by David Estes
And as he’d promised to himself, he finally escaped Garadia, a place that had once been his home, now his prison, by walking out the front door and into the light.
Seventy-Three
The Southern Empire, Phanes
Falcon Hoza
The slave woman had caught Falcon’s eye a fortnight earlier. It wasn’t so much her beauty—though she was beautiful—but the way she carried herself. Upright, proud, unbroken. There was something familiar about her too.
Her reddish skin and coppery hair gave her away as a Teran, as most slaves were, but the length of her hair—barely brushing her slender shoulders—made it clear she was a recent…acquisition. The black tears printed on her face marked her as a rebel, a member of the Black Tears, the group that had been trapped by his father at the Southron Gates, not long before he’d been assassinated.
Twice Falcon had tried to catch her gaze, but she refused to look at him, going about her work in an unhurried, methodical manner. Her ankles were chained together, as well as her wrists, and an additional tether bound her hands to her feet, decreasing her range of motion. Some form of restraint was necessary for all slaves now that Falcon’s father was dead, his slavemark dying with him, but most only had leg irons. Watching this young woman walk about awkwardly, her strides cut in half, having to shuffle particularly close in order to grab things, left a bitter taste in Falcon’s mouth.
He knew he shouldn’t focus on one slave, but he couldn’t help it.
“Who is that woman?” he finally asked one of his palace guards.
The man, a wiry fellow who’d been groomed to the position by his father—another guard—since birth, raised an amused eyebrow. “A rebel who is now a slave,” he said, which didn’t help. He threw up his hands, as if to say What else is there to say?
“I know that,” Falcon said, growing impatient. He hated obvious answers. “But why is she here? It was my understanding all the Black Tears captured had been sent to Garadia.”
“Not this one,” the guard said. Falcon was considering changing the man’s title to Master of the Obvious.
“Why?” he repeated.
Another shrug. Falcon stormed off. He considered asking one of his younger brothers, but they rarely spoke any more. He was certain they were hoping he would be killed next by the Kings’ Bane. Then Phanes would be theirs.
Instead, he took a more direct approach. Whether he liked it or not, he was the emperor—he might as well take advantage. So, when he knew she would be in his quarters going about her daily chores, Falcon slipped away from court during an intermission and stole back to his room.
She was there, her back to him. Though he tried to enter quietly, he saw her back stiffen. He waited a moment, just watching her, but she said nothing. Nor did she turn.
Everything about this woman intrigued him. He’d learned long ago that everyone has a story, and most were good ones. He desperately wanted to know this woman’s story. Perhaps it would help him escape his own awful life for a time.
“What is your name?” he asked.
Finally, she turned, her chains clanking. For the first time, her eyes met his and his breath caught. Now that the slavemarks had been shattered, most slaves’ eyes were pools of sadness, exhaustion, resignation.
Not hers. They were full of fire, of barely concealed fury. Her stare seemed to pin him to the spot, his legs refusing to move. He had the urge to look away, and eventually did.
“My name is Slave,” she said, when she’d forced his eyes to the ground.
Falcon chewed on this for a moment. It was an answer that would usually be used to appease, to show one’s subservience, but this woman used it like a weapon, a stab in the gut. “Mine is Falcon Hoza,” he said, looking up.
This time it was he who had caught her by surprise. She gave a mocking laugh. “Truly? I hadn’t noticed you before. You’re the emperor, are you not?”
“Not on purpose,” he quipped.
Her eyebrows shot for the ceiling. “You would forsake your position?”
“I cannot,” he said. “Do you know the law?”
“Which one? The one that allows Terans to be treated as dogs? Or the one that allows rivers of diamonds to flow into your coffers?”
“Neither of those,” he said, trying to ignore the jab. “The one that says a Phanecian emperor can only be dismissed by death.”
She offered a wolf’s grin. “Would you like me to help?”
Coming from a member of the Black Tears, Falcon knew it was more than a jape. Closer to a threat. They were known to be mighty warriors, and if her chains were removed she would likely test his own abilities to their limits.
Also, one thing he’d learned by having three sisters was that women were not to be underestimated. It was a fact his father and brothers had never fully appreciated, which was one of the main reasons why the civil war with Calypso had dragged on for so long.
“Not today, but I’ll let you know,” Falcon said.
“Why did you return to your quarters?” the woman asked.
“An answer for an answer?” he offered.
“My true name?”
He shook his head. “Why are you here and not in Garadia?”
She snorted. “You’re the emperor and you don’t know?” She cocked her head, seeming to consider this new information. “Though I suppose it makes sense. Your father wouldn’t want anyone, even his own sons, to know the limits on his power.”
That caught Falcon off guard. “Limits?”
“He tried to mark me. He failed.”
Falcon jolted. He’d never heard of that happening before. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. He couldn’t mark me, so I was brought here, to be his plaything.”
Oh gods. “What did he do to you?”
“An answer for an answer. I gave mine, now it’s your turn. Why are you here?”
He considered lying. Maybe he forgot something. Maybe he was tired, wanted to lie down for a bit. However, his instincts told him this woman would smell the falsehood. “To see you,” he said truthfully.
Her eyes narrowed, and he immediately regretted his vague word choice. “Not like that,” he said. “I’m not like my father.”
“You’re exactly like your father,” she spat, venom in her tone. “Else I wouldn’t be here emptying your godsdamn chamber pot.”
With that, she left, clanking past him.
The entire exchange left Falcon speechless, a thousand more questions racing through his mind.
Falcon barely made it back to court in time for his next meeting. Fang offered a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, while Fox said, “More important matters keeping you, brother?” Falcon ignored the comment, stepping between his brothers and before the throne. The meeting was an important one, requiring him to make decisions regarding the slave army.
Predictably, his generals were chomping at the bit.
“General Killorn,” Falcon said as he sat on the throne. He tried to focus his thoughts; he was still rattled from his conversation with the rebel slave. “What is your recommendation?”
The general cleared his throat, the skin of his neck wobbling slightly. Though he was still hard and strong, the years hadn’t been particularly kind to him. His powdered face made him so pale he might almost appear dead if he laid down.
Killorn said, “The last stream was clear—the west is distracted by the easterners. Though their army is preparing for battle, they will likely attack at the Bridge of Triumph, rather than the Southron Gates.”
Falcon did his best to look perturbed by the news, while inwardly his heart did a flip. It was almost too good to be true. “So my father’s little trap might not catch the mouse,” he said. And I won’t be forced to use the slave army, nor fight a war I don’t want.
“If I may,” Killorn said, “I would advise forcing their hand.”
Falcon scoffed, doing his best impression of his father. Haughty and unimpressed. “You would have me march throu
gh the Southron Gates and leave Phanes unprotected?”
Fang, who had become more and more vocal in such meetings, interjected. “Who will attack us, brother?”
“Emperor,” Falcon growled.
Somewhat cowed, Fang said, “Apologies, Emperor Falcon. The north is obliterated. The east and west are embroiled in their usual rivalry. And Calypso? Empress Sun and Empress Fire are both dead and—”
“You dare speak of the deaths of your mother and sister so casually?” Falcon bellowed, standing suddenly. Fang took a step back. This time, it was no act—Falcon was livid. Ever since his parents’ union had been severed, both his brothers and father had acted as if their mother and sisters didn’t exist.
“They’ve been dead to me for a long time,” Fang said, trying to act cool.
“Not to me,” Falcon said. “I plan to end this pointless civil war and reunite with Raven and Whisper.”
“What?” Fang and Fox said at the same time.
General Killorn said, “I cannot advise that, Emperor. I know your heart still holds a place for your sisters, but they are shrewd women, Raven especially. May I remind you that Raven was there at the Southron Gates. She sought to destroy Phanes, too.”
“On Fire’s orders,” Falcon said, firing a final dagger-filled stare at his brothers before taking his seat.
“True, but Raven is empress now, and she won’t be a weak one. Also, their dragons are not far from maturity.”
Dragons. Gods, how Falcon hated hearing about dragons. They came up almost every war council; the generals used dragons as their excuse to attack Calypso again and again.
“The Calypsians have never attacked Phanes with dragons,” Falcon said. “Even before our marriage alliance.”
“But what if they do?”
Falcon gritted his teeth. Time for the final act, which would delay the decision further and close the meeting. He slammed his fist down on the arm of his throne. “Then we will crush them!”
Falcon wanted to hurry back to his quarters to think, but luck was not with him on this day. Instead, Fang pulled him aside the moment the meeting had ended. Fox hovered nearby, his lip curled in an annoying manner.
“Have you heard the news, brother?” Fang said. His tone made it clear he knew his brother didn’t know and that he was quite enjoying that fact.
“There is much news in Phanes these days,” he hedged. “Be more specific.”
“The slaves that escaped from Garadia, of course,” Fang said, raising his eyebrows. From experience, Falcon knew his brother was holding something back in an attempt to make him look foolish.
“What care do I have for escaped slaves? Capture them and bring them back.” He started to walk away.
“They were Black Tears.”
The words stopped him in his tracks, even more so since he’d recently spoken to one of the Tears, the mysterious slave woman. He wondered if his brother knew he’d spoken to her, or if the timing was merely a coincidence. He didn’t turn around. “How many of them?”
“All the Tears in Garadia.”
Which meant all the captured Tears except for the woman in the palace. “How did this happen?” He tried to sound furious, the way his father would have, but it came out like he was curious.
“That’s a mystery. None of the guards were injured, nor did they see anything suspicious. They even took their chains with them.”
Though escaped rebels should’ve been of great concern to a sitting emperor, Falcon felt nothing at the news. He didn’t hate the Black Tears the way his father had. He hated that their actions resulted in more deaths, but that was the nature of rebellion.
“That’s not all,” Fang said, while he was still processing the information.
Gods, Falcon thought. Will this day never end? “Speak, brother.”
“They’ve already attacked one of the mines.” Falcon’s heart stood still. “One of the smaller ones. We visited it last year, you probably remember it. Hornhelm?”
Falcon did remember it—he remembered all the mines they visited, the despondent, broken expressions of the slaves burned in his memory—but he pretended to think. “Ah, sapphires, right?” Rubies, he thought in his head.
“Rubies,” Fang corrected.
“That’s right. I remember now. Not much more than a hole in the ground. Four mine masters, including the chief.”
“All dead.”
That news didn’t surprise him. The Tears’ attacks rarely left any survivors, except for the slaves, who were always gone. But, under his father’s rule, the escaped slaves had always either been captured or killed. Sometimes both.
“How many slaves?” he asked.
“Forty-nine.”
Gods be with them, he thought. Inwardly, he hoped they’d make it across the border. Outwardly, he said, “Find them. Try not to kill them. We need them for the mine.”
Fang’s eyes narrowed. “And the Tears?”
“Bring them to me in chains.”
When Falcon returned to his quarters, he quietly closed the door, resting his back against it for a moment, his eyes closed. He breathed in and out. Once more, he’d managed to delay war, but he couldn’t hold off the generals, nor his brothers, for much longer. And the news of the resurgence of the Black Tears only complicated things further. It was true what he’d told the rebel slave woman earlier: a Phanecian emperor could only lose the throne through his own death. But he hadn’t told her about the right of challenge that any Hoza heir could make at any time.
A fight to the death, the victor being the emperor. Thus far, neither of his brothers had the courage to challenge him, but it was only a matter of time if he sought peace with Calypso and their western neighbors.
A distraction, he thought. I need a distraction. Eagerly, he strode to his bed, dropped to all fours, and scrabbled underneath for his bedroll. Swiftly, he unrolled it, seeking the prize in the center—his new book.
When he finished, he frowned. The book was gone. He peeked under the bed, but didn’t see anything. He distinctly remembered placing it in the bedroll this morning before he hid it beneath the massive bed.
“Looking for this?” a voice asked, startling him.
He whirled around to find the rebel slave woman standing inside his room, the door closed. He hadn’t even heard her enter, such was her stealth. All the clanking she did earlier was intentional, Falcon realized.
In her hands was a book with a red leather cover—exactly the one he’d been seeking.
“You stole it from me?”
“Why do you sleep on the floor each night? Your bed looks more comfortable than most—far more comfortable than what I sleep on each night.”
“I—” Why did he suddenly feel compelled to tell this woman the feelings in his heart? Because she was a slave and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else? Maybe. But that didn’t feel quite right. “I can’t sleep in that bed.”
“Why not?”
“Because he slept there.”
“Your father.”
He nodded.
“Because he died there?”
“No. That’s not it.”
“Then what?” she asked. She took a step forward, holding out the book.
He stared at the book’s cover. A golden dragon was etched in the leather. The writer was a Calypsian, which was practically sacrilege in Phanes. Falcon thought this was ridiculous—good writing was good writing. “He wasn’t…a good man.”
“And you are?”
He shook his head, but it wasn’t an answer. In truth, he didn’t know. He wanted to be a good man, but his position felt more like a prison each and every day.
“If you are a good man, you would release the slaves. Let them go home. Back to Teragon. Back to the Dreadnoughts. The Tears will not stop until they’ve destroyed you and the masters.” Her eyes were dark blue, shadowed by her thick copper eyebrows and golden lashes. The expression on her face was so serious it shook his heart to the core.
His breath rushed in. She k
new about the rebels’ escape. “How do you know about that?” Even he hadn’t known about it until a moment earlier.
“I have ears, and no one pays attention to a lowly slave. Except you, it seems.”
He ignored the jab. “Will they come for you?”
She shrugged. “We are loyal to the cause, not to each other. But I will rejoin them eventually.”
“You will try to escape?”
“I don’t try at anything,” she said, the implication of what she’d left unsaid echoing through his mind.
“I don’t hate the Tears,” he said, trying honesty.
“Good to know. But you’ll kill them just the same if you catch them again.”
“Not if I can help it.”
She bowed low, the mocking clear in the unnecessary flourish of her sweeping hand. “Thank you for your mercy, oh Emperor.”
“What do you want from me?”
She pinned him with a stare. “Absolutely nothing. I just wanted to know who I’m dealing with. A coward, obviously. You are unlike your father, and yet you won’t change his horrific laws and traditions.”
Her words hurt, but he refused to let it show. “It’s not so simple.”
“Why not? You’re the emperor. Do you want slavery to continue?”
Again, the truth spilled from him as easily as water from a tipped over jug. “No.” If one of his brothers heard him say such a thing, he would receive challenges from both of them, as well as dozens of cousins he didn’t even know he had. “But if I tried to change things, I would be killed.”
“Sometimes death is the only way,” she said. By her tone, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this rebel was willing to die for the cause she believed in. It made him feel…lesser. For he didn’t want to die, didn’t want to meet a tragic ending like so many of the characters in the books he loved to read.
Once more, she offered the book. This time, he took it. She held onto her end for a moment, her eyes locked on his, their fingers a breath apart. “I read the last page,” she said. “Do you want to know how it ends?”