The Two of Swords: Part 7 by K. J. Parker Read Free Book Online Page B

would encounter next.
    Two of Arrows.
    Oh, he thought. Well, at least now we know. Not dead after all.
    Two cards to go. The first was the Sun, followed by the Seven of Shields. That made him sit back in his chair. Personal and subjective, he reminded himself; the end of the world for Senza Belot wasn’t necessarily the same thing as the end of the world, although the two could so easily amount to the same thing— He felt a spasm of pity for the boy, the only one of the damned lot of them he had any time for, but then he reminded himself that he was the emperor, and the interests of the empire had to come first. Besides, if Forza was dead, Senza was no longer indispensable. There were other generals. Bound to be.
    He counted slowly to twenty, and passed his fingertips over the cards once more, just to be sure. No mistake. Such a damned shame. He’d miss the boy, for one thing; someone he could trust, always a pleasure to talk to, very bright, clearly interested in art and history, with a genuine appreciation of the finer things. But all men, even scholars and aesthetes, are bloody fools where women are concerned. It occurred to him to wonder who she was, what she was like; had to be something special, he decided, to bring down young Senza. Damned shame. But if it was in the cards, there was nothing he or anyone else could do about it.
    Well, he’d still have the pack, the Five Oak Leaves. All his life he’d been aware that things mattered more to him than people. He loved things, material objects, in a way he could never love a human being; they could be perfect, the way no human being ever was, they could resist change, they could be relied on. Things had been his friends when everyone else had turned against him, his own flesh and blood, and the Five Oak Leaves was his oldest and dearest friend; never let him down, never once lied to him. Without realising he was doing it, he turned his thoughts to the other packs, the eight trapped on the other side of the border – the Theugistes, the Chipped Star, the Third. Damn that bloody nephew of his, spiteful, hateful boy. Damn fool had written to him once, offering to trade, the Chipped Star for the frontier castle at Deura Adrabati. He’d refused, of course, he had to; sent the messenger back with his tongue cut out for delivering such an insult. But the Chipped Star; if it had been up to him— But it wasn’t, of course. That was the cruel irony. The emperor, and, really, there was so little he was allowed to do.
    He sighed with pain as he stood up. He never got up for anyone these days, but he stood up and took the pack to cabinet thirty-seven and lodged it securely in its proper place, found the key, turned it in the lock, then paused for a moment to recover himself after the exertion. Damn fool of a doctor said it was his heart; clearly hadn’t read Mnesimno – what earthly bloody use is a doctor who doesn’t read the books? Glauca knew precisely what was wrong with him, a complex and eventually fatal imbalance between the Marine and Aerial humours, brought on by his quarrels with his family, exacerbated by the wicked defiance of his nephew; even if the war ended tomorrow, the empire reunited, his nephew’s head on a pike in the palace yard, he knew that too much damage had already been done. He had nine years, two months and seventeen days left, so much still to do and so much irritating nonsense getting in the way— No, mustn’t allow himself to fret about it. Fretting, Mnesimno said, accentuated the imbalance by polluting the Terrestrial humour with green bile. Nine years was a maximum, not a guarantee.
    The fire in the brazier was burning low. He was cold so much of the time these days, but he daren’t have the room any warmer because of drying out the textiles and the bindings of the books. He picked up the bell and rang it; when the boy came, he ordered rugs and his goose-down coverlet. Then he sat for a while and listened to his own breathing; sounded all