I casually avoided the Grand Marshal’s gaze and dropped my chin to adjust the hem of my robe.

  “Um,” I hissed to my Uncle, “Does the Marshal want me to do something?”

  Uncle admired the ceiling’s architecture and eventually surreptitiously flicked an eye toward Oxblood. “He’s just taking your measure, boy. You did well to solve his puzzle. The only one quicker was…” A subtle tilt of his chin.

  “...the Tiger,” I finished for him.

  “Not the Tiger,” corrected my Uncle. “His advisor, Flashing Palm. They say he and Iron Rod, that big man beside him, were port-town crooks until the Tiger recognized their talent. Brains and brawn. He’s got a solid pair of retainers there.”

  “And the other two? The younger ones?”

  “The Tiger’s sons. They already call his heir the Little Conqueror. The other one’s too young yet for a courtesy name, but his given name is Quan.”

  “His… heir?” The Little Conqueror’s garb did indeed match mine, in style if not in color. In private, my father had been clear about my position within his household, but as far as the court was concerned the fact that I was the Commandant’s only son in attendance meant I held nearly the same status as an heir to Tiger Den Commandery, if not a whole Province like my father’s Falcon Plains. The fact that my rank had started lower than was usual was probably seen as an anomaly, or perhaps some sort of grooming tactic from my father.

  And if the Marshal had now taken an interest in me…

  I nearly smiled.

  Uncle, as if reading my mind, ‘nearly’ rolled his eyes. “Just keep your-”

  “The Imperial Marshal,” squealed a man at the head of the room, “Is prepared to address the Imperial Protectors of the Provinces and Commanderies!”

  All chatter halted immediately.

  The Marshal unbuckled his sword and held the scabbard out like a scepter. Every eye upon him, he surveyed us for a long moment before pounding it once on the ground.

  “The Emperor… is dead.”

  An overzealous minister immediately began a wail of lamentation, but the Marshal cut him off with a motion.

  “The time for mourning is later.” The Grand Marshal spoke slowly, and I could almost feel the combined warlords sifting through each word and weighing them, like so much millet in the hands of a tax collector. “Now is the time for action,” he said. “To ensure the safety of the rightful heir.”

  No one spoke. No one moved. The crier at the city gate had been clear about who the rightful heir was – supposedly – but everyone in the room was waiting to hear who the Imperial Marshal would throw his weight behind.

  “Prince Bian, the son of the empress, my sister…”

  The way he danced around calling the Prince his nephew could have been interpreted as deeply respectful or as distancing himself from a blood relative he was about to slaughter.

  “...has been named the heir.”

  Still no movement. It was a statement of fact; not a proclamation of loyalty.

  “It is the duty of the Imperial Marshal and the Imperial Protectors of the Provinces and Commanderies…”

  Yes?! What is it? Succession war or mere succession?

  “...to support Prince Bian with everything we have!”

  Ok, no succession war after all. But why summon us of all here to tell us everything will be fine – everything will proceed as normal?

  “The Ten Imperial Attendants, as they call themselves…”

  I glanced toward my uncle, and he mouthed the word: “Eunuchs.”

  “...isolated the Emperor on his deathbed...”

  The Ten Imperial Attendants, my studies this afternoon had informed me, were meant to be butlers, not courtiers. But proximity to power meant a taste of power, and there had been rumblings for generations about the expanding roles of the eunuchs.

  “...and they claim to have heard something else in the Emperor’s last breath…”

  That something else could only have been a different heir, almost certainly Prince Xie, the Emperor’s son by his favorite late concubine, raised by the Gray Dowager, as Uncle had said. But of course that was all too treasonous to even speak directly.

  “...This. Is a lie. Fabricated by eunuchs to seize power...”

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  Or the truth. But what did it matter when you had a chance to put your nephew on the throne?

  “...I ask this coalition. What is to be done about these eunuchs?”

  Another puzzle with only one right answer, and my mind was already spinning. While the Tiger’s retinue may have been the first to solve this new riddle as well, it would be another man who was both intelligent and committed enough to voice the answer aloud. That man was not me.

  “Harmony demands that we remove the Ten Attendants from the palace,” said Noble Lion, dressed in resplendent golden thread, and closer to my age than I would have thought based on his battlefield prowess. “Command one thousand of my clan’s soldiers to enter the palace, Grand Marshal, and I will ensure Prince Bian ascends to the throne, as is his right. Anyone who stands in our way will face me. Only then can the matter rest.”

  Masterful, I thought. Not a slaughter. Not a coup or a cleansing. A thousand soldiers would ‘put the matter to rest.’ Violence to ensure peace. And if the Ten Imperial Attendants just happen to get in the way… well, the Lion will personally see to it.

  There was only one problem with his response.

  The Marshal gave voice to its flaw as if he had been ready for this very suggestion. “An army may not enter the palace without the Emperor’s blessing. Soldiers will not steer our nation.”

  Of course. You let a hundred Golden Lions into the throne room and they may never leave. There was again only one answer. I looked to Noble Lion. He looked chastened for his minor misstep, and as such, he seemed reluctant to speak further.

  I looked around the room to the other lords and attendants. They all looked at each other.

  Surely someone else had figured this out.

  The Tiger’s advisor, the brilliant crook Flashing Palm? Surely he would have…

  Flashing Palm was looking at me with a mischievous grin. He waggled his eyebrows and nodded, as if to say, “Go ahead, kid. Do it. Tell them what needs to be done.”

  I looked to my father and Uncle, who both appeared as stoic as ever, which of course meant that they hadn’t figured out the solution or they would have certainly spoken up and claimed the honor of leading these other warlords. But I couldn’t exactly whisper the answer in my father’s ear. I couldn’t be seen to be plotting. No. Something like this needed to appear to be done in a fit of passion.

  I looked up to Grand Marshal Oxblood, who once again glared down at me, as if he knew I knew, and he was commanding me to speak it aloud. Prince Bian needed me to speak, or he might be robbed of the Dragon Throne. The Land Under Heaven needed me to speak, or it would be thrown into chaos and war. I had to speak. It was my highest duty to speak, higher even than my duty to obey my father!

  “We do it ourselves!” I shouted. Everyone turned to me, including the furious gazes of my father and Uncle. Ok, maybe not as eloquent as Noble Lion’s proclamation. But I had said what needed to be said, right?

  “Do what ourselves?” ground out the Marshal. Maybe not.

  It was one thing to solve a riddle, but quite another to speak treachery and slaughter before the most powerful men in the Empire with every eye upon you.

  Luckily, someone else drew the eyes away from me again.

  Someone began laughing, a dry, rasping laugh. It was the Tiger, fully awake now and eyes blazing. That powerful gaze washed over me, my uncle, then my father.

  “Sharp boy you’ve got there, Commandant. You know, I’ve got a daughter about his age…” He turned to the room, “We were allowed our swords, after all, if not our armies. Probably because the palace eunuchs thought we’d be at each other’s throats the moment we were under the same roof."

  Everyone's gaze followed his to White Stallion, then the Lynx.

  “They were almost right. A few cut throats in the night, maybe a brawl over something trivial, and this coalition would have dissolved quicker than horses made of sand. I guess the plan was that we’d be too busy with each other to think about some gelded baby-sitters.”

  Every eye was upon the Tiger. After all, he was speaking about a coup. Still, he seemed bored by the notion – half asleep again.

  “But there are almost a hundred of us in this room,” he continued with a yawn. “Battlefield tested with powerful Mandates, all of us. And…”

  Noble Lion sat straighter in his chair, while the Tiger slumped.

  “...we have our swords.” The Tiger of Jiangdong smirked, resettled into his seat, and closed his eyes once more.

  “What are you suggesting?!” came the demand from White Stallion.

  The Tiger didn’t respond, so the Lion did for him.

  “We must follow the Imperial Marshall to the Hall of Five Seasons,” Noble Lion said, voice full of righteous surety. “Our force of arms will ensure that the late Emperor’s will is upheld and Prince Bian is enthroned. Fail to act now, and who knows what else may befall our land.”

  Again, masterful. Noble Lion had framed a coup as something that we were duty-bound to carry out. As his words sank in, I could almost see White Stallion go from insulted by the very mention of bloodshed to its most ardent supporter.

  So long as it’s purely preventative bloodshed, I mused. I looked to Flashing Palm who smiled wryly as if he could read my thoughts.

  Wait, could he? Was that his Mandate? Was that why everyone thought him so clever?

  A dagger twirled in his hand and his gaze slid away from me at the sound of rasping steel.

  “Courage, men!” shouted the Stallion drawing her sword. “The late Emperor’s will be done!”

  As swords flashed, and the many disparate auras of power assaulted my every sense, I looked to the Marshal. His attending the meeting in full armor now shone in a very different light; this had been his intention all along! For every clan in every color to enthrone Prince Bian… there could be no clearer indication of the will of the land. The clans would not only support Prince Bian’s reign, they would literally and visibly place him on the throne themselves. I had solved the puzzle, the Tiger of Jiangdong had goaded men to action, and Noble Lion had aligned them all perfectly. Now, White Stallion would lead the way.

  But we were all just playing a role in a grand game. It was the Imperial Grand Marshal who was the director. Or…

  As the last of the lords rushed out of the room, my father and uncle included, I turned back only once, and saw a rustle of the curtain behind the Marshal’s seat.

  Ah. Not Grand Marshal Oxblood, but his sister, the Ox Empress was the one pulling the strings.

  As I drew my sword, I wondered just how many of us were real players in this game, and how many of us were mere puppets.