by J A Hutson
For a while I stand there, in a state of blissful contentment, as the light deepens and the creatures in the gardens below begin to stir. The waddling birds with iridescent feathers emerge from wherever they’ve been sleeping and start hunting for their own breakfasts. Elsewhere, a small furry animal scampers down the trunk of a gnarled tree and dashes across the grass. In the distance, the rosy light slides along the bricks of Zim’s towers and flashes upon the peaked copper roofs.
I don’t know how long I’ve been standing there when I hear a throat clear behind me. I turn to find Irix in the middle of my room, a set of clothes neatly folded across his arms.
“Good morning,” he says brightly as I step back inside. “You are looking much improved.”
“I feel better than I have in weeks,” I tell him as he sets the clothes down on my rumpled golden sheets.
“That is good. The salve does work wonders, though even I’m impressed with its apparent efficacy.”
I’d ascribe most of my miraculous recovery to having my sword returned to me, but I don’t bother trying to explain the properties of the blade.
“Those are for me?” I ask him, indicating the folded tunic and breeches.
“Indeed.”
I step closer to the bed and pick up the tunic, studying it critically. It’s a blend of garishly bright colors – the arms are a deep azure, while the body is a striped pattern of orange and red.
“Am I being dressed in motley?” I ask him, and Irix covers what I think might be a laugh with a quick cough.
“Ahem. No. Bright colors are the style in Zim.”
“Hm,” I grunt, eyeing the emerald green trousers critically.
“You’ll have to wear something, at least,” he says, regarding my nakedness with a frown. “I hear you’ve already traumatized one of the maids.”
“Well, she shouldn’t come barging into rooms without knocking,” I reply.
“Quite. I’ll have a word with her. But while you’re welcome to revel in the glory of your body in here, I do need you to get dressed before you leave this chamber. And not in those mucker rags you were wearing yesterday.”
“You make it sound like I have to go somewhere.”
“Which you do. Our mistress is hosting the patriarch of House Juventa and the matriarch of the Yeshil for lunch. She has informed me that she wants you present.”
“Why?”
“To show you off, I assume. You are the newest addition to her collection. Don’t worry, you don’t have to do much except look intimidating and handsome. So wear what I’ve brought you, glower, and keep your hand on the hilt of that remarkable sword. That one,” he says, pointing at my green-glass blade, as if he needs to clarify.
Then the head servant turns on his heels and departs, closing the door gently. With a sigh I flop back down on the bed, sinking into its luxurious softness. Handsome and intimidating? Am I pet or a protector?
I try to push this thought out of my mind before it can taint my excellent mood. Instead, I burrow back beneath the sheets, hoping for a few more watches of sleep before I’m summoned. That might be difficult with the coffee coursing through my veins, but I’ve certainly strained myself enough over the last few days and the bed is so soft and the sheets so cool . . .
A tentative knock on the door awakens me.
“Sword, it is time.” The voice trembles nervously, and I have a fair idea of who has been sent to fetch me.
“I’m coming,” I reply loudly, throwing aside the sheets and quickly dressing in the ridiculous outfit Irix has left for me. There really should be a pointed cap with bells on it to complete the whole ensemble.
I strap my sheathed sword to my belt and cross the room, this time careful to avoid seeing myself in the mirror. The slight knock comes again just as I pull open the door – it is indeed the same maid, a girl with pale skin and red curls. Her cheeks flush deeply, and she seems to be staring at some point beyond me.
“Let’s go,” I tell her, and she gives a quick nod before hurriedly turning away.
She leads me through a dizzying series of galleries and chambers, and I have little confidence that I’ll manage to find my back to my room without help. The ‘manse’ is actually several buildings of golden stone linked by passages entirely constructed from interlocking panes of glass. Creepers and vines spotted with flowers wrap the outside of these walkways, in places so thick that we are cast into shadow.
At last she pauses at the entrance to a vast chamber, larger than any I’ve seen before, and motions for me to continue on alone. Tentatively, I step inside, awed by the grandeur of what’s before me. An artificial lake fills most of the space, dotted by lotus blossoms and lily pads. An arching silver bridge extends to an island in the center, where I can see several figures, some sprawling on divans and others standing stiffly at attention. There’s a low table as well, mounded with food and glinting dishes. The whole scene is bathed in a panoply of colors, as the high ceiling is inset with a great mosaic arranged from stained glass.
“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, his arms, and even 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 Orthanos, 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 ch
est 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 Orthanos 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 Orthanos 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 with a slight smile. 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 I think 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 think 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 Orthanos 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 Orthanos 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, even if his 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,” the 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 as if dismissing me from this gathering.
“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 must 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 approa
ch 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, even though she must know that from my vantage above her I’m looking down on the tops of her breasts.
“You had questions this morning,” the matriarch of the Orthanos says as I concentrate on staring into her curving almond 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.