Temple of the Traveler: Empress of Dreams

by Scott Rhine

  “There might be a way I could help you with that.”

  “I have friends and influence.”

  “Not very good ones if you’re stuck here. I’d need something from you.”

  “Anything.”

  “Hmm. That’s the second time you’ve said that. I wonder if you mean it.” The woman in the mirror wasn’t so transparent now. She had more substance, and the wound on her side wasn’t so ragged.

  Corrie put her hand to her chest. “I feel so empty.”

  “I can fill that void and save Pagaose from blackmail.”

  “You seem familiar somehow.”

  “We have a lot in common, but you’re far prettier than I ever was.”

  Lady Evershade blushed. “My face is synonymous with shame. I could never show it for all the wrongs I’ve done.”

  “I could.” The woman on the other side of the mirror was now identical, posing and examining her new body from all angles. “And I could dine for a week on your iniquity and regrets.” Corrie’s face looked out of the warped mirror at her. “Down to business. If you could have one wish, no matter how outrageous right now, what would that be?”

  Lady Evershade didn’t hesitate. “I want to dance with Pagaose in the flesh.”

  “You could.”

  “You could arrange that?”

  Serog smiled. “I’m a goddess. I can give all this to you: life, rescuing your emperor from Ashford, devouring all your guilt, revenge, and your dearest dream. I only ask a small fee in return—the use of your body.”

  “For how long?” Corrie asked nervously.

  “Forever.” When the mortal’s eyes grew wide, Serog reasoned, “Hardly a price at all since you were going to throw it away.” Suddenly, the mirror image was standing behind her. “Even if you didn’t jump, how long could you live with all this shame and pain?”

  Corrie choked back a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

  “A part of you will live on in me. We’re joined already in the Eog. You drank from my life. All we need to do to complete the circle is let me drink from you.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “It will be like entering a dream. Since I feel what your body does, I’ll take every effort to avoid future pain. If there’s too much discomfort, you can slip away any time you like.”

  “I don’t know,” Corrie said, sitting on the bed.

  Serog knelt behind her on the bed, wrapped her arms around the noblewoman, and whispered in her ear, “If you don’t go, by noon Pagaose is going to be pulling his pants down for sweet, young Majah.”

  “Stop.”

  “I can stop him from doing that: thrusting into her, again and again, in the name of empire and honor. Eventually, he might even like it.”

  “Fill me!” she shouted.

  Serog locked mouths with her, and Corrie felt like she was drowning. The pressure built in her ears, nose, and mouth. Instead of fighting the inevitable, Corrie inhaled as hard as she could and let the peace settle over her.

  ****

  Serog staggered to the mirror. The fox cowered in the corner of the room, ears down. Her host’s eyes were the purest Imperial ice, but bloodshot. Her body was beautiful, if dressed in tatters. The figurine around her neck was completely clear; the woman had swallowed all the emotion at once. No matter, she wouldn’t need the body for more than a few hours.

  “First we free you, as promised.”

  Closing her eyes, Serog entered proto-dream, located Komiko, and sent a message like a lightning bolt. “Holding me hostage at the new lighthouse. Help.”

  Komiko arrived inside half an hour with fifty Imperial soldiers. She hugged Serog tightly. “We were so worried about you. You look so pale.”

  “Drugs,” Serog said, feigning weakness. “Lord Ashford tortured me and was going to have me killed in a terrible fashion if Pagaose didn’t do what he wanted.”

  “Poor dear. We’ll keep you out of sight until Pagaose has him punished.”

  Revenge accomplished, Serog proceeded to the next goal. “I need food and a dress.”

  “You’re going to the Dance?” Komiko said incredulous.

  “It’s going to hurt worse than my scar,” Serog lied. “But I owe Pagaose a debt. I need to make sure he gets what he deserves.”

  “I know you can find him a more suitable wife than Majah; you know him so well. We’ll take you back to the palace to get your belongings. I kept them in my old room: your wand, sword, and the rest. You don’t have shoes, and you look exhausted. Use my palanquin; my butt was blistered by the heat the ward stone absorbed and I’m tired of sitting.”

  “You’re a good friend,” Serog said with no emotion. Tentatively, she placed her bare foot on solid land outside the door. She was standing on the lands of men without pain. Her curse was broken. “The emperor said I was invited if I looked human.”

  “Pardon?”

  Climbing into the palanquin, Serog said, “I mean: I need a lot of work before I’m presentable. Could we go straight to the hair and dress shops?”

  “Sure. What about Kitten? Sir Rensalier doesn’t allow pets.” When Komiko called his name, the fox trotted over to her ankle but didn’t approach his master’s possessed body.

  Serog knew that animals didn’t like spirits. “He should go to bed. He was up all night fretting. They won’t allow him at the Dance either.”

  “I suppose. Maybe he just needs some bacon!” This got the fox’s attention. “I’ll get your makeup and meet you there.”

  “And the sword, please.”

  “Why?” asked Komiko.

  “I’m thinking of performing a saber dance.”

  “That’s what Ember was going to do. You’re going to perform a tribute?”

  “Yes. I settle my debts.”

  ****

  The beauticians worked on her for three hours, starting with eye drops, a bath, and wax. Corrie assured her the pain was normal. The workers brought her fruit, so she ate it. The sensations were intoxicating after so long away from a human body. She fell asleep during the hair cleaning and cutting. When she awoke, Komiko was standing beside her in a formal dress, smiling. “You’re gorgeous. Look.”

  Serog stood and gazed in the mirror. The makeup made her eyes stand out even more and took years off her age.

  Komiko said, “Follow me to the dressmaker. We’re running late and don’t have much time. The trip takes about an hour.”

  Rensalier fussed over Serog, apologizing repeatedly for something about a house. The dress was a silvery sheath that accentuated every curve. When he was done, she said, “Leave me.”

  The owner and his lackeys disappeared into the back of the store.

  Alone, she gazed at the mirror. The dress had a slit that went from ankle to thigh. “That should get the desired attention. Still, it needs something.” Tapping a little dream energy from the Door, she copied a spell she’d seen Sarajah employ often, transforming the appearance of the dress into overlapping silver scales. The shimmering fabric resembled her former dragon hide—poetic. She loosened the shoes a tad while she was at it. After having claws for so long, binding her feet felt wrong.

  When Serog strode into the hall, the guards all swiveled their heads and stared. Komiko’s jaw dropped. “I can see why that dress got you arrested. Wow. No one’s going to be looking at the candidates with you on the platform.”

  They rode palanquins to the docks in silence. On the ship, the flustered witch handed her a bundle. “This is for you.” Serog opened the rice-paper wrapping and found a six-foot-long, gossamer shawl, tatted with six-sided symbols that resembled snowflakes. “The two modesty veils are from Sarajah, even though they don’t cover much. Widows wrap themselves with them. She had it embroidered with hexagrams as a joke.”

  “It’s wonderful.”

  “The earrings are from me, made from white peacock feathers, your favorite.”

  “Thank you. I don’t have jewelry since my fall and imprisonment. Could you assist me putting them on?”


  Komiko gladly helped her attach the earrings and arrange the wrap over her head and shoulders. Every bit of skin was still visible. “When you turn your head fast, you have wings.”

  “Yes.”

  ****

  They arrived at the ceremony with only a few bits to spare. Once on the memorial, Serog removed her shoes and carried them. “When I’m nervous, I like to dig my toes into the . . . sand.”

  “Hey, I don’t wear underwear. Who am I to judge?” Komiko whispered. “I think Anna is holding things for us. I have to stand at the back of the line. See you later!”

  The sunlight was proving difficult for Serog, though. It made her squint and the moving deck made her sway. She had to let the animal host take care of more of the lower functions. People stopped staring as her movement grew more smooth and graceful.

  Niftkin greeted her at the ribbon-festooned entry arch, kissing her hand. “You are radiant, lady. Forgive me for not heading the rescue myself, but my injury prevented.”

  Her body smiled gracefully. “You’re a good son,” Serog said, trying to edge past him.

  “Sorry, I can’t let you pass with a sword. Someone loyal to the Pretender may steal it from you and make an assassination attempt. You’d be a prime target.”

  “But . . .” She had a choice. Serog could cut him down with the blade and charge the emperor. However, the emperor entered only after the dancers paraded. Blast. As chaperone, she’d merely call the emperor aside during the parade and kill him under the seats. Batting her eyelashes, she presented the weapon and bowed. Her dress strained at the action.

  When he handed the sword to the soldier behind him, Niftkin said, “In sixteen years, my wife is still going to look like that.”

  “Lucky dog.”

  She straightened with pride. When she reached Anna at the ring, Serog said, “I’ll take the list now.”

  “Nope. Emperor’s orders. I’m the chaperone now. It was part of a decree yesterday.”

  Her face fell. “But I promised.”

  Anna smiled. “I know a back way in. Come with me.”

  Serog planned to jump Anna and seize the slate, but the woman led her to the first and only open spot in the central dance floor. “This isn’t the stands.”

  “The only Evershade ticket is your daughter’s, which she turned in to the chaperone the night she decided to light the hexagram with Niftkin. She slipped it onto your slate back then, but with prison and the war, you never got back to your office. You are technically the number-one ticket holder.”

  Serog blinked. “I . . . can’t be a Dancer.”

  Anna whispered, “Remember how you changed the law for me? A faithful widow can compete. There are half a dozen here today, thanks to you. You don’t legally have an heir anymore, so you qualify.”

  “I . . . don’t have a dance prepared.”

  “You helped everyone else with theirs. Komiko mentioned that you wanted to do a tribute to Ember. The musicians all practiced her piece—‘Raising the Leviathan’. It’s popular with belly dancers, I’m told. The notes say that your individual talent section begins when the strings stop playing.”

  “But—”

  Someone signaled Anna, and she bellowed final instructions to all fifty of the girls. “Smile and wave; everyone is watching. If a man dances with someone else after you, don’t despair; he could still come back. Lady Evershade says that young men often promise their parents that they will dance with certain women or a specific number of women to meet family obligations. However, frowning will make certain you don’t get picked.”

  Then the trumpets blared, and Anna ran to introduce Pagaose. The crowd cheered. Serog wondered what she was going to do.

  You promised me a dance. Thank you. I can die happy now.

  Oops. Serog smiled broadly and waved during the parade. When she stopped at her mark, the emperor was already waiting, staring at her. Anna said, “You’re early.”

  Pagaose shook his head. “I’m woefully late. I should have done this months ago.”

  The other dancers cleared off to the side to watch the warm up. The word “sympathy” buzzed around the arena. A few smirked at her age and gossiped about what they’d do for their dance with the emperor.

  Corrie’s heart beat faster, and she dropped her shoes. Serog, unfamiliar with the dance that was beginning, let the host have just a little more leeway and control. The emperor pulled her close in a classic stance, but gazed into her eyes without moving for the first measure. He inhaled her smell, and his eyes lost focus. He was thoroughly smitten and wouldn’t see the attack before it was too late. She’d give them the dance, and during the dip at the end, she’d rip out his throat in front of everyone. “I think they’re expecting movement.”

  Startled, he led her awkwardly through the steps. “Relax,” he recited. “It’s about feeling, not doing. Communicating, not repeating.” In rhythm to his words and the music, she moved her hips against his. The effect was electrifying for both of them.

  He gripped her tightly and dipped her during the first pause, kissing her as he raised her back up. Even Serog felt the chemistry between these two. She stepped back a little more and the dance sped up. When he spun her outward, her head covering slipped back and her hair and skirt raised up. She moved with the easy dexterity that only the air spirits could manage.

  They passed each other several times, and she stamped to the increasing speed of the drums. Panting with exertion, she raised her arms and swirled around him, lost in the beat of the cymbals. Her gossamer shawl spread like her wings as she stalked him. Predator and prey, they danced until the strings stopped.

  Now everyone watched her. Corrie had nothing planned, but the image of wings inspired Serog. Leaning forward, she extended one leg back and performed an ancient kata of the air style. As she danced around him, several feints passed dangerously close, so that he had to hold perfectly still. The crowd ooohed in appreciation. What they didn’t notice was the length of gossamer Serog was wrapping tightly around his knees with every hop and spin. For the finale, she bent back and aimed the fatal kick at his throat.

  She’d forgotten that he was a Master of Water. He shifted by reflex and caught her ankle. Enough of her weight rested on that leg that she was totally at his mercy. He had to know what she’d attempted.

  Rather than break her leg, the emperor kissed the inside of her knee. The sensation was not unpleasant. She allowed him to help her stand and let Corrie distract him with a full-body kiss. She made two fingers rigid to jam them into his solar plexus.

  Then the emperor slipped a sesterina coil from around his wrist. The music stopped ominously. Did he suspect? Was it a weapon?

  He grabbed her left arm and slipped a betrothal coil over her wrist. The most expensive and rare metal, sesterina stung spirits like Serog, causing a brief, aetheric loop. As Serog reeled and tried to reenact the possession procedure, her host repeated her last autonomous statement. “Fill me.”

  Chapter 54 – The Letter of the Oath

  Before she could regain control, Pagaose was carrying her host to his ship as they kissed.

  Another miscalculation. Panting, Serog resolved to kill him as soon as they were in private.

  Corrie’s body was going wild. Months of dream experiments and years of abstinence sent record levels of hormones through her body. The lust and loneliness she’d ingested from the figurine wasn’t helping either. Pagaose kissed her neck, and she forgot about the immediate killing. The animal was taking over. It had been a very long time for Serog too.

  Perhaps a little sex wouldn’t hurt. Afterward, he’d be distracted and vulnerable.

  When they reached the bedroom she was surprised to find her dress had slipped off, literally by magic. Oops. The emperor didn’t notice the lapse or object. Instead, he threw her onto the bed at the same moment she unclasped his belt.

  She ceded control to the host, and they became a blur of flesh and pent-up desire. He was holding back to push her over the edge first, and it w
as working. There may have been shouting. She definitely raked him with her claws, but only from dragon instinct. Directly under the Compass Star, however, the marks healed quickly. When she pulled back to apologize, he attacked her breast with his mouth.

  She whited-out briefly. When Serog regained control, they were both sprawled on the bed, panting. The experience left her humming, and she took a few bits to recover.

  Then Serog found the perfect moment. His eyes were closed, and she was inches from his exposed throat. She tapped the Door magic to re-grow her fangs. Pouncing on the sated man, she pinned his chest, clamped her mouth onto his neck, and sucked his life essence. He tasted wonderful, nothing like the criminals. He kept filling her with liquid sunshine, no matter how much she drank, courtesy of the invisible sun and his healing abilities.

  As she did her best to drain him, Pagaose writhed with pleasure under her. She drank until she could contain no more and had to pull her fangs free to breathe. Sweating and shaky, she gripped the bedpost.

  “I love you, Corrie. You’re more than I ever imagined, my Nightingale,” he whispered.

  Corrie’s heart couldn’t have bloomed more.

  Serog blinked at the final word, the translation of her true name. “You know who I am?”

  “We are legally married.”

  “W-w-wait. How?”

  “I offered, you accepted, and we had sex, better than the dreams. It was worth the wait.”

  “How did you know I was . . .?”

  “Serog?” he said, and the word thrilled her. Damn hormones. “Your smell—blood-oranges and eucalyptus, just like our night visits.”

  “They weren’t . . . I wasn’t . . .” But she realized—they had been. Her enemy had been courting her all along, every time he met her on the dueling grounds and confessed his hopes and failings. Serog had comforted him and eventually given him something precious—her faith.

  “I’m so glad you survived,” he said. “The two of you’ve presented me with a solution I never considered.”

  “I have to kill you, dear. I swore.”

  “Hmm,” Pagaose said, stroking her stomach.

  His warm tickling of her hair made her want to purr. “Stop that; you’re just trying to confuse me.” Serog backed away.