Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

63. A Golden Insult

The Divine Empress of the South was blessed with a long life. She conceived more half-divine daughters than anyone else in the Knowable World. Five fearsome Imperial Princesses survived into adulthood. How many didn't, was anybody's guess, however those who speculated on the subject had their lives cut short. I thought the Empress was insane to copulate with the Divines time and again—another opinion better kept to oneself.

***

An instinct pushes a soldier to fight first and ask questions later. It saves her from dying young. Hence, it didn't matter if I slept in a soft bed or under canvas in an open field: whenever I was startled from my sleep, I grabbed my dagger. Or, normally, I did.  Tonight, I recognized Taffiz before I was fully conscious. Perhaps this positive identification should have made me arm myself more so than if it were a stranger. However, I merely rubbed my temples.

"Taffiz?" My voice was thick with sleep. He draped himself over an armchair by the merrily crackling fireplace. Apparently, he managed to stir the flames to life without waking me.

"What happened in Char-Kermen?" he asked in place of a greeting. "Why did you fled it for Palmyr?"

"What happened to your posh Mother of All Tongues greeting?" I replied to his question with a question. "'Ishmara, valeira!' or whatever it was?"

His jaw clenched. "I buried it right next to your senses. Couldn't you have waited a week for me to come and see what we could salvage?"

I harrumphed. "I wonder why!"

"I thought the passage of years would win me your trust, but no! You bolted faster than a cat who landed on the coals. Did my name even come to mind?"

So what if it did? I owed him nothing. In truth, I owed nothing to anyone anymore, except my family. "The only people I owe anything to are my husbands and my daughters. I don't even need a concubine any longer. You're dismissed."

"Ishmara," he chided, "I set out two weeks after you and arrived to Palmyr only half-a-day behind. And you didn't set a leisurely pace. I'm exhausted and I'm not moving until I hear the story from your lips."

Something in his voice touched a cord in my heart. I too was exhausted. Also, in the eight years that passed since Basilissa's birth, his visits were infrequent yet fruitful with good advice. We stayed at arm's length, I grew older.... Whatever the case, trust shamelessly sprouted in the corners of my soul. If I could pretend the brambles were roses... Could I? Just for one night?

There was no one else to talk to. Marezhka and Ondrey sailed to a campaign half-a-world away. Kozima couldn't contain his enthusiasm about returning to Palmyr. Xenophonta sulked because she had to quit her studies at the Scribe's Hall in Char-Kermen. Basilissa lingered between life and death next to her father. I was planning to take Miccola out for a night on the town for old times' sake, but the way things had turned out yesterday with the Captain-Commander, it wasn't a great idea.

So, I sighed and told Taffiz my tale.

***Ismar's Tale***

The Divine Empress sat on the First Throne, high above the floor of the throne room. The mere mortals had to be protected from Her Imperial Majesty's glamor, lest they would be overwhelmed.

While Queen Zinaida cultivated an image of an approachable monarch in Palmyr, nothing was further from the mind of the architect who designed this dais and this room. She achieved an illusion of the Empress floating over her supplicants. The august face was a mask. Not figuratively. Quite literally, it was hidden behind a perfect face sculpted from gold. I was sure it was set with gemstones as well, but from this distance it was all just glow, like the sun.

The marble steps leading up to the throne allowed the courtiers to do what they loved best—arrange themselves by rank. The five Imperial Princesses stood the closest to the Empress' golden figure, chief among them the six-armed Burandok. This Princess was a bone in the throat of all the Companies employed by the Empire. The royal upstart forged an Imperial army that swelled every day with the levies and the mercenaries she stole from us.

I imagined the enigmatic smile on her half-feline, half-human face. The way her supple body leaned forward and her huge head snapped toward me, I felt my guts twist into a knot despite the audience's invitation saying it was supposed to celebrate the Deadhead's faithful service with an Imperial gift.

"Ismar of Palmyr," the Empress boomed from her throne. The acoustic tricks magnified her voice tenfold. "The Deadhead Company impressed us repeatedly with their bravery and ability."

Two women descended from the lowest step. They shuffled toward me, barely lugging a black-lacquered chest. They deposited it at my feet and flipped the lid open. Its content, the newly minted Imperial coins, shone yellow and had her mask stamped into it. Thousands of shining little Empresses.

"You provided dignity and inspiration to the regretful breaches of peace, and kept their duration short with prowess and panache. Our new military units are fashioned after such values. We bestow a triple annual pay to show our gratitude as we bid farewell to the brave mercenaries. If the need arises, we shall look no further than the Deadhead Company."

I cleared my throat, the word 'farewell' bouncing in my head. It didn't blindside me, or at least not completely. Taffiz had warned me that this was in the wings. The Empire had already dismissed smaller companies or absorbed them into the swelling ranks of Burandok's Imperial Army.

That didn't make me any more ready. I kept telling myself that no ruler in their right mind would dissolve a Deadhead Company's contract. We were the best. If the contract was not renewed, the initiative was ours or the ruler couldn't afford us.

So, I stared at the chest of gold, dumbfounded.

Burandok sashayed down the steps to lift me back to my feet and wrap me in a sisterly embrace. It seemed like a part of an improvised ceremony. Passing of the torch at the opening of the new era or some such. O how I hated the growing suspicion in my chest that every woman present was in cahoots against me!

Given that Burandok stood over seven feet tall, being hugged by her wasn't as graceful as it sounded. My face got pushed into the striped fur covering her body under some bizarre chestpiece. It was so short, it opened her navel. There was no shortage of jewels bedazzling it, however.

She hid her glee well, staring at me with enigmatic amber eyes of a tiger, but her words were chosen to humiliate. "The rest of the gold would be delivered to your compound by the nightfall. Don't bother to count it, Lady of Fortune."

I pulled a grin over my features instead of spitting into her face, because that would have been unpolitical. "If the Imperial Army fights for free, pray you don't face me across a battlefield. Can't recommend slaves as soldiers."

A snort was as much as she deigned to acknowledge my blaster. I knew they were well paid. I knew of the money poured into costly units, intended to overawe the opponents. The war elephants, in particular, were Burandok's favorite.

I regretted the words out of my mouth as I watched the Princess climb back to the shelter of her mother's skirts. I sounded petty and impotent, calling a challenge I couldn't back up. Alas, the Divines made the Knowable World in such a way that a woman couldn't undo what was done.

Moving as in a dream, I nodded to my officers to gather the money chest. It took six of them to lift it, since we weren't included in the enchantment that let the Imperials move it with relative ease. Grinding my teeth as my women fumbled, I tried to ignore the condescending smiles beaming at me from every step of the ladder that led to the throne. I would never forget them though. Never!