I turned to the Emperor, and the fury on her face made me quail. It wasn’t the intensity – I’d seen Astrid bellow and scream many times before. It was the ironclad control the Emperor now held over her rage which frightened me.
Everyone waited for the Emperor’s response. When it came, it was simple and direct.
“Kill him.”
Every demon in the hall unsheathed their blade. Despotate officers rose to their feet with a shout, but were forced back by the Imperial princes, and a pair of Imperial guards seized Von Potiorek. A third guard kicked the lord commander to his knees and drew a long, broad dagger, preparing to stab down through the offending man’s collarbone and into his heart.
“Wait,” the Emperor called, and the hall fell silent, every eye turned to her. Slowly, she stood, radiating authority. “Bring him to me.”
The demon guards dragged Von Potiorek from themusician’s stage to the raised throne platform, his feet bumping behind him, and pressed him to his knees, short swords at his throat.
“Unhand me at once, you—”
“SILENCE!” the Emperor roared. The lord commander shut his mouth, but continued to glare. He was either suicidally brave, or mortally stupid.
The Emperor regained her composure and began speaking in a measured voice which chilled me to the bone. “You insignificant little toad. How dare you make demands of me? Your nation would not have survived the first month of war had your allies not swooped in to save you. If this were a diplomatic function like you claim, you would not merit a seat at the table. You haven’t earned it. Little Stelsylvania, with a third of a tenth of your forces, has proven a more worthy adversary than you.”
Princess Marie clutched my arm at the Emperor’s acknowledgment. I supported her to prevent her swooning the way I’d support a shell-shocked soldier during an assault, but I had no attention to spare for her. The battle was before me, not beside me.
The Emperor held her right hand out to the side, and a liveried demon footman sprang forwards to loosen her glove from her fingers.
“When I finish conquering your nation, I will remove it from history. Every book, every monument, every computer database which references the Urgan Despotate shall be expunged. When the bards sing of this war, there shall be no verses to represent your people, even as an easily conquered foe. In a single generation, it will be as though the Despotate never existed.
“But you shall not live to see this fate. You won’t survive this evening, because you threatened me. You openlythreatened to kill me, the Emperor of the Voidskies. There is no viler crime in our country.”
“You killed the last Emperor and took his crown,” Von Potiorek spat.
“The last Emperor was weak. Killing him was a mercy and a service to the Empire, not a crime. Your threat, however, is a clear and present declaration of hostile intent against my person and, by extension, the Empire as a whole. For that, there can be but one punishment.”
The long black glove slid from her arm, exposing the dark, glittering zeroblades surgically grafted to her fingernails.
“Death.”
Then she struck.
Her hand plunged into Von Potiorek’s chest, slicing through his shield in an azure flash, tearing through his flesh like it was pudding. Red blood stained his white uniform as the Emperor twisted her arm, then withdrew, taking with her the man’s still-beating heart.
Von Potiorek clung to life long enough to stare disbelieving at his own heart in the Emperor’s blood-soaked hand, then his eyes rolled back and his body slumped. The demon guards holding him let him fall, and the Emperor threw the cardiac organ on top of the corpse, where it gave a few last, fluttering beats before going still.
Gradually, I came to notice Boleslaw, Prince Aureli, Princess Marie, and all the other Commonwealth dignitaries staring at me. I sipped my drink.
“Don’t look at me. She never did that while we were dating.”
THE BLACK BAG
THE DIPLOMATIC SITUATIONwas a shambles.
Hushed conversations began as hordling servants dragged away Von Potiorek’s corpse. Prince Aureli hurried over to the Federation nobles to salvage what he could of the diplomatic strategy, and I accompanied Princess Marie to organize the League nations in our favor. Most of the evening was spent hastily soothing the surviving Despotate lords commander to prevent their walking out altogether. I personally thought their absence could only improve our prospect for a negotiated settlement, but for some reason, Prince Aureli insisted they were indispensable in forging a lasting peace. That said, he did agree when Boleslaw suggested the Despotate representatives return to their chambers, so we ushered the Urgan officers from the main hall before one of them knifed a demon prince and started an all-out melee. We guarded our tongues while the Imperials discussed with delight how the Emperor had dealt with ‘that odious malcontent’ and how he’d provided a modicum of dinner entertainment. Asthe various attendees drifted off to bed in various states of jubilation or consternation, I found myself at the bar, asking for another drink.
“How can you stand, drinking like you do?”
I turned to face Archduke Darius. “Soldier’s constitution.”
“You won’t live to see old age, drinking like that.”
“You act like I’m going to see old age regardless,” I replied. Darius’s eyebrows drew in. Whether in concern or confusion, I didn’t care. I was tired and needed a drink if I was to deal with any more obstreperous Urgan ignoramuses.
A sudden thought struck me that I should try pumping Darius for information. The idea seemed distasteful. Darius had been nothing but pleasant towards me, but it was my duty. I ordered him a repeat of my drink and handed it to him before asking, “So what the Fall is Yezhidia going to do about all this?”
