Ashes of Dearen: Book 1

by Jayden Woods

  *

  Men and women sprawled across the royal yards and foyers. Laughter rang throughout the crystalline hallways. The Haze rolled through the air, glittering with safra, burning Eleanor’s nose. Fountains sprayed in almost every direction she looked, wasting perfectly good water for almost no purpose at all. The Dearen guards looked at the King-wife’s ticking carriage and coated soldiers with dazed expressions on their fat faces. And when Eleanor demanded to see Princess Fayr, they just told her to wait in the Quartz Courtyard with dozens of other suitors. They told her—the King-wife of Yamair herself!—that the princess would summon her when the princess was ready: perhaps today, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps never.

  Eleanor did not know what else she expected. A few times, she had even looked forward to making this trip to Dearen. But in those situations, she had let her emotions get the better of her. Now, she saw this place for the pathetic establishment that it was.

  “King-wife Eleanor of Yamair,” said a guard. “Princess Fayr summons you to the Crystal Dining Hall.”

  “It’s about time!” said Eleanor. But she tried to hide her relief. Based on how long people in this courtyard and other areas of the palace had been waiting—days, at least—Eleanor had begun to worry. Here in the Quartz Courtyard, various suitors claimed to have been waiting to see the princess for weeks: Vikand chiefs wearing wool and axes, Dearen knights swollen with fat and jewelry, and even a few Yamairan Synergists who tried to hide their presence from the King-wife behind fountains and women.

  The number of women in the courtyard nearly equaled that of men. Eleanor did not understand why, at first, but after a few dreadful hours of observation, she began to comprehend. The women here helped occupy the men during the long days or weeks of waiting ahead of them. In fact, from what Eleanor could tell, they provided much too good a distraction. Was it possible to do something too effectively? Perhaps so, if the action pushed towards a different purpose than originally intended. Perhaps these women did not just want to entertain the men: perhaps they courted the men so that they might grab for themselves whomever the Princess rejected.

  Or perhaps they had no objective at all, and that was why Eleanor’s head hurt trying to find one. Perhaps they were all simply fools, kissing and groping each other without any concern for the outcome. A few of the Vikand horsewomen made use of the Dearen men as surely as the hordesmen used the Dearen women. They straddled the males or pulled them on top of them, guiding their movements to their hearts’ content. Is this what safra did to people?

  The most blatant displays of debauchery came from the khan of Vikand’s own family. Eleanor identified the khan by the thick metal jewelry he wore about his neck, or so-called Khan Collar. He was a large man draped with furs and Vikand metalwork, whose confidence of presence suggested his political status. He sat surrounded by women who poured him drinks and ran their fingers over the bare flesh of his arms. After the women teased him long enough, he pulled one onto his lap and bounced her there for awhile. Eleanor found it so distasteful that she forced herself to look away.

  Looking away did not help matters, unfortunately, for her eyes fell next on the khan’s own son—or so she suspected, based on their resemblance. This large man did not even demonstrate the slight decency of his father. He pulled a woman onto his lap who wore a loose satin gown. He kissed her mouth with big motions of his lips and tongue. Then he reached between them and unbuckled his own trousers. His big hands grabbed the woman’s hips and pushed her up against him. They clasped each other tight and his lips trailed down her neck. The sharp, jerking motions of his groin against the woman’s made it all too clear what was happening.

  They were fornicating, out in the open for everyone to see!

  “What do you think of my brother?”

  Eleanor turned to look a young man standing next to her. She had been so distracted by the wanton display across the courtyard that she had not even noticed his arrival.

  “He’s a cad, is he not?”

  “I, uh …” This young man’s strange demeanor became another source of puzzlement. He had curly blond hair to his ears, whisking about his face in a hundred directions. He had a face like a baby’s, soft and round, with dimples that cut into his cheeks when he smiled. But strangest of all was his right hand, which he extended towards her while she was still trying to think of a reply.

  “Archon Picard at your service.”

  “King-wife Eleanor.” She gripped the hand reluctantly, for it was covered by a long leather glove stretching up to his elbow. Straps and buckles weaved in and out of the leather in various spots, as if to connect with metal rods in his flesh. She confirmed this as she felt his joints moving under her grip: they were of a harder make than bone, even though some fingers were still soft with flesh.

  After a moment she realized she had been holding the hand longer than etiquette permitted, but now her curiosity had peaked. “Your hand. Was it made in Yamair?”

  “That’s an interesting question.” He lifted his hand from her, curling the fingers inward. They twitched and creaked with the movement. “Where did my hand came from? It came from Dearen, for I was on safra when I strolled into combat and got my arm crushed to pieces.” His smiled tightened as he continued to move his fingers, in and out, in and out. “It came from Vikand, for where else would you find a man willing to crush the arm of the khan’s son in a training exercise? And it came from Yamair, because one of your Yamairan Synergists happened to be visiting the Vikand capital. When he saw the state of my arm and I refused to let him remove it, he offered to try and fix it.” His gaze returned to her, glittering like the safra in the air. “So you might say I am a product of all Three Nations.”

  About this time was when the royal guard approached, summoning King-wife Eleanor to come meet the princess.

  “Lucky you,” said Picard.

  “Has the khan of Vikand been waiting longer than I have?” Eleanor asked in astonishment.

  “Well, Father has seen the princess once, at least. However … she has not invited him back inside.”

  “I see.” At least the princess had some sense.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, King-wife Eleanor,” said Picard. “Although, in Dearen, I suppose all things are a pleasure.”

  As he drifted away, he left Eleanor with a strange sense of foreboding.

  She downed a quick gulp of Discipline, just in case the drug in her system had begun to wear off. Then she tapped Rebeka’s arm and rose to follow the palace guard. She also motioned to a third companion, Prime Synergist Deragon. Despite his high rank, which was second only to the King and King-wife, he was a humble fellow who hid most of his body in the traditional robe of Prime Synergist. A hood hung over his face, which he kept bowed in shadow. But at least the robe itself was a sight to behold: intricate embroidery covered every inch of the fabric, designed to imitate the inner workings of Yamair’s finest machinery. The skill and craftsmanship required to weave such a pattern excused the indulgence of visual stimulation.

  Together they made their way deep into the Dearen palace.

  Her head cleared of her pesky frustrations as the potion coursed through her. She took a deep breath and moved forward, one firm step after another. Trousers were such a useful garb, much more practical than skirts which could be tripped upon or tangled. She wondered why she and Rebeka were the only women wearing them. Then again, they were the only women who weren’t baring their legs almost entirely.

  With that in mind, the sight around the next corner was so unexpected that even with the Discipline in her system, she stopped mid-stride to stare upon it.

  Two women stood leaned against a large marble pillar—that is, one of them leaned and the other one crouched. The woman against the pillar had her head thrown back in the throes of ecstasy, her dress tugged almost completely from her body. The top of her dress had been pulled down to expose her breasts, which the second woman leaned down and licked, one after another, taking turns. The first woman’s dre
ss also rode high up her hips, for the second woman’s hand had slipped under it, moving rapidly between her legs.

  The guard stopped and stared overlong, too, for very different reasons than Eleanor. He wore a sloppy smile on his face and looked of a mind to join them.

  “That’s some of the most inefficient behavior I have ever seen,” Eleanor announced. “The two of them can never even produce a child!” She stared pointedly at the guard. “Are you going to lead us to the princess, or shall I find her on my own?”

  The guard blinked a few times, then resumed walking.

  They continued on through overly extravagant corridors and spacious foyers until, finally, they entered the Crystal Dining Hall. Eleanor stopped out of necessity to let her eyes adjust to the brilliance of the chamber. Light shone everywhere, reflecting off almost every imaginable surface, and the Haze in the air made it worse. The gray mist caught the light and held it inside, seeming to glow from within. Only after a few breaths did Eleanor adjust enough to see the table in the middle of the room, a glass monstrosity that shimmered like everything else in the chamber. Then she saw the shapes of the prince and princess of Dearen.

  She knew them instantly by their lush purple hair. They sat together on one end of the four-sided table, backs straight, faces flat. Their youth was remarkable: Prince Kyne hardly appeared to be thirteen years of age, and the princess less than twenty. Nonetheless, something about the princess demanded immediate respect.

  Her hair rolled up over her head where it spread out like a fan, its lavender strands intertwined with pink and yellow flowers. Safra dusted her pale skin, twinkling slightly with the movement of the light around her. A soft white dress covered her body, but only in the way that clouds might be said to cover the sky, gently and freely. Her face and body was without a doubt the most beautiful Eleanor had ever seen in her life, and she needed no emotions to think so. Physically-speaking, the princess represented pure … perfection.

  “May I present Queen Eleanor of Yamair,” said the guard, “and, er, her companions.”

  “My title is King-wife,” said Eleanor, although for the briefest of moments, she wondered why. “My companions are the Royal Scholar Rebeka and Prime Synergist Deragon.”

  “Very well,” said Princess Fayr. “Have a seat at my table.”

  Eleanor found herself obeying, even though she questioned whether she should. She noticed that the princess of Dearen made no effort to introduce herself or brother—it wasn’t necessary, of course, but still polite—and invited her guests to sit at her table in the form of a command. Eleanor wondered whether this was pure luck on the princess’s part, or whether she calculated her words and tone carefully. If it was the latter, then the princess may be a more challenging opponent than Eleanor expected. But how could that be? She was practically a child. She was not prepared to rule a kingdom, and most notably, she did not have Discipline in her system like Eleanor. Could the rumors be true that safra did not affect the Violenese bloodline like other people?

  She chose a seat directly across from the Dearen royalty. Rebeka and Deragon sat on the sides of the table. Rebeka pulled out her parchment and pen, preparing to write down all that transpired. Servants flocked round the table, however, setting fruits, breads, and cheeses upon the glass surface—all of it glittering with safra dust. Rebeka struggled to find workspace amidst the growing feast.

  “Eat and enjoy yourself,” said Princess Fayr, leaving them little choice.

  “I appreciate the kind gesture,” said Eleanor, “but it is not yet time for dinner, and none of us here care to consume safra.”

  Prime Synergist Deragon withdrew his hand, which had reached halfway across the table towards a bowl of buttery rolls.

  “Hm.” The princess hesitated. Was she at a loss? Was it part of her diplomatic strategy to loosen her guests with safra? If so she recovered, her eyes settling calmly on the King-wife’s. Eleanor realized that Fayr’s eyes did not seem to have a specific color: in one moment they seemed blue, next green, the next orange. They were like two pools of water that seemed to dance with the light. “I am afraid you consume safra in Dearen whether you intend to or not. It floats within the Haze that covers our kingdom. Perhaps you noticed?”

  “I have already accounted for that.” Eleanor considered smiling, which seemed like something she would do after achieving a minor victory. She refrained in light of exhibiting good manners. “Now let’s not waste any more words and get straight down to business. I have come here for two reasons.”

  “Oh? And what are those?”

  The princess flinched as her little brother plucked a grape from the banquet. Instead of eating it, he put it on the table and rolled it back and forth between his hands.

  “First of all, I come in response to your call for a suitor. As a gesture of good will I have selected the most worthy candidate in Yamair for your hand in marriage and I have brought him here before you.”

  “Oh?” Fayr looked curiously at the man in the robe. “Is this him?”

  “Yes. His name is Deragon, Prime Synergist of Yamair. That is the highest rank in our society next to that of King and King-wife. He earned his place with hard work and exceptional innovation. Deragon invented a machine that can make carts float through the air using the power of heat. One day it might be used to transport people over long distances, which is especially useful in the hills and mountains of Yamair’s landscape.”

  Deragon stood up and bowed deeply towards the princess. This only caused his hood to fall even further over his face, however.

  Fayr tapped her fingers on the table, perhaps in a careless display of frustration. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, Prime Synergist?”

  Deragon stiffened, and finally said, “I am honored to meet you, Princess Fayr. Your beauty is … incomparable.”

  “If I’m to consider marrying you,” she said briskly, “I should like to see your face as well.”

  “O-of course.” With great reluctance, he reached up and pushed back his hood.

  Eleanor watched Fayr’s reaction closely. The princess’s eyes opened wide and she paled by a couple shades or more. To Eleanor, this only confirmed her suspicions that Fayr was a shallow creature who gave too much importance to visual appearance. It did not matter to Fayr that she looked upon one of the smartest men on the continent. She could not see beyond the mauled flesh of his face and neck.

  “Synergist Deragon suffered a terrible accident when he was a teenager,” Eleanor explained. Deragon, who was more ashamed of his appearance than he should be, dropped the hood back over his face and sat down. “One of his machines malfunctioned and gravely wounded him. However, this incident taught him a valuable lesson. Thanks to his brush with death, Deragon never made a mistake like that again. That is not to say mistakes are innately bad; they are an important part of the learning process, as his story demonstrates. But you might say Deragon is a man who learned so much early in his life that he no longer needs to make mistakes in order to keep learning.”

  Fayr listened to all this with a very flat expression, which nearly drooped into a frown. She also glared a few times at her brother, who continued to roll a grape across the table, leaving a pink wet smudge across the glass.

  “I will take Deragon’s courtship into consideration,” the princess said at last. “Now what is the second matter you came about?”

  Eleanor took a deep breath. She didn’t feel nervous, of course. She felt nothing right now. She merely recognized the weight of what she was about to propose. “I wanted to let you know that for the second time in history, Yamair will close its doors to the importation of safra.”

  The Princess became very still. Even the little Prince stopped and batted his lashes at the King-wife of Yamair.

  “Go on,” said Fayr, almost breathless.

  “It is really that simple,” said Eleanor. “When I return to Yamair I will reinstate the law my husband lifted regarded the legality of safra in our kingdom. I will punish anyone caught poss
essing or dealing it.”

  “Why did you come and tell me this? Why not simply enforce the law and be done with it?”

  “Because I knew how profoundly it would affect you, and I did not wish for my mandate to seem like an act of hostility. I am well aware, Princess, that your kingdom’s economy depends upon selling safra to the countries of Yamair and Vikand. Occasionally you sell it to overseas merchants, but I suspect the flow of money from that venue is relatively miniscule. Therefore I also predict how you and the citizens of Dearen may react to my decree. You might continue to sell safra to my people secretly. You might even rejoice in some respects, because the price of safra will go up for those so desperate to buy it against the law. After all, that’s what happened many years ago, is it not? Perhaps you don’t remember that. You are so young.”

  The princess narrowed her diamond-like eyes.

  “I came to you about this because I wanted to make something very clear,” said Eleanor. “I have shown you my respect, and I expect you to show me respect in return. I expect you to honor my mandate by enforcing it similarly from within your own country. I expect you to punish those who break my law and try to sell safra across the mountains. And if you do not, I will see it as a sign of disrespect.”

  Princess Fayr leaned forward slightly, entwining her hands before her. “Is that some sort of threat?”

  “Interpret it as you will,” said Eleanor. “I have said all I need to say.”

  The princess leaned back again, her fingers releasing. “You need not threaten me, King-wife Eleanor. I will respect this law of yours. In fact, I will applaud it. Once you leave this place, I will strengthen the boundary of Dearen along the Yamairan Mountains. I will make sure that no one can take safra from my country into yours. I will do all this because I no longer wish to sell safra to Yamair, anyway.”

  Eleanor said nothing for a long time. She did not know how to react. She knew that if not for the drug in her system, she would feel surprise, maybe even shock. Rationally, she simply did not expect this. She expected Fayr to be frightened or at least at a loss. Eleanor had expected to leave this room with a feeling of triumph and superiority. Instead, she found herself grasping for words.

  “Well,” she said at last. “You said: ‘once I leave this place.’ Does that mean I am no longer welcome here?”

  “Certainly not.” A smile played on the edges of Fayr’s lips. “Stay in the Dearen palace as long as you’d like. And while you are here, be sure to enjoy yourself.”

  Once more, the princess’s invitation resembled the strong tenor of a command.