XLIX. HEIR TO THE EMPIRE

  The pyre’s sickly sweet aroma was as indistinguishable to him as a campfire now. Not that it mattered, the flames flickering what warmed his face all the same. His men were muddled pools of shadows as they wandered through the thick smoke clouds— salvaging what was left to still burn. Further, horrified screams pierced the night as the pyre crackled and groaned.

  The prince stretched out on his makeshift throne, and overlooked the plundering with a detached interest as he coaxed tendrils of water lazily around his calloused knuckles. He sat up and peered closer at his scarred hands as the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He commanded the water down his wrist and wiped away the soot that grimed his vanbraces. He held up the blood-splattered metal to his face and greeted his reflections with hardened black eyes.

  My eyes are blue. The prince thought faintly.

  The dark irises narrowed in suspicion, and Asho was shocked awake. He rolled over in the plush duvet and struggled to gather his sweat-soaked bearings. He was in De-Asha, in the former legate’s wife’s chambers. There was that horrible knocking sound that had woken him, someone was banging on his door. Asho untangled himself from the bed and got to his feet. He padded across the plush rugs and yanked the door open. “What?” He demanded.

  Centori Tygris lowered his fist. “My prince, it’s the emperor, he’s finally awake.”

  “I’ll be out in a moment.” Asho averted his gaze from the child's toys in the corner of the massive chamber as he got dressed. He put on his underclothes, and then his breastplate, fighting the straps as he got his armor overhead. He followed Centori Tygris down the short hallway to Legate Clavo’s chambers.

  His cousin was already at the door, flanked by her two lap dogs. Asho swallowed his irritation at having been beaten as Cenori Tygris ushered them inside. Asho marched past the gathered healers and advisors to the sitting room. Khispen glanced up dubiously as they approached.

  The Conqueror was sitting upright on a lavish couch, propped up by a number of pillows. Asho kept his composure at the Conqueror’s sagging skin and sallow complexion. “Thanks be to the gracious Stormlord for your restored health!” Asho dropped to his knees and kissed the Conqueror’s pale knuckles. Admrilia followed.

  “My advisors and centori have informed me of the events that have transpired after my incident.” The Conqueror’s blue-tinged lips curled in distaste. “Yet, I want to hear the account from you. Prince, report.”

  Asho quickly recounted the events that had transpired after the Conqueror had fainted in the hippodrome and the ensuing riot. The Emperor listened expressionless as Asho relayed his order to have the legion plunder De-Asha dry. To bring fire to the temples and marketplaces. To have his troops flood the lower marketplaces to destroy any kerai descentors. When he had finished, the emperor gave a curt nod.

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  “Your actions were decisive and immediate. Ruthless. It’s just as I would have done, and it is exactly the swift hand of Ashenian justice I would expect from my heir.”

  The air in the room stilled. The Conqueror’s council stiffened in surprise. Asho’s chest swelled with pride. He could not quash the inappropriate smile that had blossomed. He had done it. He had finally pleased the Conqueror. Proved himself worthy of his attention.

  The Conqueror raised a wavering hand. “Advisor Khispen. The ink. I need a royal edict.” Khispen quickly dismissed himself.

  Admrilia stepped forward in protest. “My emperor! Please, the prince may have ordered the raid of De-Asha surely, but it was I who procured you the star. It is I who fulfilled our sworn duty to the Stormlord. I recovered the weapon our enemies desperately covers.”

  The Conqueror’s pitless eyes turned on her. “Yes, neptori. I recall you directly violating your orders to pursue the star. Instead of eradicating the House of Ten, you unknowingly associated yourself with them for months. While you hunted the relic of a long-ago conquest, insurrection brewed beneath your feet.” The Conqueror grabbed the dagger from the couch side table and threw it at Admiral's feet.

  Sensing the Conqueror’s ire, Admrilia ducked her head and slowly got to her knees. Asho watched in terrified awe as his cousin prostrated herself before the Conqueror. “All I have ever done.” She said, voice unflinching. “Has been out of duty to this Empire, great Conqueror.”

  “That may be so.” The Conqueror relented. “But when it mattered most, your cousin acted decisively. Not you. Your cousin restored cosmic order. Not you. Your cousin followed my will. Not you.” The Conqueror held up a silencing palm. “And it is your cousin who will be the next Emperor of the Ashenian Empire. Not you.”

  Admrilia’s stricken expression was rooted to the limestone floor. Asho turned and observed the faces of the Conqueror’s council and centori. He knew all of them had doubted his capabilities, all had considered Admrilia to be the prodigal daughter of the Empire. Asho reveled in their shock and disdain that he, the hedonistic prince, would be their emperor. Their god.

  Smugly, Asho prostrated himself before the Emperor. “It would be my honor to fulfill my birthright as your worthy successor, great Conqueror. I shall guide our noble empire into the next era.”

  He heard Khispen return with the writing table. Asho kept his eyes on the Conqueror’s bare feet as Khispen prepared the ink. Beside him, Admrilia’s body trembled with rage.

  “Write to the senate of my royal edict—” The Conqueror dictated. “That Emperor Atesh Ayuuan Ashiphiex, Wyrdling of the Stormlord, First Citizen of the Ashenian People, and Emperor of the Empire and all her territories, am notifying the Senate and the people of Aegtrys of his royal will. The great Conqueror’s heir shall be crown prince Asho Ashen Ashiphiex, first son of the deceased crown prince Ashen Atesh Ashiphiex, and direct descendant of the Storm Lord Throne.’

  Once Khispen’s sweeping strokes had finished, the Conqueror rose to his feet. “Rise crown prince. We have other matters to attend to.” Asho wondered what the Conqueror could possibly be thinking when he whistled to his centori. “I want the remaining prisoners dragged out to the courtyard. It is time this scorge has been dealt with permanently.”