by Ziv Gray
‘A healer, you are?’ she asked.
Snorting softly, Emmy shook her head.
‘No. I’m just a lowly apothecary’s apprentice.’
‘A healer you should be,’ Charo said, her strange words filled with innocent conviction.
She sucked the crumbs from her talons. Then she looked at her abdomen again.
Emmy’s smile faded at the sight of her many scars.
‘What happened to you?’ she asked.
‘Stabbed,’ Charo replied. The word was flat. ‘Fell in the mud, I did. Couldn’t keep going. And…stabbed me, she did.’
‘Who did?’ Emmy asked.
‘My owner…’ Charo’s breath hitched. ‘Pulling her cart, I was, but me…tired. Travelled from Haetharro—far north. Walking for weeks, pulling her along in that wheeled thing I was. Slipped, did I, couldn’t get up, and... Stabbed me, she did.’
Charo let the tunic fall and drew her arms tight to her sides, bringing her knees together. Emmy was silent for a moment as she tried to muster words of comfort.
Eventually, she tried.
‘You’re fine now,’ she said, the words tentative. ‘And you’re free. If your owner wanted you dead, she’s not coming back.’ Emmy’s eyes roved over the patchwork of scars and dents and slashes in Charo’s mossy armour. ‘You can go home.’
As soon as the word was out of her mouth, Emmy winced.
‘Home?’ Charo spat. ‘Home I do not have. Torn from my home when just a youngling I was. And Haetharro? Never will I back there go.’ Her tone was venomous. ‘Ever.’
‘You don’t have to,’ Emmy said, her voice low with capitulation. ‘You’re free.’
Charo’s already drawn face tightened. She broke into thick sobs. Emmy clenched her fists. Her guts wrenched. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. Where is Zecha when you need him?
Charo’s sobs emanated from deep inside her, from something that cut deeper than Emmy could bare. Charo curled into a ball and rocked back and forth, her tears soaking the too-large hose Emmy had dressed her in.
Needing to escape, Emmy stood.
‘I’ll clear this away and make some tea,’ she said.
She hurried to the kitchen. Cleared the dishes. Stoked the fire. Most of all, she tried not to listen as Charo’s echoing sobs filtered into her every pore.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mother and Son
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35
How tragic. How dreadful. How convenient. Bandim made no attempt to stop the curl of his lips. He wore his vicious smile with pride. His father was dead. His brother was dead.
Bandim had never been happier.
For the past six days, he had played the innocent, the grieving brother and son. He had donned the white of grief, pretended to enjoy the comfort and succour of others’ tears and condolences. Yes, it was a shock. Yes, it was a tragedy. To the outside world, he wore a mask of pain. But alone, he wore no mask to hide his truth. He was filled with unrelenting joy.
Everything is coming together, Bandim thought, just as Johrann said.
However, there was one problem.
His mother.
Bandim’s soft-soled shoes were silent on the steps as he ascended Widow’s Tower. It was so-called because four wives of emperors, upon the deaths of their husbands, locked themselves in its midst, shrouded in grief. Two had flung themselves from the topmost window. The other two had starved to death.
Snorting, Bandim continued the long climb, two hundred and fifty steps, spiralling up and up and up. If only mother would throw herself from the window, he thought. That would make things so much easier...
As far as everyone knew—including his brother, including his father—Empress Phen lost her wits, addled by the guilt of nearly killing her hatchling. Saved only by the intervention of a mysterious temple novice, Mantos had lived, and Phen’s spirit had died. At least, that was the story.
The novice was Johrann Maa. The magic used was Dark, and the cost was dear. Phen had sacrificed herself for her son, but now, her work was for nothing. I will have what is mine, he thought. I will have my right.
Rounding the last section of staircase, Bandim’s thoughts grew bitter. Of course, Mother did what she felt she had to do, he thought. Mantos was the first hatched. Mantos was the heir. And what of Bandim? Cast aside, not good enough. Never good enough... Every muscle in his body tightened. She could have let nature take its course. She could have let Mantos die. She could have let Bandim’s fate unfurl as it was meant to: to become the emperor, to fulfil his purpose.
But she didn’t. And since Bandim discovered the truth from Johrann, many cycles before, all affection for his mother ceased.
When he reached the final twist, he stopped. He faced a window. Warm night air drifted through, and the three moons hung low. This was the topmost window that two empresses had thrown themselves from. Bandim’s lips curled. Perhaps today, there will be a third.
With that thought, Bandim continued his journey.
Now that Johrann’s spell was finally broken, twenty-one cycles since it was cast, Mantos’s life was no longer saved. At last, he was dead. His body lay in state beside their father’s, ready for ritual burning on the temple pyre. Once again, Bandim snorted. They had died six days before. They should have been burned already, their ashes scattered to the wind. But as beloved as both were, the ceremony was postponed to allow for sufficient grief. The emperor and his heir were to be given up in flames to Nunako, the Goddess of Light, on Midsummer’s Eve.
Midsummer’s Eve was never a normal day for the fools of the Light. But this cycle, something more brought a snarl to Bandim’s face. He reached for the brass latch on his mother’s chamber door—locked from the outside, not within. He wrenched back the bolt. This cycle, Midsummer’s Eve was also the Lunar Awakening, a supposed gift from their goddess. All three moons would fall into line, one behind the other, and all prayers would be answered.
Bandim thrust the door open. It struck the wall with a crash that resounded across the courtyard below. It was folly. Moons and wishes and prayers, a conduit to a false god... he thought. Ha! But as soon as I am on the throne, I will purge this blasphemy. I will return us to the truth of Dorai.
The smash of the door dissipated. In its place was rustling—skirts on crisp rushes. A pair of golden eyes flashed in the gloom. Bandim smirked.
‘Hello, Mother.’
Phen stepped from the shadows, creeping like a cautious animal. Her arms were tight against her flat chest, her dress hanging in rags from her bony frame. Glinting in the scant candlelight, her eyes languished in dark circles. They were the same bright yellow as his own, undiminished even after twenty-one cycles in solitude.
‘Bandim.’ The word rattled from her throat as her bony claws reached to him. ‘Bandim, is that you?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
His tone should have been warm. It should have been welcoming, supportive, a mother and son reunited after many cycles apart. But it wasn’t. It was cold as a Vhaun wind and bit at the exposed skin of Phen’s throat.
‘I…I don’t understand. How can this be?’ she croaked, reaching to grasp the front of Bandim’s robes. ‘You were a hatchling when I last saw you. How is it possible that you’re so…grown?’
At the sight of his mother’s gnarled hands, a wave of disgust rolled over Bandim. He shoved her away. Stumbling backwards, Phen slipped on the ancient rushes and toppled with a shriek. Her unkempt fronds spilled around her like a grey pool. When she looked at him again, her eyes were bright with fear.
‘You cannot be my son,’ she whispered. ‘My son would not treat me this way. Who are you?’
Bandim chuckled. Phen’s wretched frame tried to clamber upright. As she dragged herself towards the bedstead, every fibre of muscle flexed under her dark skin.
‘Oh, I am your son,’ Bandim said. ‘But perhaps, not the son you wanted.’
‘What?’ Phen asked as she struggled to stand. ‘I wanted you
both, sons or daughters. It didn’t matter. I wanted you both.’ She stilled, eyes darting. ‘Mantos,’ she breathed. ‘Where is Mantos?’
‘You see!’ Bandim spat. ‘You call for Mantos because I am not what you want. I’ve never been what you wanted!’
Phen leaned on the bedpost and jerked her head from side to side.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘I loved you both. I love you both. Exactly the same!’ Realisation spread across her face, memories of so long ago filling the lines in her skin. ‘Where is Mantos?’
Bandim’s laugh was eerily light.
‘Dear Mother,’ he said, revelling in the news, ‘has no one told you?’
‘Told me what?’ Phen asked, throwing herself against Bandim’s chest. She grabbed fistfuls of his robes. ‘Told me what?’
Bandim’s laugh dissipated, but his lips lifted in a barbarous smirk.
‘I’m so glad I can give you this news myself,’ he said. ‘It might be the sweetest part of it all. Dearest Mother…’ He paused, letting the weight of the moment crush her. ‘Your beloved son is dead.’
There was a beat of absolute silence. Phen’s eyes flickered, searching for a glint of truth. When she found it, she screamed
‘No! No! It can’t be. I made a deal, my life for his!’
Bandim snatched her hands, clenching them so hard, she keened with pain. He did not relent.
‘I know the deal you made, Mother,’ Bandim growled. ‘I know what you did for him.’
He spat the final word like a curse. The bones of Phen’s wrists ground in his grip, but he still did not relent.
‘I know what you did for him,’ he repeated, each word more ragged than the last. ‘You sacrificed your life to save him. And yet you did not need to—because you had me.’
Phen’s eyes widened.
‘Bandim, I—’
He cut his mother off with a slap to the face. She recoiled from the strike, spinning across the floor. Bandim stalked towards to her, nose slits flaring as enmity consumed him.
‘No!’ he cried, clamping his hands on her withered arms. ‘Do not defend your actions! You had me. You didn’t need to save him. He was dead. He lost his life in the natural order of things, yet you chose to interfere. And not only that, you took yourself away from me! You left me with Father, who gave all his attention to Mantos—and I was left with nothing! No mother, no father, an endless string of nurses and maids and teachers—but no one who cared for me.’
Phen’s breath fluttered.
‘Bandim, I-I would have done the same for you!’ she cried. ‘I did what I had to do to save my youngling. If it had been you who fell from the nest, I would still have sacrificed myself.’
‘Lies!’ Bandim bellowed, shaking her, spittle foaming at the corners of his lips. ‘You showed how little you cared for me when you gave up your life for him. I could have been the emperor. I was meant to be the emperor! Fate kept me back at first, but set itself to rights when that runt fell from the nest. But you destroyed my chances, all because you loved him more!’
His chest heaved. The scales and plates of his neck and shoulders pulsed. Phen cowered like a wounded animal, her body trembling under his rage.
Tears tracked down her cheeks, though they elicited no sympathy. Bandim kept his grip strong.
‘You’re wrong,’ Phen whispered. ‘You’re so wrong. My son, my son—’
She reached for his face, but Bandim thrust her away, fury bubbling anew.
‘Do not presume to touch me, Mother,’ he spat, his words echoing his last with exchange with Mantos. ‘I am the emperor now.’
Something changed within Phen at those words. Her yellow eyes strengthened and she regained her balance. She straightened her crooked back and drew herself to her full height, eye to eye with Bandim. Her tail twitched from side to side, the muscles flexing after an eternity of stillness.
‘And I am Empress Phen of House Yru, wife of Emperor Braslen of House Tiboli. And more importantly, I am your mother.’
Bandim’s cold chuckle trickled down the chamber walls. Phen’s courage flickered in the darkness. I will snuff this insolence out soon enough, he thought.
‘My mother, you may be,’ he said, taking a few slow steps towards her, ‘and you were wife of the emperor. You were the empress. But Father is dead. You are a widow. No empress has reigned supreme on the throne. You have no choice. I own you now, and I will do with you as I please.’
Defiance still blazed in Phen’s eyes, though there was a new waver in her voice.
‘And what will you do with me?’ she asked. ‘Keep me locked up until I rot in this prison?’
‘Dear, dear Mother,’ Bandim said gently. Then, without warning, his hand shot out, gripping her chin. ‘Why would I keep you here? You’re the dowager empress, after all.’
For a fleeting moment, relief spread across Phen’s face. At that, Bandim locked his jaws on his prey.
‘I won’t leave you here to die,’ he said, bringing his mouth to her ear. ‘I’m going to kill you.’
CHAPTER SIX
Charo
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42
Emmy straightened her back and took a deep breath. She balanced the tray holding Krodge’s evening victuals in one hand and knocked with the other. And she waited. Unfortunately, waiting gave her time to think.
In the days following Charo’s awakening, they had exchanged few words, except when Zecha appeared. He could get a reply from a tree, Emmy thought. She, on the other claw, had no idea what to say. The more she thought about what had happened, the tighter the knot grew in her stomach. Things weren’t normal. Her precious order had been taken away. Life had never been pleasant, but at least it had been predictable. Emmy chewed her lower lip. Why am I keeping Charo here? I should ask her to leave… I need things to go back to the way they were. But most of all right now, I need Krodge to let me open this door!
At that, she was granted permission.
Krodge did not look at her as she set the tray on the bedside table. Emmy’s eyes sought the walking stick. She couldn’t find it. Waiting to be addressed, she stood with her hands clasped. Krodge faced her and raised a talon into the air, beckoning Emmy closer. Emmy didn’t hesitate, though her heart began to thunder.
She bent as she approached. That was a mistake. Krodge launched her hand out and clamped it around Emmy’s throat, her claws digging into the soft skin with improbable strength.
‘Why is there a stranger in my house?’ Krodge asked.
Waves of breath pulsed against Emmy’s face. She spluttered, trying to pry Krodge’s fingers from her neck. Her eyes bulged and her vision blurred at the edges.
‘I hear everything!’ Krodge bellowed. ‘I know there is someone here!’
Emmy’s eyes rolled back and her legs wilted. Krodge released her grip, only to bring her walking stick down like steel. Emmy refused to cry out, even as her back blazed with pain. I won’t give you the satisfaction, crone! Regaining her balance, Emmy gasped for breath.
‘I was waiting for you to tell the truth,’ Krodge said, ‘but now I see I shouldn’t have had faith in you. What is going on?’
‘Yes, there is someone else here!’ Emmy cried. ‘She was brought to me by some of the townsfolk. She was nearly dead. I did everything you taught me to try to save her.’ Her words stumbled over each other. She looked up, hoping the words placated Krodge, even a little. ‘Everyone in town knows about it. They know I was only able to save her because of how well you taught me.’
Sitting up in the bed that creaked under her considerable weight, Krodge raised an eyeridge.
‘Get up,’ she snapped.
Emmy did as she was told. She resisted the urge to lean against the wall, though her knees were weak.
‘How is this female now?’ Krodge asked. ‘Will she live?’
‘Yes, Madame,’ Emmy replied. ‘She’s getting stronger every day.’
Krodge tapped one thick talon on her chin and nodded.
‘I see.
And folk are interested in her, are they?’
Emmy nodded.
‘Yes, Madame. Everyone who comes in asks about her.’
‘Good,’ Krodge said, settling back against her pillows. ‘In that case, once she’s able, you will put her to work. She was saved by my knowledge and is being fed by my profits. I think she owes me a little servitude.’ At Emmy’s look of disdain, Krodge waved a hand. ‘Pay her for it, though not much. And make sure she knows that she doesn’t have a choice.’
Emmy clasped her hands and nodded, saying nothing in the hope that Krodge would dismiss her.
‘Get out,’ Krodge said, waving her hand again. ‘Go and relay my instructions.’
Relief coursing through her, Emmy retreated downstairs, the burn at her neck abating. That could have been worse… she thought. Straight away, she found Charo at the kitchen table.
‘You’re to work for my mistress,’ she said. ‘For pay,’ she added as Charo’s eyes widened. ‘She says you owe her.’
Charo said nothing for a moment. Then she stood.
‘Alright,’ she said, inclining her head. She even smiled. ‘I will.’
Eyes bulging, Emmy shook her head.
‘You’ve just been freed from servitude,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you leave? You don’t have to do as she says. You could go now, and I couldn’t stop you.’
Charo shrugged, still smiling.
‘Different, this is’ she said. ‘I have a choice, for the first time in my life. And, to be honest,’ she added, her face colouring, ‘I like it here. And I don’t know anywhere else. At least, not anywhere I want to go.’
‘You don’t know what you’re getting into,’ Emmy said. ‘Krodge isn’t pleasant.’
‘Stabbed you, ever?’ Charo asked.
‘No,’ Emmy replied, ‘but she’s done other things. She’s hurt me.’
‘All mistresses hurt their servants,’ Charo said. Emmy bristled at the word, but said nothing. ‘I expect that. As long as she doesn’t try to kill me, it’s an improvement on my last situation.’
In truth, Emmy couldn’t argue with that.
Over the next few days, Charo proved to be pleasant company. At first, it was strange for Emmy to share her living space with someone other than Krodge. However, as time passed, the company became less invasive and perhaps even…desirable.
