“You didn’t answer when I knocked. I thought…” It sounded as foolish to my ears as it must have sounded to hers. “What were you doing?” I didn’t have the right to ask such a question, especially not of the Emperor, but her face flushed.

“Studying,” she blurted out.

I looked to the flask, to her empty hands, to the spot at the wall she’d been staring at. “Yes, wood grain can be quite fascinating,” I said lightly. “And helpful when it comes to solving an Empire’s problems.”

“I’ve been trying to figure out all the mysteries my father left behind,” she said, waving an arm to encompass the whole of the Empire. “What he knew, what he didn’t know. The notes he left might as well be encrypted. He never told me anything; he only ever gave me the information he thought I needed in the moment. And now he’s gone and I’m just…” Lin stretched out her hands, grasping, as though trying to capture a breeze through her fingertips. “You have no idea what that’s like. So yes, I may seem distracted.”

I knew a deflection when I heard one. In the past, I might have poked and prodded. Perhaps if she were someone else. But finding her safe and whole just made me feel tired and relieved. “I thought you might be dead. Or injured. When I saw the flask, I thought someone might have poisoned you. There are people that want you dead, Eminence.”

“You were worried about me?” She placed it somewhere between a statement and a question.

Her dark eyes met mine. Even the Emperor’s cabin on this ship was small; she sat a mere step away from me, so close I could smell the scent of jasmine wafting from her hair. My mouth went dry. I wasn’t sure if I should answer that or how. I wasn’t sure what answer she wanted.

Thrana had calmed, and she rested her big head in Lin’s lap. “You should tell him,” Thrana said. “He might be able to help.”

Lin stroked Thrana’s head, her expression softening. “Shut the door. I’ll show you. Just… keep this to yourself.” She rose without waiting for confirmation, brushing past me as I turned to shut the door, her sleeve grazing my arm.

She knelt to open the crate at the foot of the bed. A small chest lay within. The rest of the contents were covered with a blanket and try as I might, I couldn’t peer beyond that. “My father had a memory machine,” she said simply, gesturing to the chest. “He left notes on it and I’ve been figuring out how it works. It stored memories in liquid. In here.” She tapped a fingernail against the clay flask.

It seemed too fantastical to be real – but then, so did bone shard magic. “So do you just…?” I mimed uncorking the flask.