Embers of Empire

by Michaela Strauther

  “Two gold bars and four gold pieces,” Lady Night said.

  “We need that dragon.” Julian’s shifting, nervous eyes betrayed his adamancy.

  The price rose to two gold bars and twenty gold pieces. A few hands dropped so that Julian and the old woman were the last ones left.

  When the price hit two bars, a gold nugget, and five gold pieces, Colette tapped him nervously. “We don’t have that much,” Colette murmured, but Julian was in a daze.

  It was only once the bid peaked at three bars that Julian allowed Colette to tear his hand down. The dragon went to the old woman, and Julian was furious.

  Throughout the rest of the show, he wasn’t paying much attention. Lady Night hatched the egg of a black-and-blue-splotched dragon twice the size of the first two. Its claws tore through the flesh of a small, yellow dragon she hatched open next, but Julian didn’t notice it at all, even when the crowd roared for the black dragon and its high bids.

  At the end of the show as most of the crowd filed up the stone steps, those who had won a dragon waited for Lady Night by her table, which was stacked with cages. One cage still held the yellow dragon’s limp corpse.

  Julian was still waiting in his seat, but instead of staring absently down at the Lady as he had been before, he was paying close attention to the winners below. The Lady would hand them the dragon, sitting in its own little wooden cage, and they would pay her. Julian watched, never moving.

  Until the woman who had won the Blazing Phoenix approached the Lady.

  He rose from his seat and glided to the front as Colette rose and followed him. Sathryn moved down farther with Navier, though her movements were shaky and nervous. What was Julian going to do?

  But once he reached the very front, he only turned to Colette and began talking. Or at least he appeared to be. As Sathryn got closer, she found that he was only mouthing, and all his attention was instead on the Lady and the old woman.

  “Congratulations,” Lady Night said as she handed the woman the wooden crate. At a softer volume, her voice was throaty. “I was surprised at the high bid for this one.”

  The old woman, dressed in long, thick, velvet robes and large, clunky rings, pulled three gold bars from her bag and handed them to the Lady. “I wasn’t,” she said. “He’s not aggressive, but if he has the characteristics you claimed, he was well worth the money.”

  Lady Night frowned as she packed the gold bars into a small chest. “Breeders have been looking for chemicals toxic to the kings. There’s no guarantee that this Phoenix has any specialty at all.”

  The old woman shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m willing to risk it.”

  The Lady looked as though she were ready to ask her a question, but the old woman hurried out before she could speak. Lady Night shrugged and finished packing away her things, unaware of the four people still sitting on the benches and watching her.

  They walked back outside in silence. The Peruvial Palace was far behind them before anyone spoke.

  “Julian, we can’t let this ruin our plans.” Colette’s smile widened. “We still have to get food for the feast. And get all of our gifts!” She shoved him.

  “Why did you want the dragon?” Sathryn asked. Colette looked at her as if she were the most clueless person in the world.

  “Did you hear what the Lady said about it?” he asked her. He was speaking so softly that she had to struggle to hear him. The streets were still swelling with people, and with each person that got too close, his voice dropped even lower. “About its supposed poison. About the kings. That could be of so much help to us,” he added, then he straightened and looked toward Colette. “But you’re right. We have other matters to attend to.”

  Colette nodded, latching herself to Julian’s arm. “We should split up. Two people go to get the instruments, and the other two go get food for our feast.” Colette glanced at Sathryn, and perhaps she was imagining it, but Sathryn swore she was mocking her with her eyes. Her eyes. They were mismatched: one was brown, one was green. “I want to get the instruments!” she called.

  Julian nodded. “I do too.”

  Sathryn wanted to get the instruments. And it wasn’t that Julian was going that made her want so badly to go. Instruments had enchanted her ever since she saw the ensemble play the night they needed blankets. Every player’s fingers glided along the strings and the holes and the drums as effortlessly as a bird weaving through the clouds, and it fascinated her.

  Julian must have noticed, for when he glanced over at her, he turned back to Colette. “Maybe we could all look at the instruments.”

  Colette rolled her multicolored eyes. “We don’t have time to do that.”

  Sathryn shrugged, glancing over at Navier. “I can just go get the food with Navier,” she said. Navier looked down at her and smiled.

  “I don’t mind,” he said.

  Julian was looking at Sathryn. “Are you sure? I know you really enjoyed the music a few days ago.”

  That was true. And Sathryn really wanted to see the instruments. And she felt more at ease with Julian than she did anyone else. But then she remembered Navier’s tales about Julian and Colette’s friendship—how they had missed each other so much and now, their friendship was recovering from lost time; how mellow and quiet Julian used to be; how Colette’s loud and confident personality balanced Julian’s personality perfectly—and she felt guilty for drawing so much attention to herself when all Julian wanted to do was spend time with his best friend.

  Sathryn smiled and nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Sutra

  t had been days since Sutra and Iryse had fought, and they hadn’t spoken to one another since.

  All four of his other brothers sat around him at the grand dining table, drinking wine and clinking their glasses and congratulating each other for being masters of the world while eating the large plates of food cooked by their personal chefs. Iryse slouched at the head of the table, half drunk already from guzzling bottles of expensive red wine and whiskey. Rowyn and Tyru sat on either side of him, mindlessly agreeing with anything Iryse’s drunken mouth sprouted. Nya sat beside Sutra, louder than usual but keeping a safe distance. And sitting around the tables in revealing gold and red dresses and gold and silver jewelry were women.

  Specifically, sycophant women allured by Sutra’s other brothers’ wealth and wild charisma and willingness.

  They quickly found that Sutra wasn’t the same way.

  The woman sitting uncomfortably close to Sutra saw that he wasn’t eating and rested a single brown hand against his upper arm. “What’s wrong, darling?” she asked in a high-pitched voice. “You aren’t hungry? Do you want me to feed you?” She was staring at the two women surrounding Iryse, who were pouring his wine and feeding him forkfuls of turkey.

  Sutra pushed the woman’s arm away as she tried raising his fork to his mouth. “No, thank you. I can feed myself.”

  She looked down at his full, untouched plate. “It doesn’t look quite like that,” she said. “Perhaps you would like another glass of wine.” She reached over and grabbed the bottle of red wine, then poured the contents into a glass.

  “No, thank you.” He pushed her arm away again.

  “Come on, darling, take a sip.” She took a sip of her own and smiled in contentment. “See, it’s rich.”

  He shook his head, but she kept moving the glass toward him. Her hand was cold against his arm—his back—his chest—his stomach, cutting through his clothing and his skin down into his bones. He could feel her warm breath dancing along the hairs of his cheek. She pressed the glass against his lips.

  “I said no!” he shouted. It was an abrupt overflow of the stress that had been building in his stomach for a while now.

  Each one of his brothers and all the women looked at him. The noise in the room fell to a blaring silence, a silence louder than the noise previous. Nya shot him a look. Are you okay?

  Sutra ignored him. He stood from the table, his chair flying back behind him, and marched fr
om the room. “I need to be excused.”

  He found himself in the library again, walking to his favorite chair at the back room and kneeling before the splash of now faded red-brown that still stained the rug. His brothers had never noticed, but he knew it was there. In that moment, crouching down where his drug had spilled so many years ago, his heart clenched at the loss of Anya. Every so often, it hit him so hard that she was the only thing occupying his thoughts.

  That woman at the table, trying her best to turn up her nose at him, only made him miss the woman he had once had.

  The night was still youthful, not yet ready to succumb to its temporary coffin, not ready to make room for its bright counterpart, so Sutra wasn’t surprised when the others sought and found him instead of leaving him to sleep.

  All four of his brothers entered the room, Iryse with a young woman hanging from his arm. “There he is!” It was the first time he’d addressed Sutra since their fight. “The great attention seeker. Are you feeling better now?”

  The other brothers laughed, except Nya. Sutra was dazed, sitting on the floor against a wall. He couldn’t sleep. “Much better,” he mumbled.

  “Good,” said Iryse, “because I wanted to discuss the Spring Festival. We need to plan the party. I was—we were—going to do it before, but I got a little distracted.” The woman at his arm giggled. “But, now that we’re together and focused—you are focused, right?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Good. So we can talk about the party.” Iryse led his woman from the library. She blew him a kiss on her way out the door. The other brothers destroyed Sutra’s solitary celebration and thundered through the quiet library into seats of their own. Iryse himself stood in front of all of them, pacing the maroon flooring and speaking as loudly and as imposingly as he could. “First and foremost, food. We need enough for the grandest feast in the world . . .”

  Iryse explained the importance of having a large feast with luxurious wine and an abundance of guests—he wanted it to be the celebration of the Phoenix Arena, which he prioritized over celebrating spring, and which, he informed them all, he wanted to open during the Spring Festival. Of course, Sutra, being the most sensible of all the brothers—or as far as he believed—thought opening the Arena during the Festival was the most ridiculous idea he’d heard that day. So ridiculous that Sutra had to interrupt him midsentence because waiting until Iryse was finished speaking meant suffering through more ridiculousness.

  “We shouldn’t open it during the Festival,” said Sutra. He also thought that they shouldn’t open it at all, but he figured small steps were best.

  Iryse, shocked that one of his less-than brothers had even dared to interrupt him and disagree with him all in the same sentence, stopped pacing and stared at Sutra, who stared right back. “And why is that?”

  “Because the Spring Festival is sacred. Important. You shouldn’t just barge in and destroy what is tradition just because you want people to fear you.” His voice dropped softer. He wanted to take the edge off just to make sure Iryse didn’t get too angry again. The last thing he needed was another knife fight.

  Iryse narrowed his eyes but turned to the other brothers. “Fine,” he said. “We shall vote. After all, I have always been the democratic one, yes?”

  Sutra couldn’t hold back his bitter chuckle.

  Iryse ignored him. “So, all in favor of starting the Arena during the Festival . . .”

  Two of the four remaining brothers raised their hands. Sutra and Nya had not moved, but Tyru and Rowyn held their hands high and proud, just begging for Iryse’s approval.

  But Iryse wasn’t even gifting them with a glance. His hard, gray eyes were locked on Nya. “Why do you wish to start after the Festival, brother?”

  Nya swallowed. “Well,” he began in a hoarse voice, “I think that Sutra is right. If we cross the barrier of breaking tradition, we will be setting ourselves up for rebels to infiltrate again.”

  “So we tighten our exterior,” Rowyn snapped. Then, he turned to Iryse. “If we start it during the Festival, can you imagine the impact it would have? Public gladiator events—it will show all of those rebels who they are up against. Show them what we are capable of. Show them what will happen if they cross us.” He shot Nya a look that silenced anything Nya wished to say next.

  Iryse smiled, nodding. “Do you wish to speak to that, Sutra?” He said it without looking at him.

  What was the point in arguing? “No,” he muttered.

  “Nya”—Iryse’s voice reeked of condescension—“don’t worry, little brother. The Arena . . . it will stop these rebels. All we have to do is make sure we are keeping them all in line.”

  Iryse’s words didn’t scare Sutra. He’d been hearing those words from him for quite a while, had been listening to him talk of killing as if he were referring to catching a fish or buying a blanket—so no, Iryse’s words were not what terrified him. It was the way Nya looked up at Iryse as he said his words, as if what Iryse said was so right and important that nothing else mattered. Had Iryse said the words he had a few years ago to Nya, then perhaps Nya would have doubted him, even if only a little. But now—and maybe it had been going on for a long time and Sutra was too blind himself to see it—Sutra could see in the way Nya peered up at the eldest brother that he believed him wholeheartedly. Or at least enough of his heart to be visible in his eyes.

  “We should tighten the guards outside the castle,” suggested Rowyn again, “before the Festival begins. Without a surplus of guards, but with all the festivities, rebels are going to be able to sneak themselves in. Everyone will be distracted, including the guards. Including ourselves. We should tighten the guards to make sure we don’t get any surprise attacks.”

  The castle had rounds of guards that shifted throughout the week, throughout the day. Some patrolled the streets while others guarded the gate. Others still stood outside the house around all sides, and another round stayed home to rest. And then, of course, there were guards within the castle itself. In total, there were five rounds of guards. And Iryse wanted all five rounds to be in and around the castle throughout the Spring Festival. Sutra didn’t even try to counter him. He wanted to suggest that they should always have guards at the gates, guards patrolling the streets, but he let his brother be the magnificent strategist he thought he was, as Sutra knew that had he tried to argue, his brother would not be able to hear him over the sound of his blaring narcissism.

  They all then filed from the library, including Sutra. Tyru, Rowyn, and Iryse left to recruit the guards, leaving Nya and Sutra alone.

  “Are you excited for the party?” asked Nya. It made Sutra happy to know that Nya had not fully lost his naïve personality. “I am.”

  “I am too,” Sutra lied.

  Sathryn

  othing bad happened the whole time she was with Navier. No one tried to pierce them with arrows or hold a knife to her mother’s neck—it was just a calm stroll through the streets with Navier’s smile by her side and the moon’s glare high above her. They each held two large, heavy bags—two large bags that had once been empty before they stopped at the multitude of food stalls and shops selling along the winding roads. After buying a cut of tender venison, Sathryn found that it stayed warm for a while even though the air around them was cool and brisk.

  “That’s how you know it’s spring,” Navier had said as they made their way back to the house. “The air is cold but warm at the same time. That and the purple crocus flowers starting to bloom.” He pointed to a cluster of deep-lavender bulbs that had already burst into flowers.

  “They’re beautiful.” Sathryn returned his smile.

  Navier bent down, resting his bags on the cobblestone, and plucked a crocus from its bed of fresh, green grass. He slid the flower behind Sathryn’s ear just as Julian and Colette rounded the corner. Sathryn turned her face away and felt Navier’s hand fall from her cheek and pick up his bags from the ground.

  Julian was holding a small harp—“Easier to carry arou
nd”—and Colette held a lute, a flute, and a bag. She wouldn’t tell what was inside.

  “A crocus,” Julian said with a smile. “Beautiful flower.”

  They reached the “training room” of Julian’s house. He placed the harp, the flute, and the lute in the corner of the room and arranged the food in the center with help from Sathryn, who was starving and had been since before the hatching show. But as soon as she reached for a slice of venison, Julian stopped her, placing a light but firm hand on her wrist. Colette giggled again.

  “Even though feasts and gifts and music aren’t tradition”—he shot Colette a playful glare—“for the last two days before an event, I would like to do what is tradition, which is making a quick speech to honor what lies ahead.”

  Colette, sitting on the ground before him, clapped for Julian before turning to invite Sathryn and Navier to join her applause.

  “Well,” Julian began, sitting beside Colette, “I’d like to first address the fact that I was reunited with the greatest friend a person like me could ever have . . .” He looked at Colette, who smiled and held her hand to her heart. “It feels . . . I don’t even have the words to explain how wonderful it is to have her sitting by me now, especially since we’ve been separated for so long—over nine years. I’d also like to address Navier, who’s been like a brother to me almost as long as Colette’s been my closest friend. As I said, having you both here means so much to me.” Now, Navier and Colette were both smiling with their hands over their hearts. “But,” Julian said, just as Sathryn was beginning to fume over Colette, “before I was reunited with my old friends, I met someone new.” At the mention of her, Sathryn looked away and pretended she had gone deaf. He laughed a little before he continued.

  “I have only known you for a fraction of the time I’ve known Colette, yet we’ve been through so much already. Traveling here was a challenge in itself—the Beastmen, the climbing, the Red Arrows, the horse . . . everything. And I can’t say that I couldn’t have done it without her, because”—he laughed here—“let me be honest, I probably could. But she made the trek to my region so much more enjoyable, and I’m glad that she came along with me. In short, we’ve all trained so hard—especially Sathryn, who had no weapon experience prior to my teachings—and we all deserve to take this night and have a bit of fun. With that, I wish us all luck in the next two days. Let’s eat—I’m starving.”