Erita smiles at me, then inclines her head.
But in that moment Lady Tiri’s petulant voice sounds. “You realize this is quite an outrage! My Imperial Lady Gwen, my physical person has been assaulted at your Bridal Court, and this kind of affront on my person is not to be tolerated. I fully expect that you chastise this Lady—who is entirely unworthy of any such designation—for her violent actions—” and she indicates with her hand at Oalla.
Okay, Lady Tiri might be horrible, but she is right about one thing. All of this is on me. I’m the Hostess of this event, and as the future Imperatris, I need to have things under control, regardless of blame, or clashing personalities, or overall general bitchiness.
I take a big breath. . . .
“Lady Tiri,” I say, fantasizing about violent actions indeed—such as choking her—but smiling instead. “I’m not going to chastise anyone at my Bridal Court. Instead, we’re all going to enjoy the afternoon. I will happily forget the ugly things spoken about my friends, and you are going to forget broken plates—”
“That is simply unacceptable, My Imperial Lady Gwen,” Tiri interrupts me, narrowing her eyes with fury.
“What is unacceptable is you still yakking at the Imperial Bride,” Brie says suddenly. “Also, you’ve insulted a top-notch Fleet Pilot and astra daimon—two of them, actually. They should take you out on the lawn outside and thrash your skinny golden ass. Furthermore, you’ve just spent the last fifteen minutes trash talking every single Earthie present here, and making your so-called fancy girlfriends carry your crap for you while you step all over them. If I had another plate, I’d shove it up your—”
“Brie!” I exclaim, in the otherwise shocked, deafening silence all around us.
“All right, okay, sorry.” Brie puts up her hands. “But someone had to say it.”
“Agreed,” I reply in a hard tone, in that exact moment amazed at my own words. “But in this case, it has to be me.”
I turn back to Lady Tiri—whose jaw has dropped—and my next words are cold iron. “Tirinea Fuorai, you have displeased me. You will leave my Bridal Court today, until further notice. Dismissed!”
Holy crap! Did I just say that?
I did.
Absolutely stunned at myself, I stand and watch as Lady Tiri, equally stunned, closes her mouth, frowns, then sinks into a deep curtsey before me. Then, as everyone else watches us, she hastily retreats, leaving the chamber, and her “mean girls” posse behind.
Chapter 35
“Spoken like a true future Imperial Consort!” Oalla claps her hands, breaking the silence.
I don’t reply immediately, still wondering at myself, thinking about what just happened. My expression must appear a little puzzled as I glance at her and at the others gathered around me—which includes all my friends and the members of Lady Tiri’s group.
“Well done, Gee Two!” Gracie whispers near my ear, patting my arm in encouragement. “That was amazing, you really sounded so regal!”
“Not too much?” I ask softly with a tiny delayed twinge of uncertainty.
“Oh, no, that was great!” Laronda says with a pleased voice. “She really had it coming.”
“You think?” I try to keep the uncertainty out of my tone, disguising it with humor.
“Hell yeah, and about time!” Brie adds, raising her brows with satisfaction.
Even Chiyoko, Hasmik, and Dawn nod at me with animated gazes, holding back from saying more out of politeness, but I can see the excitement in their eyes. Manala is absolutely beaming as she clutches her hands to her skirt.
“Agreed,” Erita says, with a tiny, controlled smile. “It was very appropriate.”
And then, as I glance around our loose grouping, I see the faces of Lady Zua, Lady Hathora, and Lady Irana, and they are all looking at me with surprise and . . . approval.
In fact, Lady Irana, who still holds the refilled chalice intended for Lady Tiri, looks at me with a tentative smile and suddenly curtsies to me. “My Imperial Lady, may I bring you a glass of something?”
“Oh, goodness,” I say, surprised. “Please don’t, I can certainly get my own.”
“It would be my pleasure, My Imperial Lady.”
I consider her genuine expression, and let out a breath. “Okay, but just this once. I’ll have one of these, some qvaali.” And then I add, “And only because I appreciate your kindness.”
Lady Irana appears more flustered than I expected. She curtsies yet again, then abandons Lady Tiri’s glass on the nearest flat surface and hurries to get me my own drink.
Meanwhile, Lady Hathora says, “If I may be permitted to speak frankly, My Imperial Lady Gwen—you had every right to send Lady Tirinea away. She was being overly presumptuous with you. Noble conduct demands we must be in control of our speech and manners, especially at a Court function and before our superiors. It seems that lately, Lady Tiri has lost sight of her place, allowing certain indiscretions of aspiration to affect her better judgment.”
“Thank you, Lady Hathora,” I say. “I appreciate your insight.”
With a faint smile, Lady Hathora slowly curtseys to me.
I catch Lady Oalla’s expression in that moment, and it reflects pride in me and hearty approval.
“Imperial Lady Gwen!”
I turn to look behind me.
The female speaker is Lady Isulat, the Venerable One’s young assistant. “Apologies for interrupting, but you are summoned by the Venerable Therutat and the Sovereign Lady Herself—please come at once.”
And just like that, all my personal sense of satisfaction flees and is replaced by a racing heartbeat.
“Of course. . . .” I hurry nervously after Lady Isulat, as my friends and the ladies all around watch with curiosity the continuing development of this drama.
I arrive before the prominent seats of the Imperatris, Therutat, and the ranking older ladies just as they are being served fresh delicacies by several servants with large aromatic trays.
Seeing me, Devora beckons with one hand. Meanwhile, Therutat stares at me unblinking, like a hawk. I have no idea what to think, but judging by her expression alone, I must be in deep . . . something.
On no. . . . They heard the whole thing, naturally. And they saw me throw out Lady Tiri.
I execute a stiff curtsey before the Imperatris, not quite meeting her eyes, and at the same time feeling the overbearing weight of the Venerable One’s stare. “My Sovereign Lady . . . Venerable Therutat,” I mumble.
“My dear Gwen,” the Imperatris says mildly. “Is everything all right?”
I look up with surprise, meeting her kind expression.
And then I look over and see the First Priestess watching me.
“Everything is okay—now,” I reply. And then I exhale and say, “Unfortunately you heard the confrontation I had with one of the Ladies. I am so sorry, but it was becoming very unpleasant and—and she—I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t—the awful things she was saying about everyone, it seems—well, implying in so many words, and yes, saying, about so many people, my friends, and—I know it was probably wrong, but I had to make her leave—”
I trail off awkwardly, until Therutat interrupts me in her sharp voice. “You have made a mistake, Imperial Lady Gwen—”
“I know, and I’m so sorry!” I hurry to reply.
“—a mistake you perpetuate now.” Therutat cuts me off. “It is a mistake of apologizing. The Imperial Bride and Consort must never apologize for her actions in public. That is your mistake.”
I part my lips in surprise and permit myself to fully meet her gaze. Then I look from her to the Imperatris.
Devora Kassiopei is nodding at me. “Words of wisdom indeed, from the Venerable Therutat,” she says, with a smile of gentle amusement. “What you did was fully within your right. Yes, we heard everything, and you were justified in dismissing Lady Tirinea Fuorai—not merely for her malicious insolence toward others, but for being out of line before your authority. No one may speak in such a manner
to you. In the future, you will know to cut it even shorter before you chastise or dismiss an insufficiently respectful courtier—regardless of their position or pedigree.”
“Oh. . . .” I stare, and my eyes slowly widen in relief. “So then—”
“Yes, you did very well,” the Imperatris concludes.
And as I glance over at Therutat, I see in amazement—the old woman gives me a tiny, thin-lipped smile.
I have little time to bask in my success, because the Imperatris points toward the spot where Imperial servants have just delivered an amazing multi-layered confectionary masterpiece. “Is that Grace’s Birthday cake?” she says with curiosity. “It looks fascinating! In your traditional Earth celebration, what comes next? Goodness, is that something burning on top?”
“Oh, wow, yes! Are those real candles? That came out beautifully!” I exclaim, seeing fourteen tall candle tapers—or the Atlantean facsimile—with their tips set on fire on top of the cake. And then I explain to everyone within hearing range about singing the birthday song and blowing out candles, and making a wish.
Devora claps her hands together warmly. “Go on! Hurry back to your sister, so that we can all sing her Birthday!”
I return to my group of friends and lead Gracie over to her cake, followed by everyone.
Gracie puts her hands over her mouth and laughs in delight, seeing the sculpted cake masterpiece up-close, with white frosting and swirled Earth roses in pastel colors. “It looks amazing, oh, Gwenie! Looks almost like a wedding cake! So—so fancy!” She glances at me, and I see her eyes glisten with emotion.
“It’s supposed to be chocolate on the inside—or chocolate-like!” I say. Then I pick up a hand-bell and ring it to get everyone’s attention.
“My favorite . . .” Gracie whispers—even as I begin to sing the birthday song, and one by one the Earthies join in, followed by the astra daimon. Then, suddenly, everyone else in the room is singing with us. . . .
The Court ladies have no problem echoing the simple tune and words in English. In moments the chamber is filled with a glorious range of tones as some of them automatically start harmonizing with the melody. . . . Then the live musicians join in, accompanying us with their string instruments, and the grand chamber rings with joyful sound.
We end the song and everyone applauds. Gracie gets to blow out the pseudo-candles—which she manages perfectly—and then cuts the first piece of the cake, revealing the hidden dark layers of cake and rich creamy frosting in multiple shades that truly does resemble Earth chocolate.
Make a wish. . . .
I watch Gracie’s suddenly reserved expression and wonder what she wished for.
“Is it good?” I ask as my sister tastes her piece of cake, makes her typical finicky face anticipating the worst, and then opens her eyes wide with amazement and nods at me, expressing pleasure with her eyes. Her reaction is priceless.
But in the next moment, just as there’s a peaceful lull in the happy noise, the cake pieces being passed around, the laughter, the oohs and the aahs, and the lively sounds of female chatter—I hear something out of the ordinary.
Something outside.
Sounds and voices come from the distance, just outside the large chamber exterior doors that open wide into the Imperial Palace park. The party venue spillover to the outside, as planned, is supposed to allow the guests to mingle in the fresh air, if they so choose, and many of the Ladies have taken advantage of the pleasant afternoon breeze.
But for some reason, in that relative quiet, I hear something unusual in the nature of the sound coming from that exterior spillover reception area. Animated voices of the female guests carry on the breeze. Except, they’re not merely animated but alarmed.
And then come the exclamations.
And the screams.
Everyone inside stops doing whatever they’re doing and pays attention.
“Whoa! What’s going on?” Laronda stares at the faraway open exterior doors.
Brie frowns. “What the hell—”
Dawn and Hasmik stop chewing and set down their cake plates. Chiyoko and Gracie do the same. The other surrounding ladies turn, grow silent and freeze, or start chattering nervously with confusion. Dropped utensils strike and clatter against fine dishes. A few drinking glasses fall on the floor and shatter. . . . At the same time servants and guards hurry to the reception area that’s outside. . . . They don’t return.
This whole thing takes just seconds.
Behind me, Oalla curses under her breath in Atlanteo. She turns to Erita who in turn lurches as if wanting to hurry outside. Then both of them stop in their tracks and stare sharply at each other, and then at me, as though considering something.
“What?” I exclaim. “What is it? What’s happening?”
Outside the screams and cries and exclamations continue as more and more female voices pick up the alarm.
I whirl behind me to stare and see several Imperial guards rush to surround the Imperatris in a protective circle that includes Therutat and the few ranking ladies with her.
Meanwhile from the other direction, that of the interior doors leading into the hallway and the rest of the Palace, I see my own security guards run into the chamber toward me, with Tuar leading the charge.
“Oh my God, what’s happening?” Gracie exclaims, reaching for her waist where a sword or gun holster would normally be attached.
I see Manala put her hand up to her mouth in fear and start trembling, while Hasmik hugs her.
“We should get out of here,” Brie hisses, “now! Whatever the hell is going on—”
But for some reason I am fixated on Oalla and Erita. They both have their wrist comms on and are checking holo-streams of data, scanning incoming messages. . . .
“Wait! Oalla, what is it?” I say, even as Tuar is now at my side.
“It’s not safe, we need to get you out of here, away from the windows and the outside doors,” Tuar interrupts in a firm composed voice, placing his hands near my back in a protective circle, and attempting to guide me.
“Damn it, just a second!” I stop him, and then move toward Oalla as she is checking her data feed. “Oalla, you know something! Right? Erita! Will you please tell me?”
Erita looks up at me and again throws an intense, questioning look at Oalla.
Meanwhile I notice Gracie’s wrist comm starts pulsing with data also, and so does Laronda’s . . . and a second later, Chiyoko’s.
“Fleet communication. We’re getting called in,” Laronda says loudly, with a frown at me, then at Chiyoko and Gracie.
My jaw drops, and meanwhile a few ladies nearby whimper.
“What is going on?” I cry out in a resonant voice of power.
For a split second everyone in my vicinity stops and they all look at me.
Oalla lowers her hand with the wrist personal data unit. “Gwen, I didn’t want to spoil your Bridal Court, was delaying the bad news, hoping to put it off for a few more hours, but—something bad has happened.”
“What?” I say. “On your flight mission today?”
“Yeah.” Erita nods grimly. “In fact, we are getting recalled again. Outside—let’s go outside for a moment, we should be able to see it from here.”
“What? No, it’s not safe out there!” Tuar says. “Not permitted to allow the Imperial Lady to endanger herself.”
But Oalla shakes her head. “It’s safe enough—for now. Let’s all go look at it.”
“At what?” Brie says. “Go outside? Are we all cray-cray nuts here?”
But Oalla and Erita both turn quickly and begin walking toward the open exterior doors.
I follow them.
Brie, Gracie, Laronda, and the others—not to mention my protesting security guards—hurry after us.
Fresh, cool breeze envelops us as we step outside into the blinding white glare of daylight, emerging into a small courtyard where the reception extends. It is lined with similar buffet tables around the perimeter, decorated with the same extension
of the theme of “clouds and rain,” with garlands and chandelier crystals suspended from trellis overhangs and branches of nearest trees.
And the courtyard itself and, by extension, the gardens of the park into which it spills, is full of people. These are the female noble guests from my party, and the Imperial Palace staff who had come outside and never returned. Everyone is looking up at the sky, while attempting to shade their eyes with the palms of their hands or sunglasses or other visual filtering devices. Some, who are wearing particularly high-tech sunglasses, are exclaiming and screaming periodically, while the others around them ask nervously what they see.
I squint and look up, shielding my eyes, grateful for the sun shade contact lenses I wore this morning. I see nothing but whiteness. And occasionally there might be flares of additional whiteness, like painful, blazing light blots in my field of vision.
But I could be wrong.
Yes, my shade lenses are of the highest quality. Even so, they are not sufficient to protect me from the incandescence of Hel, or to give me any visual detail if I attempt to look directly at it. Therefore, I’m unable to see what it is that everyone with the special sunglasses is staring at.
“Crap! Can’t see anything!” Next to me my Earth friends are not doing any better in the seeing department.
Oalla takes pity on me and comes to take me by the arm. “Gwen,” she begins in a quiet voice, directing me a few steps away from the others, with Erita on my other side. “Here, use this reflection holo-plate.” And she calls up a rectangular hologram surface projected from her wrist comm. The rectangle acts like a mirror, so that it reflects the sky, but in a smart way unlike an ordinary mirror would—by minimizing glare and general reflectiveness, and increasing detail contrast.
I stare into the hologram reflection of the sky directly above—even as I hear another wave of exclamations from all around, and peripherally glimpse something, possibly a bright flash, which I can almost see out of the corner of my eye—but not quite.
Survive Page 40
