Shadow's Son by Shirley Meier, S.M. Stirling and Karen Wehrstein ...

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"Emao-e, I would be glad to tell you how I got in, though I don't think anyone but a Zak could. I'll go
through it with you point by point." She'd say she'd made herself invisible to the sentry who had let her
by; he didn't deserve trouble for it.What did that one mean, saying I was close to him, perhaps I
could help ? The scribe was holding the letter to Chevenga's half-encased hand so that, moving only his
fingers, he could sign.
The general's eyes softened. "Well enough. The scribe was doing the sealing now; four separate stamps
with the Imperial seals, one with the Yeoli signet. Chevenga had made no attempt to get the spit off his
face; Emao-e and the scribe, it seemed, were pretending not to notice. "I leave this in your hands,
Emao-e," he said, prompting the scribe to hand the letter to the general, who took it civilly enough. The
scribe scurried out. "Megan, if this isn't keeping my word well enough, I'm sorry."
Sorry. As if that makes any difference. Then the signs fell together, so obvious she wondered how
she'd missed them. Leaving it in Emao-e's hands, no one being let in, no announcements, his carelessness
about security, his bonds, the sentry's words,tetyuyae …
"You're trying to kill yourself," she said, amazement breaking through anger. "You're trying to fish-gutted
kill yourself!"
His dark eyes met hers. "Weep or spit on my pyre, as you choose."
As if I haven't already shown what I'd be inclined to do, she thought.Why isn't Emao-e calling the
guards to give me the heave ? She studied the casts, the linen bandages used as bonds, wrapped
carefully so as to be comfortable. "Mind you, I don't see how you're going to do it," she said tartly.
"Refusing water," he answered, as casually as if she'd asked the time of day.
She glanced up at Emao-e, and read her grim face.Another voice to persuade him to change his
mind , it said;I'm not about to stop you .
"Another small, piddling, trivial question, if I may.Why ? You've won. You're Imperator. You've killed
Kurkas, obviously, no doubt in some appropriately unpleasant way—and he wasn't your Habiku, you
said. You've burned down the city and danced on the ashes. You should be happy! You're making no
fish-guttedsense . Gold-bottom."
"I know," he said.
"Besides—are you going to leave this mess to everyone else to shovel up? There's going to be war all
around the edges of Arkoand all through the middle for centuries, ifsomeone doesn't take it in
hand—and who else in Halya can? I thought you gave a shit about that kind of thing!"
"The hand that bore the scythe can't give the ivy branch." That old-school Yeoli formality again; but
under it was pain beyond tears.
"He's sentencing himself to death for the child-raping sack," said Emao-e. "If he dies Arko's hate will be
purged, he keeps arguing. You'd think he'd forgotten his own people exist!"
Megan gazed down at him.The scythe , she thought.Not the sword; the scythe. Chevenga. You don't
do anything in half-measures, or without utter conviction, or without it creating its own truth and
convincing everyone around you. Not even madness. You're bug-fuck, Imperturbable Chevenga .