The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XXXIV

Drusus

In which Nensela’s insight is vindicated

Edana’s vanquishing of Escamilla led to positive consequences, starting with Khratu’s priests alerting the watchmen of their former commander’s infernal possession. The watchmen in turn began their own investigations into Escamilla’s activities.

Soon after, they cleaned house.

As intended, Bessa’s play gave enough hints and clues that casual, well-placed observers could draw connections. None were better placed than the Watch’s sub commander and the senior officers, all of whom Escamilla had sidelined, undermined, or hindered in some fashion.

Silas Atreus’s intervention on behalf of the Honey Cakes theater company proved to be another brick in their case, because the harassment against the company could all be traced to Escamilla himself. The Watch-officers rooted out all involved in the matter, and found more of Escamilla’s arcana, some of whom carried paraphernalia among their gear pointing to forbidden Erebossan magic.

The emperor insisted the findings be made public, including a trial in open court of Escamilla’s allies. The people of Rasena crossed the bay to see the trial, which was held in the Arx Alarae, an ancient fortress where crimes against the empire were tried. Part of the citadel’s complex included Alara’s Horn, a clifftop where the guilty were thrown into the sea. In ancient days, the alicorn Alara fatally gored Solanus the Usurper on that very spot.

True to their duty, the Destroyer’s priests threw this latest cohort of betrayers from Alara’s Horn as well. The capstone to the proceedings centered on the disposition of Escamilla’s head, where the fellshade was still trapped.

In this decision a Venator and a Marinite priest played a part. They put their own binding spells on the Erebossan, barring him forever from the Palace of Land and Sea.

Halie herself returned to Valentis to see their judgment. As colossal sea dragons two of her brothers escorted her to Alara’s Horn, a magnificent spectacle which left the city awestruck. When the sea dragons assumed the form of men, Khratu’s priests turned Escamilla’s head over to them.

“We will escort him personally to Yadon the Destroyer,” one dragon promised, palming the head in his powerful grip.

Then the Sea Lord’s sons shifted back to their draconic bodies, disappearing beneath the waves.

The emperor publicly gave his assurances that any other infiltrators would be rooted out. He reiterated that suspected Erebossi were not to be confronted or killed.

Instead, Tarkhana gave the call signs for a contact in his Drakon Guard who would take all tips. As oracula could be expensive to use, he also announced that each substation of the Watch would offer free tokens, no questions asked.

With the Third Abyssal no longer able to interfere, the theater was packed every day the Honey Cakes staged it, a triumph for Bessa. And, as in Karnassus, Bessa was sought out, and for the same reason as in Karnassus. The attention nearly overwhelmed her.

Her heart skipped a beat, though, when people began to suggest her play would win the top prize at the Phoenix Festival next summer. When the emperor joined the audience, with much pomp and ceremony, the furor reached a crescendo. His attendance ensured that ‘those who mattered’ were obliged to attend, and be seen to attend, and to claim to attend as well.

If the Fourth Abyssal were around he could not overcome those conditions, Bessa judged. He had to fight on the battlefield as she and her friends had set it up, and he was now down three allies.

Brison was over the moon, so much so that Daphne successfully maneuvered to get them their own slaves to make the costumes. That this officially gave her a staff of her own to manage and fleshed out her sphere of responsibility was no doubt her real aim.

From time to time Bessa favorably called to Brison’s attention Daphne’s handling of the costume and set design, citing the praises she was hearing from the audience. On her last round Brison stopped waving her off, and looked as if he himself had finally noticed Daphne’s efforts.

“You have a delivery,” a messenger said. He handed Bessa a stack of letters.

The letters bore seals. One in particular made her stop in her tracks. Bessa stared for a long while at it, her heart pounding. Her hands shook as she broke the seal and unfolded the letter.

She read it once.

She read it twice.

Lady Nensela’s prediction came back to her, and she read it a third time.

The words remained the same; they said what they said. So.

Mumbling an excuse to Brison, Bessa raced from the townhouse and hurried to Lady Nensela’s Valentian estate. Fortunately Edana was there, enjoying a view of the ocean from the terrace while the servants were setting out a meal.

“Read this.” Bessa thrust the letter at her.

In a sonorous voice Edana read, “By order of the emperor, Drusus Caecilianus Tarkhana, you are summoned, O Ruby Lotus of Larissopolis. Well. Well.” She looked off into the distance.

“Edana?”

“Do you have anything to wear?”

“Edana!”

Edana laughed, something Bessa had not seen her do since her misadventures with Honoria. When Edana subsided she explained that she and Lady Nensela had received the same invitation. “This is business,” she said. “This is serious.”

When Bessa returned to her office she discovered the slave who had brought her mail couldn’t resist gossiping: Everyone knew the emperor had written to her. Actors and actresses stared at her as she walked by. When she reached her office she found Brison and Daphne sitting at her desk.

“Are you in trouble?” Daphne demanded. She sounded genuinely worried. Ever since Escamilla’s attack Daphne seemed more contrite, with none of her strict letter-of-the-law politeness she’d used to keep Bessa at arm’s length before.

“I don’t think so,” Bessa answered.

“But the emperor came to the play,” Brison pointed out. “Could he have been offended by something in it? Do you think he’ll have us killed for treason?”

“I’ve never heard of him doing that,” Bessa said, mustering conviction in her voice. Inwardly she cursed herself for paying scant attention to the current dynasty in her lessons. The Age of Heroes and Wonders, or the Seven Gates Era, either were much more fascinating compared to a far-off old man she grew up thinking would die “any minute now”… when she thought of him at all.

Brison fretted, “Maybe the victims’ names were forbidden to be spoken, so that now none of us living remember them. The emperor has reigned, what a hundred years? A lot happens in a century.”

“Oh come, even I know he’s only reigned sixty years. My grandparents never stop complaining about it,” Bessa said.

Brison raised his eyebrows, and Daphne stared at her.

Oh! Bessa shook herself. Right, her companions didn’t know she was Siluran. Not that it mattered, they were so thoroughly of the empire that resenting it would seem strange to them.

“Speculating is pointless,” Bessa continued. “Remember, we only portrayed the traitors in a negative light, along with the giants and abyssals, of course. The heroes embody Rasena Valentian virtues, which the emperor surely would approve of. And Brison—if the emperor turns out to want to be a patron, please think it over. At least for now.”

Daphne glanced at Brison. “At least let’s get everything packed, in case we need to run. And, um—be careful, Ruby.”

Evening found Bessa pacing nervously on the covered porch in front of the townhouse.

The emperor.

In all her life she never expected to meet the supreme lord of Rasena Valentis. The sinister personage her elders groused about, or the marvelous personage praised by writers with the good fortune to be his clients.

Usually she ignored either view, for she always preferred to make up her own mind rather than go by third or fourth hand accounts of others. But as she was never going to encounter Tarkhana to form her own judgment, there was little purpose in thinking of him.

Or so she always thought.

Bessa plucked at the folds of her gown, an indulgence she had bought in Karnassus. Fashioned from cloth-of-copper, and embroidered with beads of peach and cream in floral patterns along the hem, the part she loved most about the gown was the pleated, shimmersilk capelet about her shoulders. All in all, a less elaborate gown than the one she set aside for her own wedding, but still fit for meeting her emperor.

The copper highlighted her hair, around which she wore a wreath of sweetly scented moonglow flowers. The small, pale blue blossoms did double duty as ornament and perfume for her hair. As a concession to her Ruby Lotus persona, her enameled earrings were shaped like lotus flowers.

Other members of the troupe joined Bessa on the porch. Their murmurs reached a crescendo when at last the gates opened, admitting a fine carriage. Red and stately, the carriage came with a matching pair of fire drakes. No muzzle gated their mouths, warning enough their fire was held in check only by the honor guards controlling them. The guards were stern-faced men, impressively armored in electrum, and attired in black silk and leather.

“Nice ride,” an actor marveled. He whistled.

Awestruck, Bessa nodded. She started forward, but strong fingers gripped her arm and pulled her back, eliciting a yelp of surprise from her.

“Brison?” she asked, after he spun her around to face him.

He drew her away from the others. “Please be careful,” he whispered.

“Relax, Brison. Look, if the emperor is angry—which I’m sure he’s not—then I will make sure none of you are touched by his wrath.”

“I’m not worried about us. I meant you should be careful. At the end of the day, your name is on this play. You have had one terrible enemy already. If the emperor—well, I would hate to lose you, Ruby.”

Surprise stole her voice; all she could do was nod mutely before she turned away. Adapting a jauntiness she did not feel, Bessa descended from the porch and approached the carriage.

The Reaper’s moon shown down upon her.

A footman opened the carriage for her, and helped her inside.

“Good evening,” Lady Nensela greeted.

Edana slid aside to make room for Bessa.

Bessa exhaled. The moment the footman shut the door she said, “I’ve tried to keep my people from panicking. They’re convinced the emperor means to have our heads, because of the way I depict some of the characters.”

“How interesting your people know to fear the possibility,” Lady Nensela mused. “In truth his predecessor was a man given to beheading people, some who were truly his enemies, and some whom he only imagined to be so. With respect, I am never sure what people with mortal life spans will remember from one generation to the next. Your institutional memories seem too short to me.”

Edana asked, “Do you know the emperor? You speak as if you know him well.”

“Well enough to assure you he is not a petty man, nor easily slighted. Your heads are safe. Discover the rest for yourself. Forgive me, but I have a great appreciation for surprises. Indulge me, if you please, and let the night unfold as it will.”

Seat springs and luxurious upholstery ensured the women enjoyed a smooth ride to the palace. The younger women drew back the curtains so they could watch the scenery en route. Soon enough urban structures gave way to greenery, and Bessa’s heart began to pound in earnest. They must be near the palace, she guessed.

Correctly, as it turned out. Massive walls faced with white marble announced the palace before they came to impressive iron gates, which opened upon an avenue. Ancient trees formed graceful arches so thick and lush the moon’s rays barely penetrated to the ground.

Waiting for them at the end of the avenue was a gleaming, sparkling edifice of rose quartz and amethyst—or so it seemed to Bessa’s untutored eyes. Four crystalline spires flanked a central spire that dwarfed them, rising up to meet the sky. Lights ablaze in the windows signaled evenfall did not dim activity in the palace.

In one of those towers, so the legends said, there once dwelt a mighty sorcerer-king. Death did not oblige the king to yield up his kingdom. No, said the stories, the sorcerer-king carefully hid himself in a secret chamber in one of the spires, a chamber with a mighty preservation enchantment placed upon it.

There, in his secret chamber, the sorcerer-king lay himself to rest bodily. Leaving his soul free to wander the world as he pleased. Gathering to himself power, it was said, though the stories were silent on his purpose. All that mattered was that when the time was right, he would return to his body, and rule once more.

Staring at the palace now, Bessa wondered: which tower might the sorcerer-king have lived in? What secrets did the palace contain? Then she banished the thought, focusing instead on the very present beauty she beheld.

Once upon a time, the peninsula of Valentis was a mere settlement, which grew into a mighty city-state. A pearl nestled between two seas, backed by mountains. Here before her was the sword which guarded the pearl: the crystalline palace.

Open doors revealed the splendor inside. Fragrant rose petals carpeted the entrance. The guards snapped their spears straight when the women approached, allowing them to pass.

Inside, rose vines twined along marble columns lining the halls. Walls of mirrored silver gleamed between the columns. The ceilings rose high. High enough that Bessa stopped trying to guess how many six-foot-tall men would have to stand on each other’s shoulders to reach the ceiling.

Starlight twinkled on the walls and the floor, giving the scenery a magical cast. Intrigued, Bessa looked up. Ah, the starry effect came from starbursts cut into metal sheaths overlaying the glowlights which hung from the ceilings. Bessa resisted the urge to gape. From the look on Edana’s face, Bessa knew the scenery was not lost on her, either.

The throne room did not disappoint. Tall marble columns supported a frieze depicting glorious moments in the history of Rasena Valentis. Frescoes on the walls illustrated highlights of Tarkhana’s reign. When Bessa came to one vignette she grabbed Edana’s arm.

Edana followed her gaze. Her jaw dropped as recognition bloomed. Both women turned to Lady Nensela, who was walking serenely ahead, nonchalant.

“So the fabled Artile was a gifted painter,” Bessa whispered. “This is a lively likeness of Lady Nensela.”

During their luncheon the women refreshed their knowledge of the current dynasty, courtesy of a scholar in residence at Lady Nensela’s villa. He filled in a gap in their knowledge they never noticed before: the name of the foreign seer who crowned Tarkhana as emperor.

“Sixty-three years ago this happened,” Edana mused. “To know someone so long. Truly that’s a teardrop in the ocean for her, but even so, I’m glad she’s enjoyed a friendship as old as some people’s grandparents.”

“May it be so for us, too,” Bessa agreed.

An arresting idea, which made her contemplate how long she and Lysander might have together, if they should finally meet. Based on his age, she would have to hope he lived into his eighties if she planned on spending sixty-three years with him. While such longevity wasn’t impossible for a mortal…all the same, she resolved to take Lady Nensela’s advice and cherish whatever time she would have with him.

As for Lady Nensela, the seer had outpaced them, and stood now by the emperor’s side. Quickly Bessa and Edana reached the other end of the throne room. Bessa swallowed hard when it finally sank in that she was standing before the emperor.

Emperor Tarkhana regarded them with a benign expression. Or rather, as benign as his leonine countenance could look. Sharp-angled, golden brown eyes glinted out of a long narrow face, set off by his knife-edge cheekbones and keen nose. His hair was swan white, and his robes blood red. The robes were not as elaborate as Bessa imagined they would be, but by their sheen she knew they were made of the finest linen available.

She studied his face. The scribes wrote that he took the throne at twenty-seven, thus he was now ninety. Yet he looked no older than his fifties. Immortal blood must course through his veins, she decided. Ta-Setian was her first guess, but perhaps like Ziri he came from naiad stock. The blood of old Athyr-ai was also said to be in him, and their formidable priests were well-studied on the subject of immortality.

Tarkhana extended his scepter to Lady Nensela. “Your Grace,” he drawled. How rich, how smooth, how deep his voice! “I am overjoyed to have you in my court again at last. What wondrous endeavors have occupied you since last we met?”

The seer’s lips curved in a roguish smile, which the emperor returned.

He glanced at Bessa and Edana. “Do I understand correctly your intriguing companions are part of these endeavors?”

“The saviors of your empire,” Lady Nensela corrected. “Drusus, I present to you Edana Nuriel, who selflessly left behind a successful business to take up weapons against the faction that threatens all of our lives. With her stands the one known as ‘the Ruby Lotus of Larissopolis,’ whose play you were said to enjoy.”

“I have enjoyed it. It is the talk of court. I quite like the fight scenes, ‘Ruby.’ I may have some suggestions from my own experience if you wish to add bit of spice to them.”

Despite herself Bessa blurted, “How did Lady Nensela come to crown you?” The scholar didn’t have time to fill in every gap in her knowledge of the current dynasty.

The emperor and the seer exchanged smiles again.

He said, “I noticed you admiring the fresco. An excellent likeness of her, is it not? Best of all, if I need to do touch-ups, she’s still around to help my latest generation of artists. Pity Artile and his apprentices have gone to the Everlasting Lands.”

Bessa persisted, “How did she come to crown you emperor, as a foreigner?”

“And a woman,” Edana added.

Rasena Valentian women weren’t supposed to be involved in politics. Not openly. Not officially.

Lady Nensela shrugged. “The ways of Rasena Valentis are not my ways. Where I am from, it is the responsibility of the women to crown the king. I crowned my brother.”

Their heads swung over to the emperor, whose features failed to rearrange themselves to make him look like Lady Nensela.

“Not me,” he said. Amusement tinged his voice. “But she is responsible for helping me take the throne in the first place. When a Seeker’s Own strides into your camp in the middle of the night, and tells you that if you wish to be emperor to rise and follow her, you can’t help but obey. Even curiosity must be satisfied. Mark well: this was the only time I disregarded my honorable mother’s advice about following after ‘strange women.’”

Bessa could not help a small smile. The emperor was human, after all.

“Why did you choose him?” Edana asked. Though she maintained an even tone, Bessa knew a small part of Edana must have felt betrayed. When was it ever said the Eitanim loved the emperor? No more often than it was ever said of Silurans, that was sure.

“Of all the threads on the loom, the one with Tarkhana as emperor led to the most favorable outcomes for Rasena Valentis. And beyond,” Lady Nensela replied.

Beyond. Loyal to Rasena Valentis, Bessa considered the well-being of her fellow citizens the paramount priority of the emperor. Surely if Lady Nensela took upon herself to choose the sovereign of a people, she kept their interests topmost in her priorities? Was this not so? Or had she acted on behalf of her brother, or her own people first?

Lady Nensela was eying her. Almost as if she read Bessa’s thoughts she said, “Temporal politics interest me but little. Above all other considerations I am the Seeker’s instrument, and it is She who moves me to take the part of one person or another.”

“I am the least of many possible evils,” Tarkhana translated. His tone remained friendly as he said it, then he smiled as their faces betrayed their surprise. “So young, so innocent are you. Let an old man advise: all people should count immortal prophets for their friends. Emperors in particular ought to do this. Such friends help you keep your outlook in its proper perspective, and your thoughts about your place in the world in a humbling light.”

His gaze softened as he reached out to touch Lady Nensela’s cheek. “Lady Nensela, friend of my youth, will be here when my bones have turned to dust. Who can say if anything I have done will outlast that sad day? Might it not be that what I do here is simply a foundation for something of greater significance, and I may otherwise be forgotten?”

He stared long at her, as if willing her to confirm or deny his belief.

But she kept her silence. Her face was so still that for the first time Bessa began to sense the weight she carried, of living as an immortal who could see the beginnings of friends not yet born, and the endings of friends not yet lost.

Perhaps Tarkhana sensed it, too, for he withdrew his hand. In a soft voice he said, “I, too, am an instrument, for the purpose decreed by the gods. Had a greater instrument been available all those years ago, Nensela would have visited him instead of me when the camp fires blazed at night.”

He stood, drawing himself up to a commanding height before gracefully stepping down from the dais to stand amongst them. He continued past, putting his back to them, scandalizing the Drakon Guard who stood closest to the throne. The guards snapped to, their bodies erect, poised to pounce.

“Over a month ago someone attempted to hasten my end. We will not speak of it here. Come.”

Down grand corridors he led them, and up a flight of stairs, until at last they came to sumptuous apartments. Bessa studied every detail for the sake of relaying them later to any who asked—and to add them to any future story she might write.

“Your letter vexed me,” Lady Nensela said as they walked. “Scant were the details you offered me: that you were attacked in the night, but not the consequence, nor the perpetrator. May I trust the attack was other than a simple palace coup?”

“Come, Nensela: the day I cannot handle a coup is the day that I am dead. Let me show you something.”

A huge mirror, encased in a gold frame carved to resemble valonian oak leaves, dominated the room he took them to. A large power scepter was sheathed in a container next to the mirror.

Bessa cocked her head. The power scepter resembled the ones typically used to activate glowlights, in that it had a long electrum shaft topped with a five-pointed star. The star fascinated her: it was not constructed entirely of electrum; the metal was merely a setting for the sapphire jewel within. Sapphires, she knew, were valued by all the seers. The omnipower, they named it, for sapphire could aid prophets, scryers, and echomancers alike.

Tarkhana noticed her looking at it. “This is what I wanted to show you, an innovation imported from Lyrcania. I think you will appreciate this. Nensela.” He beckoned for her to join him at the mirror.

She did so. Suddenly, her eyes widened and she stepped back. “This is—I sense a power. I can use any reflective object to contact people, but the power is only there when I will it to be. This is—it’s as if the power is always there, just waiting to be activated, like your oracula or glowlights.”

Tarkhana handed her the scepter. Lady Nensela turned it over in her hands. Her eyes brightened as she caressed the sapphire.

The emperor called their attention to the mirror frame. Inset into the frame on one side were discs similar to the ones used in the oracula machines. Instead of levers they moved by dials, as Tarkhana revealed when he gave Lady Nensela the coordinates. The coordinates included the gibbous phase of the moon, and the heliacal rise of Anemone, the brightest star in the Sylph constellation.

“The celestial alignment when you were attacked,” Lady Nensela observed. She finished twirling the dials then touched the mirror with the scepter.

The mirror shimmered. The women gasped.

Inside the mirror Tarkhana roamed about, in the same room they stood in now. This other Tarkhana wore a simple green tunic. In one hand he carried a codex, and in the other a murrhine cup of wine. Glowlights shone from the ceiling. An open window revealed it was first light outside. He sauntered over to the couch, festooned with cushions, and reclined. For a moment he paged restlessly through the manuscript.

Presently two servants entered, bearing trays covered with domes. Lady Nensela tensed, but mirror-Tarkhana took no notice of them.

Bessa and Edana frowned at the slaves. Something was not quite right about them. Abruptly their suspicions were vindicated: the men shimmered! The man with golden hair suddenly sported brown hair, and the one with a beard became clean-shaven in the twitch of an eye.

Mirror-Tarkhana glanced over at the servants. He recoiled, then leapt to his feet. Just in time, for the servants uncovered the trays. Now uncovered, their short swords gleamed under the glowlights. The men locked eyes with Tarkana for one long moment.

Then they charged.

Bessa clasped a hand over her mouth.

Mirror-Tarkhana bent down and gripped the rug, yanking it from under his would-be murderers. They tripped, narrowly avoiding impaling themselves and each other. In two long-legged strides Tarkhana reached them. Still shod in his sandals, his foot produced a satisfying crunch when he stomped on the blond-brunet’s wrist. Immediately the blond-brunet let go of his sword. Beard-cleanface rose, thrusting his sword at Tarkhana from his position on the floor.

Tarkhana adroitly dodged. What reflexes! Within a heartbeat he snatched the man’s forearm, pulling him up and delivering a punch to the throat at the same time. Beard-cleanface was too stunned to stop Tarkhana from taking his sword. Nor could he stop Tarkhana from running him through with it.

The blond-brunet scrambled back, clearly trying to get out of Tarkhana’s reach.

“Who are you?” Mirror-Tarkhana demanded of him, as he brutally pulled the sword from beard-cleanface’s stomach. The dead man thumped against the floor. Tarkhana fastened a cold stare upon his next prey.

Bessa shivered.

Blond-brunet’s lips curled. “We are the children. You are the motes. The servants will fall.” He pulled a long-knife from his boot.

He was too late. Mirror-Tarkhana seized the man’s knife-hand, yanking him into the reach of his own sword. Almost too fast to see, he drove his sword into blond-brunet’s heart, all the way to the hilt. The action stopped, and Mirror-Tarkhana and his adversaries were frozen in place.

After a moment Edana asked, “That was real?”

“Indeed,” flesh-and-blood Tarkhana confirmed. “The Lyrcanians have a way to allow seers to share visions and Sendings with others. In particular they have a company called ‘Ellura,’ whose artificers make devices such as this. My echomancers have had fun with this one.”

“Can you get more?” Lady Nensela asked, running a finger along the frame.

“I aim to. Along with more wonders. But without a direct Gate to Lyrcania, these are costly imports by land and sea. When I think of how many pounds of gold this would have to be sold for, just to make up for the transport costs … I shudder to think of what my opponents in the Den would make of the expense. Fortunately, the mirror was an embassy gift.”

The ‘Den’ was the government assembly, called such because the men within it were all dragon class as a rule. Officially considered first in the assembly, the emperor was designated as Draco Prime.

Bessa, too, shuddered at the cost. Not to mention the inefficiency of merely importing such fabulous goods. “May I hope the Ellura company was part of the embassy? Will they set up a branch here, too?”

With a playful smile the emperor replied, “The courtship is, shall we say, mutual and enthusiastic? I think I do not promise too much if I say you should look forward to the outcome.”

Thoughts of what other wonders Ellura Company offered brought a dreamy smile to Bessa’s face.

However, Edana looked more serious as she tapped her thumb against her chin. “Were the men using an illusion? Why did their appearances keep changing?”

“An ‘artifact,’ I am told. Certain proof of an illusion. The mirror allows you to see both what is, and what is meant to be seen, as scryers do. Such a blessing is why I detected them.”

“Very illuminating,” Lady Nensela said. “Thank you, Drusus.”

Tarkhana bowed graciously, startling Bessa and Edana. He winked at them.

The show over, he led them outside, where his Drakon Guards awaited. The guards escorted them to his private dining pavilion, on a small promontory overlooking the bay. No one could take them unawares, nor overhear any utterance they might say, Bessa silently noted.

White, moon-blossoming flowers encircled the pavilion and the path leading to it. Palm-sized glowlights were interspersed among them, emitting a soft silvery glow along the path. Inside the pavilion, glowlights bordered the edge of the ceiling, allowing them to see comfortably as they sat under the wooded canopy. The applewood logs in the small braziers in the corners of the pavilion ensured they stayed warm in the brisk air of night.

Once the servants brought out the food Tarkhana banished the guards, sending them to the far end of the lane.

The women took their places, then Tarkhana blessed their dinner in the name of the Reaper. As their host Tarkhana first passed the breadbasket to Lady Nensela, who sat at his right hand. The spiced bread inside was still warm and fresh, with indentations baked into it to make ripping it up easier. After Bessa and Edana took their share, Tarkhana ripped off a hunk of bread and broke it.

Now their emperor leveled the full weight of his attention to the two younger women.

“Not in a very long time have I read as riveting a report as Lady Aelia’s account of the Battle of Red Pointe. In it she speaks highly of you, Edana Nuriel. You, and a companion known as ‘Bessa Philomelos,’ who, by her description, can only be the one before me as ‘The Ruby Lotus of Larissopolis.’” The emperor caught Bessa’s eye, and held her gaze. “Your prudence is to be commended. Your secret will remain with me. And my archives.”

“Thank you,” Bessa replied.

“There is more to be commended as well,” Tarkhana continued. “Knowing what I do of the giants and the traitors, I see your play for what it is: a clever gambit. And a successful one, as reports from my best informants tell me. You tell tales, Optima Philomelos. Tales that plant seeds in the mind, and bear fruit in deeds. No doubt you would wish to be recognized by your peers and your audience at the Phoenix Festival. In place of that joy, please accept the honor of your emperor.”

Bessa jumped in her seat, startled as one of Tarkhana’s slaves appeared beside her. The youth knelt, holding out a beautiful gold and teal enamel cloisonné box.

Her heart stopped.

The box was the right dimension for…but could it be? Bessa’s hand trembled when she reached out to open the lid.

Lady Nensela and Edana leaned forward.

Pearl-white silk lined the box, a stunning contrast to the object nestled within it: a quill. The feather started as a deep lavender near the shaft, graduating to violet nearest the edges. Its tips gleamed teal, or emerald, or azure depending on how the light hit it.

A phoenix quill.

Bessa gasped.

Tarkhana smiled. “You have earned it. I thought you should be recognized, even though you must conceal your true name.”

Three—four—heartbeats passed before Bessa found her voice. Her mind reeled. Beneath the table, Edana gently prodded her.

“Ohhh … thank you!” All other words fled her mind, and it seemed an eternity before she realized she was gaping in shock. Then her upbringing kicked in, and she said, “I am profoundly gratified and humbled by this gift. Permit me to say that what I have done I did not do alone: The Honey Cakes Troupe made my play come alive. Their performances have been vital in our project of warning people about the giants and the traitors. Right now their leader is concerned you have judged our play as an offense against the empire, and I have done my best to assure him otherwise. Might I ask you to remember the troupe in any accolades to come?”

Tarkhana eyed her for a long moment, then a slow smile came to his face. “My better generals always give credit to their best soldiers. Consider it done for your soldiers as well.”

“Congratulations,” Edana and Lady Nensela said to her.

Later, Lady Nensela asked about the assassins. As Tarkhana could see through illusions she concluded they only posed as pre-existing staff at the moment of the attack, not the days before.

A point which Tarkhana had already considered. His Drakon Guard had investigated, discovering that seven new people joined his staff in the last six months. One of the seven included Claudia, the daughter of Empress Oriana’s freedwoman, a cloth weaver.

One new kitchen slave, and one new carpenter turned up missing.

“Would you believe, they have not been seen since the night of my attack? And their description exactly matches the true appearance of my would-be killers? The others are under watch, especially Claudia.”

“And the movements of the spurious carpenter and slave?”

“My echomancers tell me the cut-throats used the oraculum on three occasions. And that is why you are here. I have two call signs. One sign we matched with a name. The other sign we’re not sure what to make of. Add them both to your list.”

From his robes he brought forth a piece of folded parchment. He watched Lady Nensela’s face as she studied it. “You seem troubled.”

She glanced at Bessa and Edana before answering. “Governor Archelaos is a name known to us: he is an agent of Erebossa. An eidolon. Grant me leverage to use against him, I beseech you. But this other call sign, has it not come to you already?”

“Why?”

“It is the sigil of a fiend due to appear in the east. Where, I will note, Archelaos is also stationed, and where a multitude of giants will appear before the solstice. This sigil belongs to Murena.”

Edana jerked upright. “They were going to replace him.”

Tarkhana lifted an eyebrow, prompting Lady Nensela to add, “Murena has tried once before to capture a body to possess.”

All night long the emperor had given off a youthful, vivacious energy. But now he closed his eyes as though mortally tired. For several minutes he sat in silence, then took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he looked every bit his ninety years.

“By the gods. What a shadowfiend could do wielding my authority and wearing my body does not bear thinking about.”

“And in your body he will have a long time to carry out his schemes,” Lady Nensela pointed out. “Creatures of Erebossa do not think in the short term, and we know they have been waging a longer war. This war is older than I, I who have lived so long as to see the stars shift in the heavens. Dryads had yet to awaken in Qirû before the first volley was made.”

Tarkhana solemnly vowed he would be on his guard.

“Attend to me, Drusus,” Lady Nensela commanded, and clasped his hands in her own as if she were about to lay an oath upon him. “Is it not said by your people, ‘Death before dishonor’? At all costs you must keep to that value: yield up your life if you cannot prevail against your attackers.”

Tarkhana sighed, and squeezed her hands. “Such a glorious death, for a glorious reason. The echomancers and lorekeepers will have fun with this. Very well. My affairs are in order, and my successor is safeguarded.” He turned to Bessa. “Now I charge you, young playwright, with making my demise a grand and memorable affair in your play. Choose not a callow pretty boy to play my part; seek and find an actor with a deep and commanding voice. I favor red; it suits me. Let your costume people know.”

Thoughts of Brison’s reaction to this ‘suggestion’ swirled in her head, but Bessa calmly replied, “It will be so, Your Eminence.”

Tarkhana turned back to LadyNensela. “And if I am grievously wounded, but am unable to die quickly enough?”

“Vet your physicians. Entreat His Grace, Lysimachus, son of the Sea Lord, to stay by your side and enforce this order: you will succumb to your injuries, or the physicians die. They cannot raise you. The healer who disobeys this order is the enemy. Your priests must do what was done against Justin Kellis in Karnassus. That is how it must be if you are successfully attacked. For your sake and ours, try and evade the Erebossi until the winter solstice, when all the dead must remain so.”

“It will be as you say,” Tarkhana replied.

For a long moment Lady Nensela regarded him. Her eyes glinted as if she were looking into a light they could not see.

“I will not know death, unless someone kills me,” she said quietly. “But I know the fear of death. So I will say now, at the moment Murena enters your body, he will undo your life’s work. Drusus Caecilianus Tarkhana will not be remembered to history as a good emperor, or a wise emperor, or the shepherd of the golden age of Rasena Valentis. He will be remembered as the one who destroyed the world.”

“What aid can I give you?” the emperor asked later that evening.

Lady Nensela promptly replied, “Governor Archelaos must be watched; that is in your power. The sea captain presents a challenge, but we are not without a plan for him.”

Thus it happened a decree went out to every part of Rasena Valentis authorizing private vessels to destroy any ship belonging to Rozvan Lior and the Red Daggers. A princely sum would go to any who managed this feat—regardless if the hero were an honest sailor or a pirate.

“The pirates are also Rasena Valentians, are they not? Let them serve you now,” Lady Nensela said.

The emperor denied her nothing she asked for. Of his own initiative, he offered up one other boon.

To Bessa and Edana he presented small gold boxes, each with a ruby cabochon in the center of the lids. The women glanced at each other, then opened their boxes together. Inside each box was an amethyst ring, with a braided band of gold and silver. Intaglios carved into the amethysts portrayed a crowned sea dragon framed by a wreath of valonia oak leaves.

Tarkhana said, “Do not think it lost on me that you are both from the parts of my empire that love me least. And yet you have done more than I could have asked to protect it. For reasons of your own, I’m sure. With these rings you may ask for assistance from any official, any soldier, and you shall have it. More than this, the rings are attuned to my oraculum. Use them wisely.”

Edana gathered her thoughts before answering. “Thank you, eminence, for the trust you have put in us. It is … an honor we do not take lightly.”

The emperor insisted they stay for the night. Neither Edana nor Lady Nensela objected to this, and Bessa understood why. The rest of the empire was not like Falcon’s Hollow; night travel was to be avoided unless important business were afoot. However, she did summon her courage to ask to send a message to Brison.

As it turned out, the emperor shared a bond with a sylph, and she delivered Bessa’s assurances to him.

When breakfast was over, Bessa and Edana boarded their carriage. Lady Nensela started to enter, then paused and turned back. Long did she gaze upon Tarkhana, who was watching them leave. On the way back, Lady Nensela remained silent and pensive.

“Will he live, my lady?” Edana asked.

The seer did not answer right away. “I do pray so. For all our sakes, I pray so.”