King Scypian was waiting in one of the rooms of the Sweet Pain for the girl he had requested for the night.
The establishment was an exclusive and very discreet joyhouse – some called it a painhouse,- on Stinger Main Square. It catered for the more unique and sometimes extreme preferences of its clientele. The boys and girls were clean, healthy, exquisite and most importantly; willing to provide any service required. Just as well – was Scypian's opinion – as the prices were extortionate.
The door opened and a girl slipped in. It wasn’t the one he requested. She was pretty, but very plainly dressed. She curtsied, offering a generous view of her cleavage.
“Soon the Dark Empress Shall Reign,” she said.
Scypian couldn’t believe his ears. He stared at her incredulously.
“Will you help our cause?” the girl asked.
Scypian felt like dropping on his knees and thanking the Gods.
At last.
After all these years - or rather decades - his prayers had been answered.
He had almost given up hope, but now he was proud that he never did.
“The Dark Empress Shall Reign,” he whispered.
The girl bowed her head at him and stepped to the door.
“Wait. I don’t even know your name,” Scypian grabbed her wrist.
“You will find out in time. We shall meet a week after the Festival.”
She swiftly left the room.
Scypian felt exhilarated, though he would have preferred for this girl to perform the services he was about to order.
The House of Houses, Realm’s Heart Island
Brother Andarian praised the Gods that the Government Meeting was over.
As usual, he stayed behind to give the Representatives the opportunity to ask, suggest or request anything they wanted.
He stood by the door of the Seat of the House of Houses, watching the hot-air balloons that transported the Royals back to the ground, from the platform in front of the door. Some of the twelve Representatives had left already; a few of them were still in debate outside. He went back to his podium and sat down.
The Seat was the most magnificent part of the Structure; it was a circular hall, situated on the top of its Central Tower. Being made of Gods’ Glass it offered an unobstructed view of the landscape below as far as the eye could see.
Andarian gazed into the distance, while concentrating hard on remedying his splitting head-aches.
He was an Equimancer with Earth and Fire aptitudes.
With Fire he could add or sap energy to and from living beings. His Earth abilities allowed him to manipulate the structure of both animate and inanimate objects. Having conducted countless autopsies at the laboratories of the Academy and studied all books possible about anatomy, he was quite familiar with how the human body functioned. He worked his nerve endings to alleviate himself of the cause of his pain.
Being the First Servant of the Realm, he spent most of his time with the administrative side of governing that no Royal House could be bothered with. This, on the one hand, gave him – and the Academy – basically absolute power of deciding how to translate the Representatives’ decrees into real life actions. On the other hand, it also meant that he didn’t get out much. He spent most of his time in his office in the Hidden City – the home of the Equimancers, - smoking his pipe, drinking endless cups of tea, pouring over documents or having meetings with the Second Servant, Sister Tarilla Sweetwater and the Third Servant, Brother Dax Nettler.
“Anda, we’re off now. Go to bed as soon as you can. You look horrible,” Emperor Thorwald Archer of Lazulia stuck his head in.
“Will do. Bye, Thor,” Andarian tiredly waved good-bye to his cousin and rose to make his way to the Summerwind Palace.
***
Meanwhile Gloria was pacing up and down in her Grand Salon. She was confused.
She had attended Crown Prince Sylvain and Princess Liona’s engagement dinner the previous night.
Shortly before midnight, a silvery-blond, robed man - undoubtedly a Professor of the Academy – had appeared and exchanged a few words with Queen Mother Aquina.
After the man had left, Aquina had asked her to stay at home until further notice the next day.
The most unlikely theories kept occurring to her as to what was happening.
‘Am I in trouble? Why would I be? Is this a house arrest? Probably not, a Realm Guard would be here.’
When the First Servant was announced, she knew it had to be something serious.
“Duchess, please let me thank you for being available to receive me,” Andarian said after he had been seated, and served tea and cakes.
“I’m here on behalf of the Government. Unfortunately, we’ve had some troubling news from Pyonia.”
While he told her about the murder of Vandar Blacclaw, Gloria – who was outraged about the news, couldn’t help but wondering what it had to do with her.
“This is an event that we cannot ignore.
We have experienced acts of sabotage and minor uprisings in Pyonia since the last war, but there was peace.
We were ready to give the throne and the vote back to the Stingers in the Month of the Scorpion.
Nevertheless, most of the Representatives of the House of Houses – even Empress Sidonia, did agree, that slaying a member of the Realm’s Army equals treason.
Now, we don’t know as yet, whether this crime has been committed by Pyonians or whether it’s sabotage. The Chief Prosecutor himself will carry out an in-depth investigation.
One thing is sure though; the patience of the Representatives is wearing thin. The entire Government agreed that we need to act.
Therefore, we have voted on a candidate for the next Empress of Pyonia, should the worst-case scenario happen,” Andarian looked at Gloria, who felt a cold shiver running down her spine, and was momentarily rendered speechless.
In the lack of a response, the First Servant continued.
“We had three main candidates. I have the pleasure… or the painful task to let you know, that the Representatives have elected you by a vast majority,” he said silently.
Gloria was flattered, shocked and mortified at the same time.
“Why did nobody warn me? Certainly nobody is expecting me to reply straight away.”
“It was a unanimous decision to keep even the possibility of withholding the throne from the Stingers secret, to avoid any uprisings.
And no, we are not expecting you to declare straight away whether you would accept the crown or not, though I can’t deny that the sooner you do, the easier you make it for all of us. Should you decide to decline, we would have to vote once more.”
After an hour of further discussions, Gloria decided that it was her patriotic duty to accept the role of the candidate for the next ruler of Pyonia. Andarian was apparently more than pleased.
“Duchess, please let me emphasise again, that it might never come to your coronation. It might turn out that the most regrettable murder of Vandar Blacclaw wasn’t of a political nature; it might have been a crime of passion or a fatal personal attack.
It is also highly unlikely that any atrocities will be committed in the next few months, in which case Empress Sidonia will get her throne back and we can all breathe a sigh of relief,” he concluded their conversation.
Month of the Lion, Late Summer
Stinger Summer Residence, Stingray Harbour, Pyonia
It was after midnight. The courtyard of the palace was brightly lit.
The crowd was intently watching the squad of Sunflare Riders.
Their horses stood in one straight line, the soldiers were sitting proudly in their saddles.
All of them were tall, handsome and blonde.
Their capes of crimson velvet covered the backs of their horses.
Their golden breastplates were sparkling in the light of a hundred torches.
The nooses around their necks were not.
They were awaiting their
fate under the makeshift gallows with a silent dignity that some of the crowd couldn’t help but admire.
A man with a torch in his hand stepped forward.
“My fellow Ladies and Gentlemen of low birth, I declare the Sunflare Festival to be now open. Let’s start the celebrations by watching the soldiers of the Heliodorian army performing the Gallows Dance!” he shouted.
He stepped to the long pile of hay stacked behind the horses, and tossed his torch into it.
The horses frantically started whinnying, and ran forward in a panic.
The crowd cheered as they watched their riders fight their final battle with death.
“This should make a nice welcome gift to the next owner of the castle,” said the fire-lighter and spat with gusto.
Apothecary Snakebite’s House, Cadentia
Rica woke to cheerful sounds coming from the street.
She tried to go back to sleep, but the late summer sun’s first rays warmed her room quite quickly. She got up and went to the window. She wished she could see beyond the wall and the trees that were surrounding the garden.
‘It must be a special day today,’ she thought while she got ready for breakfast - and her vial - at her wash stand.
Soon her hands started to shake. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight.
The apothecary usually brought her vial at seven. She felt perspiration gathering on her brow. She tried to be patient; the old man must come soon.
By the time she heard his approaching steps, she was laying on her bed, bathed in sweat, with a crippling pain in her head.
“Good morning, dear. How are we today?”
“Give me my potion…please,” she moaned.
“You will get your potion later, have some lemonade and a bite of honey bread for now,” he suggested, placing the breakfast tray on her bedside table and a bucket next to it.
“When? When will I have it?”
“You will get it for dinner, if you’re a good girl,” he smiled encouragingly and left.
A few minutes later she started to scream. Gunda, Snakebite’s housekeeper tried to ignore it at first, but after the shouting got louder and louder, she banged the wooden spoon on the kitchen table and marched up to the apothecary, who was about to dress in his Festivalday best.
“What are you trying to do, you crazy old man? Didn’t they warn you enough times not to hurt her?”
She was in her sixties, as wide as she was tall, with a doughy face and watery eyes. Her cooking was satisfactory, she kept the house neat, she never asked too many questions, and knew how to keep her mouth shut.
Snakebite sometimes toyed with the thought of marrying her, but he always dismissed it; she did what she needed to do, and if the mood or need took him, he could always get a girl at any brothel for a drop of Liquid Bliss.
Today though, it was necessary to fill Gunda in.
A piercing shout shook the walls.
“Why are you torturing her? We’ll have the Realm Guard on us any second now,” she gestured wildly in all directions.
“I need to see how she’s doing without the potion.”
“My wild guess would be; not well.”
“Nobody will hear her today. The Festivities have started already.”
Indeed, the usually quiet town was abuzz with activity.
The first two days of every month were Festivaldays. Each month had its own event. The Sunflare Festival was celebrated all over the Realm, and as Cadentians were traditionally fervent supporters of the Heliodorian Royal Family, they were amongst the most enthusiastic in their celebrations. Besides, it meant strictly no work for two full days. Large groups of dressed up townsfolk were swarming to the town centre to start – or continue – the festivities.
“Besides,” Snakebite continued, “soon she will be too weak to scream. I will make my appearance in town; I’ll be back in a few hours. Check on her every half hour and write down what symptoms she has.”
He heard violent vomiting as he stepped out into the street.
Rica thought she was in the deepest pits of Hell, being tortured by Zego’s disciples and minions.
She had lost all sense of time; all she knew was the pain screaming through her whole body. She was hardly aware of Gunda coming and going, occasionally wiping her face with a wet cloth, murmuring soothing words to her.
After what felt like an eternity, the door opened. Snakebite shuffled into the room. Rica was never happier to see anybody. Not as far as she could remember.
“Good evening, dear. I brought your dinner and your potion,” he offered her the vial. “Drink it slowly.”
She extended a shaky hand, but wasn’t able to take it. Snakebite leaned over her and helped her drink it down. Then he sat in the chair at the window, nodding steadily.
“Let me know when you’re ready to have a little chat, child. Take your time, there’s no hurry.” He started to study the notes Gunda gave him at the light of the setting sun.
Rica sat up after a while. She gave him a mistrustful look.
“You wanted to talk?”
He nodded and smiled apologetically.
“I’m so sorry you had such a difficult day. I wanted us to see what happens to you without your potion. If you’re a good girl, this will never happen to you again, I promise.”
She kept silent.
“Will you be a good girl?”
She nodded.
“Good, good. I thought so. You do everything I tell you, and you will always get your medication. Understood?”
“I promise, I will,” she whispered.
Later that night, there was a knock on the door. Rica tried to listen to what was going on downstairs.
She heard the voices of two men and Snakebite, but she couldn’t make out what they were talking about.
After a few minutes, the visitors had left, but Snakebite and Gunda were still talking.
“Are you sure she’s ready?” Rica could hear Gunda ask.
“I’m certain that she will do whatever is asked of her. We’ll see in the next few days,” Snakebite replied, his voice getting closer.
Rica hurried to the chair at the window, picking up her embroidery.
Snakebite softly knocked on the door and entered.
He pulled up another chair next to Rica’s, sat down and rubbed his hands.
“Little Lady, I have very good news,” he said, pausing either for effect, or to give her the chance to speak. She didn’t, so he went on.
“We are moving up in the World,” he stated.
“In a few weeks, we shall pack all our things and move to the Capital,” he announced with a broad smile.
“All three of us?”
“Yes, provided you will do what you have promised.”
Rica nodded enthusiastically.
She felt an excitement and happiness she didn’t remember having ever felt before.
Though she couldn’t be sure; she still didn’t remember anything of her life before Snakebite’s house.
The Academy, Realm’s Heart Island
It was the second day of the Festival; Ball Night.
Mordan stood in front of the mirror in the wash room of one of the Commons’ Dormitories.
He took in the face that looked back at him from the other side of the mirror. Dark curls surrounding his face, a neatly trimmed dark beard – well, more like stubble, which gave him a brooding look – and dark brown, almost black eyes. He couldn’t complain; the ladies rather enjoyed his attention.
He knew that he could pass for a noble.
As soon as he thought that, he felt a twinge of guilt; he was proud of being low-born.
Or at least he was supposed to be, so he was practising it; he was one of the masses, no class, no breeding, all he achieved, he achieved it by himself. Well, with the help of his mentor.
So, he basically didn’t achieve much by himself.
Then again, he was chosen by Count Swiftarrow, which must count
for something.
The banging on the door disrupted his thoughts.
“Oi, Grimdor, get your butt out of there!” shouted one of his undoubtedly lowly-born fellow students, though come to think of it, His Royal Highness Octarian wouldn’t have phrased it any other way.
Just as well, as it was time to meet his friends for drinks in the Grand Dining Hall of the Academy.
On entering the packed hall, it took him quite a while to grab a glass of whatever it was, from one of the side boards and elbow his way to Wolly and Octarian, who were surrounded by masses of people – mainly girls.
The level of noise was deafening. It was impossible to determine who was with whom.
Most students were dressed up to go to different balls, the ones slumped drunkenly in the corner were definitely not going anywhere else tonight.
A band of drummers and stringers were playing popular tunes on the central, circular stage.
“Where on earth is Sylvain?” Octarian demanded, glancing at his pocket-watch. “I don’t want to miss the whole of the Sun Court Ball,” he said, disentangling himself from a girl’s arm that was wrapped around his waist. “Will you two please entertain the ladies while I go and get His Royal Crown Princeness?”
***
Sylvain was sitting in his private royal bed-room, half-dressed on the edge of his bed, head in hands. A half-empty bottle of heavy Gundian red wine stood on top of his nightstand.
Octarian burst in without a knock, ready to drag him out by his ears if he had to. One look at his friend told him that this wouldn’t be the most favourable course of action though.
Sylvain looked up at him with a pitiful, tortured expression.
“Oh no, not again! I thought you’d got over this already,” Octarian exclaimed miserably, and shared out the rest of the wine into two glasses, then slumped down into an armchair.
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