I slap Aeson’s wrist lightly. “Not funny!” I admonish him in a gentle tone. “There were some very awful things you said—about yourself, even.”
“I know.” Aeson stares at me with a serene expression, leaning his head sideways, digging his fingers into his forehead, then trailing them through his mane of pale metallic hair. “That was most amusing of all.”
“You were so painfully convincing,” I whisper. “Did you mean any of those harsh, horrible things? Because it must take some grain of truth to be so brutally real, believable.”
His lips barely curve. “I meant a lot of it. Yes, it had to be brutal to be convincing and to deflect any suspicion from us, but it was easy. The Kassiopei are stagnant, useless, dead. The burden of the centuries has weighed heavily on us. The role we play has somehow devolved. Everything we do—all in all, it makes very little sense now—even if we add in the recent revelations of the ark-ship and the ghost moon, so that the significance of some ancient ritual duties comes to light. . . . And then there’s the public—the general population that constitutes our societies. All around the globe, people are complacent with ritual and routine, self-isolated by lazy choice, stuck in their own stupid ‘quantum bubble.’ So yes, it was easy to channel my honest disgust into some incendiary words.”
“Oh, Aeson. . . .”
He looks at me, but now his memories take him into the distance, so that I feel the sea change in him, like a passing squall of world-weary sadness.
“Still not sure what I think about this whole thing,” I say with a sigh, hoping to return him to the present. I attempt to keep my expression stern as I look at him, but fail—maybe because im amrevu’s lapis-blue eyes are so profound and sincere as they again focus on me.
“Gwen, it was complicated. As all of this was happening—” Aeson blinks and rubs his forehead, then resumes—“as we were setting up the Rim entity and all that went with it, prepping the intrusion feeds, the hacker code, I was also thinking in parallel about how else to use The Rim during the Games. I paid a lot of attention to the top Contenders during the Pre-Games Trials, because I wanted to find someone trustworthy enough to recruit on your behalf—someone who was both a powerful Contender, and someone honorable, who would agree to help you in advance, before the Games even started. This individual was to be your secret protector when needed, ready to step in and rescue you at my instructions. It became clear to me that, in this year’s batch, the only celebrity player with the decent character traits I was looking for was Hedj.”
“I see.”
“And so, I reached out to him, discreetly. We met, I liked what I saw, and brought him into our secret arrangement. I provided a special ring for him with the tiny golden mask etched inside a secret compartment, to be worn in the Games, which also had a hidden code receiver. The receiver would activate remotely at my command, opening a compartment in the ring, which would in turn signal to him that his assistance was needed—to hurry and find you.”
“Wow, yes . . . he showed me that ring very carefully,” I say. “That’s how I knew to trust him. It definitely worked, having the mask symbol inside.”
Aeson nods. “I made that ring myself by retrofitting an existing gold band. Gennio added the micro tech receiver, a secret compartment, and I made the mask etching—everything was done in-house with existing materials, in order to maintain secrecy. And so, with Hedj now working for me, everything was set. We were ready to implement.”
I make an amused sound. “It’s amazing you found the time to do all this, with everything else happening—Sorry, go on.”
“The first time The Rim made its appearance was before the Games,” he continues. “We planned it as a test run. Gennio and Anu set up an algorithm that cut into the live feeds at an optimal time to see if we could maintain control of the transmission for a certain length before they tried to shut us down. It succeeded perfectly, and we stayed on air just as long as we hoped. It was also a way for me to set up the public’s awareness of The Rim, plant certain expectations, and also test the strength of the Imperial security response protocols. That way, when the actual Games feeds began, we could enter seamlessly at any point and have the predicted effect.”
I think hard, trying to remember when exactly The Rim “broke in” during the Games. Now that I know the true motive, it does make sense that the few times it happened, those instances were kind of pivotal for me. They were timely interruptions and distractions, giving me a chance to act and probably keeping me alive.
“Thank you, Aeson,” I say with all my heart. “I should probably say something to you about withholding important things from me, but in this case, you had a good reason, and I can’t fault you at all. So, it seems that I keep finding out more and more ways in which you manage to always help me.”
“Always,” he says softly. “It is what I intend to do for as long as I breathe.”
My heart fills with emotion. . . .
“But, my sweetly cunning Imperial Lord—if you ever lie to me or deceive me in a big way again, for whatever reason, I am going to whip your butt,” I say with a growing smile.
We linger in that small black room for a few more minutes, as Aeson tells me some other amusing details of how he recorded the Rim speeches, and how the two Aides helped broadcast them at the appropriate moments.
“I had a small tap-code sequence generator installed on my personal unit.” Aeson says. “Whenever I felt it was time to help you, I secretly entered a numerical code command on my wrist that was transmitted to either Anu or Gennio, based on proximity. They in turn initialized each Rim intrusion sequence based on the feed duration values I specified. Similarly, I transmitted code commands to Hedj Kukkait.”
“You are so devious that you scare me,” I taunt him, running my fingers against his cheek.
Aeson chuckles, leaning into my touch.
“Where did you get this mask?” I point to the golden metallic thing that I’ve set down on the desktop.
“I found it,” he says. “Somewhere in the lower levels of the Imperial Poseidon Museum archives storage, as part of a dusty, half-forgotten collection. Then I had someone discreetly retrieve it for me, through an untraceable sequence of third parties.”
“Looks kind of cool, very antique, and possibly expensive, if it’s a genuine artifact.”
“I’m sure it is, and the museum in question is probably not too happy at the loss—if they’re even aware of it. First, they’d have to draw a connection between The Rim pirate broadcast and then recognize that this thing is not a replica. A few antiquities scholars would know enough to investigate the original and find it missing from storage.”
“Oh dear,” I say. “You could’ve used a cheap costume mask instead of going to all that trouble, not to mention, stealing an original.”
“True,” he says with a smile. “But it was actually easier to cover our tracks this way, because the item is both completely unknown and unique—same as Hedj Kukkait’s ring. Meanwhile, a replica or even a dissimilar mask made to my specifications or purchased on the market could be potentially traceable. I wanted to give The Rim a certain level of realism and gravitas by using an actual artifact of the period. And since the Imperial Kassiopei owns that particular collection, I was stealing from myself.”
I laugh. “So, what happens now? Will The Rim be permanently retired in anonymity—cast back into antiquity storage at the museum and ultimately forgotten—now that you no longer need it?”
Aeson stands up and puts the mask back inside the desk drawer, locking it.
“It might still be useful at some point,” he says. “Besides, this is the most secure and safest place for my secrets to reside. Not the museum vault, not Phoinios Heights, but here, in plain sight, right under their noses. Unknown to my Father, I had this room secretly retrofitted with an additional super-layer of security. Anu and Gennio did some masterful work, so that everything here looks and tests innocuous, but at the same time is perfectly shielded from Imperial Palace st
aff, nano-cams, and all other spy tech intrusions. For now, this is where all of The Rim paraphernalia will remain in hiding.”
Chapter 32
I go to bed that night strangely comforted by the revelations of The Rim, despite a difficult, stressful day of media interviews behind us. It’s as though yet another complicated chapter of my life has come to a gentle close, and once again Aeson is the one who eased my burden.
Ah, my sweet, sweet amrevu. . . .
The next morning is Green Ghost Moon 7, with just three days to go before my first official Bridal event scheduled on Green Ghost Moon 10.
Gracie knows that her fourteenth Earth birthday is going to be celebrated in a big way. I told her it’s her party just as much as it is my first formal host function to entertain the Ladies of the Court.
The Venerable Therutat made no protest at my combined choice of festivity, so everything has been approved. The invitations go out today, and my task is to oversee the guest list, make my choices in regards to the menu, theme and decorations, and any other particulars of the special dea meal. To help me with these tasks, at some point today I will be meeting with Consul Denu and various Palace staff. In addition, Manala, and a few of my friends will drop in to give suggestions and advice.
At the same time, I’m supposed to hear back from the Games officials with a status update about the ongoing process of my Champion wish fulfillment. It’s the norm for Champions to expect final results in several days—usually within the first week post-Games, depending on the complexity of their wishes. Based on past examples however, some particularly involved wishes can take up to a few weeks, a month or even longer.
Despite all the small, stress-inducing details, the day goes by uneventfully. There isn’t even all that much fallout from the media interviews of the previous day. The feeds remain chaotically similar, and I am mostly praised for my speaking efforts, while my subdued and dignified answers together with Aeson’s seem to have pleased everyone, overall.
I hear back from Games officials before noon, and apparently my Champion wishes are being handled, and all is going well with the various arrangements. Chihar Agwath, Lolu Eetatu, Tuar Momet, Zaap Guvai, Sofia Veforoi—and yes, even Fawzi Boto—are all getting some unexpected benefits from me.
Lolu already had her wish for her mother’s medical treatment granted by Aeson, but I’m adding in some financial assistance in honor of her fallen brother Khadram. . . . Tuar Momet’s pardon request has been formally filed in the courts, and with my official endorsement behind it, it is guaranteed to succeed. . . . Zaap Guvai’s posthumous wish of a nature preserve is in its first stages, with a land purchase in the Northern Sesemet Province completed in my name. . . . Sofia Veforoi’s wish involves another land purchase, this one on behalf of her impoverished extended family, east of the Great Nacarat Plateau. . . . Fawzi Boto’s wish is the purchase of a Poseidon landmark, the Yatet Opera House, home of the prestigious Imperial Atlantida Opera Company, and the opera company itself.
Chihar’s wish to purchase the Committee of Education in his native city Tatenen in the Western Xeneret Province is the most complicated one, and is taking a bit longer, according to the Games office. Only citizens may vote on the Committee, the voting seats are purchased by the highest bidder, and the purchase price determines the voting influence of each seat. Since Chihar is not a citizen, the recommended solution is for me to buy either one very influential seat or the entire Committee, and have Chihar occupy the most influential seat as my designated representative and vote in my name by proxy—which in reality would mean that he can vote however he likes.
I consider the details, send in my responses to the Games officials, and expect the next status update in a day or two. Then I hang out with Aeson, Erita, and Oalla as they work, until my various afternoon meetings.
Consul Denu arrives promptly at second hour of Khe and helps me choose a simple elegant theme for the Ladies of the Court Bridal function—blue and silver, clouds and sky.
“Wouldn’t clouds be considered some kind of bad luck?” I ask as we brainstorm ideas.
“Ah, but it is quite the opposite entirely,” he says, raising his lapis-tinted brows for emphasis. “Brides are expected to choose something dark and gloomy, and it will result in good fortune for the Wedding and the married life that follows.”
“I see. In that case, how about an erupting volcano table centerpiece with burning orange lava flow around the hall perimeter?” I giggle. “The Ladies can roast the Atlantean equivalent of marshmallows on long kipt sticks over the flames.”
But the Consul wags one finger at me with a mixture of amusement and polite, courtly admonishment that he alone can pull off.
“I recommend you select the Lapis Lazuli Grand Chamber for the reception,” he tells me. “It is large but not overwhelming, easily transformed with hanging decorations—in this case puffy clouds and airy garlands of gauze and crystals suspended from fine chains and tassels to simulate droplets of rain—and its location on the ground floor will serve you well in case you would like to extend the party overflow outdoors into the gardens of the Imperial Palace park.”
“That sounds wonderful,” I say, happy to concede to his taste.
“Now, as far as the menu, here are the options, and feel free to choose any of these popular multi-course sample menus we’ve brought for your consideration—” and the Consul calls forth one of the staff, a favorite Imperial chef, who in turn points out to me several lists and image galleries of exquisite and decadent Atlantean cuisine on his digital tablet.
“This fresh seasonal fruit and pastry sculpture gallery is always a Court favorite, with delightful bite-size portions in pleasing shapes and colors,” the Imperial chef says, bowing low before me as he offers me the tablet for a closer look. “Also, the beverage fountains of aeojir and lvikao are customary, with an open flowing ‘beverage river’ of bubbling qvaali running in an extended vessel the entire length of the buffet table—”
I nod with overwhelmed amazement and agree to everything he suggests. I also make a special request for an Atlantean equivalent of an Earth-style birthday cake to surprise Gracie.
The chef listens attentively to my descriptions of cake layers and sweet creamy frosting and possible candles. And he promises to produce a worthy culinary specimen.
Oh boy. . . . This could turn out to be either amazing or a disaster.
While I think about that potentially weird Atlantean birthday cake, and how finicky eater Gracie might react, the chef finishes recording my final menu choices and steps back with another bow.
“Very well now,” Consul Denu resumes. “As far as the Ladies Guest List—”
“I don’t really know anyone.” I bite my lip, thinking of the unpleasant young girls whom Manala and I encountered that first time walking in the gardens of the Palace. Please, not Lady Tiri.
Consul Denu pauses to pick up a different tablet from an assistant. He taps the screen and shows me a pre-existing master list of noble and influential invitees. “The final choice is always yours, my dear Imperial Lady Gwen. But in order to avoid any undue social unpleasantness in the future, I strongly recommend you invite every one of these ranking females. Do take a look. . . .”
I take the tablet and scroll down the long list of mostly unfamiliar names and titles, vaguely recognizing some of them being mentioned in passing by Aeson or maybe Manala. Sure enough, Lady Tirinea Fuorai is prominent on the list, together with the rest of her entourage. I see the names of Lady Zua Kainaat, Lady Hathora Sekru, Lady Irana Nokut.
There are also a number of other, older Ladies, ranging from young to youthfully mature, middle-aged to elderly—women, whose names, noble ranks, and social positions are now explained to me in clever, memorable detail by Consul Denu.
“This Dame is a necessary fixture,” he says, pointing to one specific name then another. “She is required in order to prevent hostilities between that one and this lady and her entire family here. . . . Now this young matron wou
ld feel terribly confused if she were not invited, and would complain to her father who sits on the Imperial Executive Council. As for this young lady, she is a true menace, I admit, and is known to create gossip circles that have brought their victims to tears. However, she also owns a great parcel of choice land in a western province that this particular well-connected lady would love to buy, and expects to discuss the transaction with her secretly during the Bridal event—as she has told me repeatedly this week. . . . Now, these two wealthy young sisters are both firmly in Middle Court, but would love to make the transition to High Court by one of them marrying an impoverished but high-ranking nobleman who happens to be the brother of this young lady here, who must be convinced about the value of the match. . . .”
Dear God in heaven! Am I going to be in an Atlantean version of a Jane Austen ballroom nightmare?
My expression must reflect the terror I’m feeling at the notion of dealing with these people and their court intrigues and social complexities, because Consul Denu pauses for a moment and says soothingly, “My dear, you mustn’t worry. All of these people and their relationships are deeply ingrained and longstanding—in some cases having developed over generations. You will come to learn them easily, with time—and be amused by it, for the most part, and frustrated quite often. It is perfectly normal to be overwhelmed.”
“It is?” I shiver.
He nods reassuringly. “For now, all you need to do is simply invite them, and it will all take care of itself. The Court is a self-contained living entity, a unified beast of three distinct tiers, of many minds and mores, entwined together like a ball of very expensive and very temperamental yarn. The Ladies, young and old, will chat and gossip and exclaim and complain and observe you eagerly as their future Imperatris. Simply let them. As the Imperial Consort you will be inheriting the Court and all that goes with it—an exotic menagerie to care for, at your leisure.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I mutter. “A menagerie of snotty, superior, vicious, spoiled girls who hate the Gebi Bride and would love nothing more than to rip me apart in every sense of the word. What am I going to do with them?”
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