After that, the study of chaos was forbidden. Chaotics were killed on sight. Any child cursed with chaos’s touch was inherently bad.
Emilia had been born evil, and nothing she did would change that.
She breathed and watched the waves. Chaos itched beneath her skin once more.
Still, even though she’d been born bad, she wanted to choose good. If she became empress, she could walk back the vendetta against chaotics, try to find a way to heal them of their power, not kill them.
Yes. That at least would give her wasted life some meaning.
She choked on the chaos, felt it bubbling up in her stomach. Emilia gripped a stone at her side and closed her eyes. Let it out…let it destroy the stone…Then the pain would stop…for a while.
As she waited, her thoughts touched again on Vespir and Lucian. On their discussions of love and pain. And Emilia, barren of those experiences, couldn’t help but smile.
Pop.
The magic came out different this time. Less like a sickness she needed to void, and more like a sigh. Emilia realized that she still held the stone in her hand. It hadn’t exploded. Lifting it, her mouth fell open.
The stone had transformed from rock into gleaming crystal. Moonlight was slick on the faceted surface.
Transformation. Not destruction.
But…how?
“Emilia?” Lucian jogged down the path toward her. She jumped to her feet, hastily dusting herself off. “Why did you run away?”
“I’m. I’m tired,” she croaked. For some reason, she hid the stone behind her back.
“Okay.” He paused, then drew a few steps nearer. “You did amazingly well today, with the basilisk and Vespir.” Was he patronizing her? Emilia had had her fill of people regarding her as some broken toy. “I kind of wish we could team up together more often.”
“Well. We can’t.”
Lucian paused. “I know this won’t end happily for all of us. But…” He adopted that look she remembered, the open smile, the offered hand. A boy with nothing to hide. “We can at least be friends. Right?”
Emilia felt a tug at her mind, the magic already itching for another release like a greedy child. With a grunt, she turned and flung the rock-turned-crystal out to sea, where it landed with a splash.
“Wrong,” she said. “I’m not your enemy, Lucian, but an alliance is impossible.” Without another word, she trekked back up the path. He didn’t follow. As Emilia neared her room, Chara waiting outside with her tail curled around her taloned feet, she brushed the tears away. It would be so wonderful to sit on cushions and share stories.
If she could do it without killing anyone…
You deserve to be alone. You were born to be alone.
And then, the nasty voice in her head began to morph. That cruel voice had always sounded like her own, reminding her how terrible she was. But the hateful words dropped away. The voice became more soothing. More male.
Emilia. The voice spoke her name, and nothing else. Emilia.
She whipped around on the path.
“What?” she gasped.
But no one was there. No one but the night.
Hyperia did not usually feel nervous, but she also hadn’t expected to return home this soon. When the priests announced at breakfast that the Game was about to commence, she could have cheered. Until they explained where exactly the competitors would be going—the Ardennes region.
Home.
She rode Aufidius through the deepening twilight, her gold cloak flapping behind her. As soon as they passed into Volscia territory, soaring above the lush green of the mainland and leaving the ocean behind, her gut cramped.
Aufidius, as if sensing weakness, growled.
Now, with the Volscia central palace growing nearer, gleaming against the foothills like a diamond pinned to a velvet fold of gown, she steadied her breathing. She was going to enter through those doors without Julia to greet her.
We know who’s to blame for her absence.
Hyperia’s heart beat faster as Aufidius dropped down out of the sky, swooping low for a perfect landing across the rolling lawn. What would her mother say? Hyperia didn’t have much affection for her parents—they had actively groomed that emotion out of her. But her mother had loved Julia. Everyone had.
Including me.
The dragons landed one by one on the summer lawn. White-masked figures wearing gold velvet livery stood with torches flickering in hand. Five abreast, the competitors strode together toward the palace’s entrance. Hyperia wore a bare-shouldered gown with long, slitted sleeves fastened at her wrist and a billowing skirt of gold cloth trimmed in ivory satin. Pearl-studded gold netting held back her hair. Elaborate curls framed her face.
Ahead, every window and doorway shone with candlelight—Hyperia thought of a thousand gleaming eyes all fixed upon her. Music and laughter crescendoed as they drew nearer. Hyperia walked with a straight back, refusing to search out the places on these grounds where she and Julia had chased each other during games.
Lord Volscia awaited them at the entrance. Despite his jowls and thinning blond hair, she recognized the strong Volscian nose and the imperious brow in herself whenever she gazed into a mirror. Camilla and Petros flanked her lord father. Hyperia’s mother was not with them.
Hyperia could understand why she might not be her mother’s favorite guest.
“Welcome, competitors,” Lord Volscia said. He did not look at Hyperia. “Tonight, my family is honored to administer the great Game, the second challenge in our illustrious Emperor’s Trial. We welcome our new emperor, whoever they may be, and salute those four who shall give the ultimate sacrifice to preserve our ordered way of life.” With that, he and the priests stood aside and let the competitors through. Vespir stared at her feet. Ajax grinned and waved at the rows of silent servants. Emilia gazed straight ahead, and Lucian brought up the rear. Hyperia stole a moment with her father, while he looked like he’d rather be elsewhere.
“Yes?” he said. Hyperia alternated between wanting to weep with him and wanting to unsheathe her dagger and pierce his heart. Yes, she had done what she had done, but he had contributed more than simply planting the seed of her inside her mother. He’d nurtured her, tended her, cultivated her like a trellised vine pointed toward a single destination: the dragon throne.
“I won the first challenge.” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice. See what I’ve done. Be proud. It’s all going according to plan, though we started badly.
“Mmm. I know.” He turned away. “It would be nice for all this to have a point.”
That ringing madness began in her ears. “Everything I have ever done has been for you. Including that.”
“You took away my chance at having an heir,” he replied, as detached as if adding up numbers in a ledger. “We might have had another opportunity for the throne in a generation or so. Now my legacy is destroyed. The Volscia holdings will pass to my brother.”
Hyperia stilled. If he should hate her, he should hate her because she had removed a beautiful, vibrant, and excellent daughter from his life. Not for this.
“Then I’m sorry for you,” she growled. He merely nodded and led the way through the velvet halls of his palace. Hyperia watched as the others were taken aback by the sensory onslaught of a Volscia party.
Their principal family residence, located in the verdant heart of the Ardennes region, had been designed to overstimulate the senses with art. White marble statues of famous riders and swooping dragons occupied recessed alcoves, and frescoes of rich green countryside stretched into the distance in every direction. The red velvet and gold brocade wall hangings whispered at a touch. Soaring arches, polished banisters, chandeliers dripping with diamonds—every detail was designed to exceed the boundaries of opulence. But as beautiful as the carpets, hangings, statues, and paintings were, the sheer size
of the palace and its winding halls had often made Hyperia think of some giant beast’s intestines. The jagged white molding along the tops of the walls resembled teeth. She sometimes felt she’d grown up in a place poised to devour her.
The competitors passed down a hall of the eastern wing, stopping before the doorway of the “winter” ballroom, as the family called it, crowding together to gaze at its wonders. Mirrors on every wall replicated the swirl of dancers, and crystal chandeliers lent a frosty illumination to the proceedings. Everything within was silver and shimmer. At least two hundred people had congregated there in outfits of platinum and white gold, and the sound of mirth reverberated inside that great glass enclosure. Hyperia realized that every person here, save herself, the other competitors, and her father were masked. Musicians occupied a platform at the far end of the room, and music set the party’s pulse.
“Wow,” Vespir whispered.
“Not yet, competitors. If you please.” Lord Volscia herded them all along, stopping before two large doors. The footmen allowed them through at his signal.
Hyperia knew they were going into the eastern parlor, with its large, floor-to-ceiling latticed windows that looked out onto the rose garden.
Sometimes, she and Julia had crept down here in the early morning to nestle under a blanket and watch the first blush of dawn touch the sleeping rosebuds. It was a moment of peace, before the hell of Hyperia’s day would start—
Sentiment is weakness. Pay attention.
She blocked the pain and turned her eyes to the room around them…and discovered that this rosy parlor was filled with people.
Not just any people.
“Mother? Father?” Emilia broke the stunned silence first, walking to the Aurun in their purple velvet. The lord and lady greeted their daughter with cool nods; her elder brother (the one Hyperia should have been battling) was a bit warmer, enveloping his sister in a hug.
Beside the Aurun, the Sabel family, Lord Sabel and Dido, awaited their scowling competitor. Lucian trudged over, clearly staying out of hugging range. Not that his family seemed inclined to embrace him.
Lord Tiber, the pustulant cretin, and his two wheedling legitimate sons awaited Ajax. The boy strutted over, though none of them had anything to say to the other. Hyperia wouldn’t be surprised if Lord Tiber had never spoken with Ajax privately before tonight. He might have even forgotten he’d spawned the boy in the first place.
And…Vespir. The servant girl’s breath hitched as she found the Pentri family—yes, their daughter, Antonia, included—standing by the window and pointedly avoiding her gaze. Lord Volscia had to harrumph and practically force the servant forward. When everyone was surrounded by their respective families, Camilla and Petros appeared from a corner of the room as if by magic. Hyperia’s father took his place by her right. She felt the cold absence of her mother to the left.
“Where is she?” Hyperia whispered. Her father didn’t reply.
“The Game.” Camilla rubbed her palms together, a vulpine grin stretched on her face. “A true emperor must have strength and courage, as evidenced in the Hunt. But the Game.” She clucked her tongue. “The art of persuasion. Of anticipating what your opponent may want. Of strategy. Of cunning. Of intuition.” She beamed at each one of the five in turn, rotating on her heel. “Politics is one, long imperial Game, and only the most adaptable players will come out on top. Tonight, in this most splendid palace, you are invited to a party. There’s music, food, dancing, elegant attire, the most beautiful and fascinating people…and one goal.” Her black eyes glittered. “Petros. Would you do the honors?”
The sullen priest walked to each competitor in turn and handed over a small velvet pouch with a drawstring. Hyperia felt the round outline of something through the covering. At Camilla’s nod, everyone untied their pouches and reached inside.
Emilia pulled hers out first: a token the size of a coin. Holding it up to the light, she revealed the purple Aspis, her family’s color and dragon, designed upon the silver medallion in pure amethyst. A treasure. Lucian revealed a coin with his family’s crest in sapphire, and Ajax took out a ruby pendant. Hyperia reached within, and found…two.
Two coins.
Brow furrowed, she emptied the pouch into her hand. The golden Volscia crest and…the emerald Pentri.
“I don’t understand.” She looked at the Pentri family. Lord and Lady Pentri regarded her with tight smiles. Antonia stared at the floor, while Vespir turned her empty bag inside out.
Why had they given Hyperia Vespir’s…
“Oh.” Hyperia felt understanding hot on her spine.
“All of you—well, almost all of you—have begun with your family’s token. The goal,” Camilla said, ambling around the circle and looking them all in the eye, “will be to collect at least three. Three family tokens. Three families backing you for the throne. The first competitor to capture three wins the Game.”
Hyperia understood. Two families would need to abandon their own competitor—their own child. They would have to believe that falling in line behind the next emperor mattered more than blood.
The Pentri hated Vespir, and Hyperia would bet that they had heard of her victory in the Hunt. Lord Volscia gave a discreet cough. So, he’d advocated her position.
She needed only one more family to win this Game. The promise of glory made her fingertips tingle.
Vespir appeared to deflate. Lucian scowled. Emilia pressed the tip of one finger to her lips and gazed at the ceiling. And Ajax, impossible to read, ran the pendant along his fingers as he might a common coin in a gambling den. Camilla went to the five and collected the tokens before gesturing to a table. A black velvet box waited there. Opening it, Camilla showed that every one of their names had been written upon a separate plaque and spaced equally apart. Beneath these plaques, the priests placed the family tokens. Hyperia watched as Petros placed both the Volscia and Pentri crests beneath her name.
Vespir deflated further.
“These will wait until the end of the Game.” Camilla closed the lid. “The victor may keep their pendants. Each is worth at least fifty pieces of gold, so they’re quite precious. I would recommend thinking very carefully about who to approach and how,” she said as she and Petros departed for the ballroom.
Hyperia turned to her father as the others shuffled out. “Thank you.” She did not hug him or smile. She simply gave what was due.
“The next-best candidate will be the Tiber. They and Pentri often have their affairs bound together.” Her father sniffed. “You might take the dragon throne after all.”
“Was there ever a doubt in your mind?” She looked over his shoulder. “I’m amazed Mother decided not to come for this.”
“Hmm. I may as well tell you now.” His voice was flat. “Your mother is dead.”
Hyperia felt the words slam against her chest. Hyperia’s mother had never nursed her daughters, hadn’t attended Hyperia when she was little and cried in the night. Hyperia had always thought of her as a stranger with whom she shared blood. But even so, Hyperia hadn’t expected…this. Her breath stopped.
“What? How?” she whispered.
His reply was calm: “She hanged herself after Julia.”
Hyperia clutched the edge of a table.
“Why didn’t you write to me?”
He shrugged. “No one knew where you were. It hardly seemed necessary.” Then, “I suppose I should thank you. I can remarry now to a younger bride and provide myself with new heirs. Perhaps this was all for the best.” He nodded at the doorway. “I’ve arranged to meet Tiber in fifteen minutes. Shall we?”
The sounds of the party, the lilting cadence of violins and clink of glasses, washed over Hyperia like a wave on the shore. She barely noticed the other competitors as she took her father’s arm. Somewhere, in the distant back of her mind, someone was screaming.
Emilia w
orked to keep her breathing steady. Her high-collared purple satin dress was tight, hugging the span of her hips and the width of her chest. By her feet, a ruffled train curled like an obedient dog. She’d completely forgotten what it was like to attend a party.
It was loud.
While she pressed herself against a wall and let people glide past, she comforted herself with the knowledge that she’d been right.
Emilia had long believed that the Game had something to do with trading favors. If one paid attention to the rise and fall of the five families after every emperor’s ascension, a pattern emerged. This world and the people in it were all built on patterns.
With enough information, one could rule an empire.
Emilia had spent hours collecting every scrap of information on every one of the Houses that she could. Learning their weaknesses, their strengths, their hopes and dreams and dirty pleasures. She knew that the Pentri relied upon the Tiber for help in stabilizing the great grasslands. Her own family, the Aurun, had a strong navy and ruled the seas but were poor. The Volscia hated the Sabel for being the first House to produce an emperor.
Over these past few days she had also taken the pulse of her fellow competitors. She knew what to do.
First: she’d guessed the Pentri would abandon Vespir in favor of Hyperia. Undoubtedly, they wanted an alliance with the Volscia, and their rich land holdings, not to mention Hyperia’s triumph in the Hunt. Lord Volscia—Hyperia had a middling head for politics at best—would go to the Tiber next. It was the safest match, since Pentri and Tiber had a longstanding alliance.
She’d have to push a little on that.
Emilia sidled up to Lysander of the Tiber as he and his father and brother made their way from the parlor. Ajax had already disappeared. Clever boy. He knew there was nothing for him with these wretches.
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