"Dragon: Ch 5 - 6" by Sarah Colley

Chapter Five

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Empress Leeottra stands looking up at the stairs of the temple. The white marble columns are wrapped with wide swaths of purple silk.  A long stretch of cloth, the same shade of purple, runs up the stairs, a path to lead the royal pair into the sanctuary of Chiron.  She is dressed in a form fitting gown of yellow, almost entirely hidden by the layer of red robes draped over it. Her long ebony hair is piled atop her head, held in place by jeweled darts. 

Standing next to her, Prince Monuel wears a heavy red silk jacket, embroidered with gold.  The rich hue makes his skin all the paler, his black hair is pulled back with a gem encrusted broach.  Turning to his bride, he holds a hand out, palm down, and waits for her to place hers atop his so he can lead them into the temple.

Taking the offered hand, she holds hers just above his and walks up the stairs next to her husband-to-be. She is followed by the elderly Lady Cherin of House Synin and her husband, both richly attired in blue and yellow. Behind them the immediate members of House Jorin and House Ajeni make their way up the stairs in a swirl of black, red and yellow.

Monuel leads the way through the interior passages of the temple, following the purple robed priestess who leads them without comment to the inner sanctuary of the goddess. The rich smell of spiced incense greets him upon entering the room.  With perfect formality, he leads Leeottra to the front of the room.  They stop before the small grownas wood table, decorated with a long strip of purple and white silk and three candles.  Behind the table stands the altar to Chiron.  A marble carving of the goddess stares down at the couple from it.  In one arm she holds a baby, suckling her breast, in the other, a chalice.

Leeottra considers what she felt the last time she stood before the goddess of marriage and childbirth and finds very little has changed. Both of her marriages, it seems, would start the same: from her desire for power. She had not married Montoff the man, but Montoff the Emperor of Arafia. Second wife with the second heir.  Well, soon enough that would change. She was to become first wife and with Koneff out of the way, she would be mother to the only heir of House Jorin and the future Empress of Arafia.

Koneff holds the hand of his sister, leading her to the right side of the room with the rest of House Jorin.  The emperor wears a heavy red silk jacket with black pants and boots.  The princess is dressed in a bright red dress, her blonde hair curled in tight ringlets and pinned up with flowers.  Taking his seat, he gazes across the room at his step mother’s family.

Lord Ellevenn, dressed in the finery of his house, inclines his head respectfully, noticing the gaze of the emperor.  Sitting next to him, his son, Ithyn, heir of House Ajeni, does the same. The young man takes after his father, with the same dark complexion and striking blue eyes. There is no doubt of his fathering, unlike his sister, who took after her family only in her eyes.

Lady Cherin and her husband take their positions on either side of the couple, watching expectantly as the High Priestess enters the room.  She is dressed in a vivid purple gown, cut across to leave one perfect white breast bare.  The golden bracelets on her wrists jingle musically when she lifts her arms up and begins to speak.  “Great goddess, I call your blessing down upon us, that we might unite under your watchful gaze these two souls.”

Looking first to Leeottra, the priestess indicates the white candle on the table before her. “Light the candle that it might indicate the brightness of your soul.” She waits patiently for the empress to comply before turning to Monuel, repeating her instructions.

Reaching out, the prince touches the wick of the candle, the magical flame appearing on contact. He lets his fingers linger for a moment, before removing them from the heat. Glancing up at the goddess he wonders if he is risking her wrath by entering into vows he has no intention of honoring. Well, at least not like the woman next to him thought. He would marry her and love the child he intended to beget on her, but honor her? Not likely.

“Take your candles and together bring to the life the third. Let it symbolize the joining of your souls, and of your bodies, that the new flame may be your unity, born of your union in the new life of a child,” the woman declares, watching the couple light the purple candle. Once lit, she nods to Lady Cherin.

The aging woman steps forward and begins to speak, her voice surprisingly clear, “Goddess, give your blessing to these two. In return for your protection they swear they shall be always loyal to one another and to your ways. Let them not stray from the understanding in their hearts, lest you should find disfavor in them.” With a nod to the High Priestess, she steps back to the supporting arm of her husband, her duty as Overseer of the Vows almost complete.

Leeottra keeps from shifting her weight from foot to foot with effort. Well, she would be loyal, she could not risk the disgrace to her house if she was found with another man, and surely, if the goddess was going to take offense she would have done so with her last marriage. It was not as if they were vowing to Lunar; love was not required for marriage.

“The couple shall now follow me, to make their offering to the goddess so they may start their union with her full blessing upon them.”

Glancing over to the right, Leeottra smiles fondly at her daughter before following the High Priestess from the room. Emerging into the open air courtyard, the sound of the young calf crying, assaults her ears.  She steps up to the altar with Monuel, joining her hand with his over the blade, drawing it across the throat of the pure white calf. The blood from the sacrifice spills across the altar, the pungent smell of blood filling the area.

“The goddess is pleased with your offering,” the priestess assures them with a smile. Beckoning she leads them away from the interior, returning them to their assembled family members for the final stage of the ceremony.

Rejoining their houses, the couple kneels down before a low wood table. The High Priestess takes her position behind it, accepting the bottle of Kotir wine from the young priestess behind her. With a smile to the two she fills the chalices before them.

Koneff watches Monuel and Leeottra lock elbows, drinking from one another’s glasses, chanting in between each sip of the purified wine. The low melody of the flute players floats through the room during the nearly silent final stage of the ceremony.

“Can I drink?” Cilona asks quietly when the young priestess stops before them, a tray of small silver bowls resting on her arms.

“Just a sip,” he replies with a smile, figuring it will not hurt her and afraid to offend the goddess.

The princess takes the delicate bowl and takes a small drink, her face scrunching up at the bitter taste.  Why do adults like that stuff so much, she wonders.

Barely managing not to laugh at his sister’s reaction, the emperor rises to his feet with the rest of the room.  He looks to the now married couple, wondering just how Leeottra fits into his life now; his step-mother? The mother of his sister? His aunt? It was really becoming all too confusing for him.  Taking his sister by the hand, he follows the Lady of House Synin from the temple.

* * *

Savia looks out across the sea of colors, brilliant combinations signifying each of the eleven great houses, The Order of the Silver Dragon and The School of Mages were all in attendance.  Of course, not attending the royal reception would have been a snub to house Jorin.   Besides, no one would pass up the chance for some good politicking. The lifeblood of the empire, she thinks with a snort.

Leaning over, Kotir comments, “Three days didn’t seem nearly so long when it was my own wedding.”

“That’s because you were involved, not just watching.”

“Well,” he replies with a grin, “at least the show should be good.”

“Let us hope the only ‘show’ we see is that of the performers and scheduled guests.”

Kotir snorts. “You would think, being married knight, that you would have more of a stomach for violence.”

“I do not mind violence when it’s open and justified, it’s this constant subterfuge and backstabbing that bothers me,” she says.

With a mischievous glint in his grey eyes, he replies, “Gods be praised you are not heir.”   

“Here they come,” Valira shushes her children, motioning to the far end of the room.

There is an audible shuffling as all in the room bow formally when Emperor Koneff enters, his sister still at his side. He inclines his head and motions that they should rise.  Making his way across the room he takes his seat at the golden throne, raised upon the marble dais, settling Cilona on a small chair at its side.

The members of House Jorin and Ajeni file in, taking their places throughout the room, seeking out friends and allies.  A hush returns to the room at the appearance of Lady Cherin. Looking around to ensure she has everyone’s full attention she announces, “Prince Monuel and Empress Leeottra of House Jorin.”

Entering the room together to the appropriately enthusiastic cheers of their guests, the couple smiles becomingly, both still dressed in their temple clothing.  Moving further in, they begin to slowly make the rounds, inquiring politely of their guest’s health and wellbeing.

Ryil slips up behind Savia and wraps his arms around her waist. “Hello, wife.”

Tipping her head back, she looks at him, offering a quick kiss. “Enjoying yourself?”

“No,” he complains. “This is the longest three days.”

Kotir points to his brother-in-law, saying, “See, it’s not just me.”

“At least your wife is in the same room with you,” Ryil replies.

He laughs at his sister’s blush. “You should have stayed with the family instead.”

“He doesn’t love me that much,” Savia teases.

“It’s not my fault,” he protests.

Savia cuts off her retort with the reemergence of Monuel and Leeottra.  The empress wears an embroidered black corset that pushes her cleavage up prominently.  A red gown hugs her legs, going to the floor. Matching sleeves start at her elbows and go to her wrists, attached to her hands at both middle fingers. Next to her the prince is dressed in solid black, the only color is the ornate red sword belt slung around his hips. 

“Oh, dinner,” Ryil observes with a grin and a wink before heading back to the Order’s table.

Laughing at her husband’s antics, she makes her way to the table set aside for her house. She takes a seat next to her brother’s wife, careful to put as much distance as possible between herself and eldest sister. Shalira will certainly be on her best behavior, tradition would allow for nothing less, but better not to give her the opportunity to be snippy.

The new husband and wife slowly make their way around the room, pausing at each table to exchange greetings with the Lord or Lady of the house and to light the traditional lantern to Chiron, bathing the table in a vivid purple glow.

“Lord Tachir,” Monuel says with a polite nod upon reaching the table.

“My Prince.”

Leeottra glances over, surprised to see Lord Xaron sitting at the table. Contemplating, she realizes he is the only surviving members of House Serress that would be eligible to attend the reception. Sitting alone at a table would be rather embarrassing, but she is not sure appearing to be hiding behind Aracien like a frightened child was any better. “Lord Xaron, our condolences over your recent loss.”

“Thank you, Empress.”

The couple moves on, finishing their rounds with a bow to the emperor before taking their seats at the main table and signaling for the first course to be brought out. Monuel searches the faces before him, considering what he knows of each, lining them up on a mental score sheet of who he will be able to count on for support once he is Emperor.

Koneff’s eyes are drawn to side of the room and the two groups who occupy it. He easily identifies the six councilors by their clothing; the woman wear silver gowns with bright wraps around their heads and shoulders in the color of their god, the men silver robes with colored sashes. Each of the six gods is represented in the Order. Beside them, and with a seemingly permanent hush around them, sit the Masters.  He stares at their telltale robes; they are no color and yet all colors at once.  Is that magic, or do they have a process for weaving that is not on the main land, he wonders.

The princess makes a face, indicating the fish with disgust. “Do I have to eat this?”

“Do not be rude, Cilona,” Leeottra scolds.

“But, mamma,” the young girl whines.

“Eat it,” the empress commands before returning her attention to her husband.

Glancing around, Koneff quickly switches his empty plate with his sister, winking at her conspiratorially, he leans down and whispers, “We can sneak to the kitchen later.” Straightening back up, he turns his attention to the room as one of the daughters of House Eyon rises to her feet.

The girl wears a gown of white, gathered at the waist with a modest neckline. The sleeves are long, slit at the top and held in place by blue ribbons tied in bows. The edges of her gown are trimmed in blue to match the blue panel on her chest that comes down to a point at her waist. Taking a breath to calm her nerves, she opens her mouth and begins to sing with a voice as sweet as honey.

Lord Xaron claps for the girl, pushing away the pain at the sight of her; so beautiful and full of life. Her voice was pure, but his Lena, now that was a voice gifted from the gods, he thinks. He coughs to clear the lump forming in his throat.

“Have you had any offers yet?” Tachir asks his old friend kindly.

Pulled from his thoughts by the question, he nods. “Yes, but the girls are all so young.”

Tachir gives him a ruthful smile. “Most men would not find that to be a problem.”

“I know, I know, but I just look at them and see Lena.”

Feeling guilty he urges, “Do not rush into anything, Xaron. You are still young.  You have time to find a suitable bride.” Please, he adds, do not marry just to produce an heir. He does not think he could live with himself if his friend went into a loveless marriage over his lie, no matter how noble it is.

Deciding he needs to lighten the mood, he looks over at Savia.  “Are you sure you don’t want to divorce that husband of yours?”  The pleading look on his face is ruined only by the mirth in his eyes.

Kotir interjects, “Oh, you don’t want her, Lord Xaron, she is much too feisty. Why, you would have to lock her away half the time!”

With a grin the Lord turns back to Tachir, demanding, “Why couldn’t you have had a fourth daughter?”

Valira laughs from beside her husband. “Five children are quite enough. I don’t think my heart could take anymore.”

“Oh, come on, mother, we worked hard to give you all that grey hair,” Kotir teases.

“You see?”

Perhaps a new wife and child will not be so bad, he thinks, grinning at their banter.

Savia turns her attention the room, observing everyone carefully, looking for signs of anything amiss. She can find none, and that worries her more than if she were to see bloody daggers in people’s hands. The emperor was apparently enjoying his time, Lord Xaron sat safely at their table, but still she was not at ease. It just was not possible, she thinks, that the attack on Serress was an isolated incident.

Grinning over the top of his chalice at his First Captain, Councilor Issydel thrusts his chin forward and comments, “Your wife is coming this way.”

Ryil turns his attention away from his Councilor, admiring her approach. She wears a green silk gown, cut to cross only one shoulder, it falls to the floor from the gather ender her breasts. An intricate purple cord crosses the top, dipping around her waist to come forward and tie at her hip. Her red hair is pulled back from her face, but falls free down her back, a string of gems woven delicately throughout.  He truly was blessed by the gods to have found such a woman. “Had enough ‘family togetherness,’ love?”

“Actually,” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck, “I am rather enjoying myself.”

“Heard anything interesting?” Mearcon asks.

She shakes her head, knowing he is really asking if she has noticed a threat, and answers, “Only the usual.”  Her cousin rising to his feet draws her attention. “Look, Avery is going to play.”

The heir of House Tulor bows formally to the emperor and the royal couple, before resting the metal instrument on his shoulder. Lifting the rod he draws it gently against the strings, filling the room with the first note, perfectly on pitch.  He plays with mastery beyond his nine cycles, captivating the room with the enchanting piece of music. Smiling bashfully at the roaring applause, he takes his seat again.

“It’s almost a shame he is First Born,” Avira notes, “with talent like that he could easily be the best performer in Arafia.”

Mearcon suggests, “He could always step aside for his sister.”

“Not likely. My sister is very traditional. There is no way she would let him give up being Lord to become a performer.” Savia smiles and shakes her head. “No, Avery will have to settle for playing for himself and his guests.”

“With your family, if he really wants it, I’m sure he would find a way,” Ryil says with a grin.

“Speaking of, I want you to come meet the Master.”

He blinks and stammers, “Meet the Master?”

“Yes.”

Looking at her with a quizzical lift of his brow he asks, “Why in the world would I meet a Master? I have no magic.”

“Not a Master,” she explains, “the Master.”

            Issydel laughs into his cup, sharing an amused look with Mearcon and Avira.

The blood drains from Ryil’s face with the thought. “Heartling, I know you studied at The School, but one does not just meet The High Master for no reason.” Glancing over at the three Councilors, he starts to get a sinking feeling. “And what do you mean ‘speaking of’?”

Savia, searching his face to see if he is playing with her, asks, “You really don’t know?”

“Apparently not.”

“We didn’t tell him,” Issydel offers helpfully.

“Tell me what?” Ryil demands through gritted teeth.

“I, well,” she searches for words. “You know how when people become only a member of The School they must give up all house allegiance?”

“Oh gods, please don’t tell me The High Master is family,” he pleads.

Looking slightly guilty she confirms, “My Grandfather.”

His jaw falls open and all color drains from his face.  He shoots an accusing look at the Councilors. “You knew.”

“Of course we knew,” Mearcon says.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“Lad, when you found out she was noble you turned white as a sheet. When we told you she was House Aracien you about had a heart attack. We feared it would kill you if we added in there that she was also the granddaughter of High Master Isri,” Issydel explains.

“Why are you so concerned? It’s just my grand father.”

“No, no, it’s The High Master.”

“Yes, what of it?” she asks, adding, “It’s just a title.”

“It is not just a title,” he insists.

Leaning forward, Savia puts her face in front of his. “Listen to me, Ryil. You married me. When you did, you became a member of House Aracien. You may not think of yourself as noble, but you are. Even without my house, you are First Captain of Altec.  Now stop acting like a frightened school boy and get your ass out of that chair.”

Choking on his wine at her speech, Issydel coughs out, “Well said.”

Ryil shoots a murderous look at his Council, but gets to his feet. “He’s going to hate me…”

“No,” Savia replies, “he is just going to think you a drooling idiot.”

“Savia,” he pleads.

She softens. “You will be fine, my love. He is rarely off the island and I want you to meet him. Relax. I married you, that’s all he will care about.” Taking his arm she leads him to the table.

Isri rises to his feet, his soft iridescent robes settling around him. Smiling he spreads his arms wide. “Savia.”

Throwing herself into his arms, she hugs him tight. Stepping back, she grins. “Grandfather, there is something I would like you to meet.” Tugging Ryil forward she says, “This is Ryil.”

“Ah, hello,” he stumbles, realizing he has no idea how to address the man, “…High Master.”

“What have you told the boy about me? He is beside himself with nerves.” Smiling at him, he reaches out and pats his arm reassuringly. “It’s quite alright, I don’t bite. If you passed the inspection of my son, you have nothing to fear from me. I am just the grandfather.”

Ryil smiles nervously. “There doesn’t appear to be any ‘just’ in this family.”

Isri’s laughter booms out. “Oh, I like him!”

Savia grins. “I knew you would.”

The High Master looks Ryil over, nodding his head. Motioning to the blue kilt and cloak he asks, “You are a Follower of Altec?”

“Yes,” still lacking for a title he hopes he is not making a complete fool of himself and pushes on, “sir. I am First Captain of the Order of Altec.”

“Impressive.”

Taking pity on her husband she leans in and hugs her grandfather. “We won’t keep you any longer, grandfather. I just wanted you to finally get to meet.”

“Come visit me soon, Savia. I have a new spell I think you should learn.”

“I will,” she assures him.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he shakes his head in amazement. “Okay, are there any other all powerful family members I should know about?”

Making a show of considering, she counts people off on her fingers before laughing at the look on his face. “No, I think that’s all of them.”

“Thank the gods.”

Savia leans over and kisses him tenderly, assuring him, “You did great.” Leaving him muttering about his heart not being able to take much more, she makes her way back to her family, taking her seat again.

“How is grandfather?” Kotir inquires with a grin.

“Wonderful, you should go say hello.”

“Oh, I took the kids by to see him earlier.”

“Springing your grandfather on Ryil was rather mean of you,” Valira scolds.

“He did great,” she replies. “Besides, if I had warned him I wouldn’t have gotten him to go.”

“It also reminds the room just what house the High Master comes from,” Lord Xaron points out shrewdly.

Looking innocent she says, “Oh, did it?”

Tachir snorts in amusement. “Aren’t you glad she is on our side?”

Cheering from the royal couple’s table draws the attention of the room. Monuel rises to his feet and holds his hand out. “Come, my dear, it appears it is time for us to make our exit.”

Leeottra stands, taking the proffered hand with the appropriately inviting smile. “Well then, we must give them what they want.”

The prince turns her towards the room, declaring, “My new bride and I thank you for celebrating with us. We look forward to seeing you all tomorrow morning, but for now, the Bridal Chamber awaits.” Monuel grins at the resounding cheer that follows.

Chapter Six

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Mearcon leans back in his chair and shakes his head with a sigh.  Looking across his desk at beautiful redhead he says, “With the Empress pregnant, I fear that whoever is after House Jorin will try to harm her.”

“That is assuming, of course, that Jorin really is the target and not specifically the emperor, or someone else entirely,” Savia points outs, looking up from the reports spread across the councilor’s desk.  

“Considering that Serress hasn’t seen another attack, we must assume Lena heard correctly that the Emperor is the real target.”

Savia nods. “Although there has been no further move against Jorin either.”

The Councilor sighs in frustration at the vague threat and wishes yes again that the answer would materialize before him like a portal, but then, if it was that obvious to everyone the plotters would not have gotten so far. “I know, and I thank the gods for it, but we would be foolish to think someone who would murder an innocent girl will so easily give up.”

“Do you think they know Lena is still alive?” she inquires, the fate of her cousin weighing heavily on her mind.  She wanted so badly to tell the girl’s father of her true fate, even if it was tragic, at least she lives.  

“No, at least, I hope not.”  Mearcon shakes his head and elaborates, “With Lord Xaron having followed the mourning rites, I think they believe she is dead, but they have not figured out a way to tie that back to House Jorin yet.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Savia demands, annoyance tinting her voice. “We are still no closer to figure out who they are.”

Grumbling in shared frustration he says, “I know. For now, we have to keep waiting on that front.”  He looks over at his First Captain, guessing part of the real cause of her aggravation.  “I know you want to tell Lord Xaron the truth, but it is still too dangerous. Not only for Lena, but for your family as well,” he adds.

Savia arches her brows. “How does revealing the truth put my House at risk?”

“You are harboring her. If they find out she is alive, especially given what she knows, you can lay even odds that they will go after her and I doubt very much they will hesitate to kill anyone who gets in the way.”

“They could try,” she assures him with a flare of family pride before relenting. “Alright, for now, she is still better of dead.”

“She is. As for the Emperor, I want you to secretly keep an eye on him.”

Frowning, Savia considers the order.  She is found of the young emperor and moving unseen for long lengths of time would not be overly difficult for a Shani of her rank, but she loathed to feel like she was spying on the ruler of the empire. “I can easily keep a few Dragons hidden outside the palace for when he leaves, but inside, it will not be so easy.” She taps her fingers on the desk. “I trust Ellaia, his Captain of the Guard. I want to tell her I am there. If not,” she gives a ruthful grin, “I might find myself with a sword in vital places.”

Mearcon laughs. “Well, as Avira just got you put back together again, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Just to see her take it out of your hide, it might be worth it,” she teases.

Snorting he orders, “Get going.”

Rising to her feet she inclines her heard in respect. Pausing at the door, Savia turns back and asks, “How long do you want me to stay?”

 “I don’t know. Report in regularly and we will go from there. Something has got to break soon.”

“Hopefully,” she replies in agreement and walks from the room.

* * *

Ellaia turns her head, slowly looking around her chamber. Seeing nothing, she frowns, but cannot shake the feeling that she is not alone. Drawing her sword, she turns in a full circle again.  Drawing a breath to call for one of her guard, she stops when a figure shimmers against the wall.  Slowly the shape of a woman takes shape.

“I had a feeling you would feel me,” Savia says, becoming fully visible. She is dressed in soft black boots and pants with a green tunic bound by her sword belt.  Leaning against the wall, she smiles at the Captain, her hands folded unthreateningly in front of her.

Lowering the blade, she returns the smile. Of course. I should have known the Dragons would be on high alert with the pregnancy now public knowledge. “It’s not wise to sneak up on people,” she informs her curtly.  

“Sorry about that, but I couldn’t have anyone else knowing I was here.”

Instantly on alert, Ellaia looks the Dragon over, worried she has misjudged her purpose. “Has something happened?”

“No,” she replies with a shake of her head, “which is what has us worried.”

The Captain sheaths her blade and takes a seat in the large wooden chair.  Motioning for Savia to do the same she lifts the bottle from the table and pours them both a glass of Tulor wine.  “Maybe you should start from the beginning?”

Taking the offered seat and drink, she smiles. “I cannot tell you everything, but we have uncovered a plot against your house.”

Lowering her glass, taking the words at face value without hesitation, she says, “I shall double the guard on the Emperor.”

“Please don’t,” Savia pleads. “Those responsible, and we do not yet know who they are, think we are unaware of this. If you suddenly increase his guards without reason, they may become suspicious and we could lose any chance we have of finding them.”

Ellaia shakes her head.  “I understand, but you must know that I will not, and cannot, leave Koneff exposed.” Pausing, she takes a sip of the sweet wine before continuing. “I am the Captain of the House Guard. My duty demands I act on this information.”

“I would not dream of asking you to leave him exposed,” Savia assures her. “That is why I am here. I have a small group of Silver Dragons outside the palace walls, who will move with the Emperor whenever he leaves the palace. However, inside, I will keep an eye on him.”

Considering her words, the captain finally decides it is enough protection while the threat remains unclear. “I see. You will be invisible, I assume?”

“Yes. Although I am sure I could come up with a reason to be openly near him, it would still be a warning, and someone might figure out a way to call me from him. If they do not know I am there, they cannot alter their plans in response.”

“Wise.”

Taking an appreciative drink, she says, “Koneff has only begun his training.  From what I have seen, his senses are not tuned enough yet to know I am there, as you did, but should I worry?”

The Captain shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. It will be many years before he can feel something is in the room, if ever,” she replies with a sigh. “He will be a good Emperor, but he is not very gifted with his magic.”

“Magic only makes it easier. A warrior’s skills can figure it out just as well,” she reminds her.

“True. Either way, you should go undiscovered.”  Lifting a finger she warns, “However, be mindful of his own personal guard and others in the palace. Many are seasoned warriors and while they may not know exactly why, they will be uneasy with you in the room.”

Downing the last of the Tulor wine, she rises to her feet.  “I will be careful. Hopefully this is all an exercise in being overly cautious.”

“I sincerely hope so, First Captain.  The empire cannot stand to lose another Emperor so soon. It would surely plunge the land into a war of succession.”

“I know.”

Ellaia smiles, trying to lighten the mood.  “When you need to rest, please, feel free to come here. No one else is allowed in here, so you will be safe.”

“Thank you,” Savia replies gratefully, already dreading the immense drain the constant use of her powers will place on her.

“You will let me know if the situation changes?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Princes Cilona runs up to her brother and holds her arms out, demanding, “I wanna go.”

Chuckling, the Emperor leans down and gathers the small child into his arms. “It will be boring.” Motioning to the wagon being loaded with supplies he explains, “We are going to deliver these to the workers in the south field.”

“How come?” The princess asks, scrunching her face up in thought.

“There was a fire, so they need these things to rebuild.”

“Why?”

Koneff grins, use to his sister’s questions. “Because everything they had was lost in the fire.”

The young girl eyes the knights waiting near the wagon. “They are going?”

“Yes,” he replies, slightly annoyed. “Ellaia refuses to let me go even that far without them.”

Lifting the silver dragon around her neck, which she has refused to take off since receiving it, she declares, “I am a knight, I should go too.”

Laughing, he tickles her under the chin, pleased with her squeal of protest and gives in. “Oh, alright.” Swinging her around, he places her on the wagon seat next to the driver with a smile.  Smoothing out her red dress, he makes sure she is safe in her perch. “Here, you can ride on the wagon.”

Cilona draws her eyebrows in and pushes her lips out in a pout. “But I wanna ride a horse.”

“This way you can oversee everything,” Koneff shrewdly replies.

“Oh, okay,” the princess says with a nod, bouncing on her seat.

* * *

A wide Cheshire grin spreads across Monuel’s face as he watches the activity in the courtyard. It was better than he had hoped for. The silly girl wanted to go. The gods truly were smiling on him. Clearly, his rise to power pleased them.

“Don’t you just look like the cat who ate the bird,” Leeottra purrs and walks up behind him.

“That would be because I am about to,” he assures her, turning away from the window.

“What are you up to?”

“Getting ready to mourn the tragic death of my darling nephew at the hands of Houseless bandits while he is in the southern region. It will be so sad- he will be killed while bringing aid to his people.”

Leeottra smirks. “Ironic, really.”  Looking over his shoulder, she gives a start. “Cilona.”

“Hmm?” He asks with feigned ignorance and turns back to the window.

“Cilona is going with him,” she says in a panic. “You must call off the attack.”

Arching his brows he asks, “Why?”

“They will kill her!”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing…”

The empress’ eyes grow large, realization gripping her heart like a vice. Gods help me, he lied. “You bastard!” she yells, struggling against his grip to flee the room.

Placing a hand on her stomach he says, “Behave, Leeottra, or you will upset our son.”

“I will tell them!”

“Now, now,” he warns. “What are you going to tell them, exactly?” Arching his brows, he looks at his coconspirator. “That your brat is going to be killed because she is going with him? And just how would you know this, I wonder?”

“No,” she moans, sagging against him.

“You can thank Chiron. If the goddess had not seen fit to make you with child, well, I would have had to let Cilona live, but now it will be my son that takes the throne.” 

“She is my daughter!” Leeottra pleads.

“Yes, by my bastard brother. I intended to wipe out his entire line, and now I have.” Lifting her face, he caresses his tenderly, taunting her to pull away. “And you will do nothing about it, empress. If you expose me, you expose yourself. How do you think Koneff would take it? Not well I should think. If you are lucky he would only exile you, but for having a hand in the death of his beloved father, I doubt it.” Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against hers. “He would assuredly kill you and the child in your womb. Think about it.” Releasing his hold on her, he stares at her coldly, daring her to expose him.

What have I done? she thinks desperately. Surely this child is a curse from Chiron for entering into false vows. She has given me a child to lock me into this vile union. If I want to live to see my child grow, I can do nothing. Placing a hand on her stomach, the empress lowers her head in reluctant acceptance.

* * *

Koneff grins over at his sister, watching her bounce along on the wagon. Although tired from walking around to survey the damage and meet with everyone, he finds energy watching her.  The emperor is amazed that she is still going strong, having expected her to fade out and sleep for the return trip.  He laughs when the guard lets her take the reins.  “Are you going to be a wagon driver now?” he inquires with amusement at her beaming grin.

“No.” Cilona shakes her head. “A knight with a horse!” Eyeing the emperor’s white stallion she looks up at him pleadingly. “Couldn’t we ask mamma for one?”

“I am sure we could find you a nice little pony.”

“Really?” She asks, wide eyed.

“Yes,” the emperor assures her, happy to comply with her wish. He pulls at the reigns to his horse when the large animal suddenly rears up, whinnying in pain as an arrow plants itself firmly in its hide. Koneff cries out when the stallion stumbles forward, going down from the second arrow.

Chaos erupts around the group, the knights drawing swords and moving in to protect the royal siblings. Two of the knights push the wagon over to create a shield for the princess.

Savia grabs the emperor, forcing him to the wagon and putting herself between him and the oncoming arrows. “Stay down,” she orders.

“Savia?” He blinks in shock at the knight.

“Not now,” she replies apologetically and draws her blade. Turning to face the nearest attacker she calls out, “Find the archers!” Swinging her sword, she engages the warrior.

Koneff grits his teeth and puts a hand to his bleeding shoulder. He tugs at the arrow, pulling it from the wagon to free his pinned tunic sleeve. Keeping low, he knows better than to try and involve himself in the fight.

The Dragons fall in with the remaining House Guard, defending the royal pair. Together they dispatch the small band of attackers. 

Savia sheathes her sword and surveys the scene; all but one of the House Guard lay dead on the ground, along with one of her own men, taken down with the unexpected onslaught.  “Majesty?” she inquires, relieved to see him rise to his feet. Thank Leenon, she thinks.

“I am only grazed,” he assures her, still holding his arm. Turning towards the wagon he says, “Cilona, it’s okay, you can come out now.” Staring at the wagon, he frowns. Walking around it, he pales to find the driver sprawled on the ground in a pool of blood. His heart sinking, he rushes forward, a cry catching in his throat. Gently, he gathers his sister into his arms, rocking her.

Bending down, Savia reaches out and feels her limp wrist, shaking her head. “I am sorry, Majesty,” she says softly. “She has gone to the goddess.”

“No…” he moans.

“We have to go, Majesty.” Holding her arms out she says, “Here, I will take her.”

Koneff shakes his head. “No, I will.” Rising unsteadily to his feet, he clutches the princess to his chest.

Savia bites her lip for a moment and then nods her head. Drawing a symbol, the air begins to sizzle until it forms a silver doorway. “This way, Majesty.”