in, telling him that his bath had been drawn, that Dachensol Atterezh and his apprentices had labored all night and sent several sets of garments with assurances that His Serenity’s coronation robes would not be delayed in the slightest. There was no comfort in their words or their ministrations, but Maia followed where he was led, noticing with bitter amusement what he had been too fatigued to see the night before: the emperor was granted the illusion of privacy by certain cunningly placed panels of frosted glass; he bathed, dressed, allowed Avris to dress his hair—although he dismayed his edocharei greatly by refusing all jewelry. “Not until we are crowned,” he said. In truth he would have preferred to wear no jewels at all. They reminded him of his father.
He sat down to breakfast with both nohecharei in attendance and the same shy server he had had the night before. With his first sip of tea, the door opened to admit Csevet, burdened with another great stack of letters, and Maia, whose mind had been running moodily on jewelry, forestalled whatever Csevet might have said by asking, “To whom do we speak about our imperial signet?”
“Serenity,” Csevet said, setting down the stack of letters at the end of the table; the server fetched another cup. “That is traditionally the purview of the Lord Chancellor.”
“Is it?” Maia said thoughtfully.
“The Lord Chancellor is the Master of Seals,” Csevet said carefully, almost uneasily.
“What did you use to seal our letters yesterday?”
“The Drazhadeise house seal,” Csevet said. “We think it unlikely that anyone will claim they are forgeries.”
“Most unlikely,” Maia agreed, and Csevet seemed to relax slightly. “But Lord Chavar surely does not design signets himself.”
“Oh! No, of course not. That is the work of Dachensol Habrobar.”
“Can you … that is, do we summon Dachensol Habrobar to our presence, or…?”
“We will take care of it, Serenity.”
“Thank you,” Maia said. “We see you have brought us more letters.”
“Yes,” Csevet said. “The Corazhas are not the only ones made uneasy by an emperor who does not parade himself before them.”
“Ought we to?” Maia said. “Parade ourself?”
“No, Serenity,” Csevet said. “It does your courtiers no harm to be a little unsettled. They will see you soon enough.” He coughed politely and said, “There
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