Why had she become like this? She’d been through hard times before. It shamed her to her core that she was cowering inside, having become someone she barely recognized. And yet, she was powerless to stop the nightmares.
The guardsman politely thanked Korbin and gave the tokens a cursory look before handing them back. Of course, they were expected and riding in the carriage the emperor had sent for them. Octavia found the scrutiny unnerving.
The guard nodded to them both. “Someone will greet you at the door, Dul, Dula, and show you where to go.”
Octavia opened her mouth to protest that she wasn’t a Dula, but he’d already stepped away and signaled to their driver to go ahead.
“Nervous?” Korbin asked as the carriage lurched forward.
“A little.” She stared out the window. Every blade of grass was immaculately groomed, each tree sculpted into a perfectly pleasing form. The carriage bore them up a winding road through a peculiarly manicured copse.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, following her gaze. “The gardens here are legendary.”
“I don’t imagine we’ll have time to see them.” She felt him watching her, detected the skepticism in his expression, but she was determined the visit would be brief. And why should it not? She would say what she came to say and be done with it. Although she was tired from their journey, she couldn’t be idle. Her people needed her. She couldn’t hide anymore. She must do better, work harder.
The deeper they went behind the walls, the more astonished Octavia was to realize they were in the center of a city. The place seemed so quiet, so private, leagues away from civilization. When the carriage stopped, a rush of servants came to open the door, to put a step down for her, to take her hand, if desired, as she descended. When she emerged from the small compartment, she felt overwhelmed, and the sensation only increased when she gazed up at the glittering white palace in front of her. It had seemed of modest size from the city down below, but standing so close, the structure loomed above her like a city in itself.
Korbin stepped down after her and acknowledged a tall man dressed in a red tunic who had just bowed to them.
“Dul Korbin, Senne Octavia,” the man said. His accent was strange, even for a Talmoran, with rounded vowels and an unfamiliar lilt. “His imperial highness begs his gentle guests greet, and bids you to enter a’ betimes. Might I show you to a place where you can attend to your comforts?”
Octavia looked at Korbin and furrowed her brow.
Korbin shook his head. “Thank you. We are eager to attend his imperial highness at his earliest convenience.”
“Of course,” the man said. He turned and walked away, and Korbin indicated they were meant to follow.
When he’d gotten a few steps ahead, she whispered to Korbin. “I have no idea what he said.”
“Just a formal welcome.” He looked as though he might hold out his arm, but stopped himself. She appreciated both the thought and the hesitation, because it mirrored the two different minds she found herself in.
“Do they all talk like this here?” She felt a flutter of worry that she wouldn’t be able to understand the strange dialect.
“No,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you at every step.”
As they walked through the lavish corridors, she stared at the vast tapestries covering many of the walls. They depicted complex scenes. A very few seemed cheerful, but mostly they were battle scenes. How strange for craftsmen to have spent what must have been countless hours to commemorate bloodshed and strife.
The paintings were nearly all portraits of angry, dour men. A few ladies were represented amongst them, however, sometimes with babes or small children. How lonely they each looked to Octavia, and she shuddered at the cold prison that wealth and power so often created.
They were led up a wide set of marble stairs and through a spacious hall. Tall windows on either side let the light stream onto the wooden floor. Octavia was very aware of the clunking of their shoes and the echoes all around them.
The man leading them stopped and turned. “I will announce you.”
In this moment, Octavia felt more out of place than at any time before in her stay in Vol. She’d spent most of her time amongst her own people in the poor immigrant quarter of the city.
She had certainly been in the homes of Talmorans several times, when they called on her for help that required she come to them. This was another world completely, even from those homes that had seemed so rich to her at the time. One of the golden lamps on either side of the arch in front of her would cost more than the food she bought for a month. The price of the woven carpet leading within would clothe a dozen children through a winter.
She’d foolishly thought Korbin to be rich. He’d inherited Eliam’s home, one of the finest she’d ever seen. Eliam had been a pauper compared to the emperor. Of course, she’d known that a king or emperor would be a very wealthy person, but the sight of so many objects of value in one place astonished her nonetheless.
Their guide’s voice came from within the room ahead. “Senne Octavia and Dul Korbin Ulbrich, your imperial highness.” She could see the man’s profile, but the room curved ahead of them, so she couldn’t see who he was speaking to.
“Show them in.”
The man bowed, then turned to Octavia and Korbin. “This way.” He gestured to his right.
Octavia stepped forward, feeling so overwhelmed as to have almost forgotten her fear and what had brought her there. She was instantly annoyed with herself for becoming so enraptured of her surroundings. It was the very thing she had been chastising Liara for: not being overawed by the Duls they spoke to every day.
Korbin waited patiently as she collected herself and stepped forward. They went into the room, and the man who’d led them melted into the background. It was only then she realized he wasn’t someone important, but merely a servant. His coat was finer than any she’d ever owned.
Her gaze followed the curve of the room and was immediately drawn to a man sitting in a broad, armed chair facing them. He was younger than she expected, his face friendlier than those looming from the family paintings outside. His hair was dark with a few white strands at the sides, but the white looked premature, for his skin was unlined.
Four other men sat with him, three much elder than he and one much younger. At best, young man could only have recently come of age. Based on his elegant clothes and the striking resemblance to the emperor, she guessed he must be his son. Strange. She hadn’t even realized he had children. On the other hand, she’d thought the stewards’ clothes to be fine, so she might be wrong in her assumptions.
Korbin caught her attention with a subtle gesture, then he bowed low while she watched him curiously. She turned back to the emperor and nodded politely as she would to anyone.
He was, she couldn’t help but notice, a handsome man. Unlike most Talmoran noblemen, he seemed perfectly comfortable in his skin. He raised an eyebrow at her and the older men on either side of him gasped.
“Your imperial highness,” Korbin said. “May I present Senne Octavia.”
Everyone in the room seemed to hold their collective breath, watching her. She knew they expected her to bow, but they would have a long wait. She was an invited guest, not a supplicant.
Korbin hesitated, but went on quickly. “We came as soon as I received your invitation. I am, of course, pleased to serve the empire as needed.” He bowed a second time, probably hoping, Octavia mused, to make up for her not doing it.
The emperor hadn’t taken his eyes off Octavia. She held his gaze, finding the man strangely compelling. She’d met many who thought themselves powerful before, but this man held himself with certainty. This was someone who didn’t have to demand that people obey him. They simply did.
The emperor finally turned his attention to Korbin and nodded. “Thank you for coming so quickly. I trust you had an uneventful journey.” Without waiting for an answer, he resumed staring at Octavia.
“Very much so, thank you.
The weather was pleasant and the road smooth, your highness,” Korbin said.
Octavia suppressed a snort.
The emperor suddenly smiled, ignoring the shocked noises the older men around him made. “Was your journey not uneventful, Senne?”
“The journey had no obstacles to speak of, but I wouldn’t say the road was smooth. If it had been, perhaps my back would not have ached so every night,” she said.
His mouth twitched in amusement. “My sympathies. A restless night can be a terrible one.” He turned to one of the men at his side. “Contact Dul Bornak at once. Tell him I wish to know what his plans are for improving the road between here and Vol. It will not do to have travelers inconvenienced so.”
“Of course, your imperial highness.” The man pulled out a bit of parchment and scribbled a note.
Octavia glanced at Korbin, who closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t turn to meet her gaze. She realized that she’d made a mistake. Somehow, her grievance had instantly become a major project. She would have to remember to keep her complaints to herself, which was, she reflected, a good policy. Her tiredness had led her to be thoughtless. She hoped her slipup wouldn’t cause Korbin any embarrassment.
“I didn’t mean—”
The emperor waved off her concern. “Think nothing of it. I’m glad you brought this to my attention.”
She doubted that was true and considered saying that perhaps the carriage was to blame, not the road, but considering the carriage and driver had been provided by him, she kept her mouth shut.
“Now if we could talk about Seba,” she said after a moment’s pause. “I was hoping we could return home this afternoon, if this wouldn’t take too long, your high—highness? I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name. Is there someplace we can sit and talk?”
Korbin coughed suddenly. One of the emperor’s advisors tutted loudly while another one actually said “by the Eight” under his breath.
The emperor himself laughed out loud. “Of course, Senne. My name is Jorek Jabrilion Tareq Musalik Khourov the Eighth, emperor of Talmor. All who speak to me directly address me as ‘your highness’ or sometimes ‘your imperial highness’. There is a subtle difference and some archaic rules for each, but worry not. Either will do.”
Octavia found his statement difficult to believe. It was so unwieldy a title. Had he no friends? “Even your family?” she asked.
He grinned at her and looked to the young man on his left. “This is my eldest son, Nassore Hanil Musalik Jorek Dalamin Nove Khourov the Third. He calls me Father.”
She smiled at the boy, who appeared to be about Liana’s age. “A pleasure to meet you. Long may your fires burn.”
The young man glanced from his father to Octavia and back again. He seemed at a loss. She’d heard the imperial family was reclusive, so perhaps he did not meet many people. “In my culture,” she offered, “one often says to one of the Sennestelle, ‘The power of the One forever guide you.’”
Nassore stared at her curiously, his dark eyebrows curling when he frowned. “Indeed.”
After a moment, she thought the boy unlikely to repeat the phrase, despite her having just told him it was polite. She decided to leave the matter be and turned to his father. It wasn’t her place to teach the boy courtesy anyway. “So, your highness, shall we talk about Seba?”
“Octavia,” Korbin began.
The emperor cut him off with a dismissive wave. “Of course we shall. Come, walk with me.” He stood and swept toward her, offering her his arm. “Let us go to the gardens.” He was taller than Korbin, and she had to tilt her head to look up at him.
Octavia faltered. This approach seemed too familiar for her. She wasn’t in the habit of taking any man’s arm. Still, she was his guest and a foreigner, and if doing so meant he would get to the point, she would put up with it. She rested her hand on his forearm, as she’d seen Talmoran ladies do, and together they walked out a side door. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the advisors, Nassore, and Korbin were all following, but the emperor seemed oblivious to their presence.
Together, they strolled through a graceful marble arch that led outside. Sprawled out on the grounds below was an immaculate grove of fruit trees, perfectly spaced and meticulously pruned. They descended a flight of shimmering white steps in silence and passed a row of iron benches, wrought into delicate curves.
Roses climbed up trellises to their left and right, and Octavia inhaled deeply. “It’s beautiful,” she said as they approached the trees. “It looks like your plums are almost ripe.”
His face twisted into a smile as though she’d said something immensely funny. “Do you like plums, Senne?”
“I do,” she said. “There is a place outside Vol where I gather carinda root. There are wild plums that grow nearby, and I always enjoy them.”
“Fascinating. You gather your own herbs?”
“Of course. Who else? It takes training and skill to keep from spoiling the most delicate roots and leaves, years of experience to recognize the best places to find certain things. Besides, I enjoy the walks.”
“I enjoy walks too.” He smiled politely, and his posture and bearing were exactly correct. He did not try to touch her or show any other intimacy besides letting her fingers rest on his arm.
After a quiet moment of appreciating the garden, Octavia interrupted the silence. “Your highness? What about Seba?”
“You are of a singular mind, Senne.”
“Speaking of him brings me no pleasure, and I would just as soon get it over with.”
They walked through the orchard with the others trailing behind. She glanced back. Korbin seemed to be speaking to Nassore, and the advisors were clustered together, whispering furiously while trying, at the same time, to hear every word the emperor said.
“You know the situation?” he asked.
“Better than most. He is a dark conduit who has exploited the power of the One for his own twisted ends. He manipulated my own mentor, one of the strongest conduits I’ve ever known. Seba and his practices are, to say the least, dangerous.”
“We have more than adequate dungeons under the capitol. No one has escaped them in two hundred years.”
As they passed a wall of grape vines, she ran her fingers over a cluster of the unripe fruits that had come untied and hung down to her eye level. “Seba’s power is that of the One, but he calls almost exclusively on the darkness. He is adept with it, more so than any I’ve encountered. We all have tools we use, crystals, herbs, blades, and wax, among other things, but the most meaningful weapon a conduit has is blood. No prison can separate him from that.”
She realized she had stopped, her eyes fixed on the tiny green grapes. She felt the emperor’s rapt attention. With some effort, she began to walk again. “It was only through spilling my own blood that I was able to stop him. Even that was not enough.”
“Was it not?” Jorek asked.
She weighed her words carefully. She mustn’t speak against the Talmoran Spirit of Shadow, but she wanted to impress upon the emperor that Seba shouldn’t be underestimated. “No. Were it not for the direct intervention of Braetin, I would not have been able to prepare myself. He would have struck me down before I could stop him.”
“So the temple can hold him? They have offered to take him into custody. I’m considering this option carefully, since it seems the senate may choose not to execute him.”
Octavia’s blood froze in her veins. “They should not be allowed to have him either. He is too dangerous. In the hands of Braetin and her followers, he would become a weapon.”
They had returned to the main building and stood by the wrought benches. The emperor studied her face. “You believe in the power of the Spirits? I understood Kilovians only recognize one god.”
“The One is not a god, your highness, but yes, I have witnessed the strength of Braetin. I have seen those she possessed and felt the brush of her power. She is formidable… and treacherous.”
A hush fell over the c
ompany. She looked around for Korbin and saw him watching her closely. She couldn’t read his face.
“Likely the senate will not order his death. The temple offers to take him. You say he cannot be simply locked up. What would you recommend, then, Senne?”
“If I were you?”
The emperor held up his hand just as the advisors began to murmur. “Yes, if you were me.”
“If I were you, I would go to the dungeon right now and slit his throat myself. Seba cannot be redeemed. He cannot be reformed. The One cannot be contained. If you do not see Seba dead by any means necessary, you will regret that choice.”
The emperor stared for a moment, then turned to those who followed them. “Leave us,” he said. “I wish to speak with Senne Octavia alone. Please see that Dul Korbin is comfortable.” He gave Korbin a nod, who responded with a deep bow, his features etched with concern.
The company filed out, leaving Octavia alone with the emperor.
“Come. Let us sit for a moment.” He gestured to one of the benches.
Octavia felt uncomfortable without Korbin’s watchful eyes. The emperor didn’t intimidate her, but she also knew not to underestimate him. She took her hand from his arm and sat where he’d indicated. He took the bench opposite her.
Leaning forward, he gave her a penetrating look. “You intrigue me, Senne Octavia.”
“Do I?” The turn in conversation stunned her. “I expect you haven’t met many Kilovians.”
He grinned. “On the contrary. Just two months ago, I met your king. I often receive delegations and meet with the ambassador from your country. I have met quite a few Kilovians over the years.”
All nobles, no doubt. Octavia smoothed her skirt. She had no love for Kilovian nobility. They were as corrupt and cruel as any could be. One such man was responsible for her sister’s death because she had refused to betray someone who had come to her for help. The thought of Trinity made Octavia shiver. Why did her sister feature in so many dreams of late?
Born Of Fire And Darkness (Book 2) Page 7