by Mara Powers
Lukias lifted his hand. “Thank you for your gift, but I beg you to reconsider,” he began in rebuttal. “I would not be comfortable compromising her safety.”
Pan’s eyes questioned Brigitte.
She smiled as best she could amid her rising anxiety. “Lukias,” she interjected. “I would be pleased to accept her company.”
Pan clapped again. Delight lit his features. “Keep her with you from now on, in fact. I would like for her to be your servant.”
Lukias’s eyes widened with rejection.
Brigitte held up her hand decisively. “Thank you, Pan Aello. I would be honored to accept your gift. I have begun to like this girl.” She smiled at Allondriss. “And I expect your warriors to keep her safe, as well.” Her eyes shifted to Stixxus, who nodded with silent menace.
Pan nodded enthusiastically. “And one more thing! I would like to grant you another gift!” He guided them to the outskirts of his estate to a courtyard. In the center hovered an ornate hover-carriage decorated with silken fabrics.
With a sigh, Lukias turned a questioning glance at Brigitte. “Sister, I would leave this to you again.”
She studied the carriage, wanting desperately to walk among the citizens as one of them, just once. But she knew it would be best to remain anonymous behind its curtains.
She nodded. “Your generosity is overwhelming, Pan Aello. Again, thank you.” She ran her finger along the golden engravings of the opulent carriage.
Pan threw up his hands. “Excellent, my lady! You will find my valets have stocked it with the finest delicacies. Your ride will be luxurious, and your warriors will have an easy job. They will appear as a ceremonial guard. But they are fully activated to use force.” Pan laughed loudly, but quickly cut it off, replacing the noise with a devious smile. His posture changed to that of a formal courtier, his moves a charismatic parody. “My lady.” He bowed with a flirty gesture reserved for nobles. His voice was pitched for her ears only. “You are my queen.” His head swayed back and forth, as he did a little toe dance. “There is nothing I wouldn’t be honored to give you freely.” A seriousness eclipsed his expression. “If you wish one of my houses for your own, it would be yours.” He took her hand softly, and leaned in close.
She didn’t mind the closeness. Something about Pan Aello brought her comfort.
“I would devote an entire fireball stadium just to you. Your grace and beauty and wisdom have already inspired me to have a suite of fireball viewing platforms renovated and reserved entirely for you and your court.” He bowed with a careless flip of his cloak, keeping her hand in one of his, while he threw back the other with a flare. It was a sign of sincerity among noble houses, specifically from a man to a woman. Staying in the same position, he continued quietly. “I am honored to have been your deliverer. This is a sign to me that I have done right by Atlantis and the Watchers. I am your servant always.” He bowed his head this time and cast his eyes to his feet, a sign of respect. “I am your lord and protector, and my family and I are your devoted friends.” He grabbed her hand up with both hands and kissed it. “It is an honor for me to pass on my favorite servant who I have treated like a daughter. She is meant for better things than what I can give.”
“I accept your devotion without reserve.” She kept her eyes pointedly on him, and then smiled at Allondriss.
Pan clapped his hands together, breathing in a proud breath. He cupped Allondriss’s cheeks with his hands. “See, my sweet child? One day you were destined for something even more than you imagined. I am honored to have been your deliverer, as well. I am so pleased.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, knowing she was being given in service to the Queen Impending. Still she wondered how sincere he was, or if his motivation was politically inclined. She knew he would consider it to his benefit to have the loyalty of a queen’s personal servant. He was right. She was loyal to him. She couldn’t help but admire his political agility.
He was hard to read. He often did things which seemed selfless, and yet they always had positive effects on him. It was almost as if he acted in order to maneuver himself into those positions. And yet, even if this were the case, he did so by helping people, and it could only be good, no matter how selfish it seemed. He was a walking paradox, and she had come to understand he meant for people to see him in this light.
Once the puzzle was figured out by anyone, they adored him. But if they couldn’t figure it out, they hated him. And he didn’t care. He would keep acting as strangely as he acted, until perhaps one day the victim of his antics might get a clue about the games he played with unerring devotion. But once they clued in, he would become a perfect gentleman. He was quite simply a clown savant with a golden heart, and a tendency to manipulate politics for his own entertainment. And it was a game he somehow always won, because he had no real ego-driven ambitions. Or so it seemed.
His wealth and position made him practically untouchable. He could enjoy any style of theatrics he could dream up without fear of reprimand, because his station was not about anything Atlanteans considered serious. Fireball, no matter how popular it was, was considered merely a pastime. It had no particular opposition from anyone. The man who controlled all elements of the favorite Atlantean gathering had no real enemies. Everyone wanted something from him. They all wanted to be a part of what he offered, so it was up to him who he allowed into his sphere. And most often he championed misfits like Allondriss or D’Vinid, and now Brigitte.
Brigitte studied Pan’s face, unsure how to take such compliments. She could only bow back, using a traditional court position of adoration, love, and respect. But using his momentary tutelage, she drew on all her dancing abilities and put her own flare into the gesture. “I, too, am your humble servant, Pan Aello. I look forward to when we next meet. I wish to share many conversations with you.”
“It is I who would be honored, my lady.”
They exchanged smiles. His friendship made her heart glad.
“I have but one favor to ask in exchange for all I have done here today,” he added.
She cocked her head curiously. “Anything.”
“I ask for you to keep my assistance a secret. It’s better for you. Trust me on this.”
“Very well.” She shifted her attention to Stixxus, noticing how he calculated his task with predatory precision. She could feel an unspoken bond forming between them. The warrior took a step closer, standing behind her as if a sense of duty was decreed by the Watchers themselves, and he could hear the call in the depths of his steadfast soul.
She quickly scanned the area one last time, hoping beyond hope that D’Vinid would arrive to say goodbye. Her heart screamed in agony, wanting to stop everything, needing to know he had not forgotten, even though the idea seemed preposterous. She knew what they had done would not be spoken of again.
“Are you ready, Brigitte?” Lukias spoke softly. His glare suggested he wondered why Pan was doting on her so completely. He was clever enough to figure out she had informed the mediator of her secret identity. But soon she would be queen. Soon enough her own choices had to be made with unerring confidence, and this was where she would begin.
She forced her eyes not to search for D’Vinid anymore. With a final goodbye, she allowed Pan to guide her step as she boarded the hover-carriage.
FROM HIGH IN the branches of a nearby tree, D’Vinid watched them depart. His heart ached more than it ever had. He knew she needed to see him. He felt a feeling of elation at the memory of her touch, though he barely remembered any specifics from the night. All he knew was he had awakened in the night with her in his arms, and the feeling he felt could barely be contained. He had held her closer. She had moaned, and moved to match every crevice of his body.
He had been the downfall of many beautiful women, who now wallowed in despair over the carelessness he used in their seduction and abandonment. Their hearts threatened to unite and strike out in revenge, forming a barrier between him and this woman named Brigitte, who made him feel s
o utterly alive. This was the very woman for whom he had searched in all the others. She was every bit who he had loved pieces of in each and every conquest. He felt he knew now what it meant to feel the perfect connection.
But she was a Watcher. He knew it all had to be some kind of trick. And she would not be his. Not ever. She belonged to her mate impending. Of course he could pursue her. A lover being mated to another man had never held him back before. Chasing a lover he could not have was somewhat of a specialty of his. It was a skill he was not proud of, and more so, something he would not allow the Watchers to force him into.
He knew she would be hurt when he did not show up to bid her farewell. He wanted desperately for her to know the depth of his love for her. But he could not give this to her. And he knew it would be better for her heart to harden as she was brought to face her mate, whoever he was. Without making a move, D’Vinid just sat and watched until the carriage disappeared past the confines of Pan Aello’s estate.
“I WANT D’VINID brought to me immediately!” A loud baritone voice seemed as though it would tear a hole in the sky. A deathly silence descended on the garden. Even the birds stopped their chorus. “I must know if it was he who started this movement, these Followers of One. How dare he move against me! I will crush him with my bare hands!”
“Your Majesty, you must calm yourself.” The voice of the king’s maydrian spoke as if telling a bedtime story. “A king’s power does not outweigh his self control.” The priest tried to soothe Kyliron’s anger. His even temperament often served to balance the king’s moods.
“Jamarish Ka, I will ask you when I wish your opinion.” The king’s voice strained to escape his clenching jaw. “I want everyone out!” A commotion arose in the royal courtyard as a flock of kallistas rushed to escape the king’s fury.
“Your Majesty, you have a visitor in the antechamber. You should attend to this at once,” said Jamarish Ka steadily.
“Jamarish Ka, in this moment, what makes you think it wise to tell me what to do?”
“Your Majesty, the High Priestess of the Temple Sect has requested a private audience. You must pull yourself together. She has the right to see you when she calls on you.”
A silence followed.
The high priestess backed away from the doorway where she had overheard the scene, and took her place casually next to a window in the antechamber. Flimsy drapes wafted in the breeze, filling the chamber with movement. She glanced out the window, and when she looked back again, a woman was standing behind the drapes as if she had materialized out of thin air.
Presumably, she was one of Kyliron’s kallistas. Her curves were evident through a sheer gown. Gold dust was painted on her nails, an essential of courtly fashion. Tattooed snakes intertwined up her legs, seeming as extensions of her sandal laces. Her hair had a reddish tint, and fell in many braids over her ample chest.
She regarded the high priestess with calculating, feline eyes. “Your Grace,” she bowed. “I am Fa’nariel. I am one of the king’s court kallistas.” She looked back quickly to see if he was coming, and lowered her voice. “I know everything he speaks of. I would see that you know it, too.” She handed the priestess a crystal. “This is a summoner-crystal. Use it if you wish to find me.”
Heavy footfalls approached the antechamber. Fa’nariel took one last look at the high priestess before her body faded into Dreamtime. The priestess watched the girl disappear, and buried her surprise as best she could. This was an advanced level of training among the Temple Sect. She wanted to think the girl was from the dreamclans, but she seemed purely Atlantean. Shock sent a tingling wave through her body as she realized the appearance of this girl was the sign she had been waiting for. This woman was one of the elusive lost temple children. And they were dangerously close to the king, operating in secret. It was exactly what they were designed to do. She had no time to ponder its significance before a shadow fell over the threshold, and the king strode lazily into the room.
King Kyliron had a perfectly chiseled form. Charisma radiated from a bold smile framed by a square jawline. His copper skin shone with oil. Jet-black hair was cropped close to his head. Most women looked to him as an object of perfection, and it was obvious he saw himself in the same light.
The priestess bowed, keeping her eyes soft. It was necessary for all nobles to act with the proper respect afforded a king, regardless of any ill feelings.
Kyliron was dressed in his bed pants with an open robe exposing his chiseled chest. His movements were lazy. Without a word, he brushed past the priestess, and perched in the window where she stood. “High Priestess.” He examined her with cool detachment. Sexuality poured off him in unnoticed waves. “To what do I owe the honor of a visit in my private suites?”
“Your Majesty.” She allowed her salutation to linger for a moment. She knew he responded favorably when treated with respect. “I wanted to forgo the complication of a formal visit. I hope you and I can gain a certain trust. If we learn to compromise and agree outside of formal argument, we can get things done quickly and easily.”
Kyliron studied her, calculating. The Temple Sect were, in order of precedence, considered equal to his own hereditary position. They controlled the Crystal Grid. And he could not gain access to any knowledge without their approval. This woman was in charge of the entire sect, just as he was in charge of all mediators. Her words were within reason.
“You are just as wise as you should be, High Priestess of Atlantis.” He studied her carefully.
“All beings should strive toward wisdom, High King of Atlantis.” Her eyes flashed as she issued an unspoken challenge.
He leaned back in the window seat and folded his arms. A wicked smile crept onto his lips. “Yet it remains to be seen whether you or I will be the more persuasive of the other.”
She paused, examining his cool composure. “Let us discuss the arrival of your betrothed.”
Kyliron shifted his posture to suggest his care toward the matter. She was masterful at reading body language. His hands began to fidget. His dark eyes flinched. “This has weighed on my mind all day, High Priestess. I expected to be in a joining ceremony, but instead I linger in my bedchamber in despair, worried for her well-being.”
“Perhaps instead of lingering in despair you might take greater measures to find her,” she suggested, trying not to sound snide.
He looked into her eyes from beneath a lowered brow. “I thought the Temple Sect were in charge of greeting dreamclan dignitaries. Do you have a suggestion? I have already launched an investigation into the deaths of the temple entourage.”
She remained impassive at his accusatory tone. “Perhaps an announcement over VC waves would be appropriate, so the people know she is at large.”
He looked away angrily. “I cannot authorize that.”
“Your Majesty, ultimately it is not your decision. The Temple Sect controls the viewer-crystals.”
“I understand, High Priestess. But the mediator controls the content. Since the VC mediator has fallen to the madness, the duty falls on me. I am now in charge of all VC transmissions.”
She kept her face straight while studying his determination. She squinted, shaking her head slowly. “Your Majesty, there is a successor to that mediator line. From what I understand, the duty falls on her.”
“She is unfit to assume her position,” he spat. “She is too young. I have taken her into my court under my command.”
“I see.” Her angelic presence radiated a calm, which extended through the room. Technically he was well in his right to do so. But he was not exercising the rules VC mediators were required to follow.
“Priestess,” Kyliron approached her slowly. “I wonder how well you knew my father.”
She wrinkled her forehead, puzzled. “I knew King Koraxx quite well.”
“Then, know this,” he leaned closer, a smile brightening his perfectly symmetrical face. His breath brushed her cheek. “My father was a great king because he found a way to get past your
temple rules. I am his son. Don’t forget that.” He ran his finger up her arm. His eyes flashed. For a moment she thought they shifted like an elemental’s.
“I can see this, Your Majesty.” She lowered her head, muttering. “But I can see your mother in your eyes, as well. We shall see which aspect of your bloodline prevails.”
City fair, thou spires behold!
Thy mystic beauty thusly told.
Stories cannot count the pages of its glorious site;
Shining like a million shards of sunlight in the night.
AN OMINOUS CLOUD hovered over the city of Poseidia. People on the Grand Esplanade barely exchanged words. They all seemed trapped in a daze. A deep fear had come to the people in the night, though none could be sure why. No information had been shared across VC waves, which distributed news through the Grid. Every district of the city featured a VC courtyard where citizens gathered to watch the viewer-crystals for broadcasts. So far this day, no one appeared to explain why this mysterious fear had washed over the city.
It was a humid morning. Heavy heat blanketed the entourage, covering them with tiny beads of sweat. They turned onto the Grand Esplanade and hovered toward the great brass wall marking the first ring of the citadel, which still loomed in the distance.
Beholding in awe Poseidia’s verdant terraces, Brigitte peeked out of the fabric of the carriage, and turned her face upward. Dwellings were built one on top of the other, slanted at an angle, reaching toward the sky in tribute to the stars. Their bases framed the streets. Crystal and stone architecture shone in the light of late morning. Creeping vines and draping flowers wrapped the city’s curving minarets into Sophaiya’s pulsing life force. The intricate masonry was made mostly of white, black, and red stone, quarried from the native lands. Columns supported arched bridges reaching across the streets, connecting higher levels of passage. Brigitte was consumed by the city’s intricacy.
