Only Adam and Eric would be allowed to meet with the Emperor. A topic of this importance, his adviser informed them, necessitated the utmost privacy. It was dubious enough to raise an eyebrow, but not dubious enough for Adam to raise his banners and march home...not that he could have, anyhow.

Retreat had stopped being an option the moment he usurped one of the Emperor's lords.

A set of double-doors stood before them, as ornate as they were ominous. They were all that separated Adam from the imperial throne room. He imagined that this was not unlike what the gates of hell must look like.

Considering everything the Emperor had done to Tenver and Solara, that man certainly fit the part of the devil.

"Be careful of my uncle," Tenver warned him.

Adam regarded him carefully. "Is he dangerous?"

"Fire is dangerous, my lord, but it has its uses. My uncle is poison."

There are uses for that, too. Adam placed a hand on Tenver's shoulder, making a point to choose his knight's Puppet arm. "Don't worry," he said. "While we may be gambling with a heavy purse, it's not as though we walked into this casino by mistake. Have to roll the dice at some point, right?"

"But we haven't yet," Solara pointed out. "There's always time to turn back."

There wasn't. Not after arriving at the capital, and especially not after entering the Emperor's castle. Turning back now would be viewed as clear evidence of treason, condemning them in the future – if the guards didn't just fall on them right here and now. Solara knew that as well as anyone.

It didn't stop her from caring enough to suggest otherwise.

"Everything will go fine," Adam assured them. "Promise. I'll return safer than I left."

They didn't seem to believe him. Adam couldn't blame them.

He wasn't sure he believed himself either.

Finally, it was time. A servant had arrived to beckon them onwards. As Adam stepped past the double-doors, he couldn't help but notice Tenver nervously grasping at the Puppet arm hidden under his armor.

If his secret comes out here, he's definitely off the line of succession...and probably dead. Whatever support he still has would vanish immediately.

Just another mine to watch out for as Adam strode through a vast field of them. His false lineage, Penumbria's finances, his status as a potential rebel – any one of those could sink his chances. By the day's end, he might very well go from kneeling before the Emperor to kneeling before an executioner's block.

But that's how it had been from the start, wasn't it? Everything he'd accomplished thus far had been a risk. When gambling at the highest of stakes, no less than your life was required as collateral. The dice would soon roll, and how they landed would decide the futures of himself, his allies, and his city.

It was a bet he intended to win.

–

Adam wasn't quite sure what to expect from the throne room, but whatever his expectations had been, they lasted a grand total of five seconds after the double-doors closed behind him. As it turned out, Tenever needn't have worried that he would forget of the Emperor's danger

The man would not allow that perception of himself.

"Blessed be your visit!" Emperor Ciro declared, less like an Emperor and more like a playwright welcoming an audience to his theater. "Ah, but this will be fun."

Adam's first thought upon seeing the man was that he was younger than anticipated. Having heard that he was Tenver's uncle, he'd thought the Emperor would be older, yet he appeared closer in age to Adam himself than a man like Aspreay.

His second thought – one that followed immediately after – was that Emperor Ciro simultaneously evoked Tenver's resemblance and his opposite. Whereas Tenver was famously handsome, that word seemed ill-fitting for the Emperor. Beautiful was closer to it, with soft features, and long hair white as snow that adorned his countenance like a red cloak enveloped around him.

Adam would have also been tempted to describe him as peaceful or gentle looking, but everything about the Emperor's manners disabused him of that notion. Ciro stood atop a throne, elevated by a trailing set of steps so high that Adam felt like he was speaking to someone atop a balcony. His legs were crossed, one elbow resting on the throne's armrest, and his chin was delicately held up by two knuckles.

"How magnificent to finally meet the talk of my Empire," he said. "But where are my manners – I am Emperor Ciro. Banisher of the Rot, the Supreme Ruler of Humanity, the Bane of Elves, the Dragonslayer, your Emperor."

He delighted in his own words, raising a slight smirk. "Mayhap you have heard of me."

Ciro's voice rose high and fell low like the tides of the sea, a subtle rasp hinting at either a sweet honey or a deadly poison. Adam could not tell which. There was a musical quality to his speech; a melody with notes of arrogance, charm, and danger. Adam wanted to label it as mere hubris, yet...

"And where are your manners?" the Emperor suddenly asked. "Why are you not kneeling?" Ciro didn't give Adam time to respond. "Kneel."

Without warning, a heavy weight pressed against every inch of his being. Adam's body was sent to the floor, his face impacting the ground as if someone had pushed him. He tried to get up, but it was like an invisible force was holding him down.

"Well?" Amusement touched Ciro's voice. "That is not an appropriate greeting. Kneel properly, or I shall assume you have not come here to talk."

Easier said than done. Is Eric–

He cut off the thought. Adam couldn't waste the energy to check on how Eric is doing. Calling upon every inch of willpower and Talent within him, he managed to push himself up on one knee. It didn't lessen weight crushing his body, but the stance allowed him more leverage to support himself.

"Splendid!" Emperor Ciro declared, clapping his hands together. "So you can listen when compelled to by your betters."

Adam's meeting with the Puppet Grandmaster hadn't fully prepared him for this. When kneeling before the Grandmaster, Adam's limbs had ceased to respond, his mouth sealed shut. It was as if his body ignored every order he'd given, his very soul intimidated by the difference in their power. There was something of an elegant threat behind that terror.

No such beauty was present here. None of his limbs could move – but not because he was denied the attempt. Rather, an inexorable weight was pinning him against the ground. While he may try to resist, it only highlighted how futile his struggles truly were. Even kneeling was nearly impossible.

If...If I stop focusing for one second, my entire body is going to collapse against the ground.

Although perhaps that thought was far too optimistic. The only reason he'd been able to maintain his stance until now was because his foot had sunken through the stone floor, affording him a solid base to stand on. Whether he'd broken a bone – or many bones – Adam did not yet know. His body was too numb to be aware of such trivial sensations as pain.

With great effort, he looked up at Emperor Ciro. So this is the man who killed Tenver's father. The man who tortured his friends alive and showed him the result. The man who massacred Solara's homeland. The man who ordered the destruction of the Puppet Mountain.

One hell of a gamble, to negotiate with him. Adam opened his mouth to speak, as if grasping the dice in his hands. Am I ready to cast them?

"We are here to discuss the slaying of the Ghost of–"

"Wrong." The Emperor's voice remained low and calm. "That is not the point of our meeting today, little peasant."

In spite of, or perhaps because of the man's imposing aura, Adam refused to accept this insult. "Your Imperial Majesty, I'm afraid you forget – I am Lord Adam, Ruler of Penumbri–"

"Wrong." The Emperor flicked his wrist, and Adam felt that giant weight upon his shoulders once more. "Were my words not plain enough? Or worse, dare you question them?"

Adam shook his head. Just like I thought. This isn't the same sensation as the Talent of a Lord...what is it?

He forced himself to lift his head. It was like raising a pair of cinderblocks tied around his neck. "I am the Lord of Penumbria," Adam stubbornly insisted.

"And that," Ciro said, so joyfully he almost sang that last word, "is precisely what we must decide today. Today, you knelt as Adam, the Pretender of Penumbria. Should you rise again, it will be as the true Lord of Penumbria."

His eyes glinted with a cold mirth. "It may be that I see fit that you shall never rise again."

The threat and game were laid before them. Adam would be either rewarded for his service – or executed. There would be no middle ground. That's fine, he thought, biting his lip. I knew it was going to be like this. As long as Eric backed him up, everything would resolve in his favor.

And if Eric didn't...

Adam let out a peal of unnaturally relaxed laughter, as if the Emperor's words hadn't concerned him in the slightest. "Your Imperial Majesty, why would you sully your blade with me? I have done much for your Empire, and will do more with every day of my life. Aspreay was a much worse ruler than I."

"Yet he was chosen by me," Ciro dryly stated. "To take his lands makes you both a usurper and a danger to my Empire."

"I stand here and pledge myself to you and your desires." The weight on Adam's shoulders grew heavier, straining his throat, yet he did not allow the suffering to show on his face. He refused to let the confident smile he'd walked in with fall away. "My lord, I am no threat to your Empire. I serve it."

Ciro's icy voice was an ill-match for his lighthearted smirk. "And you dare to presume better than the Emperor you serve? A poor quality for a lord. Worse still for a traitor.

He laughed. "Aspreay was a subject of mine. To dispose of him and conquer my lands is a crime. Kneeling to me is not a right – it is a privilege you have yet to earn."

Even if that were true, I have paid my debt by slaying two separate curses plaguing your land. Do you mean to ignore that?

Adam knew better than to say this aloud. That wasn't how the game was played. Instead, he said, "My Emperor, your laws do not forbid members of a noble house from warring amongst themselves."

"Oh?" Ciro appeared unsurprised, yet entertained. "Make your case, peasant."

Adam's people had been planning for this scenario since his takeover. They'd spread rumors of his parentage across every corner of the Empire – nary a tavern in the continent should have avoided hearing his version of the events. Legend now claimed that Adam was Aspreay's bastard son, one who'd returned to his father's lands to claim his rightful title.

Which also helps 'explain' why Aspreay accepted me into his court. For anyone who hadn't personally known the former Lord of Penumbria, Adam's story seemed like a more believable scenario than reality. The alternative was that Aspreay had, on a whim, recruited a passerby as his court painter to indulge in luxury that other lords could not.

This truth – were it to be accepted by the Emperor – would leave Adam as having committed little actual crime. Ciro wouldn't need to hand down punishment to appear strong before his subjects, the excuse of parentage alleviating his responsibilities.

It was more romantic than the truth, anyhow. Why wouldn't bards sing of it? Why wouldn't the Emperor believe it?

"Aspreay could father no children," Ciro said with a sneer.

Besides that. Adam suppressed a wince. Admittedly...it's a good reason.

"It should be apparent," the Emperor continued. "Why else do you think I bestowed land upon a disgraced, idealistic lunatic? Because it would revert to the Imperial line after his death. Never would I have done so if he planned to share his bed with a woman."

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"Yet you cannot deny the possibility that he fathered a child," Adam said, sharply. "Were you to claim that as the truth, your subjects would not dare deny it. None would even think of rebelling. There would be no danger to Your Imperial Majesty if–"

The weight upon Adam's shoulders grew so heavy that it sent his head crashing to the floor. It was as if an invisible giant had seized the back of his neck and slammed down. With every passing second, he felt his head sink deeper against the hard rock, his bones stiffening and threatening to crack.

"Danger?" Ciro repeated, amused. "Rebelling?" Ciro repeated, less amused. "I am the sole Ruler of the one Empire. This world is ruled by me. I have nothing to fear."

His voice became more disdainful, half taunt and half poison. "Could I make it so that your heritage is undoubted? Absolutely. But why would I do that? What do I have to gain from granting a treasonous peasant such a right?"

"A loyal, competent subject," Adam pointed out. "You know of my deeds. Claim them in your name now, and allow me to lay more of them at your feet in the future. If you are uncertain, then why not wait and see?"

Ciro's laugh was appropriately haughty. "There is an order to these things. While I have little to fear, Orbs are necessary to sustain my Empire. It would not do if my subjects began skimming on their taxes, thinking me either weak or a tyrant. Mayhap there is a world whereupon I wait – yet this is not one of them. You have forced my hand by coming here."

That he had. Adam's story of being Aspreay's son was so widely spread that the Emperor would need an excuse to execute him, lest he appear to believe his own laws did not apply to him. Either he killed Adam here, or he allowed the Painter to live as his subject.

Better to roll the dice now than later, Adam thought, his heart racing. He fully believed that thought – which hardly made it easier to follow. Even now he held the dice in his hands, trying to will himself to roll them. Yet once they were cast...

There would be no turning back.

Think, Adam! Be reasonable! My alliance with the Puppets isn't public knowledge yet. I'm going to look increasingly suspicious as I gather more power and followers. I need Ciro to acknowledge me as his subject before he has even more reason to want me dead.

And frankly speaking, Ciro had very good reason for wanting him dead now. When taking that into account, and after contemplating what he needed in order to protect Penumbria...Adam knew the right move to make. This was not–

"–A bad gamble, my Emperor," he said. "Wagering on my usefulness is of little consequence."

"There is more at stake than you know of. More risk than you think."

A chance appeared. If I can't appeal to his reason...then let's go for his ego.

Adam's time in the Painted World had taught him that pride was easier to sway than the mind.

"Risk?" He laughed, as if the word itself were the funniest jest he'd ever heard. "Your Imperial Majesty, what risk could a mere commoner pose to you? Truly!" He made his tone as theatrical as he could muster beneath the heavy weight still bearing down on him. "Whatever use I have for the Empire needs not be evaluated against a hypothetical risk, for a man such as yourself has nothing to fear from a man of poor birth such as myself. You need only to think whether my usefulness outweighs the small effort it would take to crush me if I were so foolish as to raise my banners against your own."

The Emperor fell into silence. He's hesitating, Adam thought. He's considering this. It helped that his appeal to Ciro's pride had a vestige of truth behind it. Adam's reign as lord was both a blessing and of little risk. While Ciro had ample reason for doubting his words, he possessed even less reason to view him as a real danger.

Just standing here, I can already tell the massive difference in our power. That's the card I want to play. I'll make him think that he has so little reason to fear me that there's no harm in leaving me alive.

It was working.

Adam could tell from the way the Emperor had paused, from the way he hummed thoughtfully, from how even the heavy weight had started to feel lighter. Just a little more. Just a little more and–

"That would be something to entertain," Ciro conceded, "were you a true commoner."

The Emperor leaned forward, a faint smile on his face. When he spoke again, it was in a tone of silken menace. "But that is untrue, is it not?" Worse than his burning gaze was the almost imperceptible rasp in his voice; the way he sounded as though he took pleasure in leading prey across burning coal. "And I speak not of the dastardly Aspreayan lie, oh no."

He stood up from his throne and walked toward Adam. Every step was meaningful, almost theatrical, clicking his heels and swaying from side to side as if on a stage. When he reached the Painter, he placed two fingers beneath Adam's chin. I have to move. I have to get away–I have to–

The weight combined with the Emperor's Talent of a Lord. Adam froze. He couldn't move, his body feeling like brittle steel that would soon crack under an impossible pressure. Yet blissful relief fell over him at once, the sensation disappearing as the Emperor gently, elegantly, forcefully, lifted his chin to force a meeting of his gaze.

"You are not from my world, Painter." Ciro spoke in a melodic tone that rose and fell between arrogance and charm. As Adam's eyes widened, the Emperor responded with a low chuckle, his voice dancing to a blissful melody of delight and intense cruelty. "Much like my Hangman, you come from the World of Ink. Dangerous business, that."

How does he know? How much does he...I have to think. Adjust. If he knows this much, then my plans should–

His thoughts came to a sudden halt when Ciro slowly shook his head, as if silencing an unspoken objection. "It is most rude to leave your host alone, little painter. Do not retreat inside your thoughts – speak loud and speak plainly. Leave nothing hidden."

Ciro lowered his voice until it was nearly a whisper, closer to a rumble from the shadows. "Do not lie to me."

Fear revolted inside of Adam. All his plans and designs felt secondary to moving away from the monster standing before him. There was a dark charisma about him, a sort of alluring desire that would have made anyone want to please him.

This isn't...he's doing something to my mind. There was no time to think. No way to think. A part of him even felt scared of breathing without the man's permission, as if his permission was necessary just to live.

No, no, no, no, no, no! Adam summoned a burst of willpower, forcing words from his mouth. "If – if you know I'm from Earth...you trust Eric. Why not trust me too?"

"For one, his patron is the First Painter. The very same whose patronage allowed the Imperial family to conquer the continent as we have. Oh, little painter, would you like to hear a forbidden secret?"

Nearly every fiber of his being wanted to say no. His tongue was the exception. "Tell me," Adam managed, his voice weak. This pressure–it's going to kill me–it's going to drive me insane– "What did Lawrence do for your family? Something even Tenver doesn't know–what could–

"Look at that! You know his name! How laudable." The Emperor, without averting his gaze or moving his fingers from beneath Adam's chin, used his other hand to lightly tap the Painter's forehead, like patting a dog. "What a good subject you are."

The heat of his shadowy laughter felt like it could have melted Adam's skin. "Talents are awakened at an early age. Each person may only receive one. Well, they are only supposed to receive one, anyhow. People like you don't play by the rules – isn't that right, little painter?"

Adam wanted to respond, to tell him to go to hell, but his body would not respond.

"While it is easier to awaken a Talent inherited through blood," Ciro continued, "that is not the only influence. People may also undergo training during childhood with a master of the same Talent, or fulfill some unknown conditions that no one quite understands. Those should make it easier to awaken to what they desire. However, there is never any guarantee of success."

He clapped his hands once. "Well! What do you think would happen if a ruler knew exactly what needed to be done to awaken specific Talents? Imagine if he could shape his people from a young age into whatever roles he needed. Imagine how mighty his armies would grow, how advanced his siege equipment would become."

Adam should have been considering what all of that meant. Instead, his mind wandered to the reason why he was being told these things. He could only arrive at two conclusions. Either he thinks someone would have told me eventually...like the voice that brought me to the Painted World...or he doesn't think I'll leave this room alive.

"Moreover, little painter," Ciro said, dragging out each syllable, "your patron is the Dark Sorcerer. He is not to be trusted."

Fear of death edged out Adam's fear of speaking. "Eric! Eric can attest that I'm here to serve you! You know what I did! I killed one of the Ghosts – they're servants of the Dark Sorcerer, aren't they? Just listen to him! Let Eric talk!"

"That sounds like a fantastic idea." There was a mirthful quality to Ciro's voice, as if telling Adam the end to a joke. "I do trust my dear Hangman." His eyes glowed a deep, unnatural purple, faint smoke shining around him. "Those chosen by the First Painter are above all others."

The Emperor mercifully broke eye contact to look over Adam's shoulder. "Ah, Eric – is what he said true?"

A long silence choked the room.

Adam's fear quieted with it. Danger was still abound, yet even death seemed inconsequential compared to the thought arising in his mind. While tension continued to seize his body, its priorities had shifted, his safety now a distant concern. More than torture, more than death, this what he'd been truly afraid of since arriving in the Painted World – no, since that contest so many months ago.

Whether or not he could trust Eric.

He can't take credit for killing the Ghosts, Adam reassured himself. He put a curse on himself. It can't be broken that easily.

The silence stretched on. It was like a hazy, invisible smoke clouding his senses, more oppressive than the supernatural weight the Emperor had summoned.

And then–

"Your Imperial Majesty," Eric began, in a formal tone. "As said in my report, the Ghost of Waters, servant of the Dark Sorcerer, was slain aboard a stolen Imperial vessel." The Hangman hesitated. "Sorry for overstepping, but just to confirm...you said something about a reward for the one who killed the Ghost?"

There was a pause. "I did," Ciro agreed, slowly. "Amnesty for their crimes."

"Eric helped me," Adam desperately blurted out. It was a lie – and he didn't care. "Give him partial amnesty too." That way he'll have more to gain from siding with me! He didn't want to doubt Eric, yet the sickness he felt deep in his stomach would have done anything to keep the Hangman on his side.

Even now, he still felt guilty for not trusting him.

Ciro nodded. "Very well. I can agree to those terms. Hangman, is what he said true? Did you work together to fell the Dark Sorcerer's servant?"

"No," Eric said. "I took no part in it. I can't take credit for it."

Despite the pain and the weight on his shoulders, Adam's lips curved into a smile – as a heavier weight had just been lifted from his soul. I shouldn't have doubted him, he thought. He doesn't even want a reward. He's–

"I cannot take credit for it," Eric continued, "because neither Adam the Pretender nor myself took part in it. Lord Tenver, Prince of the Empire, slayed the ghost himself."