by Giles Carwyn
When Astor asked Mother about that, she had just smiled and told him that Ossamyr always had a flair for the dramatic. Which was no answer at all.
“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like to be in the battle?” Baedellin asked, peering over the edge of the Wheel. “With Physendrians all below?”
“Only every time I come up here.”
“We beat them so badly, they don’t even have a country anymore. The Summer Cities took it.”
Astor nodded. “They should never have come north.”
“Do you ever imagine you’re Father, leading the Lightning Swords from here, throwing rocks and spears on the army down below?” Baedellin said.
“Sometimes.”
She was quiet for a moment, and Astor was content to look out over Ohndarien, blue marble shining in the sunlight, diamonds sparkling in the bay, the Night Market asleep for the day. Some called Ohndarien “The Cursed City” now, but Astor felt that the Fortress of Light shone all the brighter for the darkness that wanted to overwhelm it. The last few days had been quiet, though. No new corrupted had appeared. It was a blessing.
“I think Mother loved him,” Baedellin said softly.
“What?”
“The Kher. I think Mother loved him. She never talks about him. She won’t.”
Astor fell silent, amazed that his flighty sister had put those pieces together.
“What would have happened if Mother had married the Kher instead of Father?”
That was about enough of that, Astor decided. He stood up and held out his hand.
“You’d have a funny hook nose to go with your funny red hair,” he said.
Baedellin leapt to her feet and punched him. He caught her fist in his hand. She tried to punch him with her other fist, but he forcibly turned her body, and she missed him.
“Baedellin, it’s time for you to go to your history lesson,” he said sternly, and she knew the game was over. She yanked her hands away from him, pouting, but she started walking toward the Winter Palace. He followed until her flame-colored head disappeared around a curve in the marble path.
Readjusting the bundle of wood, he continued toward the Hall of Windows. The gardens were quiet today, the council was not in session, and he didn’t meet anyone until he’d climbed the blue-white marble steps up the outside of the hall. It was a tricky climb, but he’d done it so many times it was second nature.
Astor was pleased to see the trail of smoke rising from Brophy’s fire. It looked like the flames had burned down to coals, but they had survived.
“Greetings, cousin,” said the Lightning Sword on duty at the top of the steps. He left the other three guards and reached for Astor’s bundle of wood. “Let me help you with that.”
“That’s all right. I like to do it myself.”
The man nodded and turned back to his conversation with the others.
As always, two Zelani sat on either side of Brophy’s cage, singing to him. This time it was Galliana and Fyrallin.
Galliana smiled at him, but didn’t stop singing. Fyrallin didn’t even notice him. She always sang with her eyes closed, lost in her song. She had one of the most beautiful voices Astor had ever heard. It was high, clear, and as smooth as honey. He thought she would have made a fortune at one of the theaters in the Night Market, but she had passed the tests and entered the Zelani school instead.
Shara-lani sat next to Brophy inside the cage. She looked weary and sadder than usual. Mother hadn’t given Astor any details, but he knew something had gone wrong at the Zelani school. Yet nothing seemed to keep Shara from her lover’s side. She was almost always holding Brophy’s hand whenever Astor arrived to feed the brazier. Some people said she never slept, that the Brother of Autumn slept for both of them.
“Good morning, Astor,” she said, wiping a finger underneath her eye and smiling. Her smiles always made him want to cry, so he nodded quickly and looked up at his destination, then back at her.
“Good morning, Shara-lani,” he said. “I won’t be long.” He set most of the wood into the elaborately carved box at the base of the dais and carefully closed the lid, then he climbed the narrow steps to the top of the gazebo. He removed the storm shield and added a few pieces of wood to the coals.
Before he went south to Physendria, Brother Brophy had maintained the torches for his father and uncles, the Lost Brothers. Shara-lani was still looking for a way to wake Brophy, but until he returned, Astor would make sure his flame burned brightly.
And if they hadn’t found a way to wake him by the time Astor took the Test, then Astor had plans of his own. He would make sure that Brophy’s sacrifice was not an eternal one.
He watched the fire for a moment, then looked out over the Great Ocean and saw an unexpected sight. A small fleet of ships approached the Sunset Gate. His heart beat faster.
He squinted, making sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. But no, they were Ohohhim ships.
The Emperor wasn’t due to arrive until later in the week, and Mother said the storm might slow them down even more. But there they were, black ships with triangular sails, tacking toward Sunset Gate. They must have sailed through the teeth of the storm.
The Emperor came back to Ohndarien every year, but this time Astor heard the legendary Arefaine Morgeon, the Sleeping Child herself, the baby that Brophy had brought back with him from the Cinder, was coming with him. The child who started the Nightmare Battle was returning to Ohndarien for the first time since she had awoken. He had heard that she was quite a beauty.
He jumped over the side of the gazebo, slid his hand down one of the brass rails, and landed on the platform with a thump. Galliana and Fyrallin looked up, though they both continued singing.
“The Ohohhim have arrived,” he said, far more excited than he expected. There was much to be done.
CHAPTER 11
Somewhere in the kitchen, a dish shattered. Issefyn suppressed a flash of annoyance, keeping all emotion from her face. The lessons of poise and calm were best taught through example.
The Ohohhim had arrived earlier than anticipated, and the entire school was a beehive of activity this morning, making certain that everything was in its finest form for the Emperor’s visit.
Issefyn finished the floral arrangement she was working on and headed for the kitchen to make sure there wasn’t an important part of the Emperor’s dinner on the plate that just broke. His Eternal Wisdom spent an evening dining with Shara every time he visited Ohndarien. The man was constantly trying to entice Shara to become his mistress. He seemed to enjoy taking no for an answer.
As Issefyn strode into the kitchen, she was surprised to find it empty. Gathering herself, she sent out her awareness to see where the plate breaker might have run off.
At first she didn’t sense anyone, but she concentrated harder and realized she wasn’t alone.
She turned to face Suvian, who leaned against a pantry doorway.
“That is an impressive glamour. Almost as impressive as your plate-shattering skills.”
“I learned from the best,” he replied. His glittering gaze devoured her, lingering on her cleavage.
Suvian was a beautiful young man who had recently emerged as a full Zelani. He had deep brown eyes, dark hair, and a handsome face that could have belonged to the House of Spring. In reality, though, he was a Farad peasant.
“I was being sarcastic,” she said. “Any talented novice could see right through that.”
“But I wanted to be seen,” he said as he sauntered toward her. “Hence the plate.”
“That is recklessly bold for someone forbidden to enter this building ever again.”
“Why are the best things in life always forbidden?” he asked.
Suvian had been expelled from the Zelani school for his overexuberance with one of the younger students. Shara had named it attempted rape.
Issefyn waited, back straight, arms folded across her chest. He touched her arms, unfolded them, and began to pull her toward the pantry
. She raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t resist.
The storeroom was deep enough to be shadowed, but it was still open to the kitchen. It held three shelves of food, a stout table, and two unlit lanterns on the walls.
“Exactly why are you here, Suvian?” she asked. “The Emperor will be dining here tonight, and there are things that require attention—”
“I require attention,” he said, trailing his hand along her arm as he walked around her. His chest pressed against her back, and his fingers wrapped around the curve of her hip. He was taller than her. That was one of the things Issefyn always liked about him.
Suvian slipped his fingers inside the lip of her neckline and moved slowly down, touching the edge of her breast. “Aren’t you the one who said we must always make time for joy, Issefyn?”
She smiled, and her hand closed over his gently. She took it away from her breast. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, turning around and stepping back from him.
He grabbed her hands. She shook her head, but didn’t resist as he leaned close, his smooth cheek touching hers as he whispered in her ear, “Tell me you don’t want this, that you don’t want me. Tell me, and I shall leave.”
His hands slid up the sides of her arms and held her firmly just above her elbows.
“You are forbidden to be here, Suvian. We had a bargain. I overlooked your past indiscretions when I chose to complete your training. And in return, you agreed to keep your distance from this place. If Shara found you here, it would go badly for both of us.”
For a moment, the cocksure glimmer in his eyes faltered. His hands loosened their grip, but only for a moment.
“You’re right,” he said, smiling wider. “We made a bargain.” He pushed her suddenly, forcefully, backward. With a little gasp, she stumbled, sat down hard on the table. He moved forward, pushing his way between her legs. “And yet, here I am. Here you are.”
“Suvian…” she admonished, breathing harder, matching her breath to his. She tried to close her legs, but he forced his hips between them and slammed her down on the table. Her head hit the wood, and she gasped.
His hands pushed at her knees and, after resisting for a moment, she let her legs drift apart. He hiked her gown up.
“Is this really what you want, Suvian?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said in a husky voice. His trembling hands ran the length of her legs, drinking in the sight of her. She wore no undergarments. She never did.
He unlaced his breeches and let them fall. Pulling her to the edge of the table, he spread her legs farther, baring her to him. Hot flesh touched hers.
“Do you want me?” she whispered.
“I already have you,” Suvian said, putting his hands on her hips and leaning on them.
“Do you?” she asked, slowly sitting up on her elbows.
“Yes I do.” He started to push inside her.
She sat up a little more, pivoting her hips away from him. She glanced down and saw, with satisfaction, the newly healed scabs on his knees. “Do you?” she murmured again, feeling a rush at the memory of those scabs, feeling her power over him. “I want you to show me exactly what you have.”
Suvian stopped, his brow furrowed.
“You heard me, Suvian.”
His hands eased their pressure a little. He blinked, turned his head as if someone was calling his name from far away.
Removing his hands, Issefyn shifted backward, brought one leg slowly past him, then slid off the table. Her gown floated back down into place, and she walked around behind him. He turned with her, dazed.
“Now, my big, strong man,” she purred. “I want you to crawl.”
His knees buckled, and he fell to the floor on hands and knees. His forehead wrinkled as his brows came together. His shoulders shook as he tried to resist. “You…” he panted. “Bitch…” But he didn’t move.
Issefyn smiled. The lovely boy was made of sterner stuff than she anticipated. She had known kings who succumbed more easily.
She knelt next to him, placed a finger on his trembling lips. “When I call,” she intoned, “you will come to me. When I speak, you will obey.”
With a growl, Suvian swung out blindly. His wrist cracked against the leg of the table, and he fell forward on his belly. He lay there, breathing hard for an excruciating moment before all of the struggle drained from his face. His muscles relaxed, and he lay peacefully on the stone floor, his mouth open.
“Take off your clothes, my darling,” she whispered. “And crawl for me. I want to see you crawl.” He woodenly pulled his shirt over his head and pushed his pants the rest of the way off his legs.
Issefyn pressed a hand against her breast, felt the rising tide of her desire. Suvian rolled to his hands and knees and began crawling across the floor.
Issefyn leaned back against the table as he moved around the tiny space, carefully dodging the shelves and table legs. She smiled wide as the rush of her own power flowed through her. She might take him later, she might not, but that didn’t matter. This was the moment in life that she truly loved.
She felt the emmeria seeping from her bones, swirling through her body. It was so wearisome to hide her power day after day, year after year. The fools here had no idea who their sweet little teacher truly was.
Issefyn looked longingly at Suvian’s body, his penis still hard despite her hold on him. Taking him here wasn’t safe. Someone could come into the kitchens at any moment, but the thought of discovery was intoxicating. She was sick of being patient. She needed this. After years of fawning over insipid Zelani students like a mother hen, she needed to remind herself who she was. The emmeria rolled in her stomach, and she wanted to laugh. The charade was almost done. Morgeon’s daughter had arrived. The little bitch’s plan would soon unfold, and Issefyn would finally get what she came for. Her prize had been locked within that gaudy cage atop the Hall of Windows for decades, but Arefaine would fling those doors wide forever. And after that, the fun would begin.
In honor of Victeris, Issefyn would shatter Shara’s will. The sanctimonious whore would crawl her knees raw then and fling herself from her own putrid pink tower.
Then Issefyn would reward Phandir’s betrayer by letting the corrupted rip Ossamyr limb from limb.
And last, Issefyn would shove a sword into Baelandra’s stomach. Perhaps she would even hang the former Sister of Autumn from that vulgar statue of Krellis’s murderer.
The women who murdered Issefyn’s three sons would suffer before they died, and they would know why. It would be the sweet cream on top of her victory here. Ohndarien’s walls would come tumbling down, and Issefyn would build her monuments upon this city’s ashes.
But first, she needed a taste of the power flowing through the Awakened Child’s precious veins.
CHAPTER 12
All of Ohndarien gathered by the bay to welcome the Ohohhim ships.
The Emperor’s arrival and the celebration to follow was the greatest event of the year in Ohndarien. Everyone stayed on alert during the week beforehand, dropping business on a moment’s notice to rush to the docks.
Shara took a deep breath and watched the sleek, black ships come through the Sunset Gate. She stood with Baelandra and other prominent Children of the Seasons at the edge of the dock waiting to receive their guests.
The crowd swelled as the ironwood ships sailed between Stoneside and the Long Market. The joyous crowd gathered along the shore, cheering and throwing flowers. They cheered even louder than usual this year. It was common knowledge that Arefaine Morgeon, the mythical child from the Nightmare Battle, was coming with the Emperor.
Arefaine was revered as a goddess among the Ohohhim, second only to the Emperor. Temples and shrines were built in her honor. Women went on pilgrimages in her name, stayed up for weeks at a time, huddling together and turning the handles of music boxes to better appreciate the price of keeping evil at bay.
The Emperor’s ship docked. Her black masts towered high overhead. Great white sails luffed in t
he soft breeze. Ohndarien’s port masters threw thick ropes aboard, and the efficient Ohohhim sailors made the ship fast. The Carriers of the Opal Fire, personal guardians of the Emperor, were dressed in black with white-powdered faces. They extended a polished black gangplank, and marched down single file, fanning out unobtrusively across the dock. Once set, they stood as still as posts. The Carriers were the greatest warriors in the Opal Empire, and they went everywhere with the Emperor.
The double doors to the aft stateroom opened, and the Emperor, His Eternal Wisdom, the Embodiment of Oh on earth, emerged from the darkness within. The cheering of the crowd surged as the man nodded politely to the hundreds who had gathered to greet him. His Eternal Wisdom was a handsome man with a long straight nose and commanding cheekbones. His calm dark eyes saw everything. He had the black curly hair of all Ohohhim, and the white-powdered face of nobility. Black robes covered him from shoulder to toes, with pearlescent embroidery along the stiff neck and wide cuffs. The huge opal amulet of Oh’s Chosen rested against his chest.
The Emperor paused in the doorway, focusing on each of the Sisters in turn, then on Shara. She met his gaze and smiled.
After a few moments, the Emperor stepped forward, and Arefaine appeared just behind him, holding his sleeve. The crowd noise swelled as people fought to get a look at her.
The nineteen-year-old girl looked just like the few paintings that Shara had seen. Her dark brown hair had been oiled until it shone. Her features were difficult to see at a distance under her white powder, but her blue eyes burned like ice caught in the sunlight. Her intense gaze moved quickly over the crowd until it came to rest on Shara. A surge of power crackled between them, and Shara took a deep, strong breath, cycled it through. By the Seasons…
She wanted to flick a glance at Caleb on her left. He had to have felt that. The girl’s power preceded her like a trumpet blast. Shara felt a surge of hope and gave Arefaine a brief nod. If she was truly as talented as she appeared, she might be able to help Shara find the missing pieces to her disastrous spell. The young woman’s gaze lingered on Shara. Was that a hint of a smile?
