Post by wordy on Dec 2, 2010 10:59:50 GMT 10
To: Katty
Message: Happy Ficmas lovely! ;D Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
From: Em
Title: Emeralds and Orchids
Rating: PG-13
Wishlist Item: #4 - Berenene
Summary: A few glimpses at the life of an empress.
There was a knock at the door.
“Imperial Majesty, the ambassador has arrived.”
Berenene waved the woman away and turned back to the window. Outside, she could just glimpse the flowering rhododendrons down in the garden below. She rested her chin in her hand with a soft sigh, wishing she could spend the morning gardening instead of bargaining with foreigners to keep her country safe.
She looked down at the treaty in her hand, her forehead creasing delicately. She had always followed her instincts when it came to running Namorn, but now she found herself questioning every thought, every decision. Was it only her pride that still made her hesitate?
Placing the treaty back down on the table, Berenene looked out of the window once more.
I
The sun was just setting over the shore when one of the Sisters found her, barefoot and crouching on the sand. Berenene poked at the sea urchin, looking at it with interest. She wondered how it defended itself: washed up on the beach, it looked like nothing but a ball of seaweed. Pretending to be seaweed didn’t seem like the best way to keep predators away, but then again, she was not a sea urchin – only a girl. She supposed they kept their secrets close.
“Berenene, it is time to come in,” said the Sister from behind her. Berenene ignored her. Could sea urchins survive on land, with air instead of water? Was it possible that this creature was gasping for breath without her realising it? She wondered if it could live in her garden.
“Berenene,” came the Sister’s voice again. Irritated, Berenene turned to look over her shoulder at her. The Sister was wearing those horrible looking robes, and her face looked slightly pinched. Like a fish, thought Berenene, looking back at the sand to hide her smile.
“I’m coming,” said Berenene, in the most regal voice a twelve year old could manage. She stood and brushed off her sandy hands on her dress while the Sister watched impatiently.
Berenene followed her back to the temple, her mind still preoccupied with thoughts of sea creatures. The Sister walked two steps ahead of her, hands tucked into her robes, wondering how she could tell the poor child of her brother’s death. And more importantly, how could she tell this barefoot, dirty girl that she was now heir to the Namornese throne?
II
Berenene sank down in her chair, her chin planted in her hand as she surveyed the room crossly. She was tired of sitting in on these meetings with her father. All of his advisors were old and tetchy, and none of them seemed to get along.
At the far end of the table, her father stopped mid-argument to give her that Look. It was the Look that said, stop slouching and act like an empress. Berenene averted her eyes and slouched down a little further, her skirts puffing out around her like petals around a flower. She didn’t see why she needed to be here: most other fifteen year olds would be out riding, or having fun. Yet she was cooped up in this room with a bunch of stuffy old men. She wasn’t an empress yet.
With a sigh, she moved her hand from her chin to her hair, twining her fingers around the dark, bouncing curls that hung by her temple. When she was empress, there would be no crotchety men arguing with her across a long table; when she was empress, no one would dare to argue with her. She would make them love her.
III
The day her father died, Berenene sat in her bathtub until the water began to get cold, looking at her wrinkled fingers. She could hear her new Mistress of the Wardrobe sorting through dresses in the next room.
Rizu emerged with a sober black gown over her arms. Her usually merry eyes were serious. “This one, I think. And a black gauze veil.”
“No veil,” said Berenene, glancing across at her. “I want them to see my face.”
A delicate crease appeared between Rizu’s sculpted brows. “But if you cry -”
“I won’t cry.”
Rizu took in the empress’s determined expression, the curve of her bare shoulders. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “But surely, Imperial Majesty, Namorn will wish to see their empress’s tears for her father?”
“No,” said Berenene, her tone deflecting any argument. She stood, water running in rivulets down her body. Rizu put down the black gown and picked up a large towel, stepping forward to hold it out to the empress.
It was only later that Rizu understood, just before Berenene was to make her speech to the people and the court. The empress stood completely still, like a doll, while Rizu hovered anxiously around her, making sure that her dress and hair sat properly. The quiet murmurings of the crowd could be heard from where they were standing.
“They do not want to see a leader who is weak,” said Berenene quietly. Rizu glanced up from straightening her hem, taking in the empress’s raised chin and the carefully blank expression on her face. “If they think of me as a woman, they will continue to see me as a woman. I am not a woman; I am their leader. They need me to be strong about my father’s death so that they know I will not crumble at each and every sign of difficulty. They need me to be strong so that they can be strong.”
Rizu lowered her eyes to the empress’s hemline once more, before standing and folding her hands. Berenene did not look at her, did not look at anyone, until they heard her name announced to the waiting crowd: then Rizu watched as she turned and walked out to greet them, her head held high and proud.
Namorn needs an empress, thought Rizu. And now they have one.
She smiled.
IV
Berenene could not stifle a short laugh as the man’s lips left her neck and made their way along her collarbone. She gripped her fingers tighter into his dark hair and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of soft lips travelling down her skin.
There was something about the men from the Imperial Guard, she thought distractedly as a low moan made its way out of her throat. They were so unlike the noblemen and courtiers who she took as lovers: they tended to flutter about her like butterflies, always trying to anticipate her wishes, always trying to please her by doing what they thought she wanted. The Imperial Guard were made from real men, men who had no motive but to worship and protect her.
As a delightful ecstasy washed over her, Berenene lounged back against the pillows and raised the man’s head so that she could see his chiselled face, and trace her thumb lightly over his bottom lip. His pale eyes watched her, not in fear or in question, but with the heated focus that she had long ago associated with her most loyal subjects. That was why she preferred the men of her guard. They did not only love her as a woman, but also as their empress: courtiers had no honour, while the Imperial Guards were built on it.
Her full lips curving into a delicious smile, Berenene lowered her head to meet the man’s awaiting mouth with her own.
V
The only sound in the room was the empress’s nails tapping steadily on the tabletop. Her advisors were silent, averting their eyes either from respect or from fear. Berenene’s own eyes were fixed icily on one of the younger men who sat down the end of the table, almost quivering visibly under her unrelenting gaze.
“Do you care to repeat that, Saghad fer Bayern?” she asked, drawing back her hand to rest on the arm of her chair. Her stone-like expression made the man stutter; it looked as if he wished that he had not spoken in the first place.
“I merely said, your Imperial Majesty,” said the man hesitantly, “that if we raise the tariff this winter, then we will have more than enough provisions to last for at least two months.”
The empress pressed her red lips into a fine line and smoothed down the front of her honey-coloured gown. “Raise the tax,” she said, after a moment. “I wonder, Saghad, how old are you?”
The man’s eyes flickered nervously. “I am thirty one years old, Imperial Majesty.”
“Then you have witnessed thirty one years of Namornese winters.”
“Yes, Imperial Majesty,” he replied, his forehead creasing in confusion.
Berenene looked up once more, pinning him like a bug with her icy gaze. “Then I would assume, Saghad fer Bayern, that you have some minor understanding of how this country operates. The annual death rate is inflated by our winters, and let me remind you that none of those deaths are from the upper class. Should we raise the tariff, as you suggest, it is true that the nobility would have more to support themselves until the summer months. However, while we live comfortably, death among the lower classes will triple. More deaths in the lower and working classes means less work, and less work means less food. In less than a year’s time, we will all be feeling the consequences of that.”
The man gaped, then began to stutter what was presumably an apology.
The empress raised a hand and he fell silent immediately. “It is a wonder how you came to be on my board of advisors in the first place, Saghad,” she said. “Truly, it is a wonder. Perhaps some time with your family will help you realise your error.”
“Majesty, please -”
“Remove him,” she directed the guards who stood lining the walls. “Saghad fer Bayern is to be stripped of his title and land. See that he and his family find work and accommodation before the day is out.”
The guards stepped forward as one and proceeded to usher the protesting man from the room. Berenene’s remaining advisors were still silent.
“Now, gentlemen,” the empress said with a smile. “Where were we?”
VI
Berenene woke up, blinking sleepily. She raised a hand to push her russet hair away from her face only to sit up with a start when she realised that she was not in her chambers. The room, the bed that she was in – everything was unfamiliar. A queasy feeling came over her when she noticed that the two windows in the room had thick vertical bars on them. She was trapped.
Shaking off the sick feeling that clouded her mind, she turned and slipped out of bed, the cheap silk sheets slipping away as she rose and planted her bare feet on the cold floor. She was naked. Forehead furrowing in concentration, she tried to remember where she had been before she had woken up here. The immediate past was black, but she could vaguely recall that last night she had taken a new lover from among her courtiers. The last thing she remembered was sending him away as she let her head fall back against the pillow and drifted off into sleep.
Her expression turned murderous as she stalked towards one of the windows and pulled on the bars, then tried the next one. Someone would pay for this. No one made a fool out of her – no one. Next she stalked across to the door, but, as expected, the handle did not turn when she tried it. A dark scowl fixed itself on her beautiful face.
She spent the morning pacing backwards and forth across the cold floor. Why had her captor not yet come to visit her? Perhaps he thought that he would wait until she had calmed down. Berenene sneered elegantly. She was not calm; she had been imagining all of the horrible ways that she could torture this ridiculous courtier of hers, the ways that she could make him scream for mercy. She would make an example of him, she had decided.
The sound of approaching footsteps alerted her. Swiftly, she went and stood beside the door, her bare back pressed up against the wall. She calmed herself as she heard a key turn in the lock, and then the door was open.
The man took half a step into the room, glancing about, a puzzled expression on his lovely face. She recognised the bastard immediately: it was him. Before he could turn and see her, she struck out with her fist. It connected with his throat, making him gasp and clutch at his neck. His eyes bulged as he turned and saw her standing there, her face an impassive mask. She kicked out at the side of his knee and he crumpled to the ground with a painful cry, his eyes fixed on her.
He was pitiful. How could he have ever thought that he could succeed in kidnapping her? Even if he had somehow succeeded, she wondered how long into their marriage he would have survived. Berenene bent down and looked him in the eye, her anger building by the second. Not long at all, she decided.
Slipping the decorative knife on his hip from its sheath, she knelt and stroked the blade softly against his cheek, like a caress. He shook silently beneath her, too afraid to close his eyes.
Berenene moved the knife away from his cheek and thrust it into the door, where it stuck out only a few inches than the man’s head. She rose and walked out the door without a backwards glance. Behind her, she heard the slow rustle of clothes as the man got to his feet.
He would try to run, she knew, as she walked down the corridor. But he would not get far. She would make sure of that.
VII
Berenene bent to rub a leaf between her fingers, her rotund stomach making her back ache as she straightened once more. There were merely a few days before the birth of her second child, but she had wanted to visit her orchids once more before she was ordered back to bed.
She walked between the rows of plants, grabbing her gardening gloves and slipping them on as she examined each petal and leaf for any possible sign of sickness. Every now and then she snipped off a leaf, before stepping back and looking the orchids over with a critical but caring eye.
“Did you know,” she remarked, “that there are twice as many species of orchids as there are species of birds?”
The gardener crouching closest to her bent his head with a smile. Berenene couldn’t help a small smile herself as she turned back to her orchids: no matter how many times she had told them, her greenhouse staff still behaved as any of her other servants did.
Removing her gloves and placing them on a bench, Berenene picked up her skirts and walked slowly through to the section of her greenhouse where she housed her shakkans. They looked so fresh and bright with their small green leaves.
As she worked, Berenene thought about the upcoming birth and the young daughter she already had. She smiled to herself, remembering how saddened the healers had been to discover that it was not a baby boy, but a baby girl. Berenene herself had been overjoyed: that child would one day be empress of Namorn, and she knew that any girl that she raised would be far wiser, and far more prepared, than any boy could.
That was another advantage of using men from her Imperial Guard to father her children: despite the many rumours, she always made sure that it was impossible for any of her courtiers or noblemen to get her with child. Just like the Imperial Guard, her daughter was level-headed and smart, with a clear eye for detail and a clearer heart. Berenene knew that her unborn child, whether it was a son or another daughter, would have the exact same attributes.
Some people thought orchids to be parasites, she recalled as she walked back through the greenhouse. Yet even parasites had the redeeming quality of being steadfast and unyielding. It was an odd thought to have, but she had learnt during the years of her reign that sometimes thinking in the mindset of any enemy was the best way to build your own forces.
And her children, she promised, would be a force to be reckoned with.
VIII
The room was buzzing with activity; hundreds had gathered in the Hall of Swords to celebrate the empress’s birthday. None present at the occasion knew how old she was, or, at least, none of them were brave enough to speculate within her range of hearing. It was evident from her appearance, however, that she was as lovely as ever, and would no doubt age gracefully.
Caidlene watched the empress through the crowd, her black eyes sparkling. “Doesn’t she look splendid?” she sighed.
For such a special occasion, Rizu had surely done her best work. The empress looked resplendent in a dark green robe over a cream undergown, with her shining hair worked into an elaborate style of flowing curls dotted with jewels. Her ensemble was completed by an eye-catching emerald necklace that rested delicately over her collarbones.
Jak turned to look at Berenene, goblet in hand. “Beautiful as always,” he said. “I cannot understand how you ladies do it.” He turned back to Caidlene with a smile.
She ignored his flirting. “I’ll never be as beautiful as her. I’ll never be anything like her.”
“Come now, Caidy, stop being so glum!” said Jak, putting his drink down and offering her his hand. “Won’t you at least dance with me?”
Caidlene smiled, tearing her eyes away from the empress and her circle of admirers. “All right,” she said. “One dance.”
As the night wore on, the older guests withdrew, providing the younger ones with ample room for dancing. Despite her promise of one dance, Caidlene ended up taking two turns with Jak, and one with Fin. She was feeling giddy and light from all the exercise, her flushed skin standing out nicely against her pale blue gown. When she walked around to the other side of the room to find herself some water, she could not help but overhear a whispered conversation.
“Again?” exclaimed the first voice, a woman. Caidlene took a goblet of water and pressed it to her lips, trying to discreetly glance over her shoulder at the same time.
“Yes, or so I’ve heard,” said the second voice, also a woman, her voice lowered. “That’s the third time that the mage has found himself out of favour with her Majesty. It’s a wonder he doesn’t give up.”
Caidlene’s interest peaked at that: they must have been referring to Quenaill, the empress’s personal bodyguard. It was well-known among the court that he was one of her more frequent lovers.
“Well, it seems like she’s given up,” returned the first voice. “There’s only so much a woman can take, after all.” That statement was followed by a shirt burst of laughter. Caidlene, taking another sip of her drink, began wandering back around the room towards where she had left her friends. Quenaill out of the empress’s bed, again? she thought with interest. As she walked, she cast a glance towards the dais. Quenaill and the empress’s other mage, Ishabal Ladyhammer, stood there and watched over the festivities. Though Viymese Ladyhammer had a carefully blank expression on her face, Quenaill’s look was directed towards the group where the empress was currently socialising, his jaw obviously clenched. Caidlene looked towards the group as well and almost dropped her goblet when she saw that the empress was watching her. Lowering her head and blushing, she hurried back to her friends.
Caidlene did not tell Jak about the empress looking at her, but she did tell him what she had heard about Quenaill.
“That doesn’t come as a surprise,” said Fin from beside her.
Jak rolled his eyes. “The man must be mad; if I was ever in the empress’s favour, I would make very sure I stayed that way.”
Caidlene laughed. “I can just imagine – you would be trailing after her like a puppy.”
“Tripping over your own ears to have her walk all over you,” Fin joined in. “Happy if she even looked at you.”
That reminded Caidlene of the empress watching her, which made her blush again. Luckily, the two young men must have passed it off as a result of all the dancing. Biting her lip, she threw a quick glance towards the dais, where the empress had retired to her throne. Just as Caidlene was about to look away, the empress caught her eye. It sent a thrill all over her, being examined by those lovely dark eyes. While she watched, the empress leaned over delicately to whisper into Viymese Ladyhammer’s ear, who bent to accommodate her. The old mage’s eyes shifted, burning into her from across the room. Caidlene quickly looked away, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
“One more dance, Caidlene?” asked Fin from by her shoulder. Caidlene turned to look up into his charming face, her body still coursing with a strange delight from the way they empress had looked at her.
“Of course,” she smiled, and let Fin lead her out onto the floor.
The entire time they were dancing, she swore that she could feel the empress’s eyes watching her every move.
The room was still alive with activity when Caidlene began to tire, her feet hurting from too many dances that she could not resist. She was seriously contemplating leaving for the night, when suddenly she found herself confronted with Viymese Ladyhammer standing in front of her. Around them, people continued to gossip and flirt, oblivious to the shock that she was feeling.
“Caidlene fa Sarajane?” said the mage, raising her black brows.
“Yes, Viymese,” replied Caidlene, bobbing an awkward curtsy.
“Her Imperial Majesty would like you to join her.”
Caidlene’s eyes shifted to the dais: the empress was gone. “Oh,” she said. “Whatever Her Imperial Majesty wishes.”
Ladyhammer nodded, then turned and began walking through the crowd. At a loss for what to do, Caidlene followed her, biting her lip the whole way. What could the empress possibly want to see her for? A shiver ran over her. She could not decide if she was frightened or excited to finally see the empress up close in all her beauty.
Caidlene followed the mage out of the Hall of Swords and into the palace, turning down unfamiliar corridor after unfamiliar corridor. As she walked, she tried to straighten her dress and make sure that her black hair was still somewhat in place after so much dancing. Her stomach was doing flips; she had never felt so nervous before in her life.
Ladyhammer stopped in front of a door. Caidlene could not help but look at it with a growing sense of anticipation. Once they were inside, the mage dismissed the maid while Caidlene glanced around. They appeared to be in a sitting room. But Ladyhammer led her on to another door, which she knocked briskly upon. The two of them waited in silence for an answer.
“Enter.”
All of the breath seemed to leave Caidlene’s lungs as Ladyhammer opened the door; that musical voice belonged to the empress, and, suddenly, she was sitting before them in all her glory. Caidlene curtsied low, and when she rose she caught a curving smile on the empress’s face.
“Thank you, Isha, that will be all,” said the empress, rising from her seat and walking over to close the door behind her. She no longer wore her lovely green and cream coloured gown from the night’s festivities, but was now dressed in only a thin, ivory silk robe that accentuated her shapely figure. However, she still wore the brilliant emerald necklace about her neck.
“I have been watching you, Caidlene,” said the empress, walking back to her and trailing her fingers along Caidlene’s arm, sending a shiver over her. “You dance well.”
“Thank you, Imperial Majesty,” she replied, lowering her eyes.
Caidlene felt cool fingers under her chin. She looked up into the empress’s dark eyes. “Please, you may call me Berenene.”
Caidlene could not turn her eyes away from that lovely face. She felt trapped: trapped in the gentle curve of those luscious lips, in the soft plane of her cheek, and in the delicate eyelashes that framed those enchanting eyes.
The empress smiled at her, and it was a cat’s smile: smug and seductive. Irresistible. Before Caidlene could even process what was happening, the empress was moving closer, her fingers now caressing Caidlene’s cheek, as she softly touched their lips together. Caidlene’s eyelids fluttered shut as she leaned gently into the pressure, the empress’s mouth opening under hers. It was nothing like kissing a man, which would turn Caidlene to liquid with one touch; instead, she found that there was an insistent heat running through her veins, building hurriedly as it swirled about in the bottom of her stomach.
When she felt the empress pulling away, Caidlene could not help but follow after her for a moment, not wanting to be parted from those retreating lips. She opened her eyes to find the empress looking at her, this time with a warmer, friendlier expression on her face.
The empress began to untie her ivory robe, but Caidlene stopped her with a hand. She raised her eyes to meet the other woman’s. “Let me,” she whispered.
Letting the silk robe drop to the floor, Caidlene took a moment to drink in the breathtaking image before her; the empress stood nude and waiting before her, the only ornamentation besides her own beauty was the emerald necklace.
Stepping closer once more, the empress captured her mouth in a sweet kiss, and as Caidlene found herself melting into the other woman, she could not help but think that until this moment, she had not truly known what it meant to worship another.
The ambassador had the look of a man who had seen more war than he desired, his dark eyes watching the empress attentively as she entered the room and took her seat. There were still a million thoughts running through Berenene’s mind, twisting together like the roots of a tree. She was still unsure, still undecided.
Once more, she let her eyes fall to the treaty in her hand. The ambassador waited patiently, and Berenene found herself liking him, trusting him, despite this being their first meeting. The words of the treaty blended together, and she found herself instead thinking of her children. Not the three strong daughters that she had given birth to, but her people. She knew that she had made mistakes during her reign—the kidnapping custom, which she had allowed to go on for far too long, was evidence of that—but there was still time to make the right choices. Her pride did not matter, not when its price was the lives and freedom of her people, with war raging at her borders.
Berenene held out a hand. “A pen, if you please.”
Beside her, Isha stepped forward with a pen, placing it into her hand. The ambassador wore the tiniest hint of a smile.
As she signed the treaty, Berenene gave him a small smile of her own.
Message: Happy Ficmas lovely! ;D Hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!
From: Em
Title: Emeralds and Orchids
Rating: PG-13
Wishlist Item: #4 - Berenene
Summary: A few glimpses at the life of an empress.
There was a knock at the door.
“Imperial Majesty, the ambassador has arrived.”
Berenene waved the woman away and turned back to the window. Outside, she could just glimpse the flowering rhododendrons down in the garden below. She rested her chin in her hand with a soft sigh, wishing she could spend the morning gardening instead of bargaining with foreigners to keep her country safe.
She looked down at the treaty in her hand, her forehead creasing delicately. She had always followed her instincts when it came to running Namorn, but now she found herself questioning every thought, every decision. Was it only her pride that still made her hesitate?
Placing the treaty back down on the table, Berenene looked out of the window once more.
--
I
The sun was just setting over the shore when one of the Sisters found her, barefoot and crouching on the sand. Berenene poked at the sea urchin, looking at it with interest. She wondered how it defended itself: washed up on the beach, it looked like nothing but a ball of seaweed. Pretending to be seaweed didn’t seem like the best way to keep predators away, but then again, she was not a sea urchin – only a girl. She supposed they kept their secrets close.
“Berenene, it is time to come in,” said the Sister from behind her. Berenene ignored her. Could sea urchins survive on land, with air instead of water? Was it possible that this creature was gasping for breath without her realising it? She wondered if it could live in her garden.
“Berenene,” came the Sister’s voice again. Irritated, Berenene turned to look over her shoulder at her. The Sister was wearing those horrible looking robes, and her face looked slightly pinched. Like a fish, thought Berenene, looking back at the sand to hide her smile.
“I’m coming,” said Berenene, in the most regal voice a twelve year old could manage. She stood and brushed off her sandy hands on her dress while the Sister watched impatiently.
Berenene followed her back to the temple, her mind still preoccupied with thoughts of sea creatures. The Sister walked two steps ahead of her, hands tucked into her robes, wondering how she could tell the poor child of her brother’s death. And more importantly, how could she tell this barefoot, dirty girl that she was now heir to the Namornese throne?
II
Berenene sank down in her chair, her chin planted in her hand as she surveyed the room crossly. She was tired of sitting in on these meetings with her father. All of his advisors were old and tetchy, and none of them seemed to get along.
At the far end of the table, her father stopped mid-argument to give her that Look. It was the Look that said, stop slouching and act like an empress. Berenene averted her eyes and slouched down a little further, her skirts puffing out around her like petals around a flower. She didn’t see why she needed to be here: most other fifteen year olds would be out riding, or having fun. Yet she was cooped up in this room with a bunch of stuffy old men. She wasn’t an empress yet.
With a sigh, she moved her hand from her chin to her hair, twining her fingers around the dark, bouncing curls that hung by her temple. When she was empress, there would be no crotchety men arguing with her across a long table; when she was empress, no one would dare to argue with her. She would make them love her.
III
The day her father died, Berenene sat in her bathtub until the water began to get cold, looking at her wrinkled fingers. She could hear her new Mistress of the Wardrobe sorting through dresses in the next room.
Rizu emerged with a sober black gown over her arms. Her usually merry eyes were serious. “This one, I think. And a black gauze veil.”
“No veil,” said Berenene, glancing across at her. “I want them to see my face.”
A delicate crease appeared between Rizu’s sculpted brows. “But if you cry -”
“I won’t cry.”
Rizu took in the empress’s determined expression, the curve of her bare shoulders. She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “But surely, Imperial Majesty, Namorn will wish to see their empress’s tears for her father?”
“No,” said Berenene, her tone deflecting any argument. She stood, water running in rivulets down her body. Rizu put down the black gown and picked up a large towel, stepping forward to hold it out to the empress.
It was only later that Rizu understood, just before Berenene was to make her speech to the people and the court. The empress stood completely still, like a doll, while Rizu hovered anxiously around her, making sure that her dress and hair sat properly. The quiet murmurings of the crowd could be heard from where they were standing.
“They do not want to see a leader who is weak,” said Berenene quietly. Rizu glanced up from straightening her hem, taking in the empress’s raised chin and the carefully blank expression on her face. “If they think of me as a woman, they will continue to see me as a woman. I am not a woman; I am their leader. They need me to be strong about my father’s death so that they know I will not crumble at each and every sign of difficulty. They need me to be strong so that they can be strong.”
Rizu lowered her eyes to the empress’s hemline once more, before standing and folding her hands. Berenene did not look at her, did not look at anyone, until they heard her name announced to the waiting crowd: then Rizu watched as she turned and walked out to greet them, her head held high and proud.
Namorn needs an empress, thought Rizu. And now they have one.
She smiled.
IV
Berenene could not stifle a short laugh as the man’s lips left her neck and made their way along her collarbone. She gripped her fingers tighter into his dark hair and closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of soft lips travelling down her skin.
There was something about the men from the Imperial Guard, she thought distractedly as a low moan made its way out of her throat. They were so unlike the noblemen and courtiers who she took as lovers: they tended to flutter about her like butterflies, always trying to anticipate her wishes, always trying to please her by doing what they thought she wanted. The Imperial Guard were made from real men, men who had no motive but to worship and protect her.
As a delightful ecstasy washed over her, Berenene lounged back against the pillows and raised the man’s head so that she could see his chiselled face, and trace her thumb lightly over his bottom lip. His pale eyes watched her, not in fear or in question, but with the heated focus that she had long ago associated with her most loyal subjects. That was why she preferred the men of her guard. They did not only love her as a woman, but also as their empress: courtiers had no honour, while the Imperial Guards were built on it.
Her full lips curving into a delicious smile, Berenene lowered her head to meet the man’s awaiting mouth with her own.
V
The only sound in the room was the empress’s nails tapping steadily on the tabletop. Her advisors were silent, averting their eyes either from respect or from fear. Berenene’s own eyes were fixed icily on one of the younger men who sat down the end of the table, almost quivering visibly under her unrelenting gaze.
“Do you care to repeat that, Saghad fer Bayern?” she asked, drawing back her hand to rest on the arm of her chair. Her stone-like expression made the man stutter; it looked as if he wished that he had not spoken in the first place.
“I merely said, your Imperial Majesty,” said the man hesitantly, “that if we raise the tariff this winter, then we will have more than enough provisions to last for at least two months.”
The empress pressed her red lips into a fine line and smoothed down the front of her honey-coloured gown. “Raise the tax,” she said, after a moment. “I wonder, Saghad, how old are you?”
The man’s eyes flickered nervously. “I am thirty one years old, Imperial Majesty.”
“Then you have witnessed thirty one years of Namornese winters.”
“Yes, Imperial Majesty,” he replied, his forehead creasing in confusion.
Berenene looked up once more, pinning him like a bug with her icy gaze. “Then I would assume, Saghad fer Bayern, that you have some minor understanding of how this country operates. The annual death rate is inflated by our winters, and let me remind you that none of those deaths are from the upper class. Should we raise the tariff, as you suggest, it is true that the nobility would have more to support themselves until the summer months. However, while we live comfortably, death among the lower classes will triple. More deaths in the lower and working classes means less work, and less work means less food. In less than a year’s time, we will all be feeling the consequences of that.”
The man gaped, then began to stutter what was presumably an apology.
The empress raised a hand and he fell silent immediately. “It is a wonder how you came to be on my board of advisors in the first place, Saghad,” she said. “Truly, it is a wonder. Perhaps some time with your family will help you realise your error.”
“Majesty, please -”
“Remove him,” she directed the guards who stood lining the walls. “Saghad fer Bayern is to be stripped of his title and land. See that he and his family find work and accommodation before the day is out.”
The guards stepped forward as one and proceeded to usher the protesting man from the room. Berenene’s remaining advisors were still silent.
“Now, gentlemen,” the empress said with a smile. “Where were we?”
VI
Berenene woke up, blinking sleepily. She raised a hand to push her russet hair away from her face only to sit up with a start when she realised that she was not in her chambers. The room, the bed that she was in – everything was unfamiliar. A queasy feeling came over her when she noticed that the two windows in the room had thick vertical bars on them. She was trapped.
Shaking off the sick feeling that clouded her mind, she turned and slipped out of bed, the cheap silk sheets slipping away as she rose and planted her bare feet on the cold floor. She was naked. Forehead furrowing in concentration, she tried to remember where she had been before she had woken up here. The immediate past was black, but she could vaguely recall that last night she had taken a new lover from among her courtiers. The last thing she remembered was sending him away as she let her head fall back against the pillow and drifted off into sleep.
Her expression turned murderous as she stalked towards one of the windows and pulled on the bars, then tried the next one. Someone would pay for this. No one made a fool out of her – no one. Next she stalked across to the door, but, as expected, the handle did not turn when she tried it. A dark scowl fixed itself on her beautiful face.
She spent the morning pacing backwards and forth across the cold floor. Why had her captor not yet come to visit her? Perhaps he thought that he would wait until she had calmed down. Berenene sneered elegantly. She was not calm; she had been imagining all of the horrible ways that she could torture this ridiculous courtier of hers, the ways that she could make him scream for mercy. She would make an example of him, she had decided.
The sound of approaching footsteps alerted her. Swiftly, she went and stood beside the door, her bare back pressed up against the wall. She calmed herself as she heard a key turn in the lock, and then the door was open.
The man took half a step into the room, glancing about, a puzzled expression on his lovely face. She recognised the bastard immediately: it was him. Before he could turn and see her, she struck out with her fist. It connected with his throat, making him gasp and clutch at his neck. His eyes bulged as he turned and saw her standing there, her face an impassive mask. She kicked out at the side of his knee and he crumpled to the ground with a painful cry, his eyes fixed on her.
He was pitiful. How could he have ever thought that he could succeed in kidnapping her? Even if he had somehow succeeded, she wondered how long into their marriage he would have survived. Berenene bent down and looked him in the eye, her anger building by the second. Not long at all, she decided.
Slipping the decorative knife on his hip from its sheath, she knelt and stroked the blade softly against his cheek, like a caress. He shook silently beneath her, too afraid to close his eyes.
Berenene moved the knife away from his cheek and thrust it into the door, where it stuck out only a few inches than the man’s head. She rose and walked out the door without a backwards glance. Behind her, she heard the slow rustle of clothes as the man got to his feet.
He would try to run, she knew, as she walked down the corridor. But he would not get far. She would make sure of that.
VII
Berenene bent to rub a leaf between her fingers, her rotund stomach making her back ache as she straightened once more. There were merely a few days before the birth of her second child, but she had wanted to visit her orchids once more before she was ordered back to bed.
She walked between the rows of plants, grabbing her gardening gloves and slipping them on as she examined each petal and leaf for any possible sign of sickness. Every now and then she snipped off a leaf, before stepping back and looking the orchids over with a critical but caring eye.
“Did you know,” she remarked, “that there are twice as many species of orchids as there are species of birds?”
The gardener crouching closest to her bent his head with a smile. Berenene couldn’t help a small smile herself as she turned back to her orchids: no matter how many times she had told them, her greenhouse staff still behaved as any of her other servants did.
Removing her gloves and placing them on a bench, Berenene picked up her skirts and walked slowly through to the section of her greenhouse where she housed her shakkans. They looked so fresh and bright with their small green leaves.
As she worked, Berenene thought about the upcoming birth and the young daughter she already had. She smiled to herself, remembering how saddened the healers had been to discover that it was not a baby boy, but a baby girl. Berenene herself had been overjoyed: that child would one day be empress of Namorn, and she knew that any girl that she raised would be far wiser, and far more prepared, than any boy could.
That was another advantage of using men from her Imperial Guard to father her children: despite the many rumours, she always made sure that it was impossible for any of her courtiers or noblemen to get her with child. Just like the Imperial Guard, her daughter was level-headed and smart, with a clear eye for detail and a clearer heart. Berenene knew that her unborn child, whether it was a son or another daughter, would have the exact same attributes.
Some people thought orchids to be parasites, she recalled as she walked back through the greenhouse. Yet even parasites had the redeeming quality of being steadfast and unyielding. It was an odd thought to have, but she had learnt during the years of her reign that sometimes thinking in the mindset of any enemy was the best way to build your own forces.
And her children, she promised, would be a force to be reckoned with.
VIII
The room was buzzing with activity; hundreds had gathered in the Hall of Swords to celebrate the empress’s birthday. None present at the occasion knew how old she was, or, at least, none of them were brave enough to speculate within her range of hearing. It was evident from her appearance, however, that she was as lovely as ever, and would no doubt age gracefully.
Caidlene watched the empress through the crowd, her black eyes sparkling. “Doesn’t she look splendid?” she sighed.
For such a special occasion, Rizu had surely done her best work. The empress looked resplendent in a dark green robe over a cream undergown, with her shining hair worked into an elaborate style of flowing curls dotted with jewels. Her ensemble was completed by an eye-catching emerald necklace that rested delicately over her collarbones.
Jak turned to look at Berenene, goblet in hand. “Beautiful as always,” he said. “I cannot understand how you ladies do it.” He turned back to Caidlene with a smile.
She ignored his flirting. “I’ll never be as beautiful as her. I’ll never be anything like her.”
“Come now, Caidy, stop being so glum!” said Jak, putting his drink down and offering her his hand. “Won’t you at least dance with me?”
Caidlene smiled, tearing her eyes away from the empress and her circle of admirers. “All right,” she said. “One dance.”
As the night wore on, the older guests withdrew, providing the younger ones with ample room for dancing. Despite her promise of one dance, Caidlene ended up taking two turns with Jak, and one with Fin. She was feeling giddy and light from all the exercise, her flushed skin standing out nicely against her pale blue gown. When she walked around to the other side of the room to find herself some water, she could not help but overhear a whispered conversation.
“Again?” exclaimed the first voice, a woman. Caidlene took a goblet of water and pressed it to her lips, trying to discreetly glance over her shoulder at the same time.
“Yes, or so I’ve heard,” said the second voice, also a woman, her voice lowered. “That’s the third time that the mage has found himself out of favour with her Majesty. It’s a wonder he doesn’t give up.”
Caidlene’s interest peaked at that: they must have been referring to Quenaill, the empress’s personal bodyguard. It was well-known among the court that he was one of her more frequent lovers.
“Well, it seems like she’s given up,” returned the first voice. “There’s only so much a woman can take, after all.” That statement was followed by a shirt burst of laughter. Caidlene, taking another sip of her drink, began wandering back around the room towards where she had left her friends. Quenaill out of the empress’s bed, again? she thought with interest. As she walked, she cast a glance towards the dais. Quenaill and the empress’s other mage, Ishabal Ladyhammer, stood there and watched over the festivities. Though Viymese Ladyhammer had a carefully blank expression on her face, Quenaill’s look was directed towards the group where the empress was currently socialising, his jaw obviously clenched. Caidlene looked towards the group as well and almost dropped her goblet when she saw that the empress was watching her. Lowering her head and blushing, she hurried back to her friends.
Caidlene did not tell Jak about the empress looking at her, but she did tell him what she had heard about Quenaill.
“That doesn’t come as a surprise,” said Fin from beside her.
Jak rolled his eyes. “The man must be mad; if I was ever in the empress’s favour, I would make very sure I stayed that way.”
Caidlene laughed. “I can just imagine – you would be trailing after her like a puppy.”
“Tripping over your own ears to have her walk all over you,” Fin joined in. “Happy if she even looked at you.”
That reminded Caidlene of the empress watching her, which made her blush again. Luckily, the two young men must have passed it off as a result of all the dancing. Biting her lip, she threw a quick glance towards the dais, where the empress had retired to her throne. Just as Caidlene was about to look away, the empress caught her eye. It sent a thrill all over her, being examined by those lovely dark eyes. While she watched, the empress leaned over delicately to whisper into Viymese Ladyhammer’s ear, who bent to accommodate her. The old mage’s eyes shifted, burning into her from across the room. Caidlene quickly looked away, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
“One more dance, Caidlene?” asked Fin from by her shoulder. Caidlene turned to look up into his charming face, her body still coursing with a strange delight from the way they empress had looked at her.
“Of course,” she smiled, and let Fin lead her out onto the floor.
The entire time they were dancing, she swore that she could feel the empress’s eyes watching her every move.
The room was still alive with activity when Caidlene began to tire, her feet hurting from too many dances that she could not resist. She was seriously contemplating leaving for the night, when suddenly she found herself confronted with Viymese Ladyhammer standing in front of her. Around them, people continued to gossip and flirt, oblivious to the shock that she was feeling.
“Caidlene fa Sarajane?” said the mage, raising her black brows.
“Yes, Viymese,” replied Caidlene, bobbing an awkward curtsy.
“Her Imperial Majesty would like you to join her.”
Caidlene’s eyes shifted to the dais: the empress was gone. “Oh,” she said. “Whatever Her Imperial Majesty wishes.”
Ladyhammer nodded, then turned and began walking through the crowd. At a loss for what to do, Caidlene followed her, biting her lip the whole way. What could the empress possibly want to see her for? A shiver ran over her. She could not decide if she was frightened or excited to finally see the empress up close in all her beauty.
Caidlene followed the mage out of the Hall of Swords and into the palace, turning down unfamiliar corridor after unfamiliar corridor. As she walked, she tried to straighten her dress and make sure that her black hair was still somewhat in place after so much dancing. Her stomach was doing flips; she had never felt so nervous before in her life.
Ladyhammer stopped in front of a door. Caidlene could not help but look at it with a growing sense of anticipation. Once they were inside, the mage dismissed the maid while Caidlene glanced around. They appeared to be in a sitting room. But Ladyhammer led her on to another door, which she knocked briskly upon. The two of them waited in silence for an answer.
“Enter.”
All of the breath seemed to leave Caidlene’s lungs as Ladyhammer opened the door; that musical voice belonged to the empress, and, suddenly, she was sitting before them in all her glory. Caidlene curtsied low, and when she rose she caught a curving smile on the empress’s face.
“Thank you, Isha, that will be all,” said the empress, rising from her seat and walking over to close the door behind her. She no longer wore her lovely green and cream coloured gown from the night’s festivities, but was now dressed in only a thin, ivory silk robe that accentuated her shapely figure. However, she still wore the brilliant emerald necklace about her neck.
“I have been watching you, Caidlene,” said the empress, walking back to her and trailing her fingers along Caidlene’s arm, sending a shiver over her. “You dance well.”
“Thank you, Imperial Majesty,” she replied, lowering her eyes.
Caidlene felt cool fingers under her chin. She looked up into the empress’s dark eyes. “Please, you may call me Berenene.”
Caidlene could not turn her eyes away from that lovely face. She felt trapped: trapped in the gentle curve of those luscious lips, in the soft plane of her cheek, and in the delicate eyelashes that framed those enchanting eyes.
The empress smiled at her, and it was a cat’s smile: smug and seductive. Irresistible. Before Caidlene could even process what was happening, the empress was moving closer, her fingers now caressing Caidlene’s cheek, as she softly touched their lips together. Caidlene’s eyelids fluttered shut as she leaned gently into the pressure, the empress’s mouth opening under hers. It was nothing like kissing a man, which would turn Caidlene to liquid with one touch; instead, she found that there was an insistent heat running through her veins, building hurriedly as it swirled about in the bottom of her stomach.
When she felt the empress pulling away, Caidlene could not help but follow after her for a moment, not wanting to be parted from those retreating lips. She opened her eyes to find the empress looking at her, this time with a warmer, friendlier expression on her face.
The empress began to untie her ivory robe, but Caidlene stopped her with a hand. She raised her eyes to meet the other woman’s. “Let me,” she whispered.
Letting the silk robe drop to the floor, Caidlene took a moment to drink in the breathtaking image before her; the empress stood nude and waiting before her, the only ornamentation besides her own beauty was the emerald necklace.
Stepping closer once more, the empress captured her mouth in a sweet kiss, and as Caidlene found herself melting into the other woman, she could not help but think that until this moment, she had not truly known what it meant to worship another.
--
The ambassador had the look of a man who had seen more war than he desired, his dark eyes watching the empress attentively as she entered the room and took her seat. There were still a million thoughts running through Berenene’s mind, twisting together like the roots of a tree. She was still unsure, still undecided.
Once more, she let her eyes fall to the treaty in her hand. The ambassador waited patiently, and Berenene found herself liking him, trusting him, despite this being their first meeting. The words of the treaty blended together, and she found herself instead thinking of her children. Not the three strong daughters that she had given birth to, but her people. She knew that she had made mistakes during her reign—the kidnapping custom, which she had allowed to go on for far too long, was evidence of that—but there was still time to make the right choices. Her pride did not matter, not when its price was the lives and freedom of her people, with war raging at her borders.
Berenene held out a hand. “A pen, if you please.”
Beside her, Isha stepped forward with a pen, placing it into her hand. The ambassador wore the tiniest hint of a smile.
As she signed the treaty, Berenene gave him a small smile of her own.