He would never know the answers to those questions. His eyes were watering again.
How had this happened? Tonight was meant to be his victory. He was to become heir to an empire! To see Porcia exiled! To build a glorious life with Ofeer! Now Porcia ruled over a burning empire, he was fleeing through a tunnel, Ofeer was his sister, and all was ruin.
Seneca fell to his knees in the darkness, trapped here underground. His fingers shook as he reached for the poison. He had always wondered why his father kept poison in his escape tunnel, but now he understood.
His hand shook so wildly he couldn't open the vial. He raised it over his mouth, shaking it, trying to break off the wax lid.
Let me die. Let me die.
He was shaking too badly to drink. He tucked the poison away. Instead, he drew his dagger, placed the blade on his wrist.
A quick movement. Just a cut. That's all. That—
"No, Seneca," spoke a voice.
Ofeer!
He looked around, seeking her, but he couldn't see her. The tunnel was empty.
"You're a coward, boy," rose her voice, astral, a voice from another world. "Do you give up so easily? Without even a fight?"
"I fought!" he shouted, voice echoing down the tunnel. "I lost."
"You did not lose!" spoke the ghostly voice. "You gave up. On life. On yourself. On the empire that is yours by right."
He trembled, tears falling. "But Porcia won. She's empress now. She rules—"
"—one legion." Ofeer's voice completed his sentence. "She rules one legion. Seventy-four other legions are spread across the Empire, awaiting your command. Will you die here like a coward, leaving them without an emperor?"
Seneca pushed himself back up to his feet.
"No," he said. "No, I won't leave them. They need me. The Empire needs me. I am the victor who crushed Gefen, who defeated Jerael Sela, who completed Aelar's dominance of the Encircled Sea. I will not die here in the dark." He clenched his fist. "I will be back, Porcia, I swear this. I will be back, and then it will be your head on a spear."
He sheathed his dagger and kept walking down the tunnel. The air grew moldy, rank, spinning his head. It seemed that he walked for hours. From above, through the stone, he could hear distant, muffled sounds—voices calling out, screams, drums, bells. Seneca ignored them. He kept walking, crossing what felt like leagues, until finally the tunnel sloped upward, and he reached a wooden door.
He emerged into a dirty alleyway, the ground covered in old chicken bones, apple cores, and a couple of beggar children. Laundry hung from ropes above, and a dog was pissing in the corner. Seneca imagined his father—stern, proud Marcus Octavius, the great general—emerging into this rat hole, and the dog pissing on his leg, and suddenly Seneca was laughing. A hysterical laughter. A laughter that seized him like claws, that dropped him to his knees, and he was rolling on the ground, pounding the cobblestones, struggling for air as he laughed, as he wept.
He emerged from the alleyway to find a city of chaos. Fire rose in the distance, and smoke hid the sky. Men were rushing down the streets, barging into shops, looting, burning. A naked child wept on the street. A woman screamed in the distance and men laughed. Seneca walked down the cobbled roads between the shops, homes, and apartment blocks. He passed under an aqueduct where beggars huddled around a campfire, cooking what looked like a dog. A prostitute leaned against a brothel wall, haggard and gray-haired, her teeth stained purple with hintan, the spice smuggled from the desert. A legless man sat in a corner, dressed in rags, holding a wooden sign that read: Lost my legs in Gael, a denarius please.
Seneca had spent most of his life in the Acropolis, the halls of power. Whenever moving through the city proper, he had ridden a horse or chariot down the city's main boulevards. But here was a warren of narrow, twisting streets like veins in a stone giant, clogged with filth. Disgust filled him. He tossed the legless man a coin—a coin of true gold, more than what a legionary made in a month. As he passed by the prostitute, her stench nearly made him gag. He gave her a coin too and kept walking.
This is not my empire. These streets will be cleansed, I swear it. I will fix this city. I will fix this world. I will show you, Porcia. I will show you, Ofeer. I will show you all.
Night fell. He walked in darkness. It took hours, but finally—it must have been past midnight—Seneca reached Aelaria Maritima, the city's port. Some corpses of legionaries still lay here, rats already feeding upon them. Many of the ships he had taken to Zohar still docked here, emptied of troops, their legionaries now guarding Porcia in the Acropolis. Clutching his sack of gold, Seneca approached the Aquila Aureum—the same ship he had taken south to Zohar, a prince out to prove his worth. The same ship he had sailed back with, Ofeer and hundreds of slaves his reward.
The ship that would now win him an empire.
She was a large galley, painted red and gold, shields and oars lining her hull. Lanterns hung from her masts, glowing gold, and her figurehead thrust out across the water, a great iron eagle that had crushed the Gaelian fleet, that had sent Atalia down to her watery grave.
This ship is all I have left in the world, Seneca thought.
As he stepped closer, he saw that the galley's gangplank was lowered, connecting to the boardwalk. Five legionaries lay dead on the cobblestones, and a robed and hooded figure stood on the gangplank, gazing at Seneca. A woman's figure.
Seneca started, for an instant sure that it was Porcia. But no. This figure wore robes of silk, and jewels shone on her fingers and neck. Seneca stepped over the dead legionaries and onto the gangplank, bringing his lantern toward the figure. His eyes widened.
"Taeer?" he whispered.
His lumer pulled back her hood, revealing a dark face with painted eyelids, cascading locks of black hair, and full crimson lips. She gave him her crooked smile and reached out a hand, serpent bracelets jangling. The scent of myrrh and frankincense wafted from her, sweet and intoxicating, and an eagle pendant rested between her breasts.
"Welcome, my prince," she said. "You are late."
He narrowed his eyes. "You knew I would come here. You used the Foresight."
Taeer laughed, a tinkling sound. "I needed no Luminosity to know that you would come to me here, my prince. And I would not have you leave me behind like you leave Ofeer." She took his hand in hers. "Come, my prince, my future emperor. The sea awaits us."
She led him along the gangplank onto the deck. The ship felt so empty. Gone were the legionaries who had once manned the deck. Only a skeleton crew of sailors stood here in the darkness.
But Taeer is with me, Seneca thought, and his eyes dampened. I'm not alone in the world.
He upended his sack of gold, spilling coins onto the deck.
"Sail!" he told the men. "Sail and divide these among you. Leave this city. We travel south." He held Taeer's hand tightly, knowing his path. "We sail across the Encircled Sea. We sail to Nur."
The sailors pocketed their coins and scurried across the ship, raising the anchor, unfurling the sails. The galley slaves were gone; only the wind propelled the ship onward. They traveled across the harbor, navigating between other galleys, fishermen's boats, lighthouses, and columned breakwaters.
Seneca walked toward the prow and stared at the dark sea. Two lighthouses blazed ahead at the edge of breakwaters, two eyes in the night.
"Nur," he said. "The great southern savanna. A land of gold, of diamonds, of spice, of might. The land where Uncle Cicero rules great legions." He turned toward Taeer. "He's always loved me, Uncle Cicero, hasn't he?"
The lumer smiled. She had been with him since his birth—a youth captured from Zohar, brought to this empire, teaching him wisdom, teaching him the art of love.
You've always been with me, Taeer. You're the only one.
She stroked his cheek. "All around the Encircled Sea love you, my prince."
"You mean emperor," he said.
She kissed his lips. "Emperor of iron and sand, of gold and rust, of splendor and shadow. It
will all be yours."
He did not know what she meant, but lumers often spoke in riddles. The ship moved onward, clearing the last lighthouses, emerging from the cove into the black open sea. They floated under stars, a single ship, alone in darkness. He placed his arm around Taeer, and her sweet scent filled his nostrils as he sailed away from home, vowing to return with fire.
MAYA
The caravan traveled across the desert: fifty camels, each bearing a bearded warrior armed with bow and spear; ten wagons laden with supplies; and two Zoharites, a vagabond thief and a girl with light inside her.
"We're almost there," Maya said, staring east. "Almost at the sea."
For many days, she had been traveling across the desert, surviving thirst, hunger, captivity, fleeing the Aelarians who had crushed her homeland. And nearby—just a few days east from here—lay the sea. The city of Suna. The center of Luminosity she had been seeking, the only place in the world, aside from Beth Eloh, where the lume flowed.
Leven rode at her side, swaying on his camel. The beast kept trying to twist its neck around to sniff at Leven's foot, and it ended up walking in circles.
"Forward, forward!" Leven said, pointing and shaking his foot. "Stop sniffing at my feet. They don't smell that good. Hasha, hasha!" The thief sighed. "Stupid animal." He turned to look at Maya. "I don't know why we're traveling to the sea anyway."
She rode her own camel—an animal far better behaved. "I told you. So I can study more Luminosity."
"Hasha! Forward!" Leven shook his fist at his camel before turning back toward Maya. "You're already great at Luminosity. You healed my brother. You healed the King of Sekadia, for God's sake."
Maya thought back to that day—to how much light had flowed through her, nearly drowning her, a light she could barely tame.
"I eased his pain," Maya confessed. "But I left him blind, scarred, his hands still lacking fingers. I've never had a true Luminosity teacher. True lumers . . . their power is mighty. They say that Avinasi, the greatest lumer in Zohar, can even raise the dead. She would have returned the king to his true former self. That is the power I crave. To heal all hurts."
Leven looked at her, his eyes softer now. "And to raise the dead?"
"I don't know."
Maya stared down at her saddle. She thought of the news she had received from the king of Sekadia—that her father was dead. It seemed impossible. How could it be real? How could Lord Jerael Sela, the powerful warrior, the kindly father—be gone?
Maya's eyes watered. She remembered how, as a child, she would sometimes cry at night, fearful of monsters under her bed, and how Father would embrace her, how safe she would feel in his wide arms. She remembered how Father had always seemed as wise, mighty, and all knowing as Eloh himself. He had never been just a man to Maya but a figure of legend, both a puissant lord and a loving father.
Gone, Maya thought. Crucified. Murdered by Prince Seneca.
When the King of Sekadia had shared the news with her—only a few days ago in the city—Maya had refused to believe it. It seemed impossible that a man as powerful as Jerael should die. And how could Atalia and Koren be captive? Atalia was the greatest warrior in the world, and Koren was deadly with his blades. How could they have lost their war?
That news was old already, but tidings traveled slowly across the desert. Maya shuddered to imagine what might have happened in Zohar since she had left. Was Mother still alive? Had Epher escaped the enemy? Was Ofeer still serving the Aelarians?
Leven must have seen the turmoil on her face. He rode closer to her, reached between the camels, and patted her knee.
"Maya, again: I'm sorry. I know how hard this is."
Maya blinked tears out of her eyes. "In the east, I can learn how to use the Sight. One of the Four Pillars of Luminosity. Avinasi began to teach me, but . . . I can't do it alone. I only used the Sight once, with Avinasi guiding me, with all the lume of Beth Eloh around me, when I gazed north and saw Porcia's armies, and the light nearly drowned me." She inhaled deeply and raised her chin. "But they can teach me in Suna, at the center of Luminosity. And then I can look to Zohar. I can learn the fate of my family. And if they're hurt, I can heal them. I can heal them all. I can . . ."
. . . bring Father back from the dead, she wanted to say, but she dared not. In the Book of Eloh, it was written that the ancient lumers could resurrect the dead, but Maya had never heard of any lumer doing so for thousands of years. She feared this power, and yet the grief at losing Father clawed at her.
Maya looked around her. Zamur, King of Sekadia, had given her this grand caravan, worthy of royalty. Camels. Warriors. Wagons laden with fine food and wine, not to mention purses full of gold. Even live goats traveled with them, assuring fresh meat on the journey. All these the king had gifted her. Maya had come to him a ragged vagabond, and now she was wealthy. But she'd have given up all her treasures for a chance to see her family again, to bring her father back.
"All of Zohar cries in mourning," Maya said. "All the land bleeds. I must learn how to heal them all. To heal our kingdom, Leven."
He nodded, somber now, his usual smile gone. "For many years, I lived as a thief in Zohar. I stole from our kingdom, a leech sapping blood to survive. But you're right, Maya. It's time to stop being a leech."
She raised an eyebrow, a little bit of mirth lighting her pain. "I thought you were a scorpion, but you're right. Leech suits you better."
"Careful that I don't leech onto you." He squeezed her knee. "I'll suck you dry."
At his touch, Maya thought back to how they had kissed. Suddenly she wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to . . . to . . . . well, to do what Ofeer did so many times. But Maya's cheeks flushed, and she only looked away from him, staring east again. She did not know the ways of lovemaking, did not know how to seduce a man. She wasn't strong and striking like Atalia, wasn't pretty like Ofeer. All Maya knew was the light of Luminosity, and it was that light she sought in the east, that light she would soon learn how to tame.
They rode onward, and the noon sun was blazing when Maya saw the bones sticking out from the sand.
A spine ridge rose ahead like a bridge, each segment the size of a chariot. Maya narrowed her eyes, trying to imagine what creature could have been so large. The camels kept riding, and soon Maya saw great claws, large as oaks, rising from the sand. The bones seemed ancient, whittled down by endless eras, pocked with holes. Ribs rose ahead like the arches of temples, so large the convoy rode between them as if traveling through a nave. Scores of these ancient creatures lay half-buried in the sand, sprawling for parsa'ot.
"What are they?" Leven asked, staring at the bones of a tail tipped with spikes, each spike the size of a spear.
Maya remembered seeing one of these skeletons in the west, not far from the border of Zohar, but that one had been smaller and alone. Here was a great graveyard of the creatures.
"Dragons," she whispered, pointing ahead.
There in the sand it rose—a skull. A skull so large Maya could have ridden her camel into the mouth. The teeth rose like columns, and the eye sockets stared, full of shadows and sand. A nest of snakes writhed and hissed in a nostril.
Leven gulped. "Thank God they're dead. Those creatures look almost as bad as camels."
The warriors in the caravan muttered and clutched the hilts of their sabers. A few made signs against evil. One man even drew his blade, glancing around nervously.
"They're dead and can't hurt us," Maya said to Urak, chief of the warriors, a gaunt man with a curled black beard.
"The men believe that the souls of the reptiles still cling to them, that these lands are cursed." Urak was gruff and scarred, a man who had fought many battles. Now he shuddered. "The dracos were cruel beasts, Maya of Zohar. I can smell their evil in the air."
When Maya inhaled, she could smell it too. A rancid hint on the wind. At first she could barely detect it, but as they rode onward, the smell grew stronger. A stench of oil, soot, fire, rotten meat. The bones rose all around h
er. The ribs towered overhead. As she rode by another skull, Maya stared into its eye sockets, seeing only darkness. Those sockets were larger than her head. She kneed her camel, riding faster. All the men now drew their swords.
A shriek rose.
Maya spun her head from side to side, but it was only the wind gusting through the skulls, scattering sand through the mouths. She let out a shaky breath. Leven clenched his jaw and drew his own sword.
"They're just bones," she told him. "They're dead. They're just skeletons."
A sudden chill ran through Maya, and she frowned. Hackles rose on her nape, and goose bumps covered her arms. Her teeth ached as if trying to flee her gums. Somebody was watching her. She felt it, knew it—a presence that twisted the lume inside her.
She raised her eyes, stared southeast, and lost her breath.
He stood there on a hill. A parasa away, too far to see clearly, so far she shouldn't be seeing him at all. A figure cloaked and hooded in black. Watching her. He had always been watching her, she realized. Memories tickled her like flickers of dreams reemerging in daylight, burning bright for an instant, then vanishing back into the murk. A shadow in her childhood, lurking behind the door. A stranger in Beth Eloh, moving among the crowd, staring at her as the city fell. The dark man. The man with the gray furrowed skin. The man in the shadows, even here under searing sunlight. Then gone again from memory like sparks from a campfire vanishing in the night.
"That one moved." Leven's voice tore her away from her thoughts. "Look, there. That skeleton. It moved."
Maya blinked. She turned toward the thief, suppressing a shudder. "Stop trying to scare me."
She glanced back toward the southern hill, seeking the figure again, but he was gone. She saw nothing but endless dunes. Had she dreamed it? Had the shadow been just a flicker of Foresight, a ghost in her luminescence?
Crowns of Rust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 2) Page 30
