A Glimmer on the Blade

by Rachel E. Baddorf

  Many people came to the temple, spurred by Copelia’s words, to make their own peace with the Goddess. The midnight service came and went around Anoni. Mind fixed to the skylight, she did not notice.

  CHAPTER 24

  Aquillion

  Corin

  From his vantage point on the balcony at the back of the Grand Ballroom, Corinado watched his subjects streaming in for the coronation ball. He leaned on the railing, allowing himself a moment of relaxation before he had to go down and meet them. Two great, curving staircases ran from each end of the balcony to the floor below. He could watch unobserved as they drifted in small groups out from under the balcony and spread out into the vast and echoing room.

  They were like exotic birds of the Safiro Wilds, he thought, dressed in any color as long as it was bright. The people talked with each other, their silks and satin winking like jewels in the light from the huge, old electric chandeliers. Women and men both wore feathers in their hair and gems sewn into their clothes. The lords and Highlords wore the ceremonial swords of their status, which provided a glimmer of steel at the belts of many in the crowd. Uniforms of the military were plentiful as well.

  Corinado shot a glance at Vansainté and Wix; each was stationed at one end of the balcony to keep anyone from sneaking up the staircases. Both had wished fervently that weapons had been outlawed from the ceremony. It could not be done. Each sword was a symbol of the status that the lords held. None would want to give up those symbols, especially when the prince himself would receive the emperor’s sword when he was crowned. Thinking of his father’s sword sent a kick through his system. Excitement, he thought, and a little terror. He was so close to everything he wanted, and everything he had never known he wanted.

  When he was a child, when Shaiso or Bacrese thwarted him, he had wanted his father’s sword more than anything else. For a long time he thought if he just had that sword, he would be able to fulfill their expectations. He could be that perfect Imperial Prince, that perfect emperor that everyone needed. That shining man who could fill the hole left by his father. To be the strong leader and strong fighter that he could never seem to match on his own. Now...Now the sword was just a symbol. He had arrived at his destination without having to fulfill their tests.

  Flexing his hands, he smiled. He didn’t need a sword to be his father’s son. He didn’t even need a sword to kill. Over the last couple of days he had run through the exercises the Dragons had taught him. All the muscle memory, if not the muscle, was there. In the time that he wasn’t planning or playing the piano (his second favorite instrument, but Copelia hadn’t had a guitar), he had been sparring with Wix. He could take down a Jaika master one in three times. With his bare hands, he had gone onto the Isle of Asteri and won the holy moonrose. Even the fact that he had technically been brought down trying to get the flower didn’t slow him down. He knew himself now. He knew exactly what he would stand up for, and what was worth dying for. Luckily for him, he was in the unique position to take the insights and live to use them.

  Below him, the ballroom was just one more battlefield for him to traverse. The ballroom was rectangular. The balcony was on one end and the altar and shrine where he would be crowned and a few hours later married was directly opposite his balcony vantage point. Along the right wall was a line of buffet tables filled with the best foods the palace kitchens could make. Under the balcony, the orchestra was set up, already sending strains of music out to the guests, while waiters circulated in the crowds with trays full of bubbling wine.

  Studying the crowd, Corinado felt for the first time that is was an enemy camp.

  There was no obvious threat. But that was the point. Vansainté had advised him not to eat any food or drink anything that had not been brought by a Dragon. The Shaisos might do anything to keep him from being crowned. They had missed their chance for a less public demise due to Copelia’s cunning. Poisoning would be risky for them at this point but there was always a chance. When the ball officially commenced in a few minutes, Corinado would have to circulate through the crowd. He would have at least two Dragons with him at all times as he spoke to the councilors and prominent merchants he had known for years. Yet that did not make them friends.

  Looking across to the clergy and their altar, Corinado felt a surprising moment of comfort at having Copelia waiting for him there. She was still a young and sometimes unpredictable girl, but she was dedicated to pulling off her part of the ceremony without any problems. The clergy she had chosen to help her seemed capable and stalwart with their staves. A line of novices, acolytes, and priestesses and priests stood at attention with the staves along the length of that opposite wall. The girl certainly knew how to make a show of strength and support for the public eye. The clergy were stationed near a three-tiered dais that took up a large area on the far wall. The back half of the dais recessed into a tall, arched alcove nearly fifteen feet across. A band of stone inlay traced the arch and the edges of the tiers in a motif of moons and waves. The font, a silver bowl on a twisting metal stand, took up the center of the top tier of the dais. Just outside the alcove, posed to be climbing the dais toward the font, were two statues. On the right was a life-size nightlioness, done in deep blue lapis lazuli, with the severed head of a goat depicted in her jaws. On the left was a matching nightlioness; this one carried a cub gently by the scruff of the neck. Both statues looked like they would spring to life, the detail was so intricate. They had been depicted climbing up as if they would climb it at any moment to offer their bounty to the Goddess.

  The back wall of the shrine was all carved stone. Against the backdrop of night-sky blue and silver inlayed stars, white stone was carved with an imperial crane, a tall moonrose tree at the center, and a dragon on the other side. They were sculpted to look like they were emerging from the alcove wall. A round window to let in the moonlight was carved in the wall so that it looked like the moon had tangled in the tree’s high branches. Two of the Goddess’s monkeys had been sculpted to sit in the tree branches, their hands joined as clamps at the bottom of the window. In the clamp was the branch from the moonrose tree that Corinado had picked himself. The clamp held the branch upright in the window. Its delicate twigs and blooms were silhouetted perfectly on the window. The moonlight would shine through the window onto the branch and fall on the altar bowl at midnight.

  The whole arrangement had taken the Empire’s best stone artisans five years to complete. It was nearly eight hundred years old. The Prince’s Altar, as it was called, was counted as one of the three greatest works of art in all of the Empire. Rich pilgrims and visitors from all over the continent took tours through the ballroom on weekdays for a fee to see its wonder and make offerings to the Goddess there—or so he had overheard as the priestess Ildiko had enthused to Copelia last night. Corinado shivered. He had never seen the altar look like anything more than a boring wall decoration before. Now, with the lightfish globes inside, the moonrose branch fixed there, and the clergy stationed around it, Corinado could perhaps see some of the religious awe and mystery that the pilgrims had seen before him. Every emperor of Terastai began his reign at that altar. The last thirty generations of his ancestors had climbed that same dais His hands were unsteady as he took the goblet of water offered to him from a tray by Arjent.

  “Don’t see why I have to play servant,” Arjent grumbled.

  Corinado momentarily regretted telling the Dragons that he was the same man they had all been watching mess up training drills on the road. He didn’t always need to hear what they said amongst themselves. He had somehow missed the margin of authority where they would still filter what they said. Corinado gulped the water and almost choked. Arjent pounded him on his back, trying to knock the water out of his lungs. Grinning Arjent said, “Ah, that’s why. To keep you from falling under the enemy’s secret plan to have you swallow your tongue in a fit of nerves.”

  “Relax.” Vansainté put a reassuring hand on his shoulder when he had coughed out the water. “It’ll be fin
e. Just think what we can do to Markham Shaiso once you have the emperor’s sword.”

  “Yeah,” Arjent piped up, “Highlord or not, we can hold him down and you can get one of those tame Miliarnes cranes from your mother’s estate to peck him to death over a number of days...”

  “Let’s try and just get through the night,” Vansainté said with a quelling look. “Do you think the Shaisos’ suspect anything?”

  “They are a little suspicious that I won’t allow myself to be alone in a room with them. Franco’s cuts to Markham have him off kilter. All those bandages. Franco got away all right?”

  Wix nodded. “He’s on the river towards Esau. I saw him off myself.”

  “Good.” Corinado swallowed convulsively and asked, “You’re sure Anoni will be here?”

  “She’ll be here. No one does vengeance like our girl,” Vansainté said.

  “You must keep her from killing him at all costs,” Corinado said earnestly.

  Vansainté nodded. “You want us to take her down? Because that’s what it’s going to take to stop her. She rode an Ozuk through Safiro to get here in time.”

  “No, I just...” Corinado ran a hand through his hair. “How can I get her to marry me if she’s busy publicly committing violence to a member of the council?”

  Vansainté exchanged surprised looks with Arjent. A little wan, Arjent muttered, “Well I’ll be burned for a heretic. A wedding.”

  Trumpets sounded below them. Vansainté came to attention. “It’s time,” he said and took his position to escort Corinado down the steps with Wix, leaving Arjent behind.

  Putting on a cocky grin that had served him so well over the years to conceal his nervousness from the public, Corinado descended the grand staircase.

  ***

  Imperial Palace

  Anoni

  Anoni arrived an hour and a half after the ball started, just in time to see the prince climb the dais to the altar at the other end of the room. He paused on the second tier of the dais to drink a ritual cup of ocean water from a silver dipper, given to him by a tall black priestess standing on the right side of the platform.

  “Drink of the power of the Goddess, the waters she gave to her consort, The Earth Spirit,” Copelia intoned solemnly near the altar. On Copelia’s left was a barrel-chested priest who held a silver-handled knife. The priest offered the knife to the prince.

  “Willingly do you offer a sacrifice of your mortal body to the Goddess?” Copelia asked.

  “As a son of the Earth, I do offer willingly a piece of my mortal body, returned to the Goddess in honor of her great love of the Earth Spirit, who gave us flesh,” the prince answered. He took the silver knife and cut his ponytail off in one stroke. The knife was very sharp, the hair parted with ease. He gave the handful of hair to the priest, who took it aside and put it in an inlaid box.

  “Come forward, Goddess’s son on Earth,” Copelia said. The prince stepped up to the altar. Anoni noticed the minute glances Copelia made to the clergy around her. At a nod from the dark-skinned priestess who had been watching for just the right moment, the moon passed into position and shone through the window. Copelia took the nod as a signal and poured the sacred water in the bowl of the font. The light hit the moonrose branch and its bloom lit up, glowing a rich silver light. One by one the roses began to hum, their sound growing louder and clearer across the ballroom, amplified by the stone in the alcove. Copelia waited a long moment, listening to the sweet harmony, before continuing. “You have undertaken the Ordeal and your protectors have gone into the wilds and brought back this proof of the Goddess’s bounty from her most sacred place. They stood in the place she came to Earth, and you have seen it.”

  “I have,” the prince agreed with the ritual response.

  Copelia blessed the bowl of water. “You have been found worthy. Will you undertake the burden? To lead and protect the Goddess’s Empire until you give up your mortal body and return to her?”

  “I will,” he answered.

  She took his hands and pressed them into the water. “Will you undertake the two-part covenant and take this night, one of the Goddess’s daughters to reign with you and bring life to your union?”

  “I will.”

  Copelia lifted his hands and turning, received a silver-scabbarded sword on a matching belt from one of the priests. The scabbard, sword hilt, and belt buckle were silver, carved with the Miliarnes crane and the symbols of the Goddess. She held the belt and sword in both hands and offered them to the prince over the font with a bow. He bowed back and took the sword and belt. He put it on while Copelia turned to another priestess and received a silver circlet set with moonpearls. “Bow and be granted the Goddess’s mark,” Copelia said. Corinado bowed and she put the circlet on his head. He drew the sword and saluted her, then turned and saluted the room.

  “Emperor Corinado Matthias Miliarnes, choose the daughter for your union. As all mortals, you are finite. The Goddess has granted you this time. In a quarter of the moon’s path, return for your union.” Copelia bowed and descended the tiers of the dais and joined the other clergy. The courtiers ignored her, all eyes on their new emperor.

  The Emperor smiled, putting the sword back in the scabbard. “And now for the hard part,” he said, to which the lords and ladies laughed and cheered. He climbed back down the steps and accepted a glass of bubbling wine from Arjent. He began talking with a few Highlords near him. The music was struck up again and people began dancing.

  Anoni dismissed the emperor with only a parting thought of pleasure that she had proved Alcyenne wrong. The prince had survived to be crowned; her work was not in vain. She had not wanted to disrupt the crowning of the emperor, but it was done.

  Now, Anoni could focus on the reason she was here.

  The emperor went to a small stage set up by the orchestra. He took up a tech guitar, biting his lip as he turned dials on a pair of old tech speakers. He tested a brass-caged microphone and cleared his throat.

  “This is for my lady, soon to be.”

  Frowning, Anoni looked over as he started to play. The guitar was greening copper, and black around the edges. It looked suspiciously like the guitar Ignazio’s wife had given to Corin. The orchestra came in on the accompaniment, cellos and drums building up the bass line. The crowd sighed with enjoyment. So few could afford the tech instruments, and the electricity needed to run them. And he was good, she thought distractedly. The court were truthful in their praise of his music. She scanned the crowd, looking for the golden hair of Markham Shaiso, and putting the music from her mind. She caught a glimpse of a preening blonde woman in front of the emperor, who was becoming agitated as the emperor’s voice sang out the lyrics.

  He was singing something about the lady of the blades.

  Anoni turned around, searching the other side of the room. For a moment, she was glad for the several inches in height her high heeled slippers bought her. She could barely walk in them, but the seamstress had come through for her. They matched her raw silk dress, and the dress itself had been worth every coin she spent on it. Her jewelry was beautifully wrought silver, though they were additional items that were considered inexpensive compared to the rubies and diamonds the other ladies wore. But the necklace and earrings were so finely it made up for their lack of monetary value.

  Anoni noticed she was getting appreciative stares as she wove her way through the crowd of the ballroom. Her makeup was impeccable, and the seamstress’s friends had piled her hair on her head, allowing a few curls to frame her face. As little as she could think of things like this, she was aware she looked good. But she valued the concealed slits in her skirt that allowed access to the long daggers strapped to her thighs more. They were a reassuring weight under all the petticoats and unfamiliar underwear. Just as the song ended and the orchestra picked up with a traditional contra dance, she caught sight of Markham on the other side of the room near the buffet tables. It took her a second to recognize him with the bandages on his face.

  S
omeone somewhere had tried to carve his face off.

  She fought her way through the milling crowd toward him, turning down offers to dance from the young men of the Empire with varying degrees of politeness. Markham Shaiso was talking with a few councilors. It was perfect. His back was to her. Her heart pounding in her ears, she approached. Death without honor for a traitor and murderer. She slipped a hand into her skirt and drew a dagger. Concentrating on her quarry, she didn’t see him until he was suddenly in front of her.

  Emperor Corinado had pushed between two ministers to stand there, his startled bodyguards trailing behind him. He was the same as she remembered him, sharp green eyes and the dark hair, now roughly cut. His uniform was white as snow, with the emperor’s sword shining at his side. She spared him one indrawn breath and pushed past him, set on her path. Unexpectedly, he turned and grabbed her firmly by the arm.

  “A moment of your time, lady,” he said and dropped his hand quickly as he circled to get in front of her.

  “Your Imperial Highness, I did not see you,” she muttered and gave a perfunctory bow before she realized she should have curtsied.

  “Indeed. Lady, will you tell me your name so that I may put words to your beauty?”

  “Please excuse me, Highness. I have pressing matters to attend to.” She tried to brush past him again, but he backed up to stay in front of her.

  “Lady, give me your name so that I may know how to call you. ‘Wife’ is too formal for these matters,” he said in a little less polished tone than he used before. Their faces were close, closer than she had been to him in years, except for the fight in the audience chamber. It was the same face of her childhood, slightly older, but the eyes held something new.