Varallo drained his wineglass. "An excellent vintage, my compliments to Lord Marhollow. But there is more than simple payment on offer, Ammas. The Emperor recognizes that the service of a cursewright was invaluable to the Throne -- and offered freely, no less. Quite a suitable atonement for the treason of your fellowship all those years ago. With that in mind, the Emperor would offer to issue you a notice of Imperial consent to practice your trade."

Ammas blinked. "Is that a joke?"

"Not at all. It would, of necessity, be more limited than the notice you once enjoyed. You would not be permitted to practice within the bounds of the Anointed Realms without notifying the Throne -- or at Imperial invitation, more likely -- "

"Do you mean Imperial command?"

Varallo Thray inclined his head slightly. "If you choose to interpret it that way, I would not be the one to gainsay you."

Ammas shook his head, incapable of absorbing any of this. "Go on," he said hoarsely.

Varallo Thray poured himself another glass of wine. "You should not worry overmuch about that stricture, I should tell you. If such a thing happened you would be given ample opportunity to explain yourself. Cursewrights must attend to emergencies sometimes, after all. More importantly, your freedom to practice within other realms -- say, the Straits of Twilight -- would be blessed by the Emperor. The Argent Council would be notified of his Majesty's new leniency toward you. He would even permit you to practice for the Sultan's court, though you would be well-advised to inform me if you pursue such a thing."

Now Ammas raised his own wine to his lips, taking more a gulp than a sip. "This all sounds suspiciously generous."

"There would be certain other restrictions, of course."

"Oh, of course. And what would these be?"

"First, you may not take on new apprentices. Your current apprentice is merely a boy, and you may continue to educate him. But no others. This is not a license for you to found a new Academy Arcane, even in Munazyr. Further, it may please the Emperor at some future time for you to take on an apprentice of his choosing. I would advise you do so without complaint."

Ammas, who could only imagine what sort of scum the Emperor would see fit to train as a cursewright, nodded stiffly. "And would he understand that some hopefuls may prove beyond my ability to educate?"

"Failures happen, and I assure you if this comes to pass his Majesty will be seeking skilled cursewrights, not sorry thugs such as are too often found among the witch-finders."

"I'm sure this isn't the only restriction."

"It is not. But what we speak of next will not be set down in any official document. That does not make it any less binding. Indeed, what I tell you now is most crucial of all, if you wish to enjoy the Emperor's favor."

"Yes?"

"The Empress-Consort's death, your father's presence in the Grand Curia, the nature of Swiftfoot Carting and how it came to be -- all the Emperor offers you is contingent on your silence. The common folk and nearly all the noble houses -- your friend Denisius is an exception -- believe Swiftfoot was an independent guild of murderers who turned on the Empress-Consort when they failed to kill the Princess Carala. Let them whisper about werewolves if they like; it will only lead them to the proper conclusion that a cursewright was responsible for saving the girl's life and soul. When they hear of you practicing openly in Munazyr, they will praise the Emperor's wisdom in forgiving you. All else is mere gossip."

Ammas stared at Varallo Thray unbelieving. The sight of the Grand Chancellor enjoying a glass of wine as he offered things Ammas had not dreamed of ever hearing might as well have been a hallucination. For a time he groped with the lunacy of all this; with the apparent capriciousness of the Emperor's whims, before he could articulate the essential contradiction of this reward. "The Emperor tore apart his own realms twenty years ago on the suspicion of treason. Now -- "

"It went further than suspicion, as you ought to know better than anyone."

Ammas glowered at the Grand Chancellor, slamming his wineglass down so hard its contents splashed on the table and floor. "Yes, fine, further than suspicion, and rather than simply cut my father's head off, he mutilated and tortured him, and tore my mother apart for no reason at all, and kept him like a chained dog in a pit for twenty years. He burned women and children alive. He destroyed centuries of learning, chased every scrap of wonder from his lands. And just because I cured his daughter -- one of the ones he didn't execute himself, that is -- he's willing to show me such generosity? Why should I believe any of this?"

"Ammas," replied Varallo, completely unruffled, "how much do you know of the vows the Emperor swore when ascending the Malachite Throne?"

"What in the gods' names has that to do with anything?"

"Everything. I had always heard you were a better student than this."

Ammas tried not to feel stung by this, futilely. "I know very little beyond the Ninefold Vow, and whatever oaths he takes to keep safe the bounds of the realms, respect his vassals, all that."

"Yes. Many of the Malachite Throne's vows are spoken only to the High Priest of the Graces and witnessed by the Grand Chancellor. And the Overseer of the Curia, did you know that?"

"I did. My father never got the chance to administer them."

"No, but he would have been instructed in the vows upon his appointment. And so he would have imagined himself safe, I think. Because the Emperor does not swear only to protect the Ninefold faiths. He also vows to safeguard the Academies Arcanes and their scholars. The Malachite Throne is one of the most powerfully enchanted objects ever known. Exactly how the Munaz Emperors created such a thing, or where they might have found it, is an enduring mystery. A vow sworn on it is one any Emperor, even our beloved Somilius Deyn, would take most seriously."

Ammas, who was more than passingly familiar with such esoteric matters, had never heard so much as a whisper of the vow Varallo Thray had just described to him, and he was more than surprised: he was stunned. "Then why break it?" he asked, nearly awed. "Why break it so flagrantly?"

"Because he had no choice."

"The Emperor of the Anointed Realms had no choice? This Emperor?"

"Indeed. He is many things. He is possessed of great will and tremendous political power. He commands some of the greatest armies and navies in the world. He is, I am sorry to say, sometimes unpredictable and often cruel. But you know perfectly well, Ammas, as any good Munazyri does, that he is nothing compared to the Eternal Sultan."

"And what has the Sultan do with it?" Ammas said quietly.

"The Sultan learned, not long after it struck Munazyr, what the source of the Yellow Death was. That it was brewed up by cursewrights and healers of the Academies Arcane. That it was created at the Emperor's behest. And that it was intended to be used as a weapon against his kingdoms. Munazyr was a test, or perhaps an accident. I was not involved with its creation, and I have heard both versions. If it was a test it was a failure. The creatures that rise in the plague's wake are uncontrollable. Still, it could be a potent weapon if used in desperation -- if, say, the Sultan conquered Munazyr again and invaded the southern reaches of the Anointed Realms. How terrible for him, should the Yellow Death strike Q'Sivaris while so many of his forces are deployed elsewhere."

"How terrible," Ammas repeated flatly, unable to conceal his astonishment. To hear things he had suspected for so long now confirmed was not such a shock; to hear that confirmation from the mouth of Varallo Thray himself was incredible. It did not escape him that with every secret the Grand Chancellor imparted he was drawn deeper into the conspiracy of silence the Emperor craved, but he was too fascinated to desist.

"Just so," Varallo nodded. "When the Sultan learned of this plan, his wrath was terrible. Many of his advisors died at his hands. And not long after, an embassy from Q'Sivaris arrived here in Talinara, demanding the Emperor renounce the service of his Academies and put the arcane brethren to the sword, if he ever wished peace with the Sultan again."

"But the dissolution came a decade later."

"The Sultan did not seek immediate submission to his demands. The Emperor is only a mortal, after all, and the Sultan measures things in centuries, not years. He knew that casting aside the Anointed Realms' greatest source of enchantment was not a thing that could be done easily or without strife. But his patience is not infinite. His Majesty staved off the inevitable as long as he could, though I admit that being so checked by the Sultan had a markedly unpleasant effect on his mood."

"I can only imagine," Ammas muttered.

Varallo smiled crookedly. "I doubt that. The Emperor's mood was surely part of the reason he reacted as he did when your father drafted the argument to remove him from power, which he did upon finding evidence that the Yellow Death had been created at Imperial behest. That was Senrich's death warrant, I'm afraid. As for the Academies themselves, Senrich's treachery was merely the excuse the Emperor needed to bow to the Sultan's wishes. But there are greater powers in this world even than the Sultan, and it seems the Malachite Throne itself may be one of them. For it was only after the Academies were broken, only after the Emperor broke his vow, that his health began to worsen so precipitously. And it was only after he broke his vow that his children began to die; that Yvelle's womb turned barren; that the chain of events that led to Carala's infection and Yvelle's death was first forged."

"Getting superstitious in his old age, I see."

"It is not superstition," Varallo said severely, his eyes turning icy. "And I did not think you callow enough to speak so lightly of the Throne and its powers."