Though it had taken her a long time to realize it, Mila knew the reason he had never recommended her promotion to the position of general of his armies. She made him nervous. She, the last born of his children and the most powerful of the twelve princes and princesses.
She was entering a courtyard dotted with glittering water fountains and dominated by a pond swarming with fish and lotus flowers, when a cry interrupted her thoughts and drew her gaze to the gallery that ran around the open space. She slowed to a stop.
In the shade cast by fat stone pillars, a young woman clad in a sumptuous dress stood twisting a little boy’s arm, her features contorted in anger as she berated him. A broken bowl lay at their feet, the contents, milk and honey, spilt across the marble floor. Behind the weeping boy, an elderly female servant prostrated herself on the floor, pleas for forgiveness tumbling from her lips. At the south end of the gallery, other servants cowered and murmured among themselves as they looked on.
They were the first to notice Mila’s approach. A hush fell over the courtyard, the sudden silence broken only by the shrill voice of the woman in the lavish dress and the boy’s cries. He too went mute when he saw her, his eyes growing as wide as marbles. He tried to kneel but only made it halfway to the floor, his arm still held in the vice-like grip of the shouting woman. Behind him, the old servant stared, her mouth open in a voiceless O.
It was only then that the young woman paused and looked over her shoulder. Her dark eyes narrowed to slits as she inspected Mila’s official dress uniform.
‘Who are you?’ she spat.
From where she stopped a foot from her, Mila heard the gasps of the servants in the gallery. Even the old female servant on the floor covered her mouth with her hands, her expression a mixture of fear and shock.
Mila paid them no heed and studied the stranger before her. Though she had not seen her face before, she could guess from her attire and the gems she wore that she was Crovir’s latest concubine. A sigh almost passed Mila’s lips; granted, she had not been to the capital for a whole month, but she had not expected her father’s former lover to last such a short time.
‘Release the boy,’ she said quietly.
The young woman straightened, ruby lips thinning and eyes blazing with outrage.
‘I do not take orders from a soldier!’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘Do you not know that I am a princess of Tarsus?’
Mila suddenly felt tired. She truly was getting too old for this kind of irritation. As she stood there, wondering whether to ask the guards to take Crovir’s concubine away or do it herself, the female servant on the floor murmured a warning.
Crovir’s lover let go of the boy, took a step toward the old woman, and slapped her viciously. The latter’s lip split, staining her chin with blood as she fell sideways to the ground. The boy cried out as the younger woman raised her hand once more to strike the stunned servant at her feet.
Mila’s fingers closed around her wrist.
Crovir’s lover twisted on her heels, mouth open on a shout that was never uttered. Her eyes widened, fear dawning in them at what she saw on Mila’s face.
‘Learn your place, human!’
Mila’s roar filled the yard and echoed against the walls of the surrounding buildings. She tightened her grip on the young woman’s arm until she felt flesh grind on bone, the rage that had started to abate filling her veins once more. Crovir’s lover whimpered.
‘In this realm, the only true princes and princesses are the children of the kings,’ Mila hissed. ‘As such, you will bow when you address one of them! Is that understood?’
The young woman sobbed and fell to her knees.
Mila glared at her. ‘I said, is that understood?’
‘Yes!’ the woman wailed, her face pale.
‘You will not touch another hair on this boy’s head or that of his caretaker. If I ever see you lay your fingers on one of the servants or guards in this palace, if I see you threaten anyone, I will cut off your hand and feed it to the lions myself.’
Mila let go of the young woman’s wrist and cast her aside roughly. She sprawled on the floor and stayed there, head bowed.
‘I beg your forgiveness, Princess,’ she whispered shakily.
Mila ignored her and turned to the boy. ‘What is your name, child?’
He stared at her, goggle-eyed.
‘His name is Emet, Princess,’ murmured the old servant. ‘He is my grandchild.’
The boy finally found his voice. ‘Ye—yes, my name is Emet!’
‘Your parents?’ Mila asked roughly.
The boy blinked rapidly. ‘My mother died giving birth to me. My father was a soldier in the army. It has been three years since he perished in battle.’
His grandmother tapped him gently on the back of the head. ‘You must address the princess correctly, Emet.’
The boy paled. ‘Oh. Sorry, Princess.’
Mila’s anger began to fade as she studied his innocent features.
‘You shall become a companion for my daughter,’ she ordered impulsively. She glanced at the elderly female servant. ‘And your grandmother will come with you.’
The boy gaped at her.
‘Thank the princess, Emet,’ his grandmother admonished with a further tap on the head.
‘Yes, Princess! Thank you, Princess!’ the boy blurted out, ears reddening.
‘Enough,’ Mila muttered. ‘Gather your belongings and come to my quarters. We leave for Issin at dawn.’
She twisted on her heels and headed deeper into the palace compound, leather sandals striking the stone and marble floors briskly. At the far end of the grounds, the sound of wood striking wood greeted her as she entered her private chambers.
On a sunlit terrace outside a sumptuous day room, with the green waters of the Ufratü River flowing languorously beyond the walls of the citadel and the fortress, her nine-year-old son Kaleb and her six-year-old daughter Eleaza engaged in a play fight under the keen eyes of their attendants.
Mila stopped just inside a shadowy archway and observed them dispassionately. Unlike her siblings and cousins, motherly love was not an emotion that came naturally to her. Bearing her children had been a duty, one of a hundred others given to her by the kings of the Empire, and a responsibility she owed her husband. Compared to the thrill of battle, she found pregnancy and childbirth bothersome chores and returned to her role of lieutenant commander a day after delivering her children into the world. As such, they had spent most of their lives with the wet nurses, maids, and tutors who had raised them. Still, there was no doubt that they were happiest in her and Kronos’s company.
Mila narrowed her eyes as she watched them spar. Although her husband favored their firstborn, Kaleb, it was fast becoming evident to her that their daughter would be the better fighter of the two. She made a mental note to bring her to the training grounds in Issin the next time she went there.
Eleaza noticed her first. She sidestepped a swing of her brother’s sword, dropped her blade, and ran inside the room.
‘Mama!’ she cried, chubby arms closing around Mila’s left thigh.
Mila lifted her daughter against her chest and felt the last of her anger melt away at her warm weight. ‘Eleaza.’
‘Is father with you?’ said Kaleb, his dark eyes bright as he followed in his sister’s steps.
‘He will be here shortly. Now, tell me what you have been up to in our absence.’
Mila’s plans to leave Uryl the next day were thwarted by Crovir later that evening.
In the privacy of the kings’ dining chamber, at the end of the feast that was the culmination of the day’s celebrations, her father looked to where she sat next to Kronos and directed a cold stare at her. ‘I would like Mila to stay behind, please.’
She gazed steadily back at him, conscious of her siblings’ and cousins’ glances. Next to Crovir, apprehension filled her mother’s eyes.
‘Of course,’ Mila murmured.
‘Do you also need me to—?’ Kro
nos started.
‘No,’ said Crovir, ‘not on this occasion.’ His gaze shifted. ‘Jared, I am afraid you will also not be returning to your city tomorrow. I have a task for Mila and you.’
Beatrix shared a guarded look with Jared.
‘Brother?’ Bastian said with a frown.
Crovir smiled faintly. ‘It is an insignificant matter, Bastian. Do not worry about it.’
Bastian hesitated before rising from the table. Soon, everyone but Crovir, Mila, and Jared had vacated the chamber.
Jared leaned back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. ‘What is this about, father? We have only just come back from the campaigns you sent us on come the last New Moon. What is so pressing that you need Mila and I to attend to it without giving us even a day in our homes?’
Crovir smiled thinly. ‘It is a simple assignment. I want you to bring me the head of a pig.’
Chapter Eight
‘Sister, we must stop. The men are tired, as are their mounts. They need to rest.’
Jared had come up beside her. Mila glanced at him before looking over her shoulder. What she saw made her frown. She leaned back in her saddle and tugged on her horse’s reins. The black stallion neighed irritably and stamped his hooves as he was forced to a stop.
‘There, there, Buros, calm yourself,’ she murmured.
She slapped the beast gently on the neck and wheeled him around to face the troops at their back. Above them, Abu whirled and came about, wings dark against the crimson sky.
Four days had passed since they left Uryl with a battalion of three hundred men and started the journey that would take them two hundred and sixty leagues north, to where the Toros Mountains overlapped with the Zagros chain. Mila had set a grueling pace from the outset, driving the soldiers to ride from dawn to dusk toward their destination in the snowcapped peaks that now soared on the horizon. Throughout that time, the exchange she and Jared had had with Crovir on their last night in the capital resonated in her mind.
‘I want you to bring me the head of a pig,’ their father had stated. ‘And not just any pig. I want the head of the one who rules Hazaara.’
Mila had frowned. ‘Governor Nazul?’
‘Yes.’ Crovir’s expression had darkened. ‘Nazul is a traitor who plots against us. He has refused to pay his tithes since the beginning of the New Year. His greed and ambition know no bounds. I hear he is buying weapons and enlisting private soldiers to mount a rebellion against the Empire.’
Tithes were levies imposed by Crovir and Bastian on every human city under their rule. The compulsory, twice-yearly contributions were established in the very early days of the Empire and had contributed significantly to its growth and the funding of its army over hundreds of years. As the task of raising the duties grew, it eventually befell Hosanna and the horde of collectors and bookkeepers under her command. To assist them in their function, Tobias and Baruch had assigned companies of soldiers in rotation to Hosanna’s administration.
‘Why are you not speaking to Hosanna about this?’ Jared asked.
‘I have already discussed the matter with my niece,’ Crovir said dismissively. ‘She insists there are extenuating circumstances at play. She wishes me to forgo the tithes for the next six months.’
Mila watched her father curiously. ‘And you do not believe her?’
‘No, I do not.’ Crovir scowled. ‘I am afraid she has been taken in by the lies of that treacherous pig. Hence why I am ordering the two of you to go to Hazaara and bring me his head. No one else will dare defy me once they hear of his fate.’
Tense silence descended on the chamber.
‘What if we find that Hosanna was justified in her actions?’ Mila said in a level tone. ‘What would you have us do?’
Crovir blinked. ‘Why, I expect you to do as you are told, daughter. After all, my word is law. If I say he is a traitor, then he is one.’
Mila stared.
‘As you wish then, father,’ she said finally. She had glanced at Jared and seen the troubled look that flashed in his eyes. ‘We shall bring you the head of the pig.’
Her brother’s voice brought her back to the present moment. ‘The river is nearby. We should camp there for the night.’
Jared indicated a shallow valley to the east. In the distance, she could hear the roar of the Tigra.
Mila eyed the soldiers critically before dipping her chin. Although she, Jared, and their stallions could carry on well into the night, there was no denying the truth in her brother’s warning. The men they had brought with them were among the troops who had been involved in crushing the recent uprisings across the Empire. Normally, they would have had days to rest before their next campaign. Crovir had however insisted that she and Jared use them again, rather than the fresh soldiers stationed in the capital’s fortress or the ones posted at their various garrisons.
For one wild moment, Mila had wondered at his rash command and speculated whether an ulterior motive lay behind it. Then she realized that he simply did not care for the wellbeing of their men. Even if they were starved, sleep-deprived and pushed beyond the limits of their endurance, he expected them to perform at their best. Failure to do so would result in their immediate execution, something she had seen time and time again when she was a child.
But more than begrudge her father his usual callous behavior and the troublesome task he had assigned her and her brother, Mila resented not being able to visit Romerus before she left Uryl.
‘Do not fret, sister. Our grandfather will still be there upon our return,’ Jared murmured when they were setting up tent a short while later.
‘I know.’ Mila hesitated. ‘Did Rafael—?’
‘Yes.’ Jared’s eyes turned cold. ‘I asked him to heal the injuries of our mother before he and Phebe left for Urim.’
Mila stared out over the darkening land to the new moon rising on the eastern horizon. ‘Although his unworldly abilities confound me, as do yours and those Navia possesses, we are truly blessed to have him as our kin. He has relieved much of the suffering of the queens since he came of age and his powers matured.’
‘You believe the three of us to be otherworldly?’ said Jared in a light tone.
Mila shrugged. ‘You cannot deny that no one else in existence possesses the mystical abilities you do.’
‘You say that, but I believe your skills as a warrior are also unearthly, sister.’
As she pondered her brother’s words, a flash of light by the riverside drew her attention. A man sat on a rock at the water’s edge. He was cleaning the arrows and spear he had used to hunt some of the hares now roasting on spits in the middle of the camp.
Mila stared. She had been aware of the stranger ever since they left Uryl. He was the only soldier who had kept up with the punishing pace she had set and he was often to be found just a dozen feet or so behind her.
‘Who is that?’
Jared looked over from where he was removing his stallion’s saddle and bellyband and followed her gaze.
‘The archer? His name is Aäron. He is a captain of the troop. He joined my ranks some thirteen months ago.’ He undid his horse’s bit and noseband and slapped him gently on the rump. ‘Away you go, Ibtihal.’
The chestnut-colored stallion let out a low nicker and wandered down the slope toward the river.
‘He has unusual coloring.’
‘You mean the fair hair and blue eyes?’ Jared smiled. ‘He does look a bit like our Navia, does he not? The other men tease him often enough for it. He hails from Parsah, it seems.’ He paused, his expression growing thoughtful. ‘He is a good man though. Pure of heart and true of bow. He kills swiftly and is kind to our prisoners.’
‘Is he as skilled with his hands and his sword as he is with arrows and spears?’
Jared gazed at her curiously. ‘I believe so. Our troop commander predicts he will rise quickly through the ranks.’
Mila frowned. ‘What about family? Does he have a wife? Children?’
Surprise dawned on Jared’s face. ‘I doubt he is celibate but no, not that I know of. Why all the questions?’
‘I am in need of a good archer and fighter.’
Jared cocked an eyebrow. ‘Really?’
Mila sighed. ‘What is that look for?’
‘You are the best archer in the Empire. And the best sword fighter, best battle-axe wielder, best—well, you are pretty much the best at everything, sister. What do you need my man for?’
‘From what you have told me, he would make a good teacher for Eleaza.’
Jared blinked. ‘What of Moab, your armorer and combat instructor?’
Mila looked at him steadily. ‘Have you seen Moab lately?’
‘Well, no.’
‘He is an old man, brother.’ Mila’s gaze shifted to the moon once more. ‘I retired him ten years ago. His son Danae is the new armorer of our city. Unfortunately, Kronos often calls upon his services. Danae does not have time for a child.’
Jared was silent for a while. ‘How time passes.’ His tone turned melancholic. ‘Though others envy us our long lifespans, I often think it a curse. We have watched many good people die since our birth.’ He paused and gazed farther downriver, to where Buros and Ibtihal drank from the river. ‘Why, even our steeds are but scions of the stallions we were gifted as children, as is your hawk.’
‘Be careful, brother,’ Mila muttered. ‘I fear you are turning into a composer of fine words.’
Jared sighed. ‘Your warrior soul is an empty husk devoid of sweetness, sister.’
Mila smiled faintly. ‘If you do not mind, I shall have a word with your man. See if he is a fit for my daughter.’
Jared shrugged. ‘As you wish.’
She turned and made her way through the camp, the laughter and rumble of the soldiers’ conversations faltering briefly with her passage. As she headed for the river, Mila could not help but dwell on the slightly bitter twist in her brother’s voice when he spoke of Navia. Though he adored Beatrix, the mate chosen for him by their father, there was no doubt in her mind that Jared’s heart truly belonged to their fair cousin. And although Navia openly cherished Malachi, Mila had long suspected she held strong feelings for Jared. Still, like so many things in their Immortal lives, their love would never be acknowledged. It was forbidden and whatever yearning existed between them would forever remain a secret from their fathers.
Origins Page 5
