The Orchid Throne

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “These sorts are not the kind of men You’d understand, Your Highness,” Leuthar explained in all earnestness, clearly pleased to have upset me. “Make no mistake but that they call him king out of deepest irony, out of mockery. He possesses no nobility, no refinement. You cannot credit his type with purpose more than You would a hound gone mad from disease. He knows only his endless hunger to consume more and more and more.”

  “Even hunger can’t make a mad dog swim,” I declared with a carelessness I didn’t feel. “His Imperial Majesty is kind to be concerned for Me and the safety of Calanthe, but I don’t see how this Slave King can even get here if he has no ships—”

  “But he does.” Syr Leuthar clenched his jaw. “Your Highness,” he added, as if to wipe away the rudeness of interrupting me. “Before Keiost, he took Irst, and Hertaq. His Imperial Majesty had no great concerns over those minor losses, as those seaports are little better than fishing villages that have no strategic value, but…”

  “But they do have seaworthy boats,” I murmured, momentarily forgetting myself in my astonishment at Anure’s blindness. Or ignorance. It could be he actually hadn’t known. It could be he was showing cracks at last. A huge mistake on his part that might give me hope, if I were capable of hope still. Tertulyn cast me a glance, a flash of powdery blue behind sparkling lashes.

  “Indeed, Your Highness. Fishing boats, but they do now belong to these ruffians.”

  “So.” I tapped my nails on the arm of my throne, the orchid ring’s petals swaying, a bit of sinuous fluttering of its own accord. Tertulyn sent me an inquiring glance, and I took the reminder to heart and focused on Leuthar instead. “So, His Majesty suspects this King of Slaves might sail across the inland sea to sate his hunger here?”

  “Not as a final target, Your Highness,” Leuthar reassured me, all paternal concern and full of shit. “Calanthe is precious to His Imperial Majesty, the jewel of his empire, but much as we love it, it’s but a pretty paradise, of no interest to a villainous scum such as he.”

  A reversal of his claim that this Slave King wanted only to sate his immediate desires. My pretty paradise of a realm always held attraction for those sorts, including Leuthar, whose own appetites were well known.

  No, the emperor suspected—or knew of—a deeper purpose in this rebel who’d managed to take Keiost. Anure is afraid. This is your opportunity. The knowledge whispered through me, scented with orchids. In the corner of my eye, the orchid ring’s petals seemed to unfurl as it murmured in a voice only I could hear. “And yet the emperor asks Me to act as guard,” I mused aloud, to prod Leuthar and test the ring. It didn’t respond. Hmph. “Calanthe is, as you say, but a pretty paradise. We have no navy, no standing army.”

  “But You do have seaworthy ships,” he returned. “Your Highness.”

  “Fishing boats and pleasure skiffs, no more.” I made sure to look mournful as I lied. We made sure they appeared to be only that. Calanthe’s power did not lie in those sorts of weapons.

  “No worse than this Slave King has procured. Surely a ragged band of escaped slaves holds no great threat for the stalwart men of Your realm, Your Highness.” Leuthar’s eyes glittered as he stroked the feather of his helm. Mocking me by throwing my words back at me. He’d become incautious of offending me, which meant he knew something. Probably he’d read the letter Anure had sent me or had inside knowledge of the contents.

  Either that or Anure must be afraid enough to sacrifice me and Calanthe in the hope that in devouring us, the escaped wolf would die of poison before it reached the emperor’s throat. I was not interested in making a sacrifice of either myself or Calanthe. Certainly not to protect Anure. Quite the opposite. “We shall be on watch then,” I declared, entirely done with coaxing Leuthar along. “I assume we’ll be sent word if His Imperial Majesty’s net proves to have holes in it?”

  “I advise You not to rely on such an eventuality, Your Highness. Be on the alert, such as You are able. His Imperial Majesty was most clear on this point, and wished me to express this onus to You where all might witness.”

  I allowed my lids to droop as I toyed with a blossom on my gown, caressing its petals when I wanted to tear them off to vent the savagery in my heart. “What onus might that be?” I sounded oh-so-very-bored. Inside, I recited the vilest of curses.

  “You are the final barrier. Your Highness will not allow this Slave King to pass. The emperor calls upon You personally to fulfill Your vows of fealty to him, to repay him for the indulgences that have allowed Calanthe to flourish independent of his hand all these years.”

  “Flourish,” my virginal ass. We’d clawed to feed our own and still fulfill the tyrant’s exorbitant tithes. Still, he had me. I had no choice but to do as Anure commanded or find my leash yanked up short. Not that I would’ve aided this rebellion in the slightest. They had no chance of succeeding, and would only draw out the emperor’s worst. The beast that was Anure had more or less slumbered, fat and sated. A rebellion of escaped slaves could do nothing more than sting the emperor’s nose and send him into a rage that would have him scouring the lands of “rebels,” which would mean anyone he and his scourge of soldiers fancied killing.

  Legions of innocents would die, and the lands would cry to me incessantly of their deaths. If they managed to make it this far, I would stop this ill-advised rebellion that endangered us all.

  “Of course I serve His Imperial Majesty’s will.” Fully ready to be done, I held out a hand to the emissary, smiling with all the warmth I could manufacture when he bent to kiss the orchid ring on my marriage finger. It symbolized my wedding to my true family: my kingdom—husband, wife, and treasured, imperiled child all in one.

  Leuthar inhaled the orchid’s exotic fragrance, like nothing else on earth. “Ever unchanging,” he mused.

  “Grown on the same vine.” I gave him the lie, as I had numerous times before. Magic had never existed. It was all chicanery and sleight of hand, therefore he must accept the rational explanation. “A new bloom cut fresh from my secret garden each day.”

  “Someday You must show me this orchid house of Yours that grows such fabulous blossoms.”

  “If only I could,” I replied with false regret. “But it is not for outsiders.”

  “Your Highness.” His expression was mild, his gaze full of threat. “We are all one under the emperor’s hand. There are no outsiders.”

  I didn’t allow that to give me pause. “In this case, we are all outsiders, but for a highly trained gardener. The climate within the orchid house is so delicately balanced that even I cannot enter.”

  “Alas for that,” he replied, making the small hairs stand up on my neck. “Take my warning, fair queen—do not fail in this charge.”

  “I and Calanthe exist entirely to lay ourselves down for the emperor.” The welcome mat of the empire. Please trod upon us. My father had seen to that.

  “I shall pass along Your reply.” He held on to my proffered hand a shade too long. “And I’ll include Your reply to His Imperial Majesty’s missive, as soon as You’ve penned it.”

  The advantage of the alabaster makeup and painted lips is that the thinning of my smile never shows. “I can’t express my delight,” I replied, and pulled my hand from his unwelcome grip.

  If only I could extract myself and Calanthe from the emperor’s hold as easily.

  8

  Sondra led the way to Ambrose’s new lair, while Kara remained behind to escort Salvio to his very public execution. That demonstration should convince any of the populace who still lingered in the plaza wavering on their oaths of loyalty. Some people needed to witness that their conqueror would have them killed, if necessary. It was no bluff, either. I’d have to order their deaths if they refused—I had no choice—but I’d rather terrify them into changing sides. I didn’t mind being feared as a monster, since that was better than demonstrating I am one.

  Once they committed, they’d discover that we’d arranged for half of Salvio’s treasure to be distributed evenly
among those who swore fealty to me. I didn’t like them to know ahead of time, as some would say anything for financial gain. An interesting insight into human nature, that love of money drove certain personalities more than anything else. I didn’t want that kind in my ranks.

  Our system worked. Those wishing to pledge their loyalty to our cause did so via the waiting priests of Sawehl. We always “liberated” the local temple of Sawehl first, a trick we’d discovered early on. Anure had desecrated the temples to Sawehl and dishonored the priesthood as existing only to feed off the superstitions of the people. His Imperial Majesty hadn’t overtly forbidden the worship of Sawehl, but he’d done everything but, including taking the title His Holiness. The temple of Sawehl—and thus its priests—had not flourished in the empire.

  Conversely, we offered them sanctuary, protection, and a hefty donation to the coffers. Sometimes all it had taken was sharing our food with the most impoverished. All they needed to do was take the pledges of loyalty and work to rebuild their parishes in our wake. Priests of every temple, cloister, and estate chapel we’d encountered gladly supported our cause.

  Some priests had gone so far as insist on anointing me Sawehl’s chosen son, the most deeply ironic honorific of all those foisted on me. As if the sun god would choose a miserable nobody who grew up in the volcanic pits of Vurgmun, son of a forgotten and immolated king, possessing only a black heart bent entirely on revenge. Of course, all of that also meant I possessed zero integrity. That sort of noble feeling belonged to Conrí, lost king of Oriel. Con, the Slave King, had no problem professing false faith, as he took advantage of every opportunity that furthered his path to revenge.

  So although I hated every moment of the lie, I’d bowed my head and grated out the vows. Amazingly enough, the holy oils never sizzled when they met my unholy skin. It could be that Sawehl didn’t particularly care what humankind did, which was the most likely explanation. After all, I didn’t understand or concern myself with the termite mounds we passed. Or Anure was right: Magic was dead or never was. Perhaps both were equally true.

  Still, the common people of the empire believed in Sawehl, and in Ejarat, even though their faith mystified me. Where had Sawehl been when Anure breached their walls, toppled their kings, executed their wizards, and burned out their farms? Anure had a point there, that the sun god had done nothing to save them. Nor had earth mother Ejarat, though Her worship had always occurred under open sky and at the hearths and homes of those who asked for Her gentle nurture in their daily lives.

  There was no accounting for what people believed in. Look at how many followed me and my cause. I didn’t understand any of it.

  My cynicism didn’t keep me from using this weapon, however. The priests in Keiost had been more eager than most, even freely giving us information on taking the walled city. Even before we showed our might, many of the populace in the surrounding towns and countryside pledged the sacred vows of fealty without hesitation. And most in the plaza had followed in those steps, messengers reported as we walked, the lines passing out the gates of the plaza. Soon they’d receive their portion of the treasure, money that had likely been theirs to begin with. But only after that. No temptation of gold should sway their hearts.

  I’d give it all to them, the tainted gains that might as well be smeared in blood. But a ragtag army of peasants and slaves, along with a newly acquired, haphazard navy of fishing boats, all needed to be provisioned. Governor Slug’s hoard would go a long way toward ensuring that end.

  Still, we wouldn’t need so much if we’d only kept the strike force small. I didn’t need a full navy to take out Anure. I’d argued this all along. Assassins could accomplish what armies couldn’t. “Should’ve kept it small.”

  “Kept what small?” Sondra asked, giving me the side-eye, making me aware I’d muttered that aloud.

  “This.” I waved a hand at the sky showing through the ceiling of the half-destroyed corridor. “All this to kill one man. Could’ve done it with a small strike force.”

  “Fifteen fugitives can’t sail a ship to the heart of the empire and hope to penetrate the Imperial Citadel. We’ve been through this,” Sondra replied, unruffled.

  “Could’ve paid passage. Cheaper. Lower-profile.”

  She shrugged in her inimitable way. “One day you’ll stop fighting it, Conrí.”

  “What?”

  “You’re a king. It falls naturally to you to rule. Kingdoms come to you whether you ask for them or not. It’s meant. It’s Sawehl’s will, Conrí.”

  I set my teeth. Sondra loved to get under my skin, especially in pursuit of her favorite topic. She also shamelessly took advantage of my not wanting to waste breath telling her not to call me that—or explaining that I was no king. Certainly not the one she imagined in her blind optimism. “I don’t want it.”

  She stopped, blocking the passage and glaring at me as she did only when we were alone. “Tell me, Conrí. What do you want—after Anure is dead at your feet?”

  She’d never asked me that. I’d always thought she understood that speaking of that impossible future was off the table. We shared a vow of vengeance, a determination to reach a single, finite goal. Nothing beyond that existed. I frowned at her, but she didn’t flinch. Instead she studied me, brilliant eyes somber, as if she hadn’t known me since I was a boy.

  “You could be emperor in his stead,” she said.

  It made me laugh, the surprise of it. The sheer ridiculousness that she’d even speak it aloud. The creaking guffaw burst against my ribs, straining from long disuse. I sounded like a dog that had barked and howled itself hoarse from misery, flinging itself against the chains it couldn’t break.

  She raised an inquiring eyebrow. The expression twisted her scarred skin, her lovely hair gleaming like sunshine in the half-light. I choked back the laugh.

  “No,” I managed. “Never.”

  “You’d be a good ruler. Far better than he. Do you have other plans?”

  “Of course not. That goal…” It would take too many words to explain, and the speech in the plaza had taken too much of my voice.

  “Consumes everything. All possibilities,” she said quietly.

  She did understand. I nodded, not quite sure why she’d tested me that way. “Yes,” I replied.

  She nodded, too, the same way I had, but staring at her boots. Then she relented and moved on. We finished the walk in blessed silence, wending to the far side of the stone complex, into the older section. Here it was all graceful wood, bleached blond from sun and storms off the sea. Though the palace of Oriel had looked nothing like it, something in the architecture made my heart ache with bitter nostalgia. We climbed stairs that circled through the ancient tower made of golden stones. The marble was known as Simitthu, for the region where it had been quarried, centuries before. Without palaces built of the marble, that name, too, would have fallen into the mists of forgotten realms. It seemed that should mean something, but I didn’t know what.

  “Ambrose is through here,” Sondra said, breaking into my musings, and I realized I’d stopped to gawk at the high dome of the tower that shone like the sun itself. Forgetting myself.

  The alchemist’s workroom and library had indeed survived the battle unscathed. Miraculously so, though Kara had been careful to direct the greatest charges away from that part of the old castle, from the tower itself. Ambrose had predicted the tower would contain the information he needed—and I’d long since stopped questioning how Ambrose knew the things he did. Probably since that first day the strange man accosted us.

  It had been not long after we first regained the mainland, coming ashore in the dark hours before sunrise, after a grueling passage across the storm-tossed winter sea. No collapsing on the beach to kiss the soil of our motherland for us: We immediately set to hiding the supply boat we’d stolen. It took hours to do it right. Time well spent as it meant our continued freedom, creating a cache for that precious store of vurgsten until we discovered how best to wield our secret weapon.


  We kept off the main roads as we made our way inland, following game trails to find solid ground in the swamps of the Shwem coast. In the middle of that wilderness, Ambrose had come limping up, appearing from nowhere, leaning heavily on a tall staff and leading a laden pack mule as if it were the most groomed of the empire’s highways. Despite his scruffy clothing, despite the impossibility that any still existed, I knew him for a wizard. The staff sported a faceted emerald that looked genuine, and an enormous raven rode on his shoulder. I’d barely managed to stop Sondra in time, her stolen sword already swinging for the unprepossessing man’s throat.

  It had been a strange moment, that flash of instant realization that had me gripping her arm. Against all precaution, too, as we’d killed several others in our determination to remain undetected. The fifteen of us had been instantly recognizable as escaped slaves, in our filth and rags, our heads shorn. Some of us still wore manacles dangling links of broken chain, as we’d yet to find the tools to cut them off.

  In retrospect, my unthinking reaction had likely saved Sondra’s life. Ambrose could defend himself in ways that defied rational explanation. You’d never know it to look at him, but Ambrose was powerful, and the old stories claimed that wizards weren’t entirely human. I’d remembered something of my childhood in Oriel after all. Anure claimed they were all frauds and charlatans, but I recalled how the court wizards had worked magics that defied explanation. More than sleight of hand could accomplish. Something deep in me recognized in Ambrose the mantle of magic, the untapped potential of shimmering power.

  I had no idea why he bothered to pretend to follow me.

  As if hearing the thought, Ambrose glanced up from a pile of leather-bound tomes that threatened to topple and crush his slender frame, blond curls tousled around an angelic face, beaming at us as he had that day on the road. A smile that better belonged on some sweet blue-eyed kid. Artless, without calculation—but with that hint of mischief that made you wonder what he’d been doing so quietly.