The Goblin Emperor (The Chronicles of Osreth, #1)

by Katherine Addison

In his own ears, Maia’s laugh sounded like the choke of a dying mouse, but it was a laugh and not a scream, so he supposed he should count it a victory.

One did not ask for more than awareness from the Lady of the Stars; hers was the gift of clear sight, not of mercy or protection.

Compassion was all that he could hope for. He could not pray for love or forgiveness; both were out of reach. He could not forgive his father, and he could not love his brothers whom he had never met. But he could feel compassion for them, as he did for the other victims, and it was that he sought more than anything else: to mourn their deaths rather than holding on to his anger at their lives.

It was the first time in his life Maia had been surrounded by people who were like him instead of only snow-white elves with their pale eyes, and he missed several names in the effort not to faint or hyperventilate or burst into tears.

“Veklevezhek,” Min Vechin said. “It is a goblin word, and it means to decide what to do about a prisoner by staking him below the tideline while you argue.”

An emperor who breaks laws is a mad dog and a danger, but an emperor who will never break a rule is nearly as bad, for he will never be able to recognize when a law must be changed.”

“We do not,” Maia said firmly. “We could not ask for a better secretary, and it has never once occurred to us to doubt your loyalty. Nor do we do so now.” He managed a ragged quirk of a smile. “Were you part of Lord Chavar’s plot, it would have been much better executed.” He saw the weight fall off Csevet’s shoulders, and Csevet’s returning smile was better than his own.

Maia, you are wonderful.

It took Telimezh a moment, but he managed to bow and say, “Serenity,” and leave the room without walking into the door, although that was at least partly because Beshelar nudged him away from it.