by Sarah Hawke
The courtyard and adjacent streets were still filled to the brim with the Covenant’s Inquisitors and the Emperor’s Praetorian, but the palace itself seemed almost empty. At a glance, I doubted even half the invited nobles were in attendance. I didn’t see any banners from Glorinfel or Korvale or Sorthaal, and even the attendees from the Basin and the Wreath were relatively sparse. Almost everyone here was a native of Veshar, which meant they already lived in Sanctum. It also meant that I already knew most of them, given how vigorously Master Kristoff had deployed me after I’d successfully seduced Duke Arland.
Still, the decorations in and around the palace were truly impressive. I had never seen so many flowers—both native and imported—outside of a greenhouse, and delicate vine-patterns stretched across the walls and even stairwells. Nearly all the paintings and sculptures represented the “Rebirth,” an era of restoration following the first Godswar over a millennia ago, though naturally they all seemed to imply that humans had rebuilt the world rather than the faeyn. Most of the history books in Master Kristoff’s archive argued the exact opposite.
More staggering was the raw number of slaves in display both in the courtyard and inside the entry foyer. They weren’t just elves and orcs, either—some of the nobles had brought chagari and groll all the way from Torsia. The Green Gala had evolved into one of the primary slave-trading events, due in no small part due to the Covenant’s insistence that it should also herald the start of “breeding season.” Owners would seek healthy, virile males to couple with their young females, all under the supervision of the Hierophant and her Inquisitors. Those that weren’t chosen for whatever reason were often sterilized and thrown back on the market at a fraction of the price.
I did my best to suppress my disgust and focus on the task at hand. Sharela had fitted me into the leather corset and accompanying skirt, and just like I’d expected Master Kristoff had shackled my wrists behind my back. He hadn’t bothered with a gag, though he had ordered me to don a festive half-mask that covered my face from the nose up. I noticed that many of the other avenari were dressed in a similar manner, mostly as a means of distinguishing them from those that were actively up for sale. I didn’t bother asking why this particular tradition had taken hold; I suspected I didn’t want to know the answer.
“Chin up, eyes down,” Master Kristoff scolded as we strode through one of the numerous wide, winding hallways curling around the Grand Ballroom. “If anyone makes an offer to purchase you, just follow my lead.”
“Yes, Master,” I replied obediently.
We passed two large chambers on either side of the corridor, and even with my eyes lowered I still caught a glimpse of the activities inside. Both were filled with lesser nobles attempting to sell off their avenari. The left chamber was filled mostly by men who were laughing and drinking while their female slaves shuffled around on the floor fellating them. The right chamber was filled mostly by noblewomen who were also drinking and laughing while they evaluated the flaccid cocks of their male slaves.
Eventually Master Kristoff stopped to talk with some of his peers, nearly of whom made an offer to purchase me. The magical seeds of loyalty I’d planted in their minds months several months ago had fully bloomed. They remembered my visit to their estates as vividly as if they’d just taken me last night, and they were desperate to repeat the experience. Even more importantly—at least as far as Kristoff was concerned—they were willing to continue ceding to his requests for supplies and soldiers in the hopes they could stay in his good graces.
Only one of his contacts remained stubbornly neutral, and so Master Kristoff decided to give him another sample. I dropped to my knees and swallowed the man’s cock, and by the time his seed filled my throat I had already reached into his mind and wrapped him around my proverbial finger. We left him standing in one of the side rooms, breathless and considerably poorer.
An hour before the main feast was scheduled to begin, one of the Emperor’s Praetorians stomped through the crowd and approached Master Kristoff. The man’s heavy, black-red armor and matching cape was purely ceremonial, but when he drew close I could tell that his massive halberd was not. The axe-blade atop the staff glinted hungrily in the sparkling ballroom lights.
“His Supreme Majesty is prepared to meet you now,” the man announced. His deep, gruff voice perfectly matched his wide frame.
“Excellent,” Master Kristoff said. “Where shall we—”
“Follow me.”
The Praetorian turned on a heel and marched towards one of the giant spiraling staircases leading to the palace’s upper levels. Master Kristoff probably should have been annoyed at the treatment; no one, not even one of the Emperor’s personal guards, had the right to speak so dismissively to a Grand Duke. But making a scene here would only prevent him from getting what he wanted, and so instead he grumbled softly under his breath and tugged on my leash as he followed.
There were still a handful of nobles gathered on the wide balcony overlooking the ballroom floor. Most of them were the more military-minded families who were less interested in slaves than in the ongoing war. I spotted several Legion officers I recognized from my return trip from the Wreath, including Torelius’s second-in-command, Legate Maxos. He didn’t seem to notice me, thankfully, but when the Praetorian stopped us at the center of the gold carpet I spotted the fat general himself waddling towards us.
“Hello, Gabriel,” Torelius said, a sardonic smirk smeared across his lips. “I didn’t think you’d make an appearance tonight.”
“At this point you should be quite accustomed to being wrong,” Kristoff replied tartly.
The general chuckled, though I could hear the quiet menace in every breath. “Here for the auction, then? Don’t tell me you’re finally ready to sell this cunt after all the trouble I went through to bring her back to you.”
“I have a long overdue appointment with Lucian. I believe it’s finally time we got serious about the future of the Empire.”
Torelius snorted so loudly I was surprised he didn’t choke on his drink. “Your allies are conspicuously absent tonight. Do you really believe His Majesty will give a damn what you have to say?”
“If he cares about preserving his throne, then yes,” Kristoff said matter-of-factly. “It’s long past time has given some real advice. The sycophants of the Imperial Court have done enough damage, don’t you think?”
Even without glancing upwards, I could envision the rage rippling across the general’s face. “I can’t decide whether you’re brave or foolish,” Torelius said. “Your little whore won’t help you here. I don’t know why you even—”
He cut himself off when the massive double doors at the end of carpet abruptly swung open. A small entourage of Praetorians—six on each side—marched forward and spread out along opposite sides of the carpet. Behind them strode the Emperor himself.
I had only seen Lucian Patravian in person once, back at the Winter Gala. Even then, I’d been shocked by his physical appearance. I’d expected him to be overweight like Torelius, but instead he’d more closely resembled a taller, more muscular version of Larric. Looking upon again now, nothing had changed.
Lucian stood at least six and a half feet tall, enough to make him tower over all but a few of his Praetorian. His arms, left bare by a sleeveless leather breastplate, were thicker than my legs, and his crimson cloak was woven from the finest Numenese silks. While shorter hair was the current fashion for men of the Imperial gentry, Lucian kept his long. Braided blond locks dangled all the way down to his shoulders like one of the fabled Asgardian warriors I’d seen in ancient Torsian paintings.
“Your Majesty,” Master Kristoff said with a deep formal bow. I kept my eyes fastened upon the floor and remained still. “It’s been far too long.”
“That’s certainly debatable,” Lucian replied. His tenor voice was vaguely melodic and tinged with amusement. “You never spoke those words to my father. I know the two of you never quite got along.”
Kristoff chu
ckled pleasantly. “We never quite saw eye-to-eye, it’s true.”
“He hated you—and your father, in fact. Even when I was a boy, I never understood why he left you in power.”
An awkward pause settled over the balcony and the small pockets of nearby nobles, and I saw Master Kristoff’s feet shuffled slightly inside his boots. He had expected Lucian to be a bit standoffish, just like he was with everyone…but he definitely hadn’t anticipated such open hostility.
“Well, I suppose neither of us can truly speak for our fathers,” Kristoff said eventually. “Perhaps we should concentrate upon our relationship instead.”
Lucian snorted. “We don’t have a relationship, Gabriel. And we’re never going to, not since you decided to raise an army against me.”
If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that one of the Tel Bator channelers had suddenly conjured a blizzard and lowered the temperature of the atrium by half. The awkward silence between the nobles became downright suffocating, and out of the corner of my eye I spotted several of them slowly creeping away. With everyone so distracted, I probably could have reached out to the Aether without being noticed, but I knew it wasn’t worth the risk with so many Inquisitors around.
“I’m not certain what you’re referring to, Your Majesty,” Master Kristoff replied eventually. “My armies in Glorinfel were destroyed when the dark elves poured out from the depths of Sulinor. Thousands were captured, and they’re still waiting for your Legion to rescue them.”
Lucian shook his head. “Your allies aren’t here with you tonight. You won’t engender any sympathy by playing the victim.” He paused and turned. With my eyes down, I could see his distorted reflection in the tiles as he swept his eyes across the balcony. All nobles who were subtly scurrying away abruptly froze in place. “Your men died because the Triad willed it. They were regrettable but necessary sacrifices on the Empire’s path to salvation.”
Master Kristoff stirred in place again, clearly taken off guard. “They died because of the Legion’s incompetence, not the will of the gods. High General Torelius knew Stormcrest would be the vaeyn’s first target, and yet he refused to send reinforcements no matter—”
“The gods do not make mistakes, Gabriel,” Lucian replied matter-of-factly. “Stormcrest never would have fallen to the heretics if we hadn’t angered the Triad with our inaction. For decades we’ve allowed the vaeyn infestation to fester right beneath our feet. We cannot tolerate their sacrilege any longer.”
Another silence fell across the balcony. If not for the bards playing in the ballroom below, I probably could have made out the individual heartbeats of each of the nearby nobles. Master Kristoff’s body remained still, but his grip on my leash had tightened enough that my collar was making it more and more difficult to breathe…
“I have never been opposed to confronting the vaeyn, Your Majesty,” Kristoff said eventually. “But the gods will not win this war for us. We need competent commanders and a sound strategy.”
Lucian crept forward a step. “What we need is unity—unity that you and your allies have threatened.” He abruptly turned towards Torelius. “General: feel free to tell everyone what your scouts have discovered.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Torelius said, not bothering to conceal his smug satisfaction. “There are nearly ten thousand slave soldiers assembled at the border of Sorthaal and another five thousand just across the river in the Wreath. They are led by Duke Arland’s personal commanders and have refused to cooperate with Legion officers.”
“Perhaps the fall of Glorinfel taught Duke Arland and Duchess Farrow the folly of trusting the Legion to defend their homes,” Kristoff suggested bitterly. “You still haven’t been able to stop the vaeyn advance. Some have even suggested that a dark elf assassin was responsible for Farrow’s death!”
The nearby gasps were audible, if only just. I wasn’t sure if the nobles were shocked at the accusation or the fact Master Kristoff was defending himself so forcefully. In the history of the Imperial Court, I doubted that more than a handful of people had ever stood up to the Emperor in public, not even the Grand Dukes.
“There’s no point in playing games, Gabriel,” Torelius snarled. “Your ‘Quorum’ is directly threatening the sanctity of the Covenant and the safety of the Empire. You should all be strung up in the gallows and—”
Lucian lifted his hand and silenced the other man. “That’s enough, General. Leave us.”
Torelius frowned and turned. He opened his mouth as if to protect but then clearly thought the better of it. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”
The general strode off the balcony down to the ballroom, and several of the other nobles tried to use his exit as cover for their own. But Lucian held them in place with pointed glares. He clearly wanted an audience for this, and Master Kristoff, for all his cunning, had just as clearly walked into a trap.
“Unlike my father, I have little patience for pleasantries and even less for disobedience,” the Emperor said. “The Kristoff family has been a vital part of Imperial politics for generations. I’ve no wish to throw that away. We are living through an era of great instability, and the people can only handle so much change.”
He stepped in so close to Master Kristoff I thought he might actually strike him. “But there is something you must understand, Gabriel,” Lucian went on. “The only reason you are still alive is because I wish it. The only reason you still have a place to live is because I wish it. All of that could change in a single heartbeat.”
Venom dripped from his every word, and I genuinely had no idea how Master Kristoff would respond. But he didn’t back down. Instead he threw his head back and laughed.
“If you want to skip the politics, I’m more than happy to oblige,” he growled. “Let’s be completely honest, shall we? The vaeyn are winning this war—a war that you started. Now the provinces are allying against you. Sorthaal and the Wreath have already slipped through your fingers, and Korvale will be next. Arland and Farrow are just the first. Darkstone won’t support you, and the Legion cannot afford to fight a two-front war with the vaeyn and the Vale. Your position isn’t nearly as strong as you believe.”
Lucian’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but eventually his lips curled into a tight smile. “My father might have loathed yours, but he did respect his ambition. Just as I respect yours.” He grunted and paced away a few steps, his fingers tapping the pommel of his ceremonial sword. “But you have overplayed your hand, Gabriel. The Hierophant and her Covenant have declared this a holy war. The Triad demands that we purge Calhara of the vaeyn heretics. There will be no retreat, no surrender, and no negotiation. Until the Matriarch Queen kneels before me, there can never be peace.”
“How many thousands of Imperial soldiers are you willing to sacrifice for that to happen?” Kristoff asked. “How many of our people must die before you admit your mistake?”
“The loyal dead live forever in the Triad’s grace. No price is too great when eternity is the reward.” Lucian’s smile widened. “I understand why you are afraid, but the gods demand sacrifices of us all. You must have faith.”
Master Kristoff’s lip twitched in disgust, but even with his thoughts clouded by rage and frustration he wasn’t willing to blaspheme in public. Spatting with the Emperor was bad enough, but openly speaking out against the Covenant was something else entirely.
“I will permit you to keep your land and your property, such as they are,” Lucian said. “I will even allow you to keep your title for the time being. In exchange, you will speak with your allies and convince them to abandon this foolish crusade. They will turn their armies upon our enemies, and if the Triad wills it you see your homeland liberated in the summer campaign.”
“And if I refuse?”
The Emperor chuckled. “I am the Sword of the Covenant and the Rightful Heir of Sanctus Veshar. The gods themselves have chosen me to rule. To deny my will is to covet oblivion.”
“Even you cannot afford to fight all of us at once.”
“I will stand against anyone and everyone who threatens my great Empire,” Lucian said. “I’m giving you a choice, Gabriel. You can either join me and share in the spoils of our victory…or you can die irrelevant and alone.”
Master Kristoff’s grip tightened again, and I actually had to adjust my neck to breathe normally. No one seemed to notice or care.
“I will speak with the others,” Kristoff said. I didn’t need to rely on telepathy to know he was lying. “Perhaps I can still convince them to see reason.”
“I certainly hope so, for their sakes,” Lucian replied evenly. “Now leave my palace and be gone from me sight. You will not see me again until you are successful.”
Kristoff remained in place for several seconds, and I wondered if despite everything that had happened he might still offer me as a gift. If not, I had no idea what would happen. Larric obviously wouldn’t have been able to organize an escape yet. What would Master Kristoff do with me? Would he blame me for this failure somehow? Would he finally snap and kill me like he’d threatened the other night? When I closed my eyes, I could actually feel the cold steel dragging across my throat…
“Good day, Your Majesty,” Kristoff said with a shallow nod. “Enjoy the celebration.”
He jerked my leash so hard I nearly tripped as he pivoted on a heel and strode away. We were halfway back to the stairwell when the Emperor spoke up again.
“One last thing, Gabriel,” he said. “Your avenari—you intended to offer her as a gift, I assume.”
Kristoff stopped and glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“I see. You should know by now that I have little use for elven whores.”
“Elara isn’t like other faeyn,” Kristoff said. “General Torelius can attest to that.”