Adrian Vale had discovered something worse than an assassination attempt.
The assassination attempt had ended.
The consequences had not.
“Candidate Vale.”
Adrian stood beside the equipment rack, hands folded behind his back.
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop looking at the gate.”
“I was admiring the architecture, sir.”
“The gate is closed.”
“An unfortunate development.”
Captain Ormond stared at him.
Adrian returned his gaze with the expression of a man who had accepted that the world was fundamentally unreasonable.
Around them, the eastern courtyard had transformed into a military operation.
Royal Guards sealed every entrance. Examiners collected weapons from the candidates. Two physicians examined the injured. Officers searched the captured attackers, while a messenger galloped toward the imperial palace.
The candidates had been ordered to remain in place.
Some looked frightened.
Others looked excited.
One young man had already begun telling anyone who would listen that he had personally assisted in the capture of an assassin.
Adrian remembered the man.
He had thrown the shield.
The shield had missed.
The falling iron bracket had done the actual work.
Adrian hoped the young man would receive a medal. It might distract the authorities from investigating the man who had spent most of the incident trying to crawl behind a pillar.
“Captain,” Adrian said carefully.
Ormond did not look at him.
“What now?”
“I believe my examination has been interrupted.”
“Yes.”
“Would it be possible to reschedule it?”
The captain slowly turned his head.
“Reschedule?”
“Yes, sir. I had prepared for a swordsmanship examination. I was not informed that the examination included live assassins.”
Ormond stared at him.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed.
It was a short, exhausted sound.
“Do you have any idea what you just did?”
“I fell down, sir.”
“You identified an infiltration route, disrupted an assassination attempt, and helped capture two armed men.”
“I identified a gate.”
“You recognised the danger before the rest of us.”
“I recognised a sword being drawn.”
“You acted before the attacker struck.”
“I did not have time to consider the alternatives.”
“Exactly.”
Adrian had no answer to that.
Captain Ormond seemed to interpret his silence as modesty.
This was becoming a serious problem.
“Candidate Vale,” the captain said, “I will make certain the examination board records your conduct accurately.”
Adrian felt his future collapsing.
“Please do not trouble yourself, sir.”
“It is no trouble.”
“It would be a considerable kindness if you did not.”
Ormond raised an eyebrow.
“Why?”
Adrian searched for a plausible answer.
Because I would like to live.
Because the empire is going to collapse.
Because every important person I meet appears to be standing on the edge of a political disaster.
Instead, he said, “I prefer to be judged on my actual abilities.”
For the first time, Ormond's expression softened.
“That is a commendable attitude.”
It was not meant to be.
Adrian decided to stop talking.
The first imperial security officers arrived twelve minutes later.
They wore dark blue uniforms with silver clasps, and they moved with the confidence of people accustomed to entering rooms where everyone else was expected to remain silent.
Their leader was a tall woman with black hair tied behind her neck.
She carried no visible weapon.
That made Adrian more nervous than the swords.
“Captain Ormond,” she said.
“Commander.”
“Report.”
Ormond delivered a concise account of the attack. He explained the appearance of the two suspicious guards, the attempted killing, the crossbow shot, and the discovery of the Serpent Court token.
Then he mentioned Adrian.
The commander's gaze shifted.
“Which candidate?”
Ormond pointed.
Adrian briefly considered pretending to be someone else.
“Adrian Vale,” Ormond said. “Candidate number seven hundred and thirteen.”
The commander approached him.
“Describe what you observed.”
Adrian took a breath.
He could lie.
He could say he had seen nothing unusual until the sword was drawn.
That would be mostly true.
He could omit the insignia, the incorrectly worn sword, and the silver token.
That would be less true.
But if the attackers had infiltrated the Royal Guard examination, there was a possibility that someone inside the security office was involved.
He did not want to become part of the investigation.
He also did not want to be murdered because he had withheld a useful detail.
“Two men entered through the northern gate,” he said. “Their uniforms appeared correct, but one wore his sword on the wrong side. I noticed because the other guards wore theirs differently.”
The commander waited.
“One of them passed something to another man near the gate. I could not identify the object. Then the first man drew his sword and attacked Captain Ormond.”
“You moved to intercept him?”
“I attempted to move away from him.”
“You pulled Captain Ormond out of the way.”
“We collided.”
“Did you know he was an assassin?”
“No.”
“Did you recognise the Serpent Court?”
Adrian hesitated.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I have read about them.”
“Where?”
“Public historical accounts.”
The commander's eyes narrowed slightly.
“Most public accounts describe the Serpent Court as a disbanded organisation.”
“Then the accounts may be inaccurate.”
For the first time, the woman looked genuinely interested.
“What makes you say that?”
“Two armed men attempted to kill an imperial officer inside a royal examination ground. One carried a token associated with the organisation. Unless the token was planted, the organisation is not as disbanded as the accounts suggest.”
The commander studied him.
Adrian wished he had said something less sensible.
“Your reasoning is sound,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“Where did you learn to assess threats?”
“I have a strong preference for avoiding them.”
A nearby officer coughed.
The commander did not smile.
Instead, she turned to Ormond.
“Keep the candidate available. I want the full examination records, including the preliminary assessments.”
Adrian's stomach dropped.
The examination records.
His deliberately poor swordsmanship.
His evasive footwork.
His answers about avoiding danger.
Everything he had done to appear unsuitable was now evidence.
“Commander,” he said.
She looked back.
“Yes?”
“I would like to clarify something.”
“Go ahead.”
“My conduct today should not be interpreted as evidence of exceptional ability.”
The commander considered him.
“Why not?”
“Because it would be inaccurate.”
“Then we will determine what is accurate.”
She turned away.
Adrian watched her leave.
He had encountered a new and terrifying category of person.
An intelligent official.
An intelligent official who was interested in him.
This was worse than the assassins.
The second messenger arrived before the hour was over.
He wore the white-and-gold livery of the imperial household.
His horse was sweating heavily.
He dismounted, handed a sealed document to Captain Ormond, and spoke in a voice that carried across the courtyard.
“By order of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Lucien Aurelius, all candidates and personnel involved in the incident are to remain available for questioning.”
A murmur spread through the courtyard.
The messenger continued.
“The emperor has also requested the presence of Candidate Adrian Vale.”
Silence.
Every head turned.
Adrian stared at the messenger.
The messenger stared back.
“Candidate Vale?”
Adrian considered the possibility of fainting.
It would be difficult to explain, but perhaps the physicians could certify that he had suffered a sudden illness.
He took one step forward.
“Yes.”
“You are to accompany me to the imperial palace.”
“May I ask why?”
The messenger glanced at the sealed document.
“His Majesty has expressed an interest in meeting you.”
Adrian felt the full weight of the universe pressing against his shoulders.
An interest.
That was how it began.
In the original novel, Emperor Lucien Aurelius was not a fool. He was intelligent, suspicious, and exceptionally good at identifying people who could be useful to him.
He was also a tyrant.
Adrian remembered the final chapters.
The emperor's decisions would help bring the empire to ruin.
The imperial family would fracture.
The court would become a nest of competing factions.
And the people who stood closest to the throne would suffer first.
Adrian had no intention of standing close to the throne.
He wanted to stand as far away from it as geography allowed.
“Messenger,” he said politely, “I am afraid I am not particularly qualified to assist His Majesty.”
“The emperor has requested you personally.”
“Perhaps there has been a mistake.”
“The order is explicit.”
“Perhaps His Majesty would prefer Captain Ormond. He was present throughout the incident.”
“Captain Ormond has already been summoned.”
Adrian tried again.
“Perhaps the commander of the imperial security office would be more suitable.”
“She is also expected at the palace.”
Adrian ran out of alternatives.
The messenger gestured toward the waiting carriage.
“Please.”
Adrian climbed inside.
He sat down.
He looked at the door.
He looked at the window.
He looked at the messenger.
“Is there any chance,” he asked, “that the emperor will simply dismiss me?”
The messenger considered the question.
“I have served the imperial household for nineteen years.”
“That is a considerable period of service.”
“In that time, I have never known His Majesty to summon someone personally and then dismiss them without asking questions.”
Adrian leaned back against the carriage seat.
Nineteen years.
A perfectly good life wasted in imperial service.
He looked through the window as the carriage began moving.
The capital passed outside in a blur of marble buildings, crowded markets, and fluttering banners.
People continued with their ordinary lives.
A baker carried a tray of bread into his shop.
Children chased one another through a fountain.
A group of soldiers argued over the price of roasted meat.
None of them knew that someone had attempted to assassinate their emperor.
None of them knew that a clandestine organisation might still be operating inside the capital.
And none of them knew that the man being taken to the palace had already decided that the safest possible response was to resign.
Adrian folded his hands.
He would answer the emperor's questions carefully.
He would demonstrate that he possessed no unusual abilities.
He would explain that the entire incident had been an unfortunate chain of accidents.
Then he would request a position somewhere far from the capital.
Perhaps a rural watch post.
Perhaps a border station with no strategic value.
Perhaps a lighthouse.
He was willing to learn how to operate a lighthouse.
Anything would be preferable to the imperial court.
The carriage turned toward the palace.
Adrian closed his eyes.
For the first time since awakening in this world, he prayed.
Not for victory.
Not for wealth.
Not for power.
He prayed that Emperor Lucien Aurelius would be a remarkably uninterested man.
The carriage passed through the outer gate.
The doors of the imperial palace opened.
And somewhere inside, the emperor was waiting for the candidate who had supposedly ruined an assassination attempt by falling down.
Adrian had the unpleasant feeling that his prayer had already been rejected.