Chapter Twenty-two: Dralion

The Emperor of Cadelith, who sat on his throne of stone, looked just like any other human man. He was aged, with the touch of his winter years stark in his thinning hair that hung down to his shoulders. Deep lines, like grooves cut by the wheels of heavy wagons, were cut into his face and cut into the corners of his mouth and the corner of his eyes. Despite his age, there was a stockiness to him that set me on edge. On his weathered hands, I caught the rise of callouses.

Nestled in his paling hair, was a crown of sea-pearls. A cloak of navy spread over the arms of the stone throne, caught at the hollow of his throat by a gleaming clasp marked by two crossed swords. His own sword lay close by his side and yet, the steps before the stone were lined with stone-faced soldiers.

The Emperor noted our presence with the rise of a single eyebrow, his pale eyes twinkling as he beheld us. At his right, on a smaller throne, sat a slender young woman. A smaller net of pearls clasped back gleaming ebony coils away from a strong, defined face. She was tall, with muscles defined on her exposed arms. I pulled back a frown as I noted the silver ink spreading up from her hand, like lightening travelling along her veins.

Almost like...

Commander Avrae cleared her throat and the whispers of the throne room vanished. "I introduce to you, his Imperial Majesty, Emperor Evanesce Dralion, third of his name and his daughter and heir, her majesty Muira Dralion, sixth of her name."

The introduction through the Legion was quick and each member of the inner circle bowed. As my name was called, and the whispers broke out across the room, I found that I could not do it. I could not. To bow to a man who I had spent my entire life hating. Who had wilfully ignored the suffering of his people because it did not affect life in Naredan. The Elves of the North-east despised the Empire for how they ignored our poverty and suffering.

Mahon had once told me my pride would force me to stare the Emperor himself in his eyes. What he hadn't known was that it would fuse iron into my spine.

At most, I could incline my head while my sharp hearing caught their caustic whispers. A Half-Blood. How did one such as her afford such finery. Steel lined my spine and I knew, even if I had bowed down to the ground and kissed his feet, it wouldn't be enough. No Half-Blood could stoop low enough, debase themselves enough in front of their betters.

The Emperor's lips quirked, but the amusement I had seen earlier was gone.

"Will you not bow to your Emperor, Half-Blood?" Back again was Advisor Englin, his sneer pronounced.

I did not look at him.

He wandered closer, his walking stick clicking on the ground. He stopped only when Gwen shifted, a low thrum sounding in the back of her throat. The guards around the Emperor shifted.

The advisor sniffed. "Do you not hear me speaking to you, Half-Blood?"

I flicked a glance over him once more. "To whom are you speaking? I don't know any member of the Legion's inner circle who goes by that name. There is a dozen or more Half-Blood Elves in this throne-room. If you wish to speak to me, you refer to me by my title."

Another murmur through the crowd, but it was worth it to see the shock on Englin's face. Anger stoked inside my chest, flaming at the blatant disrespect. If they treated me this way, how did they treat the Half-Bloods throughout the city and who worked in the palace, who had no voice? It had been centuries since the humans had swept through Cadelith and tore apart the country, but the anger, the choking sense of injustice had not been diluted through the generations.

The advisor looked to the Emperor, who just waited. Swallowing, like sharp stones were being poured down his throat, he said, "Miss Birchwood..."

"Seeker Birchwood." Mahon corrected swiftly.

"I do not believe in titles that were not granted by the Emperor himself. Especially not to a Half-Blood who will not bow before the crown."

"You insult the guests invited into the Emperor's home?" A familiar man stepped out from the crowd, his face a mask of disapproval. Regan Ainthoch's warmth was snuffed, his face a mask of cool superiority. Space was cleared for him to approach the throne and people watched the powerful lord, a silence settling over the Emperor's court. A thick cloak of midnight blue hung from his shoulders, the emblem of the Ainthoch's clasping it at the hollow of his throat. "I am disappointed in you, Englin. "

Mahon stiffened as Regan stood beside us, his gaze unwavering as he stared down the advisor.

"Lord Ainthoch," Englin's lip curled. "So, the rumours that you were debasing yourself with Half-Bloods, trolls and low-borns was true."

"Low-born?" Mahon arched a brow. "I am mortally wounded."

The corner of Regan's mouth quirked and Englin opened his mouth, his whistling chest expanding. The Emperor spoke then, his voice like a roll of thunder. "Englin, you forget that Seeker Birchwood is from the North-East. Their dislike for the Empire and my family has been a common trait passed down through generations."

"My liege..."

"You are dismissed, Englin. My dear friend is right. Insulting a guest of the Emperor that has been personally invited by me is not a wise decision." The Emperor waved a hand and the Advisor clapped his mouth shut. His attention turned then, not to Lord Ainthoch or Mahon or Gwen who stared down at him like a gnat that needed quashing. No. That venomous stare turned to me, the object of his ire.

I hitched my chin and stared down at him.

His hate seemed only to deepen and he turned on his heel, his cane striking the ground as he hobbled away. The court waited for him to leave, a heavy silence hanging over us like a morning fog that hindered the moving ships, dampening the light that guided them home. The Emperor stood and his guards shifted. His daughter stood alongside him and moved a step behind him as he descended the steps to stand before me.

He was tall, though his shoulders were curled by age. His held my gaze and though I thought of him as no more than another human, there was a heaviness to his stare that made me want to glance away or bow my head. Only my own stubbornness, which had carried me through many hard times, kept iron infused into my spine.

"It is an honour to have you in my home, Seeker Birchwood."

"Thank you," I inclined my head. "It is beautiful."

He sniffed. "This beauty was not built by human hands, I am aware. That only makes my appreciation grow. Was your Keep as beautiful as this one?"

I paused, but could see nothing but genuine curiosity in his face. "It was."

"I imagine Dratlan was not the sea-foam beauty of Naredan?"

"No. It was ice and snow and the cruelty of nature. It was beautiful."

"I wish I could have seen it." The Emperor took a step back. "There are sketches in the palace libraries of many of the Elven Keeps. I have seen sketches and paintings of Dratlan, painted like a rise of perfect snow walls amongst the dark canopies of winter trees and hills and locked together to protect the valley. I would be honoured if you could see them and see if they have done the Keep justice."

I locked my trembling hands together, cursing the human who seemed to know me too well. Only paintings and drawings would recreate the splendour of the Keep. And they were locked up here, thousands of miles away from where the inspiration had been drawn. "I would be honoured."

The Emperor smiled, light brightening his eyes. "It is time that someone appreciates them. I will have servants set you and your people up."

The Emperor turned his attention to Gwen. "It is an honour to meet you Gwendolyn Feldspar. I have heard only shining reviews of your work, from many stonemasons whose work precedes them. If they issue a compliment, then it must be one of true merit. A compliment from them is like drawing blood from a stone."

Gwen flushed.

The Emperor turned to Mahon and another compliment flowed from him like rushing water over an edge. A compliment about the prestige of the Legion, how skilled he must be as a captain. How resolute, how determined and hard-working. Nuggets of gold that were enough to make the Captain shift, his resolute expression crinkling for the briefest of seconds.

He was nice, and yet, around the cavernous room, I could see the servants of the palace. Human servants in crisp livery, enmeshed in the shadows. Then, Half-Bloods with their lower faces covered, looping down from their ears. They passed unseen, ignored and unhindered as they did their work.

A plan stewed in my mind. When the Emperor dismissed us from his presence, my mind was made up.

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We were given a tour of the palace by a demure servant of the palace named Helene. She was human, clad in soft, pale cotton. A net clasped her dark hair and she spoke softly as she guided us through perfect gardens. I didn't doubt that we were being watched closely by the guards and workers of the grand palace, but I was determined to at least try and play the perfect guest.

Well, as perfect as I could

In my Legion's armour, decked out in expensive clothing and carrying weapons that no city-born Half-Blood would carry made me conspicuous. I needed to find the clothing of the Half-Blood servants, some mud and cover my hair. Then, people's eyes would slip over me as easily as water slicked down a tiled roof.

"Here, we have the Great Gallery." Helene led us into a towering room, where the ceiling sloped upwards to join a centre spine. A great circular window of painted glass left light dancing on the marbled floors. My breath caught in my throat as I strode into the room, my gaze rising to the paintings. "Our Emperor is most fond of paintings and art. He had left considerable contributions to the artist's guild and has paid for the continued upkeep of the amphitheatre."

Mahon made no comment, though I could imagine what words he might cut her with. Gwen openly examined a statue of a half-naked woman whose back was bowed by the weight of the young sapling in her hands. Soil trickled from her finger, vanishing before it could strike the ground. An illusion. Such magic for a statue?

"Helene, could you tell me something?" I asked.

Helene hummed her assent, standing remarkably still as the inner circle of the Legion fanned through the room. "Yes, Seeker Birchwood?"

It was odd to see my friends here. Fyr, I could see belonging to such a room, but I had only known my friends in the cold halls of Atoll, their support at my sides and back during a fight. In the cavernous, but old rooms of Adotlan. Here, even in our new clothes, we looked out of place.

"I have seen some people with lightening painted along their veins. Why?"

Helene frowned slightly. "In honour of you, Seeker. Naredan has heard stories of your exploits. It has become fashionable amongst some high circles to have our veins painted like yours. Some ladies have even taken to having dyes concocted to paste their hair and wearing docked ears to parties."

Docked ears.

Asha'da, these people were sick. Stricken, I couldn't find the words to respond to that.

Gwen turned, surveying the servant closely. "That is strange, girl. Why would people do something like that?"

"It is the fashion." Helene defended.

"Not a common fashion." A smooth voice cut in. A cultured, rich voice that echoed through the Great Gallery. Heir to the throne, Muira Dralion strode into the room, her hand tucked into Regan Ainthoch's elbow. She was taller than she had seemed in the throne room and her skirts rustled against the marbled floor, muting the soft tap of her slippered feet. "One that is not condoned in true society. You can leave us Helene."

Helene paused. "Advisor Englin instructed me to give the Legion a tour."

"And I am telling you to leave us. Now, Helene."

Helene's jaw set, but she bowed her head. "Of course, Your Worship."

I watched this all silently, keenly aware of how Regan Ainthoch stared boldly at Mahon. The Captain chose to ignore this, examining the writing under the paintings of a wild sea, where the skeleton a boat had crashed up on the shore. The princess waited under the servant was gone before speaking once more. "I apologise for all the rigmarole, Seeker Birchwood."

"There is nothing to apologise for, princess."

Princess Muira slipped her hand from Regan Ainthoch's elbow, her approach soft and slow. Her gaze flickered from me, to Gwen, to Fyr and then to Mahon who had returned his attention to the conversation. His expression was bland, staunch in his efforts to avoid Regan.

Dark coils brushed the exposed line of her shoulders and as she circled around me, I saw a sliver of a scar paling her dark skin. A knife wound. Frighteningly close to a princess' pulse.

"I've followed the growth of the Legion with more interest than any of the Council-members, or even my father himself." Muira admitted. "From the stories of the death of a few hundred souls, to rumours of a Half-Blood taking charge of Paladin soldiers. It worried me – to imagine a force gathering in the far east, where the Empire's hold is weaker. The rumours became stories, each more bold and brass than the ones before. Lightening in the skies. Villages saved from mysterious creatures. Famine. Attacks on Magin academies, slaving rings emerging like weeds. At the centre, a Half-Blood. You."

"The Legion did what we could to help the people." A response that Fyr would hopefully, not scold me for.

Muira arched a thick brow. "You did what the Empire would not. Do not dance around your feelings, Seeker Birchwood. They are written across your face."

"I have no wish to insult you in your own home, Princess. That is not proper."

The Princess smiled, her teeth stark against her painted lips. "You refused to bow to the Emperor. You could be accused of the gravest insult. And you did not bow when I entered the room, as is custom. If you wished for propriety Seeker, you and I would not be speaking as we are now."

I clucked my tongue. She was right. The Emperor had not been rude to my face, but it was my friends, our soliders and our followers who had walked in bloody fields. It was they, who had seen the beds of injured innocents screaming for mercy, for something to relieve the pain and for their loved ones. I had smelled the rot of death that no story passed through rumours could relay. "I don't - I don't understand why is has taken so long for the Empire to take note of the troubles. Months of hardships, hunger and death could have been alleviated if the Empire had stepped in earlier."

The Princess glanced over her shoulder. Regan had wandered closer to Mahon, under the guise of trying to look at a piece of art. Mahon glowered at him for a moment, before dismissing his presence as nothing more than a nipping gnat.

The Princess looked away from the door and tapped a finger to her ear. Her tone mellowed; her smile gentling so none of her teeth showed. She stepped away from me, folding her hands. The switch was quick and enough to warn me to mirror her. "Historically, battles have raged in the far east, and it has been the tactic of my forefathers to not get involved. The fighting is always inconsequential and fizzles out in the end. There is no wisdom in wasting resources sending soldiers to break skirmishes that have successful throughout history in wiping out dissidents."

Two ladies turned the corner. They wore fine dresses, each a mirror of the other with the same dark grey cloth and thread. It was hard to tell them apart. Both were tall and slender, with mousy brown hair and skin so pale that their veins were stark against their skin. Both faces appeared to be made of wax that had been left too close to the flame of the candle

"Princess," One cooed. "You are late for your lessons. It should not be your duty to entertain the guests."

"I wished the speak with them."

The other spoke. "Helene was tasked with escorting them around the palace grounds."

"I wished to speak with them." Muira's voice became steely.

"This is not the way. You are late for your lessons."

Princess Dralion cast us a look, her expression a sliver of what it had been earlier. Her shoulders laced back, her chin hitching high. "Forgive me."

The two eerily similar women were quiet as the Princess left the gallery, her slippered feet whispering down the hall. One stared me down, her disapproval evident. "You are not wearing proper attire, Seeker Birchwood."

"I am wearing what the rest of my party are wearing. Except for the Legion's emblem over my heart." My tone was bland, devoid of the embers that they would stoke to raise my anger.

The second spoke. She had a chipped front tooth, exposed by her wide, gummy mouth. "You are not wearing the correct attire, Seeker Birchwood."

"And what attire would that be exactly?" Mahon asked. "Since I am sure you will continue to stare at her until she magically plucks the thought from your head."

The second smiled, like a frog melting into itself. "Captain Bryant. Your cutting comments have not been grossly exaggerated, it seems. The talk of a low-born always stinks like a cow-pat left in the heat."

The first spoke, her smile a melted mirror of her companion. "Always so improper. I wonder what they teach the low-born children in their ditch schools? Surely, not how to speak properly. At least your manners in front of the divine Emperor were acceptable."

The second laughed and anger rushed through me, like flames catching on the edge of spilled oil.

"And to speak to a guest in such a way as?" Regan said caustically. The lord approached the ladies, such venom in his dark eyes that they did not dare to interrupt him. "Your teeth are unsheathed ladies, and you make little effort to hide your disgust. I don't see how any lady as uncouth and bold could belong in the court of the future Empress."

The two froze.

"That is too far, your lordship."

Fyr let out a snort, drawing up to stand beside Regan. In a voice that I had never hard from her, so dripping with derision and condescension as it was, it didn't belong to the warm, gentle Fyr that I knew.

"Lord Ainthoch, mind them not. The air has addled their brain, or their age. Surely either must be a reason why court ladies of their calibre would insult guests of the Emperor. If their minds were in reasonable condition, they would see the error of their ways and apologise to Seeker Birchwood and Captain Bryant immediately." Fyr folded her hands, eyes crinkling as she looked between them pitifully. "Ladies, I do not doubt the calibre of the emperor's healers but the accompaniment that the Seeker has brought with her has some skilled healers amongst them. Would you like any of them to examine your skulls for possible wounds?"

The two hissed a breath in between their teeth. The first spoke, "Your generosity Magister Lockley is too much. The fact remains that you are unaccompanied in the palace and Seeker Birchwood is not wearing the proper attire."

Gwen flamed, stepping forward. The two's composure cracked for a moment and they yielded a step to the Troll's advance.

"Gwendolyn," Fyr raised a hand, wordlessly halting her advance. Surprisingly, Gwen listened. She halted, nostrils flaring. "As well as being a renowned stonemason, she is also an exceptional healer. Perhaps you would like her to examine you."

They blanched, their gazes dropping similtanously to Gwen's broad hands.

The first spoke. "That will not be necessary. We have many duties to attend to at the moment and simply do not have the time. We will depart from you now."

"And send Helene in." Said the second. "To ensure that you do not get lost."

"Thank you for that kindness." Fyr smiled, her eyes glittering with thinly veiled annoyance.

The two left with mumbled departing words. Fyr loosed a breath, her shoulders slacking. "Divine, what fools."

"You handled them well." Mahon commented. "Gwen, a healer? I imagine the lengths you travelled to draw that imagined conclusion were far."

Gwen glowered. "I played a part. As did Fire-Lady here. Drawing the ire of some snotty idiots away from Aviana is what is best."

"Those two are infamous amongst the social circles in Naredan." Regan turned to us, his gaze straying again to Mahon. "Twins who were appointed by the departed Empress to be her ladies in waiting, to attend to her every need and manage her social plans, fine-tune her etiquette and such things. They dominated every facet of the Empress' life apart from her time with her child and husband. She did not complain and if she felt stifled by them, she certainly said nothing that got to the gossip-mongers. They care little for anyone not of high-born birth. When I married my dear-wife, they were given as a present to help her meld into Naredan's high society."

"Your wife is of high birth," Fyr said. "Naira and I spoke often of tutors and our similar childhoods, separated only by the magic I was bestowed."

"My love is not one to be bound by the tight ties of Naredan's caustic society. Those two would see everything bright and good about her personality stifled so that she fits a mould created by duller souls." The edge on Regan's voice softened when he spoke of his wife. "They are not fond of me, but my standing is too high to be rebuked by their callous whispers. You handled them well Fyr."

Fyr's cheeks bloomed red. "I was raised by ladies such as those. I fear I would have been exactly like them had I not set the dinner table on fire when I was a child."

Gwen's eyes widened. "You set your dinner table on fire?"

A sly smile cut Fyr's mouth. "There is much that you don't know about me, Gwendolyn." 

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Welcome back to Aviana's world!

Tell me your thoughts, theories and conspiracies. 

Do you think Aviana can use their blatant disrespect to her advantage? 

What do we think of Princess Muira?  Honest, or seeking to gain something for herself?

Will Mahon ever acknowledge Regan's presence?

Until next time - Saoimarie.