“The Games?” I echo. In that moment a small pang of nerves twinges inside me as I realize what she’s talking about.
“The Games of the Atlantis Grail.” Manala makes a little annoyed sound, as though she disapproves. “They are horrid and boring and I don’t want to talk about them.”
“Wait . . . boring?”
Manala glances at me, and her face takes on a strange sad expression. “Blood and cruelty is boring to me,” she says softly. “If I pretend it is all dull and uninteresting, then I don’t have to think about it. So—boring. See, easy to dismiss. All gone.”
And Manala’s expression changes to a carefree smile.
But it’s with an entirely different feeling of dread that I consider what she’s just told me.
Apparently I’ve narrowly escaped being a participant in something truly awful.
And suddenly it all hits home.
Manala promises to tell me and show me all kinds of other interesting things about the city later. But in the meantime we return to the roofed pavilion area where the Imperial eos bread meal is still in progress.
The Imperator observes me as I take my seat next to Aeson, while Manala sits down in her chair across from me, next to her mother.
“So, did you like the Gardens and the view?” Aeson asks, looking at me closely. “How are your eyes doing?”
“The Gardens are amazing! And so is the city, once I could actually see it through the bright haze.” I smile at him, blinking slightly.
“Your eyes, Gwen . . .” he repeats with concern. “Were you careful?”
“Oh, I’m fine, don’t worry. Keeping them nearly shut and squinting a lot, helped.”
Now that I am back in the relative shade of the pavilion roof, I realize that I’m seeing afterimage spots before my eyes. But I don’t say anything, so as not to worry him.
“Next time, Gwen, be sure to wear the necessary sunglasses when you come outside,” Devora Kassiopei says in her gentle, pleasant voice. “I thought they were supposed to give all Earth refugees the special protective sunglasses when you arrived.”
“I will, thank you,” I say. “I have them, but didn’t think to wear them for this. . . .”
“Such hardy Earth stock, she’ll survive a little Atlantean sunlight,” the Imperator says. “Isn’t that so, Gwen?”
“Yes, though I would be more comfortable with the glasses on,” I say, choosing words with care. “This daylight is extremely bright.”
“Nonsense. The Bride of my son and the future Imperial Consort does not need to cover her eyes in public.”
“Father!” Aeson says in a hard voice. “She absolutely must wear the eye protection for some time before it is safe for her—I insist.”
“Ah, very well. She is, after all, yours.” And the Imperator makes a dismissive motion with his hand and sets aside his plate. “Enough, the meal is done.”
Immediately servants surround him from both sides, and start removing dishes from the table. Apparently it does not matter if anyone else is still eating. The Imperator is done, and so is everyone else.
I sit still while my mostly-full plate is cleared away, and my glass of juice follows. Watching what everyone else is doing, I keep my hands in my lap and glance at Aeson to see if we are allowed to rise and leave.
But—not just yet.
Aeson exchanges a fleeting meaningful look with his mother, while the Imperatris waits patiently in her chair, next to Manala. And then he addresses the Imperator.
“My Father, I thank you for the eos bread. Now that you have met my Bride, Gwen, and she has been welcomed to the family, I would like—”
“He would like to set the date for the Imperial Wedding,” concludes Devora Kassiopei in her calm measured voice, speaking on Aeson’s behalf. “The customary wait period of three months should suffice, as Gwen becomes used to her new home, and the Imperial Household prepares the Event. The Wedding should be held during Red Amrevet.”
As I listen to this nervously, I recall from my Atlantis Culture classes that Red Amrevet refers to a specific month. On Atlantis, each season, Red, Yellow, Blue, Green—equivalent to summer, autumn, winter, and spring—has four months. The months, named after the three moons of Atlantis plus a “ghost” or non-existent moon, rotate throughout the year, repeating every season. They are, in order of progression, Amrevet, Pegasus, Mar-Yan, and Ghost Moon.
So, if we are at the end of Green Amrevet now, the first month of spring here in Poseidon, then there are three more to go—Green Pegasus, Green Mar-Yan, and Green Ghost Moon before Red summer begins, and with it, my wedding.
Oh. My. God. . . . Just three months! Will I be ready? And I mean, ready emotionally, psychologically, and physically, for this immense life-changing thing?
My heart is suddenly racing wildly, almost in panic mode. . . .
Aeson must read me very well, because he glances at me with intensity, and then back at his mother, and finally at the Imperator. “I am not sure there needs to be a rush,” he says softly. “Gwen will need some time to feel comfortable, and it might be best to wait until Yellow or even Blue—”
The Imperatris looks at her son, and her eyes communicate things which I cannot know or understand, probably family things. Family secrets, it occurs to me. “You know it is best if you don’t put it off for too long,” she says. “Gwen, how do you feel about this?”
“My Sovereign Lady, I—” I hesitate, not sure how to answer, not sure of my own feelings.
On the one hand, I am honestly overwhelmed and frightened of all this, including the idea of such commitment and such proximity—such terrible and yet wonderful intimacy with another human being—marriage.
On the other hand, I really, really want to be with Aeson in every imaginable way. And yes, ultimately I want to marry him.
But—three months? And what about my parents and George? They would never get here from Earth in time for the Wedding! How can I get married without Mom and Dad and all my siblings to see me?
As I remain silent, unable to formulate a reply, the Imperator speaks instead, watching me with a subtle mocking expression.
“The Bride has doubts?”
“Oh, no! No doubts at all!” I say immediately, and take a deep breath of resolve. “I was just thinking about my parents still back on Earth. . . . Red Amrevet will be fine. I will gladly marry Aeson at that time—if that is what is preferable.”
“I will consider it,” the Imperator replies.
And I realize suddenly that although I might be under Aeson’s protection by law, so much of the rest of it—all the little things, the fine detail—depends so heavily on his father’s whims.
Aeson gives me a searing look of intensity once again. “If that is what you truly wish?”
“Yes,” I say looking at him earnestly. “Yes, I wish it.”
And then I smile at my Bridegroom.
“Good . . .” Devora Kassiopei says with a faint smile of her own, directed at me. It’s almost as if she is relieved.
“Very well,” the Imperator says. “I will announce my final decision tomorrow evening during the Imperial Court Assembly in honor of the occasion—an event to formally honor the Bride. In the meantime, have you considered my words of last night, Aeson? I ask you again, what gift should I bestow upon you? Think well which lands you will have—anything but the Great Nacarat Plateau, which is now no longer an option.”
“Yes, Father, I am still considering it,” Aeson says thoughtfully. “Maybe the forests and flatlands in the Northern Sesemet Province? Or even the Golden Bay of Poseidon, to the west and east of city center?”
The Imperatris meanwhile turns to me. “It is tradition for the Imperator to grant lands to the Imperial Crown Prince at his Wedding. The gifted lands become a special public development project for the Prince. It is a very important selection, both for the good of the nation and for the Imperial Throne. For as long as he is the Heir, before assuming the Throne, he must participate in the running of the regi
on, as practice for his eventual role.”
“I see . . .” I nod at her. “It sounds very interesting.”
“It is a duty,” Aeson says, glancing at me.
“Speaking of which—you must proceed with yours for today,” Romhutat Kassiopei tells his son, rising from his seat. “You are dismissed.”
We all rise immediately, and incline our heads before the Imperator, waiting for him, as dictated by Imperial Protocol, until he strides from the pavilion and enters the stairwell chamber to return to his Quarters.
It is only then that we are free to go.
Chapter 6
As soon as the Imperator is out of sight, Aeson turns to me and takes my hands, pressing them with his strong large ones. “Gwen!” he says. “Let’s get you out of this sunlight!”
“I am okay,” I mumble, feeling an immense relief come over me now that we are no longer in his father’s presence. “I think my eyes are getting used to it.”
“My son is right. You need to return indoors.” Devora Kassiopei looks at me seriously, and I see in her expression only concern. “Let us go in now. I will come to see you later today, in your Quarters. I am very pleased with you, and we will talk again soon, my dear.”
I look at Aeson’s mother, mesmerized by the harmonious lines of her ethereally beautiful face, her expressive kind voice, and the wonderfully soothing effect she has on me.
“Thank you, My Sovereign Lady, I really look forward to it.”
The Imperatris places her hand on my arm and squeezes lightly, a touch as pleasant as her voice. And then she nods at me and turns away.
We begin walking through the pavilion to the stairwell. Aeson’s mother walks before us, according to Imperial Protocol, and we follow, as a sign of respect. I watch the older woman’s tall elegant figure as she seems to glide through the air, with the many ethereal layers of her dress billowing about her in the wind.
Princess Manala falls back to walk next to Aeson and me. “May I come with you now? Will that be all right?” she says in a slightly anxious voice, as though she is afraid one of us will say no.
“Sure!” I say. “Of course, please do!”
“As long as you don’t overwhelm Gwen too much and tire her out,” Aeson adds with a faint smile. And then he speaks to both of us at the same time, in a teasing form of third person. “Manala can be very enthusiastic. And she needs to remember that Gwen has come a long way from a very different world. . . . Our gravity is still too much for her, our sun is too bright, and there are many things that will need to get done before tomorrow. Which means, Manala needs to behave and not chatter like a flock of birds.”
“Oh, I will, I promise!” his sister exclaims, opening her eyes wide.
At the sight of her expression I once again want to laugh.
“This may be a strange question, Aeson, but do you have insects on Atlantis?” I say, as we enter the stairwell after the Imperatris, whose soft footfalls echo lightly on the stone steps below us. “I don’t think I’ve actually seen any yet except for what I think I heard coming from the Hovering Gardens—unless that was all just birds.”
“Yes, we have insects!” Manala interrupts. “Insects of all kinds! Really, really scary ones, and really beautiful ones! And little and big ones!”
“Oh yes, there are insects here, and Manala will tell you all about them,” Aeson says, appearing highly amused.
We descend to the main level of the Imperial Quarters and enter the ante-chamber, just in time to see the Imperatris disappear behind one of the many doors leading into the private interior of the Imperial residence.
The imposing servant from earlier is still here and he bows before us silently, opening the grand doors to the outside.
As we come into the magnificent lobby, Aeson’s personal security guards who have been waiting patiently now fall in line behind us, while other servants in the vicinity bow.
I have no idea how I can ever get used to this, people bowing to me wherever I go. This is kind of very disturbing. . . .
We take the elevator down to the level of the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters, and emerge into the now familiar long hallway that culminates in the double doors leading to Aeson’s personal living area.
The six guards once again take their posts at the entrance, while Aeson and I, with Manala following, enter our Quarters—yes, I said it, our Quarters.
Here, in the ante-chamber, I pause to take a big breath of relief.
“Wow,” I whisper. “That was . . . intense.”
Aeson brushes his hand lightly against my arm, with a squeeze, then says, “Let’s go in.” And then he adds, turning to his sister: “Manala, Gwen and I need to talk in private for a few minutes, so why don’t you wait in my workroom while we do, all right?”
We take one of the inner doors and pass the various suites of rooms until we come to the section containing Aeson’s actual bedroom and the office workroom space separating it from mine.
As we approach, we can hear voices and enthusiastic arguing. Anu and Gennio are still in Aeson’s workroom when we get there.
The moment we enter, they go perfectly silent. Immediately, both of them stare at me, pausing just a fraction too long before making their usual salute to the Imperial Crown Prince and their commanding officer, and then bow before me and Manala.
“Everything under control here?” Aeson says in his usual command voice, raising one brow at them.
“Oh yes, Imperial Lord,” Gennio mutters hurriedly. “We are almost done with the Fleet personnel files merge, and Anu is running database diagnostics—”
“Yes, Imperial Lord—almost done.” Anu speaks under his breath and actively looks away from me and from Aeson, as he appears to fiddle with the computer display before him. I think he is still in some kind of shock, and has trouble dealing. Honestly, I don’t blame him—if I were in his shoes, I might be confused out of my mind too.
“Manala, wait here, please,” Aeson reminds his sister. “We’ll return in a little while.”
Anu coughs loudly, with a choking sound.
But the Imperial Crown Prince ignores it. Instead, he points to the door to my own bedroom, and gives me an intense look.
I go inside, and Aeson follows, closing the door behind us for privacy.
For a moment I feel a twinge of embarrassment that now Aeson gets to see the morning mess I’ve left in the room, in my haste to get ready—the undone bed, the duffel bag and backpack opened and upturned, and my clothes and things strewn all over the place.
But I glance around and see to my amazement that the bedroom is pristine. The bed has been made, my bags sit neatly and discreetly out of the way on the floor, my personal items such as my hairbrush are lined up on the side table before the mirror. Even the books are stacked neatly with spines out, on a nearby shelf.
“Oh! They cleaned the room!” I say, and my mouth parts. “I’m so sorry I left such a mess—”
But Aeson interrupts me gently. “Gwen,” he says, moving toward me to close the distance between us, and puts his hands on my upper arms, so that immediately I feel a coursing of electricity where he touches me, even through the thick fabric of my sweater.
“Never mind all that. . . .” His face is inches away. “Don’t worry about the room—the Palace staff takes care of it. I wanted to talk about what happened up there—I’m so sorry about what my Father did to you, the way he tried to compel you! And I am so sorry I didn’t warn you. I didn’t think he would try something like this so soon—”
He stares into my eyes with grave wonder. “Somehow you managed to overcome the compulsion. You withstood him! How? How did you do it?”
“I—” I look at him, feeling suddenly the immensity of the past hour come crashing down on me. “I don’t know how—it was strange at first . . . When it started, before I even understood what was happening, it just felt like a sense of immediacy, being stuck in the moment . . . I was in a dark narrow place, squeezed and focused. . . . I could feel his power p
ressing around my mind from all sides—not sure how else to describe it. But the things he was trying to make me do and say were so wrong, so horrible, that my mind just said ‘no.’ Something inside me—something just clicked. And then it was gone—I was no longer affected by his voice at all.”
Aeson watches me and his expression is complex, impossible to describe. “For someone who is not Kassiopei, not Atlantean, what you did was yet again unprecedented. No one can withstand an Imperial compulsion!”
“Not even you?” I bite my lip, frowning with anxiety. “It was so horrible to see him make all of you kneel, even your mother. . . .”
Aeson pauses for a moment, as though considering carefully before speaking. “No one—except for a very few,” he says, averting his eyes, but I manage to glimpse sorrow and pain in them before he looks away to hide it. “I cannot be compelled by my Father either. But I have learned not to resist him. The first time it happened, I was a young boy. He used the compelling voice on me but could not make me obey, and it infuriated him. The fact that I stood up to him. . . . I was a stubborn and arrogant little fool, proud of my strength, and did not let him have his way. And so he punished me in the one way that he knew could hurt me—by harming others I care about. So now, I allow him to compel me, no matter how degrading.”
“What? Oh, no, Aeson! I’m so sorry!” I reach for him, wrapping my arms around his back in reflex, without thinking—it comes so naturally. I press myself against him, so that my cheek rests against his chest. In response, his own arms come around me completely, and now he is embracing me full-body, and his hold tightens. . . .
“It’s okay,” he whispers, speaking into my hair, and I can feel his breath caress me.
We stand locked in each other’s arms, strangely stilled, unable to move apart, while an immense warmth starts rising between us. . . . It’s as if we are generating a heat aura around ourselves, a tight cocoon of sweetly flowing power that’s keeping us in an invisible voluntary web.
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