The Emperor's Daughter

by H M Angues

  “You’re breathing down my neck, Dane,” she quips. My cheeks flush red as I take a step back. Luckily, she’s not facing me to see my embarrassment.

  I shouldn’t bother trying to protect her. Even in her simple clothes, her feet still bare—does she have something against shoes?—Calla moves like a soldier as she strides across the elegant stone cavern we are in. Everything from her walk to the way she holds her shoulders is characteristic of the men on the battlefields in the Borderlands. She’s seen the Great War up close. I questioned the claims before, but now I can see clearly that she has chosen to fight in battles herself rather than just coordinate them like most high-ranking soldiers. She is a warrior first and politician second.

  A table, erected from the stone itself, sits at the center, surrounded by a dozen or so men in leathers similar to Fayette’s. One man, a bald and dark-skinned Mordan, stands over it, pointing to what appears to be a map and muttering something to the man beside him. He doesn’t wear armor—just simple black and sophisticated clothes. When he glances up at our approach, a scar stretches from his chin to his forehead. His right eye is pulled into a permanent squint by the mark. I don’t need to be told to know that this man is the Overseer.

  “Calla. I knew you’d be stopping by here soon enough,” he says in a rough voice. “I’m terribly sorry about your brother. He was a good king, and a good man, despite what many in Roran would say,” he adds, lowering his head.

  She nods in thanks. “I’m assuming you got my message.”

  “Yes. You know how the Underground operates, Calla. We stay quiet; we don't make nosie It makes things... messy. But I can’t ignore the request of my future emperor, and with a civil war imminent, our hand is forced. As powerful as you are, Calla, even the Imperial Armed Forces can’t juggle the war on the Borderlands alongside a war on the homeland. The Circle and I were just discussing it before you arrived and have come to a decision: The Underground will help you find Kainan and put down the rebellion.”

  “Speaking of Kainan, she’s brought the bastard’s younger brother,” says a man standing beside the Overseer. I’m not surprised that he knows who I am—many in Roran would recognize me.

  Calla opens her mouth to speak for me, but I step in before she can say a word. “He’s no more my brother than yours. I’m here to help.”

  The Overseer grunts and turns to Calla. “I trust him, Jed,” she assures “otherwise I wouldn’t have brought him here.”

  “Very well,” he says with that same dismissive tone Calla has used. Now I know where she’s picked up some of her habits. She must spend more time with these people than I originally thought. “How long can you stay in the city?” the Overseer—Jed—asks.

  “A few days, at most,” she replies.

  “That won’t do. It’ll take a few weeks to organize an operation capable of tracking down these terrorists. And we will need you to lead it.”

  “Then we’ll come back before the end of the month. For now, I’d like a few days of vacation, if you don’t mind.” Calla smiles and turns to me. “Do you want to stay as well?”

  I nod, not knowing how else to respond. She leads me out the doors and back into the heart of Drakonis.

  ∞∞∞

  We stay in the city for another day. Calla has her own apartments in Drakonis, stocked full of everything one would need for at least a few weeks, where she stays by herself. Blade invites me to stay in his for the night, though I hardly see the Royal Guard captain for the course of our stay. Calla explains that he spends every possible minute with Fayette when he gets the chance.

  Calla gives me a full tour of the city, taking me to the market square—it’s in a cavern of its own, complete with its own canals carved into the stone—and the other major parts of Drakonis. I even get to see the headquarters for the different factions of the Underground. I had always thought they were nothing more than thieves and assassins, but Calla shows me otherwise. They have factions for their more criminal members, yes, but also for mercenaries, political refugees, assisting the Armed Forces, and feeding the poor, among others.

  I find myself falling in love with the subterranean city. Growing up in Roran, it was rare to see an exotic face. Very few have moved to the Province since Augustus the First united all seven under the empire. In Drakonis, people come from all walks of life, sharing their cultures with each other and learning from one another.

  “It’s like this everywhere in Namari. Each Province embraces its own unique culture while encouraging others to rejoice in theirs, regardless of their origin. If there is a god, then he has blessed our empire with diversity and acceptance. Roran is the outlier, the anomaly,” Calla had said when I mentioned the Underground’s rainbow of intermingling peoples.

  I had been speechless at the time, unaware of how truly isolated Roran has made itself, especially since my family took hold of the kingship.

  No wonder it’s the birthplace of the Uprising.

  ∞∞∞

  When we leave Drakonis after our short stay, the flight home is silent. Calla pilots the whole way, shortening the trip by not switching into cruise control like she had the way there. It takes less than ten minutes to reach the imperial palace, Stonefire.

  And it is so rightly named. The metal roofing that adorns the white stone building is a bright red that shines orange when the sun hits it from the right angle. It truly is like the stone is topped with a glowing, glimmering flame. The towers at the corner of each wing reach for the sky, and at the center of the structure, connected to the rest of the building by small, enclosed bridges, is a magnificent, dome-shaped building—the throne room, the house of the Eternal Flame, on the bottom floor; and the Hall of the Concilium on the second, directly under the fiery half-dome roof. Atop that dome sits a blindingly shiny sun forged of gold.

  Around the central building, the palace is square-shaped with pointed towers at each corner. Each side of the palace is its own wing: north, south, east, and west. The west wing—the back of the palace—faces the ravine where the hangar lies. The front of Stonefire Palace is the east wing, and it looks toward Sunset Bridge and Capital City, and toward our oncoming jet as it begins to circle around to the west.

  The face of the east wing is interrupted by a large arch that leads to the gardens enclosed by the four sections of the palace. In front of that gate, beyond the palace itself, is the main courtyard where smaller buildings made of the same stone and copper roofing can be found: The Royal Guard barracks, the Armed Forces Command Center, and the National Treasury. These buildings form a rectangle around the courtyard, and beyond them is Sunset Bridge crossing over the Belurian River, the largest river in Namari. Like Stonefire, Sunset Bridge is aptly named. The multi-level architectural feat is coated entirely in copper and gold, making it gleam with all the colors of a dusk sky.

  I have explored Stonefire Palace on several occasions since my arrival there, but never have I seen it from the sky. Flying overhead, seeing the structure’s whole magnificence at once, is truly breathtaking. Calla slows as she notices my gawking, allowing me to take in the view she has likely seen countless times in her life.

  “It never loses its wonder, no matter how many times you see it,” she mutters.

  She coaxes the jet downward, easing it into the ravine and the still-open hangar. Once landed, she closes the solid stone gateway and leads Blade and me back up to fresh air. We return to the palace the same way we exited; through the backdoor of the basement kitchen. The kitchen staff mostly ignore us as we stride through, save for the small pauses and curtsies and bows they give Calla as she crosses their paths. She flashes everyone a genuine smile.

  The three of us cross the gardens, Blade and I close on Calla’s heels, to the throne room. Its marble magnificence is a wonder in itself. Emperor Augustus the Fourth sits on his throne on the raised dais at the end of the room. A large pedestal sits in the center, bearing the Eternal Flame. Augustus is speaking to Lady Mira in hurried whispers. He goes silent when he not
ices our approach.

  “Where have you been?” he bellows, his question directed only at his daughter. “Do you realize what kind of danger you put yourself in, just disappearing from the palace like that?”

  She nods, not bothering to argue. “But we are safe, and that’s all that truly matters. We were never in any danger, Father.”

  The emperor grunts in frustration, stepping down from his throne. “You are to rule this empire one day, Calla. Running off on little adventures is not a good habit for an emperor to have.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you, though?” he yells. “Because you may think it was all fine and dandy to go on a little vacation and disappear, even if it was just a day, but there is a civil war on our horizon, young lady! Namari’s military—your military—is strong, but not strong enough for a two-front war! You need to be focusing on the matter at hand.”

  Calla’s calm, obedient resolve snaps, and her demeanor morphs into something much more intimidating. Into that of the warrior I saw just yesterday. “I am focusing on the matter at hand! Unlike you, Father, I have been doing everything in my power to prevent the rebellion from gaining more footholds in the empire, as well as hunt down Kainan. I am not going to sit here and wait for another attack on our military, or for another assassination! We’re sitting ducks, inviting Kainan to tear Namari apart while we wait idly by and watch.”

  I’ve met kings and queens of Namari. I grew up surrounded by men and women of both military and political power.

  Compared to Calla, they’re nothing. Puppets. Weak. I didn’t realize it until now, but part of me had questioned all the magnificent stories I’d heard about the emperor’s daughter.

  She is a warrior queen, born and bred, battle-hardened and headstrong.

  I sneak a glance in Blade’s direction, and his blue-gray gaze is one full of pride.

  The emperor exhales sharply. “Talon’s funeral is in three days. You will be leading the procession,” he states coldly, brushing his daughter’s outburst casually aside. The tone of his voice, the way he says the words... It’s chilling, as if they are meant to be cruel, to shove it down Calla’s throat that her brother is dead.

  I turn to Blade. Even he looks shocked at the emperor’s dismissal, but he doesn’t say a word. Augustus returns to his throne, and Lady Mira trails behind.

  If her father upset her, she isn’t showing it. Calla glides gracefully from the throne room. Blade lingers in the gardens, but I follow her to the west wing, up almost six flights of stairs, until we reach her rooms. She hardly acknowledges my presence until I stop her at the door.

  “What the hell was that?” I demand.

  “That was nothing, Rysen. Let it go.” She opens her doors and I follow her inside.

  Her rooms are painted orange, like the soft color of a sunset. The elegant furniture is deep mahogany and the blankets, duvets, embroidery, cushions—all if it is a fiery mixture of reds and yellows and oranges. Obsidian chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the candles flicker to life as their fiery mistress passes beneath them, since there are no windows to light the room. The floor is the same deep brown wood, emphasizing the brightness of her furnishings The white marble fireplace is the largest piece, nestled in the corner of two walls. Next to it is a set of magnificent doors that match the floor.

  They are open, revealing her bedchamber beyond, which is similar in style to the other rooms. Another doorway leads to what appears to be a small library. The foyer of her chambers alone is at least twice the size of my own relatively large apartments. The ceilings vault upward, almost two storeys high.

  She flings the red silk drapes of her bedchamber open, allowing sunlight to pour in through the windows. I take a few steps closer, still marveling at the magnificence and beauty of her room. None of which, I realize, compares to the beauty of the grand duchess. I cringe inwardly at the cliche thought, but it’s true nonetheless.

  “I know you’re lying to me, Cal.”

  Chapter 7

  Calla

  I spin around to face Rysen, my gaze burning into his chestnut eyes, and I take him in. He is at least a head taller than me, his toned form slim and agile. His deep brown hair is cropped short and tousled from all the times he runs his hands through it during the day. His nose is straight, jaw strong, and hints of a beard are visible on his unshaven face. He is handsome and has a certain tenderness to his eyes.

  I focus on his features, his kind eyes most of all, to keep myself from crumbling to the floor. And he notices. Ryse steps forward, touching a hand to my elbow, bracing me. The soft touch does more to comfort me than he probably realizes. It keeps me upright.

  Cal.

  Talon used to call me that. My father had hated it; he prefers Calla, or little phoenix. The names that he has given me.

  I don’t know what draws Rysen and me to each other, why we formed such an odd, hasty friendship, why I feel the need to trust him more than my childhood friend. Maybe it’s because he gets it... He has some semblance of understanding of what it is to be me. To lose a loved one, to live with the weight of that heartache.

  “Cal?” he says again, searching my face. His grip on my arm tightens.

  I let out a sigh. “My father has been cold since Talon’s death. Usually, he’s caring, fatherly. But now... It’s like his death has erased that and replaced it with something crueler. He hides it when he can, but those few weeks following your arrival were the worst. He was lashing out at me, at Mira, at anyone that dared speak to him. What you heard in there was part of his anger. He gets angry because he loves me, because he’s scared to lose me, too. That much I know, but it doesn’t make it any easier to bear.”

  He wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm embrace as we sink down onto one of the plush sofas. “Don’t let him convince you that anger and love are the same thing, Cal,” he whispers into my ear.

  I pull away just as Blade enters the foyer of my rooms. “He used to call me that,” I mutter. The nickname both hurts and helps.

  “Rysen,” Blade says softly in his smooth voice, “we need a minute.”

  “Uh... um, yeah. Sorry. Of course. I’ll just be in my room, then,” he stammers, awkwardly waving as he hurries into the hall.

  A moment of silence passes between Blade and me. It’s been weeks since we’ve had any time together, and I desperately miss my best friend. I pull him into a hug, cinching my arms around his muscled torso.

  The sobs that follow are uncontrollable. “I miss him so much,” I whimper into his chest.

  Blade tightens his arms around me. “I know. Me too.”

  ∞∞∞

  I wake up wrapped in Blade’s arms on one of the sofas by the fire, my head resting on his chest. I don’t move, enjoying the comfort I am given by the sound of his steady heartbeat, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The sun has gone down, and the Twin Moons sit proudly in the sky, one just slightly higher than the other. The ticking clock beside the foyer sofa we’re laying on says it’s well past midnight. I must have needed sleep more than I thought.

  It was the first dreamless sleep I had in weeks, the first time I didn’t see Talon’s death replayed over and over the minute I closed my eyes, the first time I didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, trembling with sadness and fear and helplessness. When I was younger and plagued with nightmares after my mother’s death, Talon or Blade would stay with me through the night. Sometimes the old comforts work best, I remind myself, as I relish in Blade’s warmth.

  I rise gently, careful not to wake him, and head into my closet to change into something more comfortable and suited for sleeping. When I return, he is sitting upright on the sofa, rubbing his eyes.

  “I, uh... Sorry. I didn’t mean to stay or fall asleep. I’ll see you in the morning,” he mumbles, scrambling awkwardly to leave the room. Something inside me yearns for my lifelong friend to stay, to keep the nightmares away for the rest of the night.

  I give in to that part of me. “
Stay,” I say, before he’s out the door.

  He turns around, fingers paused on the door handle. He looks... relieved. Happy, even. “Are you sure?” he asks tentatively as he slowly makes his way back across the room, back toward me.

  I nod. “I’m sure,” I say with more certainty than I intend. “It’s like what you used to do. When I’d have nightmares and you would stay with me. It... helps,” I add.

  I climb into my bed in the next room, slipping under the soft sheets. Blade lays on top of the blankets, a small barrier between us. I move closer to him, resting my head on his arm. He strokes my hair, playing with the curly strands between his fingers.

  As I begin to drift off, I feel him kiss the top of my head. I don’t think he knows I felt it.

  ∞∞∞

  I’m gone before Blade can wake up the next morning. I shower and dress quickly, eager to busy myself for these next couple of days. With my brother’s funeral approaching, I’m not sure I can handle being around my father, so I decide to avoid politics for brief time.

  The gardens are where I go.

  Not the quaint ones in the palace courtyard surrounding the throne room. I go to my mother’s old gardens against the outside wall of the south wing. Trees and paved paths and benches and ponds and flowers of all colors dot the landscape. It’s a warm summer morning, so I wear nothing more than a t-shirt and leggings. And no shoes, of course.

  The moment my bare feet touch the paved stone outside, I can feel it. The reason I hate the confines of shoes and boots of all kinds.

  Every footstep, every minute and undetectable vibration, the critters burrowing their earthen homes beneath the grass: All of it reverberates through my body.

  I walk for a short distance before picking a bench under a willow tree to seat myself. I lean back on the thin cushions, propping up my feet, the sensations of Eterra vanishing. I tilt my head back, gazing listlessly at the swaying green leaves of the willow. A breeze rustles the leaves on an otherwise still morning. The air pulls loose curls from my braid, the hairs tickling my face as the wind passes through them.