Temples of Dust (Kingdoms of Sand Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  But the biggest change was in Claudia's heart. She was Aelarian, and she worshiped the Aelarian gods, and her heart served the Empire, and yet . . . And yet she had been born here, the only daughter of Aelar's ambassador to Zohar. She had been raised on this beach. In her childhood, her father had taken her back to Aelar every other summer, and they would spend a glorious few weeks in their Aelarian villa and in the palaces of the capital, mingling with the imperial family, attending the chariot races and gladiator fights, and feasting upon delicacies from across the world. And whenever they would return here—to her father's work, to this city in the eastern province—Claudia had always felt like coming home. As a child, standing on this very ship, sailing toward Gefen, she had always bounced with excitement, eager to run over the hills again, to taste the simple flatbreads and chickpea paste the locals ate, and—as she had grown older—to spend time with Epher. With her lover.

  She had been only a child, fourteen years old, when she had begun to meet Epher in secret, to kiss him in her father's garden, to visit the villa on Pine Hill more often than diplomacy dictated. For nearly a decade, she had loved him. He did not know that. She had never spoken those words, that horrible phrase "I love you." Perhaps she had feared her emotions. Perhaps she wanted to keep that distance between her and Epher, to make sure they never forgot their roles, that she was a daughter of Aelar, that she was his superior. So yes, she had kept that distance between them, had fucked him a thousand times but never made love to him.

  And she had regretted that at the end. And now she missed him. And now, sailing here, to her home, none of those old tingles of anticipation filled her.

  Epher no longer lives in this city, she thought. He rules now in Beth Eloh, holed up in his fortress, commanding a doomed rebellion. And I . . . I sail here no longer as an ambassador's daughter but a woman who will crush him.

  "No, Father," Claudia said softly as their galley sailed past the breakwaters and into the harbor. "This wasn't always a pile of shit. We made it so."

  He raised an eyebrow. "Have we? Yes. Yes, I suppose that's true." He harrumphed. "Still, this city will be glorious again. Look, daughter. See there, just outside the walls. Already the first monument to our victory rises."

  He pointed and she looked. It rose outside the city walls; there would be no room for such a structure within the city. A theater. It was smaller than the Amphitheatrum, the massive amphitheater in the Aelarian Acropolis where a hundred thousand souls gathered to watch gladiators fight, mock ships sail, and beasts from across the world feast upon prisoners. Perhaps only five thousand people would fit into this theater, but it was still splendid enough for the provinces, dwarfing every other building along the Zoharite coast. Scaffoldings covered the archways and tiers of seats that had been completed. Workers bustled across the structure, busy laying down more bricks. Beyond, Claudia glimpsed another construction project—an aqueduct that stretched from the hills down to the city.

  And so the home I've always known will be replaced with an Aelarian city, Claudia thought. We will have theater, bathhouses instead of wells, temples to the gods, and the culture of the Aelarian civilization lighting the benighted east. And perhaps I will no longer feel torn. Perhaps I will no longer feel like a Zoharite.

  Their ship docked at a pier, and legionaries marched forth from the boardwalk to lay down a gangplank. The cries of gulls filled the air, and the scent of fresh fish, salt, and the distant piney hills filled the air.

  Finally, for the first time in days, Claudia's mother emerged from the ship's hold. Adriana Valerius looked much like her daughter—pale skin, brown hair arranged in perfectly tended ringlets across her forehead, and the wide hips that cursed the women in their family, a trait that perhaps aided their fertility but gave them a coarse, plebeian look. Forty years old, a decade younger than her husband, Adriana held an embroidered kerchief to her mouth.

  "I positively loathe the sea." She glared at her husband like she had been glaring for the seventeen days of their journey. "I don't know why you keep forcing me to sail here, back and forth, back and forth. You promised we'd only take this trip every five years, and now it's been only six months and I'm frail again."

  Tirus—who found the sea invigorating—kissed his wife's cheek. "The eastern air is good for your constitution. You know that."

  Again she glared, eyes shooting daggers. "My constitution was perfectly fine in our villa in the Aelarian countryside, an estate larger than this entire city."

  Tirus roared with laughter. "See how your mother exaggerates!" he said to Claudia. "That's where you got the trait. Be a dear, Claudia, and go fetch the girl. Before you drag her out, have her send word to Aelar that we've arrived."

  Claudia nodded, relieved to find some escape, if only momentarily, from her parents' incessant bickering, to find some relief from this sadness that filled her, this iconoclastic resurrection of the only place she had ever called home. She stepped down into the hold of the galley, a place of shadows, of heat, of the stench of human waste and sweat and blood. She walked between the rowers, many of them slaves captured here in Zohar, their bare backs whipped.

  Koren was once a galley slave, she reflected as she walked here. He too had languished in a ship, his back bare, bleeding, rowing the Empire's might across the sea.

  Strangely, Claudia missed the boy. She had enjoyed her brief time with him in Aelar. She had made Koren pour her wine, serve her meals, wash her clothes, and pleasure her in bed. She had always known it was temporary—sooner or later she would have brought him here, tortured him to bring Epher out from his hiding hole. But she had let the boy go. She had let Valentina take him into exile. Often since that day, Claudia had cursed herself for her weakness, her compassion.

  Empress Porcia would never have shown him mercy, she thought. If she were smart enough, she would have taken him to the walls of Beth Eloh. She would have broken him—taking finger after finger, flaying piece after piece of skin, agreeing to relent only in exchange for Epher's life. A sigh ran through Claudia. I'm not as strong as Porcia. I'm perhaps more clever, certainly more stolid, but weaker. My weakness will be my undoing here.

  Here in Zohar, she would have to be stronger, harder, crueler. Only the cruel survived in this world. Because her task had not changed. Claudia had not come here to idle her time away in theaters. She had not come here to reminisce about home. She had not come here to rebuild an ancient city into a bustling Aelarian port.

  "I came here for you, Epher," she whispered as she walked between the rowers. "I came here to hurt you. I came here to destroy everything you hold dear. But I also came here to save your life . . . because I love you."

  Finally she reached the brig. A heavy door was set here, secured with three padlocks. Claudia took the ring of keys from her belt and opened the locks, one by one, then pulled the door open.

  The lumer sat in the corner, wrists chained behind her back, ankles hobbled, her neck collared in iron. She gazed up at Claudia, wincing in the light that flooded the chamber. She was a mere child, thirteen years old, her black hair cropped short, her skin light brown. Claudia had never trusted lumers much. She had always thought that the witches knew far too much, held too much power in the Empire, that someday, like mad dogs, they would turn on their masters. And yet her father—the man could be as stubborn as a stone mule—had insisted on owning one of the magic users. And so Claudia herself had chosen this one. Meek. Frightened. Young. Too weak to cause much damage.

  Let Seneca Octavius take Taeer into his bed, she thought. I will keep my lumer chained.

  "Stand up, child." Claudia gestured. "You're home."

  Leean struggled to her feet, chains clattering. "Are we in Zohar?" the girl asked. "Will I see my parents?"

  Claudia tilted her head. "This land is no longer called Zohar. We are in Aelaria Orientalis, the easternmost province of the glorious Empire. As for your parents—they're most likely dead, or will be soon. Your only family now is mine. Now send a message to Aelar. Contact
the empress's lumer. Tell her that we're here."

  The girl's eyes filled with tears. "She frightens me."

  "The cat-o'-nine-tails should frighten you," Claudia said. "You will do what you're told, or you will taste its kisses."

  The lumer nodded and lowered her head. She took a few deep breaths, and the lume ignited across her, glowing as luminescence—the magic that flowed from this land, that only a handful of Zoharite women could summon. The glow filled Leean's eyes, streamed down her arms, and rose as tendrils in the brig. It intensified, forming a third figure in the cabin—a ghostly being, woven of light, vaguely formed as a thin woman who lay on the floor, limbs slung out, a pulsing apparition.

  The imperial lumer, Claudia thought, staring down at the supine form of light.

  She had never seen the lumer who had served Emperor Marcus, who now served Empress Porcia. She did not know where the wretch was kept, did not know her name. The closest glance Claudia ever got was this—an astral representation from across the sea, a creature like a corpse, pulsing, faceless, woven of the magic.

  The two lumers—Leean, chained here in the brig, and the lumer across the sea—seemed to be conversing. Light streamed back and forth between them like words sent across the leagues. Finally the ghostly lumer convulsed, and the magic sputtered and faded. Shadows filled the cabin again, and Leean fell to her knees. The girl trembled, tears running down her cheeks.

  "She's hurt," Leean whispered. "She's so hurt."

  Claudia grabbed the girl and yanked her to her feet. "You told her we're here?"

  Trembling, Leean nodded. "I did."

  Claudia nodded. Good. They had a strong, solid link to Empress Porcia, even from here. Conversations between lumers didn't always work, especially with the younger ones, and Leean was about as young as lumers came. But so long as the girl did her job, there would be no need for the agonizing slow communications of ships sailing back and forth. Empress Porcia would be kept updated with all the doings in Zohar—the building of its monuments . . . and the breaking of its new king.

  They left the brig, walked through the hold, and emerged again onto the deck. Leean blinked feebly, seeing light and breathing fresh air for the first time since leaving Aelar seventeen days ago. Tirus was already walking along the boardwalk, wrapped in his fine toga. His wife rode behind on a palanquin, shading herself with a parasol. It was autumn in Zohar, and yet the sun was still hot and blinding, as hot as summers in Aelar. Claudia had never minded the heat much, but her mother couldn't stand it, often complaining of sweat and languor.

  Claudia stepped off the ship with her lumer. For a moment they stood, finding their land legs, before walking along the pier and onto the boardwalk. Several legionaries walked behind and before them, eyes darting, hands on the hilts of their swords.

  "This is dangerous." Mother was scolding her husband from her palanquin. "This is land under rebellion. We need more guards."

  Tirus snorted. "Nonsense. The rebellion is three days east from here, in Beth Eloh. And don't worry. They will feel our wrath."

  Claudia turned back toward the harbor. Indeed, she saw the wrath of Aelar there. Many ships filled the Encircled Sea, sailing into the harbor. Here was a massive army, larger even than the last invasion of Gael. Five fresh legions, twenty-five thousand men in all, were descending upon Zohar. Here was a force to burn the countryside, to slaughter the farmers, and to shatter the walls of Beth Eloh and slay everyone within.

  Unless I can stop them, Claudia thought. Unless I can talk sense into Epher. She took a deep, shuddering breath. You will kneel before me, Epher. You will be my slave, same as your brother was. Or by the gods, I cannot protect you and your nation.

  The Valerius family—along with their guards, their lumer, and palanquins bearing their baggage—approached the city gate. A man emerged from within to greet them. He was thin, hook-nosed, and clad in a white toga and an ultramarine sash. Many rings glittered on his fingers, sporting emeralds and sapphires—among the most precious stones in the Empire. His hair was slicked back, scented so strongly of rose oil that Claudia could smell it even from several pedes away. He wore more eyeliner than she did. She recognized him. Here stood Gervasius, a gaudy little toad, well connected back in Aelar.

  "Welcome, welcome!" Gervasius said, bowing with a flourish of his toga. "Consul Tirus! An honor. An honor to welcome you back to Aelaria Orientalis. Lady Adriana! You are as beautiful as always. The sea air agrees with you. Your grace grows with every year."

  "As does her backside," Tirus muttered—too softly for anyone but Claudia to hear. She rolled her eyes.

  "Ah, and Domina Claudia!" The garish man turned toward her, knelt, and kissed her hand. His lips were wet. "Welcome home. I believe you will find Gefen—pardon, I should call it by its new name, Valeria Maritima—more splendorous than ever."

  "It certainly smells different," Claudia said, struggling not to gag as the maudlin aroma of rose oil, myrrh, and perfumes she could not name wafted from the man. "How are you, Gervasius?"

  He grinned, revealing white teeth. "My mood has much improved, seeing this mighty fleet—headed by a mighty family—sail into the harbor. Come now, come! You are weary from the journey, I know, but I must boast of the city's new accomplishments. Truly, this shall become the jewel of the Empire, a glittering tribute to our new empress."

  They followed him through the gateway, and Claudia glanced at the skeletons that hung there. Wooden signs still clung to the bones. Rebel rats, they read, the words scrawled in both Aelarian and Zoharite. She wondered if she had known these dead. Gefen had never been small, home to fifty thousand people at its height, but Claudia had known many of its inhabitants, especially boys her age. Boys who had rebelled against the Empire. Boys who now lay buried or hung from chains.

  And one boy who will yet kneel, she thought. Or he too will hang.

  For a long hour Gervasius rode his horse, showing them the new wonders that were springing up in Gefen. A towering marble statue of Empress Porcia, still covered in scaffolds, the body not yet carved. The foundation of what would become a temple to Dia, goddess of spring; it was nothing but a hole in the ground now, but Gervasius showed off the designs with gusto. The new aqueduct, which did not yet deliver water, but would be sure to fill bathhouses across the city that would rival those in Aelar. And of course, the crown jewel—the great theater, set to open within only a month.

  "It's all paid for with Zoharite gold, of course," Gervasius prattled on. "The city's coffers were full of it. The Zoharites hoarded their treasure, but Empress Porcia believes that gold is useless buried underground. Here it raises wonders that will shine eternally."

  As Claudia looked around, she wondered how much that gold truly paid for. Many of the workers were slaves, local Zoharites, collared and whipped. She recognized a few. They were gaunter now, haunted, bleeding, but she remembered them as hearty city folk, bakers and fishermen and soldiers. Many other Zoharites still lived here as free citizens, but fear filled their eyes. They peered from their windows, fled down side roads, and glanced at the procession of Aelarian nobility like cats eying a pack of rabid dogs.

  "They're being treated well," Gervasius said, noticing how Claudia's gaze kept turning toward the locals. "We've outlawed their barbaric religion, of course, and we toppled their temple, and yes, we enslaved a few of the more recalcitrant rats. But the rest will soon become citizens of Aelar. They're already studying our language—we teach them ourselves!—and are learning to worship our gods. Those who resist, well . . ." As they passed by a line of crosses, Zoharites dying slowly as the crows fed, Gervasius grimaced and covered his nose with his kerchief. "Well, they learn their lessons, much to the chagrin of our nostrils."

  Claudia looked at the crosses. Ten Zoharites hung there, all still alive, their skin flayed, their arms dislocated. She knew one of them. A baker she would buy fig cakes from before Restday. He met her gaze, eyes glassy, flies on his face. She thought of the stories, how Seneca Octavius had crucified Jerael
, swinging the hammer himself.

  Epher will not soon forget what we did to his family. Claudia sighed. This will not be easy.

  "Enough of this," Claudia said. "We're weary from a long time at sea. Gervasius, return to your business." She turned toward Tirus. "Father, let us travel to the villa on the hill, the Selas' old home. We'll be staying there."

  Yes. That seemed right. She could not bear to stay in her old house here in the city. Everything was too different. She needed to leave Gefen's walls. She could not breathe here. She needed to be in Epher's old countryside home, to still feel close to him.

  Gervasius cleared his throat and wiped sweat off his forehead. "My lady Claudia, if I may be so bold . . . Perhaps it's best to stay here in the city, in your old home by the water. The villa on the hill lies outside the city walls, and there are brigands and rebels who wander that land. The Zoharites are rebelling, after all."

  Claudia gave him a thin smile. "And let me guess. The villa is also where you've been staying."

  The man's cheeks flushed crimson, prompting Tirus to laugh. The burly consul slapped the gangly Gervasius on the back.

  "Witness my daughter's wit!" Tirus boomed. "It's greater than my own. She would make a good consul of Aelar someday. I will heed her wisdom. We head to the villa! If that is where Claudia wishes to stay, that is where we will reside. At least until this land is subjugated and a proper palace can be raised."