Empire Ascendant

by Kameron Hurley

  The doctor closed her mouth.

  Soon the swelling of Zezili’s wounds abated, which left no error in the reading of her reflection. The scarred right side of the face was hers, a face torn through by the mark of a cat. But in profile, from her left side, there was no visible damage.

  She tried on her helm for the first time after the mauling. She fastened the chin strap. The scored cheek was still painful, though whether it was a real or remembered pain, she did not know. Instead of hiding the scars, the helm seemed to make them stand out all the clearer, the one sunken eye, the twisted, shiny flesh. She looked fierce, frightening – like the face of a Saiduan sentinel.

  Daolyn snipped away the last of her hair, and swept it away.

  “I will need a new coat,” Zezili said. “Long. Purple. Stitched in silver. A white under- tunic. Dark trousers. Bold. Stark. A feminine cut.”

  “Of course,” Daolyn said.

  “I will also need a new mount. Some strong, fit dog. Two or three years old.”

  “Yes, Syre,” Daolyn said.

  Zezili continued her exercises. She took her new mount out on rides inside the grounds of the estate. As yet, she avoided the roads. It was not time to be seen. Her sisters sent her letters detailing the gossip about her in Daorian, Janifa, Ryn. It was said that Zezili had been devoured by a cat. Others said the Empress had marked Zezili herself, gouging out both her eyes and tossing her out of her service. They said that her missing cousin Tanasai’s body had been found, or said Zezili had eaten it. It was likely, they said, that if Syre Zezili were still alive, she would not live out the year.

  Zezili let the rumors boil. She had indeed parted with her cousin Tanasai’s body some weeks past, before spring broke. Daolyn had called Taodalain to the estate in the wake of Zezili’s illness, and the two of them had carted the body to Lake Morta, weighted it down, hacked a hole in the ice, and watched Tanasai sink to the bottom of the lake.

  It was the Empress, finally, who broke Zezili’s fugue.

  “An invitation,” Daolyn said, handing her the familiar purple paper.

  Zezili sat in her study and opened it. It was an invitation to a banquet in Daorian with the other legion commanders, to plan the upcoming campaign against Tordin.

  A sliver of moonlight cut through the room from the parting in the heavy curtains, and fell across the wardrobe, shimmering in the mirror visible just inside the door. It reminded Zezili of another type of mirror, and another type of invasion; one slowed, but not stopped.

  A powerless former general could do nothing in the face of such an enemy. The most trusted of the Empress’s tools could do much, though – a hardened, bitter general could even be used to topple the Empress’s reign. But only if Zezili could succeed in banishing the thought of her true intent from her own mind, and do what the Empress bid. Zezili could bide her time. She had died once already. She wasn’t afraid of dying again, if she could destroy the Empress with her last breath.

  Zezili went to the desk. She penned a missive to the Empress with her good left hand.

  She wrote:

  I am yours.

  She signed and sealed the letter.

  4

  Lilia had once stood in front of Kai Kirana of this world, the sister of the man who stood before her now. And that Kai had assured Lilia that she was in a peaceful place, a world without an army, a world that would welcome her into its temples with open arms, and provide and care for her no matter who she was.

  Now she stood in front of a Kai who wanted to throw her and the people she’d saved back into slavery on the other side of the wall. How quickly things changed, when a people was no longer at peace.

  His militia escorted her up four painful flights of stairs to a great foyer, apologizing the whole way for not considering how difficult stairs would be for her. What they really meant, of course, was that they felt silly and impatient because her pace was so much slower than theirs. Neither Taigan nor the militia offered to help her, which was just as well. She needed to get used to stairs again. In truth, she believed the militia were a little frightened of her now. It was one thing to fly to the top of a wall. It was quite another to burn down a grove of walking trees like so much kindling.

  The foyer opened up into the hold’s religious sanctuary, much like the one at Oma’s temple. Instead of a dome over the top, it looked out into the inner courtyard where a hundred refugees huddled in tents and nested in straw beds. The latticed windows of the room were open, and the refugees’ voices filtered up through the slatted shutters.

  The Kai stood in the center of the room at the altar to Oma, which was a great silvery claw gripping a red orb with an orange-and-black center, like an eye. Altars to the other gods flanked it – purple Sina, blue Para, green Tira, their great glass orbs twinkling with inner light. Lilia wondered if they had some kind of bioluminescent flora or fauna inside of them, self-contained colonies living and dying for generations inside the confines of the glass.

  The Kai’s face was no longer dirty, and he wore new clothes. For some reason that rankled. She had not bathed or changed in weeks now.

  “I invite you to sit,” Ahkio said.

  She thought it odd he was alone. The militia who escorted them stayed, though, taking up places at either side of the door. She was exhausted, still filthy, and not ready for an audience with this man, the most powerful person in Dhai. What would she do if he turned them away? Surely that was what he meant to do. She had no plan for that.

  “I have stood a long time,” Lilia said. “I can go on standing a while longer.” She halted a few steps away from the altar, two rows of seats back. The aisle was just big enough for Taigan to stand beside her. She had left Gian behind, though she’d protested. Lilia feared she might say something impolite. Taigan was going to say things that were much worse, she knew, and she did not want to try and rein them both in.

  It was strange to see indecision written so plainly on Ahkio’s face when she refused to sit. He was a tall, wiry man with soft eyes and a full mouth that, she admitted, made her breath come a little faster. She felt she had no time for such a distraction, and despised herself a little for even noticing him. People like him, with clear skin and easy confidence, struggled less to be noticed than people like her. When he spoke, people would listen, and not just because he was Kai. His hair was longer than she remembered from her brief glimpse of him in Oma’s temple, before Taigan took her away, and his hands bore the same terrible scars. But there was something in his face now that was different. It looked haunted, hungry.

  “You look exhausted,” Ahkio said. “They told me you haven’t slept.”

  “I have many responsibilities here,” Lilia said.

  “Like burning up walking trees and vexing Ghrasia Madah’s conscience?” he said.

  “Among other things,” she said lightly.

  She was aware of the murmur of voices from the courtyard four stories below. She heard raised voices. The militia and the refugees had already gotten into several heated arguments, and the mess outside the gates with the trees wasn’t helping. She had already heard rumors that the refugees thought the militia had called the trees there on purpose to murder them. The refugees didn’t have the same laws related to touching and consent, either, and it was creating problems. Grabbing a woman’s arm to get her attention in Dhai was a grave offense, like spitting in someone’s face, or punching them. Lilia had gone down with Gian the first few nights, trying to communicate the necessity of consent, but many of the refugees found the idea bizarre. How would you get someone’s attention? Show affection? Gain trust?

  “Just ask,” Lilia had told them, but, as with her relationship with Gian, trying to change a behavior so ingrained was difficult.

  Lilia wanted to put Ahkio out of his obvious discomfort, so took charge of the conversation. His fidgeting made her nervous. Fearful people did bad things. She knew.

  “You can sit if you want,” she said.

  She had practiced things to say, or tried
to, for the last few days while the militia at Liona figured out what to do with them. She was so tired.

  “You need to understand something,” Ahkio said, “in case it hasn’t been put to you. You’ve called yourself the incarnation of a god, and ordered around militia at Liona on your behalf. As far as I remember, I’m Kai, I already have a Catori, and there has been no prophet since Faith Ahya, and no martyr since Hahko.”

  “It’s about due then, isn’t it?” Taigan said, waggling her eyebrows.

  “Would you leave us, please?” Ahkio said to Taigan.

  “She’ll stay,” Lilia said. “You have your militia at the door. I have Taigan.”

  “She,” Ahkio said, correcting his use of pronoun for Taigan. Lilia suspected no one knew what to make of Taigan. She had heard many use the gender-neutral Dhai pronoun to refer to her. It was probably more appropriate. Taigan was Taigan, and the longer Lilia knew her, the more she felt “Taigan” was the only pronoun that fit. Taigan had shifted the pronouns she used to refer to herself three times since Lilia had known her. That was common among young people, but most settled by the time they reached adulthood.

  The shouting beyond the windows grew louder. Lilia gazed past him and the shining altars but could see nothing from this height.

  “You haven’t left me many choices,” Ahkio said. “I’ve consulted the Book.”

  He rattled on for some time longer, quoting from the Book, but Lilia ignored him. The voices outside were growing now, a slow rumble. Lilia limped to the windows. Below, a knot of refugees in tattered coats, most without shoes, shoved and shouted at militia in red tunics and skirts. Someone threw a rock. She heard the exhale of the crowd, like a great beast that had been waiting for the order to charge. They surged forward. The militia at the back started drawing weapons.

  Lilia pulled herself up into the window frame with her good hand and yelled, “Enough!” but her voice was small, and did not carry. She called on Oma, fast and deep, and spun a simple tornadic spell. She flicked it into the melee below. The misty red mass hit the center of the roaring crowd and burst, sending a puff of hot air in all directions, knocking back militia and refugees alike. Surprised cries. Many looked up and spotted her.

  She called again, “That’s enough! There will be no violence here.”

  The crowd hummed. A few of the refugees sketched hasty bows in her direction. Some put thumbs to foreheads, a very Dhai sign of respect and understanding.

  “You,” she said, pointing to the militia. “All of you come up here. Your Kai is up here.”

  Ahkio came to her side, so close she felt the heat of him. “You’re much more spry than I thought,” he said.

  She gripped the windowsill so tightly her good hand hurt. She glanced back at Taigan. “Help me down?”

  Taigan offered a hand. Lilia stepped out of the sill, catching herself against Taigan when her bad leg nearly gave out. She rested a hand on the lattice, leaning carefully against it for balance.

  “The Book of Oma gives fair choices,” Lilia said, “if I said I was Kai. But I didn’t. I didn’t say I was anything at all. They follow because they believe in me.”

  “And they will do as she says,” Taigan added. “As you can see.”

  Ahkio frowned, and she saw him reconsidering her. They would all underestimate her. This Kai and the Tai Mora one. Their prejudices were her greatest advantage. “Is that why you chose the color?” he asked. “Faith Ahya’s? So they would follow without questioning?”

  “Didn’t you take your title for the same reason?”

  “Don’t argue religious ethics with me,” Ahkio said, and she noted the hard edge in his voice. “You’ll lose.”

  “The two of you would be greater allies than foes,” Taigan said.

  Ahkio waved a finger at Taigan. “Your council is not requested. I have to send you both back to Dorinah.”

  “You would kill me, and six hundred other Dhai?”

  “Dajians, not Dhai.”

  “Slaves are not people?”

  “There must be rules.”

  “I know the Tai Mora are coming,” Lilia said. “I know bringing these people here puts you in a bad position. But Faith Ahya and Hahko did as I did. I can help you build a stronger country, Kai. They listen to me. Others will, too.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m an omajista,” Lilia said. “That should have been obvious out in the meadow. In a year, maybe less, that will mean something beautiful and terrible.”

  “Exile doesn’t serve either of our interests,” Taigan said, and Lilia gave her a sharp look. Taigan’s tongue would get them into trouble.

  “I know some things about your enemy,” Lilia said. “I can use that to the advantage of Dhai. Just as Faith–”

  “Don’t say her name,” Ahkio said.

  Lilia reconsidered her approach. “I know how to turn back the Tai Mora,” she said. “I have been to the other side. I’ve met our enemy. I can turn them back now from the harbor. You saw what I could do to those walking trees. That’s just a start. And Taigan is like me.”

  “I am nothing like her,” Taigan said.

  “And I have Dorinah Seekers bound to me,” Lilia continued, ignoring Taigan. “I can bring you an advantage in this conflict.”

  Ahkio said to Taigan, “When you took her, she was a scullery girl. What did you make her into?”

  “I didn’t,” Taigan said. “She made herself.”

  “If I’m just a stupid drudge,” she said, “you can turn me and the others back. But if I can save six hundred dajians as a scullery girl, what can I do as something more? Ghrasia already believes in me.”

  Ahkio pressed himself against the windowsill. The refugees below had gone back to their tents and knotted circles.

  “The season is changing, Kai,” Lilia said. “They will come for you. The Book of Oma doesn’t have a quote for that. There is no battle plan. No strategy.” She tapped her head. “But I have one. Give these refugees safety in Kuallina, and I can help you.”

  The doors opened. The eight militia from the riot downstairs came in. One pointed an accusatory finger at Lilia. “Kai, that woman used the gifted arts against her own people!”

  Ahkio waved his hand at the militia, asking for their silence. Lilia waited, trying hard to still her trembling. She had gotten used to getting hit in Dorinah, and defending herself from Taigan’s unpredictable attacks. She had done the best she could. If the Kai struck out at her now, she would defend herself. She would defend them all. She feared what she would need to do if she had not convinced him with words.

  “We are peaceful people,” Ahkio said. “I’ve been asked what we will sacrifice to win this war, and I don’t want to sacrifice what we are. But someone has to fight.”

  “I can fight,” Lilia said, and a great feeling of satisfaction came over her. She had done it. He was going to put her in a position to fight the Tai Mora. She saw all the terrible things she had already done – pulling the young girl Esau through a gate that cut her in half, burning up legionnaires, using her gift against her own people – and instead of hating herself for it she saw it as one long line of horror that prepared her for just this moment. For revenge.

  “I’ll let you go to Asona Harbor,” he said, “but you’re not in charge of anything. You’re to put yourself and the omajistas at the disposal of Catori Mohrai and her family in defense of the harbor.”

  “And Taigan. And Gian. And the Seekers. They must come.”

  “Who in the world is Gian?”

  “She’s my friend,” Lilia said.

  “You’ll find she treats her friends very well,” Taigan said, pulling a wedge of potato from her pocket, and Lilia wondered if it was another one of Gian’s hoarded rations. “And her enemies much differently.” She munched on the potato, watching the still seething militia with amusement.

  Lilia was not paying much attention to Taigan anymore, though. She was already moving toward the next stage of her attack on the Tai Mora. She had gained some
measure of power. She intended to use it.

  * * *

  A few hours later, after relaying news to Mohrai about Lilia’s place at the harbor and going over Liona’s defenses and current supplies with Arasia, Ahkio found Ghrasia at the bedside of the parajista they had cut from the boughs of the walking tree. She bowed over the woman’s still body, muttering a prayer to Sina. The parajista’s skin was slimy, her eyes sightless. Ahkio saw that the ends of her fingers were melted, like soft butter. Two doctors stood some ways distant, conferring quietly as they snuck pitying looks at Ghrasia.

  A door was open on the other side of the ward, and he could hear a lute playing. Someone was singing an old ballad about Faith Ahya in a high, clear voice.

  “I’m sorry,” Ahkio said, low.

  Ghrasia did not raise her head. “She torched those trees without a thought for the people in them,” Ghrasia said. “We could have saved them. Not this one, no, but others. And she burned them up without a thought.” She shifted in her seat. “I heard you’re sending her to the harbor. I hope you are able to take responsibility for whatever she does there.”

  “Word travels very fast in Liona.”

  Ghrasia rose and took her blade from the edge of the bed. Sheathed it. “You should know that my daughter is dead.”

  “Oma’s breath, I didn’t know. Was she out there?”

  “No.” Ghrasia moved past him without meeting his look. “She killed herself. Ora Nasaka has held a great deal over the two of us, her and me, for some time. That’s over now.”

  “Is it really? Or is this some new game?”

  Ghrasia finally met his look. Her eyes were red from crying. “No games,” she said. “Those are over. Ora Nasaka ruled my life for far too long. Now she’s trying to rule yours. You best stop her before she meddles any more with your life.”

  “I intend to exile her.”

  Ghrasia laughed lightly. “So did your mother. You see how that turned out. And my daughter… she felt there was only one way to free us from Ora Nasaka, too.” She marched from the room without a backward glance. It took a great deal of effort for him not to reach out for her.