by Chad Huskins
“Thank you,” Drea said, looking at Saephis with questing eyes. Saephis only stared at her, smiling an innocent smile.
It was only a dream, Drea, she told herself. You’re letting it all get to you. Ever since you overheard Lord Dustrang, you’ve started looking for enemies everywhere.
Drea stepped up into the carriage, but paused before sitting in her cushioned seat, for she saw a young dark-haired man already sitting there. “Oh, I’m sorry—”
“We haven’t met,” the man said. “My name is Daedron. I’m your new-brother.” He offered his hand, which was covered in stygian-encrusted rings.
Drea stiffened. Daedron. She knew the name. Daedron the Diviner, that’s what Uncle called him. The one who can commune with dark vehl and see the future. At least, those are the rumors.
“Please,” the man said, waving to the seat across from him. “Sit down, new-sister.”
Drea did as she was told, slowly, feeling a little put off.
“I see you’ve met our dear brother,” said Vaedris, climbing inside with them. Saephis and Daedoris came in quickly behind, giggling and discussing what they might buy today at the Forum. “I forgot to tell you he was coming with us, but surely you know ladies can’t go to the market without male escort. It wouldn’t be proper. I hope he didn’t startle you.”
“No, it’s a pleasant surprise,” Drea said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
“I’m sure you have,” he said, smiling. Daedron Syphen was a handsome enough fellow, with bushy black hair and a developing beard. If Drea had to guess, he was about four or five years older than her. Slim, but fit. He was covered head to toe in black, even his hands were gloved. And those gloves were embroidered with gold, and had stygian bluestones sewn into the palms.
The jewelry caught Drea’s attention. It seemed that Daedron shared the rest of his family’s fascination with clothes and jewelry encrusted with stygian stones. She wondered why. Was it because Drith’s priests had always used them in religious ceremonies? Was it simply a status symbol?
“Have you got everything, sisters?” Daedron asked. “Are we ready to leave?”
“Quite ready,” Saephis said excitedly. “Oh, I hope we see Dina Greuthung at market again! I want to see her face when she sees my new rings.” Saephis fluttered her fingers, which glinted with the darklight from more stygian bluestones.
“Then let’s be off,” Daedron said, thumping twice on the door of the carriage.
Their driver was not a slave, but a well-groomed, and probably well-paid, manservant who cracked the whip once and got the horses moving. He used the levers to tug at the reins and control their direction, and any time he needed to bring the horses to a stop, he used the pedals at his feet to brake.
Once they were underway, Daedron addressed Drea again. “I know precious little about you, and what I do know comes from such differing accounts I hardly know what to make of you.”
Drea demurred, and cupped her hands in her lap and sat straight up, the proper posture for addressing a man. “I wonder what you’ve heard, new-brother,” she said. “If you tell me, I should like to settle the contradictions.”
Daedron glanced at his eldest sister. “Vaedris tells me you are a quick study and that you are quite pleasant. She says you can give riveting lectures on the masculine arts, as well as commentary on politics. Yet Taja Osween tells me you are an obstinate girl who has no real gifts besides drawing, and that you are utterly bereft of personality.”
“I fear Osween knows me too well.”
Daedron and his sisters went quiet. The only noise heard in the carriage were the occasional bumps and jumps it made as it trundled down the Avenue of Song.
Finally, Daedron laughed, “We both know that Taja doesn’t know any more about people than a dog knows about its own arse.”
Vaedris’s eyes went wide. “Brother!”
“Please, Vaedris. She raised us all up from the cradle, and it’s clearly driven the passion from her heart and the sanity from her mind. Particularly after raising Saephis over there.”
“Why me?” said Saephis, scandalized.
“Don’t play the coy girl with me. Your ego is a monument rivaled only by the one the Old Architects built when they raised the Den of Beasts.”
Saephis was shocked, her mouth remained in a permanent O.
Daedron ignored her, and turned his attention back to Drea. “I hear you’re gifted at weaving and drawing, and that you have no ordinary skills at logic.”
“I would say I have barely sufficient knowledge of each.”
“Spoken like a true Kalder,” he said. “I knew some of your family. I met your father on a number of occasions. He was an honorable man.”
The silence that swelled in the carriage could have filled an arena. Drea didn’t speak at once, for she feared another little trap. She suspected that her new-sisters had pried into her life with some ulterior motive in mind, and she suspected Daedron was doing the same.
“Thank you,” she finally said.
“My uncle believes that your father intended to help Fedarus overthrow the Senate, thus making him Imperator for all time, which would make it so his children—that is, the children you bore for the Imperator—would for all time be seated on an uncontested throne.”
“I’m sorry that Lord Syphen feels that way, but I’ve assured him I possess no knowledge of such a conspiracy.”
Daedron nodded. “I’ve told him as much.”
Another long silence, during which Drea had to wonder, Did he tell his uncle because he suspected I was innocent, or did he tell his uncle because he Divined it from evil spirits?
Drea tried to gauge the man’s face, and found it unreadable.
Is Daedron the Diviner a reality, or merely a legend?
“I thank you for your confidence in me,” she said.
They spoke no more until they arrived at the Forum. Daedron, being the male, exited first. He stood by the door and assisted each of the ladies down with an offered hand. He walked the streets slightly behind them, keeping his women within view and making sure they were unmolested as they shopped.
Vaedris and her sisters were busy shopping together, sharing stories, and reliving memories of past visits to the marketplace. Drea did not feel like she could contribute, and so quietly stayed back from themand looked about the Forum, taking it all in, wondering at how little had changed since her last visit.
The Forum was a matrix of glimmering marble streets and crisscrossing avenues. The granite statue of Dorzo, the Trader’s God, stood silent vigil here, staring out over all the tradesmen who conducted business. His right hand was raised to the sky and his left hand was open for bartering. All around him, copper pipes were wrapped like steel vines, hissing and bleeding steam.
Rows of copper pipelines hung overhead, following the direction of the massive Aqueduct, which stretched for what seemed miles overhead. The heat coming off them bringing a warmth to the shopping, as did the throng of sweaty bodies. Clouds of steam rolled slowly down the lanes of mariya shops, obfuscating the wares on sale.
There was also a statue of Loraci, who stood at the main entrance to the Forum, as well as statues of Raxtiq, Yanuus, and Mezu. Anyone that walked into the Forum was instantly reminded not only of the history of Drith, but also of the pact all mortals made with the gods to be honest and truthful.
Yes, history lived in the Forum. There was even a statue of the Red Wyrm, the coiled serpent of House Kalder, which the loremasters said had been chiseled six hundred years ago when the Kalderus reached their peak. The Red Wyrm looked over the steam-powered Waterwheel, which gave off the purest water siphoned from the Aqueduct, and puffed out white clouds all day.
Looking at the Red Wyrm, Drea wondered about its history. And she wondered about the legacy of her House, and why the gods had allowed it to be wiped out like the wyrms of ages past. It made her recall the conversation between Lords Syphen and Dustrang.
Why does my father’s oldest political enemy w
ant me alive, but my father’s oldest ally prefers me dead? The riddle plagued her.
“It all looks the same, doesn’t it?” said Daedron.
Drea almost jumped. She had been too deep in thought to realize he had sidled up beside her. “The same?”
He nodded. “You were gone for a while. And while you were in-waiting, the whole world changed. Or did it? The leader of all Drith is dead, and yet here everyone is, doing exactly the same as they’ve always done. Commerce goes on. Life goes on.”
Drea nodded. “It does make one feel…small,” she said.
“Small?”
“Yes. For if an Imperator’s death cannot even affect the world noticeably, what sort of difference can any of us make?”
“Leaders come, leaders go. Many have been assassinated, many more will be, I’d wager. The world is on the march, and nothing will stop it.”
Drea smiled. “ ‘The world is on the march.’ I remember my father saying that when I was a little girl, back when the Steamwright Collegium was almost finished with the Great Generator, and they were about to turn it on for the first time.”
Daedron nodded, and waved away a cloud of steam that had drifted into his face. “Business does not stop. The world marches on. Wars are being fought a thousand miles from here just so the spoils can be sent back here, to feed the engine of commerce, and the swelling numbers of Dritheans. The Empire is like a machine itself, one that needs constant fuel.”
“Do you think that fuel will continue to flow, now that the Imperator is gone?”
“The fuel always flows. As you see here, commerce always continues. One leader or another, it doesn’t matter who’s in charge. What will be, will be.”
“That doesn’t seem to fit the philosophy of House Syphen,” she said. “Not those who follow The Way, in any case.”
He looked at her. “I’d noticed the book was missing from the library. Did you take it?”
Drea’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m…I’m sorry, was I not supposed to—”
Daedron laughed and touched her arm. “No, no, it’s fine, new-sister. Although, I would return it before too long if I were you. My uncle is adamant about my sisters and I learning from its pages. My eldest sister is particularly fond of its contents.”
Drea nodded. “I’ve noticed.”
They walked on a bit more in silence, just taking in the sights while the other three ladies shopped and gossiped. Saephis ended up running into her friend Dina Greuthung, after all, and had her wish fulfilled by showing off her new jewelry.
On more than one occasion, Drea noticed that the Lictors patrolling the marketplace nodded in Daedron’s direction every time they passed, as if in deference.
“They show you great respect,” she said.
“They respect my uncle, not me. My uncle is now part of the Triumverate, and they control all of Drith now. Until a new Imperator can be elected, of course.”
They slipped into another silence, walking on, taking in the Forum.
There were men in their rough robes purchasing baubles for their wives, women haggling over the price of cabbages and carrots, and children orbiting their parents and chasing after other children.
There were priests walking about in their white, red, and black togas, their necklaces of office dangling from their necks, each one encrusted with stygian bluestones that gave off occasional bursts of darklight.
And, of course, there were slaves. Slaves were distinguishable in the Forum by the signs hung around their necks, signifying which House they served. They moved quickly about with baskets in their hands and buckets balanced on their heads, all of them on errands for impatient masters.
“Do you think they’re the life’s blood of Drith?” asked Drea.
Daedron looked at her. “Who?” he said.
Drea nodded towards a bald man rushing past them, a sign hung around his neck showing he belonged to House Titung.
“The slaves?” Daedron said. “The life’s blood of the city?” He snorted. “I’ve never heard them called that.”
“Not just the slaves. All the workers. Freedmen and freedwomen. Indentured servants. Imperators come and go, but this,” she said, pointing to the hustle and bustle of slaves all around them. “It continues unabated. Just as you said.”
“Yes, but it is fear that drives them, isn’t it? Fear of retribution from their masters. Even a freedman fears not having a job, for starvation is the price he pays for a laggard’s life.”
Drea nodded. “But it’s been shown that cruelty and harshness do not hold for long. As you said, Imperators come and go, creating little change, if any. It seems to me that Imperators and senators only exist to sustain a system that isn’t necessary, a system that would probably go on working even if they weren’t here.”
“Wrong. People require some impetus to get them motivated. They require leaders.”
“Yes, but those leaders needn’t be so cruel.”
“I recall your father commenting such a thing, when I saw him last. It was at a dinner party at the Imperator’s palace.”
He now regarded her in a new light. That a girl should have an inkling of an idea of how the world was run seemed almost incredible to the young man. Possibly even enticing?
Drea stiffened. Her heart skipped. With a sudden shock, she realized who she was talking to, and how relaxed she’d become. Too relaxed. Daedron Syphen had a natural ease about him, and Drea had let her guard down in a way she had not done with her new-sisters.
It won’t do for a man to think I have an opinion of my own.
“Forgive me,” she recovered. “I’m only talking of fanciful things because it pleases me. The air is so bracing and invigorating today, I’m afraid I let my mind drift too far.”
Daedron eyed her critically. His face clouded over a moment, but soon a smile broke through those clouds. “You’re a very interesting girl, Drea Kalder.”
She smiled back. “Drea oda Syphen,” she corrected him. “Remember, I am of House Syphen now.”
His smile broadened. “Of course. How forgetful of me. And how are you liking it? Being a part of House Syphen, I mean.”
Drea forced a smile. “I rather like it. I have access to a good education, and I have siblings now, which is new and exciting. And one of those siblings will probably inherit a deal of power.” She looked at him knowingly.
Daedron surprised her by blushing a little. “If you mean me, I’m afraid I have quite a while before I inherit all of House Syphen. My uncle is old, but tenacious.”
“Do you fear becoming the patriarch of your House someday?”
“Why should I?”
She shrugged. “Added responsibility usually puts stress on a person.”
“Were you stressed when you found out you would have the responsibility of being a wife to an Imperator?”
“I confess I was.”
Daedron looked at her. “But you seem to have survived it.”
“I did. But I must say I’m a little relieved not to be an Imperator’s wife—I don’t think I would do well in political circles.”
“And why not?”
“It’s a man’s world, isn’t it? Politics. Even the act of becoming a senator is grueling and terrifying to me.”
“Why’s that?”
“You men have to serve two years of military service before you can even begin the Trials of Honor. The Trials of Honor then take another year, during which you have to study hard and be at every Senate meeting, no matter how mundane. Only then can you run for elected office, and when you do, you must undergo personal attacks from your political opponents.”
Daedron nodded. “It can be grueling, as you say. But it’s necessary.”
“Necessary?”
“Yes, because if one wants to endure the harsh world of politics, one must be baptized by the fire of slander, insults, arguments, and personal attacks. It toughens you. Else, you won’t last two minutes inside the Senate.”
Drea nodded, and said nothing else on th
e subject. Privately, she wondered why Daedron Syphen had suddenly taken such an interest in her. She had a theory about that, and it had to do with what she’d heard Lord Syphen say the other night in his study to Lord Dustrang.
“She’ll make a fine broodmare,” he’d said.
They intend to marry me off, and start me having more Syphenus heirs. So is Daedron courting me, now? It seems like the most logical conclusion.
They spoke little more as they weaved through the crowds. Vaedris eventually fell back from her other sisters and walked arm-in-arm with Drea. Drea watched them shop, and smiled whenever Saephis made a silly joke or when Daedoris made a snarky comment about some other woman’s dress.
Once they were finally through with shopping, they headed back to the carriage. The Syphen sisters were all conversing with one another on the way back, comparing the deals they had found in the market. Drea and Daedron both stayed out of it.
Drea watched the cobblestone streets slide by with only mild interest. Her mind was on many things, not the least of which were Daedron’s words about the imperatives of leadership.
She thought about Thryis, and wondered where she was, and what she was doing right this second. Her hand kept stroking the hempen bracelet on her wrist, thinking of the day Thryis had given it to her.
At one point, Daedron called out to their driver. “Driver! Take us by the Street of Stone.”
“Of course, my lord,” the driver replied, pulling on his right lever and causing his horses to turn down the Avenue of Spirits.
As they passed by the city’s greatest alehouses and wine merchants, Drea considered what business Daedron could have on the Street of Stone. That street was known far and wide as filthy, for it bordered Upper City and Lower City, close to the rookeries. It was also home to the Steamwright Collegium’s largest breakrock machines, which coated the entire district with dust.
Perhaps he saw the look on Drea’s face and realized what she was thinking—or perhaps he only read her mind—for Daedron smiled and said, “I have some work for my uncle to do there. It shouldn’t take long.”
