Ariella

vii. Stateswoman

Being empress is a lot like Ariella thought. It is difficult and demanding, and yet, strangely rewarding. And she has the respect, the power, she's always craved. That in itself is a miracle.

Her coronation is simple, a recitation of the vows while Father Dendred looks on disapprovingly. The priest is one of the few who voted against Ariella's appointment. She wears golden-and-black sheer satin, slit up the thigh and cut low in the back, the better to see her new tattoo, that of a pair of dragons that intertwines across her back and wraps around her thighs. It is sensual and powerful, the epitome of an empress. Hellaina and Rhihalla carry her twelve-foot long train. She will suffer no other hands to do it. Her sisters can't attend-they don't even send regards. At the feast afterwards, she accepts congratulations and sips red wine, then at night makes sweet love to Hellaina.

It is the best day of her life.

The days that follow are hectic and wild. Marcellus is nowhere to be found; he could be heard saying loudly when he heard the results of the election that no woman would ever rule over him. He disappears, and many of the noble youths go with him, many of them the same who refused to practice in the sparring field when Ariella was there. It saddens her, true, but she was expecting it. There are some who will never accept me. I cannot change that, but I will have to live with it.

There is much to attend to, and every council meeting makes her want to tear her hair out. Only the High Lord's presence allows her to keep a civil tongue.

Firstly, there is the matter of Miriel to attend to. As her "daughter", now that she has assumed the position of her father, Miriel's keeping is now her position. She first tries to entrust her care to Cielaré, but he turns her down.

"I have no house for children. Truly, my Empress, I am honored, but I cannot care for a girl of one-and-ten."

"Who else can I entrust her to?" Ariella asks, puzzled.

"Give her to Ruble. After all, without his election scheme, you wouldn't have this position. Besides, it might endear you to him a little bit more. He fears you are too like your father in one respect." He pauses. "You listen to me."

"I trust your counsel. Ruble...he's idealistic, flighty. Too busy with his plans to actually put anything into action. You are more practical."

Cielaré laughs. "I'm glad you think so, but keep in mind you have to please all the parties here if you are to keep us united. Throw Ruble a bone once in a while and the Diamond Court will be free to grumble all day." And leave us alone, he means.

She takes his advice and gives Miriel to Ruble. The High Lord accepts eagerly, so eager she could almost swear he wants to marry her for himself, if she didn't know he had another thing in mind. For Ruble appears bewitched by none other than Sorelle Satoya. The two have become nearly inseparable since the coronation, laughing, kissing, unafraid to be tender with each other in public.

"I love him." Sorelle says simply one day to Ariella. It is just the two of them, like it used to be. "He's everything I've ever wanted in a man. He understands that I'm not a puppet or a porcelain doll, and he's clever and funny besides. Will you give your blessings? I couldn't bear it if you did not." It is hard to reconcile this earnest, thoughtful Sorelle with the wild girl of before.

"Of course," says Ariella and kisses her on the cheek. "Anything for you, sister."

At court, other matters bother her. First, she plans to re-review the laws of the country, which she learns is a frightfully difficult process. For one thing, different nobles have different laws on their lands, a practice she aims to do away with. It's impractical. We need a standard law code. So she calls all the nobles to Lyria for a new council she calls the Legal Committee. The plan is to create a law code that applies everywhere on Centaurii. It is tedious work. They sift through old and new laws for weeks on weeks, picking the best bits of all, but in the end there is a full-length all-Centaurii law code. Even my father never did that.

The happiest of the days is when she and the High Lord go out for a ride in the countryside. It is his idea, and she is flattered-she knows that plans are being made to find him a wife. The sun is bright, everywhere is green, whether with grass or woods. And Ariella can finally appreciate the enormity of her empire.

"It's all ours." she whispers. "All of it."

Alastair smiles. "Yes. Yes it is"

--

Ariella invites Liannon, Valarys, and their families to the palace one day. They cannot refuse. After all, she is the empress.

Her sisters have changed. Valarys wears her gowns conservative and high-necked, the sort of things Ariella once wore herself. Her lovely face often bears scrapes or bruises, and her children, three nervous, skittish little things, clutch her skirts and avoid Lord Rastaban, whose cruel face says it all. Liannon's husband is an old sot, and Liannon herself does drink rather more than she should, slopping wine down the front of her gown in a most undignified manner. Her children run wild-she makes no attempt to settle them.

Ariella tries to feel pity, but can only muster contempt. So this is what they have become.

The meal is silent, too silent for Ariella's liking, but then a little red-headed girl, one of Liannon's children comes up to Ariella boldly. She has milk-white skin dotted with freckles and striking green eyes. She looks strangely like Miriel.

"Is it true you're the grandest lady in all the world?" she asks seriously.

"Well, I'm not sure." Ariella says modestly, feeling a surge of pride.

"I think you are. They say you bested all your brothers in single combat and them like a man." she continues.

"Naiella!" Liannon says sharply. "Come. Don't disturb Her Highness with your foolish chatter."

Naiella reluctantly follows her mother, but not before whispering conspiratorially to Ariella, "When I become a woman, I want to rule like you."

--

The worst of the days is yet to come. That is the day the High Lord's soldiers discover Marcellus and his men wandering around his estate, half-starved. After a failed attempt to raise the commoners (one ruler is much the same as another to them, even a woman with the bleachbone) they had come to him seeking aid. This was a mistake, for them, at least. Now the traitors rot in the cells below Lyria, their screams tormenting the ears.

When they are brought out to the foot of the throne, Ariella stares into Marcellus's eyes. He spits at her feet with contempt. "Witch!" He is ragged, and filthy, and utterly contemptible.

For a second, despite it all, she hesitates. Almost doesn't swing the sword. But the High Lord Cielaré whispers, "Finish him." in her ear, and that is that.

It takes the work of nearly all the servants to scrub his blood from the marble floor, and even then, a pink stain remains.