“Do not play games with me!” she hissed, as her temper, always banked, flared to life. “What have you done? I demand that you tell me!”
“You cannot demand anything of me,” he said, careful to keep his tone even. “I may be the youngest and least of the Children, but you cannot command me. That is one lesson I know by heart.”
“I am over fifty years your senior,” she responded, which was true, though she looked to be no more than twenty years of age. “You would be wise not to test me,little brother.”
“You think in all that time you’d have learned to control your temper,” he responded, taking out his anxiety by goading her. Her cheeks bloomed with pink spots and she seemed ready to spit at him. But instead of lashing out, she smiled, and he felt chills go down his back. Lesser men were known to cry and beg in gibbering madness when something caused Symanta to smile. But he was a Prince, and he would not cringe when his sister threw a tantrum.
“Soon you may very well be taking orders from me.”
His skin began to prickle with anxiety. “What do you mean?”
“Mother does not take away the names of her Children lightly.”
“Do you have a message from Mother?” he asked, his mouth dry.
“No,” she said.
“Then what—?”
“Do not interrupt me,” she sneered. After a long, dramatic pause, she continued. “I am here to bear you a Summons.”
The Prince’s heart stopped dead for a beat, and when it started again his chest felt as though it were being squeezed in a vice. His palms became slick with sweat and a roaring sounded in his ears. It took all his will to give no visible sign of his distress as Symanta crossed the room with her sinuous, hypnotizing walk and sat down at the large oak writing desk.
A Summons. The Empress did not Summon Her Children.
“What have you done, little brother?” hissed the Snake.
The irony of the situation was that he truly couldn’t answer her. He had no knowledge of what he’d done. Exactly a week prior, an Imperial Decree had been issued Unnaming him, a disgrace saved only for the lowest of the low. When he had arrived at the Imperial Chambers, overcome with guilt and shame, to ask what he had done to deserve such punishment, he had been turned away. He, one of the Children of the Empress.
And now a Summons… shadows and light, what had he done to deserve this?What had he done?
Through the haze of his shock, he noticed that Symanta was sitting in the carved wooden chair behind his desk. His room was sparsely furnished, something that set him apart from his siblings, but what he did have was meaningful to him, and something inside his chest grew hot and angry at the thought of Symanta touching any of it.
He walked over to the writing desk, managing to keep his face expressionless as he did. He could feel his lips trying to twitch in disgust as he looked at her sprawled in his chair, but he wouldn’t let them. If he showed her what he was feeling, she would have a way in. If he gave her nothing more than the twitch of one eyebrow, she would be able to read him like a book.
“For you, dear brother,” she said, holding out a parchment scroll. Her hand was covered in green veins, and the skin looked almost as if it were molting. He reached out, keeping his face emotionless, and took the scroll.
In a flash of movement, the Prince of Snakes lunged.
He knew it was coming, but the action still almost made his stomach empty its contents. The sense of corruption and bile was amplified tenfold as Symanta grabbed his wrist and the green lines on her hand pulsed with a sickly light.
But his only outward response was to look calmly into his sister’s face.
For a moment, the beautiful, seductive mask she so often wore was replaced by a look of gleeful triumph; but just as quickly the look disappeared and was replaced with confusion, and her eyes jerked down to the Prince’s hand.
The Talisman of Snakes required one of two things: signs of emotion, or physical contact. A person could stifle their emotions to the point where they wouldn’t show on their face, but it was impossible to suppress all physical signs completely. Through touch, Symanta could do what she couldn’t through sight alone. The Prince of Ravens didn’t know how it worked, and he doubted he ever would, but he knew that if Symanta touched his skin she would know exactly what he was feeling, and he would be in her power.
But currently his hands were covered by thick leather gloves to protect against the cold of the open balcony doors. For a moment, Symanta stared dumbly at his hands, and then she let out a snarl and ripped her own hands back, leaving the piece of parchment clutched in his fist.
“I apologize,” the Prince said with the barest hint of a smile, one that he knew she would catch but not be able to use against him. “It’s a bit chilly in here. The next time you wish to hold hands as loving siblings, I’ll be sure to keep the doors closed.”
Symanta stood stock still, completely at a loss for words, though quite clearly full of wrath at being outwitted. And then, quite abruptly, she spun on her heel and stalked out of the room, all the time seeming to slither, her body undulating with each step.
The door closed behind her with a sharp snap; the Prince dropped his icy composure and let out a ragged breath as he clutched at the writing desk. His heart was racing. He looked down at the thin cylinder of parchment clutched in his hand. It was sealed with the Imperial emblem of the Diamond Crown over two crossed triliopes. He broke the wax, hands shaking, and read:
You are Summoned into the presence of the Empress of the Diamond throne, ruler of Lucia, Mother of the Children of the Seven Principalities, Possessor of the Light, the Fearful Shadow, the Grace of Gods and Men, to discuss your Inheritance.
The message was signed by the Hand of the Empress, a short, small, ferrety man who carried out the Empress’ commands.
