A Malazan Book of the Fallen Collection 4

pledging his service with the ease of an eel sliding
under a new rock. The First Consort had been witness, as
well, but she could not see Turudal Brizad now, as Rhulad,
blood-wet coins gleaming, twisted round on the step and
bared his teeth at Hannan Mosag.
    ' Not yours ,' he said in a rasp.
    'Rhulad—'
    'Emperor! And you, Hannan Mosag, are my Ceda .
Warlock King no longer. My Ceda, yes.'
    'Your wife—'
    'Dead. Yes.' Rhulad lifted himself onto the dais, then
rose, staring now at the dead Letherii king, Ezgara
Diskanar. Then he reached out with his unburdened hand,
grasped the front of the king's brocaded tunic, and dragged
the corpse from the throne, letting it fall to one side, head
crunching on the tiled floor. A shiver seemed to rack
through Rhulad. Then he sat on the throne and looked out,
eyes settling once more on Hannan Mosag. 'Ceda,' he said,
'in this, our chamber, you will ever approach us on your
belly, as you do now.'
    From the shadows at the far end of the throne room
there came a phlegmatic cackle.
    Rhulad flinched, then said, 'Now you will leave us, Ceda.
And take that hag Janall and her son with you.'
    'Emperor, please, you must understand—'
    ' Get out! '
    The shriek jarred Nisall, and she hesitated, fighting the
urge to flee, to get away from this place. From the court,
from the city, from everything.
    Then his free hand snapped out and without turning he
said to her, 'Not you, whore. You stay.'
    Whore . 'That term is inappropriate,' she said, then
stiffened in fear, surprised by her own temerity.
    He fixed feverish eyes on her. Then, incongruously, he
waved dismissively and spoke with sudden weariness. 'Of
course. We apologize. Imperial Concubine . . .' His glittering
face twisted in a half-smile. 'Your king should have taken you
as well. He was being selfish, or perhaps his love for you was
so deep that he could not bear inviting you into death.'
    She said nothing, for, in truth, she had no answer to give
him.
    'Ah, we see the doubt in your eyes. Concubine, you have
our sympathy. Know that we will not use you cruelly.' He
fell silent then, as he watched Hannan Mosag drag himself
back across the threshold of the chamber's grand entranceway.
A half-dozen more Tiste Edur had appeared, tremulous
in their furtive motions, their uncertainty at what they
were witnessing. A hissed command from Hannan Mosag
sent two into the room, each one drawing up the burlap
over the mangled forms of Janall and Quillas, her son. The
sound as they dragged the two flesh-filled sacks from
the chamber was, to Nisall's ears, more grisly than anything
else she had yet heard on this fell day.
    'At the same time,' the Emperor went on after a
moment, 'the title and its attendant privileges . . . remain,
should you so desire.'
    She blinked, feeling as if she was standing on shifting
sand. 'You free me to choose, Emperor?'
    A nod, the bleary, red-shot eyes still fixed on the
chamber's entranceway. 'Udinaas,' he whispered. 'Betrayer.
You . . . you were not free to choose. Slave – my slave – I
should never have trusted the darkness, never . . .' He
flinched once more on the throne, eyes suddenly glittering.
'He comes.'
    She had no idea whom he meant, but the raw emotion
in his voice frightened her anew. What more could come
on this terrible day?
    Voices outside, one of them sounding bitter, then
diffident.
    She watched as a Tiste Edur warrior strode into the
throne room. Rhulad's brother. One of them. The one who
had left Rhulad lying on the tiles. Young, handsome in that
way of the Edur – both alien and perfect. She tried to recall
if she had heard his name—
    'Trull,' said the Emperor in a rasp. 'Where is he? Where
is Fear?'
    'He has . . . left.'
    'Left? Left us?'
    'Us. Yes, Rhulad – or do you insist I call you Emperor?'
    Expressions twisted across Rhulad's coin-studded face,
one after another, then he grimaced and said, 'You left me,
too, brother. Left me bleeding . . . on the floor. Do you
think yourself different from Udinaas? Less a betrayer than
my Letherii slave?'
    'Rhulad, would that you were my brother of old—'
    'The one you sneered down upon?'
    'If it seemed I did that, then I apologize.'
    'Yes, you see the need for that now, don't you?'
    Trull Sengar stepped forward. 'It's the sword, Rhulad. It
is cursed – please, throw it away. Destroy it. You've won the
throne now, you don't need it any more—'
    'You are wrong.' He bared his teeth, as if sickened by self-hatred.
'Without it I am just Rhulad, youngest