Page 67 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

“You speak a lot about your mother, but you have a father too?”

He’d stood off to the side of Sorrena’s throne room when I’d led my men into that grand hall that smelled of salty sea air and olive flower, just like Ilya herself. Grey hair liberally crowned his tanned head that bore only a small circlet to indicate his rank. His wife, Astraea, dominated the raised dais bearing the throne, Ilya at her side. He had been barely discernable from the various other nobles and advisors clustered in the side of the throne room. Their positioning gave away the secret of Lady Astraea’s heart, the family member she valued most: Ilya.

“Yes.” Her smile returned. “Though he often traveled, especially as I grew older. Negotiating trade deals with faraway ports. Learning about the newest products and demands on the larger countries.” Her gaze turned wistful.

“You wanted to travel with him.”

She nodded, a delicate, soft movement. “I wanted to travel all over the world, not just to the city-states. But that was the wish of a child. There’s no place for such fancies for a Lady of Sorrena.” Regal bearing replaced her dreamy look. “Even less for a captive.”

Her city, her title…they’d become a cage for her dreams, and she didn’t know it. A weight settled in my chest as I watched her expression turn sad. Her body shifted to the side until she gazed out the window once more. I’d added more bars to her cell, trapping her in Zhine to keep her mother in line during this time of transition. Maybe one day, when the war was finished and she truly submitted to the emperor’s rule, she could live out those dreams again.

Silence stretched between us as we neared our destination. Dirt roads turned to cobblestones worn smooth in ruts by use and time. Doors slammed closed. Parents ushered their children away from our entourage. No smiles. No cheers. Buildings increased in density as we approached the large manor home near the center of the city. Green awnings arched over the threshold of several places we passed, a signature of the storefronts in this city-state. Though the city was not fully walled—a poor strategic decision on their part—stone encircled this structure on all sides. The tops of the manor’s highest floors peeked just beyond the barricade. Banners of green and black hung on either side of the gate we advanced upon.

We were expected. A vague letter had been sent ahead several days ago to announce our arrival. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted into the carriage, eliciting a small sigh from Ilya as she watched the passing buildings.

None of this looked familiar to me, save the memories of when I helped to conquer this city. If I’d grown up here, I should have some memory of this place. The smell of pine drifting down from the nearby hills was familiar, but it wasn’t that different than the manor where our emperor had raised us. Nothing else struck a chord or tugged at my memories.

But Ilya gazed at everything with wonder.

“Does it remind you of home?” The way her eyes glittered as she watched the passing scenery, I couldn’t help but ask.

She slid back into the seat, away from the window. “Not really. The sights, the smells, even the way they construct their buildings, it’s all different. Our buildings are more open. Tall windows. Large sliding doors on storefronts that are often open. Of course, you can never escape the sea while you’re there. The crash of waves on the cliff, the hint of salt in the air, the caw of birds and the taint of the day’s catch being carted through the streets. Our stone is different too. The color of crusty bread rather than these dull greys.” She motioned to the passing buildings.

“The last time I was here, I was so focused on impressing Mother and remembering how to behave like a proper heiress that I barely noticed the city,” she continued. “I wish I had.”

Funny. I couldn’t agree more. In Sorrena, I’d viewed the city from a strategic view. What were its weak points? How best to invade? What positioning gave us advantage? But how much had she and I missed while we each gave everything to our roles? Until Ilya, I hadn’t cared to see beyond magic, conquest, and endless days of training.

The carriage rocked to a stop. Tiber rode by the window in my armor, headed to the front. He was responsible for announcing our arrival.

“Should we get out?” Ilya asked.

I shook my head. “In a minute. We’re not through the gates yet.” As I spoke, the carriage started to move again. A shadow crossed outside as we rolled through the opening in the stone wall, passing the iron bars of a gate that had been opened wide. Men-at-arms stood at attention, dressed in dark green and black with a hint of silver and grey in the buckles of belts and straps holding their swords.

When the carriage stopped again, I made for the door and threw it open. The cobblestone pathway ended near a set of low, wide stairs leading up to the manor proper. This part I remembered, though yellowing grass now covered much of the area that had become a bloody mud slick at the end of the fight for this city. The metallic tang no longer filled the air, but it still filled the minds of the men and women here, judging from the hard looks aimed toward our troupe.

I turned and offered a hand to Ilya. She took a deep breath, evening out her features, before she took my hand and stepped out into the sunlight.

Members of my guard dismounted as grooms rushed into the yard to see to their horses. The beasts would need a good rubdown and rest before they began the return journey in the morning.

Tiber approached the steps that led to a set of double doors at the front of the central building. Before he reached the bottom step, the doors opened to reveal a woman in a long, dark green dress. Her dark brown hair was liberally streaked with grey and partially pinned back. A bejeweled necklace hung from her thin neck and accented her pale face, mostly free of wrinkles despite her hair. The Lady of Trale—Basilla, Lord Stefan’s wife.

One of the guards passed me a scroll, bound and sealed with the emperor’s stamp in crimson wax.

“They’ll be expecting you too,” I whispered to Ilya, passing her the document.

She glanced from me to the fake captain before taking the scroll. Like a refined lady, she lifted the hem of her dress and advanced toward the manor with me one step behind her as a dutiful bodyguard.

“Captain,” Lady Basilla addressed the armored man, her voice all hard edges, lacking the softness of her features.

“We’ve come to deliver a message from Emperor Ryszard, as you should be aware.” His voice rang clear and strong as he beckoned Ilya forward.

“Lady Basilla.” Ilya gave a small curtsey to the woman on the stairs.

The older woman completely dismissed the captain as she took in the emperor’s true messenger.

“Lady Ilya. You’ve grown.” Her tone and features softened. She descended the stairs and clasped Ilya’s free hand in hers, bracelets chiming as dangling medallions of metal clinked together. “Would that we’d have met again under better circumstance,” she continued.

Ilya raised her eyes and met those of the other woman. “I could not agree more.”

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