"Imperium Ch I - II" by Sarah Colley

I

“There will be war.”

Councilor Issydel leaned back in his chair and lifted the ale mug to his lips. He took a deep draft, savoring the thick flavor of the Asayi brew, and waited for the others to speak their peace.

In the private Council Chambers of the Order of the Silver Dragon Knights the large windows had purposely been thrown open to allow the spring breeze to cool the room.  The six stained glass windows each depicted one of the gods of Arafia. The red of Alectexia, Goddess of Death.  The blue of Altec, Goddess of War. The purple of Chiron, Goddess of Marriage and Childbirth. The yellow of Frolon, God of Healing. The green of Leanon, God of Order and Justice. The white of Lunar, God of Love.   

Sitting around a rectangular table were the six members of the Ruling Council; one for each of the gods and goddesses. At the head sat Councilor Mearcon, to his left, Councilor Issydel and to his right, Councilor Avira. Across the length of the polished table from him sat Councilor Yaril, to his right was Councilor Alelshy and to his left, Councilor Lisaststa.   

“The warmonger is right,” Councilor Mearcon admitted, stroking his graying goatee.

Issydel snorted and declared indignantly, “Of course I am.”

“Alctexia will have many newcomers to the Hall of Souls.” 

Issydel resisted the urge to shudder at the cold chill that ran down his spine as he looked at Lisaststa.  Although he knew that the Councilor of Alextecia was a grown woman, the fact that she looked like a ten cycle old child never failed to unnerve him. Perhaps it was the love of the Death Journey masked by such a youthful face. “Back to me being right,” he said, pulling his eyes away from the blonde woman.

“I am not so sure you are.” Avira, Councilor of Frolon, was ready, as usual, to provide the dissenting voice. Shifting in her seat, she drew her yellow wrap tighter around her shoulders and explained, “Ajeni gave up the protection of Jorin when Leeottra renounced her position in their House to reclaim her title of First Daughter.”

Perhaps it was her healing nature, but she was not as ready as the others to believe war could not be avoided. If it came, however, her healers would call on all the strength of Frolon to keep as many souls from the Goddess of Death as they could. “They will no longer have the support of the Emperor to fall back on and I doubt their allies would get involved unless House Synin attacked first.”

Slamming the empty mug back on the table, Issydel belched and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before assuring them all, “They will be at war within the cycle, mark my words.”

“Assuming you are right, what of it?” Avira replied. “You know we cannot interfere unless they attack the Emperor or The Order directly and I can’t believe either would.”

“Damn laws,” Issydel grumbled.

Mearcon shook his head at the long standing gripe of his friend. Not for the first time, he thought that Issydel would have been much happier living before the Imperial Mandate was issued. In times past, although created by the Emperor, they had sold their services to any House who could afford to pay for them. Glorified mercenaries were really all they were. Then the Emperor had decreed they could not fight unless in direct protection of the Gold Throne or themselves, to keep the Houses from constantly warring with one another. Mearcon could not imagine living before their Order had such honor, but the followers of the Goddess of War still chaffed at the restraint.

Voicing part of his thoughts he said, “You know we were no better than mercenaries then.”

“Yah, but employed ones,” Issydel sniped.  

Avira’s laugh turned into a cough as she attempted to keep it in. She knew if she encouraged the man, he would get started on his favorite tirade and they would be there for an hour listening to how he was a General without a war or some other nonsense. “You get paid, so stop your bellyaching.”

“At least my boys will get to do some maneuvers out on the border.  Just in case Ajeni decides to get greedy and do something foolish,” he explained, almost hoping they would.

Joining the conversation for the first time, Councilor Yaril lifted his head from his private conversation with Alelshy to voice his opinion. “I agree. We should have troops in place, just to be safe.”

The impeccably attired Councilor of Chiron, having been pulled into the conversation when her confidante joined, murmured, “You’re just worried about that lovely hide of yours.”

“It would be a crime against the gods if it was injured,” Yaril retorted with a flash of his brilliant smile.

Issydel’s booming laughter filled the chamber. “See, even lover-boy knows I am right.”

“Don’t encourage him, Yaril.”

He gave a playful shrug of his elegant shoulders to Avira in response. Sweeping his black locks out of his face, he returned to his previous conversation, seemingly having lost interest in the one going on around him again.

“Very well,” Mearcon said, “we will send detachments of both of our units to patrol the border along Jorin and Synin lands.”

“Ryil will be thrilled.”

“I am sure, which is why Savia is going. Someone has to keep your people from joining the battle,” the Councilor of Leanon replied jokingly.

“Bah! You ruin all my fun. Next you will be telling me no ale either!”

Avira leaned forward, her hand resting affectionately on Mearcon’s arm, and joining in on her lover’s playful banter, scolded, “It wouldn’t hurt. Do you know what that vile drink does to your insides?”  

Issydel growled in mock anger before gathering his mug up protectively into his hands and giving the Healer a venomous glare.

* * *

The flowing waters of the Richet rushed a vivid blue through the fertile green fields. A few yards up the river bank, the sparkling white walls of Luxon towered, offering their imposing strength and protection to the sprawling capital city encompassed behind.

Luxon was the home of the Emperor and the heart of trade within Arafia. Every House had a warehouse along the bustling docks to store their goods. Trade by land was possible, but in an empire of rivers and oceans, ships were the most efficient way. A fleet of ships not only gave a House military might, but perhaps more importantly, economic power. A House could be crushed without a single blow if their ships were stopped from reaching market.

It was that very threat that brought Lord Tachir Aracien to the city. The battle between Synin and Ajeni had already brought down more than one merchant vessel trying to pass through the war-torn lands. He was onboard to ensure just such a fate did not befall his ship.

The massive vessel creaked and groaned, coming to a rest against its moorings. The sails were gathered up and tied in place. The bright blue and green topmast flag, the emblem of the Saozn tree emblazoned across it, fluttered in the wind. The colors and crest proudly proclaimed the presence on board of the Lord of House Aracien.

The sailors scrambled across the decks with no regard for the bobbing motion. Calling out cheerfully among themselves, they threw the lines to the workers on the dock, swiftly and effectively mooring the massive ship in place. Dropping the gangplank to the dock they secured it for the disembarking of their Lord and their cargo; the lifeblood of their House.

Standing at the railing, a middle aged man surveyed the bustle of activity around him. He was dressed comfortably in a blue robe that wrapped around his hips and draped over one broad shoulder; sandals adorned his feet. Looking across the dock, Lord Tachir was startled at the approach of a detachment of House Guard. 

The light of the twin suns, Gal and Galest, reflected off their golden armor, proclaimed them in their brilliance to be the personal guard of Emperor Koneff. If the armor plating left any doubt, the black skirts peeking out from between the slits and the crimson cloaks certainly did not. The Emperor’s Guard were the only ones allowed that distinctive combination of black and red.

Ellaia, Captain of the Guard, inclined her red feathered helm in respect to Lord Tachir, who still stood on the deck of his ship. Removing the helmet, she stood at attention, the guard falling in easily around her. The movement revealed the man they protected.

The Emperor Koneff, a young blond man, hardly out of his twentieth cycle, stood within the ring. He wore a tailored black robe with gold embroidery stitched along the edges and a golden scimitar slung around his waist.

Lord Tachir quickly made his way down the gangplank at the unexpected appearance of his Emperor, noting with pride that his entire crew fell to their knees the moment Koneff was revealed. Standing before his ship, he bowed low at the waist; one hand to his heart, the other tucked behind his back. “Majesty.”

“Lord Tachir, always a pleasure to have you in Luxon.”

Upon being addressed, Tachir rose smoothly from his bow and offered a grin. “It is always a pleasure to be in your city, Majesty.”

Having had enough of the formalities, Koneff dispensed with them and fell into a comfortable stance. Reaching out, he shook the Lord’s hand warmly. “What brings you to Luxon?”

Tachir jerked a thumb towards his ship. “Trade.”

“I’m all for trade, my friend, but I can’t imagine saozn fruit can be good after all this time.”

“All what time, Majesty?”

The Emperor glanced over at him. “Not matter how fast your ship, it must have taken at least three weeks to cross through the South Sea and up the Tukon.”

“Yes, had I gone that way, it would have,” Tachir assured him with a cocky grin.

Ellaia interjected with a look that plainly said she thought the Lord had lost his mind, “You can’t seriously have gone up the Richet?” Ajeni lands were a place best to avoid, the conflict between the Houses making the territory treacherous.

“How else?”

Koneff laughed and patted the man on the shoulder. “While I do love your saozn fruit, and I assure you I shall feast on it tonight, do you think that was the wisest of decisions?”

 “Ajeni and Synin both know what it would mean to attack an Aracien ship, let alone one with its lord on it. The other Houses may not have sought retribution for the ‘accidental’ sinking of their ships, but I wouldn’t be so forgiving.”

“Which wouldn’t do you much good if both Houses are destroyed before you get a chance,” Ellaia pointed out.

“You are such a pessimist, my dear,” Tachir replied. “No wonder you get on so well with my daughter.”

“Assuming everything will go wrong also makes her an excellent commander,” Koneff added with a wink for his scandalized guard. Ignoring the look she gave him, he turned his attention to the ship as a young man who was standing on the railing gave an excited “whoop” before pushing off and swinging out across over the water to drop onto the dock.

The acrobat landed in a crouch and popped to his feet with a grin before noticing who was standing in front of him. Realizing the mistake too late, he groaned. He was sure there was no way of escaping a blistering this time. He might convince his father, but never his mother. Mentally kicking himself for failing to check who was on the dock first, he swept into a formal bow, and tried to salvage what dignity he could.

 Raising one brow with a look of consternation, the Emperor glanced at Tachir and inquired with amusement, “One of yours, I presume?”

Acknowledging the relationship grudgingly, he glared at the offender and said, “My youngest son, Lanew.”

“I am sorry, Majesty, I did not know,” an embarrassed Lanew mumbled, keeping his green eyes locked on the dock.

“No harm done,” Koneff assured him. In truth, the antics looked rather fun and if he thought he had any chance of talking someone into letting him try his hand at it, he would have. Of course, Ellaia would have a heart attack if he even suggested it, so with a wistful look at the rigging, he moved on.

“You will join me for dinner?” Koneff inquired.

“Of course!” Tachir assured him. “I already have the best box of saozn fruit set aside for Kolros.”

The Emperor could feel his stomach growl with the thought of the delectable dessert his cook would create with the sweet fruit. “You’ll be staying in the East Wing?”

“Yes,” Tachir confirmed. Like all of the great Houses, House Aracien had their own permanent suite of rooms within the East Wing of the palace for use when they were within the Imperial City.

“I shall have a servant fetch you then.”

Sensing the end of the exchange with practice ease, Lord Tachir reached out and took his son by the ear and bowed from waist, pulling his startled child along with him. “It would be our pleasure, Majesty.”

Keeping a straight face took all of the Emperor’s imperial training. He shot a sympathetic glance at Lanew before moving away, wondering if the boy would find his seat at dinner all that comfortable.

* * *

The border between the lands of House Synin and the Order was unremarkable. There was no variance at all in the color of the ground cover. The field that marked the border was identical on either side. Only knowledge of the area told the soldiers where they were.

A camp was set up on the Order’s side of the border. Neat rows of taupe tents were arranged in even lines, creating city like streets with a large open square within the middle. Although there would normally be two command tents set up, here there was only one.  It displayed the green flag of Leanon, God of Order and Justice and the blue of Altec, Goddess of War.

In the distance, the amber glow from the fires of House Synin was clearly visible. First Captain Savia Aracien stood silently outside of the command tent and watched the rising smoke. Although the main estate of House Synin was some leagues off, the pungent smell of smoke assailed her nostrils.

Standing next to Savia, First Captain Ryil Aracien shifted his weight and surveyed the scene with a veteran’s eye. He had seen many battles, and was a master tactician.  Like his wife, that was one of the many reasons he held the title of First Captain. Although unlike Savia, his allegiance lay with Altec. 

“Synin will fall soon,” he observed.

“Yes. If Lady Cherin had any forces left, Ajeni would not have been able to get close enough to the estate to torch it.”

Standing beside the two, the flighty aide gave a worried glance at the rising smoke and asked, “They won’t cross the border, will they?”

Savia looked over at Bran. He had a green cloak wrapped tightly around his wiry frame and kept reaching up to rub his nose. He was surely gifted from the gods with his ability to keep Councilor Mearcon organized and the members of Leanon supplied, but he hated to be outside of the castle and was truly only comfortable locked away in a room with his books and ledgers. “No, Bran, they won’t.”

“Well, that is,” Ryil expounded, “they would be damned fools if they did. As soon as the first soldier crossed into our lands, or the Emperor’s, we would be legally allowed to engage them. Right now all we can do is stand here and watch.” Resting a hand on the hilt of his sword he added, “I for one would love to see them try it.”

Bran snorted. “No thank you. It’s been two hundred years since the last Blood Wars and I would hate to see that record tarnished. Besides, do you know how much it takes to fund a war?”

“The Emperor’s coffers support ours,” Savia answered.

Ryil nodded in agreement with his wife and added, “We get it back in plunder though.”

“Of course a solider would think that,” Bran replied with distain. “What you ‘plunder’ will probably never make it into the coffers anyway. Even what is confiscated in lands and goods hardly covers the expense of mobilizing, supplying and feeding our army.” Sweeping his hand to include the camp he said, “Even this little maneuver costs.”

Not wanting to hear yet another diatribe from Bran on the costs of running the Order, Savia interjected, “What can I do for you, Bran?”

“What? Oh.” Pushing the cloak aside, he reached into the leather satchel slung across his shoulder and produced a scroll, sealed with green wax and imprinted with the mark of Leanon. “Orders from Mearcon and I am to see if there is anything you need.”

Taking the scroll, Savia broke the seal with her finger and quickly read the contents before nodding curtly. “Please tell the Councilor that we require nothing.”

Bran inclined his head, his closed fist over his heart. “Leanon be with you, First Captain.”

“And you,” she replied sincerely.

As soon as Bran was out of earshot, Ryil sighed wistfully. “I would give anything to be able to cross the border.” He hated being held back from the fight. His goddess was being honored by others and there was no way he could join in.

“Why?” Savia demanded. “So you can watch the death of an old woman and her family?”

Hearing the tone of his wife’s voice, he placed a hand on her arm. “Now, Heartling, you know that is not what I meant.”

She sighed and twined her fingers through his. “I know, beloved. I’m sorry.” Leaning her head against her husband’s shoulder, she took comfort in his embrace. “I know there is no other way. Countless Houses, our own included, have done the same. It is the way of Leanon; his balance must be maintained, but my heart still aches for Synin.”

Tipping Savia’s face up, he kissed her lips softly. “It’s the double nature of your god. The side of order says it must be this way, but the side of justice cries out against it.” He smiled. “It’s one of the things I love about you.”

“And here I thought you married me for my House,” she retorted playfully.

“Yes, well, that too. Not every day you get a chance to marry into the second greatest House on Arafia.” Although he said it with mirth, it continued to amaze him, even after all of these cycles. He was still not sure which god he had to thank for his good fortunes. To meet a woman such as Savia had been a gift. One he was sure he was going to lose when he found out her House and rank, but to his eternal surprise, Lord Tachir had allowed the union.

Grinning, she poked him in the chest. “I knew it!”

Ryil laughed and spun his wife around in his arms. “You know I would love you even if you were the lowliest beggar in Luxon.”

Savia chuckled and winked. “And that, my love, is the only reason I put up with your warmonger ways.”

* * *

Lounging comfortably in the plush red chair, Prince Monuel sat with one foot over the arm, the other stretched out before him, a report in hand. The glowing white orb contained within the ornate gold scone next to him provided steady light by which to read. Becoming aware that the presence hovering at his elbow was not going away, he noted his spot and lifted his dark eyes. 

Miaia smiled brightly at the Prince. Things were about to change for her. She was not going to be just a servant anymore. She would be loved and the mother of a child of House Jorin.

“Well?” he demanded of the young girl. He needed nothing and had not asked her to warm his bed that night. He had entirely too much to do for such distractions.

“Chiron done blessed me,” she declared.

“And?”

She blinked at him in surprise. He was a man; perhaps he had simply not understood her reference to the Goddess of Marriage and Childbirth. Boldly reaching out, Miaia took the Prince’s hand and placed it against her still flat stomach. Putting it plainly, she tried again, “I’m havin’ a baby.”

“Yes, I got that,” Monuel intoned slowly and shook his hand free. “What of it?”

“It’s yours.” This was not how she intended it to go.

The Prince cocked his head and considered for a moment. “Is it? Well, good for you.” Looking the blonde servant over he arched his brows superciliously and sneered, “Surely you didn’t expect me to claim it?”

Miaia felt the tears rising up in her eyes. Of course she had. It was his child. Without his acceptance the child would be nothing more than another servant. “But, it’s yours!” she wailed.

“So you said.”

Her dreams shattered around her.  “My Prince!” Miaia sobbed. He was supposed to love her, to take her child and make him a Prince. Perhaps it was foolish to think he might marry her, but to care for her, that wasn’t asking too much.

 “You can go now,” he said, indifferent to her tears. He would have to remember to have himself assigned a new servant.

“What’ll I do?” she pleaded.

“That is really not my concern. You were the one foolish enough to allow yourself to become pregnant. It’s your problem.” Coldly he suggested, “I am sure you can find some guard to sleep with and then pass the bastard off as his.”

Tears streamed down Miaia’s face. She could not believe what she was hearing. Shock, it must be shock. He would come around. He had to. Holding in a sob, she turned and fled the chamber.

* * *

Emperor Koneff ran a finger along the edge of the honey covered pastry before lifting it to his lips and slowly sucking it clean. Picking up the bun, he popped the last bite in his mouth. The sticky dessert was one of Kolros’ specialties and had always been one of his favorites.

The plump cook proffered a sweet bun. “Another?”

“What’s for dinner?” the Emperor inquired; the information certain to sway his decision.

“Quartered suckling pyreness lamb, carrots with cumin and cress meuniere.”

His mouth watered with the answer. “In that case, no.”

“You should eat more,” the cook scolded.

“Just because I love your cooking, Kolros, does not mean I can actually look like I do.” Sitting up straight, he preened and fluffed his blonde hair. “I must look good for my subjects.”

Kolros snorted.

The Emperor grinned and then lowered his voice, becoming serious. “How is she doing?” he asked with a glance over to where Miaia was chopping vegetables. When her plight was brought to his attention, he had insisted she be given a position in the kitchen. The work was light and he knew Kolros would protect her from the other servants.

“She cries a lot, but she is taking to the work well enough. I may even make a decent cook out of her in time.” 

“I could kill my uncle, but there is nothing I can do. I can’t make him acknowledge the child.”

“Why the hell not?” Kolros demanded without restraint. To him, the man sitting at the table was not the most powerful man in the Empire, but rather, the boy he had watched grow up. Koneff had been sneaking into the kitchen to sample the food and visit with the cook since he was a child. Kolros had grown to see him more like a son than his Emperor.

Koneff lifted a finger and then dropped it. Maybe he could. “Good question.” He would have to ask Janan if he could force the Prince to claim the child and make him legitimate. The gods knew his House could use another member as yet another cycle passed without his Empress giving him an heir.

“I should be an advisor,” the round cook declared with a wide grin.

The Emperor chuckled. “Then who would be working to make me fat?”

* * *

The room was tenebrous; no windows were cut into its walls to break the gloom. The only illumination came from the hovering ball of light resting next to the right shoulder of Grand Master Isri, who was sitting at his desk. His arms lying on either side of an open book, he intently studied the pages.  

Dalieoma is the largest, and near as I can tell, only, ‘civilized’ land. It is separated into a lose array of kingdoms, with a king (of interest is that only the male heir may rule or inherit- a striking contrast to our own system of First Born) for each. The sovereigns rule over their own local set of nobles and peasants.

At some point in the past, a High King traditionally ruled a united Empire, but no one monarch has been strong enough to do so in countless generations. Minor nobles rise up, but they never conquer more than their neighbors, who soon struggle out of the yoke and the cycle starts anew. 

The law seems to be based on much the same principal. Each King hands out his own breed of justice. What might cost you a fine of gold in one realm could cost you your neck in another. Frankly, the people are heathens, for all their play at politics and social structure.

They do not even know the gods.

Near as I can ascertain, they worship the spirits of their departed families. It is an altogether odd practice. It is not only the nobles or worthy among them are given this honor.  Each person who dies is treated thus and their families implore assistance from them with their lives. One might argue that would keep the best among them elevated, having a better pool of spirits to call on, however, I fail to see how asking a spirit for aid, and not the Goddess who holds them, could possibly work.

He read the words, his lips moving silently to mouth them, just as he had innumerable times. Isri had stumbled upon the diary when he was still a Student. The Grand Master could still clearly picture the gloomy vault deep beneath the bright, airy, main library. He knew now that it had been the gods that led him to that neglected section of the complex. How else could all have aligned so perfectly to restore to him the text so long forgotten? 

It had taken him many cycles to unlock the secret to commanding the words to appear on the page. Countless more frustrating cycles had passed before he was able to learn to read those words. Even now, he was not always entirely sure he understood it all.

Soon enough he would know for certain.

At the gentle rapping, he lifted his head. “What?” he barked in annoyance. Nothing fouled his mood faster than being disturbed when he was involved with his tomes.

“Grand Master?”

Shifting a harmless book onto the one he was actually reading, an unnecessary precaution as no on else could actually read the damn thing, but one he took nonetheless, he called out, “Come in, Lins.”

Opening the door cautiously, High Master Lins shuffled in with a cough. His hair had long since turned white and his frame was thin from the illness that seemed to have taken up residence in his lungs, resisting any attempts by the Healers to banish it.

“You have news?” Isri inquired, although it was really more of a statement. He knew Lins would not make the trek up to his private study without good cause.

“House Synin has fallen.”

“I thought they would be the ones to lose.” He didn’t mention that was because he made sure they would.  “What was the damage?”

“The Synin estate house was burned to the ground and all members of the House were killed.” Lins paused before adding despondently, “What a pity. Lady Cherin was a kind woman.”

“Yes, I would not want to live to watch the destruction of my House.” Not that he technically had a House anymore, he thought. The School was the training ground for those with the gift and the desire to learn magic. After their first cycle, all Students had to decide if they wished to train to return to their House, or if they would renounce their House and become full members of The School. Those who joined then took the Oath of Neutrality that The School prided itself on before continuing on with their education. Isri had made that decision and given up his position as First Son. He now gave his allegiance only to his fellow Masters and Students.

 “Neutrality does not mean indifference,” Lins said by way of agreement.  Pausing to allow a coughing fit to pass, he then produced a scroll from within the folds of his iridescent robe and proffered it up. “This is a detailed report on the damage to the Ajeni territory, old and new, as well as collateral damage to other Houses by way of lost trade vessels and commerce.”

After giving the Grand Master enough time to skim the report, he went on. “So far there seems to be no inclination on Ajeni’s part to try and push into any other territory.”

“Nor would I expect them to,” Isri replied. “They are fairly boxed in now. House Serress to their north, the Silver Dragons to the east, the Emperor to the South and House Tulor to the west. They are not strong enough to take on the first three and if they attack Tulor, House Aracien will surely send their troops.”

“That’s right; Lecela is married to Lord Ansol. I had forgotten.”

“And don’t forget First Son Kotir’s wife is also from House Tulor.” Isri chuckled. “Politics has never been your strong suit, my friend, where as I have to keep up to be able to advise the Emperor.”  Continuing, he explained, “The only possibility would be House Eyon or Asayi, and I would be shocked if they attacked them. Besides, it would be foolish to make a move now. It will take them time to recover their strength.”  

“Might another House try to take advantage of the drain of their battle with Synin to attack them in turn to try and increase their own position?”

Isri had considered that possibility, but was counting on the fact no other House wanted to get involved in a war. No, that was yet to come, and only with a guided hand to ensure the troops he needed.

“I wouldn’t think so. Any other House would face the same situation as Ajeni. They would have to move troops through lands of Houses much stronger and when they were done their territory would either be split up or surrounded by Houses they could not hope to take on. It is why the Great Houses have always been. Only an Empire wide Blood War could change that.”  Isri smiled and waved the conversation away as idle, not liking how close it was coming to the truth of his own plans. He had wanted to bring his friend in on his plans for Dalieoma, Lins’ power and experience would have been useful, but he knew the old man was much too loyal to the Empire to risk telling him. There was too great a chance he would tell the Emperor.

“Let us hope it never comes to that,” High Master Lins said. Pushing his hands off the arms of the chair, he slowly rose to his feet. “I will let you get back to it, then.”

“Good night, my friend.”

“Don’t stay up all night with that book,” Lins cautioned with a smile before leaving the Grand Master to his studies. 

II

First Captain Savia Aracien stood at the height of the Tower of Leanon; a perfect match in sweeping design for the other five towers, spread out to anchor the points of the hexagonal castle. Leaning forward, she rested her hands on the smooth ledge for balance and looked out across the green valley below. The trees at the clearing’s edge were changing in response to the chill wind and the promise of the coming winter.

Castle Lunraco, seat of power of the Order of the Silver Dragon Knights, sat nestled in the Spine Mountains. As the only mountain range on Arafia, the unique terrain made the Order’s lands the only place in the Empire to truly experience cold. The colors of the foliage, an array of burnt orange and red, reminded her of the flames of House Synin. Although it had been almost a cycle since the House fell and so far there were no rumblings of retaliation, but still she worried. They had been lucky to avoid a major disruption to commerce in the first place, and if Synin’s allies decided to move, the whole of Arafia might end up involved.

 “You’re worrying again,” Ryil said.

Savia gave him a guilty smile. “I can’t help it.”

“Seeing war around every corner is my calling.”

“You must be rubbing off on me.”

“I’d rather be rubbing off on you in other ways,” he said with a wink. Ignoring her rolled eyes, he proffered his arm with a nod towards the arched entrance to the stairs.  “Come on, if we don’t get to the Hall soon we will get stuck sitting with Indatlin.” His face contorted into a look of only half faked horror. 

Laughing, she took his arm without comment and moved down the dizzying spiral stairs of the tower, grateful that the passage to the air bridge was less than half way down.   Moving along the top of the outer wall, they stopped midway, turned and ascended one of the six soaring open air crossway that all arched down from the midpoint of the walls to the base of the Central Palace.

Savia slowed and stopped, the sound of metal on metal catching her ear.  Looking down on the practice arena below, she watched the swirling green, blue, and red of the squires, representing the orders of Leanon, Altec and Alctexia, the only orders within the Silver Dragons comprised of soldiers and priests. The music of their clashing blades floated through the courtyard.  The images of Arafia torn apart by the ravages of a war for the Golden Throne returned to her mind.

With a look of utter disgust, Bran quickly made his way across the soaring walkway, careful not to look down.  He hated heights and, not for the first time, wished he could strangle the designer of the castle when he thought cross-spanning walkways over the interior would be a good idea. What was wrong, he wanted to know, with walking on the ground like rational people? Positioning himself in the middle of the path, he inclined his head to the two First Captains. “I am sorry to bother you.  I assume you are both on your way to dine?”

“We are, Bran, but if you’re willingly up here looking for me, I presume Mearcon has sent for me?” Savia gave a sympathetic smile to the nervous aide, his fear of heights well known to the castle.

He nodded his head, but instantly regretted it when the world seemed to move in response.  He really, really hated that damn architect. “If you’re not detained, he would like you to see him in his office.” 

Leaning over, Savia lightly kissed her husband. “Save me some dinner?”

Ryil could feel his stomach growling, but said, “I’ll bring enough for us both to the room.”

“I’ll try to hurry,” she assured him.

Removing her arm from Ryil’s, she gestured gracefully for Bran to lead the way, following him through the passages of the ancient castle in silence. Savia offered no conversation to Bran and he sought none from her. The only sound between the two was their footfalls on the bare floor, which the vivid green tapestries hanging on the walls did little to muffle. She inclined her head in thanks to Bran, unsurprised that the aide immediately headed off to his own office.

Savia rapped gently on the door, waiting to be bid enter before walking into her mentor’s office. “My Lord Councilor,” she said with a bow, putting a closed fist to the left side of her chest.

Looking up from the pile of paperwork, arranged neatly by Bran in a persistent attempt to keep him organized, Mearcon nodded to his favorite pupil. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”  He motioned towards the chair, grateful to take a break from the administration of the Order.

Savia settled down into the plush chair and relaxed into its comfortable depths.  The fire crackled in the hearth, warming the room to a pleasant temperature.  Crossing her legs, she smoothed out the folds of her green gown and looked across the large grownas wood desk. Making an educated guess she said, “This is about the marriage of Prince Monuel and First Daughter Leeottra?”

“Yes. The Council has received invitations,” he said, “and we have something in mind for you.”

She furrowed her brows. “Do I want to know?”

“Yes,” Mearcon chuckled. “The Council wants you and Ryil to both attend on the strength of your position in House Aracien.”

“Ah.”  Savia nodded. “Not that I would mind seeing my family, but why?”  Well, most of them, she added silently to herself. She was not looking forward to seeing her eldest sister.

“Because we are curious. Why would Leeottra marry the brother of her late husband?”  He shook his head. “We can only speculate, but we have decided that we would rather be prepared for anything. Therefore, we want you and Ryil there with your House. There are doors open to you as a noble that we could never hope to get through, even as members of the Council.”

“I see. I will, of course, attend with my House and keep my eyes open.”

“If Leanon smiles upon us, this will all be unneeded and you two will simply be getting a vacation.”

“And if there is trouble?” she inquired.

“We don’t think it will come to a battle in the harbor,” Mearcon replied. “We expect something much more subtle.”

“Assassination?”

“Exactly,” he confirmed with a curt nod. “An assassination during the wedding would make House Jorin honor bound to find those responsible and punish them as if they had harmed a member of their own House.”

Savia frowned at the thought of the Emperor being drug into a fight that was not his own because of the cowardice of another House. “We would be able to assist.”

“That’s what worries me. Can you imagine if we had to go against a House such as Serress?”  

“They would never use a follower of Alctexia,” she assured him.

“Of course not, but you and I knowing that wouldn’t matter if ‘proof’ we couldn’t argue with was offered. We would have to go to war anyway.”

* * *

The air crackled with energy. A shimmering oval of what could best be described as molten silver formed in the space where a moment before there had been nothing. The black snout of a horse slowly took shape from within the silver. In a moment, the rest of the stallion appeared, followed by a second mount. Savia turned her head to confirm that her husband had passed successfully through the portal before she dispelled the powerful magic required for the Stepping, leaving them before the massive stone bridge that crossed the Seyne River and marked the entrance to the heart of the Aracien estate.   

“Damn Ward Stones,” she muttered. Although she was the one who had set them, preventing anyone from Stepping any closer than the outskirts of the estate, she thought, as she always did on a trip home, that she really should figure out a way to allow herself to bypass the ward. “Now Mother might have enough time to scramble together a greeting party.”

“But she enjoys it so much.”

“I know, but so does Shelira because it’s expected by tradition.”

Ryil shook his head and rolled his eyes without comment on the feud between his wife and her eldest sister. Instead, he looked out at the rolling green orchards that stretched endlessly in both directions from the road. Each row was precisely spaced; a flowing irrigation system ensured that the trees received life-giving water when the rains were not enough. The smell of ripe saozn fruit wafted in the wind. Workers carried baskets full of harvested crop, tending to the chief source of income for the House.

No matter the times they visited the lands of House Aracien, Ryil was impressed by the sheer size and efficiency with which it was run. It had been difficult enough tending to the little farm his father worked. He could not imagine what went into the administration of that much land. 

Savia patted her black stallion’s neck affectionately and, shifting in the saddle, called out greetings to those workers she recognized. She made no move towards the bridge, knowing the guards stationed there would soon appear.    

Almost on cue, a small unit of men crossed the large bridge. The Captain rode forward, the blue of his tunic and kilt standing out vividly against the green hue of the leather straps hanging around his waist and the sparkling silver of his breastplate.  A sword was slung around his hips, sheathed. “Greetings, First Captains,” the soldier said, placing a closed hand to his chest in respect with a bow of his helmed head, the vibrant green and blue feathers swaying with the motion.

“Greetings, Leson,” Savia replied formally before relaxing into a grin.  “You were promoted to Captain, I see.”

He nodded and tapped the breastplate, responding with pride, “Just this cycle.”

“It’s well earned, I’m sure,” Ryil said, shaking the Captain’s hand in congratulations.   

Looking around with only half feigned nervousness, she really was hoping to avoid any ceremony and not only to annoy her sister, Savia leaned forward and inquired, “Does mother know we are here yet?”

“We sent a runner as soon as you appeared and, of course, the Ward Stones set off an alarm in the main barracks.”

“In that case, we should hurry before she has time to arrange something.”  

“You’re going to ruin all her fun,” Ryil scolded.

“That’s the idea.” Savia arched her brows inquisitively at her husband. “Unless you want to sit through hours of ceremony?”

“On second thought…”

The young captain bit back his laughter and offered, “It’s nice to have you home.”

“It’s good to be home.” The pair fell in with the rest of the company, taking the lead on the ride through the Aracien lands.

The estate rose up ahead of them. The walls were smooth white plaster. No windows faced out and the red tile roofing was vivid against the green grass that surrounded the house. The large gates had been opened on their approach.

Entering the manor courtyard, she was pleased to see no obvious sign of her mother’s planning waiting for them. The massive fountain in the center of the courtyard bubbled and sang soothingly. Servants passed discretely among the columns, moving within the shadows.

Swinging down, Savia handed the reins to the waiting stable boy with a smile. “Give him an extra apple.”

“You spoil that beast too much,” Ryil said, dropping down from his mount, and handing his reins to the boy as well. The stable hand gave a small bow to the pair before leading the horses away, their hooves clomping loudly on the tiles.

Motioning a servant over, Savia said, “Please find my husband’s siblings and let them know we would like them to join us in the garden after dinner.”

Although touched by the thoughtfulness of his wife, he asked, “Will we have time?”

“I think so, and even if we didn’t, we would make it,” she replied. Her father had taken Ryil’s siblings into the House, giving them all a better life than the destitute clan ever could have hoped for. She knew how much it had touched to her husband; his family meant the world to him. 

“I can’t wait to see-” he stopped mid sentence, interrupted by a shrill voice.

 “You should have sent word ahead.”

Turning towards the voice, Savia gritted her teeth and fought back the frown that tugged at her lips with the appearance of her eldest sister. “Mother only would have prepared something.”

“It was the proper protocol and you know it,” Shalira snapped. “Must you do everything against tradition?”

“Yes, just to annoy you, Shalira,” Savia quipped.

“Savia!”

Looking past her sister, a genuine smile lit her face. “Hello, Mother.”

“You should have given me more notice,” Lady Valira complained, adding, “I didn’t have time to prepare anything.”

“That was the idea,” Savia replied lightly.

Valira shook her head, causing red curls to spill down over her shoulders. “You have earned the honor of a proper welcome, Savia. You are a First Captain of The Order, both of you.” She favored her son by marriage with a welcoming look. “That is something to be proud of.”

“I am proud, mother,” Savia assured her.  “I just hate sitting through endless ceremonies. There will be enough of that when we reach Luxon.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ryil muttered under his breath. He didn’t think he would ever become comfortable with all of the finery and ceremony that went with being a member of the powerful House.

Lord Tachir walked up, his boots thumping on the stone.  Draping an arm around his wife’s slender waist he said, “Leave them be, Valira, they get enough of pomp and circumstance. If they want to escape it here, let them.”

Shalira glowered at her sister, but said nothing, not daring to speak against her father. She would have rather seen every protocol observed, but of course, her favored younger sister got her way in that, as everything.

Valira put her hand on Savia’s arm, and squeezed gently before smiling to Ryil to include him. “You must be hungry.”

“We are.” Glancing down at her riding clothes she said, “But we would like to change into something more appropriate.” Savia tossed a pointed grin at her sister, before looking back at her mother.  “I said we wanted to avoid ceremony, not that we wanted to forgo manners.” 

“With you, one never can tell.”  Valira smiled with a twinkle in her green eyes at the return of her daughter, even if briefly.  Releasing her hold, she shooed them off with her hands.  “Go, change, and then join us for dinner.” 

Savia leaned over and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Yes, Mother.”

* * *

Comfortably dressed in a light green silk gown, Savia entered the dinning hall, her arm through Ryil’s.  She looked around the table. Lord Tachir and Lady Valira sat at the head; to the left was Shalira, her husband Maron and their twin girls.  To the right was First Son Kotir, his wife Ajeara and their son. Three places were empty; one for herself and Ryil, and one for her little brother.

Ryil gave a small bow to the Lord and Lady of the House. He was never quite sure what level of respect to show them. He knew he was a member of the House now, but always felt out of place. “Everything looks wonderful, Lady Valira,” he assured her.

“At least your husband knows his place,” Shalira snipped under her breath, just loud enough to be heard but not so loud as to prevent her from pretending she had not spoken.

“Where is Lanew?” Savia asked, ignoring her sister’s jibe although she wanted to rush to snap back, and took her seat.

“He should be along,” Valira assured her just as the youngest member of the family rushed into the room and took his seat with a bashful smile and mumbled apologies.

“Why are you attending with us?” Shalira demanded, trying unsuccessfully to mask her annoyance. Why couldn’t Savia just stay gone? Lanew was the youngest, but still Savia was fawned over. She married some commoner, but they didn’t care. Here she sat with a noble husband, doing her duty to the House and no one even thanked her for being a good daughter or sister.

“The Council felt we could best serve the Order by attending with the House,” she replied with a voice of honey covered venom.

“We’re glad you are home, even if only for a short while,” Valira smoothly interjected between her daughters. “You really must visit more often,” she scolded.

Savia waited for the servant to set the steaming plate down and fill her glass with Tulor wine before replying. “I’m sorry, Mother. I stay very busy with my work.”

“It’s true. Mearcon might go crazy without her,” Ryil jumped to the defense of his wife, although he too wished they could visit more often, but he knew why they didn’t. Even if Savia did not want to admit it aloud, he knew the pain that seeing her niece and nephews brought her. Not that she didn’t love and dote on them, but their faces were a reminder of what could never be.  

“Can we spar?” Lanew interrupted, giving his sister and brother-by-marriage big green puppy dog eyes. He currently wanted to be a knight and idealized the pair for having already accomplished it. He was sure he could convince his father to let him join within the cycle, especially if he had their blessing.

“I am sure our dear sister could best you without breaking a sweat,” Kotir observed in amusement.

“Assuredly,” Savia agreed with a grin.

Unfazed, the youngest son demanded, “Would you?”

“I’m always up for a good spar,” Ryil assured him.

Lanew beamed. “Good.”

* * *

First Son Kotir Aracien leaned against the railing, watching the shape of the Tulor vessel take shape on the horizon. The massive red sail stood out, but it was the reed bird, emblazoned in blue, that identified the barge.

“I wonder if she brought the children?” Savia asked her brother.

“I would imagine so. Mother and Father do love seeing them.”

“I would like to as well. I really should make a point to come home more often.”

Kotir glanced over his shoulder at Shalira. “We know why you don’t.”

Following his line of sight, Savia said, “I do wish we could get along, but I don’t think that is possible anymore.”

“I still she is the way she is because she envies what you have.”

Looking at her sister, and the child she bounced on her knee, she shook her head. “She needn’t. I would give it all up to have what she has.”

Kotir rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know, and thank the gods that she fails to understand that. Shalira would go out of her way to flaunt the girls if she knew the pain it would cause you and especially if she thought it would keep you away.”

“Ryil and I have come to terms with the fact Chiron will never bless us.”

“Liar,” he said, not unkindly. 

She glanced away, ashamed at her weakness, but willing to speak aloud about a topic that she and Ryil now left unspoken. Although they both felt the longing, it was simply a subject they did not discuss. “I know.”

“Leanon has a plan for you, sister.”

“I trust in that, Kotir, but sometimes I wish that plan did not require me to never know the joy of motherhood.” Savia forced a smile and changed the subject. “Does father intend to retire anytime soon?”

Kotir snorted. “Not bloody likely.”

“Heir with no House,” she teased.

“He can keep it. Do you know how much work it is to see to our lands? That’s not a headache I’m looking forward to.”

“You will make an excellent Lord of House Aracien,” she replied in all seriousness.

“I know,” he grinned, “but I have to tell myself something.”

* * *

Savia hefted her nephew into her arms, steadying him on the crate, using her body to keep him firmly in place. “Can you see okay now, Cryess?”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt Savia.”

She smiled over the blonde head of hair, looking out over the grand barges of the great Houses sailing down the Tukron River to Luxon. Pointing to the ship with the green sail and the yellow rays of Gal, the first sun to break the horizon, she smiled. “Look, it’s House Serress.” Next she pointed out House Eyon’s barge with the blue sail, and the white Savoor flower on it.  She identified the vivid green of House Kajir, the Grownas tree, their life blood, swaying on the sail. Moving her hand she motioned to the yellow sail with the red rams head. “That’s House Ajeni.”

“I know, and the bride is from their House,” he replied proudly.

She ruffled his hair. “Go find your father, we will be arriving soon.” Watching the boy run off, she sighed. She knew Ryil had seen the look, but he did not comment on it when he silently put his arm around her waist, keeping it there until they moored and disembarked with the rest of her family.

Savia looked around the dock, pleased to see Dragons along with the Jorin guards providing security for the event. Her conversation with Mearcon came back to her. All the power of the empire in one place was always an appealing target, even to those who would normally have more common sense.

* * *

First Daughter Leeottra stood looking up at the temple of Chiron, Goddess of Marriage and Childbirth. The white marble columns were wrapped with wide swaths of purple silk.  A long stretch of cloth, the same shade of purple, ran up the stairs; a path to lead the pair into the sanctuary. 

Standing next to her, Prince Monuel held a hand out, palm down, and waited for her to place hers atop his so they could enter the temple. The Prince had wanted her since she was his brother’s wife, but did not think anything would ever come of it. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that Leeottra had returned his feelings. Now he would have a wife, and a legitimate child and heir.

When Leeottra placed her hand just above his, he led the way up the stairs with his wife-to-be. They were followed by Lady Kagira of House Kajir, who was acting as Overseer of the Vows for the couple. Kagira and her husband were both splendidly attired in green and brown. Behind them the immediate members of House Jorin and House Ajeni made their way up the stairs in a swirl of black, red and yellow.

The group made their way through the interior passages of the temple, following the purple robed priestess who led them without comment to the Inner Sanctuary of the Goddess. The rich smell of spiced incense greeted them upon entering the room. 

The couple stopped before the small grownas wood table, decorated with a long strip of purple and white silk and three unlit candles, behind the table stood the altar to Chiron.  A marble carving of the Goddess stared down at the couple from it.  In one arm she held a baby, suckling her breast, in the other, a chalice.

Leeottra considered what she felt the last time she stood before the Goddess of Marriage and Childbirth and found very little had changed. Both of her marriages, it seemed, 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. With her marriage to Monuel, her House would once again gain the protection of the Emperor. None would dare attack her with the might of Jorin at her disposal. Now she would now be free to raise her House up. Leeottra would see to it that House Ajeni became the Fourth House.

Emperor Koneff and Empress Narraki moved to the right side of the room and took their seat.  Koneff glanced across the room at his former stepmother’s family. It felt strange to him to see them again this way. He could still remember the marriage of his father and it bothered him to see the same woman now marry his uncle.

Lord Ellevenn, dressed in the garish yellow finery of House Ajeni, inclined his head respectfully, noticing the gaze of the Emperor.  Sitting next to him, his son, Ithyn, did the same. The young man took after his father, with the same dark complexion and striking blue eyes. There was no doubt of his fathering, unlike his sister, who took after her family only in her eyes.

Lady Kagira and her husband took their positions on either side of the couple, watching expectantly as the High Priestess entered the room.  She was dressed in a vivid purple gown, cut across to leave one perfect white breast bare in homage to the Goddess.  The golden bracelets on her wrists jingled musically when she lifted her arms up and began 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 High Priestess indicated the white candle on the table before her. “Light the candle that it might indicate the brightness of your soul.” She waited patiently for her to comply before turning to Monuel, and repeating her instructions.

Reaching out, the Prince touched the wick of the candle, the magical flame appearing on contact. He let his fingers linger for a moment, before removing them from the heat. Glancing up at the Goddess, he wondered if she would bless the union.

“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 instructed, watching the couple light the purple candle. Once lit, she nodded to the Overseer of the Vows.

Lady Kagira stepped forward and began to speak; her voice strong and 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 stepped back, her duty as Overseer almost complete.

 “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.”

Upon emerging into the open air courtyard, the sound of a young calf crying assaulted Monuel’s ears.  He stepped up to the altar behind Leeottra and joined his hand with hers over the blade, drawing it across the throat of the pure white calf. The blood from the sacrifice spilled across the altar, the pungent smell filling the Prince’s nostrils.

“The Goddess is pleased with your offering,” the High Priestess assured them with a smile. Beckoning, she led them away from the courtyard, returning them to their assembled family members for the final stage of the ceremony.

Rejoining their Houses, the couple knelt down before a low wood table. The High Priestess took her position behind it, accepting the bottle of Tulor wine from the young priestess behind her. With a smile to the two she filled the jewel-encrusted chalices.

Monuel and Leeottra lock elbows, drinking from one another’s golden goblets, chanting the Sacred Vows in between each sip of the purified wine. The low melody of the flute players floated through the room during the nearly silent final stage of the ceremony.

Bringing the pair to their feet, the High Priestess laid her hands over theirs and said, “Be joined now and always as Husband and Wife.”

* * *

Savia looked out across the sea of colors, the brilliant combinations signifying that each of the ten great Houses, The Order of the Silver Dragon and The School were all in attendance.  Of course, not attending the reception would have been a snub to House Jorin, as the Emperor himself had offered to host the entire affair, even though the task should have technically fallen to Ajeni due to Leeottra’s rank as First Daughter.   Regardless, no one would pass up the chance for some good politicking.

She was a part of those colors, wearing a green silk gown, cut to cross only one shoulder, before it fell to the floor from the gather under her breasts. An intricate blue cord crossed the top, dipping around her waist to come forward and tie at her hip. Her red hair was pulled back from her face, but fell free down her back, a string of gems woven delicately throughout.

Beyond the color that identified the House each person belonged to, the circlets resting on the brows of many gave their rank. Every Lord or Lady of the House wore the traditional golden diadem with a gem in a color of their house set within. The First Son or Daughter wore identical ones, save for being made of silver. The room was a sea of nobility and Savia wondered if a follower of Alctexia lurked in the shadows, ready to reduce the number by one.

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

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

“Well,” he replied 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 snorted. “You’re no fun.”  With a mischievous glint in his blue eyes, he said, “Gods be praised you are not Heir.”  

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

There was an audible shuffling as all in the room bowed formally when Emperor Koneff and Empress Narraki entered. Koneff inclined his head politely and motioned that the room should rise.  With the Empress’s hand resting on his, he led them across the room to the table upon the raised marble dais. He made sure Narraki was seated comfortably before taking his place next to her.

A hush returned to the room at the pounding of the herald’s staff once more upon the mosaic floor. Looking around to ensure he had everyone’s full attention, he announced in a booming voice, “First Daughter Leeottra Ajeni and Prince Monuel Ajeni.”

Entering the room together to the appropriately enthusiastic cheers of their guests, the couple smiled becomingly.  Moving further in, they began to slowly make the rounds, inquiring politely of their guest’s health and wellbeing.

Ryil slipped up behind Savia and wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hello, Wife.”

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

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

Kotir pointed to his brother-in-marriage, and said, “See, it’s not just me.”

Savia cut off her retort when Monuel and Leeottra made it to where they were standing. She watched the couple first light the traditional lantern to Chiron, bathing the table in a vivid purple glow, before moving to greet her parents.

“Lady Valira, you are looking lovely as ever,” Leeottra said.

“As are you. You are positively radiant in that gown,” she assured the bride.

“How is trade?” Monuel inquired.

“Profitable,” Lord Tachir replied.

The couple exchanged polite, and utterly meaningless, pleasantries and then moved on, finishing their rounds before taking their seats at the raised table next to the Emperor and Empress, and signaling for the first course to be brought out.

“Oh, dinner,” Ryil observed with a grin and a wink.

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

Polishing off the succulent baked duck in sweet and sour sauce, Koneff set down his fork to wait for Kolros’ exquisite desserts.  Turning politely to his wife he asked, “Did you enjoy the meal?”

“Yes, thank you,” Narraki replied softly.

Koneff shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to think of something else to say. “Do you know if there will be a play tonight?”

“I do not,” she said, but offered, “I did hear that First Son Avery will be playing. I have heard him once before. He is superb.”

“I shall look forward to it then.”

As the silence stretched between them, he sighed to himself and turned his attention to the gathering, his grey eyes drawn to the back of the room and the two groups who occupied it. He easily identified the six Councilors of the Order of the Silver Dragon Knights by their clothing; the women wore silver gowns with bright wraps around their heads and shoulders in the color of their God, the men silver robes with colored sashes in theirs.

At the table next to the Order, and with a seemingly permanent hush around them, sat the Masters from The School.  He stared at their telltale robes; they were no color and yet all colors at once.  Koneff wondered if that was magic, or if they had a process for weaving on their island that was not known on the mainland.

The Emperor turned his attention to Nitesa Eyon when his wife unobtrusively tugged at his sleeve and indicated that the girl was about to perform. She wore a gown of white, gathered at the waist with a modest neckline. When she opened her mouth and began to sing, a voice sweet as honey poured forth.

Lord Xaron clapped for the girl, but found his own daughter’s voice lovelier. He glanced over Lena, his only beloved child. Her mother had died and he never had the heart to remarry. Not that it stopped every House from asking him time and time again, hoping to gain an alliance. With Lena now sixteen cycles, he knew the offers to her would become voluminous.

“How many offers have you had this cycle?” Tachir demanded of his friend.

“Five.” Looking at the Lord, he accused, “Are you reading my mind again? I was just thinking on that.”  He became serious for a moment and said, “The girls are just all so young.”

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

Xaron leaned over to Savia and pretended to look Ryil up and down.  “Are you sure you don’t want to divorce that husband of yours?”  The pleading look on his face was ruined only by the mirth in his grey eyes.

Ryil, more than happy to play along, informed the Lord seriously, “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 turned back to Tachir, demanding, “Why couldn’t you have had a fourth daughter?”

“Five children are quite enough. I don’t think my heart could take anymore.”

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

“You see?” Tachir grinned and turned to his friend’s daughter, attempting to pull the shy girl into the conversation swirling around her. “How about you, Lena?”

“I have had three offers,” she replied softly, but did lift her blue eyes to meet the Lord’s.

“They would be lucky to be chosen,” Lanew observed and instantly regretted saying it. He could feel his cheeks flushing.

Lord Xaron chuckled. “Indeed they would.”

Savia turned her attention away from the conversation and to the Dining Hall, observing everyone carefully, looking for signs of anything amiss. She could find none, and that worried her just as much as if she were to see bloody daggers in people’s hands.

Ryil leaned over and whispered, “We should check in.”

Leaving the family to entertain themselves, Savia and Ryil made their way over to where the Dragons were sitting. 

Grinning over the top of his chalice, Councilor Issydel thrust his chin forward and commented loud enough for the pair to hear, “Here comes trouble.”

 “Heard anything interesting?” Mearcon asked with a laugh.

Savia shook her head, knowing he was really asking if she had noticed a threat, and answered, “Only the usual.”  Her nephew rising to his feet drew her attention and kept her from continuing the conversation. “Look, Avery is going to play.”

The First Son of House Tulor bowed formally to the Emperor and Empress and the couple of honor, before lifting a silver instrument and resting it on his shoulder. Raising the rod in his other hand, he drew it gently against the strings, filling the room with the first note, perfectly on pitch.  He played with mastery beyond his nine cycles, captivating the room with the enchanting piece of music. Smiling bashfully at the roaring applause, he took his seat again.

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

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

“Not likely. Lacela is very traditional. There is no way she would let him give up being Lord to become a performer.” Savia smiled and shook 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 argued. Getting what they wanted seemed to be a family trait.

“True.” Her gaze fell on the School members. “Speaking of family, will you excuse me?” Knowing her husband was unnerved by her uncle, she did not ask him to join her. Inclining her head politely to the Councilors, she moved away from them and towards the iridescent robed figures.

Grand Master Isri rose to his feet and smiled, spreading his arms wide. “Savia.”

Throwing herself into his arms, she hugged him tight. Stepping back, she grinned. “Uncle, you look well.”

“If you would come and visit you would not be surprised by that fact,” he scolded.

“I know, I know. Mother says the same thing,” she said guiltily. “I never visit anyone. I am just too busy.” That line was starting to sound like an excuse even to her own ears.

“Your magical talents are wasted with the Order.  You are a Shani, Savia, you could easily become a High Master if you returned to the School.” With an innocent look, he added, “And I would get to see you.”

Savia laughed. “You lock yourself away in your study for risings on end! You would probably hardly ever know I was there and there is no way I would ever get home for a visit with the responsibilities of a High Master. Mother complains enough as it is about my time away.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Besides, I could never give up my House as you did.”  

 “I know, child.” He smiled, his mind falling into his plans as he watched her walk away. 

“How is Uncle Isri?” Kotir inquired with a grin when she and Ryil retook their seats.

“Wonderful,” Savia replied. “You should go say hello.”

“I took the children by to see him earlier.”

“It also reminds the room just what House the Grand Master came from,” Lord Xaron pointed out shrewdly.

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

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