"Some are not pleased that a foreigner sits at the head of their hall," Atalia said to Berengar. "That a dark demon is betrothed to the chieftain."
Berengar nodded. "Some here are ignorant, and they've never traveled beyond Gael. To them, all foreigners are the same as Aelarians—cruel people to fear and hate."
"But you've traveled." Atalia looked at him. "You speak flawless Aelarian."
Berengar gazed across the hall of feasting warriors. "My father fought the Aelarians as I do. The legionaries slew him when I was just a boy. I was taken captive to Aelar, collared, shackled, a slave."
Atalia placed down her gravy-soaked slice of bread. She thought of Koren and Ofeer, still slaves in Aelar. "I'm sorry, Berengar."
He raised his eyebrows. "Sorry? I was not. I served for several years as a slave, scrubbing latrines, sweeping chimneys, doing whatever tasks my master commanded. On his deathbed, my master freed me, and I became a citizen of Aelar. And so I joined the legions."
Atalia's eyes widened. "You fought in the legions? The force that killed your father?"
"I trained with them. I marched with them. I fought with them in the cold, northern Elania and the hot, southern Phedia. I learned how they work." Berengar smiled thinly. "When I defected, when I returned here to Gael, I knew how to defeat them." He rose to his feet, lifted his horn of mead, and cried out to the crowd. "We are victorious!"
He repeated the words in Gaelian, and the warriors roared in approval. They too rose to their feet, raising their horns.
"Victorious!" they chanted. "Victorious!"
Atalia did not rise. As the warriors cheered, she clutched her eagle standard so tightly her knuckles whitened.
No, she thought. No.
She too rose to her feet. She raised her eagle standard high.
"Hear me!" she cried. "Hear me, warriors of Gael!"
She couldn't speak their language. She cried out in Aelarian, a language all noble children of Zohar studied. The warriors turned toward her, muttering again, pointing, cursing, spitting.
Atalia looked at Feina, wife of the chieftain. "Will you translate for me?"
Feina's cheeks were flushed pink with mead, but she nodded and came to stand by Atalia, repeating her words in the rich, guttural language of Gael.
"You cheer for victory!" Atalia said. "Yet you've smashed only three legions among many. You roar for triumph! And yet even as you feast here, Aelar musters for vengeance. Don't you realize that Empress Porcia will send her wrath against us, to burn these halls, to reclaim her eagles?"
As Feina translated, the tribesmen glanced at one another. Mutterings of disapproval rose in the hall. A man spat toward her. Another tossed a flagon her way. A burly, red-cheeked warrior shouted at her in Gaelian, spraying spittle.
"He asks," said Feina, "what a foreigner would know of our wars."
Atalia doubted that the man had said "foreigner." Judging by how he clutched his crotch, she could imagine the true name he had given her.
Atalia stared at the brute, speaking loudly, refusing to look away. "I know what I saw in Zohar. I saw an Aelar that will not relent until it crushes its enemies. I know what I saw at sea. An Aelar that smashed the fleet of Gael, drowning many of your brothers and sisters."
The men roared with fury.
"This is not the sea!" one man shouted. "This is not Zohar. This is the heartland of Gael, a mighty city upon a mighty mountain."
Atalia scoffed. "A city with walls of wood. A city full of huts with thatch roofs. A noble city, yes. A city of brave, fair people. A beautiful city. But a city of wood and straw nonetheless. Don't you think that Aelar, a nation that built a city of marble and limestone, of steel and iron, a city where a million souls live together—that this nation could not storm across this mountain, could not burn down this hall? We crushed three legions, yes. Yet Aelar commands seventy legions! We cannot withstand them."
The warriors bellowed. They tossed bones and flagons her way.
"We will slay them if they come!" a man cried.
"Burn the damn whore!" shouted another man; this time Feina translated the words truly.
Atalia growled and leaped onto the tabletop. "Whore? I am your chieftain's betrothed, and I proved myself in battle. I claimed an eagle." She raised her Aquila standard overhead. "And I intend to claim more. The time for hiding in the forests is over. I will march to Aelar! I will attack the stone walls of their city. I will invade the palace of the empress, and I will shove this standard up her ass. Who is with me?"
Now the crowd roared with approval.
"To Aelar!" they cried.
Atalia raised her standard overhead. "Fuck the empress!"
"Fuck the empress!" they shouted.
She was so consumed with her rage Atalia barely noticed that Berengar had placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned toward him, chest rising and falling as she panted. His eyes were stern.
"Atalia, you fought bravely," the chieftain said. "You defeated Aelarians in battle, and you defeated me. You might be brave, and you might be my betrothed, but you do not rule the warriors of Gael."
She raised her chin. "But I rule you, my betrothed." She grabbed his shoulders, digging her fingernails into him. "Let us fight Aelar in their city. They invaded your land. Let us invade theirs. Let us fight Porcia together, Berengar. You and I will send their walls crumbling down."
His eyes were dark. "I've seen the city of Aelar. You have not. I've seen its might."
She bared her teeth. "You told me that Zohar and Nur rise in rebellion. That Porcia sees enemies in every corner. That the Senate has burned, that Aelarian fights against Aelarian. The Empire is cracked. It's time to swing our hammers, to send Aelar crumbling."
Inwardly she winced at her choice of words. She remembered Seneca swinging his own hammer, nailing Jerael to the cross.
They say you fled to Nur, Atalia thought. But I promise you, Seneca. I will hunt you down. Wherever you are, I will hunt you, and I will kill you.
"It would take every tribe in Gael, across all our forests and valleys and mountains, to defeat the Empire," Berengar said. "I've united seven among many."
Atalia allowed herself a savage smile. "Then we'll unite the others. They'll rally around us, joining to fight a common enemy. The tide is turning on Aelar. The Empire will fall. And we'll be there to watch it burn."
VALENTINA
She's going to kill me. Valentina rode through the shadows, wrapped in a cloak. She's going to find me, and she's going to kill me.
The dark city spread around her, a labyrinth of twisting alleyways, hulking buildings, and statues that loomed like demons. Some poets called Aelar a city of light, but they lied. Here, in the dead of night, Valentina rode through a city of darkness, of fear, of knives in every shadow.
She's going to kill me. She has men everywhere. She wants me dead.
Valentina shuddered as she rode, wishing the roads were wider, wishing her horse could gallop rather than walk so slowly along the cobblestones. So many dead. Over the past month, Valentina had seen more people slain than most soldiers ever did. The senators. Her uncles and aunts. Her cousins. Butchered, one by one.
"They want my throne!" Porcia would say to her, shaking her, her eyes mad. "All of them. They want to be emperor. They have to die. They have to die, Valentina! They want what is mine. Anyone who wants my throne must perish."
Every day, Porcia saw new enemies. One day she had claimed that the head of her household guard was after her throne. She had the man stabbed and tossed into the river. Another day, Valentina had claimed that her second cousin, a sniveling boy, could contend for the throne. Hired knives invaded the boy's home that night, slaughtered him, slaughtered his family, and set the home ablaze.
"I will kill them all," Porcia had said. "All those who want what is mine."
And so Valentina rode here in the night, leaving the Acropolis behind. Perhaps she would never see her palace, her city again.
If she slew even her most distant relatives, thinking them con
tenders to the throne, how long can I, her sister, survive?
Valentina made her way along the eastern streets, keeping off the main boulevards. Apartment blocks rose at her sides, and clouds hid the stars. Only a few scattered lanterns lit the darkness, and no Magisterian guards patrolled these streets. A few drunkards leaned against the wall, calling out to her. Valentina kneed her horse, rushing by them, sending the men falling back. Water splashed from puddles, and she rode onward, passing through a courtyard and around a well. An archway led to a road between workshops and smelters, and the air smelled tangy and oily.
Of course, I'm not her true sister, Valentina thought. She had been stolen as a babe from her true family. She had been raised in the palace, the adopted daughter of Emperor Marcus.
You don't know, Porcia, Valentina thought. You don't know that Septimus Cassius—the senator you murdered—was my true father. You think I'm your sister . . . which means that soon, as you butcher all your other enemies, you will see me as a contender to the throne too. You will think that I, a family member, plot to supplant you. And then your knives will find me too.
It seemed hours before Valentina reached the city's outer wall. She rode through the gates and across the dark countryside. The stars guided her way.
Once, I thought I would escape Aelar with you, Iris, she thought, remembering her lumer, her companion, her lover. Once, I thought we'd flee together by sea, sail to Zohar, live along that beach that was your home. I never thought I'd be escaping like this—escaping a city that's no longer a home, escaping a tyrant, my family gone . . . you gone.
She rode over the hills, along the road that Emperor Marcus had taken so often, returning from some distant campaign with slaves and spoils of war, leading thousands. Valentina rode alone. Her lumer was dead. Her fathers—the true father and the man who had stolen and raised her—both gone. Her mother had died when soldiers cut Valentina out from her womb. Her stepbrother, her dear Seneca, had fled already, fled without her. And so Valentina rode here with only her horse as a companion, carrying only a few supplies in a pack. A few clothes. A purse of coins. Maps, water, food enough for a few days. That was all.
She rode for hours across the countryside, seeing assassins in every shadow, until she felt as paranoid as Porcia.
Finally dawn rose over the hills, and the horizon seemed to blaze with fire, deep orange beneath the clouds. A row of cypresses rose ahead, and Valentina rode toward it. Past the trees, she rode through a vineyard, across a stone bridge that spanned a stream, and toward limestone walls. Beyond rose the villa of House Valerius.
Perhaps my only allies, Valentina thought.
Claudia, her old friend, emerged from the columned villa and met her in the yard. Five years older than Valentina, Claudia was everything the princess was not. While Valentina was pale and meek, an albino with white hair and colorless eyes, Claudia was brass, outspoken, her hair dark, her hazel eyes fiercely intelligent, eyes that never shied away from anything, even as Valentina's eyes were often darting and staring down at her feet. Claudia would know what to do. Claudia always knew.
"Valentina!" Claudia reached out and helped her dismount. "You're trembling! Come, come inside."
Claudia placed an arm around her and guided her toward the villa. They passed between the portico's columns and into a vestibule. Statues of the gods rose here on pedestals, and a fresco of suns and stars covered the ceiling. Claudia led her to a rotunda, its ceiling a mosaic depicting generations of Valerius lords and ladies. Claudia's face too appeared in the mosaic, the last to be added. A second mosaic sprawled across the floor, depicting maidens and amorous gods dancing in a vineyard.
They reclined here on pillows before a low table, and a slave served breakfast. There were apples and figs, tangy cheese, bread drizzled with olive oil, tilapia fried with lemon and garlic, and soft-boiled quail eggs. Valentina was surprised by her appetite. She ate heartily, and she spoke between bites, confiding in her friend, speaking of the blood washing Aelar.
"I'm afraid," Valentina whispered. "So many dead in the city. I had to come here. To the countryside. To you. What do I do, Claudia?"
The slave—a young man with dark hair, sharp features, and tanned skin—refilled Claudia's cup of tea. He glanced forward once and met Valentina's eyes, then quickly looked away. There was something familiar about him, but before Valentina could consider it, Claudia spoke.
"Stay here then!" Claudia said. She sipped her tea, wrinkled her nose, and returned the cup to her slave. "Brew a fresh batch. More mint, less honey." She looked back at Valentina. "Stay with us. My parents would love to have you here. Take a break from the capital. We'll play in the gardens like we used to as children, and we'll ride together again through the countryside. Guards are always with us here, loyal to my father. No harm will come to you."
Valentina played with three almonds on her plate. She wanted to believe that. Yet how many guards could Claudia's family have here? Twenty? Fifty at most? Porcia commanded armies. And surely the empress would hear of Valentina hiding here, in the house of a lord so prominent in Aelar. Porcia would believe that Valentina had come here to scheme, and her forces would ravage this house and burn down the gardens and vineyards.
"I can't stay," she whispered. "I need a secret place where Porcia can't reach me. At least until her anger fades, until the Empire is stable once more." Valentina shuddered, and she lowered her voice further. "There's talk of rebellion, Claudia. And I don't mean only in the provinces. In Aelar herself. Porcia slew many in the Magisterian Guard, replacing them with men from the legions, men she thinks she can trust, but many of the old guards remain. And even the new recruits fear Porcia now. My father always said that it's not the emperor who rules Aelar, not truly, but the Magisterian Guard. And if it's not their knives that slay Porcia, others will be eager to wield them. The people themselves—a million of them live in the city, and they will not watch this dance of death much longer, and—"
Valentina bit down on her words. Now she was speaking as a conspirator. Those very words would doom her to death if Porcia caught wind of them.
Claudia was looking at her strangely, head tilted, a line on her brow. Valentina's heart thudded, and suddenly she worried that Claudia would report this to the empress, perhaps would summon the guards right now. When a man stepped into the chamber, Valentina started, sure it was an assassin—yet it was only the slave from before.
He poured more tea, more minty this time. Claudia sipped and nodded with approval.
"We'll talk more after my slave clears the table," Claudia said. "He's a nosy one. A Zoharite, did you know? Captured in the war." Claudia propped herself up on her elbows, leaned across the table, and spoke in a low voice. "He's the son of Lord Jerael himself. I intend to bring him back to Zohar, to use him when . . . negotiating with the rebels there. Come with us, Valentina. Come with us to the desert province. Perhaps I'll get to exchange this one for his brother."
Valentina frowned. Of course! She looked back at the slave. That was why he looked familiar! He had a similar face to Ofeer—the slave in the palace Valentina had befriended.
He's her brother. The slave I told Ofeer I would save.
"Your name is Koren," Valentina said to him. "Koren Sela. Brother to Ofeer."
The slave dropped the pot he held, spilling tea across the mosaic floor.
"You know Ofeer?" he asked.
"Clumsy oaf!" Claudia leaped to her feet and struck him. "You spilled tea over a priceless work of art. I'll have you beaten for this. I—"
"Claudia, stop!" Valentina rose from the pillows. She was shorter, meeker, younger than Claudia—yet she still outranked her. "It was my fault. Let him speak to me."
Claudia spun toward her, face red, perhaps surprised to see Valentina speak with such force; Valentina herself was shocked at her words. Claudia opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it, and bowed her head.
Valentina walked toward the slave. "You're Koren," she said. "Her brother."
He nodde
d. His fingers were shaking. "Can you tell me where Ofeer is, domina?"
"I don't know," Valentina replied. "She's no longer a slave in the palace. Maybe Prince Seneca took her with him to exile. If so, she will be safe with him."
But she saw that this news did not please Koren. His face reddened, and he took sharp breaths. "With Seneca."
"I don't know for certain," Valentina said. "It could be that Ofeer escaped the Acropolis in the chaos. Many slaves escaped the day Marcus died. Even Porcia's lumer fled, another Zoharite. Does that give you some hope?"
Claudia dared to interject. "Valentina, they're only Zoharite rats. This one is just meat for us to whip, to torture a little to bring his brother out of his hole. Just bait, that's all."
Valentina glared at the young woman. Who was this speaking to her? Was this truly her old friend? How could Claudia be so callous?
"They're still humans!" Valentina said. "My lumer, Iris Bat Inet, was a Zoharite, and I loved her dearly. Zoharites have the same needs we do. To be with their families. To keep themselves safe. To tend to those they love."
And I loved you, Iris. I loved you and Marcus murdered you.
Valentina's dream had always been to visit Zohar. But not like this. To travel there with an army? With Koren enslaved, beaten, bait to lure his rebellious brother into the open? Valentina looked at Koren and saw that the scars of whips peeked from under his tunic, and that a bruise stained his cheek.
"I'll buy him from you," Valentina said.
Claudia's eyes widened. "Valentina, he's not for sale, he—"
"You will address me as domina," Valentina said, voice icy, chin raised. "I'm still the sister of the empress, still second in line to the throne of Aelar. You will not defy me."
Inside, Valentina's innards shook, and her heart lashed against her ribs like a bird trying to flee a cage. She had never spoken so forcefully to anyone. She was only nineteen, five years younger than Claudia, shorter, weaker, meeker, a little albino princess with so much terror in her heart. And she was lying, of course. She was not truly Porcia's sister, just the daughter of a slain senator, desperate to flee Porcia's wrath.
Thrones of Ash (Kingdoms of Sand Book 3) Page 20
