by Dan O'Brien
“Men mean nothing to us, Chancellor. We have no delusions about being a fair and equal society as the liars of Scythia seem to. The males are not ill-used if that is your concern. They are treated well, as Agrona so succinctly spoke,” replied Dione in satisfaction.
Doren sighed and leaned forward, resting his powerful hands on his knees. “Lordess Ascendant, we have clearly had our jabs at the misfortunes and pitfalls of our societies. And if this were a meeting about an impending war, I would welcome the insults and slurs. This, however, is a mission of peace and arbitration between our two nations. The Crimson Throne received a delegation from the Marshes who wished to secure rights with our nation. We turned them away.”
“The Marshes? They send delegations now?” chided Athena.
Aurora spoke softly as she asked her question.
“Why did you turn them away, Sir Doren?”
Dione could not hide her irritation at the formal manner with which Aurora addressed him.
Doren replied frankly. “We do not speak for the people east of the Arcadians and south of the Great Rift. If they seek citizenship or allegiance, they must kneel before the Ivory Throne.”
The Lordess Ascendant was pleased by the knight’s acknowledgement of the authority of Pa’ngarin. “That was a wise decision, son of Dominus. I did not think the Abomination as clever as that.”
Chancellor Malius cleared his throat, attempting to reclaim his position as speaker for Scythia. “It was not Lord Dominus who turned them away, Lady Dione, but Craius, his youngest son. He is quite astute.”
Now that Aurora had arrived, the Lordess felt compelled to go on the offensive. “Let us get to the matters before us. The trade of men for women to populate each of our nations was clearly defined in Juno’s Compromise. We are quite satisfied with the men we received from the West. As such, I am disinclined to change the terms of an agreement that has served both empires for years. Regarding your proposal about men from the West settling in Pa’ngarin territory, I wish to make myself very clear. Our borders are closed to Scythia, Chancellor. If the people of the Marshes find this unsatisfactory, you may take them on as vassals. But cross the Arcadians or the Great Rift with an army and the mercy we showed you during the Agatheon Wars will be a distant memory.”
Doren looked at Dione, the surprise on his face leaking through his soldierly veneer. “You would threaten open war with Scythia? Are you so powerful that you do not fear the cost of such a declaration?”
The Chancellor gathered his robe around him in bunches. “You cannot speak to us as thus, Lady Dione. We are representatives of a lawful nation of this realm, not a lame horse you can put to pasture.”
Longede summoned what little pride he had as a Drift Knight. “The men of Scythia remain a powerful enemy if you so desire…”
Dione stood quickly, her eyes dissolving into globes of pure white. “You cannot come here and intimidate us. We do not fear your steel and horse-stink, boy. I only speak to you in this way so that you understand our determination. We will not waver. The treaty will stand as it has since her compromise. We will send you women who do not ascend to be your wives and whores. Provide us the same courtesy without complaint, Chancellor.”
“You will not yield territory?” asked Doren.
“No, the borders of Pa’ngarin will not be moved,” replied Dione.
“And the people of the marshes may not make settlements?” continued the son of Dominus.
Shaking her head, the Lordess smiled. “They may rot in the South.”
The Chancellor threw his hands into the air and stood. “There will be no discussion of terms, no deliberations about our concerns?”
“Juno’s Compromise was simply that: a compromise. Had she wished it then, Scythia would have been ruins and smoldering ash. If anything, we should demand more of your young men, son of Dominus.”
Doren sat back and crossed his arms in frustration, while Malius glared at the Lordess behind his sunken eyes and wintry beard. Regaining his composure, the Chancellor once more assumed airs. “What then can we reach an agreement on, Lady Dione? We have traveled too far to return with nothing.”
During the entire exchange Aurora sat quietly, her thoughts drifting to Aeschylus and then her garden. Suddenly, she realized that her mother was staring at her intently. With a start, the heiress shook off her reverie and spoke with surprise. “Mother, is something the matter?”
Dione looked to Doren slowly.
“Do you find my daughter attractive, son of Dominus?”
Doren stumbled over his words. “Quite so, Lordess Ascendant.”
Dione stood and approached the Chancellor. “I have something you may take to the Abomination. Doren, son of Dominus, will give my daughter a child. This child will bind our two nations for as long as the child lives. If Aurora bears a girl, she will be Lordess Ascendant. And if the child is male, he may rule from your dirty throne.”
“Mother?!” cried Aurora, standing quickly.
Doren stood as well. “I do not think a child will soothe the aching wounds between Scythia and Pa’ngarin, Lordess Ascendant. Though I would be honored to be a father to such a child, this solution leaves the underlying problem unresolved.”
Dione looked at him smugly. “This is all I am willing to offer, heir to the Crimson Throne. You may have a child with my daughter.”
The Chancellor cleared his throat.
“Would this not kill our young heir in the process?”
“You think me too cruel, Chancellor Malius. My daughter will ascend first. Your heir will be quite safe in the arms of my daughter, and well taken care of, I imagine. The poor thing is starved for physical affection.”
Aurora could feel her cheeks redden. “Mother, I….”
Dione turned to Athena who stepped forward between the men and the Lordess Ascendant. “It is decided, Chancellor. My daughter will ascend and your heir may plant his seed in no more than a moon’s cycle.”
The Chancellor bowed. “So says I’mann.”
“So says I’mann,” murmured Doren as the Lordess and her entourage stepped off the platform, signaling the end of their talks. Aurora quickly followed her mother, muttering angrily about something.
“I guess we leave,” spoke Longede slowly as he reached up and scratched his head.
Doren turned. “It would appear so.”
The Chancellor stood with a groan, allowing Agrona to take his arm. “This is the best one of these meetings has ever gone, Doren.”
“How so?”
“No one was ordered to die.” Agrona helped the Chancellor down the steps to the stone floor of the Court of the Nine Blossoms. As they slowly walked away, Doren was struck by the brutality of life.
Aurora
A full day passed and the irritation and embarrassment of her mother bargaining away her womb had only begun to lift from her mind. Aurora was not bothered so much that her womb was being used as a tool to secure peace, but could not pardon the ease with which her mother had offered it to the young heir of Scythia.
She wished that Aeschylus were here to comfort her, but he had been ordered away on business for the Inquisitors. Aurora knew that Lady Dione would not have him murdered outright because he was too valuable, but this did not stop the heiress from speculating on the reason for their sudden separation.
As Aurora watched Helius, it calmed her mind. Were it not for his presence, she would not have fared as well as she had thus far.
The young boy was at the kitchen table, busy sorting vegetables from the young Maiden’s garden. His thick gloves were far too large for his small hands and his eyes were bright, happier than she had seen them since coming to Pa’ngarin.
“What are these?” he asked, holding up a thick vegetable with hardened ridges.
“A ve’ferreus, Helius. Their centers are quite delicious if you have the patience to peel away all of the layers.” Aurora took a few small steps closer to the table. “I must admit I get quite cross when I cannot get to the jui
cy bits fast enough.”
Helius laughed.
It was the kind of laugh that should be afforded to every child, a carefree exuberance that both warmed Aurora’s heart and made it sink. She knew what would come next; the powers that be of Pa’ngarin would not allow her to keep a male child who was not hers by blood.
A knock at the door drew her attention.
She lingered, looking longingly at Helius and the life she could never know. As she trudged to the door and opened it, she was struck by a feeling of great dread.
Her apprehension was well founded.
Two Curators stood on either side of a naked man. Upon seeing Aurora, they smiled wickedly and departed without a word.
The man was completely shaven, even his skull shone as if freshly waxed. His engorged penis was wrapped tightly with leather strapping, something that did not look altogether comfortable to Aurora.
“May I help you?” managed the heiress, though she knew quite well why the man was standing on her stoop.
He lifted his head and looked into Aurora’s eyes. His dark brown eyes were vast reservoirs of despair and hatred.
“Lady Dione,” he began, his speech fractured. “Sent me…to you.”
Looking back inside her domicile, she saw Helius sitting quietly sorting through the labors of her garden. She could feel the seconds pass as she thought carefully of what to do next. Stepping toward the man, Aurora blushed and placed a hand on his chest.
“I am flattered,” she began.
His heavy brown eyes watched her carefully.
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“To whose House do you belong?”
He looked down, his muscles flexing without provocation.
“Lady Dione.”
Aurora grimaced and sighed, pressing one of her hands against the stone wall just outside her home. Her gaze lingered on the steel collar encircling the man’s throat. The Lordess Ascendant had sent her daughter a slave: a slave with whom she should have sex. Her mother wished her to destroy this man so that she may maintain her political power.
Anger raged in her.
Looking at the exposed slave, she realized his plight. The women of Pa’ngarin had adopted a selfish attitude, just as the kings and unwashed men had before them. Too often they forgot about the lives and minds of others. This poor man had been committed to his death, marched to her doorstep where he would be used and then discarded.
The thought sickened Aurora.
“I will not be taking your life today,” she murmured.
The man knelt then, his nudity more pronounced and his status made all the more prominent. “I must do as told.”
Aurora reached down and touched the man’s shoulder. “I cannot lay with you. It would be too cruel to condemn you to such a death,” replied the heiress evenly.
Grabbing the bottom of the heiress’ dress, the slave tightened his grip.
“Die here or die there, no matter…”
Aurora looked around the vacant streets and wondered what the other Praesto residents would think of her if they saw a nude man, who was quite close to crying, prostrated at her feet. Though she knew it was unlikely that anyone was watching because the residents of the Praesto district spent most of their time in their sprawling homes cavorting about in whatever way suited them the best.
After a few moments, she decided it would look better if the man came inside. With a sigh, she opened the door and ushered the slave inside her home. She looked into the kitchen and saw that Helius was still toiling with the basket of vegetables at his feet and various herbs stacked in small piles. Then she led the man to a couch, over which a dark blue shawl had been thrown. Lifting and wrapping the shawl around him in one smooth movement, she sat him down.
The man seemed smaller in the confines of the heiress’ home.
It did not take long for Helius to recognize there was someone else there.
“Lady Aurora, who is this man?” he asked as he approached them.
Aurora was not certain how to explain the situation to the orphan.
“He was sent here by my mother to…”
“To help you ascend?”
The heiress looked at Helius with somber eyes.
“Yes, Helius.”
“Will you do it?” he asked earnestly.
Aurora knelt so that she was face to face with the boy.
“No, I will not.”
“Is it because you love Aeschylus?”
The heiress could not help but blush at the mention of her guardian’s name. “Yes, very much. I do not wish to end this man’s life, nor do I wish to hurt Aeschylus.”
The slave continued to stare ahead.
Helius looked at him and grimaced.
Aurora gazed at the slave, her expression growing more solemn. “This is the cost of our arrogance, Helius. In our zeal not to be second-class citizens, we committed vengeance upon all men. We have become no better than the Scythians.”
“You must help him.”
Aurora had already considered this. She knew Aeschylus would be disappointed if she took the man’s life, or if she saved him. Both posed too great a risk to the heiress, and her guardian would be quick to remind her how important she was.
Looking at the blank expression on the slave’s face, she made up her mind. “Helius, fetch one of the long bags from beside the stove. Fill it with what we purchased at the market today,” she commanded.
Helius smiled.
The boy disappeared into the kitchen, his footfalls echoing as he moved about the small area. Aurora looked at the blue shawl wrapped around the slave’s shoulders and knew he would not make it far with only the one garment. Pushing open the door to her bedroom, she retrieved the torn clothing she had taken from Aeschylus after his beating. The thought of the whipping gave her pause, made her frightened of the consequences of what she planned to do.
She gathered the stained shirts and returned to the sitting room. The man had not moved. He was a shaved statue cast in cerulean. Placing the pile of clothes in front of him, she steeled her voice. “Remove the shawl and put on these clothes.”
He obliged, dropping the shawl and standing up in all his nudity. Aurora was not as embarrassed this time. The fluttering in her stomach and the beating of her heart was from fear this time, not arousal.
Helius returned with the bag of supplies just as the slave pulled the torn shirt over his shoulders.
“Give the pack here, Helius.” The boy did as he was told––stepping back after the heiress had taken it from him. She adjusted the bag’s straps. Looking at the slave, her voice resumed its cold edge. “Place this around your shoulders. Cinch it around your waist once you have done so.”
The slave nodded and did as he was told.
He continued to stare at Aurora, his wide eyes empty.
“Where am I going?” he croaked hoarsely.
“You are going to leave Pa’ngarin and never return.”
The man looked frightened.
He touched the collar around his neck with fidgety fingers.
Backing away from Aurora, he fell onto the couch. His eyes––which seemed incapable of becoming wider previously––eclipsed into translucent pools. Words frantically tumbled from his mouth. “I cannot….”
The heiress knelt slowly.
Reaching out and touching his knee––an act that drew a wild look from him––she spoke in a calm voice. “If you do not leave Pa’ngarin forever, you will die. I do not wish to take your life, nor do I wish your death. So, I ask you to flee.”
Helius approached the man slowly.
Aurora watched him from the corner of her eye. She could feel her heart thunder in her chest. Part of her knew she continued to make foolish mistakes, errors that would cost someone’s life. As the man contemplated his flight, the heiress thought only of Aeschylus.
Aeschylus
There were not many taverns in Pa’ngarin, and even fewer that catered to the
nameless men of the white city. Deep in the Sollemne, beside the darkest of alleys and dreariest of beaten homes, was a building with no door. The interior was lit dimly by scattered torches that threatened to fade and dwindle with the slightest sneeze.
In this building with no door, raised voices echoed.
There was no barkeep to serve them.
Its hard-packed dirt floor was scattered with hay and bristles of brush. Its tables, earthen and constructed of uneven planks of wood, were filled shoulder to shoulder with loud, brash men who pounded their chests and drank deeply from dented jars filled to the brim with frothing brown liquid. They wore the garb of soldiers and bore the names of their rank. Removed from their duty and servitude, the men were raucous.
Aeschylus looked out of place among so many rowdy men. His somber demeanor was accentuated by his uneven, matted hair and the faraway stare in his glassy, blue eyes. As he lifted a swollen jar to his lips, a large man plopped down next to him with a grin.
“Loyal servant of the heiress of Pa’ngarin, why do you look so pained?” asked the man. His heavy face was marred with thick scars. He was called Sarge by the other men.
The guardian hiccupped and raised a shaky finger in response as he set his jar down too hard, the liquid sloshing over the brim and onto his pants.
“This world,” he began.
Sarge looked at Aeschylus with a lopsided grin. “I believe you were about to say something profound.”
The guardian looked at him grimly. “Pa’ngarin is the center of this world,” he spoke drunkenly. He squinted as he searched for the right words to fill his tirade. “And she…she is….”
“I assume we are talking about the nubile, young heiress whom you serve,” replied Sarge easily, despite his inebriation.
Aeschylus stared at him, blinking rapidly.
“Aurora, yes, that is right. I was thinking of Aurora.”
