Daughter of Ashes (Rise of Aiqasal Book 1)

by Moira Katson

  “You think you are better than me?” he asked her softly, venomously. “Have you swallowed his foolish beliefs about the role of the common-born in the empire, then? Have you encouraged them?” His hand closed around hers, squeezing until he saw the tremor of pain in her face. “Or did you put the idea into his head?” The accusation came in a hiss. “Is all this a farce, made to legitimize his love of some street urchin? Did he find you in the gutter, girl, or a whorehouse?”

  She laughed at that, she could not help it. She might be at the top of the stairs once more, for his spite was distant and powerless, and she was touched by gods. “What is lost for you?”

  “You are stupid enough to ask it?”

  “Your sister could never have placed you on the throne,” she observed. Her smile never wavered. “Even if she were consort, you would not have ruled. And as to your claim of imperial blood … how many dozens of families can claim that, I wonder?” It ran in her own line, though distantly; it was a subtle irony that she took joy in speaking now, knowing he would not understand. “You have no more claim than I do.”

  “It is an insult to this court to say such a thing. It is an insult to the Emperor. Did you ever think your children would be allowed to rule?”

  The thought made her heart squeeze uncomfortably. He whirled her and she would have stumbled but for his death grip on her hand. “He has common blood in his own lineage. And you know nothing of what I am.”

  “I know the Regent protects you,” he hissed. “I know my sister has been cast aside for this—this foolish plan. The throne was to be ours. When chaos claims Aiqasal, what will be left?”

  She had long ago learned to sense a lie, for lies often preceded traps and violence. Now, for all that she could make no sense of the words, she could not see any untruth in him. “Why are you so sure I would cause chaos from the throne?” It was a foolish question, and she wished she had not asked it.

  It caught Lord Nicolaides unawares, however. He stumbled slightly, brows drawing together as he stared at her. He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

  And that was when the music drew to a close and the royal trumpeters took up the call in a storm of sound. Nicolaides released Alleyne with ill grace and withdrew, leaving her alone on the dance floor, in a ring of nobles.

  In the sudden silence, heart in her throat, Alleyne turned to face the throne.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  For one long, terrible moment, she held Darion’s gaze. He looked anguished; she imagined she looked no less so. It was one thing to know her decision, and another to face him. At his side, lingering behind the throne, stood Jarin. He did not speak, and did not move, but she could hear his thoughts as clearly as if he had shouted: you should have gone when you had the chance.

  To her surprise it was the Regent who pushed himself up and took the dais.

  “Joy to you all!” he called over the crowd.

  “Joy to you,” the nobles echoed. They jostled together until each of the candidates was pushed out of their midst to join Alleyne in the center of the floor.

  It was a farce. The thought made it difficult to keep a straight face. It was a farce of a ceremony, with the nobles staring at the four of them as if they would give anything for an executioner. I did not come here to steal your precious power. Alleyne took a sullen joy in staring them down until they looked away in discomfort. You can have it all, if that is what you desire. I hope you choke on it.

  If she was not to rule, to bring Aiqasal to a new golden age, she could at least take comfort in knowing that she would not have to spend her days amongst these nobles.

  The Regent cleared his throat to draw their attention back. His goblet was still raised; behind him, Darion sat in silence. “My nephew Darion, second of his name, would revive the Aiqasal of old, an empire that once stood poised to stretch to all ends of the earth.”

  Darion looked for a moment as if he might protest, but the applause within the great hall was impossible to deny. The nobles were hungry for an empire they wished to rule, not simply remember. They cheered and stamped, and from the Regent’s sardonic smile, Alleyne knew that he saw the true reason the nobles were cheering: the idea of an ascendant empire was the very opposite of what they feared in a common-born consort.

  His eyes met hers for a second, and the man gave a small nod, almost congenial. He looked away again before he could see her frown of confusion.

  “This Aiqasal,” the Regent continued, “this empire that once lay near to our our grasp, was never truly lost to us. It has only waited for an Emperor with the strength to claim it. My nephew will be that Emperor. He will win with trade and treaties that which has slipped away. He will make the other nations of the world understand the power Aiqasal commands.”

  An uncertain silence fell over the hall. The populace wanted conquest and blood, they wanted marching soldiers and messengers bringing tales of distant victories while they drank the wine pressed in the vineyards of the defeated, and were served by the sons and daughters of kings. Trade and treaties were not the empire they sought.

  Alleyne felt her lip curl. These nobles were not fit to rule if they would expand Aiqasal’s holdings by conquest alone. Unconsciously, her gaze found Darion’s and she saw her frustration mirrored there. There was the shadow of a smile on his face, a moment of kinship, before she forced her gaze away.

  “You shall all prosper,” the Regent assured the nobles now. “Your lands will grow rich as the trade routes are opened. Your children will be wed to royalty. As Aiqasal rises, all of you shall rise with it.” He met their gaze with a smile. “Do you doubt me? I, too, doubted this.”

  There was a murmur.

  “It was my nephew who saw the truth.” The Regent turned to Darion now and lifted his glass in a toast; bemused, Darion lifted his own and took a sip. He had expected an announcement, clearly, and not this speech. The Regent turned back to the crowd, leaning in, and all of them leaned in to him as well, swaying like grass in the breeze. “I spoke to him of old grudges and debts,” the Regent confided. “I gave him reasons to mistrust the strength of our borders and the safety of our farms. He would hear nothing of my worries. And just as I found myself ready to believe him …” He offered a wry smile. “He told me of his plan to take a common-born bride.”

  The silence in the crowd was sudden and absolute.

  “I asked him if he had taken leave of his senses,” the Regent said bluntly. “And he … well, he is not his father. He did not demand my acquiescence or my resignation, as my brother would have. He listened to my concerns, he heard my fears for the future of our nation.

  “And then he told me of his vision: of an Aiqasal such as none of us had ever seen, a nation at the center of the world, home to academies, filled with music and laughter. He spoke to me of Empress Sele and her marriage. He reminded me that she had ushered in a golden age such as the world had never seen, and that her consort had helped her uplift the nation. Our storehouses were full, our farmers did not fear a short season. Flocks grazed in the hills, we shared our wine and our fruit with any who came to us in peace. Sele had made this prosperity, Darion told me, by accepting all of Aiqasal. She had accepted the call of the gods and submitted to their will, bringing a voice from the wilderness to the very throne of our empire, and in this act of courage, the gods rewarded her.

  “I … was not immediately convinced.” He accepted the sudden, nervous burst of laughter. “I doubted my monarch. I met his choice of bride: a woman of honor and courage, a woman with a fervent devotion to justice.” He looked out over the crowd. “A woman who wishes to usher in a new dawn. It was clear that she shared his dreams, and yet still, in my stubbornness and my pride, I doubted her. I asked that she face the Truthspeaker. I thought his trust in her was foolish—I admit it, my lords and ladies of the court. Imagine my surprise when the Truthspeaker found her to be everything Darion believed.”

  Alleyne’s mouth twisted. She remembered well the Regent’s startled exclamation in the counci
l chamber. Her heart had begun to beat quickly at her throat. A woman who wishes to usher in a new dawn. From the stares, she knew that no one had missed the allusion to Anatolia.

  “So what I ask of you now,” the Regent said, his voice seeming to quiet even as it rolled through the hall, “is your trust in the throne. The Emperors of old ruled with iron and blood. They were feared more than they were loved, but their subjects did not question their will. They knew that the Emperors were chosen by the gods. They knew it was their duty to follow the will of the crown. Tonight, I ask you to set aside the doubt and pride I clung to myself. I ask this because I have seen the face of the Aiqasal that might be, and it will be as nothing the world has ever known.”

  The nobles looked among one another. The Regent was their leader, their constant presence in the court since death of Remos. Where Darion was impulsive, the Regent was staid. Where Darion broke tradition, the Regent kept it. If the Regent, himself, advocated this marriage …

  Alleyne closed her eyes. When Darion lay dead, she would have brought the Regent low, as well. Tonight, he had staked his own reputation on her.

  There was no hiding, however.

  “My lords and ladies,” the Regent said. His voice was hearty. “I give you the future Empress Consort of Aiqasal: the Lady Melisande.”

  There was a moment of complete silence. The Regent smiled out over the crowd, his glass raised as much in challenge as in celebration. His eyes fixed on something beyond Alleyne and she turned her head sharply.

  It was Baradun. He emerged from the crowd, the green cloak with the sigil of his house resplendent across one arm, and his eyes met hers for a moment before he knelt on the stone floor.

  No. Her lips shaped the word, but the rest of the court heeded his example. In a rustle of silk, they knelt as one. Next to Alleyne, the other women knelt as well. Kalina’s face was pale with fury, but Jacinta’s eyes were filled with as much pity as regret.

  Trembling, Alleyne walked to where the Regent held his hand out to her. He held his arm out for her to lay her fingertips along it and led her to Darion, placing her hand in the Emperor’s and sinking to kneel as well.

  “All hail Darion and Melisande!” The crier’s call was taken up.

  “All hail Darion and Melisande!” The voice of the court was raised. They stood, applause washing against the dais, and Alleyne felt Darion’s gaze on her, and then the opening chords of the imperial anthem sounded, and Darion led her out onto the dance floor.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The courtiers drew back along the walls, a distant wash of color as Darion led Alleyne onto the floor. As the first turn began, she had a vivid memory of Nicolaides, his grip painful on her hand, but Darion’s touch was so soft she could hardly feel it.

  She tried not to smile as she remembered learning the steps with the dancing master Baradun hired, and practicing them with Margery, both of them laughing as they tripped over each other’s skirts. It was a vision of sunlight spilling through the open windows, and a morning breeze, the dancing instructor’s voice tight with annoyance as the women lost the count in their laughter. Now …

  Now she could see nothing beyond Darion’s face. His eyes were locked on hers, and he moved like a man in a dream. His steps were perfect, for all that there was no artifice in it. He had been training for the throne since he could walk.

  She turned her head away at the thought.

  The gentle pressure on her hand recalled her. His eyes were warm and worried.

  “Say the word, and I will command them all to leave.”

  Her heart leapt at the thought of them alone, whirling under the glittering lights. He would not keep so careful a distance, and she would sway into his touch. He would take a more daring path, and she would laugh as she spun.

  A fool’s dream.

  He saw the sudden hardness in her face. “I have heard nothing from you.” His voice was raw. “All these days. I resolved to let you …” His voice trailed away.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?” It was odd, how quickly court manners became a piece of her. She felt her fingers clench against his, and knew that her false smile, her courtier’s smile, was wavering.

  He did not speak for a very long time. The music swelled and he led her in a sweeping pass along the edge of the room. They were close enough to the nobility the her skirts swept those of the ladies, who drew back as if the mud of the city might stain them; she saw Darion note it with a sardonic lift of his eyebrow.

  As they drew away from the stares, he drew her closer. She saw him note the way her breath caught, but he made no mention of it.

  “Will you tell me what troubles you?” His eyes were sad.

  She felt the familiar pulse of anger. “Your Majesty, you know what troubles me.”

  He hesitated. “Would you rather I had not told you?”

  She blinked up at him. He sounded genuinely curious.

  He gave her an oddly careless smile, lifting one shoulder, and only the despair behind his eyes showed the truth of the question. “If I could go back,” he told her, “I would. In a heartbeat. But that is a false promise: such power is beyond the even the gods. I cannot undo what was done. It is …”

  Now it was she who was curious. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “Will you not call me Darion? Even now?”

  She looked away. “Your Majesty …”

  “I think we are equals now.” There was a strange tone in his voice. “I would hear you say it.”

  For some reason, she blushed at this simple intimacy, at the thought that she should break such a rule now, in front of the whole court. “Darion.” She lifted her eyes to his as she whispered it and awareness stabbed through her; his eyes had warmed at the sound of his name.

  They slid apart as the dance required, and coming back, his breath on her face as they passed, his hand catching on her waist. When the music stopped, she was looking up at him, frozen in the sudden silence.

  “Come to my rooms.” The words were illicit, but there was something beyond impropriety in his gaze.

  “Now?”

  “Later. When this is done.” He bent his head to hers for a moment, and then seemed to remember the court’s presence. He drew away to bow, and she curtsied, and the nobles forced themselves into a patter of applause. When she came up, it was to the Emperor of Aiqasal himself offering her his hand. “Now we must receive the adoration of our court.”

  The words were strangely bitter.

  She did not look at him as he led her to the throne; she could not. The dance had been a last, enchanted moment. If she were alone with him …

  She could not think of it. She took her place next to him on the second throne, seated at his right hand in the chair that had belonged for so long to the Regent, and she watched the swirl of the court resume. Nobles knelt as they passed, calling out congratulations. Servants circulated with trays of crystal glasses, and one offered a goblet to Alleyne. She touched it to Darion’s and drank.

  “So you see, now, what it is to be the center of attention, and yet utterly ignored.” Darion’s voice was dry.

  She smiled before she could stop herself, looking over to his familiar face.

  For a moment, he smiled back, and his hand reached out to take hers. Something warred behind his eyes, and was pushed away. He stood easily, face once more in its pleasant mask. “I have some business to attend to. Regrettably, quite urgent. Propriety may demand that you return to Baradun’s quarters, but later … come to me?”

  Did she go, and risk the storm that might occur before its time, or did she stay, and play the long game, searching for Aiqasal’s enemies? She searched her heart for the will of Alogo and found only silence.

  And then her eyes caught on a flash of movement in the shadows: a single palace guard, his eyes fixed, unsmiling, on the dais and its occupants. As she watched, Almeric disappeared into the hallways that led away from the hall.

  The hallways that led to the imperial chambers.

  Darion’s f
ingers brushed Alleyne’s; when she looked over at him, there was a question in his eyes.

  “I must …” She gestured, forced a smile. “I need fresh air. I will come to you later.” The words tumbled out before she could stop him.

  For a split second, she almost thought she saw fear in his eyes. He lifted her hand to his lips, trembling, and kissed the back of her fingers. “I will wait for you.”

  He was gone the next moment, and Alleyne rose as well. She made her way purposefully around the room, accepting nods and curtsies with the time etiquette demanded, trying not to scream with the delay. And then, at the edge of the room, when a column shielded her from the bulk of the court, she took her chance and ran into the darkened hallways of the palace, after her brother and away from the throne she had claimed for so short a time.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Almeric was not the only one who had studied the layout of the palace, and she had studied it better than he, it seemed. He jumped when she appeared out of the shadows in front of him, and his face hardened. “Why are you here?”

  “I might ask the same thing of you.” Though she knew the answer deep in her bones. She had followed Almeric’s plans for years. She knew how he thought. Her eyes darted over him: the familiar face as angry as she had ever seen it, the armor, the sword. If it came to a fight … “Did you not receive word? Did I not tell you to keep faith?”

  He hesitated, and she saw him rein his anger in on a tight leash. “Our plan caused you pain,” he said carefully. “It was plain to see. I would have spared you that.”

  Once, that would have been the truth. Now she could not be sure it was even a part of it. “It was my task,” she reminded him. “It was mine to do.”

  “You had attempted it before.” The anger was struggling for release.