Welcome back to Sarantium, the glistening city of mosaics, high-octane chariot races, and deadly political intrigue. We left off at the end of Sailing To Sarantium, and now we conclude the two-book series with Guy Gavriel Kay’s Lord of Emperors. Can it stack up to the perfection of its predecessor? Yes. Yes, it can.
Crispin the mosaicist returns, working on his masterpiece for Emperor Valerius II. Consider Crispin the anchoring substance onto which the tiles of our story are affixed. He’s the ever-present character embroiled—often against his will—in the schemes of Sarantium’s most powerful people. A new player emerges, too. Rustem of Kerakek is a Bassanian physician who travels to Sarantium under the auspices of sharing medical knowledge. There’s more to it, of course, and he is tasked with a particularly daunting mission that could unravel much of the Sarantine empire.
In reading Lord of Emperors, I kept thinking that the title of the duology—The Sarantine Mosaic—fits the story perfectly. Every character is a tile in a larger work. The placement of one piece in a particular place indelibly affects where another will go and how, in the end, the piece will look. Such is the land of Sarantium. It encompasses the massive scope of an empire in stark juxtaposition to the machinations of individuals and their choices.
Time passes, gears turn. Plots unfold with stunning velocity as even the empire’s smartest schemers try to jockey for their own power and legacy. In the midst of it all, Cripsin fights for his own legacy, the mosaic from which he is so often distracted by the empire’s elite. Lord of Emperors allows its events to unfurl around and near Crispin, and we as readers get the sense that he’d just like to work on his opus. What else will he have when he leaves Sarantium, when he passes on?
Crispin’s yearning for meaning and beauty exists in contrast to Rustem’s more logical nature. He brings a pragmatic outsider’s perspective into the city, a perspective Crispin no longer has, considering he’s been entrenched in Sarantine politics for some time. Through Rustem, we understand that Sarantium isn’t the whole picture—it’s a large piece in an even larger work of geopolitical art. Where Crispin embraced his role as a cog in the political workings of Sarantium (after a time), Rustem approaches with needle-sharp caution.
Consider their arrivals in Sarantium as an example. Crispin is welcomed by the Imperial Court. Out of his depth, sure, but in the presence of the city’s most powerful people. Rustem arrives to a brigand murdering his traveling companion and subsequently running for his life. The two sides of the city’s brutality are on full display: one propelled by elite control, the other by the chaos of the everyday.
And then we have the incredible women of Lord of Emperors. The novel teems with powerful women burdened by station, agency, and desire. They are not, like so many of their counterparts in fantasy, relegated to the sidelines. Empress Alixana arguably understands the court and its workings better than anyone else. Giselle of Bataria is underestimated but finds ways to make a massive impact during her limited page time. These women and many more (Syliane Daleina and Shirin, particularly) cast long shadows across the book’s plot, coloring the story in with new flavors and momentum.
By the final page of Lord of Emperors, my jaw was on the floor. I texted the QTL crew, “Okay, so we’re dealing with one of the greatest storytellers of all time,” and Andrew simply replied, “Yes.” Every thread he pulls, Guy Kavriel Kay allows to unravel into a gorgeous string of narrative that alights softly on the final words of the book. He weaves those threads into a full-blown tapestry of remarkable climax, and Lord of Emperors culminates in one of the most poignant and satisfying endings I’ve ever read. It is, indeed, a masterpiece. 
