Wicked Empress:The Onic Empire, Book 4

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  With him in place she turned to what she considered the most critical issue, that of her bonding to Drahka, who sat by her side, reserved, knowing full well he was not welcomed by the heads of the Houses because they saw him as nothing but a barsita.

  Enovese, her protocol liaison, who stood beside her, leaned near and whispered, “I have a surprise that will most assuredly please you, my lady.” Before Bithia could ask, Enovese settled her lone piece of aging paper on the podium before her. Bithia would have worried but for the confident smile Enovese offered as she nodded to Menon that she was ready.

  Across the circle stood an elderly man, his glittering copper robe washing out the paleness of his features. Around his waist he wore a sash that combined all the colors of the Houses but for crimson. He too nodded to Menon, then turned his shockingly dark gaze to Enovese. Rather than a secure smile, he flashed a glower that seemed to say he would like nothing better than to put Enovese in her place. Next to his podium, he had a stack of books and papers that swayed precariously. This man would not make the same mistakes the other protocol liaison had. He realized the threat that Enovese presented and he would not underestimate her.

  A trickle of apprehension hit then as Bithia compared his stack to Enovese’s lone page, but she showed no reaction as she relaxed into her chair. She had unwavering faith in Enovese, and if she believed she could best a man four times her senior, then Bithia believed it too. Something about Enovese inspired that level of confidence. Even Drahka, when he glanced over at her, seemed assured she would prevail.

  Menon stood, nodded to each in turn, then lifted his hand to the elderly protocol liaison. “Make your opening statement, Areland.”

  He cleared his throat, then in a surprisingly young voice he said, “From the time of the ancients, the sacred bonding between an empress and her primary, eternal bondmate and consort, has been held to the most strict guidelines.” With hands that shook from age, he grabbed one of the books and hefted it onto his podium. Dust poofed into the air when the massive tome landed. Flipping it open, he found the page he sought, and continued, “In reading Kipfer’s in the ancient language, we see that…”

  Bithia’s mind drifted off as he plodded on, praising the wisdom of the ancients, and that upholding their traditions was what had kept the Onic Empire vital and blah, blah, blah. Behind his back, the people began to wilt, bored by his history lesson and the flat monotone of his voice.

  “Because Drahka did not climax in full view, the ceremony between Bithia of Crimson house and Drahka of the Oughun is invalid.”

  Finally, he shut up, and everyone in the room released a relieved sigh. To her side, Enovese yawned, delicately behind her hand, but still, the meaning of her motion was clear. Bithia almost burst into laughter for her gentle show of disdain, but she refrained. This was no laughing matter.

  “We concur.”

  A moment of stunned silence spilled over the room at Enovese’s short statement. Shocked witnesses leaned forward, eyes wide as they considered Enovese. She was agreeing with him? What strategy was this? Bithia sat very still despite how her heart raced and her palms grew sweaty.

  Menon quickly reined in his shock. “You agree with Areland?”

  Enovese nodded. “On the subject of the bonding between Bithia and Drahka, we concede that the bonding is invalid.”

  Next to her, Drahka curled his hand into a fist and held it below view. He clenched so hard the edges of his hand turned white. Unsure what madness had possessed Enovese, Bithia cupped Drahka’s hand to hers, soothing him, trying to show him he should calm himself.

  Clearly disappointed, Areland leaned heavily against his podium, his face thunderous as he considered that Enovese had wasted his time and everyone else’s.

  “Now that we have resolved that issue, we can move on to discussing the bonding ceremony between Bithia, Drahka and Viltori.”

  Eyes bulged. Furious whispers and a cacophony of angry babble erupted.

  Menon clapped his hands, calling for order. “Present your objection to her motion, Areland.”

  Doing his best to smooth away his disgust at the mere idea of a multiple bonding, Areland didn’t even turn to his books. “Such a thing is unheard of. For you to even suggest we indulge such perversity shows a gross ignorance of the Harvest prophecy.”

  Collectively the heads of the Houses nodded behind him.

  Drahka clutched her hand. No longer did he clench his fist in fury, but he now clasped hers with hope. She too squeezed back, daring to believe that what they’d most longed for could come true. All of them equal in their joining. Both Drahka and Viltori as eternal bondmates and consorts.

  Holding aloft her lone paper, Enovese calmly replied, “That you condemn me for a lack of knowledge only reveals your own ignorance. Do you think Kipfer’s in the ancient language is the only source of the Harvest prophecy?”

  Areland’s gaze riveted to the paper.

  “If one is diligent in perusing the stacks of the great library, one can find many, many treasures.” With exceeding grace, Enovese moved down the aisle toward Areland, carrying her page. “This is documentation of the bonding of the first empress, Farjika the Dark. It was she who founded Crimson House and the Onic Empire.”

  For a moment, Bithia feared that once he got the paper, Areland would simply tear the fragile article to shreds, but he took the document from Enovese with great care. She understood then that he was a protocol liaison, not a tool who would mindlessly do the bidding of the Houses. Areland cared about the prophecy. He wanted to see the rites and rituals honored, not just held to at the whim of the current person in power. After placing the tan parchment on his podium, he leaned close to examine the words written there. The room fell to silence, giving him time to inspect Enovese’s evidence.

  As Enovese returned to Bithia’s side, she smiled and raised her truculent little nose. Her beautiful hair swayed with her steps, the glittering strands falling behind her like a living cape. Her gaze lingered on Bithia and Drahka’s clasped hands for a moment, then lifted. Nodding subtly, she seemed to be conveying that all was well. She knew exactly what she was about and none would stop her from proving her point. If Enovese could carry this off, Bithia swore that she would give Enovese anything, everything her heart desired. Even if she had to steal from the empire’s funds she would to cover Enovese in riches.

  When Areland finished, he looked up, a stunned kind of respect replacing the earlier hatred. “The document is valid.”

  Since Areland represented all the other Houses, they couldn’t very well decry his assessment. They had appointed him and they were bound by rites and rules to respect the outcome.

  Refusing to be arrogant with her besting of him, Enovese shyly offered, “A lusty woman, Farjika the Dark. She bonded to over twenty men. Each was considered a bondmate and a consort and all her children by those men were legitimate. From her fertility sprang a line of powerful women, of which Bithia is one. It was Farjika who created the system of rank by colors and enacted many of the rites we still practice today.”

  Bithia was as stunned as the rest. As a recent transplant to Diola, she knew little of the world’s history, but that her ancestor had established the very empire itself was a grand revelation indeed.

  “Do you concur with her assessment, then, that Bithia may proceed to bond to both Drahka and Viltori?” Menon turned to Areland.

  Clearly at a loss, he looked to his stack of books and papers, but he seemed to realize they would do him no good. His shoulders slumped as he lowered his face. He seemed to age another ten seasons before her eyes. “We concede.”

  Enovese faced Bithia with so much joy it was almost as if she had argued for herself. As she stood and embraced her, joining her in a silent but no less profound celebration, she realized that for Enovese, it wasn’t about pleasing her as the empress, or winning the argument, but about proving herself. Enovese had known down to her bones that she was correct and she reveled in the vindication.

  “
You have pleased me greatly, Enovese. Tell me what I can do in turn for you.”

  “Nothing, my lady.” Her glorious hair danced around her shoulders as she shook her head. “I see how you look at both Drahka and Viltori. Never would you be able to choose between them. In this way, you can have them both. Your joy, their joy, is my joy.” With that, she left, her pleasure radiating out of her in an almost palpable wave.

  When the heads of the Houses realized further arguments were pointless, most of them left the meeting. They were not much interested in the day-to-day issues. Invigorated by the wonderful news, Bithia pushed through the agenda, eager to finish so that she and Drahka could share their fantastic information with Viltori. As the meeting wound down, Menon waited until only he, she and Drahka remained in the circle.

  Darkness lurked in Menon’s gaze. Her heart sank. “What now?” It seemed every time she was lifted up, something else just smacked her down.

  “My lady, I…” He trailed off as he glanced around the room, ensuring their privacy before continuing. “There is something I must make you aware of.” He lifted his hand to her seat, then knelt beside her. He activated her blue screen and flipped his thick, callused fingers rapidly over the floating text. With a grimace, he pulled back so she could examine the information unfettered.

  Bithia considered the numbers hanging there, but had no idea what, exactly, she was looking at. And then, in a slow motion realization, the full horror hit. “Are you certain? How can this be?”

  “My lady, to the best of my knowledge, Ambo used the empire as collateral to acquire loans from several powerful worlds.”

  Worlds that now, for lack of a better term, owned Diola. The figures were staggering. Numbers so large that she simply couldn’t comprehend their magnitude. “And what of the funds he secured? Where are they?” Ambo had stuck his greedy fingers into everyone’s pockets in the palace, he had wiped out the royal account, and now she discovered he’d not only destroyed the empire’s funds, but left them vulnerable to mighty worlds that would think nothing of invading and taking whatever they wished. What did it matter now that she, Drahka and Viltori could bond, when there soon would be nothing for her to rule over?

  “I have done all I can to find where he hid this great fortune, but I cannot. The money he placed in the Golden Bird has been used to pay the palace staff and cover the current expenses, but that is the last of it. Without incoming funds, we will be destitute in a quarter cycle.”

  In a room full of people, Bithia felt alone. All around her, the elite showed off their finery in outfits so garish they bordered on obscene. Bright fabrics, masses of jewels, shoes that flashed tiny lights as they moved, and hats so enormous some were relegated to lounging on couches, unable to move less they topple over. Ostensibly, they did all this to celebrate the placement of Menon Levotch as the new magistrate, but she knew their display was about showing off.

  Bithia sighed.

  Comparably, her dress was almost drab. A simple wraparound style that covered her from neck to ankle, but left her arms bare. She’d chosen this one for comfort. That and the fact the crimson fabric enhanced the natural curves of her body. She did not care what anyone thought of her understated elegance. No wig adored her head, so her hair was freshly washed and fluffed around her face in soft black strands. No colored lens covered her eyes. No makeup of any kind altered the true state of her face. Bithia did not need to attract attention. There were only two men whose eyes she wanted upon her. Sadly, neither one had hardly looked at her most of the evening.

  Plucking a drink from a passing tray, she again turned her hungry eyes to Drahka and Viltori. Dressed in crimson outfits as understated as hers, the two men had cordoned themselves off in one of the privacy areas scattered throughout the great hall. Lush plants surrounded a couch and two chairs, but she could see them through the green fronds.

  Drahka sat upon the couch while Viltori sat in the chair nearest the couch. Their heads were close, one light, one dark, as if they were staring deeply into each other’s eyes. Despite what they looked liked, she thought they were talking intently. She smiled. Perhaps they were planning their next lusty romp. When she considered the slump of Viltori’s shoulders and the hanging of Drahka’s head, she frowned. She didn’t think they were doing anything more than bemoaning the horrible news.

  Unwilling to dwell on what she could not change, Bithia sipped her drink and caught the gaze of Menon. When she nodded to her newly placed magistrate, he nodded politely back, then returned his attention to his bondmate. Menon’s silver uniform contrasted beautifully with his copper hair and Onic black eyes. The royal tailors had outdone themselves. Every line of the outfit complemented a man who took care of himself and took pride in his appearance. Menon was a welcome change from Ambo. As Bithia appreciated the picture Menon presented, she could not say the same for the man’s bondmate. Ngela was stunningly beautiful with spun white hair and glittering pink eyes. Delicate features made her seem fragile, ethereal and delicate.

  Until she spoke.

  Ngela’s voice was like rocks careening into one another at high speed. Never had Bithia heard a more unpleasant tone. Looking as delicate as a falling flake of snow, Ngela sounded like a caterwauling creature in heat.

  Bithia shivered. Her heart went out to Menon. He’d selected Ngela as his bondmate during the Harvest ritual. He would not have known about her voice until after he’d claimed her. Too late to turn back, Menon had made peace with what he could not change. Menon selected a beautiful woman to share his life with. Her voice was horrid, but Ngela was lovely. After a time or two of Menon’s prideful indulgence, Bithia discovered that she too liked Ngela despite her grating voice. Ngela was soft and sweet, her soul so open and kind the most basic charlatan could finesse her.

  As she and Menon exchanged a small salute of their cups, they too exchanged a fleeting cast of worry. As the magistrate, Menon had uncovered the truth of Ambo’s schemes. Concern etched deep lines into Menon’s face when he had vowed to do all in his power to set the empire to rights, but as to how, he could offer no solution, but he would not cease in his determination to restore the Onic Empire.

  Turning her gaze again, Bithia caught the eye of Helton, Kasmiri’s father and head of the palace guard. Dressed in a rich black suit, he looked proud to have Kasmiri at his side. Sterlave was near, but not too close, his obvious dislike for Helton clear even from this distance. When her gaze locked on Kasmiri, Bithia glanced away before her sister noticed her looking but she was too late. Sharply aware, Kasmiri left her father’s side and moved gracefully to Bithia’s side.

  Unable to retreat, Bithia prepared herself for a conversation she did not wish to have.

  “What troubles you so, my sister?”

  Touched by the way Kasmiri offered out that simple word, sister, and all the loving connotations the endearment carried, Bithia discovered she desperately wanted to tell her the truth and seek her counsel. After confirming none were near enough to listen, Bithia said, “What you told me, of our mother’s account?”

  Kasmiri nodded, encouraging her to continue.

  “It is worse than that. Not only am I without personal funds, but the coffers of the entire empire are utterly bare.”

  Bithia could tell that Kasmiri wanted to react, but she held her features immobile as if they discussed nothing more than fashion. “How can this be?” Her hand cupped her belly, her concern clearly focused on what kind of a world she might bring her child into. In that moment Bithia wanted to relent; why tell her sister painful news she could not change when so much already pressed upon her? But Kasmiri’s concern, her pleading gaze, compelled Bithia to confess the full.

  “Ambo took everything and skillfully concealed it all. None have any idea where he placed his ill-gotten gains. What little he’d left in the spacecraft was barely enough to cover the guards’ wages and the palace staff for another quarter cycle.”

  To conceal her shock, Kasmiri sipped her drink.

  “And still i
t is worse.”

  Kasmiri seemed reluctant to ask, but softly she whispered, “How?”

  “Ambo borrowed from many powerful worlds that Diola now owes.”

  With a wince, Kasmiri cast her gaze at the lavish display around them. “How has all this been paid for?”

  “At the moment, the empire survives on the graces of those other worlds, but soon, far too soon, that generosity will cease, and the bill will fall due. I have no way of paying them. Even if we export what few goods we have, it’s not nearly enough . . .” she trailed off, knowing that her half-sister quickly grasped the crushing depth of the financial nightmare. Fury at Ambo consumed Bithia, briefly, but holding a grudge against a dead man served no purpose.

  Bithia and Kasmiri’s mother, Empress Clathia, had given all her personal funds to Ambo. Clathia had done so to bribe him into silence about Kasmiri’s illegitimacy. In doing so, Clathia had drained the royal funds. As Bithia stood gazing about at the excess displays of the elite, she realized part of her annoyance was that she had no funding of her own to compete. Worse, she didn’t want to compete so much as she feared a hostile takeover when the other Houses realized her inability to compete. Having the funding necessary to display vulgar wealth was one the most basic parts of being the empress. Crimson House had displayed affluence for centuries. The fact that Bithia no longer had the wherewithal to do so because of her mother was devastating. She hadn’t realized that everything she’d been given to wear was a hand-me-down from her mother or her half-sister, which now explained the constant need for alterations. The only thing holding the Houses at bay was the fact that Bithia had been so eccentric since her arrival. They looked upon her lack of display as charmingly unsophisticated. Bithia would do anything to keep that consensus going.

  Her predecessors, her ancestors, the longest line of empresses in the history of the Onic Empire, had built up a massive royal account that Clathia drained in one short lifetime. Her mother left Bithia destitute. In fact, the empire Bithia had been tricked into claiming was now deeply in debt to mighty worlds with almost unlimited resources. No wonder her mother had committed suicide once she’d passed the empire on to Kasmiri. Her hugely pregnant sister had also vacated the throne. Unwittingly, Bithia stepped in. As proud as the title Empress of the Onic Empire might sound, the lofty label possessed little in the way of actual clout.