by James Stone
But he wasn’t anyone, and neither was she.
The second they stepped inside, they found the court alive with chatter. There was no time for Fabius to admire the clockwork pieces that rested on their podia, the sculptures that lined the halls, nor even the dizzying checked floor, for a horde of jesters and aristocrats danced about them. Astralica was burning bright.
‘It’s busier than I remember,’ Fabius said, and his voice echoed throughout the halls.
‘I think father misses my brother,’ she admitted. ‘Surrounds himself with all sorts of people he doesn’t care for.’
‘He’s a changed man, then,’ he said. ‘The emperor as I knew him couldn’t stand the sight of anyone he didn’t know.’
‘Well,’ Zinnia said. ‘It has been a long few months.’ She paused. ‘There is some rather special news I think he’d like to talk with you about, too.’
‘Then I shall find him right away,’ Fabius said.
‘Of course.’ She blushed. ‘Anyway, I’m never one for my father’s gatherings. I do believe he will be around here somewhere, though. I shall see you soon, no doubt.’
‘It’s been a pleasure seeing you again, my lady.’ Fabius bowed, and the princess smiled, slipping away into a corridor. The last he saw was the flash of a clear dress and flushed cheeks like polished pearls.
He was then met with a very different sight.
‘Lord Commander!’ a voice like sandpaper rasped at Fabius’ throat and embraced him before he could fathom the sweaty palms clasped around his back.
‘My lord,’ he said, eyes wide.
The portraits around the hall showed a boy more handsome than anyone else his age, but this man looked as if he ought to have escaped from the gambling tables of Highport. His hair was long and unkempt, and wrinkles had grown beneath his cheeks and pressed his forehead into his eyes; his chin was unshaven, and the ensuing beard stretched wildly beneath his stained robes. If the chatter about the halls said Fabius was the best man at ageing, then Cardel Avont was definitely the worst.
‘Don’t bow, you bastard,’ he boomed, but Fabius never had.
The emperor wrapped a wet paw around his wrist and pulled him over to one of the grand tables, throwing the crowds aside. Once they’d cleared, he was presented with three women, each of them handsome, and each of them baring their breasts; one to the air—and one to the suckling lips of a child.
‘Move.’ Cardel waved a pair of them away, leaving a blonde with wide doe-eyes behind. ‘Is he not beautiful?’
Fabius looked to the girl, frightened in that green silk dress of hers, and then to the child cradled in her freckled arms. She covered herself, and the babe tore itself away, and as it faced the Lord Commander, he saw it was far from beautiful, or healthy at that. Its skin was a sickly blue, and its forehead looked as if it had been touched by some plague. Fabius smiled timidly and stepped back.
‘Wonderful.’ He nodded and outstretched a hand to her. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met?’
The woman said nothing, and the child began to cry. She hushed him, and without a word, she scurried away.
Fabius lowered his hand, slowly.
‘Who thought I’d father another child, eh?’ He laughed. ‘Of course, you did! My seed is strong.’
‘A bastard?’ Fabius asked.
‘Janai and I are to be married come autumn. Then he shall be an Avont, truly,’ Cardel replied. ‘No one need knows of my…’ he trailed off.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Vancel,’ Cardel answered, beaming proudly. ‘Vancel the Strong,’ he said, though the child looked anything but. ‘My eldest has not yet disappointed me either, of course. He’s off in the Summerlands, you know?’
‘I’ve heard.’ Fabius nodded, noting there was no mention of Zinnia.
‘What brings you here, anyway?’ he asked at last. ‘You didn’t send word ahead.’
‘I sent seven letters—’ he started.
‘Wine?’ Cardel cut him off, holding out a shimmery, gold flagon.
‘No, thank you,’ Fabius said. Each time since the first, he had declined for the wine was sweet like none other. Once he started, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop. Besides, the emperor already looked merry enough, and he needn’t contribute to that.
‘Your first mistake.’
‘I sent seven letters, my lord,’ Fabius repeated. ‘I must speak with you and your advisors if you will.’
Cardel’s smirk contorted into a grimace, and he looked to the Divinicus behind him as if he was just noticing them for the first time. ‘There’s no need for them here.’ He waved the angels away.
Fabius looked to them, begrudgingly, and nodded—the pair left. He turned back to the emperor, and his heart sank—this was not the proud man he’d once known. This was a shell.
‘I’ll be the first to admit, Lord Commander, that I’ve grown tired of political matters,’ he grunted. ‘I thought you were here to drink, but your Divinicus are an… unwelcome sight. Perhaps you should wait to speak with my son instead. He’s the one to deal with these happenings now.’
Fabius felt as if his ears had caught ablaze; he could hardly believe what he was hearing. ‘A king without duty is not a king at all,’ they had once agreed, but now, the man who had said those words trespassed them with his life.
‘Your son does not command Inamorata. You do,’ Fabius scorned. ‘Your daughter said you are unwell. Perhaps you need to sit down, my lord.’
‘I am not sick!’ he spat but sat all the same. ‘Whatever drool that girl has been pouring in your ear, I don’t know. But that’s women for you.’ He paused. ‘And my son? He is my life—’
‘There is more than your life on the line.’ Fabius raised stiff fingers in frustration. ‘Your son—the surrogate emperor of Inamorata—isn’t even in his own land. I fear he shall be far more interested in the girls of the Water. He is not responsible.’
‘He has long come of age!’ Cardel protested.
‘As have most boys. That does not mean they can rule. When my Larl comes of age, I’m not going to trust him with the Divinicus.’
‘Neither can an old man rule,’ Cardel said. ‘I’ve lived through this monarchy for more years than I can count, and I would be lying if I said it had not taken a toll upon me, Lord Commander.’
‘Then you are sick.’
‘Have you come here to do anything but insult me?’ the emperor asked. ‘It’s not too late for me to withdraw my support for Kurulian in the trial to come.’
‘I know, and I am grateful for your support.’ Fabius sighed heavily. ‘Look, I came here to tell you the Seven Freeguilds have broken their contract with Lostgarden.’
‘That’s what a company of mercenaries and assassins are best at,’ Cardel scoffed. ‘Next, you’ll be telling me whores get paid for fucking.’
‘Akanah and his men are travelling to Belliousa as we speak.’ Fabius ignored him. ‘While Kurulian and I will soon travel north to Nemesis Palace—in the hope of securing an alliance to bolster Rael’s forces in the Reaches.’
‘Bolster your forces? So, you’re here to ask for more? Seems you’ve already got much on your mind.’
‘I came here to ask for permission,’ he said. ‘To hire the Seven Freeguilds. I’m worried for Akanah and his men. You remember that northern girl I sent you that letter about? She’s with him, regrettably, and she has more of an influence than you may think.’
‘But you are better than to allow her that influence, aren’t you?’ Cardel asked, though, in his words, there was something of a threat.
‘I’m keeping her at arm’s length, yes,’ he said. ‘But it’s important we ally with the far north before Kythera do again, and this girl is our one chance of that happening. Anyway, Kurulian made the suggestion to show her worth—in Belliousa—by getting her to talk with their matriarch. After all, Deih prefers not to speak to the establishment. And this girl, being an outsider and such, might be able
to help us.’
‘If it’s what you think is best,’ Cardel said.
‘I don’t think it’s best,’ Fabius admitted. ‘I told you I was worried, my lord. I fear she will royally piss all over this opportunity. There’s a fragile balance in the Free Islands. All it needs is someone like her to come along and—’
‘You don’t trust your own decision?’ he spat. ‘I think I know which of us is getting a little sick.’
‘I trust my decision, but I don’t trust my ability to get there the moment something goes awry. I need the Freeguild to monitor Belliousa so that if something goes wrong…’
‘The girl dies?’ Cardel suggested.
‘The girl dies.’ Fabius smirked. ‘And if rumours spread that the Freeguild are disturbing the peace on Belliousa and not us—the balance isn’t broken.’
‘You intend for them to disturb the peace?’ the emperor scorned.
‘I intend for them to do what they must,’ the Lord Commander remarked, ‘should the girl make a mistake, that is.’
‘Well, I orchestrated the wars against the Death Cultists of Lumiar,’ Cardel boasted, ‘the Four Genocides, the Forgotten Bride… I have given permission for the most pillages, robberies, political rapes and murders than anyone in my long lineage. So, tell me, what is the difference between them and us?’
‘My lord?’
‘What makes you the saviour when you kill those who oppose us but makes our enemies fiends and irredeemable bastards, eh?’
Fabius threw his head back and took a deep breath. He looked back to Cardel with a smile, cold, as if mercy had never been a part of him.
‘You must be sick, my lord.’ He laughed. ‘It’s okay when an angel does it.’
Twenty
Her skin was silk and honey up close, and her eyes were like kaleidoscopic watery mirrors. The scarlet drapes that flowed across her body showed seemingly every inch of her beauty, for there was not an inch she was afraid to show. Save for perhaps, strangest of all, her hands which she sheathed with black calfskin gloves, and her belly where her drapes enveloped her. But Deih was a goddess, it was undeniable, and those who had suggested otherwise were fools to think so.
When Magmaya had first boarded that starry ship south she had imagined a little world of glass oceans and emerald lands with spires that reached the heavens. Fabius may have disappointed her, but Deih had more than compensated for him.
Once the angels had escaped the muddy sumps, it was as if they had stepped through a magic door. It was like something from a faery story she had never believed. Even the Belliousans’ robes were lined with heroics, from Deih’s own to the Temple Guards’ who stood at the mountain’s foot. Beyond the red silk was copper and divinity, lettering and symbols in some language Magmaya didn’t recognise.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ the High Priestess said to each of the Small Court. ‘Allow me to show you to the First Temple.’ She had smiled, and then she was gone.
‘The Water?’ Anclyn exclaimed not a moment after. ‘She said…?’
‘Yes…’ Magmaya could barely form the word in her mouth, but there was a paralysing tranquillity in her secret being spilt. ‘Yes.’
Anclyn shot her a look of dismay and turned away. Magmaya’s heart sank.
She sighed and peered forward. She could make out the silhouette of the High Priestess through the shadows of the Small Court as she strode by Akanah’s side—him pouring glass words in her ear all while she smiled and nodded, taking no heed.
He’d been right then—Deih didn’t care for the angels at all, Magmaya realised, but the thought only made her greasepaint heavier and chest tighter.
Fortunately, there weren’t any more incidents on the two-hour walk, though Magmaya had grown tired all the same. Her legs had rallied against her, and it had become increasingly hard to breathe amongst the thick, oily air. But with each step, she at least knew she neared the First Temple; there she would assume her duties and get the ordeal over with. Besides, whatever temple was good enough for a goddess would surely be good enough for her. Anything was better than the slums.
As the path grew steep, they passed pillars of stone and iron, and then a hundred frowning faces looking to the Divinicus in scorn. They’ve been visited by the angels before, Magmaya remembered. Gods, they’re so afraid.
With every passing second, the air became heavier with sweat and fog, and it felt increasingly so that Deih was leading them into a trap. The excitement of arriving in Belliousa was slowly turning to dread, and as they passed more half-submerged hovels, a haunted chill came over Magmaya.
And yet, the closer the Temple grew, the grander the buildings became; they turned to great houses and smaller temples in their own right, all while walls inscribed with murals of the High Priestess led off into a network of sprawling streets, stretching on beyond reason. Instead of mud-coated fanatics huddling in their huts, there were aristocrats in silk, sporting countless brass trinkets in a vain attempt to mimic Deih.
Soon enough, the alleys and streets disappeared behind them, and the climb became nigh-treacherous as they clambered up a thin crag. But then, as if in answer to their woes, a single glorious stairway emerged from the haze, carved from ivory and brown stone as if the mountainside was leading them into the heavens. At increments, there were arched watchtowers, each boasting a pair of Temple Guard. They were fearsome things indeed, though their faces weren’t quite right as if they’d been torn by a thousand years and stitched back together by a blind seamstress.
‘As you can see,’ Deih proclaimed at last, ‘the First Temple is near impregnable. Not many from the continent can claim they’ve stood atop this mountain.’
It is impregnable, Magmaya reasoned, gazing up to the bastions that stood resolute in the cliff-side, and then down to the winding gorges below. At some points, the path grew so thin that one misstep would end in a terrible fall into the misty ravines either side of her.
Orianne was built into a mountain, though, and that hadn’t stopped Vargul Tul. Then again, she couldn’t see any gaping entrances below the First Temple that might’ve led into a sewer or thermal. They don’t need thermals here, she decided. If it was any more humid, she might have melted.
A few the watchtowers were so obscured by the rain and fog, Magmaya wouldn’t have even guessed there was a soul about. She could scarcely see ten feet before her, or behind for that matter, save for perhaps Deih as she shimmered through the cloud ahead.
It was then she realised she’d become distracted—the cliffs were dancing around her feet, threatening to toss her to heavens knew where; she’d been spending all her attention staring at a glittering red robe! Magmaya just hoped the journey back would be a little less insufferable. How the founders of Belliousa could have decided it was a good idea to scale the mountainside and settle at its highest peak was a mystery to her. Orianne’s heights had never made her afraid, but for some strange reason, Belliousa breathed new fear into her. There was no sky, no ground, no road ahead and no trail behind. She could only move forward and pray she didn’t fall.
But as the minutes passed, a breathlessness washed over Magmaya, and she found herself faltering. She spared a glance back to Anclyn and could tell she felt the same.
In time, she felt her lips and mouth turn dry, and her ears began to ache as the climb turned to a crawl, yet it looked as if they were no closer to the summit than they’d been when they had started. Even the once numerous outposts were dwindling in number, for in their place, thorny trees tore across the dead soil, and a violet ivy coiled up the steps until the path became nothing but a grim reminder of the grey wasteland Inamorata had become. And still, the mountain felt so very alive; Magmaya almost felt claws scratching at her ankles as she passed, like those who had fallen prey to the climb in ages past wanted to drag her down with them.
And Magmaya almost wished she was lost amongst them, where the weight beneath her feet meant nothing. And yet, the more she wished, the c
loser the First Temple grew until the bastion of a mountain disappeared behind them, and all that remained was an endless column of marble beckoning them into oblivion.
‘The First Temple is atop these steps,’ Deih announced proudly. ‘Welcome to divinity.’
Divinity was still a hard climb away, it seemed. Anclyn refused as much as sparing a glance, so Magmaya could only clamber onward. And the farther she climbed, the more disciples of the First appeared. They too were draped in silk and little else, and they dropped to the ground in rapture beneath Deih as she passed, begging for an inkling of her to grace them.
But while they knelt beautiful and near-naked, Magmaya couldn’t help but notice something strange about each of them; clockwork bulged from their arms as if they were automatons from lore, and their faces sported all manner of inks and irons. Where they should have sprouted breasts, there were instead ribbons of copper beneath their skin, running down their hips, fusing bone to flesh and flesh to metal.
As the climb droned on, bannisters emerged from ruined stumps and disappeared into the mist. Candles littered the steps where they descended to ruin, most having fallen prey to the rain, while a small number persisted like yellow eyes in the dark. The trails of light became less sporadic the higher they climbed, clustering together around small shrines, laced with flowers, reliquaries and memoirs.
‘Many who have seen the light of the First pilgrim here from across the world. Sometimes generations pass before they arrive.’ Deih looked to the shrines. ‘You can only imagine how these last few steps feel for those who’ve travelled a thousand leagues.’
Gods, I can, Magmaya grumbled.
They carried on past a growling hunchback who could scarcely sustain his own weight on his cane, acolytes with blazing candles melted into their hair, and handmaidens with tattered aprons like sprawling dresses which trailed farther down the steps than she could see. She even passed by a bloated individual who was more sigil than man; an array of orchestral pipes and totem poles emerged from cavities in his blistered spine. The more she saw, the sicker her stomach grew, but Anclyn just looked enraptured with the ruin and grandeur. That was until they caught a glimpse of the Temple.
