Lady of Drith

by Chad Huskins

  “New-sister,” Vaedris said in a monotone voice. She was dressed all in red, with flowers and ribbons in her hair, while Daedoris had a blue stola and a black palla, and appeared to be in mourning. Daedoris’s darker hair was done up with ivory pins and jade combs.

  “Vaedris, Daedoris,” said Drea in greeting, bowing to them both. “I was sorry to hear what happened to our sweet Saephis. I have sent prayers to both Sora and Loraci, and killed a hen as an offering.”

  “How kind,” Vaedris said.

  Daedoris looked her up and down. “You’re going to wear that to the games? To the ceremony where Uncle is recognized before gods, priests, and all of Drith?”

  Drea looked herself over. She just now realized that she hadn’t changed clothes since last night. “I…that is…I apologize for my appearance,” she stammered. “I had a most dreadful night.”

  “Yes,” Vaedris said. “Uncle told us. But you cannot be seen at the festivities looking like that. Today is too important. You will come to my room. Daedoris and I will dress you.”

  Drea started to say that it wouldn’t be necessary, but before she could say anything, her new-sisters took her by the arms and guided her upstairs.

  As they walked, Drea was more than aware of the stygian stones dangling from their arms and necks, and glittering with darklight.

  : The Den of Beast s:

  The air was warm when she stepped outside. Drea walked down the stairs with her new-sisters, using one hand to pull up the hem of her red stola, which was made out of kudrai silk and embroidered with gold. Her arms were covered in white leather sleeves, each one with a built-in timekeeper, and her lacy gloves were made of white kudrai silk. A silver chain ran from the elbows of each of her sleeves, and wound their way up her body. Her hair was down and flowing over her back. The sandals she wore were laced and strapped, with a small white winterflower between each toe.

  The sun was out, but it was definitely a three-moon day—the augurs had called it right, for high in the sky were the sisters. Janus, white and dominant near the sun; Gaidus, so blue and shy near her bigger sister; and pink Hirgus, the smallest of her sisters, always lagging behind and chasing.

  Drea saw that slaves were waiting outside to see them off on this most momentous occasion—for today, House Syphen became one of the most powerful Major Houses in Drith. The slaves were lined on each side of the walkway leading to the clockwork carriage. Drea spotted both Fengin and Kulisa there.

  At the carriage, Drea saw one of the side doors open, and she was both worried and hopeful when she saw Daedron stepping out. He was garbed in a black toga with striations of white, with a necklace made of a variety of bluestones, crixstones, and jypsite.

  Diviners require a variety of stygian stones, she recalled from The Essence of Stygian.

  “Drea,” he said, offering his hand.

  “Daedron,” she said, accepting his hand. “So good to see you again.”

  “It’s good to see you, as well,” he said, helping her up into the carriage. “I received your message, and I was glad to hear your expressions.”

  “Expressions?” said Vaedris. “What expressions?”

  “Oh, Drea was kind enough to send me a message of condolences for what’s happened to our sister.” He looked at Drea with a soft smile. “Your words were heard loud and clear, new-sister. I’m so glad to know you’re on our side.”

  Drea smiled warmly and took her seat. Once they were all inside, Daedron rapped twice on the door and their driver got them underway. As they made their way down the Avenue of Gods, Daedron folded down the top of the carriage, giving his sisters a view of the streets, which were still partially caked in snow, and the sky, which was clear and blue.

  They turned down the Street of Whispers, and Drea saw that banners had been let out in honor of the Triumverate. The House sigils of each Triumvir was on display—the White Boar for House Syphen, the Yellow Fawn for House Dustrang, and the Blue Ox for House Det. On every flagpole, the Yellow Fawn flew at half mast, in honor of the fallen Lord Dustrang.

  Drea found herself becoming angry at the thought of honoring the Dustrangus. Their part in the conspiracy against the Kalderus caused her to entertain no small thoughts of vengeance. But even as she thought about that, she recalled her horrifying scene of Lord Dustrang’s death.

  Did he truly deserve such a violent end?

  Part of Drea said no, but another part—one that had grown increasingly loud in recent weeks—cried, Yes! Yes, of course he deserved it! They all do!

  Next, they crossed the Avenue of Song, and Drea saw that celebrations had already begun to commemorate the day. There were streamers of red, gold, and orange hanging from every window, lamppost, and rooftop. They even hung from the steam pipes that ran overhead. People were dancing to the sound of bards’ music and children were splashing in the Fountain of Omaras.

  They were all admiring the festivities when an acrobat came somersaulting over to them and jumped up onto the carriage. He hung on to the side of the door, offering flowers.

  “To our Ladies of Drith!” the performer said, his face covered by an eagle’s beak and mask, his hair covered in black feathers. “For without a Lady of Drith, none of us would be here! Don’t you agree, sir?” he said to Daedron.

  “Quite agree, patron,” Daedron said. “Quite agree.”

  First, the performer pulled a bouquet of red roses out of his sleeve and handed it to to Vaedris, who gave a smile. Next, he handed a single blue carnation to Daedoris, who attempted no special thanks at all. Finally, he manifested another bouquet, this one of white winterflowers, which he gave to Drea.

  “Might I be so bold as to take some luck from these ladies?” the performer asked.

  “Ask them yourselves,” Daedron said.

  Vaedris smiled politely. “You may.” She looked at her sister, who shrugged, and then to Drea, who nodded.

  The performer gave Vaedris a swift kiss on the cheek. Then he climbed dexterously over the door and into the carriage, plopping down in the seat beside Daedron, laughing and clapping in time with a song that a nearby band of bards was playing. The performer next gave Daedoris a kiss on the cheek, then jumped out of his seat and landed on the other side of the carriage, clinging onto the door with one hand before pulling himself back up and leaning into Drea, and giving her a kiss.

  Drea offered a friendly smile.

  And before the acrobat pulled away, he whispered into her ear, “The Host sends his regards.”

  Drea tried to mask her surprise, and watched as the man leapt back into the celebrating crowd and went somersaulting away.

  “Drea, dear?” Vaedris said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Of course,” she said, recovering quickly. “I only wish that Saephis was here. She would enjoy such delights.”

  Vaedris smiled briefly. “She would. But we must not let ourselves be seen as down. For we are Syphenus, and the people must see our stability. We will not be brought low by such horrid attacks made on our family, and we will not be made afraid. Isn’t that right?”

  “That is correct,” Daedron said.

  “Of course,” Daedoris agreed.

  They traveled on, and Drea found herself peeking over her shoulder, searching for the mysterious acrobat. She never saw him again. Though, when she squeezed her bouquet, she felt a hardness to their stems. She bent down to smell them. They were real, only…There’s something in the bouquet, she thought.

  Drea didn’t dare pull whatever it was out now. If the Host’s agent had left her with a weapon of some kind, she wouldn’t want to draw it out here.

  They made a turn down the Street of Steam, passing between the loud generators distributing power to the rest of the city. As she watched the clouds of steam roiling off the power substations, and heard the buzzing of electricity inside the generators, Drea wondered where Thryis was now, and if she’d successfully gotten away from the cottage without being seen.

  And now that I think of her, I feel guilty. I�
��ve sent her to do something she would never have done if not for her love for me. Drea felt she’d been manipulative, and thought that was most unlike her. She suddenly wanted to rescind the order she’d given Thryis.

  But it’s too late. It’s all in motion now, for better or worse.

  Drea’s mind was suddenly brought back to the present when she heard someone gasp. When she looked to her right, she saw that Daedoris was pointing to a wall filled with graffiti. There were the usual lewd shapes and crude phrases, but among them were the words,

  Kalder does not bend

  “Who keeps doing that?” Daedoris asked. “I’ve seen it many places. I find it most troublesome.”

  “As do I,” Vaedris said. “It’s not appropriate that the people should idolize the House that conspired with the Imperator to overthrow the Senate. But the common rabble are often of inferior intellect, and will look to any would-be hero to rescue them from their well-deserved poverty. Don’t you agree, Drea?”

  Drea nodded. “Being poor often leads to poor education,” she said, trying to remain as noncommittal as possible.

  “I suppose it’s true enough,” Vaedris said. “But soon the Lictors will have to crack down on these graffiti artists. I should say something to Uncle.”

  “You know best, new-sister,” Drea said.

  The carriage took them down the Street of Tears, then up the Lane of Water. The sun sank lower behind the buildings, casting a fiery orange glow against the sky and painting the streets with the shadows of the tips of the temples and mariya shops.

  They could hear the chanting crowds of the Den of Beasts long before they came within sight of the arena. And when they finally did see it, they were greeted by men with banners and trumpets, heralding the coming of House Syphen’s retinue.

  There were people filed in lines outside the arena, waiting for their chance to be a token of admittance. Drea and her new-family were given preferential treatment, led directly to the main entrance by an arena organizer on horseback.

  Drea had rarely been so close the Den of Beasts. The roar of the crowds inside was almost deafening. Confetti was flung by slaves atop the arena walls.

  A tumbler went tumbling by, spinning a fiery baton around his wrists. Three men stacked on each other’s shoulder walked by, draped in an extra-long robe, giving off the appearance of a giant. Men and women on stilts moved through the crowds, juggling small torches and singing songs.

  “Saephis ought to be here,” Daedoris muttered.

  Drea believed she was the only one who heard it, for she was the closest to Daedoris. It was surprising to hear, since Daedoris had always been the most reserved of her sisters. And when Drea looked at her, she felt sympathy. Despite what the Syphenus had done to her, Drea knew what it was like to see a loved one die. She’d never had any siblings of her own, but she could imagine what Daedoris was going through.

  And I must remember that Vaedris and her sisters have lost parents, too. I’m not the only orphan in this carriage who was adopted. Though they were too young to know their parents before they died, Vaedris, Daedoris, and Saephis are all familiar with absence and longing.

  And now Drea had to contend with the fact that, today, she intended to kill Lord Syphen, by whatever help she could lend to Daedron and Lady Blackveil. And if she did that, she would be killing the only parent these girls ever knew.

  Will they listen if I explain to them that their uncle killed my family? Would they care?

  These doubts gnawed holes in her stomach as the carriage came to a halt in front of the iron doors, which were guarded by statues of gods and goddesses staring down at the mortals who passed in front of them. The pistons on each door hissed as they opened, and steam filled the street.

  Drea hugged her bouquet of flowers close to her chest, wondering what sort of weapon they concealed.

  Daedron stepped down from the carriage and offered his hand to help his sisters down. When Drea stepped out, she gaped at the main tunnel leading into the arena. The archway above the entrance was made to look like the teeth of a lion, and walking through the doorway gave the illusion of walking into the lion’s mouth.

  “Come,” Daedron said. “Uncle is already inside.” He gave Drea a knowing look, then led the way.

  As they passed through the lion’s mouth, they were forced to weave through a crowd of other noblemen and noblewomen being led towards the games.

  They approached a staircase that was filled with well-dressed ladies and lords. Hearkeners were shouting, “This way! This way, ladies and gentles! Up another flight to the best seats in the house!”

  The staircase was stifling with the heat of so many warm bodies. People were chattering about all they might see.

  “Do you think we will see the dahzoletch?” one woman asked.

  “I don’t think they would’ve invited Lord Hiss if we weren’t,” another woman answered.

  “You know, I saw him entering the arena just this morning,” said the robed lord of some Minor House. “A most alarming machination, that one!”

  “But what news of this dahzoletch?” asked the first woman. “What is it, exactly?”

  “No one knows, my dear. Hopefully, we shall soon find out.”

  That kind of chatter made Drea nervous. She didn’t know Lord Hiss well, but she knew enough of him to feel concern that he would apparently be facing some threat today that no Drithean had ever seen.

  Gods be with him, she thought. He’s suffered enough.

  The climb up the stairs seemed to go on forever, and just when Drea thought her legs might fall off, they reached the top. Stepping through a doorway, they heard a wall noise come pouring at them. The din of the crowds assaulted Drea’s ears.

  And now, before them, laid out like the perfect testament to Yanuus, was the most colossal arena the world had ever known. Drea stood perhaps eighty feet above it, looking down. The arena was oval-shaped and filled with sand and dirt. There was a racetrack around the outer edge, while in the middle there were torture devices of the most shocking size and shape, and Drea could not even begin to guess their purpose.

  And, ringed around the arena, near the bottom front seats, there were men and women stripped naked and tied down to raised planks. They had been lashed by the whip until they were bloody, and now suffered the humiliation of having stones, sticks, and feces flung at them by laughing crowds.

  The sight was disturbing for a myriad of reasons, not the least of which was Drea’s natural human empathy. But a cold chill came over her when she realized how close she’d come to being placed under such torture. Had I fled Drith the day of Fedarus’s death, had I not listened to Thryis, I might’ve been captured and brought here to be punished just like this.

  So many ways her fate could’ve unfolded, so many different paths she could’ve taken. Like the game of seshqii, it was impossible to comprehend the number of things that could’ve gone wrong. Or the things that could still go wrong.

  Drea looked at Daedron as he led them to their seats. She couldn’t guess his mind, and she wondered what he had planned.

  An usher in bright gold robes waved red flags in the air to get the attention of the attendees. He flagged down Daedron and his entourage and led them down a row of seats situated on a balcony that overlooked the entire arena.

  Drea and the others were walking sideways to squeeze between the other people also seeking seats, when a boy slave bearing the sign of House Greuthung bumped into her, and muttered, “Kalder does not bend.”

  “What—”

  Before she could finish asking her question, the slave was already gone. When Drea turned to look, he was vanishing into the throng of people filing into their seats. She never even got a good look at his face.

  “Drea?” said Vaedris, stepping up behind her. “Is there a problem?”

  “Problem?”

  “You’re holding up the line.”

  Drea looked behind her, and saw that there were a dozen people waiting to find their seats. “Oh, of c
ourse. Very sorry.”

  Daedron was waving to her, and he guided them all to their seats, which were in a special viewing box. Lord Syphen was already there, seated right beside Harkonex Det and speaking about something in low tones. Dex, a Triumvir, was nodding gravely.

  Behind both of them, red-robed Priests of Mezu stood by, their horned headdresses concealing all but their eyes. Their muscular, tattooed arms both held out bloodswords, by which they had sworn their bloodoaths to the Temple of Mezu. And behind the masked priests, there stood four Rain Guards, hands on their scabbards as if ready for a fight at any moment.

  “Right over here,” Daedron directed them. “The pre-game shows will begin soon. I understand there’s going to be—”

  Trumpets blared, making it difficult to hear the rest of what he said. Daedron took his seat to the left of his uncle, while Vaedris and Daedoris sat to his right. Drea took a seat just behind Daedron, but, as soon as Lord Syphen saw her, he pointed to a seat just beside Daedron, and said, “I’ll not have a niece of mine seated where she cannot be seen. Drea, move up beside Daedron. That’s it.”

  Drea took her direction, and looked a question at Daedron. He smiled, and shook his head slightly, warning her against asking any questions or defying Lord Syphen in any way.

  What does he have planned? Is he really going to kill his uncle? Here? Today?

  Having a front row at the edge of the viewing box, Drea was allowed the most commanding view in all the arena.

  Suddenly, a large electric lamp switched on above their heads. It was getting darker. The sun was just now setting over the eastern side of the Den of Beasts, topping the stands with a red ribbon. One by one, electric globes flickered on all around the arena.

  People began cheering.

  Drea checked the time on her wrist. It was nearing the Hour of the Wolf. Not long now. She clutched her bouquet of flowers close to her, feeling the hardness of whatever weapon it concealed, and fearing she wouldn’t have the courage, when the time came, to do what she must.