Taken by Storm

by Anna Argent

  He stared at the empty space where the window had once been. “I thought she wanted me to be with her.”

  “She did. But she knew you’d be disobeying orders and abandoning our mission. She knew what that would cost you. She told me she couldn’t let you give up everything like that.”

  Warrian didn’t care about the cost. Not now. Not when she was alone, on an alien world where she didn’t understand how things were. “I need to go after her and make sure they don’t let her hurt herself.”

  “There are no more windows opening nearby for days, and we have a job to do. I hate it as much as you do, but we both have to accept reality. Like it or not, the empress is on her own now.”

  *****

  Isa landed on soft sand. A warm breeze wrapped around her that smelled strange, yet so familiar. A brilliant blue sky soared overhead, dotted with puffy clouds.

  She lay there for a minute, letting the spinning in her head slow. As it did, the ache in her chest grew.

  She’d tricked Warrian into staying behind, and despite the fact that it was the right decision, she still felt slimy for doing it. She’d betrayed him. After all the pleasure and care he’d given her, the last thing she did to him was stab him in the back.

  It was probably a good thing she’d never see him again, because she couldn’t stand the thought of having him look at her after what she’d done.

  The ugly chore was over now. It was time for her to try to forget all about the man she’d fallen for and focus on what was ahead.

  She tried to push herself upright, but her body was too heavy to move.

  A woman with a leathery face and shockingly frizzy blonde hair leaned over, blocking out the sky. A braid draped from her right temple, wrapped in the same blue ribbons, in the same pattern, as Warrian’s braid had been.

  She spoke words Isa didn’t understand, but there was a thick thread of reverence stretching between them.

  Isa pushed harder, dragging her heavy body upright. The woman wasn’t alone. There were three men with her, and every one of them wore a garala on their hands and the same ribbon-bound braid.

  “Do you know a guy named Warrian?” she asked, wondering if the braid marked them as family.

  The woman frowned, then licked her lips as if preparing to say something difficult. “Are you damaged?”

  She had the same accent that Warrian did, only much, much thicker.

  “What’s your name?” asked Isa.

  “Rohra, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  Great. Again with the imperial crap.

  “I’m Isa.” She held her hand out, which was way heavier than it should have been. In fact, everything seemed heavy, even the thick air. Maybe that was due to humidity, but whatever it was, it took effort just to fill her lungs.

  The woman stared at Isa’s extended hand, horrified, like it was glowing with toxic radiation.

  “Fine. Whatever. Just show me where I’m supposed to go and let’s get this over with.”

  Isa stood, feeling like she’d gained a hundred pounds. Even brushing the sand from her clothes was an effort that left her panting. The cheap sweats were way too warm for the climate, and she already wished she’d packed a bag with lighter clothing.

  The woman looked past Isa and then snapped to attention, as did the three men nearby.

  Isa turned and saw two things. One was a huge, intricate building sitting at the top of a hill. It loomed over everything nearby, dwarfing the lush, green jungle surrounding them. It was beautiful, sculpted from sweeping, gentle curves that reminded her of ocean waves. It was coated with something that sparkled under the sun. Glass? Crystal? She couldn’t really tell from here.

  The other thing she saw was a line of men in short, toga-like robes hurrying down a path that led to the sandy clearing where she stood. Each one wore a sash the same color blue as her mother’s dagger, and an air of self-importance.

  Isa grabbed the woman’s arm and leaned close. “Is that the council?”

  “Yes, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  Good. At least now she knew how to tell the rapey knobby-kneed dudes from everyone else.

  Isa leaned down, and picked up the dagger from where it had fallen. It felt twice as heavy as it should have, but she would have carried it no matter how much it weighed.

  She didn’t unsheathe it, but she held it so that she could, which made the man at the front of the toga line slow as he approached.

  He was balding, with wispy, white hair, and a round belly no robe or sash could hide. He didn’t look like a rapey asshole—more like a guy who’d play Santa at the mall—but she wasn’t taking any chances.

  “I’m Isa Telwyn,” she announced, trying to sound like she wasn’t the kind of woman who took crap from anyone. “Your empress. Who are you?”

  “Head Councilman Pretor.” He bowed, evoking a mini-wave of bows from the men behind him.

  “Are you in charge here?” she asked.

  “Yes, Your Imperial Majyr. Or I was until your arrival.”

  “Good. Glad we sorted that out. Now, why don’t you find me some lighter clothes I can change into. After that, we’ll set some ground rules, and then start killing us some Raide. Sound like a plan?”

  Pretor looked like he was either struggling to understand what she’d said or struggling to swallow it. He stammered, “Yes, Your Imperial Majyr. As you wish.”

  He untied the sash that fell over his shoulder and offered it to her with a bow. “To cover your hair, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  It was too freaking hot for her to cover anything else, but it seemed like a big deal to him, so she took the sash and draped it over her head. “Better?”

  “Yes, Your Imperial Majyr. This way, please.”

  By the time Isa made it up the fifty million steps leading to the palace, she was covered in sweat and felt like she’d been hiking for a week. Gravity here was stronger, making every move she made a huge effort. She didn’t know how long it would take for her to adjust, but at least she understood how Warrian could flip around like he weighed nothing. On Earth he probably felt weightless.

  She stumbled, and the female guard Rohra caught her arm before she could fall. The guard let go of Isa like her skin was on fire, and then Rohra stared at the ground as if expecting some kind of punishment.

  “Thanks.”

  Rohra looked up, startled.

  Isa offered her a weary smile and moved on. As soon as they hit level ground, she was ready to fall to her knees and sit there panting for half a day, but she knew better than to show any sign of weakness before the initial negotiation was done.

  She was led to a room at what had to be at the highest point on the planet. By the time two armed guards opened a pair of white doors for her to pass through, she was soaked with sweat and shaking with fatigue.

  Not a good way to impress the locals and convince them not to see her as prey.

  With what was left of her strength, she straightened her spine just as Pretor turned to see her reaction.

  The room was huge, with thick columns soaring thirty feet up to a shimmering ceiling. Soft rugs lined the floor, leading to several large alcoves. In one was a pool-sized tub set into the floor. It was filled with clear water giving off curling tendrils of steam. A trough flowed in one side and out of the other, disappearing beneath a wall.

  “Your bathing area,” said Pretor.

  Another alcove was arranged with cushioned seating and a glass table tilted at an angle. Images flickered over the glass, but she was too far away to see what they were.

  Pretor supplied, “Communications, information and entertainment.”

  Another alcove, hidden behind long, billowing curtains, held a huge bed that sat low to the ground. Some kind of flower petals had been scattered over the pale covers, and even from here, she could smell their sweet scent.

  She didn’t need any help figuring out what the bed was for, but now that she saw just how huge the space was, she had no idea how she was going to keep herself safe in her
e. There were way too many places for someone to hide.

  “You will find clothing behind those doors, Your Imperial Majyr,” said Pretor. “Would you like some food brought to you?”

  She shook her head. “Just water. Ice if you have it.”

  Pretor whispered something to one of the other robed men, and he scurried off.

  A pair of giant balconies sat on either side of the room. She went to the one on her left and stared out over what was possibly the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Vibrant blue waters stretched out into an ocean so vast it took her breath away. She could smell it on the breeze, and a flickering memory plowed into her.

  She remembered being in this very spot as a tiny child. She’d been held in a man’s strong arms, knowing he would never let her fall. She clutched a braided lock of hair in her pudgy hand, toying with the blue ribbons laced around it.

  As soon as the memory slammed into her, she knew what it was. The man holding her had been her father. He’d been the one who’d stood here with her, showing her the world she would one day rule. Their time together was fleeting. Precious. Secret. Her mother had told her that no one could know who he was.

  She stood there for several minutes, struggling to choke down her emotions. Leaving Warrian behind, facing this strange place where she knew no one, reliving the last few moments she’d spent with her dad… it was all too much. She hadn’t even started to do the job she was here to do and already she was wrung out, exhausted, and on emotional overload.

  Warrian had been right. She hadn’t been even close to prepared for this.

  Isa hid all signs of her distress and turned around to face the audience of council members behind her. “Where is my father?”

  “I am sorry, Your Imperial Majyr. He was killed in the first attack. I can show you where he is buried if you like.”

  “I would.”

  Pretor crossed to the other balcony and stretched out his hand. Isa went to where he stood and looked at where he pointed.

  This side of the palace was a bleak, barren landscape, blackened and scarred with signs of battle. Hundreds of houses below were scorched and ruined. Some with stone walls still stood, but their roofs were burned away, leaving nothing but piles of blackened destruction.

  On a hillside in the distance was a clearing. Pristine white stones jutted from the charred ground in perfect rows.

  A cemetery.

  “He lies there, next to your mother.”

  “So it wasn’t a big deal that he was a warrior?”

  Pretor frowned. “Your father was not a warrior. He was a councilman.”

  “What did he look like?”

  Pretor pointed to a skinny, wizened man at the back of the gathering. His cheeks were gaunt with age, and heavy bags hung below his brown eyes. “Utral is your father’s brother. They appeared the same.”

  No way was that guy her uncle. He was like a thousand years old. Even a couple of decades ago, he still would have been a geezer. Clearly, the enhanced gravity here had not been kind to him. “Did he wear a braid like those guys?”

  The whole group gave her a horrified look like she’d just taken a big ol’ bite of dog poop, and then offered them one.

  “Of course not, Your Imperial Majyr. Only warriors wear their hair like that.” He took a step closer. “Are you sure you are well?”

  She wasn’t. She was hot and exhausted and confused. “I think I just need a few minutes alone. You should all go.”

  Pretor nodded and issued an order in a language she didn’t understand, but sounded familiar. “I will post guards at your door. They will bring you to the council chamber when you are ready.”

  Isa pointed to Rohra. “Her. I want her to stay.”

  “As you wish, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  Finally, everyone left, giving her the giant, ridiculously lavish space to herself. She went to the door to lock it only to realize that there was no lock. As she searched the whole place, finding a huge closet and a bathroom, she still found no locks on any of the doors.

  Anyone could walk in here at any time. For any reason.

  That’s when she realized that she wasn’t in charge here. Not really. They all bowed and scraped like she was some kind of queen, but she wasn’t. She was a tool.

  At least Warrian had warned her about what would happen. Thanks to him, she had a fighting chance.

  Isa washed, dressed in a flimsy gown that was blessedly cool, and used a shimmery sash to tie her dagger to her waist, nice and visible as a warning against alien shenanigans. She guzzled down half of a pitcher of cold water and then opened the door.

  Two guards stood there, bowing their heads as she appeared. One was Rohra. The other was a giant of a man with a baby face and long red hair.

  “I’m ready,” she told them.

  The man shared a look with Rohra that spoke volumes about just how not ready she was.

  “What?” she asked the woman. “What am I missing?”

  The man blushed, turning red from his scalp to his throat. “Your hair, Your Imperial Majyr. It’s unbound.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  Rohra shifted uncomfortably. “Apologies, Your Imperial Majyr, but it is not safe. It will be seen as an… invitation.”

  “An invitation for what?”

  The two guards whispered briefly as if trying to figure out what the right word was. Finally, Rohra was the one who spoke. “Touching and kissing, Your Imperial Majyr. Private kissing.”

  Oh. “Yeah. I don’t want to be inviting any private kissing. Come in here and show me what to do.”

  The female guard opened her mouth like she was going to argue, but Isa didn’t have the patience for it. She dragged the woman inside and shut the door in the red face of the gawking male guard.

  “I saw a brush in the closet, but no bobby pins or anything to hold everything in place.”

  “Ribbon, Empress. There should be ribbons. I will call a body servant.”

  “No. I don’t want a big fuss. Surely you can braid hair. I mean, you’re sporting your own braid, right?”

  “Uh. Yes, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  “Great.” Isa hauled Rohra into the closet that was as big as her old living room, and started looking through the drawers in a mirrored dressing table. One on the right was filled with flat spools of ribbon the same color blue as Warrian wore.

  She pulled them out, handed them to the guard and plopped down on the chair. “Okay. Braid me up, baby.”

  *****

  Rohra’s fingers shook as she layered and twisted locks of hair with dozens of strands of blue ribbons. Her hands were meant for battle, not the gentle task of plaiting the hair of an empress.

  The tiny empress sat, watching Rohra in the mirror, adding to the anxiety simmering beneath her skin.

  “Are you afraid of me, Rohra?”

  Rohra’s spine straightened. Her fingers stilled in the act of knotting a ribbon as the insult trickled through her with no outlet. “No, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  “Then you must be angry enough that your hands are shaking.”

  “Anger at Your Imperial Majyr is not allowed.”

  The empress lifted a pale eyebrow. “Really? You’re not allowed to be pissed at me?”

  “No, Your Imperial Majyr.”

  “Well, that’s just stupid. How about I give you permission to speak your mind? Will that get you to actually talk to me like a real person?”

  It took Rohra a minute to understand what the empress meant. All the palace staff and the battle leaders she would one day command had been commanded to learn her language, though it had been easier for some than others.

  Rohra was much better with the garala than she was with languages.

  “You can never be a real person, Your Imperial Majyr. You must be more than that.”

  The empress turned around, tugging the strands from Rohra’s hands. The small woman’s eyes shone with fear, but remained dry. For some reason, that self-control eased Rohra’s worries. A leader n
eeded to be strong. There was no place for tears in the mission that lay ahead for the empress.

  “I’m not more than that, Rohra. I’m just a woman like you. I know I’m the only one who can power the weapons. And I will. But this is an alien place to me. I don’t know your customs. Hell, I didn’t even know it was trashy not to braid my hair.”

  Trashy? Rohra wasn’t certain of the term, but she understood the general meaning. “What is it you ask of me, Your Imperial Majyr?”

  “I just need someone who is going to watch my back.”

  Rohra glanced in the mirror to see what was special about the empress’s back. All she saw were slim lines too delicate for the burden that lay ahead. “I do not understand.”

  The empress let out a heavy sigh and gripped Rohra’s shoulder.

  She went still, not even daring to breathe. The empress had touched her, was still touching her. Like they were equals.

  “I have to sleep sometime,” said the empress. “And when I do, it would mean a lot to me if you would be the one standing at my door, letting no one pass.”

  “You want me to guard your sleep?”

  “There are no locks on the doors. Warrian told me that the council will want me to have a kid, no matter what they have to do to make it happen.” She went up on her tiptoes, lowering her voice as if she expected someone to hear. “That’s not happening. Do I make myself clear? If I decide to have a kid, it will be when I want and with a man I choose.”

  “Just like your mother,” said Rohra before she could stop the words from passing her lips.

  The empress cocked her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. “My father wore a braid like yours, like Warrian’s. He wasn’t that skinny old man’s brother. He was one of you, wasn’t he?”

  “There were rumors, Your Imperial Majyr, but they meant nothing.”

  “They mean something to me. We’re talking about my father. What kind of rumors?”