by S D Simper
Then, dizziness struck. Nausea welled in Flowridia’s stomach as the world turned sideways. Darkness met her eyelids, and for a moment she floated in space, weightless and helpless as something dragged her across the void. All around she saw a chromatic, silver fire, shined and polished and blinding.
Then, she slammed onto the floor of the council chamber. Lying on the ground, polished wood met her back. The orb rolled from her hands.
When Flowridia turned her head, her vision spun with it. For a moment, she swore she saw the empress, those silver eyes unmistakable.
But her vision kept spinning, and when darkness descended, it held relief.
* * *
When Flowridia’s consciousness returned, she realized that soft, silver eyes watched from above. “Don’t try and sit up,” said the gentle, feminine voice. “Some people react poorly to having their bodies forcibly dragged across the planes.”
Flowridia obeyed, realizing her head lay in the empress’ lap. Demitri’s nose poked at her side, and she pulled the wolf to her chest. “You can do that?”
“I can do many things. Etolié called for my help, and for good reason.” Fingers traced light lines along the side of Flowridia’s face, brushing aside unruly strands of hair. “She says you used the orb to save her life. Your bravery is to be commended.”
Lara held the aforementioned orb in her other hand. Etolié had once quietly disparaged Marielle’s use of it as a fashion accessory, saying only that it was a gift from the late emperor to Marielle’s father to be used in protecting their small kingdom. Technically, the responsibility of keeping it had fallen to the recently crowned queen, but Flowridia had never realized the vastness of its power.
Around them, people scuffled about and spoke frantically. She saw Marielle out of her peripheral, her head in her hands as she sat in her throne with Thalmus to guard her.
A sudden groan pulled her attention. Flowridia instinctively tried to sit, catching a glance of a rather sickly Celestial before Lara stopped her. “Etolié channeled a dangerous amount of energy, as did you. How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine,” Flowridia said, and this time when she tried to sit, Lara supported her. She watched as the empress stood up and quickly approached Etolié, worried settling onto her features.
The Celestial lay curled on the ground. Etched scars spread across her arm in fractal spirals, the result of being struck by lightning, yet her dress remained oddly pristine.
Kneeling beside her, Khastra’s hands lightly scratched her back. “If you are going to be stubborn, I will drag you to bed myself.”
“After the meeting,” Etolié managed, and with her bloodshot eyes and sallow skin, Flowridia wondered if she would be conscious that long. Lara sat beside her, her small hands brushing the hair from Etolié’s face. “Perfect timing, little moonbeam.”
Lara’s jaw trembled, but Flowridia watched her force a smile. “Etolié,” Flowridia said, and when she moved to stand, she found she balanced perfectly well, “will you let me heal you?”
The empress glanced up at her approach, but Khastra’s stare remained fixed on her Celestial companion. Flowridia saw Sora and Meira looking disheveled but alive, and then Etolié shook her head.
“Etolié, please-”
“It’s bad shit, Flowers. Calling on gods rips some life out of you. Fortunately, I’m technically immortal.” Etolié attempted to sit up, but at her pained groan, Khastra gently pushed her back down. “Ya big lug – you don’t have to baby me. I’m fine.”
“Etolié,” Khastra retorted, “you were struck by lightning.”
“Yes, and I feel like a thousand bees are stinging me from the inside. But I’m not going to die.”
“Perhaps I can’t restore years of your life, but I can at least heal what’s superficial,” Flowridia said. “Please, I’m worried.”
From the looks of solidarity on both Khastra’s and Lara’s faces, Flowridia knew she wasn’t the only one. Gaunt, pale features met Flowridia’s eye, and Etolié finally offered a nod. “Do what you will, Flowers. Stop before you get hurt.”
Flowridia let her senses expand and touch upon Etolié’s musculature, feeling the burns within and without that had ripped through her form. A deeper weakness lay dormant, one with no bodily harm yet still unquestionably deadly. Flowridia could not touch it and supposed this was the lingering price of godly possession.
Still, she coaxed Etolié’s body to mend itself, watching with interest as the fractal scars on her arms faded. Flowridia sat back, and Lara’s hand returned to its spot on her back. Demitri came to sit in her lap, surely as exhausted as she.
“You’re really quite spectacular,” Lara said quietly, and her stare rested on Etolié’s faded scars. “To be able to wield the orb with no experience speaks well of your talents. Perhaps you’re suited for more than simply being Etolié’s gardener.” Her adoring smile settled onto Flowridia, a silent ‘thank you’ in the gesture.
“What happened?” Marielle interrupted, and Flowridia realized the queen was near tears. “Can we start this meeting, please? Why did Etolié know about a mad-man on the road but I didn’t?”
Lara helped Flowridia to stand, but Thalmus stole her and escorted her to her chair, still squashed beside Etolié’s. He knelt beside her and moved to brush aside her tussled hair, but she knew it was a guise to inspect her for wounds.
Lara stood at the center of the circle of chairs, Etolié by her side. “Etolié, would you please relay the story for everyone not in attendance, including myself?”
Color had returned to Etolié’s face, and she began the tale – of being accosted in their camp by the armored man, of calling on Eionei for aid, and of Flowridia’s hand in saving Etolié’s life.
Flowridia stared at Lara, however, who listened to the story with intrigue. Lara Solviraes and her silver eyes-
A small puzzle clicked into place, though an obvious one in hindsight. It fit that Lara’s family name was a bastardization of her most defining trait – Solviraes . . . Silver eyes . . .
“It was an impressive maneuver; kudos to Flowers. But the real challenge lies before us. Past experience has shown that this man is willing to kill for the orbs, and we still don’t know why.”
“What past experience?” Marielle asked.
Glancing around, Flowridia saw understanding on only a few faces – those of Khastra, Etolié, and Lara. The rest appeared as perplexed by Etolié’s announcement as Marielle.
Lara spoke with visible resignation. “Three days before Marielle’s coronation, this same man appeared in my castle. He murdered my father and stole the orb he kept.” Lara braced herself, steeling her jaw as rage and sorrow battle for supremacy. Bitterness seeped into every carefully chosen word from Lara’s lips. “We have no motive, no identity – only the knowledge that he seeks to gather all six, and only from his own tongue. My council has enacted their own search, but tonight is the first we’ve seen or heard from him since my father’s death.”
Flowridia’s fear of appearing the fool paled to her own quiet confusion. It seemed everyone knew a story she didn’t. “Forgive me,” she asked shyly, “but what is the relevance of these orbs?”
Lara smiled from the center of the room. “Do we all know the story of the Convergence?”
Flowridia did know, a tale she had heard before her life with Mother, but Lara continued her story anyway.
“No one knows the origin of the orbs, but there are six all together, each providing balance, much like the Old Gods who wielded them. In the time before The Convergence of Planes, some ten thousand years ago, the Gods of Order and Chaos gave them to dragons to aid in protecting our world. But we also know that Chaos, out of boredom or spite – no one knows – used the orbs to smash the worlds together and cause the Convergence. The orbs are why we coexist with Celestière and Sha’Demoni, why we cohabitate with races never meant for our world, and the origin of magic within our realm. Her folly, and the Old Gods’ subsequent deaths, ushered in the
new era of gods – those powered by belief, and thus godlike, but not true Gods.” Lara managed to smile despite the grim mood. “Though I suppose it is blasphemous to suggest it.
“The orbs are unique,” she continued, “because they do not merely channel magical energy. They can grant power, yes, but the source of that power is infinite, and the power drawn leaves no weakness to the wielder. In the hands of someone like my father, it would offer limitless capacity for absorption, but when wielded against him, it became his downfall.”
Lara spared a glance for the orb in her hand and then offered it to Marielle. “We know only the location of three of the orbs. We have one, the mad-man holds the other, and Archbishop Xoran of the Theocracy of Sol Kareena holds the third. The other three have never been found.”
“So, what do we do?” Marielle asked, and she held the orb, reverently cupping it in her hands.
“We kill him.” Khastra’s chuckle interrupted the somber mood. “This man is only that – a man. Whatever magic he may wield, I have yet to meet a man who can fight without his head.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Lara said, the softness in her countenance growing suddenly stiff, “though there’s the matter of finding him first. After he stole the orb, he wielded it without question and used it to overload my father’s reserves. He knew how to combat the silver fire. My father, he-” Steel threatened to break – Lara’s demeanor visibly cracked. “He did what any Solviraes would do: he absorbed the magic the man shot at him, but there was no relenting. I walked in to see my father’s light grow blinding seconds before he exploded. Then, the man disappeared.”
Flowridia had heard tales of the Solviraes bloodline and of their inborn trait to absorb and wield pure magical energy. A talent otherwise unheard of, it offered the potential for a massive reserve of energy – the extent of which Flowridia couldn’t fathom.
A moment of hesitation, and in Lara’s held breath, Flowridia saw a modicum of insecurity – not the Empress Alauriel, descended from the Moon Goddess, but an orphaned girl in mourning.
The moment passed, and Lara released her breath, resuming the clench in her jaw. “Find them. Hide them. Orbs lead to orbs and exponentially increase the others’ power when together. With some study, we can use yours to try and track down the rest. I’ve been working tirelessly to find a source of maldectine large enough to house and hide their power from the others, but until then, we must find the ones we can.”
Marielle’s hands blocked the light of the orb, the faint glow of red reflecting off her gown. “So, we hunt for orbs.”
“Or we risk handing them to him on a silver platter,” Meira said.
“Why don’t we ask another kingdom for help? Someone larger?” Marielle twitched, her hand coming up to touch the orb poking out from her dress. “Staelash is small.”
“I would rather keep the news quiet for now,” Lara said. “Do you really want the orbs in the hands of Imperator Casvir, founder of the world’s largest trade empire? Do you think the elves would come from across the sea to fight for a country they want nothing to do with? The kingdom of Moratham opposes Staelash’s very founding principles, and to ally with the Theocracy, though our people share a common goddess, would detrimentally shatter the careful balance your kingdom maintains between them and Nox’Kartha. Staelash is small, but it has much to offer. And you will always have Solviran aid. You were ours first.”
Silence filled the room. Marielle finally whispered, “I’ll return to the archbishop. I’ll propose a trade for the orb.”
“Well, about that,” Etolié said, pursing her lips. “I already did.”
Marielle stiffened. “What?”
“After your and Flowers’ meeting, he and I discussed the orb, though in relatively vague terms. The archbishop isn’t opposed, but he does need time to think of a proper counteroffer. The orb is vital to the protection of his city, or so he says.”
Slack-jawed, Marielle said, “How did you know about all of this?”
“Lara and I talk. I’m the one who told her to keep the news of our orb-stealing friend quiet for now.”
Marielle glared between the empress and the magister. “I’m not sure if this is treason or not.”
“Not treason,” Etolié said. “Khastra knew too. It takes two out of three to make a governing decision. We both agreed getting orbs was a good plan.”
Khastra added, “I still believe crushing his head would be the best plan.”
“But you didn’t think to include me on this?” Marielle said, and Flowridia could hear fury in her tone.
“Marielle,” Lara said, firm but soft, “perhaps we should continue this discussion in private. There is something else I wish to discuss with you.”
Marielle frowned but offered a nod. “Meeting adjourned, then.”
When Flowridia moved to stand with the rest, Etolié placed a hand on her thigh. “I want you to stay, Lady Diplomat. You’ll need to hear this too.”
The room emptied, leaving only Khastra, Etolié, and Marielle, who continued to glower as Lara stood before her. “Speak your mind, cousin.”
Flowridia wondered if the familial pet name were meant to level the two rulers, one of whom unquestionably reigned supreme.
“Marielle, word has reached me that you’ve agreed to place a Nox’Karthan Embassy in your city. I was not consulted on this.”
Swallowing loudly, Marielle’s demeanor grew stiff. “I think strengthening ties with foreign dignitaries is the best solution for us both, long term-”
“Rumor says you’re courting their ambassador.”
“Not officially.”
In the ensuing silence, Lara slowly crossed her arms, silver turning to steel. “Marielle, the conflict between the Theocracy and Nox’Kartha escalates with every passing day. I’ve seen the riots myself, and there are rumors of failed assassination attempts on Imperator Casvir’s life. Citizens of the Theocracy call for De’Sindai blood, and I have no doubt Nox’Kartha is giddy in anticipation of the brewing war. The fire’s turned up, and your territory will be directly between them when the pot boils over.”
Marielle uncrossed her legs, and then crossed them again, her stare fixed on the orb and not the empress. “I’ve made no agreements, aside from verbal ones.”
“Be careful of what addendums are written in your contract. To demand you recant your agreement would be detrimental to your relationship with Nox’Kartha, but you must understand: while my kingdom holds no quarrel with them, most of mine worship Sol Kareena. I’ll be hung in the streets if you tie me into a war against the Theocracy. Be careful.”
Gentleness held no place here, not for the Solviran Empress. An odd juxtaposition, Flowridia thought, to imagine the soft-spoken woman she’d briefly met to the ruler sitting before them.
Shame colored Marielle’s features. “We’ll move forward with caution.”
“You will. And you’ll consult me before you make any more agreements with foreign powers. Your territory is your own, but you still pay taxes to me. Your first alliance is to my empire.” Lara released a long, thoughtful sigh, though frustration still showed in the line of her lips. “Many of our treaties remain unwritten. I would hope to continue a relationship of trust, but I think writing out the fine-print on some would be wise.”
“I will consult Etolié about the details in the morning,” Marielle whispered, and then Lara offered a hand to Marielle.
“I have no wish for conflict between us.” She helped Marielle to stand. “Politics spoil so many things, cousin. Come visit my kingdom; perhaps we can discuss Staelash and Solvira in more hopeful terms.”
Marielle took back her hand, nodding as she did, and left the room with no farewell.
Lara said nothing of it, and instead she gave goodbyes to the rest of them – to Khastra and Etolié both, the latter of whom held her in a tight embrace. “Relax, little moonbeam,” the Celestial said before tussling – and thus ruining – the empress’ braided hair, but the smile she gave was nothing less th
an maternal.
When Lara reached Flowridia and offered her a hand to stand, she said, “You’re a witch with enormous potential.” Lara’s hand lingered, keeping Flowridia there as her voice lowered. “If you ever tire of the political game, there’s a place for you with me, in my castle.”
Surprised, Flowridia simply gave her a nod.
Once in bed, Flowridia collapsed into a dreamless sleep.
“Thalmus, what does it mean to be claimed by multiple gods?”
From his kiln, Thalmus kept his focus on stoking the fire. A black shadow covered much of his face, stubborn hairs having grown between now and last sunset, and the dark braid traveling down his back could have been tucked into his belt. Flowridia wondered if it were common among giants to take such pride in their hair – or perhaps desert dwellers, as Thalmus’ dark skin and features suggested his heritage lie. She had never asked.
“I suppose it would mean you’re a nuisance to fate,” Thalmus finally said, a wry smile at his lip.
Flowridia carefully stepped up behind him, mindful of the heat radiating from the coals within the iron furnace. “If fate wants my compliance, I wish it would be a little clearer.”
“Fate is what you make of it. It’s not something I believe in,” he muttered, and she watched the fire begin to glow from within the small hole at the front. Thalmus set a large dish of multi-colored glass pieces onto the table. “But I do believe in gods. And it’s not unheard of for multiple gods to squabble over the attention of a mortal, nor for mortals to pledge to multiple gods.”
She took a step back as he moved around her, forever fascinated at his array of tools. “Are you pledged to anyone?”
A wistful, pained frowned pulled at Thalmus’ scarred lips. Something changed in his countenance, a chink in his heavily armored demeanor. “No,” he said. “I have no need for gods.”
Dangerous words, and it struck her as odd that Thalmus, as good a man as she had ever met, would be at odds with any of the benevolent gods. But something clamped at Flowridia’s tongue when she thought to press him, as always happened when Thalmus spoke a personal anecdote. She longed to ask. She longed to comfort him. But whatever haunted him seemed well beyond what a hug and an offering of pastries could heal.
