by Sarah Hawke
“I’m aware,” Master assured her. “But with luck, we won’t have to go that far. Lucian might back down once he knows we’re all unified against him.”
“Or he’ll order the Legion to turn around and burn our cities. It’s hard to tell with him.”
Master smiled. “If you were really worried about that, you wouldn’t have been scolding Torelius so openly. Besides, even if the good general went along with such an insane order, the rest of his colleagues wouldn’t. He’s not so powerful that he can stand against all of the other High Generals.”
Farrow grunted. “Hopefully we never have to find out. But I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll need more than just the Quorum to change Lucian’s mind.”
“Maybe, but first things first. Arland continues to waver, but he’s in Sanctum for a few days yet and I have confidence that I can persuade him to see things our way. It’s in his best interests to stand with us, whether he realizes that yet or not.”
“Sorthaal is far from the front lines, and you know how much his wife despises the elves,” Bolvir pointed out. “She’s the one you’ll have to convince.”
“I know, but I have a plan,” Master told them. “Contrary to what Torelius says, I don’t believe for a moment that the Vaeyn will stay contained. They won’t risk stretching their lines and attacking Abenhold, but I wouldn’t put it past them to hit Mavarinth or even Balagarde. And we know for a fact they have a sizeable fleet in the north waters already. If they take Mavarinth, they could easily land in Sorthaal not long after. Arland will need help if he wants to fend them off.”
“You could be right,” Farrow said, her mouth twisting as if she’d just noticed a foul taste on her tongue. “But Arland is one thing; Darkstone is another. Between the Salt Peaks and his own army, Korvale is better defended than Sanctum.”
Master shrugged. “I have ideas for how to convince him, but for now we should stay focused on Arland.”
“Mmm,” she muttered noncommittally as she looked upon me for the first time. “You’ve never been one parade around your pets before, Gabriel. Have these dark times changed you that much?”
“They’ve encouraged me to appreciate simple pleasures, wherever they might be found,” he said as he traced a finger through my hair. “I purchased at her auction in Mavarinth a few years ago, and she’s been very…dependable.”
“I’m sure,” Farrow muttered as she eyed me with borderline contempt. Her son, on the other hand, smiled sadistically as he paced around me and eventually pressed his palm against the exposed section of my belly.
“No Covenant brandings,” he remarked. “She’s still ripe, then?”
Master nodded. “Yes, and I intend to keep her that way for some time.”
“Good idea,” Bolvir said, his smile widening.
“Stop drooling, dear,” Farrow scolded. She rolled her eyes and glanced back to Master. “His birthday is coming up. He might be interested in using her, assuming you’re willing to loan her for a day or two. He tends to get bored of his own pets quickly.” She scoffed. “I swear, he spends more time at the brothel or trading at the auction block than managing the farmstead.”
“I won’t apologize for having refined tastes,” Bolvir said as he tilted my head back and forth.
“Nor should you,” Master soothed. “I’m sure I can arrange something. Though I figured your mother would have married you off by now.”
“He’s been engaged for almost three months,” Farrow said. “But his fiancé is every bit the glutton he is. She went through eight different serving boys just last month. Eight! I’ll never understand why the two of you can’t just fuck each other and save me a fortune.”
Bolvir shrugged. “It’s hardly my fault you chose me a moose for a bride. What did you expect?”
Farrow harrumphed and finished the last of her drink. “Just stay in touch in let me know if Arland comes around, Gabriel. If he does…well, then I’ll see what I can do about applying pressure to Darkstone.”
“Threats from Abenwreath carry weight even in the farthest reaches of the Vale,” Master said. “If you speak, he’ll listen.”
Farrow grunted again. “We’ll see. Now if you’ll excuse me, I still need to meet with some of the merchants in from Talisham. If those idiots think they can short me on the havinroot seeds this spring, they’re in for in a surprise…”
She tromped off across the ballroom like a brooding thunderstorm, her son closely in tow, and even the Emperor’s fearsome praetorian scurried to get out of her way. I had never seen anything like it, and I couldn’t decide whether I should have been awed or horrified.
“She doesn’t seem to fear the Emperor,” I breathed once we were alone. “She doesn’t seem to fear anything.”
“That’s because she’s a fool,” Master hissed under his breath. “Lucian doesn’t care about the Wreath or its farms. He isn’t like his father; he’s driven by ambition, not vision. He’ll destroy her even if it means crippling the Empire in the process.”
“If he did attempt to harm her, wouldn’t that unite the other nobles against him?”
Master grunted. “You’d think so, but it’s not that simple. Farrow was right: it’s been a long time since the dukes have successfully called a Quorum, and even longer since they’ve actually tried to replace a sitting Emperor. My father always said that the duchies are too independent for their own good. He was probably right.”
I nodded nervously. Master had spent many nights instructing me on the intricacies of court politics. His hope was that it would allow me to manipulate his rivals more effectively, but there were many subtle nuances I had yet to grasp. I just hoped I was able to learn them all in time.
“So we must act quickly then,” I said. “Before the Emperor has a chance to strike out against her.”
Master nodded and glanced upwards. “Speaking of which, it would seem that His Majesty has finally decided to grace us with his presence.”
I followed his eyes to the balcony looming above the center of the ballroom. There, sauntering over towards his splendorous golden throne, was Emperor Lucian Patravian III. His purple-cloaked praetorian fanned out along the edges of the railing, and despite their imposing, close-faced helmets, I felt like they were glaring at each and every guest in turn. The Emperor himself looked almost bored, and he paused briefly in front of the throne as all of the guests—us included—dropped to a knee in his honor. The trumpets unleashed a brief, staccato fanfare, and by the time I looked back up he had already taken his seat.
“I will say one good thing about him,” Master murmured under his breath as we rose back to our feet. “He doesn’t waste nearly as much time on idiotic pomp like his father. Frankly, I doubt he’ll even speak tonight.”
I nodded absently, my eyes unwittingly transfixed by the Emperor’s surprising physical appearance. I had never seen his likeness on portrait or etching—all the banners and paintings in Sanctum were still dedicated to his recently-dead father, Rikus—but for whatever reason I had always imagined Lucian as a portly, moon-faced man with pleasure slaves draped over his bulbous arms like Torelius.
I’m not sure I could have been more mistaken. The Emperor was tall and broad, and his toned, muscular arms were plainly visible beneath his cape and sleeveless tunic. Had I not known better, I might have assumed he was one of the praetorian rather than their sovereign. He wore his blond hair long, and the stubble dotting his cheeks added a few years to his otherwise youthful face. Most interestingly at all, however, was the fact he didn’t have any slaves with him whatsoever.
Though if Master got his way, that would change sooner rather than later. Eventually he hoped to convince the Emperor to take me as a gift for a night. And if the thought of spending an entire evening attempting to secretly manipulate one of the Grand Dukes wasn’t harrowing enough, the thought of doing the same to the Emperor himself was downright horrifying.
“He looks…distant,” I said quietly after a moment. “As if he doesn’t want to be here.”
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“He probably doesn’t,” Master replied. “Gatherings like this are an inconvenient reminder that his throne is not the only seat of power in the Empire. The Dukes, the Covenant, the Legion, the various guilds…we’re all here, and whether he likes it or not he can’t ignore us forever.”
“Do you really believe that’s what he wants?”
“What I believe is that this isn’t the place for such a conversation,” Master said as he tugged gently at my collar. “For now, I have plenty of others to speak with. Let’s go.”
Chapter Four
The next afternoon, Master officially received a request from Duke Arland to borrow my services, and by evening the deal was struck: I would visit his family’s estate in Sanctum the night his wife was scheduled to arrive from Riverboro. Master was obviously pleased at the news, and I should have been, too—it confirmed that my earlier performance had gone just as well as I’d hoped. But for every part of me that was ecstatic about living up to Master’s expectations, another part was terrified at the prospect of being left alone inside the estate of a stranger and his infamously depraved wife.
They wouldn’t harm me, of course. Master had assured me many times that imperial law protected slaves as stringently as any other valuable property, and ostensibly even the Grand Dukes weren’t immune to prosecution from the magistrates. But there were plenty of ways to torment me without physically harming me, and my imagination quickly became my worst enemy. Would they restrain me? Flog me? Humiliate me in front of their friends or other servants?
I distracted myself by practicing my channeling ability whenever Master left me alone, and for the most part the trick worked. By the time the day finally arrived I had successfully reminded myself that ultimately this wasn’t just about pleasing Master—this was about ending a foolish war that had already consumed our homeland. Thousands more would die on both sides if we couldn’t summon the Quorum and confront the Emperor. And as impossible as it seemed, I, a mere avenari, was going to play an integral part in its success or failure.
With that harrowing thought spinning through my mind, I settled in for a bath on the afternoon of my appointment. The water and salts usually helped assuage whatever doubts I might have had, but not today. It probably didn’t help that I had never been taken by another man before. My first owner had been old and spent, and all he had ever wanted from me was hot meals and a clean house…neither of which I’d been particularly adept at providing. I had been terrified when he’d announced his intention to sell me at the auction block—I could still remember my legs quaking so hard they had rattled the chains around my ankles—but as it turned out the change of ownership had been the best thing that had ever happened to me. Master had granted me more freedoms that I had ever dreamed possible, and he had helped me to control the forbidden power burning inside me. I might have been his property, but he had never made me feel like a victim. And when it came right down to it, I didn’t want to be with anyone else.
Still, I couldn’t deny the excitement I’d felt at the Gala. For a few fleeting moments I had been in control of one of the Grand Dukes…and no matter how nervous I might have been about the prospect of spending an entire night in a stranger’s estate, deep down I longed for another taste of that power.
I spent the rest of the afternoon making final preparations with Sharela, the house tailor, and she wrapped me inside a shimmering, backless dress that managed to be elegant and scandalous at the same time. We didn’t bother with undergarments, for obvious reasons, but at Duke Arland’s request I wore a matching pair of jeweled heels and silver earrings—both of which were worth more than I was, Sharela saw fit to remind me at least a dozen times. If only she knew about my true powers.
Once everything was situated, we moved into the conference chamber for Master to complete his final inspection. Curiously, however, he wasn’t waiting for us inside the main conference hall, nor was in his bedroom or the library or even the courtyard with the guards. We ended up searching half the mansion before realizing he must have been down in the basement practicing his channeling techniques.
I could hear his strained exertions the moment we approached the doorway. The walls flickered ominously as we spiraled down the stone stairwell, and once we reached the bottom I had to shield my eyes from the flashes of lightning and flame. Standing shirtless at the center of the deadly tempest, his arms and back glistening like he had just stepped out of the tub, was Master Kristoff. A half a dozen enormous crystalline shards surrounded him on all sides, and they thrummed with Aetheric power as he channeled spell after spell into them.
Sharela stepped forward, but before she could announce our presence Master raised his hand and directed a blinding bolt of electricity into the nearest crystal…and then hissed in disgust when the energy almost immediately dissipated. “Not enough,” he murmured. “Not nearly enough…”
“I apologize for the interruption, Your Excellency,” Sharela said into the silence. “But your avenari is ready for inspection.”
Master turned. At first he appeared withered and drained like he’d just fought through half the Vaeyn army…but then his eyes latched onto me and a wide smile stretched across his face. “Perfect,” he breathed as he stepped forward to inspect me more closely. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Sharela. I’m not certain how I ever got by without you.”
“Neither am I,” the older woman grumbled. As a human native of Veshar, she was a paid servant rather than a slave, though she complained so much it was sometimes hard to tell. “His Excellency may wish to remind Duke Arland not to damage the silk, if at all possible. It was hard enough to find an authentic Numenese weave in the market before pirates started blockading all the trade routes to Torsia.”
Master eyed the dress up and down before nodding in amusement. “If he does ruin it, you should take it as a compliment of your work. No man can resist a beautifully wrapped prize.”
Sharela grunted. “As you say.”
“Go ahead and return to your other duties. And thank you again.”
She bowed and returned up the staircase. Once the door had closed behind her, Master pivoted back around towards the crystalline shards. “Do you appreciate the irony?”
“My lord?” I asked.
“You are the slave, and yet at times you enjoy more freedom than a Grand Duke. To be able to channel freely without a crutch…”
He trailed off and closed his eyes, and I watched in silence as he worked through his meditative breathing routines. Like all sanctioned channelers in the Empire, Master had been forced to swear an oath of allegiance to the Triad before being gifted with the ability to touch the Aether. He had been ritually bonded to a great crystal called the “Godstone,” which allegedly contained the souls of Sanctus Veshar and the other two mortals-turned-gods who made up the Triad. The premise was fairly straight-forward: as long as these bonded channelers remained loyal to the ideals of the Triad, they were free to manipulate the Aether as they saw fit. But if the Covenant believed they had misused their abilities, they could be severed from the Godstone immediately and lose all of their power.
It was, Master liked to jest, as much of an obedience collar as the one he so often fitted on me. I may have been a slave, but he was one of the “Bound.” The price for my life was obedience; the price for his power was piety. The difference was that only one of us loved our master.
“The Covenant believes it is a curse,” I whispered after a moment. “The Hierophant says it is proof of our heresy that we can channel the blood of the Old Gods without recompense. She says we have been tainted by demons.”
“The Hierophant says many things that are not true,” Master replied as his eyes flicked back open. “The Covenant cares about expanding its power. Everything is a means to that end. The binding ritual, the war…even the text of the Levinthian has been altered a hundred times since the founding of the Empire.”
I tilted my head. In all the times he had taught me about history, he had only rarely mentioned
the Triad’s holy text before. “Master?”
“Never mind,” he said, turning and waving a dismissive hand. He smiled at me again and placed his hands on my shoulders. “All that matters right now is tonight. Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “I will do my best to make you proud.”
“I know you will. Just remember, your first priority is convincing him to support us at the Quorum. But if you get the chance, feel free to rummage around his mind and see what else he knows about the Emperor or any of the other dukes.”
“I will try.”
He smiled again, and to my surprise he leaned in and kissed me. A tingle of delight shuddered through me, and I opened my mouth and entwined my tongue with his. When he tried to pull away, I pressed forward and even wrapped my arms around his neck…
“Focus, Elara,” he scolded gently. “You can’t afford to be distracted. Not tonight.”
I sank away in disappointment and nodded. “Yes, Master. Of course.”
He touched my chin and held my eyes for a long moment before finally pivoting away and retrieving his tunic. “Neither Darian nor his wife is particularly knowledgeable about magic, but you’ll still need to be careful. Luriel in particular is clever. Don’t underestimate her; don’t use your powers on her unless you’re absolutely sure she won’t notice.” He pulled his shirt back on and then sighed. “Unfortunately, she’s also more likely to know important information than he is. Try and distract her like we’ve practiced and you should be fine.”
I could hear the tension in his voice, but I couldn’t decide if he was more worried about my safety or the success of the mission. Perhaps it didn’t matter since in this case they were one and the same.
“Anyway, it’s time to go,” he said. “Let’s get you ready.”
He led me back upstairs to the main greeting room before retrieving my collar and fastening it around my neck. With my hair tied up the task was even easier than normal, and once the band was securely in place he tapped the control rod. The embedded gemstones began to glimmer softly, and he stood behind my shoulder for a moment and smiled into the mirror on the other side of the room.