Roderich knew what Tōru thought of him. He wasn’t quite the naive fool Tōru believed. Not that it mattered. Roderich was perfectly capable of conducting his business whatever the Lord of the Serpent thought.

It was a pity, though. Roderich had been friends with Chiyo and Santiago—Tōru’s parents and former lords of the clan. He would have welcomed a similar friendship with their son. A pity Tōru had ruined that chance for friendship when he’d killed them.

Not that Roderich could prove it. Not that Roderich could prove anything when it came to Tōru.

Elena, Dmitri, and Kristoph were already seated in Roderich’s office as he came in the door. Their quiet conversation ceased as Roderich came in and they all stood, bowing. Roderich returned the greeting then waved them back to their seats.

“Shadow court approaches,” he said. “It’s time to finalize the roster of who among the marshals and legionnaires will be attending.”

The nature of shadow court made it an opportune time for Roderich to observe and get to know the people in attendance. It was a perfect environment for him to truly evaluate new faces in the ranks, but that had to be balanced against enough veterans to make certain the Emperor and the court were still well protected.

As Lord Marshal, Roderich’s duty was to command both Imperial services: the Legion, who were the Emperor’s protectors as well as the Empire’s martial force, and the Marshals, who were responsible for seeing that the Emperor’s law was obeyed throughout the Empire. It was a huge responsibility, and he would not have been able to accomplish it without the people in this room. Elena, who saw to the day-to-day functions of the Marshals. Dmitri, who kept the legion honed and sharp, a military force to rival any of the clan armies. And Kristoph, who oversaw Alexia’s personal protection with such subtlety and skill that few people beyond these walls thought of him as anything but Alexia’s pampered pet. This was Roderich’s cadre, and he had absolute faith in all of them.

As far as the rest of the people in his service—it would have been dishonest to deny his faith had been shaken by the events of the last shadow court. The attack, the demon, the actions of the Dragon ambassador—none of that had disturbed him half as much as seeing the names of his own people on the list of people who had betrayed him. If it hadn’t been for luck—luck and Yeijiro—Roderich didn’t even like to imagine the disaster that could have befallen.

It was, as they say, the elephant in the room. What happened at the last shadow court. Who they could trust for this one.

Kristoph, it turned out, was thinking down a very similar path. “The Emperor has inquired as to whether Marshal Miyōshi will be joining us in the Suri court.”

“No,” Elena answered with finality.

Kristoph twitched an eyebrow up. An almost imperceptible gesture that spoke volumes.

“Don’t.” Elena’s voice was sharp. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

“I am merely curious if there was a conversation I missed. Since Sur Elena seems so certain of her answer.”

“We’re not in court and we’re not sitting in front of the Emperor, so you can speak to me, instead of about me. Either way, my answer’s the same. I don’t trust him.”

“Because he’s a Serpent,” Kristoph offered. At Elena’s tight nod, went on. “Was he not instrumental in uncovering the last conspiracy against the Emperor?”

No one answered. The question was practically rhetorical anyway. After a pause, Kristoph continued, this time speaking to Roderich. “While her Imperial Highness would never think to second guess the Lord Marshal’s decision in this matter, she would like to express that she, at least, would consider him a welcome addition to the court.”

Roderich could count on one hand the number of times he had acted against Alexia’s wishes. But this was…complicated.

He understood why Alexia wanted Yeijiro there. It was the same shaken faith as Roderich was trying to fight. He didn’t believe—nor did he think Alexia truly believed—that there was another conspiracy brewing or that, if there was, the same confluence of events would keep them from being discovered. But Yeijiro had become…a talisman of sorts. A reassurance.

Which was exactly the reason Roderich had been leaning towards not including Yeijiro in this year’s court. He didn’t need a talisman. Or shouldn’t.

But Elena’s vehemence surprised him. “Marshal Miyōshi has given me no reason not to trust him.”

“Of course he hasn’t. That isn’t how they do things.”

“Are you expecting retaliation?” That from Dmitri. “Because of that business you uncovered on Koschei?”

That business had been drugs being smuggled into the Empire from the unallied territories, with the profits all funneling into the Serpent clan. Profits that had now been seized, thanks to Elena’s people. It had been good work, an investigation Roderich hadn’t even noticed that had borne sudden fruit.

“Yeijiro is a marshal,” Roderich reminded her. “Even if there are reprisals from the Serpent for interfering in their business, he is not their agent.”

“I know you believe that.”

“He saved the Emperor,” Kristoph said mildly. There was a dangerous tension in his posture, a threat that Roderich could recognize, because he had been raised to the court and he, too, was a Swan. Elena, he suspected, didn’t see it.

They were both being protective of Roderich, in their own way. Elena thought Roderich too trusting. Kristoph was bristling against that perceived slight. Roderich needed to end this before it blossomed into true strife. It didn’t do to have his people arguing. They were all on the same side.

“Marshal Miyōshi will not be attending Shadow court. Not because I don’t trust him.” Roderich leveled a stern look first at Elena, and then at Kristoph. “But because I do. I would prefer to spend the time getting to know others in my service. So. Let us continue.”

The discussion moved on, with Elena, Dmitri, and Kristoph each making their own recommendations, reminding Roderich of names he might have missed, giving their opinions when they knew a legionnaire or marshal better than he did. It was a productive meeting, but Elena continued to be on edge throughout. Roderich had to carefully deflect several times when she’d seemed to be looking for a fight. To a point where he’d had to visibly shake his head when Kristoph had been about to rise to the bait.

Something was clearly going on.

As the meeting came to a close and everyone stood to leave, Roderich said, “Elena, stay a moment.”

He waited until Dmitri and Kristoph had gone, closing the door behind them. Because it was Elena, he went straight to the blunt question. “What’s wrong?”

Like the rest, she’d brought a stack of personnel files to the meeting. From the bottom, she pulled a folder that hadn’t come up at any time in the discussion. Without a word, she slapped it on Roderich’s desk.

The file was labeled in the same neat hand as all Elena’s files. Marshal Min-jun. Roderich’s stomach sank. “Is this—”

“It’s exactly what you think.”

Marshal Min-jun was the marshal assigned to the Serpent court. The marshal responsible for organizing Imperial oversight in the viper’s nest that was Castle Miyōshi. “He didn’t even last a year.”

Silently, Elena flipped the folder open. Roderich scanned the loose arrangement of documents on top. Bank account audits. Eyewitness statements. Transcript of testimony given under oath. At the end—most damning—Min-jun’s own confession.

They always confessed. Was that Tōru’s own special brand of torture for Roderich? The evidence was always damning enough, but there was never any question of its authenticity when each marshal ended up writing out their crimes in their own hand and signing their names to it.

Min-jun, it seemed, had been an inveterate gambler. At least, that was how he described himself. Gambling had led to debt, which had led to borrowing money from people he shouldn’t have. Which had led, in the end, to Min-jun falsifying official reports so that other crimes committed by his debtors had been overlooked.

“Gambling,” Roderich said out loud. “Was there any history—”

“No,” Elena answered before he could even finish the question. They’d been down this road before. “No history. I couldn’t find any sign he’d so much as thrown a pair of dice before he got sent to Tacitus.”

This was how it always happened. Whoever Roderich sent to the Serpent court—no matter how spotless their record, how clean their habits, how perfect their behavior—they ended up like this. Ruined by their own actions, a confession penned in their own words. There could be no accusation of a set-up. There was never any evidence of coercion. Nothing Roderich could point to. Nothing he could bring before Alexia.

Just one more broken marshal. One more of Roderich’s people who had been a good man before he’d fallen under Tōru’s attention.

Roderich hadn’t known Min-jun well, but he knew Min-jun had been Elena’s friend. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Elena slapped the folder closed and took it back. “So what do we do?”

“Do?” Roderich didn’t understand the question. “What is there to do?”

“How do we stop this?”

To that, there was only one answer. “We find an incorruptible marshal.”

“You still don’t get it.” Elena’s voice cracked with frustration. “There is no such thing. That’s the lesson, and we’re the idiots who refuse to learn it. And as long as you keep sacrificing good people because you won’t stop playing his game…”

“What’s the answer?” Roderich allowed himself sharpness. “What do you suggest? We can’t simply pretend his court doesn’t exist. And I am not playing his game. I am doing my duty.”

“Well then.” She stood. Gave a perfunctory bow. “I will do mine. I’ll return to you with a candidate to take Min-jun’s place as soon as I can find one.”

Roderich let her go. Her anger would fade, and she would do her job. She’d bring him a good suggestion. She always did.

And she was wrong. Roderich was certain. One of these times, it would be the right marshal. Someone who would be immune to Tōru’s whispers, to whatever poison he was able to drip into the minds of even the most honest and loyal of imperial servants.

And then Roderich would win.