by M. J. Scott
The—machine? creation?—she wasn't entirely quite sure of the correct term for a fabrique—looked distinctly out of place on the pristine white gravel of the driveway. It bore a passing resemblance to a carriage in that it had four sides and a roof and wheels, but that was about all it had in common with the luxurious and elegant conveyance they had travelled from Lumia in.
The fabrique was larger and looked like an iron box designed by someone with no regard for any sort of harmony to the eye. Plain, unrelieved matte black, other than the small windows and the imperial crest painted in gold on the door, it seemed to squat in place, heavy and ungainly. The wheels—four of them on each side—were much wider than a normal carriage's.
If she hadn't known what it was, she would have perhaps guessed that it was a wagon for rubbish collection. Something so mundane, that no one had cared what it looked like.
But no mundane wagon would have four fabriques harnessed in front of it where horses or maybe an ox or two should have stood.
The fabriques looked nothing like the faux horses that pulled carriages through the streets of Lumia. These were larger and stronger and squarer. Perhaps what you'd get if you crossed an ox with a horse and then tried to fashion an imitation of the offspring from steel and iron. Though they weren't as graceless as the carriage, the lines of their jointed limbs suggesting strength and some degree of agility.
But they stood, black and perfectly motionless under the blue sky. Clearly machines. The only sign that they might be able to do more than stand there forever like sculptures was a faint hiss of steam seeping from their mouths.
"Impressive, aren't they?" Imogene said. "The soldiers call them fer taureaus."
"Yes," Sophie agreed. Iron bulls. It seemed a fair description. It didn't entirely encompass the unsettling creatures but seemed a good name for something that looked like it could put its head down and charge through any obstacle with ease. Subtlety apparently wasn't the Imperial army's strength. Perhaps that made sense. If you were trying to overwhelm an enemy with your might and power, no point calling your weapons names that didn't invoke those things.
"Does the army have many of these?" Cameron asked. He took a half step closer, his soldier's curiosity getting the better of him perhaps, but then seemed to think better of it and returned to Sophie's side.
"Not many yet," Imogene said. "It takes certain talents to make them and certain others to be able to pilot them successfully. A combination of blood magic and air for the latter. A few other things for the former. But the ingeniers and mage ingeniers who make them are becoming more skilled with time. You've seen the horses in Lumia. Those are simpler than these. These came from the same principles. But they are...improved."
The fer-taureaus didn't look more complicated than the fabrique horses, which were far more lifelike. So "improved" in this case probably meant that there was some form of weaponry built into their bodies or that they themselves could be used for more than pulling a charguerre.
Sophie expected Cameron to continue with another question. But he stayed quiet. Perhaps he thought that Imogene would refuse to answer. After all, he was not part of the Imperial army and the fer-taureaus—and what they were capable of—had to be classed as military secrets.
"They don't look fast," she observed. "They must be heavy."
"They are fast enough," Lieutenant Vermier replied. "I will have you all back in Lumia in two hours, my lady."
That hardly seemed a selling point, but there was no point in dampening the obvious pride in his voice. She eyed the charguerre warily. It didn't become any prettier with further inspection, and even if she had wanted to return to the city, two hours seemed alarmingly fast. It had taken five hours for them to reach Sanct de Sangre yesterday.
"To that end," Lieutenant Vermier continued, "We should be underway." He swept his hand toward the charguerre, clearly wanting them to climb aboard.
Sophie froze in place, unable to move. She didn't want to comply, though she knew she had to eventually. To hide her reluctance, she pretended to study the charguerre.
Rather than a seat at the front of the thing, where a driver would normally sit behind horses, there was another smaller iron box mounted in front of the larger one. Big enough to fit two men, she judged, and the long window that bisected the wall of the smaller box seemed to confirm that yes, this was where a driver and companion would steer the contraption from. She supposed it would be useful to be protected from the elements and stray tree branches or such at head height if one was traveling faster than a normal carriage.
Jean-Paul was the first to move toward the charguerre. "Let us not waste time," he said, waving them forward. He was no longer the smiling relaxed man from breakfast. Now, with his hair tamed and face serious and voice stern, he was every inch the duq. The lieutenant bowed, crossed to the charguerre, pressed a hand to the seal on the door, and stepped back as it swung open.
"If you care to enter, Your Graces, my lord, and my lady."
Sophie let the du Laq's go first. Not only out of respect for protocol and precedence, but because she wanted to delay as long as possible before climbing inside.
"Sophie?" Cameron offered his arm. She took it, holding it more firmly than strictly necessary. "It's all right, love."
It was a kindness of him to try and reassure her, when he had to be as furious and scared as she was, but she wasn't reassured. They had lost their chance to be free of Aristides. And whatever the news that waited for them in Lumia was, it wasn't going to be good. Only fear of having a repeat of what had happened back in the Academe with her visions and fainting prevented her from throwing caution to the winds and trying to scry and see what that might be.
Instead she could only hold onto Cameron and pretend that she was calm.
[Elarus?] she said as she stepped into the charguerre. [You will follow?]
[Follow] came the reply clear as a bell in her head. [Keep safe.]
The reassurance was a small comfort. But only for an instant. Before she realized that the fact that she found a sanctii comforting was yet another sign of just how strange and unpredictable her life had become.
And that it was most likely about to become stranger still.
Chapter 13
The charguerre might be faster, but apparently "faster" did not come combined with "more comfortable." The metallic clank of the taureau's hooves hitting the road, the shuddering of the charguerre itself, and the bouncing of gears and springs as it jolted over the road rattled Sophie's bones. The seats were nowhere near as comfortably padded as those in the du Laq's carriage. The ingeniers had tried to compensate by providing leather straps on the walls and roof for the passengers to grip, but they did little to alleviate the rough ride.
The tension that the bain-sel had soaked from Sophie's bones was back in full force. Unless the roads improved, she would be one big ache by the time they arrived back in Lumia. If Aristides’s soldiers commonly traveled any sort of distance in these contraptions and were ready to fight upon arrival, they must be made of sterner stuff than she was.
The creak and clatter of their passage also cut off any opportunities for conversation. If there was any sort of aural ward around the charguerre to spare the passengers from its noise, the lieutenant hadn't bothered to activate it.
With no chance to plan for what might be to come, or even to discuss the possibilities with Cameron, Sophie spent the time fighting rising panic. The discomfort of the journey was some distraction, but by the time the charguerre entered the gates to the palace grounds, she was weak-limbed with fear.
They continued past the palace itself and shuddered to a halt beside some sort of barracks complex farther back in the grounds. A few seconds later, the door sprang open.
Jean-Paul climbed out silently, followed by Imogene who winced slightly as she rose from her seat.
"Sophie? Are you all right?" Cameron asked quietly, squeezing her hand. She wasn't, but she didn't see that made any difference to what might come next, so
she swallowed, summoned a weak smile, and nodded, not trusting her voice.
Cameron's eyes narrowed but he didn't press, simply squeezed her hand one more time, fingers stroking hers before he let go and followed the du Laqs out.
Tempting as it might be to stay in the charguerre and let the taureaus carry her off again, that would only be delaying the inevitable. Sophie took a deep breath, steeled her knees, and rose as Cameron turned from where he stood outside the door to offer his hand. Her muscles were stiff, but she managed to descend to the cobbled yard without stumbling, which she counted a small victory.
A waiting servant took them to a carriage that drove them back to the palace. It seemed strange to ride when they could have walked the distance in ten or fifteen minutes, but apparently the emperor was not to be kept waiting.
Louis, Aristides’s seneschal, met them at the palace. His manner gave no hint as to what might be waiting for them. He wouldn't have told them if he knew, she supposed.
The lack of any familiar landmarks as they walked through the palace made her suspect they were not returning to the throne room. Whether or not that was a good or bad sign remained to be seen.
Aristides wasn't alone in the room Louis delivered them to. Sophie hadn't expected him to be. King Stefan had rarely held an audience with no advisors or witnesses, and Eloisa had followed his example. But, of the five people in the room with the emperor, the only familiar face was Colonel Perrine's. She thought two of the men standing with the emperor had been in the audience chamber where Aristides had offered her the throne. But she didn't recognize the third, who wore a sober dark blue jacket and pale gray breeches. A heavy golden chain hung around his neck, ending in a pendant ringed with gold and diamonds. Some sort of badge of office?
The sixth occupant was a woman dressed in temple robes. She had striking red hair threaded with silver, and she inspected Sophie with eyes the color of spring leaves. Her expression was kind, but somehow aloof. This, Sophie had to assume, was Domina Francis, the head of the goddess's temple here in Illvya.
"Your Graces," Aristides said. "Lord and Lady Scardale. I apologize for cutting your entertainment short."
"What happened?" Sophie said, her nerves suddenly breaking through her tightly held composure. Protocol could go to ashes. She wanted to know now, not after a round of useless pleasantries and introductions.
Aristides didn't immediately respond. As the silence grew, he studied her, as though trying to make up his mind about something. "Lady Scardale, I appreciate that you must be anxious," he said eventually.
"If you didn't want us to be anxious, you would have told us more in your letter, your Imperial Majesty. For you not to say anything more means either than the news is bad or you are secretive for your own purposes. I assume it's the former?" She stared back at him, not shifting her gaze. Yes, the man outranked her, but she was damned if she was going to let this drag out.
If he wanted her to believe that he thought she should be a queen, then he was going to have to treat her like a queen. As someone deserving of his respect and his assistance. An ally rather than a mere minor foreign noble he could maneuver as he saw fit in his games of empire.
"It is," he conceded with a nod. Around the room, the shoulders of most of the others lowered a fraction as it became clear that the emperor wasn't going to take her to task for her breach of etiquette. To Aristides’s left, the domina's expression had turned somewhat assessing.
"I will not draw this out, Lady Scardale. It seems the Anglion delegation found fair winds and made good time on their return to your country. It seems also that Queen Eloisa was decisive in her reaction to the news that you did not wish to return. Late last night an Anglion ship arrived and another envoy came ashore, bearing a new letter from your queen."
"A letter for me?" Sophie asked.
"A letter for me," Aristides corrected. "Though you and your husband feature heavily. In short, Lady Scardale, I regret to inform you that your queen has made another demand for your return and informs me that she is holding members of both your families as surety for your compliance with her wishes."
"Who?" Cameron demanded from beside her, and the word was closer to a shout than a tone suited to the emperor's audience chamber. Sophie bit back a cry of her own. All she could think was She dares? The notion swiftly followed by a tide of incendiary rage that shocked her with its savagery.
Elarus blinked into sight beside her and Aristides’s hand curled at his side.
Colonel Perrine stepped between the emperor and the sanctii, one hand lifting towards Elarus.
"Sophie," Imogene said urgently. "Send her away."
Elarus's head turned to study the duquesse, but she made no other move.
"It's all right, Elarus," Sophie managed. "There's no danger."
[Angry,] Elarus said and the word seemed to echo around Sophie's head.
[Yes, but that is not something that you need to worry about. Please. You are making people nervous. I will be all right. If I truly need you, I will call you.]
Elarus grunted but vanished again. There was a collective whoosh of air in the room as several of the counselors released their breath at once.
Apparently unexpected sanctii could make even Illvyans nervous.
"Who," Cameron repeated. This time his voice was softer, but the anger that thrummed beneath the words was as deep as Sophie's own. She could feel him through the bond, a flare of red incandescent fury. Dangerous emotion for a blood mage. But she was in no mood to soothe his anger away. All she could do was try to not feed his to a higher pitch with her own.
She reached for control, for reason, trying to lock down the emotion. "I would also like to know the answer to my husband's question." Her voice only quivered slightly on the final word, and Aristides nodded at her, approving her control. The motion was slightly jerky, suggesting he wasn't as calm as he appeared either.
His eyes flicked down to the paper in his hand and he began to read off a list of names.
She could have guessed most of them. Yet each one sank like a dagger into her heart, pain driving deeper with each syllable. Her mother and father. Cameron's mother. James and his wife. Not Liam. Apparently Eloisa wasn't yet so far gone to try and arrest one of her erls with no evidence of wrongdoing. The final name on the list was Chloe de Montesse.
That snapped Sophie back out of her daze. "Chloe? Why?"
Aristides shrugged. "Your queen neglected to provide any explanation as to her choices. I take it these are people close to you?"
Sophie bit back a retort. She didn't believe for a second that Aristides didn't know who each of the Anglions named were. No more than he could claim to be ignorant of who Chloe was. He knew far too much about her and Cameron not to know who their families were. Even if he hadn't paid close attention to the far ends of the Anglion line of succession before she'd arrived in Illvya, she couldn't imagine he hadn't availed himself of the resources he clearly controlled in Anglion to find out everything he wanted to know as soon as possible after they had landed in his lap.
"My parents. Cameron's mother. His brother-in-law, as you know." Not her brothers, thank the goddess. Or Cameron's other brother, Alec and his wife, for that matter. It seemed Eloisa may only have swooped on those who had been in Kingswell itself when claiming her hostages. Though she could have added to the tally after penning the letter. Hardly any time could have passed between the Barron Deepholt and the rest of the original delegation returning with her refusal and the second ship setting sail with this new demand.
Or Eloisa could be lying about who she had under her control. Though that made no sense. If she held the most powerful cards—their parents—already, there would be no point to hiding the fact she also held others.
She was trying to make them fall into line and obey her. She wasn't going to expect them to do anything else, not with their families at stake.
What else could they do, in her mind? It wasn't as though they had any idea where Eloisa might be holding her hos
tages. The traditional place that nobility who fell afoul of the Anglion crown were kept was the east tower of the palace. The Doom, as it was known, though its official name was the Crown's Fist. The members of the court called it the east tower when they couldn't avoid mentioning it at all.
Name aside, it had been damaged in the attack on the palace. But Eloisa had other prisons at her command. Or she could have locked them up in any one of half a dozen or more properties she owned in Kingswell.
Besides which, they were here in Illvya, not in any position to mount a rescue mission.
"Does she say anything more?" Sophie asked carefully, trying to keep her grip on her emotions as Cameron's rage still roiled through the bond.
"Only that no one will come to any harm if you return to Anglion."
"I don't suppose that there is any assurance that statement extends to Cameron or myself?" she said.
"No," Aristides said gravely. "No such surety has been given." He folded the letter and handed it back to Colonel Perrine. "You can read it for yourself once our discussions are concluded."
"What discussions?" Sophie asked.
Aristides tapped his fingers against his thigh. Only once, before his hand stilled. "I rather thought, Lady Scardale, that you might wish to revisit our previous conversation. About what exactly needs to be done about the Queen of Anglion? In light of these developments, I would say she has only made my point for me."
The Queen of Anglion. Not "your queen." Aristides had moved Eloisa to a different place on the board, it seemed. Or maybe he was moving Sophie to a different side entirely.
"Your Imperial Majesty," Imogene said, tone protesting.
Sophie registered the objection through the rush of blood in her ears. She couldn't say that Aristides had surprised her with his suggestion. Part of her had been expecting it since they'd received his summons. And that part had braced even harder when he'd told them about the letter. But despite the sense of inevitability, she still wasn't resigned to the fact that he thought he could force her to this. The racing heart and sick feeling in her stomach had less to do with him, and more to do with the thought of what her family was suffering. What Eloisa was doing to them, or if not Eloisa, then Domina Skey perhaps. She loathed Sophie enough. Though how the domina had convinced Eloisa to take this action was unclear. But her family....