Blooded (Lisen of Solsta Book 3)

by D. Hart St. Martin

  She’d wandered up the stairs, her food in hand, and paused at the door to the Empir’s chamber where she found more servants, supervised by the commander, scrubbing down the floor and disassembling the bed.

  “Oh, my Liege,” the commander said and walked over to her. “We’re not ready for you yet.”

  To which Ariannas had smiled and turned to walk down the hall the other way to her temporary quarters. On the way, she’d paused and looked over the railing into the great hall below. The long tables for the dinner she’d interrupted night before last had been removed, save for two along one wall, and smaller, round tables had been placed around the room with chairs for the comfort of the reception’s attendees. But the change in furniture arrangement was not the reason Ariannas saw the room differently. Nor was it the angle from which she viewed it. The difference lay within. I was Lisen then. I’m not Lisen anymore. She’d sighed and moved on to her room.

  Now, she sat at a table in that same hall, her clerk a steady presence as nobles sat down for their appointments and then moved on again, leaving behind their congratulatory remarks followed by their pleas for assistance for various projects.

  “My Liege,” the clerk, Jazel, whispered into Ariannas’ ear, “Holder Tazori Dors of Carlasa, confidant of Holder Zanlot.”

  Ariannas nodded acknowledgment and looked up with a broad smile to the approaching young noble. He smiled back, and she couldn’t help but appreciate his beauty. Pageboy-cut shiny black hair and dark blue eyes filled with menace. She’d noticed him briefly earlier in the committee session—no doubt Holder Zanlot’s ears in the meeting—but he hadn’t asked any questions.

  “Holder Dors,” she said, following the protocol of speaking first.

  He nodded in response, sat down and said, “My Liege.”

  “I noticed you this morning,” she continued, hoping to soften him a bit.

  “Aye, my Liege. I was there.”

  “You said nothing.”

  “I had nothing to say.”

  “But you were watching.”

  He offered her a smile that couldn’t be trusted, but he remained silent.

  “Tell me, Holder Dors, why did you ask to speak with me?” He was forcing her to draw him out, and she didn’t like it. He’d made the appointment; he should be doing the talking.

  He smiled again. “My Liege, my allegiances are no secret.”

  “No, they are not.”

  “Lorain…Holder Zanlot, that is, has asked me to appeal to you on behalf of her child.”

  “I have no quarrel with the holder’s child. It will be my niece or nephew.”

  “Precisely,” Dors jumped in quickly. “Holder Zanlot wants to remind you that for the moment her child is your only Heir.”

  Ariannas sighed. She’d danced with him around the soul of this matter long enough, and she got it. Lorain Zanlot didn’t want to face the same fate as her child’s father. “Holder Dors, I assure you that I am well aware of the importance of that child to the preservation of the Ilazer line. I will do nothing to endanger that.”

  “Thank you, my Liege,” Dors replied and rose from his chair. “Long life to the Empir,” he said in conclusion and turned from her and left.

  It had been the toughest moment so far in a series of moments she’d found uncomfortable and unpleasant.

  “That could have gone better,” she commented to Jazel.

  “I doubt that, my Liege,” Jazel answered. “But you’ve only got one more and then it’s over.”

  “Good.” Ariannas took a deep breath and hoped that the “one more” remaining was not Holder Zanlot herself.

  “My Liege,” Jazel whispered in Ariannas’ ear, “Malaki Mira, the heir of Sudas. His father is Holder Felso Mira, an ally of the Ilazers.”

  Ariannas nodded and looked up with another forced smile as a young man stepped out of the milling crowd. Rusty, she thought, but she tamped that reaction, silencing the lost child within.

  “My Liege,” the young man with unruly red hair said with a nod as he approached. He wore one of those tunics with the slit over the pouch. Exposing the pouch was apparently intended to arouse, but Ariannas didn’t find it particularly tempting.

  “Heir Mira?” she responded. “Please, sit. My clerk tells me you’re a friend, unlike my last appointment.”

  “Ah, yes, my Liege. Tazori Dors. No friend of mine, I can assure you.”

  “So, Heir Mira, what can I do for you?”

  “Please. Call me Malaki. Not even the servants at home call me ‘Heir Mira.’”

  Ariannas smiled, this time for real. “All right, Malaki. What can your Empir do for you this afternoon?” The veil receded briefly, and a quick hint of the Lisen who’d made up stories and acted them out with her Rusty emerged.

  “It’s something very important,” Malaki said, leaning in conspiratorially. “It has to do with a certain young noble who needs to smile a bit more and take all of this less seriously.”

  “If that particular noble knew what she was doing, it would be easier for her to relax.”

  “No doubt. How does this sound? In a few days, the worst of this will be behind you. The people of Sudas, especially we Miras, are horse people, and I thought perhaps you’d share a ride in your park with this Mira when you have a few hours of freedom.”

  Ariannas liked this Malaki and believed she’d found a friend. Up until now she’d felt lonely, but maybe she wouldn’t have to feel lonely anymore.

  “Jazel,” she said to her clerk, “free up an afternoon for me.”

  “Yes, my Liege.”

  Ariannas turned back to Malaki. “She’ll let you know. But in the meantime, tell me something.”

  “Yes?” Malaki’s brown eyes sparkled with mischief. Just like Rusty.

  “Do you know this park of mine? Because I’ve taken all of one look at it from the portico.”

  “We can discover it together,” he replied, then rose and bowed to her from the waist. Nobody else had done that. They’d all nodded, just like Nalin had explained to her at Solsta. A giggle tickled her tummy, but she denied it. Not in this crowd of people too eager to judge her.

  As Malaki backed away with a wink and a smile, Nalin approached her.

  “May I?” He gestured to the chair Malaki had recently vacated.

  “Of course,” she answered and watched him sit down. The tryouts were over; now she’d find out if she’d gotten the part.

  “How did it go?” Nalin asked.

  “Well enough, I suppose. Is there any way they could wear name tags?” She shook her head, realizing that last had come out in English. “What I mean is, it would be nice if I had a way to attach a name to a face. I’m bad at names.”

  He laughed once. “Until you get to know them, we’ll make sure that someone is always with you to whisper names in your ear.”

  “And it’s not just the holders and councilors; it’s their damn spouses as well.”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in,” Nalin said and stood up. “Now, the way we end this is by you leaving the room. You and Jazel can go first, and I’ll follow you out.”

  Feeling the eyes of the crowd on her, Ariannas rose from her chair, and she and her clerk left and went straight to her office where she plopped down in a chair at the conference table.

  “Well, that was certainly intimidating,” she commented.

  “You did well, my Liege,” the clerk said as she carefully placed several of the papers she carried on specific piles on Ariannas’ desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go transfer my notes to your calendar.”

  “Of course,” Ariannas replied, then stood up, her buttocks sore from all the sitting. She walked to the desk, perused it to see what Jazel had added to her stacks and discovered that all the clerk had left were a couple of written requests for favors.

  Ariannas liked Jazel. She didn’t intrude and respected her Empir’s organizational methods. Ariannas liked stacks, neat little stacks and lots of them. The desk could certainly accommodate pl
enty of stacks of paper and gatherings of scrolls.

  Scrolls, she thought. She looked to the black-ribboned scroll in the center of her desk and picked it up, but before she could untie the ribbon, the door from the hall opened and Nalin stepped in. He looked so pulled together, not at all like he’d looked in their brief time together on the road.

  She loved how he wore his long golden hair—the front braided on both sides, then both braids tied together at the back of his head. The rest of his hair hung down loose, but gently controlled by the defining braids. In addition, he wore a simple but elegant silver-grey tunic with blue trim and matching leggings. She, too, wore a grey tunic, but it was one of Ariel’s, altered slightly for her. No time for tailors to make her anything new for this session. Besides, nearly everyone was now following the protocol she’d established regarding the mourning of Ariel—grey until the funeral rites in four days and then whatever they liked after that. After all, very few had brought more than one tunic in grey with them.

  “It went well,” Nalin announced as he joined her at the desk.

  “Not from where I was sitting,” she replied.

  “Well, you may not have noticed, but I spent time with nearly every noble after you spoke with them, and they were quite pleased with you and how you handled yourself during their respective interviews. Most of them are convinced you are who you say you are, and their vote on your ascendancy will reflect that.”

  Her stomach turned. Yet another hurdle to jump. “When does that come? The vote, I mean.”

  “Tonight, after dinner.” He reached up and touched her arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you know as soon as it’s done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, I must go. Elsba and I have a few matters to attend to before tonight.”

  “Would you….” She hesitated. She was afraid he’d say no, but she needed company. “Would you and Elsba and Bala have dinner with me?”

  “I can’t speak for them, but I’ll be there.” Then, with a nod, he turned and left her. Alone.

  What a circus, she thought. Ass-kissing abounds. Heir Mira…Malaki was nice though. He’s a keeper. She walked around her desk and sat down behind it. Soon Jazel would return with all her notes neatly organized and a revised schedule. Including my ride with Malaki. Yes.

  Awakened by the echoing noise of shouting and the moving of furniture arising from below, Ariannas sat up in bed the following morning, the sun barely risen. So this is why the official Empir’s bedchamber is set off in a corner, she thought as she turned to drop her feet to the floor, then slipped them into the softly lined satin slippers waiting for her. She looked around the room and noted that someone had scooped up and dealt with the clothes she’d dropped on the floor last night. If only she’d had servants to keep her bedroom on Earth this neat, Daisy Holt never would have had reason to complain.

  Ariannas remembered yesterday evening. Nalin had come to her in her office to tell her that her claim had been verified by the Council. The vote had not been unanimous, but the naysayers hadn’t surprised him. When she asked who the opposing faction consisted of, he’d explained that voting done out of her presence was secret and that he couldn’t even tell her the numbers. His honor sometimes irritated her.

  She stood up and grabbed a robe from one of the two wardrobes in the room. Made of black velvet accented with a purple satin-like material, the robe fell to just above her ankles. From the other wardrobe, her gilded throning tunic hung, created in record time for the occasion. This one piece of clothing was hers, all hers. Everything else she’d worn thus far had belonged to her brother or her mother—she didn’t know which of the two, and was glad she didn’t, as others had made these decisions for her

  She slipped out of the room and stepped quietly to the balcony overhanging the hall. She’d guessed right. All the noise had originated from down there, with a great lot of hustle and bustle undulating what appeared to be a sea of servants about their work. Drawn to observe from a more intimate perspective, she turned right and started for the stairs.

  “My Liege?” she heard from behind her, and with a sigh she turned.

  “Yes?”

  “Is there something I can do for you?” a servant asked.

  “No, no. I’m fine.” Ariannas smiled at the young woman, not much older than herself, and reversed direction once again, this time reaching the stairs and walking down them.

  The slippers she wore made no noise at all, and she was able to step into the Great Hall unnoticed. She stood there at the back and watched as several strong men and women struggled with the cumbersome throne.

  Two days ago at her first Council meeting, she’d ignored this miracle of design incarnated as furniture. It had stood behind where she’d sat, and since she couldn’t sit in it anyway, she’d focused her attention forward, on the Council and the chamber. But here it was, out of its usual place, an occurrence reserved for only once in a generation, and by this afternoon the servants would have moved it back to where it belonged for her first constructive Council meeting.

  She marveled at this piece of art, this throne of Garlan Empirs. Its great bronze wings drew her attention first. They flowed up and behind from the chair’s arms and back, spreading out for about three feet on each side. The dark silhouette of a raven-like bird with the full chest of a dove sat atop the back of the chair. Garlans called this bird a crevix, and it served as the Ilazer family emblem. The black of the bird’s body flowed into the black upholstery of the chair. She wondered what it would feel like to sit in that chair, her elbows cradled in the upswing of the wings. Well, she’d know soon enough.

  On watching all this preparation for what promised to be quite a show, she thought back on A Song of Ice and Fire or the volumes available to her before she’d left Earth as more books had remained to be written and published at the time of her return to Garla. What a great series of movies that massive tale would make, if they could manage it. For a moment, she drifted off into A Game of Thrones, the series’ first book, picturing the iron throne of swords for the seven kingdoms. The throne they settled into place in this Great Hall inspired none of the violence and turmoil the throne of Westeros produced, only the glory of flight. And yet, it was a throne, and her mother and brother had died in its service. How many others, Ariannas wondered, gave their lives on its behalf in Garla’s past?

  She shivered at the thought. Or perhaps at the chill that permeated the entire Keep, a chill enhanced by the proximity of the ocean. She’d never noticed such a chill at Solsta, but she’d been young, very young, and hadn’t yet lived inside a house on Earth with electric heating and cooling. Life on Earth spoiled me.

  She padded out as quietly as she’d entered. A breakfast meeting with Nalin and Elsba loomed before her where they would discuss her throning and how the ritual would play out. She loved Elsba and had found qualities in Nalin worth admiring, but every time she turned around, some unfamiliar formality emerged to trip her up.

  Returning to her room, she remembered the advice her mother had left her in the “black-ribboned” scroll, as she’d come to call it. Flandari had written about the Empir’s Will. Not all Empirs appointed one, but when they didn’t, the Empir’s spouse was presumed to serve in the Will’s capacity. Flandari had defined the Will as one who acted on behalf of the Empir, who served as the Empir’s primary advisor, who defended the Empir against his or her opponents in the Council and who, if necessary, would relinquish life to protect the Empir from physical harm. Ariannas’ mother had concluded with the strong admonition that her daughter not put off appointing Nalin as this Will.

  “Nalin will never waver in devotion,” Flandari had written. “He will stand beside you no matter what your detractors claim. Whether or not you choose to join with him, which I would also encourage you to do, as your Will, he has no equal in the court.”

  The daughter to whom Flandari had written with such passion on this matter sat down on her bed and contemplated the forest green tunic with its interwoven
gold thread giving it a shine as it hung from the wardrobe. “Ilazer green,” someone had told her. Must have been at Solsta, maybe the sooth?

  But before she put that tunic on, there would be breakfast. One didn’t risk soiling the only piece of clothing worthy of a throning before its time. No one had thought to lay something out for her to wear. Did she dare rifle through the wardrobes to see if she could find something safe to don for breakfast?

  She opened up the one where they’d hung her robe and found several items of apparel made of expensive fabric. Were they her brother’s? Her mother’s? She had no way of knowing. At least, if she picked out something inappropriate, the only ones to notice would be her two supportive companions at the table. The servants might know. They might even talk. But she suspected many would take pity on her, recognizing a woman who kept trying to get it right. At least she hoped so, but she couldn’t really know, now, could she.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  honor

  Lorain was tired. She was tired of committees and meetings and people talking behind hands to each other whenever she walked into a room. She was tired of sitting here in her chamber in the old palace, waiting for others to report to her the progress of discussions surrounding the acceptance of this so-called sister of Ariel’s and her right to the throne. Because by her reckoning, the only person with a right to the throne was the poor half-orphaned child growing at her teat.

  She caressed her belly, which seemed to enlarge every day, as though the baby within cried out against the death of its father and needed to emerge as soon as possible.

  It’s your imagination, Lorain, she thought. This baby will emerge when it’s meant to emerge, and it certainly won’t come out wielding a sword to lay claim to its birthright.

  She sat down on the bed and began crying. Again. She never cried. Ever. Yet here she sat, sobbing like some frivolous child. Her tears disgusted her, signaling weakness as they did. She couldn’t look on her grief as anything more than an indulgence in feelings that lusted after her reason. Grief for Ariel? It was laughable. Creators, he’d been but a step in the plan, and that plan, thanks to the child in her pouch, continued on fine without him. Better, perhaps, because she no longer had to waste her energy on keeping up with his moods.