“You killed my father.”
“You raped my sister.”
“You beat me.”
“You stole from me.”
“You lied to me.”
“You have worked tirelessly to overturn my bonding.”
“You have vilified me to others behind my back.”
“You corrupted the true nature of the prophecy.”
“You demanded bribes.”
So many people accused him of taking bribes that Bithia wondered if he held the bulk of the money in the empire.
Stone by stone the pressor crushed Ambo against the block.
Once everyone had a chance to cast as many stones as they wished, Bithia stepped forward again. This time she had to stoop forward to grab one. As these were closer to the heated carpet, the highly polished stone felt warm in her hand. She looked toward the Onic Mountains. Much of what they used on Diola came from the soaring peaks, including the rocks they now tossed upon the traitor.
As she drew close, Ambo was no longer mouthing vileness. He sipped air in a desperate bid to stay alive. His eyes met hers. Terror filled his gaze, his eyes beseeching her for forgiveness. Her heart was harder than the stone in her fist. She could summon no measure of mercy. If she wished to be kind, she could have had Ambo placed under a large stone that would have crush him immediately, but she’d forgone that clemency. She wanted Ambo to suffer as Viltori and Drahka now endured the trauma of their beatings.
“You conspired to kill the men I love.” Bithia held the stone in her hand for a long time, feeling its warmth, thinking of the heat she might never feel from her two lovers again. Never had she professed to love anyone, but now she loved two men, and this man, this worthless bully who she could not even call a man, might have taken them both away for no other reason than his pathetic lust for power. “There is no forgiveness in my heart for the harm you have done to the empire, or to me.”
Slowly, the rock tumbled from her fist. As it fell, lighting crystals around the area flashed across the polished surface, glittering into her eyes, causing her to squint. Ambo closed his eyes, holding his breath, as if that could save him.
Bithia’s stone clinked against the mound in the pressor, and as she turned away, she heard a gruesome gushing pop. Simultaneous revulsion and relief shivered her spine. She looked to the Onic Mountains again. Had the gods let him suffer and squirm until her stone finished him? Was this their way of saying her accusation was just?
Turning to the crowd, Bithia nodded. “It is finished.” Calmly assessing them, taking the time to catch and hold the gaze of the highest members of every House, she lifted her voice into the cold night. “Let this be a reminder to all that I rule the Onic Empire.” Bithia stood tall, her glittering crimson dress sparkling. “To conspire against me is to conspire against the empire as a whole.” She lowered her hand to the crushed remains of Ambo. Only his head had escaped the pressor. “Traitors will not be tolerated.” Lowering her gaze to the members of Blue-green House, who were now splattered in Ambo’s remains, she deliberately drilled her gaze into each pair of eyes as she spoke. “At dawn, we will assess the nature of your crime against the empire. In the circle, we will decide your punishment. I suggest you bring your most skilled protocol liaison.”
At that, the highest member of Blue-green House allowed a self-satisfied little smirk to cross his face. It darted away as soon as he caught Bithia’s direct gaze.
“Do not think yourself so blessed, for I have found a protocol liaison of my own.” Turning, she sought out Enovese, who bowed with touching grace, her enormous book held to her chest. Confusion ate up the confidence of the man’s gaze. Bithia realized he did not know who Enovese was. Not that she knew the woman well, but she knew enough to know there was no other person on the planet with Enovese’s knowledge of the Harvest prophecy.
With a flick of her hand, Bithia summoned guards to take all the members of Blue-green House into custody. There would be no escaping to other worlds for refuge, as Ambo had sought to do.
As she turned away, there was a mumbling, a murmuring, the slightest show of dissent. Spinning back around, Bithia demanded, “Who grumbles against our royal decree?”
Dead silence.
After the longest moment, a bitter wind swept over the crowd, wiping away the heat that rose from the carpet. Bithia gave them all her back as she entered the palace. Alone, she returned to the room that held Viltori and Drahka. Blinking away her tears, she took a stand between the two beds.
“There is always a sacrifice.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Bithia whipped her head around but saw nothing. On the verge of calling out to her guards, she held back, for the voice was so familiar.
Into the room walked the handsome stranger who had taken her from Beserrah to Diola. Tall, muscular, his shape was reminiscent of someone else she knew, but before she could determine who, he moved out of the light of the hall and into the glowing blue darkness of the infirmary. Still, she’d seen a flash of the black band etched into his upper arm. Parallel lines against angles drew around his biceps in an endless circle.
“You.” She could say no more than that, for she didn’t know his name, or why he’d taken her away from all she knew to bring her to a world that had given her the heights of ecstasy, then the depths of pain.
“I.” He dropped to one knee, draping his hands over his bent leg, just as Sterlave and Chur had done earlier. After a moment, he tilted his face and his calm gaze hit her and held her immobile. “You must decide which one.”
“Which one what?”
Slow-motion seductive, the stranger stood. “Which one do you want more?”
Bithia looked between Viltori and Drahka. She didn’t know why she did, because she already knew she could not choose. “I want them both.”
Shaking his head, letting his shaggy brown hair with golden streaks fall over his face, he said, “No, Bithia. There is always a sacrifice.”
“I won’t choose.”
Lowering his chin, the handsome stranger held her gaze even with his subservient pose. “If you don’t pick one, you will lose them both.”
Bithia’s heart broke. “Who are you? Why would you do this to me?”
Sudden fury turned his body hard. Muscles flexed against tanned skin. “I do not do this to you. I am simply the messenger.”
Placing one hand upon Viltori’s glass coffin, she placed the other upon Drahka’s arm. When he moved, she stifled a gasp by yanking her hand away from Viltori’s glass cage.
“And the choice has been made.” With that, the handsome stranger exited the room, the curious eternal circle on his arm glowing golden.
Chapter Twenty
Lost in darkness, Drahka thought those who had gone before had finally condemned him to pay for his transgressions. Pain unlike any he’d known assaulted his body. He floated in agony, so alone and hurt he did not know what to do. A part of him gave up, almost embracing the endless crush of death, but another part longed for the loving embrace of the woman and man who inspired so much heat. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t decide whether to fight against the pain to love again, or give up and face no more pain, a tentative touch to his hand made the choice for him.
When he blinked open his eyes, Bithia stood over him, one hand clasped to his, one covering her mouth. “Drahka?” She mumbled his name against her fingertips.
He moved his mouth, but nothing emerged. His vision of Bithia doubled, trebled. Her dress glittered blue, but he knew that was wrong. Bithia wore only red. Because of her, he wore only red. Then he saw the tiny blue lights along the floor. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. He had to know. “Viltori?” That was all he could summon.
“Oh, Drahka.” Bithia clasped his hand, squeezing firmly.
He tried to squeeze back, but he could barely tighten his grip. Weak as a child, he tried again to open his eyes, to see where he was, but his head hurt terribly from the effort. With his eyes closed, all he could
see was man after man kicking, punching and spitting at Viltori’s limp body. What kind of warrior continued to pummel his opponent when he’d clearly surrendered?
Anger had rolled off the men like a stench. Such fury at Viltori, but Drahka didn’t understand why. Both of them had offered to suck the man’s cock. Drahka had offered so Viltori could run; Viltori offered so Drahka could run. However, that’s not what the man wanted. He did not seek pleasure, only retribution.
After an exchange of words, Drahka realized the man in the rumpled suit wanted revenge for the embarrassment Viltori caused him. Before the most powerful members of the tribe at the bonding celebration, this man had been shamed. When Viltori refused his attentions, he lost face. Drahka didn’t understand how beating Viltori would return him to prestige.
Two against twenty was unjust, but there was little they could do to stop such a determined group. Reason would not work. Pacification held no promise. They wanted blood. In the end, rather than one of them running to safety, they’d both stayed to fight. Drahka had a quick glimpse of a young man with black hair and blue eyes who Viltori urged to run, but then the group was upon them. Drahka had tried to fight them off, but they glommed onto him to keep him occupied while they went after Viltori. Bared teeth amidst snarls made him realize they would not stop until Viltori was dead.
Panic infused his body with great strength, but even he wasn’t big enough to prevail against so many. He knew he’d killed at least two men, maybe more, but none of that meant anything if Viltori were gone.
“Dead?”
“Please don’t speak.” Bithia leaned close to whisper in his ear, her scent of flowers and growing things soothing. “I have the men in holding. They will be dealt with.”
Drahka couldn’t find the breath to tell her that he didn’t care about those men, or what happened to them, all he cared about was his teacher, his friend. Words refused to form and he fell back into a dreamy mist.
There was something from the exchange he’d forgotten, something that was terribly important about his relationship with his chosen. The man in the rumpled suit had taken great glee in telling Drahka this information. All Drahka remembered was that the comprehension of it hurt. Whatever the man said was like a punch to Drahka’s gut, but no matter how hard he dug at the hidden knowledge, he could not uncover it. When struggling to remember hurt his head, he stopped trying to understand. He would find out soon enough.
Bithia stayed close, her scent and her heat filling him with hope that he would live to see another day. If only Viltori would be there with him, he could sleep in peace. And then, as if he had tried to protect himself from the truth, he realized Bithia’s refusal to answer told him all he needed to know.
Tears fell from behind closed eyes as he mourned the loss of not only his friend and teacher, but also a great man. Finding a small measure of strength, he lightly gripped Bithia’s hand.
On a shuddering gasp, she placed her head gently against his chest. Tears fell onto his skin, confirming the truth.
Viltori was no more.
Drahka entered a massive circular room lined with chairs in ever-expanding rows. Some seats were low in the pit and others rose along the edges. Drahka thought the rings of chairs looked like flower petals. Cacophony dropped to sudden silence. He was aware of murmurings, subtly pointing fingers, but he didn’t care. His thoughts were far from this room. Beside him, Bithia moved with her arm linked through his, gently guiding him to the two highest chairs. He sat with grim dignity, his gaze on the far edge of the room. A few steps behind came Enovese, Bithia’s new protocol liaison.
“I call this meeting to order.” Bithia settled into her chair, Enovese stood beside her. A blue screen floated before Bithia, which might have impressed Drahka before, but now he did not care what it was or how it worked. Lighting crystals filled the room with pure, white light, but all he saw was darkness. Shadows had covered his heart, and not even the brightness of the twin suns could banish them.
As befitted his rank, he did not cry or let any emotion flicker across his face. That was reserved for alone-time with his chosen. He swallowed hard. Drahka finally remembered what the man in the rumpled suit had so elatedly told him—he was not actually Bithia’s chosen. Since he had not completed the ritual bonding, he was not actually her consort. They considered him only her lover, which held no status. Bithia had her protocol liaison working endlessly to have him reinstated, but so far, there wasn’t anything in her massive books that could fix the mess Drahka had made. If only he’d performed the ceremony the way Viltori had told him to, but he hadn’t, because Drahka desperately wanted to be alone with Bithia.
When he wondered why it mattered so much, Bithia told him that if he were not officially her consort, any child they created would be illegitimate. It took a great deal of time and effort for her to explain the meaning of that word. His tribe had no such label. The only way a child in his tribe could be rejected was by his or her own actions. The two people who created the child mattered not at all. Here, on Diola, the origins of the child mattered greatly, mainly to the empress. In her careful way, Enovese had explained to him how important legitimacy was for the royal line.
When he suggested repeating the ceremony, Enovese shook her head, making her fascinating hair dance not only around her shoulders but also all the way to the floor. “There is no protocol for that, but I am doing my best to find a solution.” Her voice held genuine regret that she couldn’t give him the answer he wanted. Softly she added that Bithia had already asked. Even if they could repeat the ceremony, Bithia and the heads of the Houses must agree on the appointment of a new magistrate. Until the issue was resolved, their relationship held no power, but Bithia refused to follow the dictates of her own laws. She continued to dress him in red and determinedly called him her consort. Bithia did this like a tiny hand attempting to grip the entire world. No matter how tightly she clung, she could not make her wishes so just by her will alone.
Still, her resolve and strength impressed him. At night, when they lay together in the big bed, bodies pressed tightly under the ruby covers, the scent of Viltori becoming ever more a memory, that was the only time when Bithia let go of her rigid control. Sobbing in great gasps, she cried herself to sleep against him, holding him firmly as he did the same to her. Mingling tears soothed them into slumber, but horrifying dreams ripped them right back out. Since he’d left the infirmary, they hadn’t been able to share their bodies. Each time they tried, Viltori’s absence hung over the moment, shrouding them in black.
“You violate the prophecy yourself!”
The accusation drew Drahka back to the present and the circular room, now stifling hot with so many bodies. While he’d been thinking, hundreds more people had pressed into the space, lining the walls and eating up every walkway between the chairs. In this one room, there were more people than in Drahka’s whole tribe. Colors glittered from very deep to very pale, making his eyes blink from overload. A multitude of distinct perfumes filled the air, invading his lungs, making him dizzy. Clinging to the arms of his chair, he fought through the nausea, determined to see the men who killed Viltori punished.
“We are not here to debate my actions.” Bithia lifted her entire body. She sat so straight her back didn’t even touch the padding behind her. “This meeting is about Blue-green House and the crimes the House committed against Viltori.”
“A citizen cannot commit a crime against a servant.” Blue-green House’s protocol liaison spoke with cool authority. Robed in copper, the man was almost entirely unremarkable but for a deep purple stain that ran from under his right eye to the edge of his mouth. He’d styled his long brown hair to the side, as if to cover the mark, but each time he threw back his shoulders, he revealed ever more of the splotch.
“Viltori was not a servant, but an acolyte.” Enovese’s voice filled the room despite her diminutive stature. Fascinated gazes ate her up whenever she spoke. Her beautiful hair fell over one shoulder, sparkling against her copper
robe. As the bondmate to the greatest Harvester ever known, Enovese wore a highly decorative black sash that encircled her slender waist. The upper edge of the sash was trimmed in crimson, showing all that she was protocol liaison to Bithia. Drahka found her so much more pleasant to look at and listen to than the other liaison, whose sash was simple and medium blue-green.
“He was dressed in brown as a servant.” Stain-face spoke through his nose, which gave his voice a most annoying whine. “From readings in Kipfer’s unabridged Harvest Text, it’s clear that the color brown indicated his rank as a slave.” Smiling broadly at Enovese, the liaison pointedly asked, “You are familiar with Kipfer’s text, are you not?”
A great pause silenced the room as all gazes fell on Enovese. Drahka didn’t move, but internally he leaned forward, curious if she was as well-read as she seemed. He hoped so. He and Bithia needed a strong liaison to see them through the wealth of troubles that mired them.
“Kipfer’s in the ancient language?” Enovese turned, hefting an oversized book into her arms. Even a bare bit away, Drahka could smell the animal hide that bound the pages. “Or did you read the translation by Picer?”
Stain face’s nose twitched slightly. Just a bare wiggle caused by him lifting his lips and lowering his brows at the same time. Clearly, he’d not expected Enovese to respond as she had.
“If you read Kipfer’s in the ancient language,” Enovese said, “you would know that when a person is wearing mixed colors, the color of the highest rank takes precedence.”
There was a long pause as several people in the audience murmured quietly. Drahka couldn’t tell if they agreed or disagreed with Enovese.
“I don’t see how that applies here.” Stain-face spoke while holding his gaze steady on Enovese. In his eyes, Drahka saw he knew he was lying, but he had to follow the whispered urgings of the man beside him. As the higher-ranking member of Blue-green House, he had the right to prompt his liaison if he saw fit. Drahka noticed that Bithia did not do the same. She let Enovese speak freely according to her own mind.
Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4 Page 17
