The mass of ministers and counselors started for the door. When the crown prince tried to remain at his father’s side, the emperor snapped, “You, too. Begone.” He paused and then turned to the mass of exiting men. “Tyrus? Where’s Tyrus?”

The young man was almost out. He backed into the room.

“Come back, boy. You know Gavril Kitsune, don’t you?”

“We trained together, Father, though it has been almost two summers—”

“Good enough. You’ll stay.” Tyrus ducked his brothers’ glares as he approached. The emperor continued snapping orders, expelling men from the room.

“I am sorry,” Tyrus whispered to Moria. “About Gavril. I could tell you two were close.”

“You misjudged, your highness. He was merely a traveling companion.”

“Yes,” Tyrus murmured. “That is for the best. Say that to all who ask. I am sorry for it, though.”

“But not surprised?”

He seemed confused by the question. “It is his father. He must do as he is told. Filial piety comes before everything, even obedience to the empire.”

“Even obedience to one’s conscience? Slaughtering innocents is acceptable if your father commands it?”

Ashyn tried to shush her, eyes wide with alarm, but Tyrus said, “No, which is why I am certain there is more to it. Gavril is prickly, but he has a true heart. He is always honorable.”

“There’s no mistake, your highness. He accepted full responsibility.”

“There is more. I am certain—”

“Tyrus?” the emperor said. “While I do hate to pull you away from a pretty girl . . .”

Tyrus turned to his father, gaze dropping as he murmured an apology. The emperor clapped him on the shoulder and waved everyone to the table. As they walked, Emperor Tatsu opened the envelope and pulled out the missive.

The men who had stayed were the chancellor, all three major counselors, and one of the warriors who’d arrived with the emperor. He was short, slightly squat, breathing heavily as he tried to keep up with Emperor Tatsu. An older man, the summers weighing heavily on him. From the way he dogged the emperor’s steps, she presumed he was an attendant, until Tyrus leaned in and whispered, “Marshal Mujina.”

He did not look like a man of war, and she wondered briefly if Tyrus was referring to someone else. But she could see the man’s tattoos were marks of the Mujina—the badgers. He did rather resemble one. An aged badger, toothless and slow. Not a man Moria could imagine leading an army. Perhaps that was the point—after Marshal Kitsune, the emperor wanted a man he could control. This marshal certainly looked controlled, hurrying after the emperor and then sliding past him to quietly take his seat at the man’s left hand.