Page 82 of Poisoned Empire

She heaved a sigh and got back to her books. The more she read, the more she realised there was no manual on how to rule. You could be a feared tyrant, a wily trickster, a beloved paragon, but nothing ensured you wouldn’t meet your end. Selene began to understand just how precarious any monarch’s life was, and how useless all those dominae would have been to Belli. He needed someone like her who could terrify the nobles like Darius did. She could find her place here in Nadioch, in the palace, by his side. Though she knew it was dangerous, she nourished the bloom of hope within her.

“Princess Consort, Domina Roxane is here for you.”

“Show her in,” Selene replied, putting down her book.

Iliana entered, an anxious wobble to her practiced smile. Selene sent the servant away, and soon her friend released the stiffness in her shoulders. Selene patted the seat next to her on the long couch. Iliana sat and hugged her, burying her face in Selene’s shoulder.

“I’m scared of what happens when the magistri arrive,” she whispered.

“If they so much as break wind, they’ll be made into pincushions with your arrows. Your sisters are already locked up for good measure, and the spare domini are under kill orders if they start looking cagey. It’s going to be okay,” Selene murmured, rubbing her back in soothing circles.

“What if they hurt Marduk?” she choked.

“Tell him to use the praetor as a shield,” Selene muttered. Green-eyed bastard still glared at her like she was dung on his boots.

Iliana giggled irreverently and then sobered.

“Your father can use lightning.” Iliana’s eyes tightened at the corners.

“Want to hear a secret?”

“What?”

“Belisarius is going to make their mage gifts irrelevant.”

“He’s that strong?”

“He’s a negation mage,” Selene crowed proudly.

“A what? I thought he was a fire mage.” Iliana sat up, interested.

“Mage gifts don’t work around him. The magistri won’t even conjure a spark before they’re neutered.”

“No wonder you’re so relaxed.”

Selene shrugged.

“You know, you never got around to telling me what your memory spell was about.”

Selene paused, prodding the wound in her heart. It was still tender and fresh, but the unutterable pain no longer plagued her every waking moment. Maybe that meant it was time to talk about it. Dihya hadn’t raised her to run from her problems, or her demons. She took a deep breath before she began.

“It all started with a pie cooling on a windowsill, and a very hungry little brat.”

When the day of arrival dawned, the streets were empty of revellers, musicians, and all but the most stubborn merchants. The skies were as dark as dusk, the clouds a steely grey, heavy with sheeting rain that washed away any evidence of yesterday’s frivolity. Thunder rumbled down from the distant mountains, the only sound outside that could be heard above the din of the deluge. Despite the gaiety of the occasion, sombreness permeated the very air, as thick as the blanket of humidity which had settled on the capital.

Damp earth and beeswax candles scented the air of the large audience chamber in which only the most important individuals were present. Belisarius surveyed the throne room, decorated heavily with imperial red and flashing gold. Storied tapestries hung on the walls, sandwiched between painted columns with mosaics both under foot and glittering above in the arched roof. The magistri of Emerald, Opal, Topaz and Diamond were already in attendance, seated at the long tables to the right of the dais, along with their heirs and un-affianced daughters, while the tables to left were populated by the highest ranked officials, some with their new fiancées.

None of the magistrae were in attendance. At any one time, they, their husbands or their heirs were expected to be within their provinces. Events of this magnitude at court were considered to be the purview of men.

On the dais, all bedecked in imperial red, Belisarius sat between his father and Selene, who was perfectly playing the part of princess consort. When this was over, Belisarius hoped to convince her to take on the roll in truth. He reached over, placing his hand on hers, and squeezed. How far they’d come from their first meeting.

Refreshments were being served while a small string quartet tried gamely to be heard over the sounds of the rain and simultaneous conversations. Without too great a delay, a servant whispered in Belisarius’ ear that the magistri had arrived and were ready to be presented. He fought back his dread as the great doors creaked open to reveal the traitors and their heirs, striding forward with confidence.

“Magister Aristeo Sapphire and his heir, Dominus Leo Sapphire. Magister Grigori Amethyst and his heir, Dominus Dimitri Amethyst.”

Belisarius scrutinized the magistri as they approached the dais to greet him formally. Sapphire had a certain brash swagger to his stride, mirrored almost exactly by his son, a spitting image of the tall, bronze-skinned, blue-eyed, white-haired father. Beside him, Amethyst had a quieter, if no less deadly, air about him. If only for a moment, he saw the same predatory gaze Selene often sported. Grigori’s small grin at the sight of her beside Belisarius did nothing to disguise the fire in the magister’s eyes. The young Amethyst heir had perfected the look of a noble stricken with a terminal case of ennui. Both possessed shockingly red hair, alabaster skin and below-average height. Magister Sapphire was the first to reach the dias, his long strides eating up the distance. He and his son knelt respectfully.

“May the forgotten gods see fit to remember you, Emperor Darius, Prince Belisarius.”

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