This, this I knew. For a time, I was back in my father’s dining hall, all of his palace’s constructs called down upon me and Bayan, my only weapon the engraving tool in my hand. Another memory teased at the edges of my mind – one of Nisong’s memories, all faded and indistinct. Old books in my hands, reading by lamplight late into the night, aching eyes and head, and in all of it the yearning to prove myself. I was no great beauty, but I was smart and clever, and that had to count for something. This was what I’d been made for. To write words of power onto bone shards, to manipulate the commands to my ends. It was what Nisong felt she had been made for.

I turned one more of the construct-relatives, and then, just as quickly as it had started, it ended.

One of the constructs I’d turned was sheathing a knife, the construct-uncle lay bloody on the floor, the rest of the constructs were dead and so were two guards. Both Ragan and Jovis wore stern expressions as they cleaned their weapons. Chala stood in the corner, his hands raised, blood spattered on the bottom of his robes.

“Sai,” I called out. “The constructs are dead.”

He lowered his arms, his face pale. He licked his lips and straightened, composing himself quickly. “I suppose this explains the state of my mother’s body.”

I tucked the engraving tool back into my sash and strode over to Chala so he needn’t call to me across the entrance hall. “I didn’t want you to find out this way,” I said. “I had my suspicions and I wanted to verify them.”

“You’re a strange Emperor, to break into governors’ rooms.” I could tell he was still in shock, just saying whatever came first to mind.

“I had an unusual upbringing.” It was as close to the truth I could ever get. Before he could blurt out anything else that might embarrass him, I pressed on. “This news should have been broken to you carefully, and in private. It was my sloppiness in returning the shards to your mother’s body that caused things to play out this way. And for that I’m sorry.”

“She was a good mother to me,” Chala said. “Gather the bodies for burning,” he called out to the guards. “Whatever souls they had, we’ll send them heavenward.” He gazed blankly out into the room. “Should we have a funeral? Does a person hold a funeral when their relatives turn out to be constructs?”