by S D Simper
As Etolié stood up to follow him, she flashed a reassuring smile to Lara. “The worst that can happen is you’ll know it’s a no,” she said, hoping it were cryptic enough for a certain viceroy to mind his own business. “At best, who knows?”
Etolié followed Murishani, bracing herself as he babbled on about decorations and guests and party favors. Back to the real world.
* * *
Flowridia avoided the other guests, most especially a certain Theocracy High Priestess she’d been rude to in the woods.
She spent most of the day tending her garden, grateful for the solitude and peace the wards offered amidst the outside cacophony. Rather than exhaust her limited energy for social gatherings by greeting everyone as they came, Flowridia stayed with Demitri and Ana instead.
That evening, she dressed in her old bedroom, one of Ayla’s gifted dresses donning her form. Black lace, modest but attractive, and with a neckline that revealed only collar bones, it was a perfect match to the large moon lily in her hair. Flowridia primped and preened in the mirror, ignoring the little fox running at her feet, content to waste as much time as possible. If she arrived late, no one would notice her entrance. She would stand beside Casvir and be ignored all night.
She attended as a guest and had no duty other than to smile and show up.
Demitri watched from behind her shoulder. You’re pretty. Stop worrying.
“I’m not worrying.”
Demitri’s tongue suddenly licked a line from her chin to her hair. Flowridia cringed and immediately ran to the ruined bed to wipe it clean with a blanket. Still pretty.
“You’re so thoughtful,” she said, sardonic as she wiped away the sticky kiss. “Are you coming tonight?”
I would get squished and die.
Flowridia raised an eyebrow at that. “Seriously?”
I will use that excuse forever and ever.
“Watch Ana, then. She would actually get squished and die.”
You wound me.
Flowridia wondered what she’d done to be cursed with so petulant a familiar. Still, perhaps there was a use for him; from her bodice, she withdrew the ear, the cord it was attached to quite visible. “Will you take care of this for me?”
I have to nanny Ana and Lady Ayla?
He took the chain in his mouth, all the same. “I don’t anticipate being out late,” she said, and she placed a kiss on his furry cheek.
For all of Ayla’s faults, she had delivered on one promise—the dress was easily long enough to hide her bare feet. Comfortable against the carpeted floor, Flowridia quickly descended the stairs and entered the ballroom.
The déjà vu struck her hard, that of the ballroom strung with lights, filled to near capacity with ambassadors and royalty. Most were those of human and angelic descent, but enough of Murishani’s De’Sindai were scattered about to cast a presence. Dwarves as well, and even a few elves.
Alone and overwhelmed, Flowridia knew familiar faces had to be among the crowd, but she saw no one. She backed toward a wall, inhaling deep to let her senses prickle out, faintly touching upon any dead energy, any sort of void of life in the room.
She felt undeath radiating from the alcohol, and when she dared dive back into the crowd, Flowridia found Casvir standing by the barrels of ale. To her surprise, his claws wrapped around a large tankard, one he sipped in slow, steady measures. He radiated an aura of disdain, but Flowridia watched a moment as braver fools would come to introduce themselves. Casvir would nod, perhaps mumble a greeting, but his arrogance shone in his sneer. The imperator was below no man and treated all as such.
When she slid up beside him, he nodded in acknowledgement before taking a small sip of whatever liquid swirled in his tankard. “Enjoying the festivity?” he asked.
“Not particularly.”
She saw his lip twitch, perhaps in approval.
“Do you need to be drunk to tolerate parties?”
“I have never been drunk.”
Flowridia crossed her arms and stared into the crowd, joining Casvir in people-watching. “Then what are you drinking?”
“A specialty of Nox’Kartha, from my personal stores. I believe you were first exposed when Ayla stole the flask from my belt.”
She did recall, because any drink strong enough to down Etolié would surely wake even the dead.
“But only enough to remove the stress from social affairs. To over-indulge is weakness.”
“Ayla warned me against trying it.”
Casvir set his tankard down, staring at Flowridia fully now. “Uncharacteristically wise of her.”
In the crowd, Flowridia spotted Etolié’s ethereal form, glittering amidst the nobles. Her silver hair, done up in a bun, sparkled in the light as she turned toward Flowridia and waved. To her surprise, the tall Celestial wove through the sea of people, toward her and Casvir.
“Etolié’s coming,” Flowridia said, and then she realized the Celestial hadn’t come alone.
She shouldn’t have been surprised, given the motherly role Etolié had played in the empress’ life, but Empress Alauriel Solviraes followed, her hair braided back with jewels. Luxurious waves made up her purple dress, the open back held together by decorative, golden chains. Feathered pauldrons covered her shoulders, and a small crown sat perfectly centered upon her head. Every part the empress, and with her soft silver eyes she surveyed the scene and smiled.
Flowridia struggled to smile back. Everything she would say now would be lies and subterfuge.
Etolié offered a curtsy to the imperator but addressed Flowridia. “Have you seen the Solviran envoy?”
Flowridia had not and shook her head.
Unlike the rest of the guests, Lara did not bow to Casvir, but she did nod in deference. “Imperator Casvir, it’s always a pleasure when you make a rare appearance.”
Casvir bowed.
Flowridia prayed her shock did not appear too brightly on her face, because Casvir went down to one knee and bowed before Empress Alauriel.
Flowridia realized that Etolié had zero reservation about hiding her surprise as she pulled a flask from the air, perhaps not drunk enough to decipher what cryptic message this wrote.
The guests nearest the void that was Casvir and his aura reacted the same—Casvir bowed to no one, yet he had fallen to one knee, managing for even his horns to fall beneath Lara’s diminutive stature.
Lara, however, stood tall, the mysteries of politics perhaps not so mysterious to her. Casvir stood and said, “Empress Alauriel, no one shows you the respect you deserve.”
Flowridia’s eyes darted between Lara and Casvir, grateful no attention had been drawn to herself.
“Your compliment is well-received,” Lara said sincerely. “I wished to thank you for the kindness you’ve shown my cousin. Your funds pay for a wedding that promises to be breathtaking, and I know she is grateful. She and Zorlaeus are a joyous couple, and while Viceroy Murishani receives the praise, your role cannot be overlooked.”
“You are welcome.”
Lara smiled, and with a nod she turned to Flowridia. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Lady Flowridia.”
She did not offer a hand, which was just as well; Flowridia feared that to touch her would mean to transfer the deepest, darkest thoughts in her mind. “Likewise,” she said simply, but then realized it was terribly rude to slight someone Imperator Casvir had bowed to.
So Flowridia, panicking, bowed as well. When she looked back up, Lara had gone sheet-white.
Etolié was kind enough to interrupt the awkward exchange. “Drinks are on Eionei,” Etolié said, and to Flowridia’s horror, she winked at Casvir. “A wedding gift, you might say. But your brews have a reputation for waking the dead—are they enough to down a Solviraes?”
Utterly stoic, Casvir said, “Very little can defeat a Solviraes.”
“I think that’s a challenge.” From the air, Etolié pulled a wineglass and wasted no time in filling it with the noxious Nox’Karthan brew. She handed the glass to L
ara. “Sip slowly. I made a mistake once.”
At Etolié’s urging, Lara was dragged from Flowridia and Casvir’s presence. Once gone, Flowridia whispered, “Casvir, you bowed.”
“As I said, no one shows her proper respect.”
“Casvir, I’ve never seen you bow, or even thought you capable.”
“Empress Alauriel is above my station. Her lands and citizens outnumber mine.” He took a sip of his tankard. “The Silver Fire is something I have studied relentlessly. To understand my enemy means to defeat it. Given preparation, her life would be forfeit to my might, but placed across each other in an arena, she might win.” Another sip, and Flowridia saw his red eyes practically flash at the prospect of a true challenge. “I would never say that lightly.”
Casvir had fallen to the might of the God of Order, who wielded two orbs at the time. “I’ve done some study as well,” she said cryptically. “I know Solviraes blood is powerful.”
“She is descended from two Goddesses, and what has resulted is a unique and potent bloodline.”
Flowridia stared out at the crowd, daring to search for the soft-eyed empress. “Tell me what you know.”
“The Silver Fire is the culmination of the power between the Stars and the Moon, giving the Solviraes the ability to absorb magic and blast it back tenfold. It manifests as a silver flame of pure, potent energy, granting them enormous feats of power, such as the ability to transport themselves and others across the planes. Some say it is the very essence of creation when mastered, but more often pure destruction.”
“That’s incredible,” Flowridia whispered, but Casvir continued.
“To absorb magic is to understand it at a level that I can never fathom. You have finesse, as does she, but she also holds the reserve to wield it in masses that could level a kingdom. Consider that, the next time Etolié drags her around like a pet.” He took another drink, and Flowridia wondered if it were capable of emptying. “No one shows her the respect she deserves.”
Flowridia read magic and plucked on the individual strings threaded through the tapestry of the world. But Lara, it seemed, was capable of grabbing the entire mass and shaping it to her will. This was the woman whose throat she had to slit. “I . . . have somewhere I need to be.”
Casvir nodded in acknowledgement.
Flowridia slipped into the crowd, her small stature useful in darting around chatting guests. From far away, she spotted Murishani lounging upon a luxurious couch, draped in men and women.
In the far corner, she saw representatives from the Theocracy sitting apart from the riotous Nox’Karthan attendees. Flowridia kept alert, realizing the archbishop himself might be present, which also meant—
“Flowridia!”
Flowridia turned, horrified to see High Priestess Lunestra rapidly approaching. Too late to run and feign oblivious, Flowridia simply accepted her offered hand. “High Priestess Lunestra?”
Never had she seen Lunestra wear finer robes—literal gold thread embroidered the sigil of Sol Kareena onto her tabard. From the dark hue of her skin to her graying hair, plaited into an ivory crown, she was perfection even in her elderly age. “It’s wonderful to see you again,” the priestess said, and Flowridia wondered if her sweetness could be genuine. Perhaps, with the woman’s half-full wineglass, but sweetness could turn bitter in a turn of phrase.
Flowridia’s heart raced as she struggled to respond. She managed a smile, one that grew desperately wide when she realized Sora stood beside her. “Oh, good. A witness.” She paused, realizing she’d spoken aloud. “To our friendship,” she added. “A witness to our friendship.”
Lunestra laughed, and Flowridia had the sinking suspicion in her stomach that there was a cruel game afoot. “Yes, High Priestess Sora, be a witness to our friendship. The more who know, the merrier.”
Sora stood stiffly, eyes darting back and forth between the pair. “I didn’t realize you two were so close.”
“We were able to find out much more about the other in the woods,” Lunestra said, either oblivious or purposefully ignoring Flowridia’s increasing discomfort. “I had hoped to see her here, safe and sound.”
“Who’s safe and sound?” Classy as ever, Etolié approached. With her, Lara looked a bit red in the cheeks, eyes unfocused as she swayed, clearly living in her own world. The wineglass filled with Nox’Karthan Ale was half empty. “High Priestess Lunestra, lovely to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Lunestra replied, but Flowridia sensed an odd tension between the pair. “As I was telling Sora, Flowridia and I met in the woods, a few months back. I was saying I’m happy to see her home safe.”
Flowridia’s blood pounded in her ears as Etolié responded. “Quite the coincidence, running into the other.”
“Not at all. I sought her out.” Lunestra smiled at Flowridia, and it was far too knowing, holding the barest hint of a threat. She held her gaze. “I simply wanted her to know that the negotiation is still on the table, should she wish to revisit it.”
Flowridia thought of the ear upstairs, grateful she’d thought to leave it with Demitri. “Lunestra, I’m afraid it’s already been taken care of. Though, I suppose it’s hardly disappointing to say, given the goal was to have it destroyed.” She looked to Etolié and Sora, refusing to allow Lunestra’s simmering insinuations haunt her. “Lunestra was kind enough to track me down while I was on my adventure with Imperator Casvir, out of fear for my well-being. But she was also quite clear in her kingdom’s continued interest in the ear of Ayla Darkleaf. Which has already been taken care of,” she repeated, content to mirror Lunestra’s deliberate smile.
She found she was entirely capable of doing so, recalling she and Lunestra held a direct blood relationship. Internally, she prayed Lunestra said nothing of offering the orb, lest she be forced to explain to Etolié that she’d turned down the offer of the very artifact her kingdom sought for the sake of something so silly as ‘romance.’
“What did ever happen to that?”
Of course Etolié would ask. “Destroyed in Nox’Kartha,” Flowridia replied, praying her lie was seamless, “per my request. As I said in the woods—” She looked to Lunestra, studied her polite demeanor. “—she was mine to do with as I wished, and I wished to give her a peaceful end.”
Lunestra met her gaze with the slightest of nods, understanding in the gesture, and Flowridia realized better than she ever had the subtle nuances of politics, how a thousand different things could be conveyed in merely a glance.
“Cute,” Etolié said, and Flowridia silently thanked every god for the segue. “Flowers, have you seen my favorite beefcake?”
Lunestra grinned at the pet name, clearly not understanding, but Flowridia replied with, “No, I haven’t. Though I’d guess with Solvira—there doesn’t seem to be a Nox’Karthan table.”
Understanding dawned onto Lunestra’s elegant features. “I would second what Lady Flowridia said—your friend, yes? I do believe I saw General Khastra conversing with Magister Reginal of Solvira.”
Flowridia saw a dare in the high priestess’ gaze, but not to her—to Etolié, who had visibly tensed. “Yes, she is my friend. I’m rather fond of her.”
“I merely wondered where your loyalties lie. Friendship can be complicated, yes?” Lunestra winked at Flowridia, who suspected she’d stumbled into something well beyond her depth. “Especially so, when they cross political barriers.”
Months ago, a rather unfortunate misunderstanding had been had regarding her own apparent ‘friendship’ with Ayla Darkleaf. “Depends on your definition of friendship,” Flowridia said simply. “Though I think making assumptions can be dangerous territory. If you’ll kindly excuse me—” She cut herself off, instead darting into the crowd.
A void of people surrounded Thalmus, perhaps because of his palpable discomfort. Flowridia longed to join him, but her heart still lay shattered from his words. His kindness would be an insult.
In the crowd, she could just see Marielle giggling among a crowd of Muri
shani’s people, her blotchy cheeks suggesting she’d already drunk enough for one night. Zorlaeus stood beside her, visibly petrified as he sipped what Flowridia suspected was water.
Flowridia decided not to engage. Instead she heard uproarious laughter from the Solviran corner and spotted Khastra downing the Nox’Karthan Ale.
Slurred words spoke from behind. “Flowridia!”
Flowridia turned, surprised to see Lara behind her. When she swayed, Flowridia set a hand at her waist. “Hello, Empress,” Flowridia said, realizing her dress opened deep enough at the back that she touched bare skin, soft and warm. Her hand fit perfectly at the dip of her waist. “Are you enjoying—”
Flowridia stiffened when she felt full lips against her cheek. “I love drinking with friends.”
“Are you all right?”
Lara giggled, the glass in her hand swaying dangerously. “You’re so pretty.” Then, she cupped Flowridia’s cheek with her hand, Nox’Karthan Ale strong on her breath as she said, “Is that why Casvir wants to fuck you?”
“Lara, that’s not—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry . . .” Lara took a final sip from her wineglass, then tossed the partially full glass aside—it sparkled a moment before it vanished. “That was rude of me.” She smiled, a girlish giggle on her tongue. “I missed you. How are you?”
“I’m happy to be home.” Flowridia caught a glimpse of star-lit hair. “Etolié!”
The Celestial swayed as she appeared beside them.
“Etolié, Lara’s delirious. I think it’s the Nox’Karthan Ale.”
Etolié opened her mouth, then shut it again, and the words from her lips held the barest hint of conspiracy. “Then she should probably get to bed before she embarrasses her kingdom. Would you mind? I have to babysit this party.”
