by B. K. Boes
Imrah swallowed as she felt the heat creep back up her neck. To have any appreciation of her work expressed was so odd she didn’t know what to do with herself.
“She was simply doing her duty,” Master Dakkan said. “Come now, Ambassador. This is highly inappropriate. My slave-wife is none of your concern.”
Goosebumps rose along Imrah’s arms. The last thing she wanted was to gain her master’s ire. A contraction hit and she tensed. It wasn’t strong enough to make her lose control, but it was stronger than the contractions she’d had earlier that day.
“I was speaking with her as a man ought to do with his fellow human being,” Ambassador Prestis Bakmann said. “In Eikon, we give even our servants a bit of dignity.”
Imrah had to stop her mouth from hanging open. She closed her eyes and braced herself for an angry tirade from her master-husband. But instead, she heard a controlled response.
“A slave-wife’s dignity comes in the approval she gains from her master-husband,” he said. Imrah could hear the anger bubbling beneath.
“You must think very highly of yourself.” The ambassador squared his shoulders and stood his ground.
Imrah cringed. Surely, after that, this ambassador would be put in his place. The Dakkan Household was where the Emperor sent people to be contained, manipulated, or intimidated. This visit from the Eikonian ambassador was rumored to be an Adikean show of strength. The North would see what they were up against if they chose to interfere with Adikean forces in Ergon. The Emperor wanted Eikon to think twice before coming to the aid of their southern neighbor.
Instead, Master Dakkan clenched his jaw and pressed his lips into a thin line. He said nothing. Imrah couldn’t believe it. She steadied herself on the table behind her, placing one shaking hand on the edge. Her master-husband was keeping all that rage inside, but she could sense it seeping from the cracks.
Why isn’t he responding? Imrah focused on one spot on the floor, willing herself to shrink. How is this Eikonian able to speak with such confidence? Doesn’t he know anything about Adikean pride?
Finally, her master-husband spoke, again with uncharacteristic control. “Imrah, you are dismissed. Once I am finished with our little tour of the house, I expect dinner to be ready within the hour.”
“Yes, Master Dakkan.” Imrah bowed her head and hurried out of the library. Along with the rest of the servants’ quarters and the stables, Imrah’s room was across the courtyard from the main household. She walked in that direction, hands shaking, trying to gather herself.
That man isn’t here to be cowed, she thought. But, then, why is he here?
She couldn’t get the way he’d looked at her — as if she mattered — out of her head. It had been a long time since someone other than a slave-wife had asked her name or spoken to her except to give her orders. That ambassador had recognized her as a person.
Imrah shook her head. There wasn’t time for speculation. Unna and Resa, the daughters of Master Dakkan’s first slave-wife, who had died many years ago, would need to help her with dinner preparations. Master Dakkan kept them as servants in his household instead of selling them as slave-wives, which was not uncommon for slave-daughters with plain features. Imrah had been grateful for that these last few cycles as she’d needed help.
She made her way to the kitchens, and sure enough, the two sisters were already taking fresh bread from the oven to cool. Imrah took a step down into the kitchen, and then froze as a contraction made her entire body tense. It eased and then another step brought the pain back. Imrah held her breath as another contraction wracked her body with pain.
“Imrah?” Unna came to her side.
“Send a stable boy for the physician,” Imrah said, teeth clenched at the onset of excruciating pain. “I can make it back to my room.” Another contraction. “Make sure dinner is ready and served to perfection. Master Dakkan expects it within the hour. That ambassador is an important man.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Unna said.
“I’ll run and tell the stable boy.” Resa sped out of the room.
“Are you sure you can make it?” Unna asked.
Imrah lied. “I’ll be fine.” She stepped back up into the hallway, grimacing. “Just take care of things for me, all right?”
“All right,” Unna said. “I’ll check on you later.”
Imrah left her in the kitchen, waiting until she was in the slave quarters before letting out a long, low groan. She made it to her own rooms, pulled back the curtain, and stepped inside. She braced herself against the wall. The time had come. Her baby would wait no longer.
Chapter Six
Moloch
The City of Patriphos, Eikon
3rd Cycle of Chenack
986 Post Schism
Moloch loved the city of Eunoya, his birthplace and home. It was the place he hoped to govern as duke. However, the trip to Patriphos was always a refreshing one. It was a different kind of city, bustling with trade, taverns, merchants, and a variety of people. The Chavtrion River provided the capital with an enviable amount of fresh water, which made the air supple and lush.
But this trip felt different after Moloch’s talk with his father. He and the prince had always been on the best of terms, but now there was a pressure to keep it that way.
Whatever Zuria has called me to do, I must do it well.
As Moloch and his small entourage approached the city walls, Moloch sent one of his father’s men ahead to announce their arrival. Dancer, Moloch’s pikkan stallion, whinnied a protest at their slower pace as the other pikkan sprinted toward the city.
“I’ll take you for a run once you’ve had a day of rest.” Moloch leaned forward and patted the stallion’s broad neck, his fingers brushing its black coat of feathery strands. Dancer snorted and stomped a silver hoof against the ground, shaking his head so that his mane — a compilation of fluffy, down-like hair — danced in the breeze.
Pikkans, whether stallion or mare, were spirited animals. Smarter than the hairy, dim-witted sandbeast. Quicker and more agile, too. But they were sometimes fragile things. Unlike the stocky sandbeast who easily survived a span without water, pikkans couldn’t survive long in the desert without proper attention. They were creatures of the north.
“My lord, did you say you need a rest?” Bram pulled his own pikkan beside Dancer.
“Not at all.” Moloch patted his mount again. “Dancer here wants to fly on the last leg of our journey. I was calming him with a promise of a run after he’s had a day of rest.”
Bram wrinkled his nose at his own mount. “Pikkans are needy creatures. I miss the feel of a sandbeast buck, sturdy and confident underfoot.”
“But I’m sure you don’t miss the stench.” Moloch raised an eyebrow, challenging Bram to dissent.
“I hadn’t thought of it.” Bram sat up straighter, eyes wide. “These do smell better.”
Moloch couldn’t help but laugh. He looked back at the two remaining armed guards. They were solemn and serious, as they had been the entire journey. “Does anything make them smile?” Moloch whispered.
“Not in front of the duke’s son,” Bram said. “But they’re good men. Just… traditional in the way they view their duties.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not that way. I couldn’t bear it.” Moloch looked ahead to the city and frowned. “What is that along the outside of the city wall?”
“Looks to be a shanty town,” Bram said.
“It wasn’t here the last time I visited Patriphos. Not like this, anyway,” Moloch said. “This is a recent development.”
Between the wall and the outer road that circled the city, tents stretched far into the distance. When they reached the city’s southern gate, Moloch stopped and observed the men, women, and children. They seemed like decent folk, most of them, just poor. Clothes ragged, faces smudged with dirt.
Moloch turned toward the guards. “How long has this been going on? Have either of you been this way recently?”
One man gru
nted and nodded. “I got a sister that lives in the city.” He waved a hand toward the tents. “This shanty town grows every week. Crops haven’t had their best year. Lots of good folk have fallen on hard times.” He glanced at the poverty around them. “Or maybe harder times. Better than living in Trenchtown, I guess.”
Moloch sighed.
Trenchtown. The worst section of the capital city. Rows of man-made hills with homes and unsavory businesses built into the hard-packed dirt. Naked children playing atop their grassy roofs. When Moloch had first seen Trenchtown, it had rained that day, just a little, and Dancer’s hooves had sunk into the mud, sucking at the ground with every step. But at least Trenchtown had access to well water. Moloch didn’t see a single well near the growing shanty town.
“We should go,” Bram said. “We are not responsible for these people.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Moloch said. He pointed to the banner draped across the rumps of every pikkan stallion in their group. It was yellow with three arms linked to form the Triangle of Charity and Brotherhood. An S embroidered inside a second triangle bordered by the linked arms represented the Sarrem family seal. Eunoya’s banner had included the seal for centuries; the Sarrem family had governed the city for as long as history could remember.
Moloch pulled out a handful of coins from the purse clipped to his belt. “Distribute these to families first, then the elderly. Tell them Moloch Sarrem, son of the Duke of Eunoya, wishes them well, and a team from Eunoya will be sent to Patriphos to provide for their needs.”
“Doesn’t the duke have to approve such campaigns?” one of the guards asked.
“I am his son, and I speak with his authority,” Moloch said. Of course, there was plenty of motivation for Moloch to take this course of action. The people needed to have confidence in Moloch if he were to become the head of the nation’s Center of Charity and Brotherhood. As Duke of Eunoya, it would be his responsibility to delegate care of shanty towns like this one. His father wanted proof he could do the job, and Moloch intended to show Nibal Sarrem some ambition.
Bram took the coins and dismounted. Moloch made himself visible and wore a look of concern as he watched his companion distribute the coins. On his way back, Bram smiled.
“The Lord Moloch Sarrem will be the subject of many prayers this evening.” Bram mounted his stallion.
“Good. I suppose I could use a few prayers. Now, let’s get on with it. We shouldn’t leave the Prince of Eikon waiting any longer.” Moloch spurred his stallion on, and Dancer was more than happy to accommodate.
The crowd at the entrance to Patriphos made way for Moloch and his small party once they noticed the banner visible on each horse’s flank. The sentries at the gate merely bowed their heads in respect, letting their entourage pass without inspection or inquiry. Patriphos was the oldest city still standing on the continent of Leyumin. It was the birthplace of modern civilization. As such, it was a very large city, some of it in disrepair, some of it under construction. Most of the streets were cobblestone, and many of the buildings were made of gray stone.
The main thoroughfares were impeccably kept. There were two. Merian’s Way ran from the northern gate to the southern gate. It was named after the love of Eikon’s first king. The other ran from west to east. This second road ended at the palace gates, and it was appropriately called the King’s Road. Both were always bustling with pedestrians, boasting a variety of inns and shops.
Moloch and his men navigated through Merian’s Way Market, ignoring the calls to touch the softest silk in the land or to try the finest perfumes Leyumin had to offer. The sea of people parted as the entourage made its way to the King’s Road. Turning toward the Palace, Moloch breathed a little easier. The crowd was thinner through The Plaza. More shops lined the road, boasting stained glass windows and elegant golden plaques.
Here, ladies and lords meandered from shop to shop. Lovers walked arm in arm, and friends chatted with refined gestures. Many of the men wore vests or coats buttoned up to their necks, and the women flaunted their silk dresses and lace gloves. In a cycle’s time, Eunoya’s elite would don the same styles and colors. Moloch held back a grimace at the buttoned coats. He would, no doubt, in time, be expected to wear a variety of them. As son of General Nibal Sarrem, he had to keep up appearances. No matter his personal preferences.
As Dancer took Moloch across a bridge, the rush of the Chavtrion River below created a soft undertone to the sophisticated murmur of The Plaza. Moloch breathed deeply as a cool breeze cut the warm air. Up ahead, The Plaza ended at the walls surrounding the royal grounds. Soldiers walked the wall, and behind them rose the spiraling towers of the palace. Moloch had been here many times. His family and the royal family were as close as they could be. But no matter how many times Moloch visited, the enormity and beauty of the palace and grounds took his breath away when he crossed the threshold of the gates.
Perhaps it was the white polished stone, brilliant in the light of the sun, pale and elegant when the moons were full. It could have been the pathway that wound through gardens and grounds, a mosaic of colored stones, a work of art underfoot, connecting back to itself so it never ended. Or perhaps the gardens themselves, a display of greenery from all over Leyumin. Or the maze of hedges blooming now with sweet smelling flowers of the deepest red. Whatever it was, Moloch took a moment to admire the awe and grandeur the place lavished upon him.
“There’s our Prince,” Bram said, nodding ahead.
Zuria appeared between one of a series of arches at the top of the grandest staircase in all of Leyumin. The prince flitted lightly down the stairs, his own entourage of servants and guards following. By the time he got to the bottom, Moloch had dismounted.
“My liege, Prince of Eikon, I am here at your request.” Moloch bowed low at the waist, one arm laid flat against his stomach and another tucked flat behind his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bram and the others bow even lower.
“And I thank you,” Prince Zuria said.
Moloch straightened, and the others did as well. As soon as they were face to face, and all customary obligations were taken care of, Zuria smiled wide and his blue-green eyes brightened under his stately brow. His raven black hair was cut short around the neck and ears, but longer on top, so the natural wave of his hair could be properly admired. His skin was smooth and a pale olive tone, unlike Moloch’s sun-kissed tanned complexion. Moloch had always been a shadow in Zuria’s presence. Most men were. His average features — brown hair, brown eyes, a strong jawline — were nothing to mock. But they were nothing to stare at, either.
Zuria turned to a young man behind him, a stableman by the looks of him. “Help our guests settle their pikkans. Make sure the stable master knows he has strict instructions to give these animals his best care.”
Moloch walked Dancer to the stableman. “This is Dancer,” he said, “and he needs a good run every day for the duration of our stay. He doesn’t like being cooped up for long, so I suggest you let him graze often. Understood?”
The stableman bowed before carefully taking the reins. The majority of Moloch’s entourage departed with the stableman, save Bram.
“Shouldn’t he remember to serve Dancer tea and pastries while he’s at it?” Bram said once the stableman had gone.
“If I didn’t like you so much, your tongue would get you into trouble,” Moloch said, only half serious.
“All right, all right,” Bram said, raising his hands in surrender, backing away with a grin.
“You don’t understand because you’re a sandbeast man. They’re dense beasts. Pikkans are smarter. They understand their owner and what’s expected of them.” Moloch looked to Zuria for support.
“Moloch’s right on this one, Bram,” Zuria said. “You name a pikkan because they earn it. There’s a bond. A trust.”
Bram shrugged. “If the Prince of Eikon says it, who can argue?”
“Not many,” Zuria said as he led them up the steps. “But I’d let you do so every
now and then.”
Moloch looked at Bram. “Then I suggest you save it for something important.”
“Bram, give Moloch and me a few minutes alone. We’ll meet you at the top of the stairs,” Zuria said.
Bram obeyed, bowing his head once more before bounding up the steps two at a time. Moloch turned to the prince, waiting to find out the purpose of his visit.
“Really, Moloch,” Zuria said, stepping forward and clapping Moloch’s shoulder, “You’ve saved me. If you hadn’t come, I know I’d make a fool of myself.”
Moloch took a deep breath. This is it. What does he want of me? And can I do it?
The conversation with his father was front and center in Moloch’s mind. “I doubt you’d make a fool of yourself, even if you tried,” he said. “I confess, though, you’ve captured my curiosity.”
“This marriage with the Ergonian princess… it’s important,” Prince Zuria said. “Eikon and Ergon haven’t had this sort of alliance in a very long time. My father’s oracles say it could be a sign of Unification.”
Moloch placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Zuria, the oracles are always looking for signs of Unification. But wars come every few decades, and I haven’t seen any ‘beasts of old’ reborn. Perhaps they are right, but you can’t place that burden on your shoulders.”
“But the oracles say—”
“Don’t they also say the Sustainer’s will cannot be thwarted? The big, history changing things He brings about will happen no matter our individual decisions?” Moloch wasn’t convinced the oracles really knew anything or that the Sustainer really did care about what happened in Leyumin. That didn’t matter because the Prince did believe those things.
The prince processed Moloch’s argument, chewing on his lower lip. Then he let out a long breath and nodded. “Alright,” he said. “You’re right. But, the alliance is still the most important thing I’ve ever contributed to Eikon. I need it to work.”