Origins

by A D Starrling

  Baruch glanced at Tobias and Mila. ‘The thirst for blood your father possesses knows no end, it seems. And no, we have spared the family of the governor here. They are among the cohort of prisoners currently making their way back to the capital.’

  Kronos narrowed his eyes. ‘You know this will displease him.’

  ‘Then he can ask Bastian to put me over his knee and tan my hide,’ said Baruch, his normally relaxed face hardening for a moment. ‘They made me a general of their army for a reason. And that reason included my ability to make decisions in matters of war.’

  He stormed out of the tent.

  ‘I shall leave you two alone,’ Tobias murmured before following Baruch. He dropped the tent’s flap on his way out.

  Kronos turned and unbuckled his sword, dropping it to the ground as he advanced toward her. Mila had to raise her head to look at him when he stopped, inches away.

  ‘Take off your clothes.’

  She balked at his commanding tone. Though he was older than her by dozens of years, she still outranked him. He must have read the expression in her eyes for he grabbed her chin and kissed her forcefully. Mila pushed him away. He tightened his grip. She shivered before surrendering to the desire growing between them.

  In all the years Kronos had been her mate, he had always pleasured her in bed, his passion for and devotion to her never dimming with the passage of time.

  A sliver of guilt stabbed through Mila as he pushed her down on a sea of cushions. Despite the fact that she reciprocated his ardor and had borne him a son and a daughter, she knew her heart would forever remain closed to her husband.

  Chapter Six

  The chants of the crowd echoed to the skies as the parade proceeded through the capital’s main plaza. At the head of the impressive square, two formidable, hundred-foot-tall, stone statues cast their shadows across the troops of infantry soldiers marching rigidly to the beat of drums, feet pounding the ground in perfect time to the tempo. Behind them came the archers and the cavalry, the clatter of the horses’ hooves lost in the din.

  From where she sat on her steed at the rear of the procession with her siblings and cousins, Mila gazed beyond the carved, life-like depictions of the kings of the Empire to the hundred steps rising toward the citadel that dominated Uryl, the capital of the kingdom. On the wide stage that fronted the towering stone ramparts, the real Crovir and Bastian sat on gilded thrones.

  She glanced at the thousands lining the square. Though the humans who lived within the protective walls of Uryl cheered the soldiers, few would ever set foot inside the citadel and witness the decadent splendor of the palace of the kings. Indeed, apart from the servants and guards who lived inside the palace, only the human leaders who swore fealty to Crovir and Bastian and were permitted to rule their own cities had stepped inside its walls. As it stood, it was only on special occasions such as this that the populace was even allowed to cross the heavily-guarded moat that separated the capital from the fortress which enclosed the citadel and housed the city’s administrative quarters and a battalion of some thousand soldiers.

  Movement down the line of horses distracted her from her cynical thoughts. She glanced over the row of twelve she rode in.

  To her left, sitting erect on his stallion, was Kronos. On the other side of him, the rest of the row consisted of Crovir’s remaining children —Tobias with his wife and half-sister Ysa, and Jared, beside his wife and half-sister Beatrix. Of the children of Crovir, only Tobias, Jared and herself were born of Crovir and his half-sister Helena, which elevated them in status above their half-siblings and mates, born of Crovir and his second wife Rachel.

  The other half of the row to her right comprised her uncle Bastian’s offspring, in the same formation. Baruch rode beside his wife and half-sister Hosanna, Rafael, Bastian’s second son, by his wife and half-sister Phebe, and Navia, his youngest daughter, next to her husband and half-brother Malachi. Similarly, Baruch, Rafael and Navia were born of Sofia, their father’s half-sister, and thus elevated them above their half-siblings and mates Hosanna, Phebe and Malachi, who were born of Bastian and his second wife Leah.

  ‘Brother, will you please control your beasts? One of them just tried to slip inside my dress,’ Hosanna murmured to the bearded, blue-eyed man to her right.

  ‘Sister, that is because your skin is as pale as the almond milk I usually feed them. They probably think it is time for their midday meal.’ He stroked the snakes coiled around his neck and left arm, before catching the one that was unceremoniously tossed his way by his scowling, dark-haired half-sister.

  Kronos twitched at Mila’s side.

  Unheeding, Hosanna leaned forward on her steed and addressed the woman on the other side of the blue-eyed man with the snakes.

  ‘Seriously, Phebe, I am amazed you have not banned these creatures from your palace.’

  ‘Ah, you know full well Rafael needs them for his healing arts, sister,’ replied Phebe. She glanced benignly at her husband and his snakes. ‘Besides, he knows not to bring them inside our bedroom.’

  Rafael grimaced and patted the serpent in his lap. ‘Yes. The one time that happened, you screamed the place down so loudly everyone thought I was murdering you.’

  ‘But you learned your lesson, did you not, dearest?’ said Phebe, a hard undercurrent scoring her words.

  ‘I did,’ said Rafael sheepishly.

  ‘So long as you never forget who truly rules you,’ murmured Jared from Mila’s other side.

  ‘Really?’ scoffed Rafael. ‘You are one to talk. I hear Beatrix made you move the course of an entire river so she could indulge her habit of moonlight bathing in the open air closer to your palace.’

  ‘I did not ask Jared to move a river,’ Beatrix protested. ‘He just created a branch that could serve our home better. And how do you know of my bathing habits?’

  ‘The whole kingdom knows of them,’ Rafael stated.

  Mila’s attention was drawn from their bickering to activity further along the row. She was conscious of Kronos’s face growing darker by her side.

  ‘Navia, I think Malachi just fell into slumber,’ said Hosanna.

  The fair-haired woman she had addressed moved in time to stop the figure next to her from sliding off his horse.

  ‘Malachi, my love, I know you are tired but please try to stay awake,’ she murmured. ‘We are still in the middle of the procession.’

  Malachi blinked and straightened in his saddle. ‘Oh.’

  He looked ahead to the citadel and swallowed a yawn.

  ‘You need to feed him more meat, Navia,’ murmured Hosanna. ‘I fear his blood is thin and weak.’

  Baruch grinned. ‘I am not sure about that. Hey, brother, could it be that our little Navia is tiring you out in the bedroom?’

  Navia blushed.

  Hosanna elbowed her mate in the ribs. ‘Does every word that leaves your mouth have to be so filthy, husband?’

  ‘You know you like it that way,’ said Baruch.

  Hosanna’s ears reddened while her husband’s grin widened.

  Kronos finally snapped. ‘For the love of our fathers, will you all shut up and act in the manner suited to your ranks?’

  For once, Mila had to agree. Despite the fact that she was the youngest among her siblings and cousins, there were times when she felt like giving them a right ding around the ear. This was one of those times.

  ‘It seems someone has not broken his morning fast,’ Jared murmured.

  ‘I agree. You need to learn to relax, Kronos,’ said Rafael. ‘Here, pet a snake.’

  Phebe giggled.

  Before Mila could murmur words to appease her now apoplectic husband, the troops ahead of them came to an abrupt halt and parted in a precisely rehearsed drill that she had long become accustomed to, clearing a path to the citadel.

  The elaborate welcome ritual in progress was one Crovir always insisted upon whenever they came back from a significant victory. In time, their subjects had come to expect it. To Mila and the
others, it was clear the ceremony was not so much a display of genuine delight at their safe return as it was a show of power.

  The chanting grew louder as the twelve princes and princesses of the Empire pressed on, their formal attire and those of their steeds resplendent under the noon sun as they progressed between the rows of soldiers.

  Although she was too far away to see the face of her father where he sat on his throne, Mila knew the crowd’s obvious adoration displeased him. The reverence he and Bastian inspired in those they ruled was born of fear rather than admiration. It was different for their children.

  Over the years, after they came into their own and became rulers of cities bestowed upon them, the brutality of their actions, as dictated by the kings, had lessened as they began to appreciate the nature of the weaker race they controlled. Bar Kronos, who still inspired distrust and fear through his uncompromising adherence to his father’s style of rule, all the kings’ children had come to earn the love of the people through acts of kindness, particularly Rafael, the Healer, and Navia, the Seer. Even Mila, the coldest and least approachable, had gained the respect of the populace through her sharp but fair treatment of her soldiers and subjects.

  ‘It is almost over,’ Tobias muttered as they passed the stone statues of the kings.

  Baruch glanced at him, his expression sobering.

  Of all her siblings and cousins, the two firstborns most shared Mila’s mounting irritation at being forced to be a part of the pompous display.

  They dismounted at the base of the citadel and climbed the hundred steps to the stage where their fathers sat. At Crovir’s side were his queens, Helena and Rachel. Sofia and Leah, Bastian’s queens, stood next to their king. Framing the sides and rear of the platform, and lining the way to the imposing bronze doors leading into the citadel, was a retinue of some hundred servants and soldiers.

  The crowd’s cheers grew frenzied when the twelve princes and princesses lowered themselves onto their right knees and bowed their heads before the kings. Mila gritted her teeth, her gaze focused on the sandstone floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she read tension in Tobias and Baruch’s postures. This, to them, was the worst part of the ceremony.

  Bastian rose to his feet first.

  ‘Children, welcome back,’ he said in a booming voice.

  He pulled each of his offspring up before dropping a kiss on their forehead and embracing them.

  Crovir followed leisurely. When his arms closed around her, Mila felt little warmth in his touch. It was only when he stepped back that she registered the cold fury reflected deep in his eyes.

  She looked around the stage, searching for the one person she wanted to see, conscious the act would irk Crovir further. ‘Where is our grandfather?’

  Bastian exchanged a glance with his brother.

  ‘He rests in his quarters,’ he said quietly. ‘In the time that you have been away, his bones have grown more weary and his sight poorer. We did not think it fair to bring him here today.’

  Mila twisted on her heels and stared out over the capital, her heart sinking. From this height, she could see all the way across Uryl to the outer walls encircling the city. On the distant plains beyond, on a rise in the land, rose a second, smaller citadel.

  It was the home of Romerus, the father of the kings, and the person she loved the most in this world.

  ‘I believe you may have misunderstood my instructions when I sent you to Terka,’ Crovir said softly behind her.

  Mila turned slowly.

  Crovir glanced at Tobias and Baruch before focusing his heated stare on her once more. ‘Or did you decide to disobey me, child?’

  She stiffened.

  ‘My king, must we talk of this now?’ murmured one of the women standing behind him.

  It was her mother, Helena. The queens had followed in their husbands’ footsteps and were greeting their children. Helena hugged Mila and dropped a kiss on her cheek, her arms lingering warmly around her. Anger surged through Mila when she saw the bruise on her mother’s neck.

  Unlike the kings and their children, the queens were not Immortals. Helena, Crovir’s first wife, and Sofia, Bastian’s first wife, being the daughters of Joanna, Romerus’s second wife, had inherited his longevity. Descended from a distant relative of Romerus, Rachel and Leah, the kings’ second wives, were similarly gifted with long lives, but they were now long past their best years. Compared to Crovir and Bastian, men still in their prime, their spouses were weary women more fit for the role of queen mother than queen.

  But it was not their lifespan or juvenescence that was at the forefront of Mila’s mind. Since they lacked the accelerated healing abilities of Immortals, it took the wives as long as an ordinary human to overcome any illness or injury, a fact she had been acutely conscious of since she was a child. For Crovir regularly battered his wives, especially her mother Helena, the most vocal when it came to defying him.

  Despite the passage of hundreds of years, Mila still recalled the first time she confronted her father about his barbaric behavior. Though her older siblings tried to stop her, saying the gesture would be futile, Mila could not bite her tongue the day Crovir broke her mother’s arm. It was afterward that she realized why her brothers and sisters had implored her to stay quiet. Her mother’s injuries doubled overnight. Whenever she dared open her mouth to challenge her father in the time that followed, the pattern repeated itself.

  Only once did Mila speak to Bastian about the matter. From the troubled look that crossed his face, she realized he had been aware of the problem for some time. His reply shattered the last hope she had that he could talk sense into his brother.

  ‘What happens between man and wife must remain a private matter,’ he said quietly. ‘I cannot, in good faith, interfere.’

  Bastian’s blind love for Crovir, and the steadfast disbelief that he could be anything but a good man, was similarly reflected in her grandfather’s words when she went to plead with him.

  ‘You must be wrong, child,’ Romerus told her. ‘My son could not do such things.’

  So time passed and everyone turned a blind eye to the brutality of the older king. But for Mila, the memory of every single wound the wives suffered remained starkly imprinted in her mind, and each fresh one further sapped the respect she had for her father.

  ‘Are you alright, mother?’ she murmured presently.

  Helena’s hand fluttered to her neck. She lowered her gaze for a moment, shame and guilt flashing across her face.

  ‘Why, this is nothing, child.’ Her expression brightened and she took Mila’s hands in her own. ‘I must tell you of little Eleaza. She drew her first arrow the other day. Oh, it was such a wondrous sight to behold. I—’

  ‘You can discuss such frivolous matters later, woman!’ Crovir snapped.

  The excitement in Helena’s eyes died. She bit her lip and took a step back. Tobias and Jared stared their way.

  ‘As I was saying,’ Crovir continued, oblivious to the tension on the stage, ‘I thought I made it quite clear that you were to kill that treacherous Terka snake and his family. So why did they arrive here this morning, among the prisoners you took from the city?’

  ‘It would have been a waste of resources to kill them, my king,’ Mila said in a measured tone. ‘They will serve our empire better as slaves.’

  Crovir leaned toward her.

  ‘I do not care about resources, daughter,’ he hissed in her ear. ‘You were to make an example of them.’ He drew back, his eyes growing cold. ‘Do not worry though. I have corrected your blunder.’

  Mila went still. ‘What do you mean?’

  Crovir smiled. ‘I have completed the task that you could not. Even as we speak, the lions feast on the flesh and bones of the family of the Terka governor.’

  She stared at her father, her blood growing as hot as the sun beating down upon them. Behind Crovir, Helena shook her head slightly, her expression pleading.

  Mila swallowed her rage and dipped her chin curtly. ‘T
hen it is done.’

  Chapter Seven

  She stormed past her father and marched toward the towering bronze doors of the citadel, conscious of the gaze of her husband and her siblings at her back. Servants bowed and guards lowered their heads and spears as she crossed the wide, cool passage spanning the twenty-foot-thick wall beyond the opening.

  At the end of it, the palace of the kings opened up before her, a maze of opulent buildings made from the finest, sun-baked mud brick and stone from the Empire’s quarries. Interlinked by a series of elaborate open-air courtyards and sumptuous gardens, the complex covered several thousand square feet. She navigated a quadrangle and entered an immense hall lined with towering granite and marble columns and gem-studded frescoes. It was one of many that graced the palace and was a stark symbol of the wasteful extravagance that Crovir insisted upon to demonstrate the Empire’s wealth and power. Mila ignored the dazzling beauty of the artwork around her and focused on slowing her ragged breathing.

  She doubted Crovir would inform Tobias and Baruch of the fate of the Terka governor’s family. His tormenting words were often reserved for her ears alone.

  Her father’s latest action only added to the poisonous thoughts that had been troubling her for some time. His cruel nature had become more evident over hundreds of years of rule, giving birth to increasingly barbaric acts, most of which were carried out many leagues from the immediate territory of the Empire, away from the eyes of Bastian and Romerus.

  Mila knew she was partly at fault for his rising brutality. In as much as some of it was fueled by his unease toward her, his determination to show her his power and make her submit to his will had grown over time, until it became a scourge that blighted her days and dirtied her hands with the blood of the Empire’s victims.