Legacy of Kings

by C. S. Friedman

  A black-skinned servant entered and waited silently for Siderea to notice him. She did not look away from her mirror. Giving one last pat to her hair, running a finger along the inner curve of one breast to part the silk layers above it in the most alluring manner possible, she murmured, “Have my guest brought to the garden,” and she heard him scurry to obey.

  The palace that Dervasti had built was a grand thing by desert standards, though few princes of the north would have deemed it so. Still, there was no denying the sheer cost of its marble, imported from distant quarries, or the opulence of its gold-chased décor. Nasaan had brought statues of the gods into the main hall, richly carved idols draped in jewels and silk, to guarantee the favor of the deities. And the favor of the priests, of course. One could have an interesting argument over which mattered more to him.

  But the garden was hers, an opulent indulgence in this water-starved region. The lush, green plants that filled the palace courtyard to overflowing were a more powerful symbol of princely wealth than if the whole of the palace had been stuffed to its ceilings with gold bullion. Never mind that Siderea could conjure water with less than a moment’s thought. Visitors did not have to know that.

  She would have preferred to receive her guest while reclining on a gilt-edged couch, as she knew it would set off her physical charms to best advantage, but her consort bridled at the thought. No show of submission! It was pointless to try to explain to the ikati that among humans such a pose could mean the very opposite of submission—that it was a sign of power to have a guest attend upon her as though he were a servant. Not to mention that driving a man to desire a woman he could not possess was a staple of desert protocol. But human logic alone could not override the powerful ikati instinct, and Siderea had learned that there were times it was simply not worth the effort of arguing with her. And so she moved to a particularly lush portion of the garden, stood beneath an arch of tangled vines and hanging fuchsia blossoms, draped the gossamer layers of violet and blue silk about her to best advantage, and waited.

  The servant finally returned. “Lady,’ he said, bowing deeply. “A man named Nyuku begs leave to attend upon you.”

  The name startled her. Nyuku was here? Well, that would certainly explain why the other Souleaters had not challenged him on his way in. Nyuku had been dominant among the riders for so long that none of the others could remember a time when it had been otherwise. Or so they told her, on those few occasions when she allowed them to speak to her. In the fierce world of the ikati, where leadership must be earned anew each season and death could be the price of failed ambition, such a record was no small thing. Half of the Souleaters here probably bore scars from the claws and spikes of Nyuku’s consort.

  She had expected him to come to her, but not so soon. No doubt the situation up north had forced his hand.

  “Bring him to me,” she commanded. Feeling the young queen’s heartbeat quicken in anticipation, echoed by her own.

  The servant bowed again and left her. Two guards entered silently, and took up discreet positions behind some flowering bushes. A necessary protocol, now that she was Royal Consort. No man could be allowed to meet with her alone.

  She wove a subtle spell that would keep them from overhearing her conversation, and waited.

  The servant returned, a black-haired man following behind him. Like the other riders Nyuku was spare of flesh, his skin coarsened by a lifetime of exposure to the harsh arctic winds. Unlike the others, he was freshly bathed, with no more smell about him than the ubiquitous musky scent of a Souleater. It was a pleasant surprise. His gleaming black hair was pulled back into a neat queue at the back of his neck, and it looked as if he had dressed it with oil to keep it in place. A remarkably human affectation. His clothes were simple but finely made, and of woven fabric; if he wore any garments made of Souleater skin, they were not visible to her. His long-lashed eyes were almondine in shape, and a sharp intelligence flashed in their depths as he took in the room, the guards . . . and her. Thoroughly human in aspect and expression, she noted. No one who saw him standing there would suspect he was anything else.

  The servant bowed respectfully. “Madame Consort, I present to you Nyuku of the northlands.” It was clear from his tone that he was disappointed not to have a longer name to offer her, or a string of formal titles. Few visitors appeared before her or Nasaan without an impressive array of family names and titles to lay before the city’s rulers as offerings, even if they’d had to make some of them up in the antechamber. For a man to ignore such customs and just give one name spoke of great self-confidence . . . or great arrogance.

  The line between the two could sometimes be quite thin.

  “Nyuku,” she purred. She held out her hand to him. “I do believe the others have mentioned you.”

  She was pleased to see that the gesture startled him; it was always good policy to put these riders off their guard. As he stepped forward to take her hand, she noted that his body language was also remarkably human. This one has made a study of us, she assessed. As he came up to her, he bowed his head slightly, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, reached out for her hand. She allowed him to take it. In the back of her mind the ikati queen grew agitated. Shh, Siderea soothed her. I know what I’m doing. But there was very real danger in inviting any of the riders to touch her, she knew that. If his Souleater believed it to be a more significant invitation, things could turn bad very quickly.

  She watched as he raised the hand to his lips in a thoroughly civilized gesture and kissed it gently, his eyes never leaving hers. For a moment she thought she could sense his consort through those eyes, a dark and terrible creature beating his wings in fury, raging at what he considered a deliberate sexual provocation. If the creature managed to take control of Nyuku right now, she had no doubt he would vent that fury on her. She was playing a dangerous game, to be sure.

  But it was a game she had always enjoyed, and the fact that she now had a Souleater for a partner only made it more interesting.

  When Nyuku released her hand, he took a step back from her, establishing the proper distance between them once more. Siderea could feel her queen settle down a bit, though she was still clearly wary of the situation.

  “You know who I am?” he asked.

  “I know what the others have told me about you.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. “Good things, no doubt.”

  She smiled graciously, with only the faintest hint of irony in her voice. “Of course.”

  This man would be her mate someday. The mechanics of that were not something she had fully accepted yet; she was accustomed to choosing her own lovers. But apparently when the proper time came, she would desire him, whether or not he had won over her human heart. Human concerns would not matter once the mating flight began.

  Or so the others had told her. They had their own agenda, of course.

  It may not be this one who dominates the flight, the queen thought to her. Trying to comfort her. Another may bring him down.

  He ruled the colony for a long time, Siderea responded. That means he is hard to defeat.

  In frozen skies, where the sunlight is pale. Who is to say what will happen over hot desert sands, with the sun beating down on their wings?

  Now that was an interesting question. Was Nyuku concerned that his hard-won status might be threatened in this new environment? The suggestion of vulnerability in him seemed to restore the proper balance of power between them, and it awakened her fiercest predatory instincts.

  “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” she asked. Razor-edged questions danced just beneath the surface of her smile: Why are you in my territory? How long do you mean to stay? What advantage do you hope to gain from being here?

  “To present myself to our new queen, of course.”

  “And to see what manner of woman has joined your ranks.”

  He smiled slightly. “Of course.”

  “And perhaps to show the others that the new queen will re
ceive you, while she still holds them at arm’s length. Which might affect their confidence in the next flight, giving you advantage.”

  His smile took on a faintly predatory edge. “We are what we are, Madame Consort.”

  Indeed we are, she thought with satisfaction. “So, then.” She spread her hands wide, inviting his inspection of her. “What do you see in me?”

  His gaze was frank and sexual; men who were bound to Souleaters did not apologize for their base instincts. “A woman of beauty and power. A ruler of consequence, who has already begun to establish a new empire for our people, away from the prying eyes of our enemies.”

  “I take it you approve.”

  He smiled slightly. “What man would not approve of such a woman?”

  She chuckled softly. “I did not expect such a courtier in you, Nyuku. Few of your men even know how to bathe, much less how to flatter a woman.”

  “The human world has its rules. If we mean to be safe here, then we must learn them. It is what the Souleaters failed to do the first time, and why the First Kings were able to drive them into exile.” His eyes were so dark in color that they seemed nearly black, iris and pupil bleeding into one another as if they had no boundaries. If one could facet such eyes, they might almost look those of an ikati. “This time, of course, the ikati have allies. So I expect things will go more smoothly.”

  “Allies such as you and I.”

  The dark eyes glittered. “Yes.”

  “And the northern queen? What of her? How does she figure into all this?”

  The words were a test, and he clearly knew it. She could see the hesitation in his eyes. How much did she know already? He clearly did not want to be the one to bring her bad news. Finally, in a solemn tone, he pronounced, “The northern queen is dead, Madame Consort.”

  She was not so dishonest as to feign surprise; her expression was artfully impassive. “And the ones that guarded her?”

  “All gone. I could find nothing but skeletons remaining.”

  “Then my queen is the last one remaining.”

  He nodded grimly. “Aye.”

  A smile of cold satisfaction spread across her face. A true human might have found such an expression distasteful. But an altered human, bound to an ikati, would have no issue with her celebrating the death of a rival.

  “So,” she said. “The survival our species . . . ” She let the words trail off, inviting him to finish the sentence.

  “Depends upon you, Madame Consort.”

  What power there was in those words! What responsibility! It boggled the mind just to think about it.

  “How did she die?” Siderea asked. Also a test.

  “The High King Salvator Aurelius led a retinue into her territory. It is said that he struck the deathblow himself.”

  His spy network was flawed, she noted. Or else he was testing her. Did these men play that kind of game? “No,” she corrected him. “It was not the High King who struck the death blow. Though your story is the one being put out for public consumption . . . for obvious reasons.”

  She caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes. Fool! Had he thought that she was completely isolated here, without spies of her own? Dependent upon him and his kind for knowledge of the outside world? Well, that was only to be expected. He and his kind were accustomed to dealing with children, young girls who were bound to equally young ikati, so that the two of them could grow to adulthood side-by-side in blissful ignorance. But Siderea was a different sort of creature. Seasoned witch, ruler of men, seducer of kings and Magisters . . . Little wonder that Nyuku and his kind were unprepared to deal with her.

  I have allies in places you would never suspect, she thought.

  “Who, then?” he demanded. “Who struck the blow?”

  Had he loved her northern counterpart? Were any of these men—half-human, half-ikati—truly capable of love? The northern queen’s rider would have been Nyuku’s mate, a child bride bound to him by ties of ikati passion. Now she was dead, and he had nothing left. Oh, he might still be the strongest and fiercest of his kind, and his ikati could probably take on any challenger with two wings tied behind its back, but it was his connection to the ikati queen that had given him true authority. Now that queen was dead, and he was just one more individual in a brawling colony of bad-tempered predators, blooding themselves over pecking-order politics while waiting for the new queen to declare her flight.

  Such power, all vested in a female! It was a heady elixir.

  “A Magister killed her,” she told him. Savoring the anger that came into his eyes as she spoke the words.

  “Which one?”

  She opened her mouth to speak the name, but for a moment could not form the sounds. Hatred welled up inside her with such force that it left her breathless. You have his hair, she told herself. Remembering those few precious strands that she had stolen from Colivar, with all their sorcerous potential. They were tucked away in her treasure box now, along with less powerful tokens from less powerful Magisters. Waiting for the day she would use them all to strike at their owners. So her hatred was not an impotent thing. Someday, somehow, she would have her vengeance on those who had betrayed her, this one first and foremost.

  “Colivar struck the deathblow,” she said.

  She could see that the name had some personal meaning to him, though he tried to hide that fact. She kept her own expression neutral, but inside her mind was racing. Something new and very interesting had just entered the picture, and she was not sure how she wished to address it.

  “Colivar?” he demanded. “You’re sure that was the name?”

  “Yes. Why?” She asked, as casually as she could, “Do you know him?”

  He released his breath in a long reptilian hiss. “I knew someone by that name once. Long ago. But it can’t possibly be the same man.”

  She shrugged. “The name is unusual, but I’m sure it’s not unique. Doubtless other men have borne similar names.”

  “Describe him to me.”

  The ikati queen bridled at his sudden imperiousness of his tone, but Siderea soothed her with a thought. Quiet. This is important. She was watching Nyuku now as a hawk might watch its prey, alert to the subtlest movement that might enable her to read him. “His coloring is similar to yours. His features are angular, with dark eyes canted upward at the corners. Cleanshaven, with long, straight hair, midnight black in color. I would say he looks about thirty years of age . . . but that has little meaning with a Magister, of course. A few inches taller than you, perhaps.” And in what she hoped was a suitably nonchalant tone, she asked, “Does that sound like the man you once knew?”

  A nameless black emotion flickered in the depths of Nyuku’s eyes. For a moment Siderea felt as if she were not looking at a man at all, but gazing directly into the eyes of his ikati. And what she saw revealed in those eyes made the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

  “I know of him,” Nyuku said. An obvious evasion.

  “Not a friend of yours, I take it.”

  “I have no friends among the Magisters.” His expression was controlled, unreadable. Whatever it was about Colivar that mattered to him, he clearly did not intend to share it with her.

  At least not of his own free will.

  Carefully she drew a bit of power from her consort and bound it to her purpose. Delicate power, meticulously focused: a surgeon’s scalpel of spellcasting. The riders she had met thus far had not shown any sign of true witchery. For all that they had the power to claim athra from their winged consorts, they seemed to do little with it except forage for food and fight with one another. But it would be foolish for her to assume that Nyuku was subject to the same restriction. He was, after all, the leader of his kind, and he seemed to be a lot more savvy than the others.

  She reached out a tendril of her power toward him. There was no resistance. Was he just unaccustomed to having other people attempt to probe his thoughts, or was he truly lacking in the most basic defensive skills of a witch? Even an untrained chil
d could manage better protection than this. And here he was with a lifetime’s worth of power being channeled through his soul each passing moment, his to claim for spellcasting whenever he wanted to. Incredible!

  Carefully, oh so carefully, she reached out to touch his mind, to learn the truth about him and Colivar—

  —And a roaring filled her brain as magma-hot power suddenly rushed through her. Not pouring inward, as she had intended, bearing his secret knowledge to her on a tide of witchery. Outward, outward, the power flowed, from the center of her own soul outward, directly toward him. Lava streams of energy gushing out through her every pore, soulfire tearing her skin as it burst forth, searing her soul in its passage. Some vast hunger in him was drawing it out of her. Dragging it out. A cold blackness wrapped itself around her, sucking the very strength out of her soul. In the distance her ikati keened in panic, and the creature’s raw, preternatural terror poured into Siderea’s head, drowning out all other thought than the desperate need to survive.

  Somehow, she managed to break free. To sever the connection. When she did so—when she managed to pull herself together enough to focus on her immediate surroundings once more—she realized that she had fallen. Nyuku had stepped forward to catch her, and had possibly kept her from hurting herself. But he was still holding on to her, and that was unacceptable to Siderea’s ikati. Rage welled up inside their conjoined soul, and Siderea might have struck out at him with her talons (fingernails?) if the guards had not gotten to them first and pulled Nyuku roughly away from her. For a moment the whole tableau was frozen, the four of them staring at one another, no one moving. In Nyuku’s eyes she could see a Souleater clearly now, rage and indignation blazing. How dare these humans get between him and a queen! In that instant she could see how much effort it took for the human part of him to maintain a civilized façade, and not strike out at these men, as his Souleater half hungered to.