The landscape of his mind extended like a vast sheet of leaden glass, devoid of features or landmarks. Pale light filtered down from the hazy sky where the sun, a distant orb of deeper gray, pulsed with fierce energy. It was his qa, the gateway to his power.
Horace focused on the endless plain. This was his hidden inner world, which he had constructed with Lord Ubar's help. Here he had solace from the pressures of the outside world, though they never left him completely alone. His zoana, for one, was something he couldn't escape, not even here. He felt it throbbing behind his qa, calling to him like a siren's lure. Early in his training he had often accessed it from this relaxed state of mind, but lately that had become problematic.
He realized he was focused on the gateway to his power again and tried pulling his attention away, but the orb pulsed faster. A moment too late, he noticed it had opened. Just a crack, but that was enough. A rush of Shinar uncoiled across the ethereal sky of his hidden world in streaks of violet so deep they were almost black. Horace did nothing for a little while except observe the display. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. He reached out to the bands of energy. He didn't force it back through his qa, instead aiming to coax it. This was something he'd been working on. He'd been told the power would react to how it was handled. A harsh grip caused the zoana to gush like a bursting dam, but a softer approach yielded a more measured flow. So far, he hadn't been able to make it work, and this time wasn't any different. The zoana refused to return of its own accord, as if it was playing coy.
Horace pushed back against the frustration building inside him, threatening to unravel his concentration. At this pace he would die of old age before he mastered his powers. Ubar was a dutiful instructor, but there was little he could tell Horace about the void. The Shinar dominion was a mystery to most sorcerers. Not even Lord Mulcibar had been able to deliver much insight about its workings. Horace had been hoping to find his own path through trial and error, but the way continued to elude him. The feeling that there was something wrong stayed with him, but he couldn't pinpoint what it was, and so it grew.
After a time—he could never be sure of how long he had been inside this meditative retreat—Horace gave up on coaxing the flow of Shinar and went straight to the gateway. With a firm shove, he slammed it closed. The purple bands evaporated, leaving the sky a hazy gray once again. The uniform blankness calmed him once again, soothing away his qualms. His head buzzed with a pleasant euphoria. It was almost like floating. Absently, he noticed that the muscles in his physical body had begun to unkink themselves. And he allowed himself to drift along on these sensations, not pushing his thoughts in any one direction, content to simply exist in this tranquil moment.
A face shimmered in his consciousness. Its soft edges surrounded in golden hair. Delicate eyebrows pinched together as her lips arched in a delicious frown. The blue of her eyes dazzling like a clear midsummer sky. Passing underneath this vision, Horace gazed up at the woman he loved. Or thought he loved. Things had become…complicated. With his first wife, Sari, he remembered they had just fallen in together like two old friends, as comfortable with each other as if they shared one mind. But it was different with Alyra. She tested and goaded him, challenging his every decision. Being with her was intoxicating, but also demanding.
Points of bright light flickered on the edges of his awareness, disturbing his calm. Alyra's face shuddered like a leaf caught in a stiff wind and gently faded from view. Horace fixed his gaze on the disturbance. A bank of dark gray clouds billowed far out on the plain, moving toward his position. Every so often, light would twinkle inside the inky mass. Ghoulish green like the lightning from a chaos storm. His calm evaporated.
The gray fog bordering his hidden world no longer felt soothing. Instead, it had taken on a disturbing aspect. He sensed hostility within the approaching darkness, although he couldn't say from what. He felt compelled to investigate, even though the part of him still connected to the conscious world wanted to break free. There was something about the phenomenon that drew him onward. He felt himself moving forward. Distant noises echoed. Faint crackles. They were almost familiar, but not quite. Then an invisible force took hold of him. He struggled against the unseen grasp, even as it pulled him deeper into the murky clouds. His mental vision vanished in the haze. Panicked, he reached for his physical body. The grasp gave another hard yank, and then the world exploded in a rush of gray and white.
Horace blinked as the vision faded, to be slowly replaced by the contours of a familiar room. White plaster walls surrounded him. The ceiling was sapphire blue. The wooden floor was reassuringly solid beneath his crossed legs. He placed both hands on the floor, palms down, and took comfort in its solidity.
Lord Mulcibar's ganzir mat laid spread out before him. As always when looking upon it, his gaze was drawn along the geometric shapes that seemed to move and pulse as if the mat were a living thing. He followed the pattern through each of the four elemental quadrants to the central circle, inside which sat the figure of a tiny man stitched in bright platinum thread. When he had first started meditating with the ganzir, the pattern had served to calm his mind as well as focus it. But lately that tranquility had become more and more elusive. Rather than moving forward, it felt like his study of the zoana was regressing, which only made him feel less confident, feeding a cycle of uncertainty and apprehension. Lord Ubar tried to help, but it seemed no one could diagnose this particular problem, which made it all the more infuriating.
Each day he expected a revelation, a sudden epiphany that would make sense of this power dwelling inside him. Yet day after day, week upon week, he fought and struggled for the barest scraps, failing far more often than he succeeded.
He'd learned that the power was often passed down from parent to child, which explained the structure of Akeshian society. However, nothing in the texts he'd read said anything about outlander magic. His parents, for certain, had possessed no special gifts of mysticism, or anyone else in his family. His entire life before the crusade had been mundane, with neither great sorrows nor extravagant bliss. Until he'd lost Sari and Josef. And since that day, nothing had been the same. Some part of him had driven him to the sea after their deaths to seek his own obliteration. Suicide hadn't been a conscious decision, but looking back he could see how he had been on a path to self-destruction.
Then he'd wrecked on the shores of this new, ancient, bloodthirsty land, and everything had changed. Battered and floundering, he clung to the only lifeline within reach—his power—and prayed it would someday carry him to a safe haven. Each night he went to sleep exhausted and disappointed.
He let out a deep breath and stood up, his joints aching as if he'd been sitting for hours. The image of the dark clouds lingered. It's gone now. Just a figment of my imagination.
The words did nothing to ease his anxiety as he crossed the room. Large and beautifully decorated, with marble accents and fine hardwood furniture that reminded him of the great palaces of Avice, this borrowed suite was on the same floor as the queen's apartments. But in a different wing, for which he was especially grateful. It wasn't easy living in the royal presence for a ship-builder of modest birth.
He left the parlor to enter the bedchamber. Horace took off his sleeping robe and tossed it on the bed as he went to one of the two large wardrobes. Selecting a lightweight tunic and skirt, he put them on with a pair of comfortable sandals. When he had finished lacing the footwear, he looked himself over in the tall cheval glass in the corner. The white silk tunic was embroidered with gold thread in interconnected squares along the high collar and down the neck. The same pattern was repeated down the side of the long skirt and around the bottom. The broad leather belt had rings to hold a scabbard, but he didn't have a weapon here. He'd decided to leave the blade of the First Sword at home. After all, this was supposed to be a vacation.
His hair was getting long. He pulled it back in a queue like the young Akeshian men wore but then decided to let it hang free. No use pretending to be something I'm not. Not that anyone would let me forget I'm a foreign savage, even if I shaved it all off.
He was heading back out to the parlor when the suite door opened and a young male slave entered. He bowed from the waist and said, “The queen is ready for your arrival.”
He was the first to arrive.
Twelve red leather couches surrounded the long dining table. Goblets of beaten gold and crystal were arrayed on the polished surface along with a variety of porcelain bowls and cups. At first glance Horace took the utensils to be gold, too. Then he looked closer at the pale hue and decided they must be an alloy, possibly electrum. A centerpiece of four candles surrounded by fresh lotuses completed the elegant tableau.
Horace walked around the chamber. Tapestries imported from the West covered the walls from floor to ceiling. In them, men and women in classical garb were depicted at a grand feast, eating and drinking as they made merry. A sideboard had been set up with several sealed jars, presumably wine or spirits, as well as an array of cutlery knives and long forks.
Another door opened, and two men walked in. By the cut and design of their robes, they both belonged to the zoanii class. Lord Temuni was older and exceedingly slim with a long, narrow chin to match his sharp nose, while Lord Oriathu was short and stout, his clothes straining to contain his round paunch. Both men were shaved bald in the custom of the ruling class. Horace resisted the urge to reach up and touch his hair.
The zoanii looked to Horace in unison, and they both strolled to the opposite side of the table in a not-so-subtle gesture. Horace did his best to ignore them. He was already sweating under his tunic, despite the cool breeze blowing in through the open shutters.
More guests arrived—eleven in all, including him. All nobility of various ranks, the cream of the royal court. Horace had seen most them several times at the palace, either at official events or in passing. He knew their names and even a little about the cliques into which they aligned themselves, mostly thanks to Mezim. They all watched him. Not openly—that was not the Akeshian way. Instead, they glanced at him with sideways looks and expansive sweeps that were meant to appear to take in the entire room, but he noticed their eyes lingered on him a little longer than the artwork or the place settings. They mingled and chatted, their voices light and full of mirth. At least, so it seemed on the surface. Already in his short time at court Horace had learned enough about Akeshian politics to understand a smidgen of the game they played. The lesser players circled their superiors, but not just those with which they were allied. No, they circled their foes as well in an intricate dance that somewhat resembled the movement of fish schools, flowing in and among each other, sometimes matching their movements before breaking apart for no outward reason. Meanwhile, the two largest “fish” in the room, Lord Temuni and Sarleskar Balashi, who was the acting commander of the queen's military since Prince Zazil's mysterious disappearance. An incident, by the way, which no one—in typical court fashion—ever talked about, as if there were an unspoken rule that members vanished every so often, and it was best not to discuss it. The whole thing made his head hurt.
Fortunately, servants orbited the room with carafes of wine and liquor. Horace gulped down the first cup of red wine and sipped at the second, feeling somewhat better.
A door opened at the far end of the room. Lord Xantu came in, wearing his customary robe of deep black, head freshly shaved. Four handmaidens entered behind him, all of them wearing identical purple gowns cut to expose their left breasts. Each bare nipple was painted gold. The handmaidens formed an aisle from the door, through which arrived Byleth. Never one to allow herself to be outshone, the queen wore a sheath gown of indigo silk so sheer it was virtually transparent. A heavy necklace of gold and sapphires did nothing to distract from her sensuality as she sauntered to the table.
“My lords and ladies,” Byleth said, holding up her arm as if inviting an embrace. “Please, be welcome.” She looked to him and held out her hand. “Lord Horace, come take your place beside me.”
He took the couch beside her. The upholstery was so supple that lying on it was a sensual experience. Byleth had told him she designed these couches especially for him, presumably to make him feel more at home. She had been so excited to show him that he hadn't had the heart to tell her they were an affection of the elite class of the fallen Nimean Empire, not something modern Arnossi used in their homes. Although their padded tops were comfortable to lie on, the odd position made it difficult to eat or drink without making a mess or choking.
Byleth smiled as her guests got settled. “My cooks have been busy with a special surprise for tonight.”
“That's very kind, Your Excellence,” Horace said. “I have the latest reports from Erugash. There aren't any new developments on the Chapter House attack, but I've ordered a complete inquiry.”
Byleth placed a hand on his arm. “I've seen the reports, Horace. Please, be at ease tonight. Our duties can wait until tomorrow, yes?”
She clapped her hands once, and a dozen servants in fine dress entered carrying covered silver platters. These platters were set down on the table and the covers removed all at once to reveal an exotic selection of foods. Horace leaned forward for a better look. One dish was lined with rows of quail, stuffed and roasted in a glaze. Another was piled with slabs of grilled meat that looked like Arnossi beef, but he found it hard to believe. There were also two soup bowls, fresh bread slathered in melted butter and honey, and other wonderful foods. The smells were divine. Before Horace said anything, the servants began loading his plate with choice selections from each platter.
“I hope you like it,” Byleth said as she accepted a filled wine glass from a handmaiden. “I went to great lengths to obtain the finest delicacies of your homeland.”
“This is…extraordinary.”
He smiled and made a show of trying everything, even the tortoise eggs, which he really didn't care for. The other guests ate more selectively. As they picked at the unfamiliar food, it reminded Horace of when he had first arrived in this country and how alien everything had seemed.
The queen raised her glass. “To our continued friendship. May it ever grow closer.”
Everyone drank to the toast. Horace hesitated a moment before he sipped from his cup. While his closeness with Alyra had entered a strange, uncertain place since the Tammuris, his relationship with the queen had flourished. Not too hard to guess why. I saved her life, twice, and brought down her enemies.
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 from 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 been 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.
“Stay with me tonight,” Sef breathed into her ear.
“I can't. You know the other handmaidens would talk, and it would mean a mess of trouble for both of us if the queen found out.”
“Then I'll come to you. After the queen retires for the night, I can slip out and—”
Alyra took a long step backward, breaking free of Sef's touch. “No.”
Sefkahet looked as if she wanted to keep pursuing, but she held back. “Why not? You said you missed me.”
“I do. But this can't go on, Sef. You're still with the network, and I'm outside.”
“But it's not that, is it? It's him. Night was right. You've fallen for him. Alyra, he doesn't know you like I do. He can't love you the way I do.”
Alyra turned away to hide the tears forming in her eyes. “It doesn't matter. I know what I have to do, and I'm doing it. I can't have you in here.” She touched her chest. “It's too painful trying to juggle everything. Please. This isn't easy for me, but it's what has to happen.”
She waited for a response, but there was nothing except the stirring of the leaves in the wind. Alyra turned back to find Sefkahet was gone. The darkness closed in tighter around her as if a blanket had fallen over the moon. Standing by the pond, she let the tears fall.
* * * *
Horace looked both ways down the corridor as he knocked on the door again. It was late—almost midnight—but he needed to see her. His head was awhirl, and he needed to make sense of it all. And it started with her. He knocked a third time, but still no answer. He placed his hand on the latch. After a moment's hesitation, he opened it.
“Alyra?”
He pitched his voice low so it wouldn't echo out into the hallway. Her room was dark and small with only a narrow bed against the far wall. A bag with a carrying strap sat at the foot of the bed, clothes spilling out. Horace went over to the bronze lamp fashioned in the shape of a dolphin hanging by a chain and felt it. It was warm, but not hot. She'd been gone for a little while.
He left and started down the hallway in the direction of the stairs. Down the east wing corridor he saw a cluster of guardsmen outside the queen's suite, including the commander and his tall lieutenant. Horace went over to them. The soldiers saluted as he approached.
“Good evening, Belum,” Captain Dyvim said. The leader of the Queen's Guard was an older gentleman of the hekatatum warrior caste. Horace found him a bit stiff but a likeable fellow nonetheless.
“How goes the watch?” Horace asked.
“All quiet. If you're here to see Her Majesty, I would suggest waiting until morning.”
“No, no. I'm just prowling around. Have you happened to see Lady Alyra recently?”
“I have not. Lieutenant Orthen?”
“No, sir,” the lieutenant said in a surprisingly soft voice. “I could send out a detachment to locate her, if my lord wishes.”
“No. That's not necessary. Have a good night, Captain.”
Dyvim bowed again and was imitated by his men. “And you, as well, Belum.”
With a friendly nod, Horace resumed his search. He went downstairs and reached the villa's atrium without seeing anyone except a pair of guards walking patrol. He almost ran into a young woman in a short dress hurrying in the front entrance. Then he saw her gold collar and recognized her as one of the queen's handmaidens.
“Pardon me,” he said.
She kept her eyes on the floor as she moved out of his way. “Please forgive me, Great Lord.” Her words were pitched almost too low to hear.
“It was my fault. I'm trying to find someone. You know Alyra, right? She's not in her room.”
“She is in the gardens,” the woman said, almost whispering. She looked upset. “Down by the meditation pool.”
“Kanadu. Have a good evening.”
As he continued out the door, Horace looked back over his shoulder. The handmaiden was climbing the stairs. Her head was bent down, her shoulders shaking, as if she were crying. I hope it's not something I said. Poor girl.
Outside, the night was cool with a fresh breeze. The drooping trees surrounding the villa's estate swayed to the rhythm of the wind. The gardens spread out on all sides of the main house, divided by stone paths and leafy hedges, broken by the rooftops of small pavilions like wooden islands in the greenery. It was quiet, except for the buzzing of locusts and the occasional birdcall.
Horace made his way through the winding paths. A few minutes later, he found Alyra standing beside a scenic pond. He held back for a moment to watch her, standing in the pale moonlight. She bent down to smell the petals of a broad, white bloom, and he wished time would freeze in that instant. She was the purest thing in his life. She's a spy. Dealing in duplicity, and yet she's never false to herself. Why can't I be that way?
But he was torn between two worlds and two desires. He shifted his feet, the leather of his sandals scraping across the stone underfoot, and she turned. She kept her hands at her sides as she spotted him. Her eyes were hidden in deep shadows. “How long have you been there?”
All my life?
“I needed to find you.” He spoke in Arnossi.
She stepped forward, flower petals brushing against her legs. “Here I am.”
“I was hoping you'd be back soon. I have something for you.”
Horace reached into his sash and pulled out a small object. She took it in her hand. The carving was done in a light wood, polished to an amber sheen. “A sea turtle?” she asked.
“It's from Thym. You told me you and your family lived there when you were young.”
She held the carving in both hands, examining the detail. “That was thoughtful of you.”
“Things haven't been the same since you left. The job is…well, it's a lot more work than I anticipated.”
“It's an important position. You've come a long way since I first met you.”
“I'm still the same man. At least, I hope I am.”
“It's not so easy to tell.”
“You've been gone. I've had to hold things together here without you. Without Mulcibar. I tell you, Alyra, I feel like a fraud most of the time. People are making all these demands of me, and I don't know what to do anymore.”
“The queen wants you to do something?”
He didn't want to get into this with her, but it was pointless to hide it. She'd find out soon enough. “She wants me to oversee the halt of the slave uprising.”
“She wants you to crush them. Kill them all and make an example of them.”
It wasn't a question. “Yes. Something like that.”
“And you didn't refuse.”
“I tried to refuse. It's not as easy as it sounds when royalty is staring you in the face. She expects to be obeyed.”
Her head was bowed so he couldn't see her face in the gloom. “I'm sure you tried your best.”
“I did. What about you? What have you been doing all this time?”
“The same thing I was doing when you met me.”
“Of course. Your mission. It must be nice to have only one worry.”
“I worry. But the threat is not ended. If anything, it's worse now.”
“How could it be worse? The Sun Temple is destroyed. The queen is safe now, and I'm a member of her court. I wouldn't let anything threaten you.”
She looked up. Her eyes, shining, pierced through him. “Because you're so vital, she couldn't deny you anything. Right? She could never make you betray your ideals.”
“It's not like that. I don't intend to let anyone be hurt. I'm in a position to help the rebels, to bring about a peaceful solution.”
Her laugh was short and painful, cutting through his emotional barricades. “Then you don't know anything, Horace. The rebels aren't interested in a peaceful resolution. They will fight until they get what they want.”
He hadn't considered that. All these things he wanted to do, everything he wanted to be, perhaps they weren't as compatible as he'd believed. Could he serve the queen faithfully and still hold true to his values? Did he have any choice at this point? “Then I guess I'll have to convince them.”
“Like the way you convinced the queen to be merciful?”
“She's considering my plan.”
Alyra shook her head. “No, she's goading you into doing something you don't want. She's in your head, Horace. She owns you.”
“Sounds like you're the one trying to control me. And you're angry someone else has my attention.”
She turned away so her profile was facing him. The moonlight cascaded down her long hair, turning it to white gold. “Then I feel sorry for you. You don't even know how lost you are.”
“If I don't handle this problem, Byleth will find someone else. And you can bet that person won't have any problem with killing as many rebels as it takes to put the matter to rest. Is that what you want?”
“It's not about what I want, Horace. I'm not the one making the decision.”
“Dammit, I'm trying to make this work! I'm trying to bridge the gap, but you aren't making it any easier.”
“I know and I'm sorry, but I can't help you with this.”
“No? Then maybe you're the one who's lost, Alyra. Or maybe you never cared in the first place.”
He flinched even as the words came out of his mouth, but he was too angry to take them back. She had cut him deep and then twisted the knife for good measure.
Instead, he stalked away. The zoana stirred inside him as he left the gardens, like a caged beast that wanted to be free. He kept it on a tight leash, though it would have felt good to lash out, to destroy something and watch it fall to pieces, to feel the power surging through him.
He threw open the door to his suite, not caring at the noise as it slammed against the interior wall, then slammed it shut behind him. His nerves were frayed. His cheeks hurt from clenching his jaws so hard. Relax. Exploding isn't going to help.
He glanced down at the floor and considered meditating, but he wasn't in the mood. Instead, he went to the spirits cabinet and fished out a bottle of plum wine. The pale violet liquid sloshed inside as he held it up. He twisted off the top and took a deep gulp as he went out onto his private balcony. Sitting in a chair, drinking from the bottle, he looked out through the arched branches of the trees and caught a glimpse of the river's faint shimmer. The wind picked up, shaking the leaves.
He told himself he wouldn't think about Alyra, but his thoughts crept back to her like a beaten dog slinking back home. This wasn't how he had imagined her homecoming. Now everything was ruined. Shattered.
Perhaps he couldn't have everything he wanted, but he refused to quit just because things were becoming more complicated. He had his title and his power. And he also had the queen's trust, for now. They would be enough. And if not, then I'll cross those waters when I come to them.
The alcohol spread through his body in a warm wave that washed away the hurt. He sat and rode that wave as the stars wheeled above the villa, thinking of all the endless possibilities before him.