by Chad Huskins
: Syphenus :
The guards flanked them, leading them in a silent procession through the house, through halls chiseled from granite and marble, and lined with statues of past Drithean heroes.
The parlour that Lord Syphen had been referring to was in the back of his great house, beyond some palisades and at the other end of a vast and manicured lawn. Few people in Drith could manage such a lawn, but House Syphen had been more prosperous than almost any other Major House in history, allying themselves with the Steamwright Collegium and other companies from the very beginning.
The long walk to the parlour filled Drea with dread, for there were trees that lined the pathway and loomed over her like disapproving parents. Lord Syphen’s mood helped none at all, of course, for it was unreadable—the expressions on the statues in the Forum were more readable than his.
They took a seat in wicker chairs. The room’s windows were wide open, silk curtains flapping lightly in a cool breeze. For a moment, Drea was reminded of her dream, where the Man in the Charred Temple had watched her from the balcony with its fluttering curtains…
A single electric light buzzed quietly in the corner, illuminating most of the room in a ghostly pallor. Drea had seen few electric lights in homes, for the electricity was provided by the Great Generator—the massive, three-story steam engine that took up a whole city district by itself—and most of its power was used to light the streets at night, or else drive certain machines during the workday. The Great Generator was the culmination of the Steamwright Collegium’s work, and it was still growing, with slaves and indentured servants working on it at all times.
Lord Syphen sat with his guards surrounding him, leaning forward with one elbow on his knee. Drea and Thryis sat with their hands cupped in their laps, as was always appropriate for ladies of good breeding.
For a time, no one spoke.
Drea’s palms were sweating. She glanced nervously over at her friend. Thryis was looking uncharacteristically worried, also; on her face, she still wore the concern and regret for convincing Drea to come here. A trickle of blood was still running down her neck from where the House guard had been so aggressive, but Thryis did not reach up to wipe it away.
“Lord Syphen,” Drea began, “I first want to thank you for listening to my petition—”
“I will hear no more of any ‘petitions’ on your part,” said Syphen with the wave of a hand. That hand was bejeweled with stygian stones, all flashing with darklight. His tone brooked no argument, and the two girls exchanged unsteady glances.
This is not a good start, Drea thought.
“Now, Drea, speak plainly, and say what you came here to say,” said Lord Syphen. The man regarded her with a skeptical brow.
Drea took a deep, steadying breath, and let it out slowly, just as her mother had instructed her to do before reciting poetry, or giving a formal argument. It is key to collecting one’s thoughts before launching into the words that the heart wants most to express, she had been fond of saying. And a good deep breath also clears the mind so that it can think logically.
Drea may not have been the finest spinster, or seamstress, or songstress, or astrologer, but she recalled her parents’ teachings vividly. She especially recalled her mother’s lessons on logic and making sound arguments, which was one of the masculine arts and not something a woman was meant to know.
“Very well,” she said. “I came here on the counsel of my friend here, Thryis Ardenk. So if nothing else, you have her to thank and reward for so speedy a capture of the last of the Kalderus.”
Syphen lifted a quizzical brow. “Reward her?”
“I’m assuming there is or was a reward to be offered for all who fled justice. It was fortune that brought Thryis to my doorstep. Else, I might’ve sped away this morning when my uncle—that is, my servant—came into my room all alarm. He’d just convinced me to leave when Thryis here showed up at my door and talked sense into my thick head.”
“I see,” said Syphen. “And I also notice that you ignored my previous command to hear no more petitions—”
“Excuse me, my lord, but I did not. You said you would hear no more petitions on my behalf.”
“Ah, I see the sidestep. You petitioned on behalf of your friend’s life just now, not your own.” The man regarded her with a smile. Was it an appreciative smile? And if so, what did it mean? Did he admire her for dissecting his words so carefully, or was he only amused? The man was ever so hard to read, but he was a politician, just like her father, and Drea knew such men were practiced at hiding their true motives.
“Very well,” said Lord Syphen. “I accept that your friend has committed no crime and is so far free of any suspicion.”
“And that she is also a good and loyal daughter to the city of Drith,” Drea supplied with calm yet fervent clarity. “I won’t have her good name catch mud just because so much has been flung at mine.”
Thryis reached over and touched her hand. It happened quickly, and Thryis never turned to look at Drea, she kept her eyes respectfully locked on the patriarch of House Syphen.
“I see,” the senator said. He leaned back in his wicker chair, looking at the two of them now with renewed curiosity. “The famous friendship of Drea Kalder and Thryis Ardenk. I can tell that the stories were not exaggerated.” He smiled briefly, but again, it was impossible to determine what the smile meant. Syphen looked sharply at Drea. “Your father was a lawyer before he was a senator.”
“Among other things,” Drea said.
“Quite gifted at arguments, which often served him well in the Senate, and put me at odds with him.”
“He often spoke of how formidable you were in the Senate whenever you opposed him,” Drea said. It was a half-truth—her father had called Lord Syphen formidable, sure, but he’d also used other, less flattering words to describe the man.
Syphen smiled briefly. “And your mother, quite gifted at poetry and wool-spinning, even astrology. Yet I also heard she was a gifted logician. Logic is a masculine art, and is the root of all laws that are written. Tell me, how did your mother come by these lessons, and did she pass them on to you?”
Drea nodded curtly. “She taught logic as a matter of course, yes,” she said. “But as to who taught her, she would only say that one of her tutors, a kudra, taught her.”
The old man raised an eyebrow. “Your mother had a kudra for a governess?”
“She did. Long before she moved to Drith to marry my father.”
Now here was something that intrigued Phaedos Syphen, for any woman being taught by a kudra would surely have been a catch for a man seeking to marry. Kudrai were those beastly, cat-like creatures that walked upright like men, with rippling brown fur painted in blues, greens, and reds, and with arcane glyphs drawn on their faces. It was said that those glyphs were spell markers, wards used against evil vehl. Kudrai were also said to be among the first mortal beings to discover magic.
“You know that logic is the root of all magic, don’t you, girl?” asked Lord Syphen.
“Yes, my lord. My lessons covered it. I know that logic is a dangerous weapon, for it reveals truths about the world that might be best left unknown to us.”
“Well said. Very well said. However, you contradict yourself.”
“How so?”
“Just outside, you confessed to being quite the fool. And yet here you speak words that give lie to that confession.”
Goddesses’ mercy, she thought. I’d completely forgotten the game I’m supposed to be playing. If he begins to think I’m clever, or if he smells deceit, he may wrongfully indict me.
“They’re my mother’s words,” Drea recovered quickly. “Not my own.” She felt sweat running down her brow, and her palms felt like they had been dunked in a bucket. Thryis’s hand, still touching hers, was equally soaked.
How am I doing? Drea wondered. How is it going? Is he being charmed? Have I succeeded in making him lower his guard to me?
More than anything, though, Drea wondered if
she’d done enough to pull suspicion away from Thryis. She’d been hoping that after her opening argument, Lord Syphen would have dismissed Thryis, and yet here she sat, facing the critical gaze of a man who had just committed regicide by killing the ruler of all of Drith.
How little would he think of killing two young girls? Would he hide our bodies? Would he even need to, as powerful as he is?
As if reading her mind, Lord Syphen gestured towards Drea, and said, “Tell me, what do you know about what transpired earlier today? You obviously know of Imperator Fedarus’s death, as it inspired you to run at first—until, that is, your clever friend here reminded you of your civic duty to turn yourself in. But what do you know about the Imperator and his death?”
“Not much, I’m afraid,” Drea said.
“Yet you were so certain you had to leave Drith, or else face death or imprisonment?”
“As I said, I was listening to the words of a frightened ex-slave—a favored ex-slave, a man who has always had my best interests at heart. Halorax told me…” She hesitated.
“Go on. What did he tell you?”
Drea decided on honesty. It was the only way out of this. And being honest might also make her appear as foolish as she claimed, for she’d often heard from her father—the lawyer and the politician—that only an idiot told the whole truth all the time, for the truth often condemned a person, even if innocent.
Then let Lord Syphen think me an idiot for my honesty.
“Halorax’s exact words were ‘Phaedos Syphen has finally gone mad,’ and then he proceeded to tell me that, since House Kalder has long been a supporter of Imperator Fedarus and his administration, I would be seen as suspect. He told me my arranged marriage to Fedarus would make me appear loyal to a tyrant.”
“I see.”
“But I beg you, Lord Syphen, that before you make a final judgment about me, you will first ask all of House Kalder’s business partners and acquaintances about my character. You may ask House Dustrang, for their patriarch, Markus Dustrang, was once a valued partner to my father, and our two families have been wedded many times in the past.”
“I see,” Lord Syphen said again. And again, he gave that ambiguous smile of his.
Drea sat and let the senator marinate on that. She desperately hoped that invoking the name of House Dustrang would lend her some credibility. The Dustrangus had been close with the Kalderus in the past, but had recently been friendly with the Syphenus. Coupled with the fact that she was just a sixteen-year-old girl and had no great wits or wealth about her, it ought to be enough to prove she was no great threat.
“Do you know Markus Dustrang well, Lord Syphen?” she asked.
“I know him very well. In fact, I may know him better than you.”
“Oh?” Drea found this bit hopeful, for if Lord Syphen was friends with Lord Dustrang, then Dustrang’s vouching for her would go a long way.
“Yes,” said Lord Syphen. “In fact, he helped me a great deal earlier today. For he was there, at the Senate, and delivered the final blow to the Imperator.”
Hearing those words was like a kick to the chest. The hope fled from Drea’s heart, and her blood went cold. “He…” She almost said He would never, but Drea was starting to feel like a silly, stupid little girl, who’s lack of education in politics would leave her open to ridicule, so she kept her mouth shut.
But Lord Dustrang? she thought. Would he really do such a terrible thing? Would he really slay his Imperator, the People’s Favored, and make himself guilty of regicide?
Drea’s world was spinning out of control, but she tried to maintain composure. If she showed too much shock at Dustrang’s actions, then Lord Syphen might think her still loyal to Fedarus.
I must keep my mouth shut until I know more.
“Let me ask you, Drea,” Syphen finally said, “do you know the real reason your father worked so hard to arrange your marriage to Fedarus?”
Drea nodded. “Of course, everyone knows. Fedarus was the first Imperator in many centuries born of foreign blood. Many senators thought this made him a false citizen. So, in order to anchor himself more tightly with the community, he sought to marry into one of the Four Patron Families.”
“And why would that be important to him?”
“It’s said that the first people to forge the settlement that became Drith were the Four Patron Families. There were the Syphenus, a family of known salt traders and businessmen; the Crycekus, who were renowned engineers; the Greuthungus, a strange mix of performers, artists, and fighters; and finally, the Kalderus, known for their morals, their artisanship, and their ingenuity.
“So, more than me, it was our fabled history and our noble name that Fedarus needed to marry, for it would make him joined with Drith’s history in the public eye.”
Lord Syphen scratched his chin. “And why didn’t Fedarus choose a daughter from one of the other Houses?”
Drea shrugged. “Simple politics. House Greuthung has plenty of daughters, but the House itself is destitute, most of them having to resort to indentured servitude with the Steamwright Collegium, just like Thryis here,” she said, glancing in her friend’s direction. “House Crycek has mingled too much with too many lowborn men and women, their blood is not considered pure Drithean, anymore.”
“And the Syphenus?” the senator said. “Why wouldn’t the Imperator choose to marry into our House?”
Again, honesty would be her only refuge. “Because House Syphen is said to be a den of fell-sorcerers who commune with the vehl,” she said. “And because the Syphenus have been political rivals of Fedarus from the day he entered the city as a conqueror. That left Fedarus with only one option—House Kalder.
“Though my father, my mother and I were the last of a nearly extinct House, we had plenty of businesses at the time, a few properties, even some shares in the Steamwright Collegium.”
Lord Syphen looked at her at length, sizing her up as he might a fresh new pony he was considering purchasing on the Street of Equestrians. Finally, he said, “Tell me, what did you think of Imperator Fedarus? What were your own personal feelings on our dearly departed ruler?”
Drea sensed a trap. Indeed, she felt that this was the culmination of their entire conversation. If she answered in a way that was satisfactory to Lord Syphen, she and Thryis would be considered to be just the ignorant and innocent girls they claimed. If she answered wrong, though, or if Lord Syphen detected a lie, her life could end right here, right now.
Careful girl, she told herself. The voice in her head sounded much like her mother’s. Careful. You’re dealing with a man who has just gained much power by killing the Imperator. He needs to be reminded that his station in life is secure, that he has no enemies left that are loyal to Fedarus.
But, truth be told, Drea had never really developed an opinion on the Imperator. Since birth, it had been drilled into Drea’s mind that politics was for men and the household was for women. The masculine and feminine arts were kept separate, never comingling.
So, as far as she was concerned, the Imperator was just a man. Alive or dead, it was basically the same to her, for she’d never known him well. So perhaps honesty would once again be best.
“Honestly, my lord, I hadn’t met the Imperator more than a dozen times in my life,” she said. “We met at a few banquets when he and my father first became allies in the Senate, and I met him once after it was decided I would be his bride. After that, I became his in-waiting bride, and never saw him again.”
Syphen nodded. One hand was on his knee, tapping it thoughtfully. The darklight of his stygian stones flashed and danced.
Finally, he said, “So you do not share your father’s opinion on the Imperator? That he should have instituted the Five-Year Law, which would liberate slaves after five years of service?”
“As I said, I’m a woman, and have no political leanings. I do not participate in such talk, I leave it to the men, whose place it is to make such decisions.”
“But as a loyal daughter
, you would have at least shared your father’s sentiments.”
“Only to be agreeable around the dinner table and not start a fuss.”
Syphen gave a half-smile. “You make me wonder, then. What else do women hide from their fathers and the men of their Houses? If you only pretend to agree with your men so that the dinner table isn’t upset, then what other things do you pretend to be ignorant about when men are around?”
Drea was suddenly reminded that this man was rumored to be a fell-sorcerer, and that his nephew, Daedron the Diviner, was said to be able to see events from great distances, and even forecast the future by communing with dark vehl.
How much does he already know? she wondered.
The sweat was now running down Drea’s arms, forming pools in places. Did he know about her true feelings toward the Imperator? Did he know that, while she was upset at being pushed into a marriage for her father’s sake, she had also been proud to serve her House and her father so well? Did he know how conflicted she had been, being both proud of her worth to House Kalder, and at the same time frightened of marrying a man she hardly knew?
Did he know about Thryis? Did he know…about the other conflicts in Drea’s heart? Could Lord Syphen’s powers—if they even existed—allow him to see into the past? Could his nephew Daedron see the kiss with Thryis that had happened the day after Drea lost her mother? Or what about the one that had happened the night after Thryis lost her leg?
How much did he truly know about the friendship between Drea Kalder and Thryis Ardenk?
How much do we know ourselves? she had to wonder, since neither she nor Thryis ever talked about it.
“A good woman keeps her secrets,” Drea finally answered. “Or else she shames her family. She forms no opinion of her own and reflects only the best qualities of her House. So you ask how many secrets we keep? The answer is many. And we do it as a service, not a vice.”
“A service to whom?” the senator asked.
“To Drith. To our men. To all of society.”
Syphen ruminated for a moment, then quickly glanced at Thryis. “Leave us,” he said.
