Embers of Empire

by Michaela Strauther

  “No, thank you.”

  “Positive? They are fresh,” the waiters would say, followed by a mischievous smile.

  The music cut off, and everyone in the crowd stiffened, which made it harder to move through them. The tall, white-eyed man ahead of her stopped, turning toward the stage where the musicians sat. Or had sat. Now, they were moving from the stage and into the crowd with the others.

  The white-eyed man cursed before turning back to Sathryn. “Stay near the back. Out of sight,” he warned, pulling her into the darkness.

  She pushed back in panic, looking up at the stage. It was still bare, but now, large candles and lamps lining the stage were being lit. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Must you be so loud?” he hissed. A woman in a dark-red dress and gold necklaces glared back at them. He smiled at her, then turned back to Sathryn. “Trust me,” he began, looking toward the stage.

  She had not noticed it before, but a large curtain covered part of the stage, and there was movement behind it. The voices died down as the curtain opened. “You do not want that man to call you out.”

  “Good evening, my friends!” The booming voice of the man onstage echoed off the walls of the room. “It is with great pleasure that we meet back here again, isn’t it? A year seems to last longer and longer these days, yes?”

  The crowd, once quiet, erupted into cheers and shouts.

  “Who is that?” Sathryn asked the white-eyed man.

  “Tiberius Ajasek.”

  Ajasek.

  At least that meant the Faerie was telling the truth.

  Tiberius, a dark, muscled man wearing a long, golden robe, spoke again, a wide smile on his face. “I know you have all been enjoying yourselves so far, but as is tradition, you have yet to see the biggest surprise. You know that I always want to provide you the newest and best surprises each year”—the crowd cheered again—“which is why this year, I have for you all the biggest, most amazing surprise yet.” His smile was mischievous. “Bring them out!” he shouted to the back.

  Everyone turned, including Sathryn. In the back stood four guards, all big, barrel-chested men dressed in black uniforms. At Tiberius’s request, they turned and filed into a door that had a large, DO NOT ENTER sign written in large, dark-red paint, and did not come out of the door for a long time. When the doors opened again, each man held a kicking and screaming child, all four of whom had blindfolds covering their eyes.

  Sathryn looked on in horror as the children—two boys and two girls—were dragged onto the stage, the audience laughing and cheering. Once onstage, their blindfolds were removed. Even from the back, Sathryn saw the terror on their faces.

  “We have to move, casually and silently,” the white-eyed man said. “And inconspicuously. All at once.” He wound through the crowd, casting nonchalant nods at anyone who looked his way, but most kept their eyes on the children up front. Sathryn couldn’t stop looking either, even as she followed the man through the crowd.

  Tiberius slowly approached the children, his loud shoes clicking against the stone of the stage, and the children herded together like a school of fish in a sea of sharks. He smiled down at them. “What are your names?” he asked in a voice so soft and kind that even Sathryn had to admit she could have been fooled. When there was no answer, Tiberius’s voice became cruel. “Louder!”

  “Ozek!”

  “Azar!”

  “Carra!”

  “Evelyn!”

  The white-eyed man yanked Sathryn along, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from the stage. One of the guards brought a small basket to the stage. It was filled with bread and fruits. He set the basket in the center of the stage, right in front of Tiberius. The children perked up, much to Tiberius’s pleasure. “Which one of you,” he gestured to the children, “would like a basket of this food?”

  All the children raised their hands.

  “Well, that is just too bad!” said Tiberius. “I have only one basket.”

  “Make them fight for it!” someone yelled from the crowd. Tiberius’s smile grew.

  He looked at the children, his smile turning sinister. “You may have the food if you can take it from someone else. You have one minute.”

  For a long time, no one moved. The children sat still, staring at each other and Tiberius, who watched them with growing impatience. The crowd stirred.

  “You will not ruin my night!” Tiberius bellowed. He moved toward the children, stopping right in front of the first one, the one called Azar. “Do you not want it? That basket of delicious delicacies sitting right there in front of your starving little mouth? Do you want these other fools to get it? Do you?”

  Azar trembled, saying nothing. His hair was long and dirty, so unkempt that it had tangled itself into thick, curly knots.

  “Go,” Tiberius said. “Go! Go!”

  The audience joined the slow, constant chanting until the whole room rang with shouts.

  The first boy, Ozek, leapt from his hunched position on the ground and ran for the basket. He got no more than a few feet before Azar and Carra yanked him down, beating his face and chest before racing in front of him. Evelyn launched to her feet and threw herself into the carnage. Her hands grabbed Azar’s legs and yanked him to the ground.

  “Come on,” the white-eyed man yelled to Sathryn. She could hardly hear him over the raving crowd.

  When Sathryn looked back at the children, Ozek was still lying in his spot on the floor, blood trickling from blisters on his face and torso. Carra was ripping at Azar’s knotted hair while he slapped her arms and back with his hands. The crowd’s cheers rose as soon as Evelyn grabbed the basket, and they continued to rise when Azar and Carra noticed, letting go of each other to grab at her.

  “Perhaps we should make this more interesting.” Tiberius pulled a long knife from a small table on the side of the stage. He tossed the blade toward the children. Azar leapt for the knife. His arm rose high in the air before plummeting toward Evelyn and Carra, who were too busy pulling and biting at each other to see him.

  The white-eyed man pulled Sathryn into a room illuminated by a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Shutting the door behind them, he latched it shut and twisted the lock with a key.

  “What was that?” Sathryn shrieked, but lowered her voice, fearing those outside would hear her. “Those kids—that man—” She wanted to cry, but shock overwhelmed her. She looked up at the white-eyed man. For a long time, he just stood there, panting and wiping sweat from his forehead. When he spoke, his voice was breathy and hoarse, his eyes hard and angry.

  “When I say to ‘come on,’ when I say ‘inconspicuously,’ when I say ‘casually’—you should not do anything but!” He glared at her through his little black pupils. “The less you know sometimes, the better.” He turned away, as if unable to bear with her, and knocked on the door opposite the one they had entered.

  He looked down at her again, his eyes no longer hardened, but again rather playful and teasing. “Might you be the boy’s mistress?”

  She blushed. He was talking about Julian. “No—no. It’s not—we just met—oh, but as friends, not . . .”

  The man smiled. “Relax, dear, I was teasing you again. Although, he is of age for a wife. Has been for a bit of time. Perhaps—”

  The door—fortunately for Sathryn—opened, revealing a short young woman in a long, gray dress. Her hair, dark and curly, was pulled back into a long, loose braid. When her eyes met the man’s, she smiled and bowed. “Sir, how may I be of service?”

  The man smiled back. “Hello, Evera. I’m looking for the prince. Have you seen him?”

  Evera’s smile grew. “Yes, sir, His Majesty is in his quarters. Would you like me to get him?”

  The man laughed as she scurried away.

  “Prince?” Sathryn asked. The more and more she saw, the less she knew.

  The man laughed harder. “He—he—is not actually a prince. We only say that because he is wealthy and handsome and everyone bows to him whether he wants to
admit it or not.”

  Within minutes, Julian stood in the doorway, his curly brown hair strewn about his head and falling into his tired blue eyes. Dressed in a wrinkled white shirt, black trousers, and a thin, gold chain draped around his neck, he leaned against the doorframe. “Is there a rational explanation as to why you woke me, Tai?” He did not notice Sathryn.

  Tai bowed dramatically (almost striking Sathryn with the back of his hand), which made Julian laugh. “Stop it,” Julian said.

  “Your Highness,” said Tai. He grabbed Julian’s hand and kissed it. Julian drew it back and slapped Tai’s face. “I am at your service this fine evening.”

  Julian rolled his eyes. “Quit that, Tai. I’m not anything close to royal, nor do I wish to be.”

  Tai laughed and straightened himself once again to his tall, lean form. “This girl has asked for you.” He gestured to Sathryn. “She said you would know her if you saw her.”

  For a moment, Julian looked confused when his eyes roamed over to Sathryn. And then, something sparked in his eyes, and he smiled that same pointed-tooth grin he had at the meeting with Dominus. “Sathryn. I didn’t expect to see you again anytime soon.” Though he was smiling, he cast a worried glance over Sathryn’s shoulder at the door Tai had locked. “Especially on a night of such—fun—at my father’s party.”

  She grimaced, thinking about the children onstage. The crowd’s roars rang out from behind the closed stone-and-iron door. Julian winced as well, and rested a hand against his ear. “They’re quite loud tonight.”

  Tai, raising one thin eyebrow, took a long sip from his drink. “Your father has a new surprise for everyone tonight. You know how he loves to amaze.”

  Julian’s smile was bitter. “Do I know? I haven’t seen one of his parties in quite some time.” It was like they were speaking in code to each other.

  “I will have to enlighten you later,” Tai said. They were silent for a while, but then remembered that Sathryn was there. “Anyway, I’m glad you know her. There has been an unhealthy number of Arrows coming through those doors—I was scared to risk it.”

  “Her? An Arrow?” Julian, opening the door wider, smiled at her. “Well, it is nice to see you again. You can come in if you’d like to.” He turned his attention back to Tai. “We’ll talk later.” Just before the door closed, Tai winked at her, a small smile dancing around his face.

  Julian turned back to her, his smile gone. “You shouldn’t have come here. It’s too dangerous around these people.”

  “Your father,” Sathryn whispered, but regretted it at the look on Julian’s face.

  “Yes,” he answered behind clenched teeth, “my father. They all eat people like you for breakfast—and I mean that literally.”

  “People like me?” Inside was a small sitting room where Evera and four other women sat, as well as two men. Sathryn felt their eyes on her, heard them snickering already, muttering “mistress” under their breaths as if she couldn’t hear them. She glared at Evera, who, when catching Sathryn’s scowl, only laughed harder.

  Julian stopped in front of them and bowed his head. “Everyone, this is Sathryn, a friend of mine.”

  Everyone waved and smiled.

  “Would you like to be left alone in your quarters, Prince?” One of the men laughed.

  Julian rolled his eyes. “No, Jesel. Why does everyone assume she is—is—”

  “Your mistress?” Evera piped up. Sathryn would have killed her right then.

  Julian rolled his eyes again. “Jesel, come with me.”

  He walked down a hallway, so Sathryn followed him. They wound through a corridor decorated in quilt portraits and golden crowns, cups, and plates all on proud display and highlighted in torchlight. Even the flooring was elegant; the stone was filed down into one smooth slab of stone, a red strip of carpeting running down the center.

  Its design reminded her of home—Pomek, not the shack. She missed the elegance and grace and beauty of a clean and wealthy home, and Julian’s home made her almost forget where she would return when the sun set.

  “What did you mean by ‘people like you’?” Sathryn kept her voice low so that Jesel couldn’t hear her. He was standing a few feet away, but close enough that he might hear anything she said too loudly.

  He huffed. “People like you—regular humans. Those people out there will make an art project out of you and use your blood as the paint.”

  “What are you?” she asked.

  He smiled, but didn’t look at her. “Part Spade. My father’s mother was a Spade.”

  “Oh. Spade.” It must have sounded harsher than she thought, because he looked confused. After that, it was silent for what felt like forever until he reached the end of the hallway, opening a set of doors and holding it open for her.

  She rubbed her eyes.

  Even in Pomek, she had never seen wealth like this. Much of his room was carved of pure gold: a golden bureau, a golden desk and chair, a golden, woven rug surrounding the bed. The bed itself was a four-poster, adorned in maroon sheets and pillows, the curtain surrounding the canopy as sleek a gold as the rug. Large stone statues—a horse, a dragon, a phoenix—were placed about the room, the horse almost life sized. A golden harp rested against the wall. Multiple paintings stretched about the room. A chessboard sat on a wooden side desk.

  For the longest time, she was stunned into silence. Her hut was so small, yet he lived in a luxurious house. She hardly thought it was his fault, but that didn’t make it any more reasonable.

  Jesel, a tall, thin man with caramel skin, addressed the room as if it were his own, running his hands along the stone statues, the harp, the paintings, while she was too afraid to even step on the elegant red flooring.

  Julian sat on the bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. When he looked up, his eyes locked with Sathryn’s nervous ones, and he snickered. “You can come in. Jesel, grab her a nice chair.” When she didn’t move or speak, his laughing got louder. “I know my teeth are deceiving, but I won’t bite you. Sit.”

  She sat. The chair Jesel had grabbed was a large wooden chair cushioned on all sides and covered with a maroon cloth. It looked as though it had never been sat in before. “Thank you.”

  Julian nodded, reaching for a ceramic pitcher and a cup on his side table. “Would you like something to drink?

  She thought of the red drink. “No.”

  “Are you sure? It’s water.” He poured the liquid into the cup and drank. The liquid was clear. “See? Water. It’s fresh from the well and cold from the weather.” He poured another cup and handed it to her. She took it.

  “Thank you,” said Sathryn. “Again.”

  “So . . . I suppose you wanted to speak with me? I didn’t expect to see you again after we spoke.” He laughed at the uncomfortable smile on her face.

  “Yes . . . I’m sorry . . . I couldn’t sleep . . . and I had so many questions—Etzimek and Mother were hesitant to answer them, so I came here. If I had known about that party . . .”

  “Oh,” Julian said, “that. That’s not my party, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “Your father.”

  “Yes. My father hosts annual house parties for crossbreeds. He tends to go . . . a bit over the top sometimes.”

  She didn’t tell him about the children; she would leave that up to Tai. “Why don’t you attend them?” His answer would determine whether she would stay or go.

  “Because I hold no interest in my father’s ridiculous festivities. No way am I his son. I’m not sadistic and heartless like he is.”

  “But he’s your father. You shouldn’t say that about your father.”

  He shrugged. “I can if he’s an idiot.”

  Jesel laughed. It was like Julian forgot he was there, because as soon as Jesel made a sound, Julian asked him to leave.

  “He wasn’t always like that. Before my mother died, he was a very honorable man.” Julian gripped the gold chain hanging around his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” Sathryn said. “You
r mother.”

  He smiled a sad, absent smile. “It’s all right. It happened a long time ago.”

  “My father once said that time doesn’t make pain disappear, only easier to bear,” she offered.

  He clapped dramatically, a reaction she did not expect from him. “Wise words.” His smile was one that did not reach his eyes. He grabbed at his chain again, and for a long time, it was silent between them. “Well, I guess now you are wondering how she died.”

  She had been, but she wasn’t going to ask. That was indecent, and she didn’t know him well enough. “I might have been curious, but I wasn’t going to ask.”

  “I don’t mind,” Julian said. He twirled his necklace about his fingers.

  “You might break it if you keep pulling at it like that,” she offered.

  “Break what?”

  “Your necklace.” She hadn’t noticed before, but a small, red pendant hung from the chain—a ruby, perhaps.

  He shrugged. “If it survived a fire, it can survive me.”

  She was silent.

  “Now you’re wondering what fire I speak of.” He was telling, not asking.

  She nodded. Perhaps his old house had burned down? Perhaps the Dragon Kings did it, like the Faerie had told Sathryn in their history lesson. Or perhaps it was none of her business, perhaps she shouldn’t have nodded.

  He took a deep breath. “She was burned at the stake by the Dragon Kings.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “I used to live in Kingsland. It’s a rich region—the richest region—where the kings themselves live, where everyone who lives with them is given much more and burdened much less. Most people there serve them as musicians and dancers, actors and artists, cooks and maids and butlers—the ones that don’t build more large homes, more large theaters, more golden instruments.” He gestured at his harp. “My mother was one of their maids while we lived there—received plenty of money, good treatment, anything you could want. My father—he didn’t want any of it. He did nothing but insist that she stop working for them.”

  “Why?” Sathryn had finished her glass of water, but was too timid to ask for another.