The Twilight Empire

by Alec Hutson

  “Go to them,” I hear a voice hiss from behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to see the maid’s face peeking around the corner. “Quickly! Or I’ll be beaten later!”

  She makes a shooing motion and I turn back to the bridge with a sigh. There’s no railing, but it’s broad enough that I don’t have to watch my feet as I cross. The water doesn’t seem too deep, anyway, as beneath the swarms of patterned fish I can see a bottom of brightly colored stones.

  My boots ring upon the metallic bridge as I approach the island. The matriarch Auxilia is there, lounging upon one of the plush divans, the elaborate feathered dress she’s wearing flashing in the colored light falling from the ceiling. She gives me a brief, enigmatic smile, but then returns her attention to the man and woman occupying the two other divans. They both radiate the casual arrogance of nobility – the man is light-skinned for a Zimani, somewhere in his middle years, with a sharp nose and receding hair. His outfit is even more ostentatious than Auxilia’s feather-dress – it looks like someone has sewn shards of obsidian onto a red sleeping robe. Multiple gold rings encircle each of his fingers and hang from his ears. He glances at me with casual indifference and then looks away. The other woman is so fat I’m surprised the divan hasn’t buckled under her weight. She’s wearing enough glistening silk that I can’t help but think her dress could be swapped for my bedsheets and I wouldn’t know the difference. She doesn’t even bother looking at me, intent on the fruit tart that a kneeling servant is guiding into her open mouth.

  A shiver of surprise goes through me when I realize that the thing looming behind the fat woman’s divan is not some strangely crafted piece of furniture. It reminds me of an overgrown mantis, with glittering balls of segmented eyes perched upon a triangular head, its scythe-like arms crossed across its narrow chest. The creature’s carapace is a greenish-black, but here and there it has been daubed with swirling red paint. It is utterly still, but I feel its attention on me as I step from the bridge and onto the island.

  In fact, each of the nobles has a dangerous-looking individual hovering behind their divan, though the others at least are human. The sneering Sword who challenged me yesterday – what was his name? Jalent? – stands perfectly still behind the matriarch of the Orthonos, staring straight ahead, his hands on the hilts of the swords at his side. His blond hair has been teased up into an even more impressive series of spikes, and somehow the tattoos webbing one side of his face have changed color from red to blue. The last of the champions the nobles have brought is pacing like a caged animal behind the couch where the patriarch is reclining. She’s savagely beautiful, her skin a light shade of green that is complemented well by her tumble of dark green hair and eyes that flash like polished emeralds. She looks like she has been pulled straight from the wilds – the armor she’s wearing appears to be scavenged from the corpses of all sorts of strange monsters: the vambraces on her forearms look like the hollowed legs of great insects, the cuirass strapped to her chest resembles the shell of a crab, and poking up over her shoulders are what seem to be the translucent wings of monstrous dragonflies. Or, I suppose, they could be hers. She catches me watching her and scowls, which does nothing to diminish her ethereal beauty.

  The Orthonos matriarch finally recognizes my presence and gestures languidly for me to approach. I step forward hesitatingly as all eyes turn towards me, unsure whether I should join Jalent in standing behind her divan.

  “And who is this, Auxilia?” says the fat woman around a mouthful of tart.

  “My newest Sword,” replies the Orthonos matriarch, and I feel the attention of everyone on the island sharpen.

  “Truly?” says the obsidian-bedecked patriarch, sitting up and peering at me intently. “I had heard no rumors that a worthy warrior had arrived in Zim.”

  “He was already here, Belav,” Auxilia says, smiling slightly. With another gesture she summons forth one of the handmaidens waiting meekly on the edge of the island. The girl hurriedly approaches and begins fanning her mistress with a feather nearly as long as her arm. “This is the warrior who rescued my nephew from the undercity.”

  The fat woman lurches forward, coughing out crumbs. The mantis-man behind her makes no move to help, so another of the handmaidens scurries over, only to be waved away by the matriarch.

  “A mucker?” she says incredulously when she’s finally recovered. “You’ve added a mucker to your Swords?”

  “And not only a mucker,” the patriarch drawls, indicating the circlet on my leg with a look of revulsion, “but a slave as well.”

  The fat woman’s painted eyebrows rise. “You truly are slumming, Auxilia. A mucker slave? Scandalous.” From her tone, though, the matriarch is actually warming to the idea, and she’s looking at me now with a bit more interest.

  “Disgusting, is more like it,” says the patriarch Belav. “I realize he did you a great service, what with saving little Lupinus, but he was down in the sewers, Auxilia.” He shudders, and then sniffs the air. “Saints, I can smell him.”

  Auxilia is watching this exchange with amusement. “That might be your own Shield, dear Belav. I don’t think she’s ever seen the inside of the baths.”

  The face of the green-haired woman remains carefully blank, but I see her eyes briefly flash.

  Auxilia gestures again in my direction. “But I want you both to examine my new Sword carefully. Tell me what you see.”

  “Oh, there’s something more to this!” exclaims the fat matriarch, clapping her hands together. She squints at me, trying to see what the mistress of the Orthonos is referring to. Belav does the same, though with an affected boredom that I guess is supposed to suggest his indifference.

  The fat matriarch sees it first, whatever it is. Her eyes widen as she gasps, her fat fingers fluttering to her lips. “Oh, saints,” she breathes. Belav glances at her crossly, now clearly annoyed that he’s the only one who hasn’t seen it.

  “What is it, Livia?”

  “His eyes,” breathes the fat matriarch. “Look at his eyes.”

  The patriarch meets my gaze, and a shiver of surprise passes over his face. “Is it . . . is it possible they are related?”

  Auxilia shrugs, her feathered dress rustling. “I do not know.”

  “Related?” I ask, my curiosity overcoming my better judgment. “Related to whom?”

  The surprise in the patriarch’s face dissolves into anger. “The dog speaks?”

  Everyone on the island except for the handmaiden fanning Auxilia and the Orthonos mistress herself seems outraged. Even the mantis-thing looming behind the fat matriarch clacks its mandibles and rubs its serrated arms together menacingly. Jalent’s face has purpled, though our mistress does not seem overly concerned with my apparent transgression.

  “As you can see,” Auxilia says lightly, “my new Sword does not understand his place yet in my household. My apologies for his rudeness.”

  I tamp down my strong desire to offer a scathing rebuke to these Zimani nobles – but there is the small matter of the circlet around my ankle, and despite Auxilia’s obvious indulgences I don’t want to see how far I can push her. So instead I duck my head in what I hope looks like contrition.

  “You never need to apologize to me, beautiful Auxilia,” the patriarch says. “Though I would recommend a thorough lashing later to curb this one’s tongue.”

  “I will take your advice under consideration, dear Belav,” Auxilia says, a bit too seriously for my liking.

  The fat matriarch doesn’t seem nearly as offended, as she’s now staring at me with an acquisitive intensity that is in truth making me slightly uncomfortable.

  “What a remarkable find, Auxilia,” she purrs, running her pudgy fingers through her glistening black hair. “This handsome fellow could be the key to unlocking the mystery of where he truly came from.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Auxilia responds as she sinks back on the divan with a satisfied smile.

  “You’ll have to tell me if you learn anything interesting,” th
e matriarch continues. “Anything scandalous. What if he came from across the Bloated Sea? Or the Lost Lands? Or the Tangle? Can you imagine?”

  “I will let you know what I learn after I have a chance to question him,” Auxilia replies solemnly as she leans forward to pluck a grape from the table in front of her. “But I expect you all to keep the secret of my silver-eyed Sword until I have a chance to parade him in front of the court.”

  “If you’re planning on bringing him before the Purple Emperor, I should hope you’ll work on improving his manners,” Belav grumbles. “Or one of the heads of the more . . . conservative families will demand him flayed on the spot for speaking out of turn.”

  “I will impress upon him the dangers of violating the laws of the court,” Auxilia assures him soothingly.

  The patriarch gives me one more venomous look and then sniffs loudly, turning his head.

  “You may leave us,” Auxilia says in a voice that demands obedience. “Go back to your quarters and reflect on the insult you have given these esteemed nobles.”

  Clenching my jaw so that I can’t offer up any final commentary, I bow and retreat from the island. Above the harsh ringing of my boots on the bridge an excited babbling rises up from behind me. I can’t hear exactly what’s being discussed, but I would hazard a guess that I’m the topic. Clearly someone they know shares my unusual eye color. The man who visited me in the mucker’s barracks, perhaps? It sounds like whoever it is carries some weight in the Twilight Empire, given their reactions.

  It seems I may have stumbled upon clues to unraveling the mysteries of my past. Now I just have to find a way of getting Auxilia to confide in me.

  16

  “Are you sure?”

  The handmaiden standing at the entrance to the bath chamber only nods at my question. The steam escaping from within plasters her black curls to her neck and causes her white robes to cling to her ample curves.

  “But our . . . mistress is inside, yes?”

  “She has asked for you,” replies the girl, and I glance again into the eddying mist. It’s hard to see very far, but I think I can make out a few dark shapes. The muffled sound of splashing and laughter drifts to where I’m hesitating, and a shadow of a smile curves the edges of the handmaiden’s lips.

  “You must go inside. It is her will.”

  “She would be bathing, though . . .”

  “Our mistress is aware that she is bathing.”

  Fair point, that. With a sigh, I square my shoulders and plunge ahead into the roiling steam. The warmth is like a slap to the face, and instantly my skin slickens. I can see now that the stone heads of dragons are arrayed along the walls, and water is tumbling from their mouths to fall hissing on piles of what must be extremely hot black rocks. The heated water then flows into a channel that in turn feeds a series of small pools. All are empty save one, and the indistinct shapes I noticed earlier begin to resolve as I approach this pool.

  Auxilia is submerged in the steaming water up to her neck, a goblet of dark wine beside her. Two of her handmaidens are seated on the edge of the pool, naked, their long legs dangling into the water. One is dark even for a Zimani, with heavy breasts and ink-black hair. The other is white as cream and slender as a sword, her hair a nest of tight blond curls. They seem unembarrassed by my entering the baths, though they do giggle into their hands as I avert my eyes to watch the mist rising towards the tiled ceiling.

  “Talin,” Auxilia says in her rich voice, and I force myself to look at her. She’s drifting across the pool towards the side where I’m standing, holding her wine goblet above the water, her mouth crooked into a half smile.

  “Mistress,” I reply, focusing on her and not the two brazenly naked handmaidens lounging on the lip of the pool.

  She seems to notice my discomfort. “Fessa. Virin. Leave me for now.”

  More titters from the girls, and then they climb to their feet. I can’t help but sneak a glance at them as they pass – I haven’t seen a woman unclothed for weeks now, since the last night I spent in Ysala with Deliah.

  Their soft footsteps fade away, submerging beneath the sounds of water trickling into the pools and hissing upon the hot rocks. Auxilia has come to the edge of the pool nearest to me, resting her folded arms on the stone lip. She appears utterly at ease.

  “You had questions this morning,” the matriarch of the Orthonos says as I concentrate on staring into her curving eyes. I’m surprised again at the smoothness of her skin – she must be older than I am, but there’s not the slightest crease or wrinkle or gray hair that I can see.

  “Yes, Mistress. I am sorry if I insulted your friends by speaking out of turn.”

  Auxilia makes a dismissive gesture, flicking water from her fingers. “They are friends in the loosest sense. Rivals, really, though because we are the youngest heads of the great houses we find ourselves allied in many matters. Belav is a fool, and Livia a glutton. I actually enjoyed seeing Belav so outraged. But I want to return to the question you asked. What was it?”

  “You mentioned another with eyes like mine. I was curious who that is.”

  “Because you do not know who you are, yes?”

  I can’t hide my surprise, and she gives a throaty chuckle.

  “Come, Talin. Do you truly think I would invite you into my house without learning all I could about you? When I heard my nephew had been rescued from the Pale Man I was overjoyed, yes. A hefty reward, or perhaps a request for manumission from the emperor would have been most likely . . . except that Irix mentioned something unusual about you. Your beautiful silver eyes. And so I decided to purchase your life debt and make you a Sword of the Orthonos.”

  “If you know so much about me you’ll also know that I can’t remember my past. I certainly have no memory of my homeland or my people.”

  Auxilia tilts her head to one side. “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?”

  She ignores the rudeness of my surprised reply. “Take off your clothes. That is a command, Sword Talin.”

  Slowly, I unbutton my damask shirt, the one Irix left for me earlier; it’s completely soaked from the steam, and it clings to me as I peel it off.

  Auxilia studies me with a critical eye. “The story of a man is written in his skin,” she says, and it sounds to me like she’s quoting someone. “And your story looks to have been quite exciting.”

  I shrug, tracing the red mark in my side that Valyra wove closed with her healing magic. “I keep finding myself in fights.”

  “But it’s not just the fresh scars,” Auxilia muses. “Your body is a patchwork of old wounds. You have been in many battles – yours has been a violent life.”

  I examine the faded white lines marring my flesh. I somehow know which ones came from blades or arrows, and which were inflicted by talons or teeth. “I was trained to fight. This I know. It is the only thing I remember from my past.”

  “Perhaps we need to look for more clues.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Auxilia raises her eyebrows meaningfully.

  “You mean . . .”

  “Yes.”

  I can’t help but glance around the baths, even though I already know we are alone. Then I unlace my breeches and let them fall.

  The matriarch of the Orthonos takes a sip of her wine, and I can’t help but think that she’s trying to hide her smile. She clears her throat and sets down her goblet with a clink.

  “Well, we’ve just learned something. You came into my household in possession of two impressive swords.”

  Now that I wasn’t expecting. A hot flush rises in my face, and Auxilia bursts into surprisingly youthful laughter. “Your embarrassment is charming,” she says, moving away from the edge of the pool. “Now join me in here.”

  There’s no way I can refuse her . . . and, to be truthful, I don’t want to. Gingerly, I ease myself into the water. It’s shallower than I expected, barely rising up to my chest, and also warmer. The wounds I received in the undercity prickle as they are subm
erged in the heated water.

  Auxilia slides towards me. “Does it hurt?” she asks, with what sounds like genuine concern.

  “No,” I reply, a little hoarsely. She’s very near, and I can feel myself stirring. “It feels good.”

  Auxilia drifts even closer, until her breasts are just touching my chest. She’s staring up into my face, and I’m having trouble looking away from her. “That’s good,” she whispers, slipping her slim brown arms around my neck. Then she pulls herself slightly out of the water, bringing her lips up to meet mine.

  I taste the sweetness of the wine first, and then her tongue is in my mouth. I return the kiss, unable to stop my hunger for her from rising. She seems to sense this and presses herself harder against me, her fingers tangling in my hair.

  Our lovemaking is frantic, and over far too quickly. For a long while after we linger there, floating in the pool, her head on my shoulder. Her hot breath is on my neck and her fingertips idly trace the marks her long nails have made in my back. She makes no apologies, and I don’t expect her to.

  “Mistress,” I finally venture, “who is it that I remind you of?”

  She stirs against me, pulling away slightly as she studies my face. “The Prophet,” she murmurs. “His eyes are also silver.”

  17

  “To go to court so soon,” Irix muses as he watches me slip on the shimmering red doublet he has brought to my room, “it is highly unusual.”

  I shrug as I fumble with the slippery pearl buttons, and with a sigh he steps forward to help me.

  “Our mistress has traditionally taken her favorite when called before the jeweled throne. For you to assume that position after only a few days is unprecedented.” He steps back, eyeing me critically.