27. Chapter 24
Chapter 24
Caelan
C ourtiers bowed in a wave as my father proceeded to his golden throne.
Every muscle in my body was a spring under tension. He hadn’t called on me to report on our mission in private. Did he really think Nahome Obsan was best suited to tell him of the prisoner I'd captured? Had he also called for Amon or Commander Idris?
When Amon was announced shortly after my father took his seat, I knew the answer.
Amon strode forward with his head held high, blood dripping onto the tiled floor from the blade of Tanead's scimitar. Whispers circled the throne room, but I knew the blood was fake. From some animal, probably, or poor tortured prisoner, taken to help Amon put on a show.
“Emperor.” Amon's red-gold hair shined in the light that poured through the vast arched windows. His sharp nose crooked over clever lips that curled in pleasure at the attention of every eye in the room. He wore a long golden cape, which he threw back from his body as if to frame himself. His voice was clear and commanding. It hushed the room. “I have brought back for you a symbol of our victory in the Borderlands, to add to your hoard. A weapon of the enemy, coated in his blood.” Amon sank quickly to one knee, and rose again. I doubt his knee even touched the ground.
“My son and heir to my empire, you make me proud.” My father’s voice boomed, the deep resonant sound echoing. His red-gold hair was a frizzing ring above his ears and his silken waistcoat stretched over a full stomach. He shared many of Amon's features. Cold, cruel eyes of ice-blue and an expression that looked perpetually like a bird of prey who'd just eaten something rotten. He was much shorter than me, but despite his less-than-impressive physicality, his voice and energy exuded power.
We all clapped politely as a steward came forward to take Tanead's sword from Amon's hands. It would be added to the collection of trophies that hung on the wall of the throne room, perhaps beside the other scimitars brought back through the cycles from the Borderland Wars; the blood on it would make it rust, and it would soon blend in with the others.
“But this sword is merely a token,” Amon projected to the crowd. A smirk tugged up the corner of his thin lips. “I have brought another prize, one such as this court has never seen.” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper, and every member of the court leaned forward to catch each syllable. Even my father inched forward until he risked tipping off the front of his throne.
My brother stilled and did not speak, savoring the power of the court’s attention. Then he threw out his arms, and the crowd gasped at the sudden violence of the motion and all leaned away from him like a wave. All except for Eave, who stood rigidly beside me.
“We were in some nothing town on the border. And the enemy—” my brother began to laugh, delighted by his false memories. The laugh, like every sound he made, had an edge to it. A blade scraping a whetstone. “—those demonic bastards—forded the river and attacked us!”
The court whispered. This was an act of war!
My father slid back on his throne. His arms relaxed against the arms of the ornate chair and a smile not unlike my brother’s played across his face, though he tried to hide it.
“Do not worry, do not worry, my people,” my brother called over the whispers.
His arms rose as if to embrace every member of my father’s court. How like an emperor he was already.
“We were victorious!” My brother pumped his fist and a roar rose in the crowd. Amon strode forward and knelt with great flourish before the throne. He bowed his head to honor my father, and I wondered if others in the crowd knew it for the show it was.
“Great Emperor Calathan, humbly I present to you the first prize of a new war. The demon Tanead Tajawl, Heir of the Broken Realm!”
The great double doors swung open. The emperor leaned forward, his hands pressed to the arms of his throne until his fingers whitened, hunger and hatred in his eyes.
Before him, the crowd inhaled as one and whispers rippled through their mass as they pressed together, each hoping to be the first to see the demon.
Amon’s Widowmakers strode through the door. Each wore full armor. Metal rattled and boots pounded the tiles. Inside their chains, at the center of them, shuffled Tanead.
He could hardly stand. His once-red clothes were now brown from the dirt of the road. The hand I’d broken was wrapped in a cloth he’d ripped from them. His face was still swollen from Amon’s fist, purple beneath his proud horns. One eye didn’t open all the way. His brown waves were caked with dried blood and plastered to his scalp. He stank of sweat and iron. Nearby courtiers pulled back.
He looked about as far from a prince as a living creature could look, but he held his head high and the eye that could open pierced each person it settled on. His haughtiness rivaled my brother’s, and I thought it must be the armor he wore to guard against humiliation.
The Widowmakers holding the chain attached to his ankle cuffs tugged and Tanead fell to his knees. His arms came out automatically to catch himself. He bowed involuntarily before the emperor.
My brother still stood with his arms out, as if to welcome applause. But the crowd did not applaud; they whispered and jostled and stared at the enemy.
My father rose from his throne. The crowd hushed to hear him.
“My son, soldiers, you have done well on behalf of the empire.”
“Yes, yes,” Tanead interrupted from the ground. He raised his head and locked his swollen eyes on my father. “Well done.” Slowly, as if his joints ached, he stood. His head was as high as before, his horns reaching towards the hanging dragon claw. He noticed it, and his gaze settled there, and a sad expression overcame his face. In a moment, it was gone, and his eyes were back on my father. “I’d like to thank you for your hospitality, Great Emperor. It’s excellent so far.” The casual, lazy way he held his body mocked us. Tanead executed a bow at the waist with great flourish. The chains clinked with the motion, adding their own voice to the farce.
My father pretended he could not hear.
Demons aren’t people, he’d taught me. They’re just dragons with their blood watered down. You know what our family did, don’t you?
I’d nodded, a studious boy and serious with my lessons. We killed the dragons.
That’s right. Do you know why?
Because dragons were abominations in the eyes of the Father.
My father nodded, satisfied. And what did the Father do to reward us for our service?
He made Calathan the Conqueror emperor, by Divine Right.
And what is our duty? my father drilled me.
To rule. To protect our empire from the blood of the filthy demons and halflings who try to take it from us.
My father had chuckled and ruffled my hair. It was strange to remember that small kindness now, when in the cycles since I’d proved so disappointing to him.
My father spoke, addressing the Widowmakers. He did not look at Tajawl again. “Go now. Rest. Drink. You must be battle-weary, and to be home amongst your own kind is just reward.”
“Yes,” Tanead said loudly, speaking over my father’s last words. His eyes drifted deliberately over to me, where they settled. He looked me up and down as one might appraise a prized bull. “Don’t you find it nice to be amongst your own kind, Prince Caelan?”
My heart raced. It was hard enough to stomach Amon’s display of success when I had been the one to bring the Tanead in. Was Tanead about to tell them all what had truly happened? My mission into Los was a secret.
My father may have had similar thoughts for he called loudly to his soldiers. They came forward from their positions along the wall to take the chains of the prisoner. They led away the prize. When he was gone it was like a spell was broken. The typical sounds of court resumed, the chatter and giggles of shallow men and simpering women.
My father raised his hands to silence them. "I cut my teeth on the Borderlands when I was a young man and a fresh emperor. It's tradition. Generations of our family have blooded their swords there. But despite our efforts, the territory has long been a problem.”
Amon sank dramatically to his knees, drawing the attention back to himself. “Indeed, Emperor Calathan, you are more right than you know. Despite our successful capture of the demon, the Borderlands remains a region of rebels.”
Amon held out a hand and waited silently while one of his Widowmakers rushed to fill it. My stomach dropped when I saw the black sigil on the yellow fabric that passed through their hands.
The closest courtiers recoiled from the stink of the thing. Amon ran his hands along it as if he didn’t notice its filth, pulling it apart to display the symbol of the black raven.
A collective gasp moved through the chamber like a wave.
My father’s face turned bright red, his watery blue eyes popping. I got the feeling this part of the show hadn’t been pre-ordained. Amon had surprised him.
The emperor half-rose from his throne. “Where?” he spat.
“In a Borderlands village I razed to the ground,” Amon said.
My father seethed. Air wheezed out of him and sucked back in. He rose to his feet but was breathing so quickly, his eyes widening and contracting with his breath, that he nearly fell over and had to catch himself on the ornate arm of his chair. His feet spread wide in a stable stance and he drew his scimitar.
“This is war!” he declared this as if Amon had not already done so. “We will launch a new crusade and ground the earliest hints of rebellion down into the dust! The River of Madness will run with blood until every man, woman, and demon remembers his rightful emperor!”
My father’s scimitar rose into the air and the court shouted bloodthirsty applause. I shouted with them and pumped my fist as my eyes darted to Eave. Her arms stayed down, as did her eyes. But she did not watch the floor. Her eyes were locked on the dirty flag that held the same image as the tattoo on her back.
When the cheers died down, my father sank back into his throne, seemingly exhausted by the vitriol that had overtaken him. “Caelan, come forward.” He gave this order without looking for me.
The crowd parted to allow me through and I obeyed, more nervous now than before. Amon had claimed Tajawl as his prize and Nahome had reported on my mission. What could my father possibly want but to blame me for its failures? My fury at losing credit for Tanead’s capture was a toxin pushing acid up into my throat. I wanted to scream and stomp and confront Amon like a petulant child, but such pettiness would do no good.
Eave shuffled forward along with me; I’d told her to stay at my side. I regretted it now, wishing she'd disappeared into the crowd instead. But it was too late.
“I have received a report of losses,” the emperor said, as if I had not written that report myself and sent it to him before our arrival.
I knelt, bowing my head. It left Eave standing above me. Foolish hard-headed girl, she should have knelt, too.
“Yes, Emperor. It is with great sadness that I report that High Commander Fakoury was lost in the skirmish with Tajawl’s party.”
Whispers crested around me until they rose into a roar. I didn’t bother to mention that Joab was also dead. I didn’t say the names of the six men lost in the dungeons of Archeon. Nobody cared about them. Not compared to Junaid.
The emperor raised his hands and silence fell immediately. “Lord Massriel Fakoury, the new Lord of the Flesh, has already been informed of his father’s passing. High Commander Fakoury lived a life of service to this empire. He was a soldier, a commander, a counselor, and my personal friend. He well-represented the words of his house: 'Loyalty.' No man was ever more loyal.”
In my memory, Fakoury’s blood flowed over my hands as his throat split open. “The Traitor was right,” he’d said.
“We will honor his life and mourn his death as if he were a member of my own family,” the emperor’s voice boomed out. “I call a Hunt.”
Polite applause scattered the room and the whispers began again. They were excited this time—a Hunt. What would they wear? Who would bring down the largest prey? Maybe a lion would be killed in honor of the fallen commander. The lion was House Fakoury's sigil, after all.
It was a mark of my father’s regard for Junaid that he’d host a funereal Hunt. It was a rite held for fallen emperors and princes. It would last days and bring all of court to the Emperor’s Prairie to pay homage to the fallen warrior.
“You honor his memory,” I said. I let my voice cut through the noise, for I had no intention of kneeling indefinitely on the fucking tile while they gossiped about what they’d wear to the funeral of a good man.
“He deserves it. His death is a damned tragedy. But fighting a demon is how he would’ve chosen to go down. There’s no better death. Stand,” my father said. His eyes had slid off me and onto Eave. They scanned the length of the dress I’d put her in. “And who is this?”
Amon’s voice answered before I could even open my mouth. “It’s Caelan’s new companion, Father. Isn’t she lovely?”
My father’s eyebrows rose practically to the arched ceiling high above. “A companion? In the traditional sense?”
“Yes, Emperor,” I said.
“I send you on a raid in the Borderlands and you come back with a companion? Where’d you find her?”
“She was a slave of the demon Tajawl. She is Touched. He found it useful…along with other uses, I suppose.”
Chuckles in those gathered. I glanced at Eave, desperate to know if her cheeks flamed red at being discussed like this. And yes, they were pink. She seemed to quiver beneath my father’s gaze, though some intuition in me whispered that it was a practiced act.
“Touched, you say?” My uncle, Father Devan, First Priest of the Temple of Divine Right, stepped forward from his traditional position behind my father’s throne. He looked much like my father, though his stomach was wider and his hair was still thick and red on top of his head. His blue eyes swept Eave up and down. “Look at me, child,” he commanded.
Eave raised her chin. The bruising on her cheek was still visible, but her other wounds were hidden away. There was nothing to distract from the striking color of her emerald eyes.
Devan gasped. He swallowed—he was salivating. “And you say she served the demon?”
“She serves me now,” I enunciated clearly.
“You haven’t taught her to bow?” my father drawled.
Without being told to, Eave sank to her knees. She bowed very deeply, her head pressed to the floor. “I apologize, Emperor, for my disrespect. I have never met an emperor and bowed only to the Father before this moment,” she said in that damned sultry voice.
My father inched forward to peer down at her. His displeasure seemed to have leaked out of him and he was showing far too much interest in Eave for my liking.
Damn her for drawing so much attention to herself. Damn her for making every cock in my family want her. When I got her back to my rooms, I’d slam her body against the wall, holding her by her delicate throat. I’d growl at her, reminding her that, as her master, her behavior reflected back on me. Behavior not in keeping with her new position would be punished.
“Such a gift belongs in the temple,” Father Devan said.
I met Devan's lustful gaze. “How lucky your temple is just down the hall from my rooms. I’m quite sure she’ll be able to find it when I’m not using her.”
“I hope so,” Devan said stiffly. “As I hope that you will be able to find your green robes for your next court appearance, as befits your position.”
I clenched my jaw and said nothing. I always eschewed the color of the Father in favor of my house colors instead. Apparently, the subtle message had not gone unnoticed.
My father studied me with narrow eyes. He glanced at his brother and they shared a moment of silent communication. Then my father visibly relaxed, sliding back into his chair and waving a hand in dismissal.
“Once a man declares a companion, only death or his word can break the bond. Not even the temple or…” the emperor chuckled, as if he found his powerlessness in the face of tradition amusing, “or indeed the emperor himself can take what has been claimed. Son, enjoy your prize. And take her with you to the bloody temple, won’t you?”