by Lyra Selene
And perched above it all, like an orchid among weeds, sat Severine, the Amber Empress herself.
She was beautiful. Her neck was long and elegant, the imperious tilt of her chin softened by the gentle smile on her ruby lips. Dark auburn hair made complicated coils around her head. She wasn’t wearing the famous ambric-set crown, only a simple circlet. The pale fabric of her dress caught a spill of colored light, and for a moment I could almost believe her gown itself was wrought from stained glass.
“Stay here,” Dowser grunted. “Don’t say or do anything unless I tell you to.”
I jumped. I had nearly forgotten why I was here. Nervousness sent threads of fire stitching down my arms to itch against my palms. I squeezed them into fists.
Not yet.
Dowser cut through the jardin of indolent courtiers, severe as a raven among songbirds. He bowed to the empress, then stepped forward to whisper in her ear. She leaned toward him, and for a long moment they were still as a tableau. I thought suddenly of a moldy tapestry in the Temple of the Scion, an illustration of the story of Meridian and the beginning of the longest day.
Dark and light, side by side.
Night, reaching ever for the day, separated only by dusk.
The empress glanced at me.
Even from across the room, those violet eyes fastened on me with all the power and capability of the empire they presided over. I gasped, sucking in a sip of perfumed air. I was pinned to the spot, caught in the space between those eyes.
Finally, she looked away. I took a shuddering step back, my heart racing in my chest. The empress said one last thing to Dowser, then rose to her feet with a sighing sweep of her luxurious gown.
“Come closer, child,” she called out, her voice sonorous as the Nocturne bell.
Nobles raised drowsy heads crowned in curls and braids and feathers. Jewels winked from hats and throats and hems and fingers. Red lips twisted into smiles and grimaces. A giggle sprinted around the room like a naughty child.
Embarrassment heated my blood, followed by an icy rage. I took one step, and the sound of my ragged boot on the priceless marble was like thunder in my ears. Another step. I climbed toward the throne. The court scattered before me, flower petals blown before a high wind. Fluttering fans hid smirks and winks.
I gritted my teeth so hard I thought my jaw would crack.
These are your people, I reminded myself. This is your world.
But I wasn’t as sure as I’d been yesterday.
I paused a few tiers below the empress, and dropped into what I hoped was a passable curtsy. Another delicate laugh scampered to and fro. My fury grew cold and hard and smooth, a river stone polished by tides of wear.
The empress smiled down. This close, I could see she wasn’t as young as her banners made her out to be, although she had many tides yet before she turned grey. Thirty, at least. Nearly twice my age, but certainly not yet old.
“So.” She waved an iridescent fan in a lazy circle. Her eyes touched mine, but this time there was none of the forbidding power of an empress, only gentle humor. “My Dowser tells me you have an interesting secret to share with my court.”
“Yes, Majesty,” I forced out, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Why don’t you tell us all?” Her fan made a sweeping motion to include the assembled courtiers. “We love a good secret, don’t we?”
Someone shouted a mocking “Hear, hear!”
More laughter.
Nausea bloomed in my gut, hot and sour.
“She traveled far, Majesty,” supplied Dowser, sensing my discomfort.
They all sense your discomfort, said a nasty voice within me.
“Pray tell us why?” cooed the empress.
“I’m a legacy,” I managed. “I’ve come to join your court.”
Stunned silence. Slippered feet shuffled on luxuriant carpets. Whispers coiled behind raised fans. I dared a glance over my shoulder, and saw nothing but eyes staring like livid jewels from a sea of blank porcelain masks.
The empress didn’t flinch.
“Delightful!” She dropped me a slow wink. “Perhaps you’ll favor us with a demonstration? I’ve been longing for a distraction from all these dull legacies you see before you.”
A feminine titter scraped sharp nails down the back of my neck and struck sparks on my growing anger. They were making fun of me. The courtiers. The empress. Did Dowser bring me here to be humiliated? I sliced my gaze toward the black-robed chevalier, but his expression was shuttered behind the lenses of his spectacles.
Those poisonous courtiers will never accept someone like you. Luca’s bitter words echoed in my ears, muffled only by the sick pounding of my own heartbeat.
What if I’d been wrong about where I was meant to belong?
No. I survived tides of indifferent Sisters locking me in my room just so they didn’t have to look at me. When the ragtag Dusklander bullies called me monster and poked me with sharpened sticks, I snarled back. I escaped the creeping claws of Dominion, traveling spans with no money and little food. All for this—this world of enchantment and beauty and bright-eyed accomplishment. And it was exquisite. Astonishing, not because it existed, but because I hadn’t even been able to imagine it without seeing it for myself.
I would just have to prove that I belonged here. That I deserved a place in this sunlit sanctuary filled with jewels and daydreams and perfect faces.
I let my eyes flutter shut. A distant hum drowned out my panicked thoughts. Images crowded against the backs of my eyelids. Colors. Pictures. Emotions. I discarded each in turn. Too small. Too ugly. Too obvious.
Until I was left with only one.
I remembered fire, and lithe limbs sliding through complicated choreography. Charred meat, hard eyes. A plucked luth. A flash of kembric chain and ambric dust.
And a story. A story of a wicked Sun, and an innocent Moon, and the god-king who changed the world forever.
My palms tingled, but I clenched them together, willing the tingle to spread up my arms. To creep toward my shoulders. To tease the nape of my neck.
I spread my arms, and thought of Dominion. That ominous shadow staining the horizon of my childhood home. I imagined it bigger. Purer. Consuming. I poured every ounce of anger and fear and confusion into that darkness. I became it.
Night poured out of my hands, thick and velvet. Impenetrable.
I strewed pebbles of silver into the blackness, pricking it with bright points of light.
A high whine filled my ears, drowning out a chorus of gasps. The illusion was barely bigger than the space between my arms, but it was greater than anything I’d ever attempted. Already I could feel it wearing on me.
My arms trembled. My breath gasped.
The ringing in my ears trebled, becoming something like a scream.
Not yet.
I had never seen the moon. No living soul had. So I made it like Noémie had described it, huge and glowing. Silver light streamed through the blackness, pale as marble and sharp as dristic. It sliced through the edges of the darkness and splintered against sunlight, scattering shards of mirrored glass and amber across the Atrium.
I held the illusion for one blistering, aching, tortuous moment.
And then I collapsed.
I flickered through the dusk. Words and images echoed in my head, distant and incomprehensible. Space seemed to expand and contract, breathing in time to my own exhalations. I tried to move, but I was held fast in the womb-like dark, buoyed by the amniotic embrace of silence and shadow.
Reality came thundering back.
Light and sounds and smells shredded my senses. I lurched onto my elbows.
“She’s a fantast!” someone exclaimed.
“Dexter or Sinister?” The clink of coins.
“… most certainly a trick!”
“What does she smell of?”
I tried to follow the flicker of confusing conversation. Smeared faces swam in and out of my sight, blurred and leering.
“S
ilence!”
The empress.
The conversation died away with a grumble.
“You are a surprise, aren’t you?” The empress’s smile still oozed benevolence, but there was a tightness around her eyes. “And such a mystery! Dowser claims your bloodline is true, but it seems so unlikely. An outcast, from the edge of the world! Your mother must have been unsuitable indeed for your father to go to such lengths to get rid of you.”
The ensuing laughter heated my blood. I struggled to my feet to hide my blush.
“But of course you know a mere legacy isn’t guaranteed a place at my court.” Her fan flicked, like the tail of an irritable cat. “I’ve handpicked my court from among the children of my most powerful nobles. Each has something extraordinary to offer. Talent. Wit. Beauty.”
She said the last with such languor that it inspired another round of laughter. I rolled a tongue around my dry mouth and bit back scorching fury. Part of my mind screamed at me to run, to escape this excruciating humiliation.
But another part reminded me that if I could only wait—wait a few painful moments longer—I might be deemed worthy enough to stay. To walk these halls and call this glory home.
“But your legacy is so unusual. A fantast, in the flesh! Perhaps an exception can be made.” She tapped her lacquered fingernails. “Perhaps we can even make a game of it. Who fancies a wager?”
A male whoop shattered the silence, and I heard whispers and giggles. To my right, a shower of golden coins arced into a shaft of low light. The courtiers laughed as they shielded their faces from the fall of money. I glared at the kembric écu rolling toward my boots.
Those few coins were more money than I had seen in my entire life.
“This is how it will go,” the empress went on. “The girl will join the court, provisionally. She will live among you until Carrousel, in three spans’ time. During this period, she will work with Dowser to hone her legacy. Then, at the Fête du Carrousel, she will display what she has learned, and I will personally decide whether she is fit to join my court.”
Hope loosened the dristic clamp around my chest.
“Here’s the catch.” She dropped her voice, and the nobles leaned in. “She has no money. No wardrobe. No breeding. For her to live in Coeur d’Or, one among you must sponsor her. If she earns a permanent place at court, you will be rewarded. If she doesn’t, a portion of your personal fortune will be forfeit.”
The metal vise tightened, squeezing my heart. I didn’t know much about money, but as an untrained legacy I was probably worth little to these courtiers. No sane person would take such a wager.
“Not only that,” she continued, a smile coiling in the corner of her mouth, “but whoever chooses to sponsor her also takes her on for their dynasty. Dexter or Sinister. If she succeeds, that dynasty will win my favor for an entire tide. If she doesn’t—well, I will let the opposing dynasty choose the forfeit.”
Heated conversation sprang up around the chamber, accompanied by a few vicious glances thrown across the hall.
I frowned. Dynasty? Dexter? Sinister? The words spilling from the empress’s mouth had devolved into nonsense. I glanced back and forth between the young nobles, a flicker of memory teasing my mind.
Dexter. Sinister. Where had I heard those words before?
The image pounced. Another of the Sisters’ moldering tapestries, recounting the story of the Scion’s prized hounds. The dog that sat at his right hand was loyal but meek. The dog that sat at his left hand was protective but vicious. Their names were Dexter and Sinister.
Right hand. Left hand.
And that’s when I saw it. Although the divide was not perfect, the courtiers sitting to the empress’s right were arrayed in warm, pale colors. Cream. Rose. Apricot. And the courtiers to the left of the throne wore darker, richer hues. Indigo. Steel. Viridian.
A divide, in the empress’s court. Two houses in opposition, always pitted against each other.
And me, thrown between them like a bone between two dogs.
“Well?” Severine’s voice pealed out above the arguments and insults hissing across the Atrium. “Who will have her? Dexter? Your hearts must bleed for her plight. Or Sinister? Surely you sense the ambition seething within her. Perhaps she will surprise you.”
Silence. I forced myself to look around the room, but the courtiers’ eyes flicked away from mine like startled flutterwings.
Someone finally stepped forward. A young man, tall and lean and achingly handsome. He wore a doublet of deep violet. Fine brocade glimmered from the sleeves, and silver braid winked across the chest. A black surcoat hung from one louche shoulder, a stark contrast to his slash of white-gold hair.
Hope blossomed in my chest. Someone saw my value. I wasn’t going to be cast back out onto the streets after all.
The lord glanced at me. His eyes—pale green edged in dristic—narrowed.
Pain slashed me from head to toe. Sudden. Fierce.
I opened my mouth to scream, but the pain was gone nearly as soon as it came. Nothing remained but a memory of cold, brilliant agony.
The lord’s eyes drifted away. His fluid gesture to the empress spoke a subtle language I couldn’t understand.
“I will, Majesty.” His voice, though soft, rang across the room. “I will sponsor the fantast.”
“You, Sunder!” Surprise tinged the empress’s voice, and her eyebrows winged up, marring her perfect mask. “I confess you astonish me. You are willing to let her stand for Sinister?”
“You mistake me, Majesty.” He bowed. I thought I detected a note of disdain in the line of his back. “I will sponsor her. But I sponsor her for Dexter.”
“Dexter?” echoed the empress.
The queen’s exclamation was underscored by a burst of noise from the Dexter side of the room, accompanied by a hiss of pleasure from Sinister. The young man rose from his bow with a flourish, the sculpted lines of his aristocratic face impassive.
A slab of granite sank into the pit of my stomach. It was one thing to be bandied about like a lame mare at auction. Another thing to be sponsored, but only for the opposing team. This young man—Sunder—was essentially wagering money that I would fail. And he was so certain I would fail on behalf of the opposing dynasty that he was willing to forfeit part of his personal fortune in the process.
How rich was this young courtier?
“I did not forbid such a thing, so I will let it stand!” The empress raised her voice above the clamor of protestations and congratulations. “Trust our Sunder to always find a way to improve upon a wager!”
She winked at Sunder, who inclined his pale head.
“Nevertheless, if not a sponsor, then the fantast will still need a mentor in Dexter.” Her violet eyes scanned the room. “Lullaby. Present yourself!”
A slight girl with gleaming black hair to her waist detached herself from the Dexter side of the room and glided into a curtsy.
“You haven’t been at court long yourself. You’ll show our new little fantast how she is expected to behave in Coeur d’Or.”
“Yes, Majesty.” The girl’s fluted voice was soothing, loosening the tightness in my chest.
“Keep close to her. I blame you for her mistakes,” the empress said, turning back to her throne.
The girl approached on gliding feet, and I saw she was the one I’d noticed singing with the lyre. Against her spill of ink-dark hair, her blue-tinged skin was lovely and otherworldly. Her eyes were also blue, dotted with flecks of green. The expression in them was nothing but mutinous. My ribs clenched as her cool, soft hand circled my wrist.
“One more thing,” called the empress. “What is your name, little Dusklander?”
I opened my mouth, but a thread of defiance tangled in my belly. I felt suddenly overexposed and outplayed. The minute I stepped into the Atrium I had ceded all control to these scheming nobles, who didn’t seem to care who I was or where I truly belonged. I dared a glance at Dowser, the only person who knew my real name. He wasn’t loo
king at me, but amber reflections danced from his spectacles, and I felt him listening.
I didn’t want to tell them. Not the empress, not Sunder, not the girl who radiated anxiety beside me. I wanted to keep something for myself—one thing they couldn’t take from me, even as I willingly stepped across the threshold into their world.
My world.
“Rina,” I whispered, choosing on impulse the name of Luca’s powerful, composed mother.
“A Tavendel name?” Severine’s laughter chimed. “How quaint. Perhaps you meant to present yourself at the stables, instead of the Atrium?”
A wave of amusement rippled in my ears. The empress smiled, pleased by her own joke.
“Well, Rina, we don’t use our given names in Coeur d’Or. In my world, nothing is more important than your gifts, and how your legacies come together in service of my empire. Each member of the Amber Court has chosen a new name to reflect the spirit of their legacy. Even if you are only with us for a few short spans, I expect you to do the same.”
The empress—and the rest of the court—turned waiting eyes on me. I reached for something—anything—that would do for a name. A word. A phrase. But only echoes danced in the empty cavern of my mind.
“I—” My voice rasped like gravel in my throat. I ran a tongue across my lips. “I don’t know.”
“Sunder?” The empress’s voice was too sweet. “As her sponsor, perhaps you’ll do the honor of choosing in her stead.”
The lord stepped forward, and the vise around my ribs tightened. I should have chosen. Something. Anything. Because I had no doubt whatever this cold-eyed, pale-haired man chose, it would only be intended to cause me pain.
“She shall be called Mirage,” drawled Sunder. “Because, like a mirage, she promises something that is likely not there. And because, with any luck, she will disappear as swiftly as the illusions she creates.”