by Jon Sprunk
As a slave girl passed, the queen reached out to stop her. “Lord Horace, I believe you've already met my newest acquisition.”
She pulled the girl by the wrist to stand before them, and Horace realized he had met her. She was the slave who had bathed him down in the hot springs. Her pale skin glowed almost translucent in the candlelight, contrasting sharply with her long chestnut hair. “This is Kelcia. She's from Hestria, which borders Arnos, if I'm not mistaken.”
Horace dried his lips with a cloth napkin. “You are correct, Excellence.”
He kept his face impassive, as if they were discussing the weather instead of a person made into property. He also avoided looking directly into the slave's eyes, even as the queen stroked the girl like a prized pet.
“Well, I had to replace Alyra,” Byleth said, gazing up at the slave with a smile. “And this one is quite talented.”
With a wink, she dismissed the girl. “I adore the hot baths at this house. Especially when the weather turns cold. I wish I could spend all winter here. Tell me, have your rooms been warm enough…at night?”
“Quite warm enough, Excellence.”
She reached out and touched his wrist. Just a light touch, but it sent a jolt up his arm and set his heart to beating faster. “I forget that you are accustomed to the cold. You must find us hot-blooded, eh?”
“Well, I certainly understand why your people wear less clothing than us. And I've come to appreciate the balmy climate, I must admit.”
“I've heard that the women of Arnos cover their entire bodies when they go out in public,” Lady Ishmi said. “Even their hair is bound under caps. Is that true?”
As eyes shifted toward him, Horace put down his cup. “Well, Arnossi ladies certainly dress with more…ah, modesty. As for their hats, there are many fashions. I'm not exactly an authority.”
Lord Oriathu cleared his throat with a cough. “We saw plenty of local natives on the island of Thym. Their manner of dress was odd, but from what I recall the womenfolk were no more demure than most peasants.”
Byleth signaled, and a servant came over to refill Horace's cup, this time with a wine with a deep amber color. “Try this,” Byleth said. “It's a rare vintage from the Jade Kingdoms. I cannot pronounce the name, but I find it entrancing.”
While their cups were filled, the rest of the lords and ladies conversed. More platters were brought in with dishes from different parts of the western world. It began with a spicy red soup that made Horace's eyes water, and then onto a course of tiny fish served in a chilled sweet sauce. After that came an entrée of roasted fowl coated with slivers of orange.
Byleth insisted Horace be served first for each course. He tried to protest, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. Several times he found her watching him eat, almost like a doting mother. However, there was something predatory in her gaze.
“I never tire of hearing about your homeland,” she said. “What else is different?”
He wiped his mouth before answering. “Almost everything, Excellence. Our customs are almost completely unalike.”
“Such as?”
“Well…” He searched for an example, and his gaze settled on the tabletop. “You prefer to eat sitting on the floor, while we sit in chairs or sometimes on tall stools.”
“Stools?” she asked with a laugh. “Are you teasing me?”
“Not at all, Excellence.”
“You must call me Byleth. I command it.”
Horace cleared his throat. “As you wish. The foods we eat are very different. Yours are so hot they burn my tongue. Even your native fruits have a sharper taste.”
She leaned closer. “And do you find that all this heat makes for hotter passions as well?”
“Perhaps in some cases, Excel—Byleth. But overall I find most of your subjects to be rather even-keeled, as we mariners might say. Perhaps more so than many of my countrymen, who you might consider ill-mannered in comparison if you were to meet them.”
“Horace, I am constantly amazed at your candor. If all the men of Arnos are like you, I think it must be a very honest realm.”
He felt the eyes of the nobles upon him and wanted to slide down under the table. “Uh, I don't know about that. We have our flaws, certainly.”
“Indeed. One of them seems to be a desire to invade my territory.”
The sudden turn in the conversation sobered him like a slap across the face. He didn't know how to respond. Should he apologize? Or change the subject?
The queen laughed. “Forgive me, Horace. That was impolite. I do not blame you for the actions of your government. Indeed, you have acted with as much honor as any member of my court. You understand this concept of honor, yes?”
“Uh, well, I'm trying to, Excel—Byleth. In any case, I thought the crusade had been halted.”
“For now. Yet, I know something of the ways of your military, Horace. They will regroup and try again. They are nothing if not persistent.”
In that, we surely agree.
“I only heard about Omikur today.” He cleared his throat. “I was disheartened that the situation is coming to such a grim end.”
She speared a slice of orange and put it in her mouth. After she swallowed, she took a sip from her glass. “We feel no empathy for those who would try to steal our lands.”
One noblewoman whispered in Lord Oriathu's ear, and they both chuckled as they looked in Horace's direction.
He focused his attention on the queen. “Of course not. However, if there was a way to avoid future war, that would be a good thing. Don't you agree?”
The conversation around the table died down, until the only sounds came from the servants as they moved about the room.
The queen popped an olive into her mouth. “Of course, if the circumstances could be decided in a way that favored Erugash. But your leaders are not inclined to negotiate in good faith, Horace. Furthermore, the consensus of the imperial court seems to be to crush the savages—pardon me, the crusaders—and push them back into the ocean.”
“It's actually a sea,” Horace murmured.
“Pardon,” she said. “What do you mean, it is a sea?”
“The ocean. Technically, it's a sea. We call it the Midland Sea.”
The ire vanished from the queen's face, replaced by a look of intense curiosity. “Truly?”
Horace pushed his platter aside. Dipping his finger in his wine, he drew a rough outline of the Akeshian coastline on the table's surface, from the shores of Arnos, Altaia, and Etonia in the north down to the headlands of the southern continent.
“This.” He tapped the open space between Akeshia and the western nations. “Is the Midland Sea. Farther west past a few other countries is where you'd find the Ergard Ocean, which stretches on for…well, to the edge of the world, as far as we know.”
Everyone was straining to see the crude map.
“Fascinating,” Byleth said. “We know so little about the West beyond our own colonies. Tell me, are these things universally known among your people?”
“Well, it's common knowledge among sailors. I was friends with the pilot of the Bantu Ray—the ship I sailed on before I crashed here. His name was Belais Reymeiger, and he knew more about the seas and coasts than anyone I ever met.”
“May I ask a favor, Lord Horace? Would you meet with our royal cartographers and help them produce a more accurate map?”
Horace hesitated before answering. He remembered how paranoid Belais had been about his precious charts and logbook falling into enemy hands. Apparently, navigation material was considered a national secret. However a gesture of goodwill might convince the queen he was really on her side or at least a trusted neutral arbiter. He believed the Akeshians wanted peace as much as he did. They just needed to know they could trust him. “Of course. However I can be of service.”
Byleth caressed the back of his hand. “I'm glad to hear you say that, Horace. I've been thinking about your role as my First Sword. Now that the thorn of Omikur has been removed fro
m our side, we intend to devote our attention to crushing the slave rebellion once and for all time. I wish you to undertake this duty.”
“Me? Excellence, I'm not sure I am the right choice.”
“I am,” she said, and smiled at him in a way that made his heart beat faster.
Horace struggled for a suitable reason to turn down this “honor.” He had no intention of harming the slaves fighting for their freedom. In fact, he'd rather help them achieve their final goal. “Excellence, I wouldn't know the first thing about ending a rebellion. I could help more by bringing our two nations together in peace. Perhaps I could act as an ambassa—”
The queen clapped her hands. Horace shifted on his couch as everyone else filed out of the room. Lord Xantu was the last to depart, casting a stern gaze around the room before he closed the door behind him.
Once they were alone, Byleth squeezed his hand. “Horace, you are the only one I can trust with this. Too many in court wish to topple me from the throne so they can fight over the scraps. I need you. I need your strength, now more than ever before. I finally have a chance to rule my city in truth, and I will not allow it to fail.”
He put his hand over hers. Her bones were so tiny and slender he felt he could crush her fingers if he squeezed too hard. “What if you reached out to them? These fugitive slaves are your subjects, too. They only want to be free, the same as any other man or woman.”
She pulled her hand away. “No. They have revolted against their lawful queen, and in so doing they have damned themselves in the eyes of the gods. They must be stamped out, or else my reign will collapse.”
“What if you approached the problem in a different way?”
The queen held out her glass to him. It was empty. “I'm listening.”
He refilled it to the brim. “We could take a two-pronged attack, so to speak. Use the military to suppress the violence and protect your citizens, but also change the laws to improve the lives of your subjects, especially the slaves. If they didn't feel backed into a corner, they might be willing to find a peaceful solution. And it wouldn't hurt to offer clemency to those who vow to give up their revolt.”
“You never fail to surprise me, Horace of Tines. Most of my zoanii would leap at this chance to garner my favor and increase their own authority, and yet you remained focused on your ideals. As unchangeable as a stone. I will consider your ideas.”
She traced her fingertips down the side of his face. “You are a remarkable man, unlike any I've ever met. Stay with me tonight.”
Horace's stomach dropped. Sweat broke out across his forehead and down the back of his neck. “Excellence, I—uh, I'm not sure what to say.”
She leaned into him and brushed her lips across his chin. “Say you will make me yours this night.”
“I can't. I'm sorry, but I have feelings for another.”
Her laughter surprised him. “Why should that matter?” She studied his face and then clucked her tongue. “Zoanii are free to love whomever they desire, with no attachments. Is it my former handmaiden? Bring her along if you like. My bed is large enough for all of us. Your relationship with that little freed slave you keep has nothing to do with what I want.”
He pulled back from her hands. “Excellence, it has everything to do with me and who I am.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And if I should insist?”
A blunt pressure pressed against the back of his head. Just a light touch, but he realized she was questing at the edges of his mind. He envisioned a steel helmet clamping down on his head. Their eyes locked in a silent contest of wills. In the recesses of his mind, a soft voice whispered. You want her so just take her. Right here. Show her what kind of a man you are.
The door opened, and one of the queen's handmaidens entered. Byleth glared at the slave, but the probing touch vanished. Horace remained on guard as the girl knelt beside the queen and handed her a small roll of papyrus. His concern for his own safety vanished as the blood drained from the queen's face. Even on the terrace of the Sun Temple, as she was about to be wed to the prince of Nisus and possibly murdered thereafter, he hadn't seen her so shaken.
“What is it?” he asked.
Byleth banished the handmaiden with a curt gesture and then crumpled up the scroll, throwing it on the table. “A caravan was attacked by a band of rebel slaves. They seized the gold that was intended for our royal coffers.” She glared at him. “Gold we need to fend off our enemies.”
“I am truly sorry. Was anyone hurt in the attack?”
“Hurt?” she yelled. “The soldiers guarding that convoy had better be dead, or they'll wish they were when I flay the skin from their backs and nail them to stakes along that road as a reminder of what happens to those who fail!”
Horace let out a silent breath, not sure what he could say that wouldn't fuel her rage. But she didn't give him the chance. “First Sword, you will issue an order in our name at once, pronouncing death for anyone who harbors or aids the rebellion.”
Horace frowned. Such an order would be a death sentence for Alyra and her associates, as well as, he suspected, thousands of Akeshian commoners. It would begin a persecution that could last months or years. Not unlike what the Great Crusade intends for this empire. She doesn't understand what she's asking me to do.
Byleth stood up. “If you are going to remain in Erugash, you will obey our commands. Or you will face our displeasure.”
Defeated, he bowed his head. “As you wish, Excellence.”
As she left the room, Byleth called over her shoulder. “Rest well, Lord Horace. We depart for home in the morning.”
The beauty of the villa gardens was haunting by night, when the darkness blurred the outlines of blossom and leaf, and their lush fragrances rode the cool breezes. Alyra walked the narrow paths between the bowers with quick steps, down to the western edge where many secluded nooks and niches could be found. Her ears strained at every turn, half-expecting to stumble upon illicit lovers in fierce embrace or, worse, cloaked conspirators hatching nefarious schemes. But the luck of the Silver Lady was with her, delivering her without incident to the spot of her own secret assignation.
She found Sefkahet standing by a pond. Moonlight reflected off the still waters, bathing the woman in silver luminance. Alyra cleared her throat, and Sefkahet turned. Then she smiled. “I'm glad you reached out to me.”
Alyra came over and stood beside her, both of them looking down into the brilliant surface. “I'm sorry we haven't spoken in so long.”
“Don't worry, Alyra.” Sef bent down closer. “I'm the one who knows you best. Now, are you going to kiss me, or do I have to beg?”
Alyra was too distracted to really want it, but she hadn't seen her friend and confidant in weeks. So she allowed Sef to lean in for a kiss. After a few seconds, she pulled back. Sef ran her fingers up and down Alyra's arm. “I've missed you. I won't ask where you've been, but I'm glad you're back. Please say you can stay for a bit.”
“For a short while. I needed to see you.”
“I like how you say that.”
Alyra moved sideways to avoid another kiss. “Not for that, Sef. I need to talk.”
The other woman stepped back and composed herself in a flash. “All right. You got my attention, Alyra. What's wrong?”
“I've been investigating the massacre at the Chapter House.”
Sef's eyes widened. “In Erugash? Alyra, you shouldn't be poking around in that. The queen was livid when the news reached us. If she ever found out—”
“I've been careful. Trust me on that. But have you heard any details on the murders of the Order brethren?”
“Just a few things through the network. Every member of the house was killed in a single night. Sentries outside heard strange noises, but nothing to suggest a battle was being fought within the fortress until the Queen's Guard forced an entry and found the bodies.”
“I've seen the bodies.”
The revelation poured out of her, unleashed by the mountain of anxiety that had bee
n weighing her down for the past fortnight. “They were ripped apart as if a pack of wild beasts had torn into them. But not with teeth or claws.”
“Weapons,” Sef said. “Knives and pinchers, perhaps.”
Alyra shook her head and looked back down at the pond. “No. Nothing made by human hands could've caused the wounds I saw.”
“You mean it was sorcery. But Alyra, most of the queen's court was here with us when the attack happened.”
“Indeed. And outside the court, what other group in Erugash has the power to slaughter dozens of men, most of them sorcerers to boot, without the neighbors noticing?”
Sef shook her head slowly, her recently won composure falling away to reveal deep concern. “If you're right, you realize what it means. Outsiders must have infiltrated the city. How is that possible? The wards on the wall and gates—”
“I know. It's crazy to even consider. But it's the only theory I can come up with. That's why I needed to talk to you. To get advice on how to proceed.”
Sef frowned as her head tilted to the side, allowing her hair to fall down from her face in a lustrous black wave. “You mean you wanted to talk to the network.”
“Before, I would have taken this directly to Cipher,” Alyra said. “But after what happened…”
“No, it's all right. I understand. But I can't pretend this came from me. My superiors are going to know someone supplied it, and I'll have to tell them the truth.”
“I accept that.”
“Does this information come with the price? Shall I tell them it's a peace offering?”
“No. Just say I thought you needed to know.”
Sef stepped closer again and caressed her arms. The touch was exhilarating, but Alyra fought it. She knew what Sef wanted, and some part of her wanted it, too. But things had gotten messy between them, mixing the mission and their personal feelings for each other. Alyra had tried to break it off, but every time she saw Sef, the feelings returned in full force.
