by F. C. Reed
“Oh gag. That’s corny.” Amalia felt a smile spread across her face, despite her efforts to contain it. “Tell me about this girl.”
“Well, so far as I can tell, she’s brave, intelligent, strong, and beautiful. And I must admit that I am smitten. But until I’m sure—
“Thanial Taul al’Solyros Dumiir.” The voice of Mirell St. Castigan tore through the moment like a cinder block through a glass window. She sounded annoyed, like a mother who caught her child sneaking sweets from a cupboard.
Amalia glowered at Thanial as his shoulders slumped, followed by a deep sigh. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You were saying?”
“There you are, silly.” Mirell marched over in that swinging way of hers, flipping her yellow curls about with reckless abandon. “I could be mistaken, but I recall you saying to me, just last night, that you would visit a friend in Everelt Square off the north mountain, and that you would be gone for most of the day.” She stood over him with her hands on her hips.
“I changed my mind,” he responded, not giving her the courtesy of eye contact. Perhaps because she intimidated him? Amalia could not tell.
“Without telling me, I see,” she admonished, looking around. “Changed your mind to clean up broken eggs. I wonder where they might have come from. I see no hens.” Then she deliberately fixed her ever intense amber-colored eyes on Amalia in that hard, piercing stare. “Oh, wait,” she grinned. “Never mind. I stand corrected.”
Amalia stood up slowly, pushing back against her rising anger. She had heard enough from this woman. The cold threats and subtle insults were at a point where she felt she may do something rash like snatch a fistful of yellow hair out of her perfect little head. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. Thanial stood with her, sensing the sharp rise in tension, and eased his way in between the two of them.
Mirell was far from intimidated. She locked eyes with Amalia, and did not so much as look away or blink, her hands still firmly planted on her hips. As ever, Mirell’s outlandish outfit hugged at her every being. The rose-colored top, decorated with faint blossoms of pink flowers, appeared two sizes too small, and the fleshy tops of her cleavage peeked out of the diamond cutaway across her chest. It wasn’t enough to make a man blush, but enough to pique his interest.
The rose-colored overcoat had the same print outlined in a silver border. Four cut tails swung from the overcoat, making for lots of movement behind her when she walked. Light brown knee-high boots with flared tops and white rubber soles completed her ensemble, while her thighs pressed against the fabric of a set of sheer, brown pants.
Amalia imagined how horrifically wonderful it would be if she were to reach over and pop open one button. A grin split her face at the thought of Mirell’s clothes exploding off her body, like the violent snap of a rubber band coming away after being stretched to its limit, and she flailing about trying to keep all of her sensitive parts covered. But even something as all that would most likely not deter her.
Amalia noticed, in their brief encounters, that Mirell St. Castigan was powerfully confident, and she always made sure everyone else around knew that. Standing naked within view of others would probably just make her giggle with delight at showing herself off, especially in front of Thanial.
“Mirell,” Thanial began. “Please don’t—
“Save it,” Amalia said with a bitter frown. “I don’t need your help with this. I was just leaving.”
She saw Thanial turn towards her out of the corner of her eye, but he hesitated and said nothing. Concentrating on keeping a solid footing over the slick lacquered floor, the last thing she needed was to lose what was left of her dignity by slipping on egg as she tried her best to leave.
When she was outside, she angrily swiped away at a tear, surprised that her frustration was to the level of angry tears. That did not happen often. She decided at that moment that she would put him out of her mind, keep well enough away from him, and ignore the undeniably potent feelings she had developed for him over a brief period. The confusion of what was going on between Thanial and Mirell was too much for her, and she decided also that she had other, more important things to worry about.
Like the confusion of what was going on between Thanial and herself.
Chapter Thirty
Birds sang at the break of the day’s dawn. She wrestled with the thought of starting another dreary routine, not yet having built the confidence to wander the sectors alone. It would be quite the embarrassment to have someone come and fetch her. But that foray into the outer sectors to get decked out was fast approaching, and she looked forward to it. Amalia flopped herself onto her bed.
“So what are your plans for today?” Sarina asked as she straightened the bed linens.
“Train, train, and train some more,” Amalia answered with a sigh. She stretched her back out with a succession of pops that cascaded down her spine. “One of these days I’ll get geared up and all of this will feel like it matters.”
“In due time, I think,” Sarina said. “For now, you could just flit off to some place far from here, perhaps.” Amalia shot her a questioning look before she added, “With you-know-who. For the kissing of the lips.” Sarina closed her eyes and puckered her lips in an exaggerated smoochy face.
“For the kissing of the lips? Seriously?”
In that moment, Sarina established herself as the goofiest person Amalia knew, but she liked the awkward sounding girl. Sarina was interesting and different. Despite the newness of their relationship, somehow, just like all the rest, they seemed to know one another. The comfort and familiarity only held by old friends.
“Yes,” Sarina stopped her folding. “The kissing of the lips, as in you would like to plant the wet ones on his cheeks and face, and he does the same to you,” she said in a hushed whisper, like talking about kissing Thanial was some guarded secret shrouded in taboo. “He has the nice puffy lips for kissing, doesn’t he? And the not-greasy brown hair, suitable for running of the fingers through? A difficult combination to find in males.”
Amalia had to smile at that. Sarina was right, although Amalia preferred the look of Donovan Romin’s dreadlocks over all else. The thought brought to her consciousness and hope that he was also somewhere in this alter universe, giving her two incredible men to froth over.
“You don’t describe a guy’s lips as puffy. That’s weird,” she said as she made her way to wash up. “And besides, Thanial is spoken for, so I don’t think he’s much interested in me.”
“If he is not interested in you, then that will be the surprise to me,” Sarina said. “Anyway, he asked me to give this to you.”
Amalia darted back out of the bathroom and scurried up to Sarina, butterflies dancing in her stomach. “He asked you to give me what?”
Sarina held out the red envelope and Amalia took it from her, careful not to show her enthusiasm. Taking a deep breath, she pulled a single white card free from the envelope and flipped it over several times in her hand. “It’s blank,” she shrugged, not sounding as disappointed as she felt. “Anti-climactic, considering.”
“Not blank, red lioness,” Sarina said. “There must be the placement of the finger or the thumb on the center of the card. This is a special gesture, usually made from one admirer to the one he or she admires.”
Amalia followed her instructions and instantly slipped into captivation. As she pressed her thumb into the center of the piece of white cardboard, the part of the card not trapped under her thumb curled and contorted, ultimately transforming into a gray and black mist. It rose before her face, as small metallic-like segments materialized into view from the dissipating mist. The pieces folded into themselves and pushed into others, fusing at some spots, and connect loosely in other areas to form small joints.
Amalia lost herself, afraid even to speak for fear of destroying the creature’s journey into existence as it took shape before her eyes. After a moment, she thought the shape most closely resembled a metallic dragonfly, with chain links flowi
ng off its body. The core of the iridescent creature glowed a bright blue and pulsed as though it held a beating heart. The single pair of transparent wings were bigger than a dragonfly’s wings and shimmered every imaginable color in their iridescence.
And then it vanished.
Amalia pinched the small piece of paper between her thumb and finger. She tried to reimagine the image of the dragonfly, but her immediate recall of the event paled in comparison to the real thing. What she felt instead was an intense feeling of warmth that radiated to her arms and stomach from her chest. The complete experience became a dream before her eyes. The piece of paper she held onto soon disintegrated into the wind, and she felt a pang of regret that there was now nothing to remind her of that experience.
Sarina looked over Amalia’s stunned and saddening features, then forced a smile. “I think he likes you.”
Amalia squeezed her eyes shut. “Geez, why does it hurt so much?” She wanted to scream from the emotional void that opened up as the dragonfly disappeared.
Sarina put a hand on Amalia’s arm. “I believe the connections, even emotional ones, work very different on this plane than other planes of the existence. The connection has the physical qualities to it, making powerful, potent feelings to have a pain associated with feeling the loss. The pain is meant to bring the other and you closer. Much like the magnetic pull.”
Amalia stood, her hand clutching her chest. “How do I get rid of it?”
“It is the pain that must be brought to bear the balance, as it is the way of the aethersphere,” Sarina said.
Amalia nodded her understanding. “No wonder he can’t stay away from me.”
“And it is a wonder that you can stay away from him. But I am suspecting that you do not want to,” said Sarina.
“Bear the balance. Sounds like I shouldn’t be fighting,” Amalia said.
Sarina nodded. “Probably not.”
Amalia assumed there would be more to it. This far into their relationship, or what she thought was their relationship, she sure felt like there was more to it. Mirell popped into her mind, forcing a slight grimace, but she batted the image of the perfect face and curly blond hair out of her mind’s eye with a mental crowbar.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Your report, Mistress Kahn.” Sky Marshal Sesanji smiled at the reference. “Anything of importance? Anything at all on this… Anders girl.”
Mirell paced the room back and forth, her hands clenched into fists. “No, I have found nothing,” she growled. “And stop calling me that.”
“Our little secret.” Sky Marshal Sesanji stood and walked to the window. “You’re distracted. I’ve never known you to be this way before.”
“If there is something to find, I’ll find it,” Mirell snapped.
Sky Marshal Sesanji chuckled. “I’m not worried about that. I know how good you are, mistress.”
Mirell spun around and glared at the sky marshal, wondering why she would ever have agreed to give her help. She had no choice but to stay the course, however. The sky marshal knew way too much, and being indebted to her put Mirell at quite the disadvantage.
“Thanial. Your first defeat,” Sky Marshal Sesanji offered with a grin. “He’s all but gone now. Lost to you. And you were so, so close.” The sky marshal turned toward Mirell, whose porcelain face held a jumbled frown surrounded by a deep shade of pink. “Would you like to talk about it?” The sky marshal asked, countering Mirell’s displeasure and discomfort with a nonchalant smile.
Mirell sighed and let herself relax a little. She went back to her pacing, but it was much slower. “I don’t understand him at all,” she said, realizing that the sky marshal was the only person she had connections with that she felt able to trust, and even that was paper thin.
Sky Marshal Sesanji nodded. “So I’ve noticed, occasionally, that you do not. You have a special gift for understanding men, from what I gather. Hence the much-deserved title of mistress. We are Caphriellan, and our norms saw fit to designate you a sistreus. That was your place in Caphriellan society. A pleasure companion. Do not choose to forget who has helped you rise above your station, forged you a new identity, and made you her equal.” She smiled again to relay that she was enjoying her dominance. “But to his credit, Thanial Dumiir is no ordinary man. Either that, or you’re losing your charm. Most men cannot resist the allure of a sistreus. You are perhaps out of practice?”
“There is no such thing,” Mirell said, feeling forced into a conversation she was not willing to have. She glared at the sky marshal again, a flash of anger in her eyes. “He rejects me and I can’t figure out his motives.”
“Here, I’ll give you a hint why you are having such a troublesome time. Her name starts with—
“I don’t need a hint,” Mirell snapped. “Get serious.”
“You sound a lot like your mother did,” Sky Marshal Sesanji said dismissively. “You even have her attitudes and temperaments.”
“Hardly.” Mirell ignored her insults, but she hated being compared to her mother. Still compelled to vent her frustration, she continued her thoughts aloud. “That stupid boy makes me so angry, I want to scream most days. But I dare not reveal that side of myself to him for fear of becoming—
“Even more undesirable?” the sky marshal suggested. “You would do well to keep that overpowering need-to-have-all-control side of yourself hidden, at least until after you’re married to him. Then it won’t matter at all.” The sky marshal stopped Mirell’s pacing by touching her arm as she stormed by. “You are a strong woman with the ability to express yourself and get what you feel is owed you. I can’t imagine this being so gods-be-damned difficult that it puts off your confidence. Your mother was the same way. Confident, strong, and perfect. She fought to gain your father’s attention. A lot like you’re doing with Thanial now. And she succeeded.”
“But it killed her,” Mirell said. “And her death killed him. What did she do to win his affection?”
The sky marshal cocked her head, frowning. “You would be so desperate as to have me reveal her methods? Even at the possibility of—
“I need to know,” Mirell growled through clenched teeth. “I have a right to know. The official accounts still insult my intelligence, and I know you know the truth.”
The sky marshal sat back and studied Mirell for a time. She watched the girl’s wild eyes and heavy breaths. Then she shrugged her rabid, obsessive insanity off like so much insignificance.
“If you must know, she never lost his affections, but she didn’t realize that, I suppose,” the sky marshal said. “Give Thanial time to mature more. Let him settle into his responsibilities. He will come to you as soon as he sees that you have come to him. He’s just a little distracted right now.”
“I must get rid of her first,” Mirell concluded. A distant look painted itself onto her face.
The sky marshal shrugged her shoulders. “What you do is entirely up to you, mistress. But finding out what you can about your competition will go a long way into helping you to realize that dream of yours. If you can make it happen.”
“I will for sure,” she said as the sky marshal exited with a nod of her head.
“And you’ll let me know what you find out about the ascendant?”
“Of course,” replied Mirell. “You’ll be the first.” She watched the sky marshal go, contemplating briefly on calling her back to reveal what little she had found out about Amalia. Then she reconsidered.
Like so many others, she, too, needed leverage.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Torches lined the livery yard, providing some light even with the afternoon sun. Scents, both familiar and unfamiliar, penetrated the air and in some places the stink seemed potent enough to stifle breathing. An enormous pile of manure lay in a corner of the stabled yard with shovels jammed in the heap like a row of fence posts.
A short, round man with a blading pate and a fat, red nose ambled into view. “Begone from here, you little troublemakers. I’ll not hav
e you setting loose the herd on me again.” He wiped a filthy rag across his bald spot and made his way over to a shovel. “Else somebody’ll be needing to call the medicus to come scrape you off’n my walls.”
“We’re not here to make trouble,” Zerosa said calmly.
Amalia watched the crippled man. She could also see that one of his eyes operated under a cloudy white film, while the other moved around in his head in unnatural jerks and rolls. A tiny wire fed out from the corner of his clouded eye and disappeared into the collar of his shirt.
“That’s what you said last time, you filthy little brats. Not here to make trouble,” the stable master said with a short bark of a laugh, unconvinced. “I’ll not have you—
A boy of about eleven appeared and tugged on the man’s sleeve. He bent down and lent his ear to the boy. After a moment, he stood and cleared his throat. “The boy here tells me you’re from the Reach.” He shuffled about, trying to distribute his weight evenly. It was then that Amalia saw the deformed right leg, crumpled and twisted so much that it threw his foot out at a strange angle.
“Yes. We are here to commission a khydrid longsteed,” Zerosa said, a little louder than she should have. She mistook the man for hard of hearing.
“All right, all right. No need to yell, mind you. I’m damn near blind, not damn near deaf.” He shuffled towards her, using the same filthy rag to wipe across his mouth. “Now let’s have a look at you. What’s the name again, boy?”
The boy tugged at the livery yard manager’s elbow, prompting him to bend down again.
“Artemisia?” he questioned, raising up. “So you’re the red lion’s seed spawn? Course I don’t believe in all that madness, but whatever suits you. Your money’s good as any.” He squinted at Zerosa. “From what I can tell, you’re all bones. Ain’t you supposed to be, eh, bigger?”
