Elven Legacy

Chapter 8

Imxi

She paced along the side of the throne room, where her extensive collection of decorative jugs and urns lay below rich tapestries that depicted magic wielders of centuries past. Singhi was curled up nearby on the marble, amber eyes intent as she surveyed her mistress.

Juna stood calmly, arms crossed over white and silver clothing, watching her. No one knew how old Master Juna really was. There was an agelessness about him. A few lines on his tan face, a few gray hairs in his thick black hair, but they were hardly noticeable. His eyes, though, looked experienced, betraying a sliver of the truth.

To the far side of the vast room, a few windows were open, letting in the morning breeze, though it did little to alleviate Chyulin's summer heat, building up already.

Every time she paced near Juna, she could smell the lingering tobacco scent that clung to his clothes.

"This is an opportunity that could work perfectly," Juna said, voicing the obvious.

Imxi's pacing slowed, then the clicking of her high-heeled sandals came to a full halt. She absently adjusted the twining silver and gold headpiece she wore, as she cast a glance toward the other side of the room, where the garden-facing windows ran.

Undreen had already led the reluctant Azurians deeper into the imperial gardens. Not a trace of red or metal could be glimpsed. Only her chief gardener, tending some flowerbeds. She looked at Master Juna.

"We would get what we want," Imxi said, excitement making her heart pound. "And Neros would take the blame for it." Laughter slipped from her lips. "Blessed Wolf, the man's even willing to pay for it all! It wouldn't cost us a single coin."

Juna spared a rare smile. "Quite right. Everyone gets what they desire."

Imxi fiddled with the tips of her hair, pursing her lips.

"What's wrong?" Juna asked.

"No, nothing," she replied with a slight shake of her head. "Well, it's only that . . . I do hate to do this to Fellera's monarchs. Recent reports have informed me that they're actually rather progressive. Some of their social reforms are frankly similar to mine. A rare thing on this damned continent." She sighed, glancing down. "They may be at the far end of it, but I suppose I feel they must be kindred spirits. If that makes sense."

"It does. And I do understand. We spoke of this already," Master Juna reminded gently.

"I know," she said, nodding. Her gaze ran over the sun-bathed throne room, ensuring they were still alone. It was silly, though, because Singhi would've perked up the second someone walked in.

"The stone is all that matters," she said. Yet still, her chest tightened, aching.

I don't know you, Zemisha, but I am sorry for this.

But what Chyulin would get in exchange was far too important.

"Not a mere stone," Juna reminded, not unkindly. "A dangerous weapon."

She closed her eyes briefly. "I know. I know."

Then, one of the gardener's assistants glided in with freshly cut flowers in his hands; amaryllis, roses, and hydrangeas. He meant to replace the withering ones in the windowsill vases. The pleasing fragrances tickled Imxi's nostrils from across the room.

The gardener's assistant stopped short. "I apologize, Empress, is this a bad time?"

She smiled, and after one last glance at Juna, told the young man, "Not at all. When you're done with the flowers, could you let my guests know they're welcome back inside? They must be around the orchards by now."