The Emperor's Daughter

by H M Angues

She ushers us inside, hesitating when she recognizes my face through the shadows of my hood. “King Talon,” she whispers. “It’s good to see you, too.”

  My sister and I are standing inside a modern, clean townhome. Heavy curtains block out the streets beyond the windows. A few men and women mill about inside. I scan the room for potential threats, but none of these people look like one.

  A woman with crimson red hair appears from the top of the stairs. “Your Majesty, Your Higness,” the fair woman says politely. She places her right fist over her heart in salute to us both. A small smile tugs at Calla’s lips at the sight of it.

  “Follow me, Emperor Calla. Your brother may wait downstairs,” she instructs.

  “He’s coming with me,” my sister demands. “And please—it’s just Calla.” No one here catches it, but twenty years of knowing her means I can hear the wariness and confusion in her voice.

  These people are her supporters, yet it seems Ramsey sent her here. Why? It's making us both uneasy, and I don't want to be separated from her here, either.

  We follow the woman—who tells us that her name is Elija Piers—upstairs.

  ∞∞∞

  “Welcome, Emperor Calla, to our safehouse.” Elija settles into a large armchair, only candlelight being used to chase away the darkness. “I was expecting you.”

  “I’m going to get right to it, Piers. Ramsey sent me here, and I don’t know why. In fact, it makes this whole thing seem very suspicious,” Calla says harshly, refusing to sit. She folds her arms across her chest and remains standing across the room from Elija.

  “I’m sure it does. Truly, I do not know why Ramsey brought you to us. She showed up at our door this morning and told us that you would be coming, then disappeared.”

  “What’s with the symbol on the door?” I ask, taking a defensive stance by my sister’s shoulder. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but she's still my little sister to me.

  “The safehouse symbol. In our organization, we’ve taken to painting such symbols on our back doors to communicate to each other. There are other markings that we paint on the homes of Ramsey’s followers, as well as those that mark traders and smugglers that sell food and other scarce resources.”

  “What exactly is your organization?” I prod.

  “Flame Keepers,” Elija replies with a confident and proud straightening of her shoulders. “Our mission is to protect the Eternal Flame and the legacy of the Renald dynasty. Until we were aware that Emperor Calla and yourself were alive, most of us supported putting Bellamy on the throne. Now, though, it’s about putting the emperor back where she belongs.”

  Calla glances around, still on-edge, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. “How has the Underground never heard of you?”

  Elija folds her hands on her lap. “As of now, we are little more than a group of a few doezen people with a dream, and a hell of a lot of hope. But hope is often all that one needs, Phoenix.”

  My sister’s eyes go wide, amber burning brighter than usual. I shift on my feet uneasily, inching closer to my sister, ready to grab her and run from this place. There is no way an average Namari woman like Elija Piers could know that.

  Elija stands, moving closer to us. In the dim light of the safehouse and this room, it had been impossible to see her properly, except for her vibrant red hair.

  I hadn’t been able to see it before, but her eyes are white as death, the dark pupil in the center the only interruption of the opaque paleness. I have never seen even a Primori, let alone a Namari, with those eyes.

  But my sister has. She doesn’t share in my surprise.

  “You’re a Necro,” she murmurs.

  Elija nods. “One of the many Primori you helped cross the border from Helkyn. But my group never made it to the Underground. Ramsey interrupted the journey, and a few hundred of us are now scattered across Namari. I managed to establish commlinks with many of them, but so far they all lack the resources and freedom to join the Flame Keepers.”

  “How and why did Ramsey come to you?” Calla’s defensiveness returns, her stance turning almost warrior-like, every muscle tensing beneath her simple clothes.

  Elija doesn’t seem to notice that Cal is ready to fight her way out if this if things go sour. The fact that Ramsey set up this meeting makes me think it isn’t unlikely that this was all a trap.

  “I have already said that I don’t know. I have never met a Primori with abilities like hers; a mind such as that works in mysterious—and malevolent—ways.

  “When you leave, I want you to leave knowing that your people are still on your side. Few truly believe in Ramsey’s reign. Most, if not all, are rooting for you.”

  ∞∞∞

  “Flame Keepers,” Calla mutters for the tenth time as we make our way back downstairs. I can still hear awe and surprise in her voice. “I can’t believe... I thought most of my people had lost hope after seeing me, well, die. Yet here we are...”

  “Are you going to tell the rest of them?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she nods. “I don’t want to keep secrets from any of you anymore. Besides, this isn’t really something I can hide. Tomorrow, I want everyone to meet me in the study after breakfast. I’ll tell them about this, and one other thing.”

  “What’s the other thing?”

  “Kainan was onto something huge, but we hadn’t had enough time before... We didn’t get the chance to talk more about it, but now I think I’ve finally figured it all out.”

  Calla respectfully bids farewell to the Flame Keepers. With them, and the Underground, it’s the beginning of her own rebellion forming under Ramsey’s nose. And they did it not even knowing their emperor was alive.

  We exit through the same door we came in. My sister stumbles at the sight she beholds in the alleyway, sucking in a sharp breath.

  A small crowd of maybe twenty people are packed into the space between the walls. Rain is coming down now, something that happens almost daily in Morda. Soaked through and shivering, they all stand proudly, right fists over their hearts.

  “Emperor Calla Renald,” one of the men says. “A friend inside the safehouse informed us that you were here. Don’t worry—we’re loyal allies. We came to tell you that we are with you in the fight to regain your throne.” He bows his head in her direction as the others nod and mutter words of agreement. “I must say, we were all ecstatic when we learned that you were alive. Without you, the empire lost all hope.

  “But you’re in danger. King Ramsey knows you’re alive; all of her men are in the streets looking for you as we speak. You need to go back to wherever it is that you have been hiding. We are all waiting patiently for your return and are willing to help in the fight if we must.”

  “Long live the Emperor!” one shouts from the back. “Long burn the Eternal Flame!”

  The others cheer with the instigator until Calla silences them. “I thank you from the deepest regions of my heart for your loyalty. I only hope that I can do what you wish of me and take back control of my great nation. But you're risking your own lives by speaking with me, and I only wish that you do what you must to stay safe during these times.”

  “We are never safe. Under your family’s rule, Your Majesty,” one adds, “we were taken care of. Food and resources were in great surplus and guaranteed to all. Through the policies of your ancestors, poverty and hunger were essentially nonexistent. We were happy, and we trusted your leadership.”

  “Yeah!” a few of them shout.

  “With that tyrant on the throne, we feel like little more than rodents under her boot. Our work isn’t appreciated, resources are horded by her newly established military, and we—your people—are being taken from our homes and left to starve in the streets.

  “This isn’t Namari anymore, Emperor Calla. This is the kingdom of hell. She is a false Renald, an exile unfit to rule,” the woman concludes.

  I notice the change in Calla’s face, her stance. It’s anger that I see boiling over the fire of
her amber gaze. Pure, uncontrollable rage for her people, for the struggles they’re being forced to endure.

  It comforts me. She needs something to distract her from the endless grief that came with losing Kainan.

  “I swear to you,” she declares, “that King Ramsey, as she calls herself, will fall. I will follow you to the front lines, as I have countless times before, and risk my life for you all without hesitation. She will die by my own hand, that is certain.”

  The crowd doesn’t say a word as they all salute their emperor, cheer for her. I beam at Calla, full of pride. Pride for my sister, for her strength, for that unadulterated love she carries for her people. Not one person—not even Bellamy, who is so alike Cal in many ways—could rival her.

  Calla moves through the crowd, kissing cheeks, shaking hands, and thanking them for their service to her. I follow close behind, and a few of them recognize me under my hood.

  “Good to see you alive, King Talon. The rightful king of Roran, if I may add,” an older man whispers.

  “Thank you,” I reply with a friendly nod.

  The whole moment is moving, nearly bringing tears to my eyes. The one thing that makes Calla so fit to rule is her view of herself—she sees herself as one of them, as a part of her people rather than a ruler of them. That trait of hers shines like the sun as she walks among the throng, smiling at them and returning warm embraces.

  Until one of them snatches my wrist in an iron grip that even I cannot break.

  “I failed to be rid of you once. I won’t be so foolish again,” a venomous voice hisses in my ear. Calla, enthralled by her interaction with the crowd, doesn’t take notice. Those surrounding us don’t, either. Who would notice the details regarding less important people when their emperor was just inches from them?

  “Say a word to her, dearest husband, and I’ll kill you right here, in front of your sweet sister. Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

  Chapter 43

  Calla

  As the crowd disperses, I scan the alley for my brother, who’s nowhere to be found. When I ask some of the remainders, most shrug their shoulders and say they have no clue. One boy, no older than twelve, proves to be helpful.

  “I saw him walk that way,” he says, pointing in the direction opposite from where Talon and I originally came. “He was with a really tall woman.”

  Ramsey. Who else could it be? The sly, ruthless bitch is here.

  “Thank you.” I take off in the direction he’d pointed me.

  Blade, Jed, Mira, everyone—I need you in Jynna. Now. Two blocks from the fountain sculpture in front of the courthouse. I send the message through to their thoughts. It’s a Sanguinus trick, like sending a group message on comm, but I’ve yet to try it from such a distance. I can only pray that it reaches them.

  For what feels like hours, I scour the streets, careful to avoid the eyes of the patrols marching through and enforcing Ramsey’s curfew laws. All the while, I keep a portion of my mind tuned in on my friends.

  They got the message. Jed, Ryse, Blade, Bellamy, Jeriko—all of them are on their way, while Syn and Mira wait anxiously in the manor. It takes them about fifteen minutes to get to the meeting place; they take the ground transport we’d brought from Jurynn.

  “Calla,” Blade whispers from behind the building that sits on the corner two blocks from the courthouse—precisely where I’d told them to be.

  “Blade, I can’t find Talon,” I gasp, slipping into the shadows with my companions. Worry lines all of their faces.

  “Did you use your head?” Bellamy asks. “Not like—I mean, your head, your thought-thingy.”

  I nod. “I tried—nothing. Ramsey’s got him. She’s like… a black hole. Everything about her, surrounding her—it’s dark, empty.”

  “And our emperor doesn’t have the security access she used to. City cameras would be useful right now. We’re just going to have to search the old-fashioned way. Split into groups, we’ll search the city,” Jed instructs.

  We do as he says. I go with Jeriko, scurrying behind buildings, glancing through windows, searching down alleys. We search for about an hour, and… nothing, not a trace.

  As we near the far side of the city that backs up to the swamp lands, a smell like no other assaults my nose, and it’s not the marshy landscape bordering the city’s outskirts.

  “What the hell is that?” Jeriko covers his nose with his palm.

  I shake my head, moving slowly as I follow the smell. When we round the next corner into a small courtyard, Jeriko’s question is answered.

  Bodies. Dozens of them, piled in the courtyard’s center. Burnt to a blackened crisp, making individuals unidentifiable. Some bodies still smolder, smoke rising from the pile.

  They’re the Flame Keepers, the ones from the safehouse. Likely those I had met outside as well. The numbers match. All those that she sent me to, that showed their support to me. She burned them for it, and it was likely her intention all along.

  I’m more of a danger to my people than I had realized. Dozens of people—men, women, a twelve-year-old boy—slaughtered for the simple crime of showing support for their emperor.

  One of the bodies, I notice, is upright on a spike of wood. It’s the most marred and mangled of them all. A few strands of vibrant red hair survived on the corpse’s scalp: Elija Piers. A note is attached to her torso by a silver dagger.

  “Calla,” Jeriko calls, reaching for my arm to pull me back as I take a few steps closer.

  I wrench away from his grasp and move closer to the mound of the dead. The still-hot embers don’t bother me as I climb to the top, all the while stifling sobs as I trample the bodies of people who had gone so far as to commit treason. Because of me.

  The dying fire can’t burn a Fireblood, but the sight of the dead, the feel of the charred flesh beneath my hands… that will remain singed inside my mind for a lifetime.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, even though the dead cannot hear.

  Finally, I reach my destination and snatch the note from its place.

  We don’t get to be even, it reads. I know what it means.

  “CALLA!” a familiar voice shouts from behind. “Calla, where are you?”

  The paper burns in my hand, ashes slipping through my fingers like sand. I turn around to find the others gathered at the base of the mound of the dead. Talon darts out of one of the alleys, beside himself with worry.

  He’s alive. That’s what matters. But that look in his eyes when he finally sees me…

  It’s the same look he gave me when Kainan died. To be reminded of that loss in this moment could be just what it takes to push me over the edge, to force me to succumb to the symptoms of losing my mate.

  A whole crowd of people. Dead, because of me. Dozens of innocent people.

  My friends turn to me, to their emperor, and gaze at me with… fear. Fear of what I will do if I lose control.

  Oh, I’m losing control all right.

  I climb down the smoldering corpses. The act doesn’t even bother me this time—I shut it off. I make myself numb to it all.

  I ignore my friends as I slip through their ranks and into the street beyond the courtyard of death. I stop directly under the light of the streetlamps, in full view of her patrol soldiers. It takes them a moment to register who’s standing before them. That moment is all I need.

  I reach up and grab the skull of the nearest one, sending waves of white-hot electricity through her bones. She shudders and convulses under my grip before crumbling in a lifeless heap on the ground. The second one is barely able to draw his gun before I tear it from his grip. The bullet he had intended for me explodes through the center of his chest.

  I can hear commotion brewing down the street; they must have heard me.

  Good.

  Twirling the gun in my right hand, I stroll lazily down the concrete path—toward the huddle of Ramsey’s law enforcement forming their own makeshift blockade just a few meters away.

  The bullets come first, but it’
s a useless effort. The metal shells bounce off an invisible wall in front of me. They fire a few more rounds before realizing that they’re just wasting ammunition. I’d think Ramsey would have at least taught them something about me, like the fact that I can control metal.

  And shadows.

  I disappear into a swirling mist, gun clattering to the ground. Some of the men begin to whisper among themselves, all of them frightened.

  “Where the fuck did she go?” one whispers.

  Another shrugs. “I don’t know. This bitch has crazy weird abilities though, so we need to be careful.”

  No shit, I hiss in their ears. They jump, scanning the area behind them and alerting the rest of their company.

  Don’t even bother.

  I reappear from the shadows for half a second. In that time, I set one on fire and suffocate the other. Leaving them to choke and burn, I morph again.

  I move through the entire gaggle of guards this way. One moment, I’m just a shadow lurking behind them. The next, I’m tearing them apart in body and mind. Freeze. Drown. Burn. Electrocute. Suffocate. Obliterate in an explosion of flesh and bone.

  When there are only two left, I grab the nearest one and drain the very life-force from his body. His skin turns to dust, then the muscle and organs, until he’s nothing but a skeleton in my hands. Necro. It frightens me the most, but not tonight.

  The last man standing doesn’t even put up a fight. He trembles on the ground, hands raised in surrender, begging for his life.

  “Don’t kill me,” he pleads.

  “Pathetic.” I send a hard kick to his abdomen and he yelps in pain. “I don't owe you any mercy. And yet, I might let you live to tell the others what happened here tonight. To remind everyone who they should really fear.”

  “Doesn’t that make you the bad guy, then?” he whimpers.

  I squat down so I’m eye-level with him. “I don’t care what it makes me. Your so-called king killed my father and my mate.”

  A disgusting laugh bursts out of his throat. “You call yourself a woman of your people, of good intentions, yet you just slaughtered a dozen men out of vengeance and anger. That’s quite a nasty sin, isn’t it? Not to mention, you’re nothing more than a dirtied harlot. Tsk, tsk, Your Majesty. You’ve become quite the monster, if I do say so myself.”