by J. C. Owens
Antan gave a pained smile. “Choose? I think there will be little that I have a choice in, but I understand your words and will attempt to act upon them.”
“The greatest Chosen were those who linked completely with their emperor in a manner that promoted trust and understanding. If you can achieve that with the prince, you may find your path far more open than you can presently imagine.”
Antan nodded, but there was no hope in his eyes. “Thank you, Isnay, for your kind words. I’m sure that with time, I will become accustomed to things.” His head came up, and he drew a quivering breath, attempting a smile. “Come. Let us see this matter done.”
* * *
Taldan
The time had come. The great hall was filled to bursting with people. Taldan stood in the shielded gallery, looking down upon the masses with a feeling of sickening inevitability. He would be bonded to a perfect stranger for life, with his coronation hard on that ceremony’s heels.
He had thought himself prepared for this, having spent a lifetime being trained for just such a moment, but in the here and now, he found himself having trouble breathing. He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers, wondering how it would feel when his father’s magic was passed down to him, a hereditary blessing of the gods.
Would it change him? Make him more or less than he was now?
A warm hand came down upon his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, appreciating Naral’s support more than he could ever express.
“Everything is ready. Everyone is in place.” His friend’s voice was painfully neutral, hiding his own nerves no doubt.
Taldan sucked in a breath and turned. Across the room, Hredeen stood watching him with patient, loving eyes, and Taldan felt a surge of rage that it was not his concubine that he would be bound with. He wrestled the emotion down brutally. It was not possible. Tradition and rules bound the two of them. That damned contract making Hredeen an imperial concubine… If they had not signed it eight years ago…
It was too late for regrets, for wishing for the impossible.
He stepped forward, and Hredeen held out his arms, welcoming him into his embrace. They stood wrapped in each other, silent, all that they could not say swirling like ghosts around them.
Taldan clenched his teeth, wishing Zaran was here. He had never imagined that he would become emperor without his brother at his side. Instead, they were an entire sea apart, and Zaran in a potential war zone.
He drew in a deep breath, gathering strength before gently unwinding Hredeen’s arms from his neck.
The concubine gave a soft smile, but the grief in his eyes tore at Taldan like claws.
It was Hredeen that broke the moment. He wound his arm through Taldan’s. “Come, my prince. Today you will become the emperor you were born to be.”
They moved from the shielded gallery to the main floor of the great hall, although Taldan now waited in a side chamber out of sight of the audience, watching for his father’s arrival. There was complete and utter silence in the great hall, everyone on their knees, heads bowed, as Emperor Demarin paced slowly down the aisle formed by their ranks.
The golden mask, showing only his eyes and lips, shone in the flickering light, his hands covered in the traditional white gloves. His tread was silent, as though he did not actually touch the ground, and it added to the divine air that so defined Anrodnes’s emperor. Behind him, his boots loud upon the marble floor, was his Chosen, Sarnwa, dark brown eyes front and center, looking nowhere else but his emperor, following the prescribed four paces behind.
Many were the discreet glances upward, for most had never caught sight of Demarin’s Chosen, hidden away as he was.
It surprised many that the man was so stalwart, bronzed and healthy. For a man who had spent half a lifetime away from prying eyes, he seemed remarkably well muscled, toned, with broad, wide shoulders. He towered over the emperor, the disparate size very obvious.
His expression was neither blank nor animated but surprisingly normal, without any of the deadness of spirit that would have been assumed. Surely a man cowed by the emperor’s cruelty would not seem so…calm.
Taldan watched from behind the curtain, waiting for his father’s summons, his own emotions fluctuating alarmingly.
He had so seldom seen Sarnwa, and that had been when he was younger. The man had seemed larger than life, like a savior come to earth to save Taldan, to comfort and heal him. The sudden loss of that comfort had been devastating, and he could not help but blame his father for that. Who else would have had the power to forbid the Chosen from seeing his son?
To see Sarnwa, looking hale and whole and remarkably content, skewed his perceptions alarmingly.
Over the years he had imagined a beaten, abused man unable to make the smallest choice. Even his brief glimpse of his father’s Chosen within Demarin’s rooms had not broken that impression.
The man before him did not fit that mold at all.
Emperor Demarin seated himself upon the golden throne with regal poise, his ornate golden robes flowing down over the throne’s edges and pooling on the floor, threads glinting in the plethora of candles that lit the entire area like day.
Sarnwa stood before the throne, his gaze fixed upon Demarin’s. There was a long silence as they met each other’s eyes, then the Chosen bowed, deeply and reverently to his emperor and bondmate. There was a respect and care in the gesture that went far beyond what Taldan would have expected.
His glance slid to his father, surprising a swift look of fondness within those normally cold, emotionless eyes. It was a mere flash, and Taldan half thought he had to have imagined it.
It made him wonder, for the first time, if there was more to the relationship than he had ever dreamed of.
The Chosen rose gracefully, with a suppleness that did not point to his age. He took his place behind the golden throne on the emperor’s left, adopting a formal pose, hands behind his back, legs slightly spread, a stance that was remarkably military, though Taldan had never thought that the man came from such a background. That thought slid aside as the horns sounded and his father raised his hand, beckoning him forth.
He stepped out into the light, pacing slowly down the aisle, body held proudly, chin up, allowing no one to see the uncertainty that had plagued him through the past few days. At this moment, he was the imperial heir, and there would be no doubt of his worthiness, in his mind or any other’s. His path was set before him. He could not change it. Not for his brother, not for Naral, his best friend. Not for Hredeen or Raine. Now Taldan forced himself to walk that path.
Behind him, shoulder to shoulder, were Naral and Hredeen, and if any in the crowd thought it odd that a mere concubine was part of the ceremonies, then they had best remain silent on the matter. His Hredeen was a part of this day. There was no tradition, no rule that could be found to say otherwise.
The silence pressed upon his nerves, and he had to struggle to keep his breathing even, to show no sign of his inner turmoil. He wondered, abruptly, if his father had felt the same way, so long ago.
As he drew closer, he met those eyes behind the mask, identical to his own, and saw something he had never experienced before. They met his with a hint of pride in their depths. Pride in him. An acknowledgement he had never received from the man before.
His breath hitched for the briefest moment before he brought himself under control.
He held that gaze solidly until he stood in place before the throne, before going to one knee and holding his hand flat over his heart.
“My emperor.” His voice, for a wonder, was steady and strong, able to be heard by all present.
“My son. My Heir. Rise and take your place at my side.” His father’s voice, always so powerful, flowed over him, over the courtiers, making several people shiver at the force of it.
Taldan rose, bowed once more, then took his place upon the basalt throne, Naral and Hredeen taking their places behind him, one at each shoulder. Their presence gave him strength, as though he were n
ot alone in what was to come.
The emptiness of his brother’s silver throne beside him was stark.
“Bring forth the Chosen to be bonded.” The emperor’s order rang in Taldan’s ears, and he gathered himself. This was a minor thing in the scheme of things. Even if this bond turned out to be no more than a simple convenience to use Antan’s talents, it would be worthwhile. Beyond that, he expected nothing important to come of this.
The sexual aspect of the relationship was less certain. He held no desire for Antan, though they would have to consummate the bonding before witnesses. His best hope was that after all the formalities were over that they could forge a working relationship that did not include emotional strife.
His Chosen appeared, Isnay gently guiding him with an arm linked though his.
The courtiers, no longer bound by rules, could watch from their kneeling positions, and watch they did with avid curiosity over this newcomer, the one who had been chosen from so many worthy candidates by the imperial heir. Among the audience, Taldan could see the former candidates, Rees, Malar, Laen, and Valsen kneeling together, whispering among themselves.
Antan held his head high, chin up, but Taldan could see the fear within his eyes, the way his jaw was clenched painfully tight.
Antan’s gaze was fixed upon Taldan, not the emperor, as though he already possessed the bond, obeying none other.
It was promising, this obedience, this fledgling loyalty. Taldan felt something ease in him. This could work. It would work.
The Carlenvae artist finally reached the ornate mosaic before the thrones, the place for kneeling.
He sank down without grace, and this close, Taldan could see fine tremors running through his body and the way Antan fought to control them.
Isnay stayed close, a supporting hand upon the Chosen’s shoulder.
The emperor made a small gesture with his hand, and Taldan rose obediently, making his way forward to stand before Antan.
The artist looked up, searching Taldan’s eyes for something he did not seem to find, for he swallowed hard and looked back down again, a sheen of tears in his eyes.
Taldan felt no empathy, no sense of understanding. Beyond his chosen few, other people’s emotions should mean nothing to him. This newcomer would be supported by others, would come to accept his place and that was that. This tiresome tradition would be appeased, and Taldan could move on with what needed to be done as emperor.
The Master of Ceremonies stepped forth, tapping his staff sharply upon the ground once.
The people rose, a rustle of movement that made Antan flinch.
“Antan Gertem, citizen of the territory of Carlenvae, subject of the Empire of Anrodnes, you have been selected for the honor of becoming the Chosen of Taldan Anrodnes, Imperial Heir to Emperor Demarin, 37th Emperor of Anrodnes. Do you accept this Choosing?”
There was the faintest of pauses before Antan looked up once more, meeting Taldan’s eyes with obviously hard-won courage.
“In the name of Carlenvae, by the will of my regent and my family, I do accept this honor.”
“Do you swear complete obedience to Taldan Anrodnes’s will, to support him in any and all ways?”
Antan swallowed hard, but his eyes remained steady. “I do.”
“Do you swear to accept the magic of the divine within you, upon His Highness’s ascension to the Imperial Throne?”
He saw a shiver run through the artist’s body, but the man held firm, never taking his eyes from Taldan’s, a form of courage and duty that the prince could actually respect.
“I do.” The man had no idea of the enormity of what he was swearing to, the power of the magic that he would be linked to. No candidate was ever told the truth of it, no Chosen knew before the moment.
It was a sworn secrecy, the magic never spoken of even among the royal family. It was there, acknowledged, but the why and the how of it was only ever known by the emperor himself.
Taldan himself was going into it with scarcely more information than Antan. He had seen his father wield the magic numerous times and felt a healthy respect for what he had witnessed. The fact that he would possess such a thing upon his ascension was beyond imagination.
He simply had to accept that it would become his burden to bear. As were all the trappings of being emperor. Including the mask.
The reality of the situation loomed larger and larger with each moment, when the time would come that his face would be forever hidden from anyone but his Chosen.
It seemed unfair that this person, newly come into his life, should have that privilege and not his brother, not his companion.
Not Hredeen.
He shook off the introspection as unproductive and focused once more on the man who knelt before him.
“Taldan Anrodnes, Imperial Heir of Emperor Demarin Anrodnes, you have chosen this man as your treasured Chosen who will remain with you for life. Take his hands, Your Highness.”
Taldan offered the palms of his hands toward Antan, who responded by laying his hands within the prince’s grip.
“Antan Gertem. Give yourself over to His Highness’s care, be his in all things, in all ways. Obey his strictures and commands.”
Antan sucked in a quavering breath. “I give myself to you, Taldan, Imperial Heir, in all ways. I swear to obey your strictures and commands.”
Naral had stepped up to Taldan’s shoulder and offered him the traditional wristband that would be locked upon the Chosen’s arm, never to be removed unto a lifetime.
The cuff was beautiful, passed down from a Chosen who had lived some five-hundred years ago. Taldan had picked it out from the many available in the royal vaults. It was gold filigree, seeming so fragile and yet so strong.
Whimsically, Hredeen had said that it suited the artist completely. Taldan bowed to his concubine’s impeccable taste.
The prince took the cuff from his friend before turning back to Antan. Without prompting, Antan offered his right arm, his breathing coming in small, shallow pants, fear clearly evident within his brown eyes.
Taldan slipped the cuff over his skin, then snapped it shut, turning the key and handing it to Naral, who stepped back with it in hand, bowing deeply.
“Rise, Antan, my Chosen.” Taldan thought the words would turn to ash upon his tongue. There was no emotional attachment at all, no attraction to soften this new union. Yet it was too late to turn aside now.
They turned to face the assembled mass of people.
“Behold. Today the imperial heir has found his Chosen. Let them be acknowledged.” The Master slammed his scepter to the ground three times, the sound echoing starkly in the vast space. Taldan bowed his head, kissed the back of Antan’s hand, then led him back to the basalt throne.
He seated himself, facing straight ahead, watching as Naral’s hand reached out to guide Antan to the proper spot at Taldan’s shoulder.
Taldan took a deep, cleansing breath. The first part was over. Now there was only his ascension to overcome.
The chamberlain had stepped forward and began the process of reading out the long, long list of emperors who had ruled before them. Taldan had known this list by heart from the time he was eight, so he moved back into his own mind, testing out the newborn link he could feel within him. He was aware of Antan’s presence behind him, a sense of where he was standing, even though he could not physically see him.
Fascinating.
There was no time to further explore the new phenomenon.
“Taldan Anrodnes, first born of my sons, come before me.”
Taldan rose, moving to kneel before his father, vaguely aware that Antan had followed to kneel behind him, to his left, close but not touching.
“I am Demarin Anrodnes, 37th Emperor of the Empire of Anrodnes. I am the keeper of the flame of the gods, the Illumitae. I have sheltered it, used it for the good of the empire and never sullied its divine essence.
“For thousands of years, the Illumitae, the divine magic, the knowledge of ages, has been passed f
rom father to son. For thousands of years it has protected Anrodnes from those who would harm its citizens, test its borders. We are as we are today because the emperors down through time have sacrificed themselves to this cause, to this power, to be its embodiment in this physical realm. I accepted it from my father, as he accepted it from his. Now, it is time for my son, Taldan Anrodnes, to be the keeper of the blue flame, to be the one to house its essence.”
Taldan knelt before his father, feeling the truth of the emperor’s power in that moment. His voice, his presence, seemed so much more than human, and it made him wonder what his father had become, what all emperors became to be strong enough to bear such a burden. Would he even be human after he accepted the Illumitae?
Those vivid eyes, stark within the mask, finally gazed down upon him. Taldan shivered, just once, before mastering himself. These were the last moments of his old life, and the precipice of the new one. He didn’t know whether to feel terrified or exalted.
He had trained all his life for this moment. Yet, even with the knowledge of Antan’s presence, from where his Chosen knelt to his left, he had never felt so alone, so isolated. Was this what it was for his father? Was this the greatest sacrifice of all, that he would feel nothing but isolation after today?
He lifted his chin, met his father’s eyes squarely.
Taldan would not be less than his father, less than his ancestors. They had done this. So would he.
“Take my hands, my son.”
The emperor had removed his gloves, and for the first time Taldan could remember, he could actually see his father’s hands, long-fingered, fine, so like his own.
They held age in the prominent veins, the skin painfully pallid after years with no exposure. Taldan felt a strange sadness move through his thoughts that it was only now that he could touch his father as a man, not a divine avatar.
He laid his palms against his father’s hands, felt the warmth there, the humanity.
