The oracles cried out in excitement.
“What did you see? What vision did the goddess grant?” the Avatheos asked.
Liane’s tongue felt thick, but she was compelled to answer. But if they knew she had seen the dark goddess, what would they think? Would they cast her out and leave her cursed to a life of pain and suffering, of utter obscurity and exile? Though it felt wrong to lie to a priest, she said, “I saw Cyra. She embraced me.”
The Avatheos smiled, and it made her stomach churn with guilt. She’d seen darkness as well, and darkness embraced her. What if she wasn’t the chosen but the world’s damnation? She spoke none of these fears aloud.
“As I told you, she is pure and goddess-touched. She shall destroy the darkness at last.”
11
Aristea kept herself busy after Duke Mattison’s ball. When she had a spare moment between meetings, she picked up her current embroidery project and sat in stifling silence amongst her lady’s maids. It was her favorite tactic to keep unpleasant thoughts at bay. Like the idea of marrying a man her father’s age, or her bubbling feelings of resentment as she was faced with making yet another sacrifice for the good of the empire. How much more did they need before they would be satisfied? They’d taken her youth, her womb, her everything. Even now, she was still paying the costs of Heinrich’s sins. No matter how hard he’d tried to father a bastard, he couldn’t. Maybe it was his seed that wouldn’t quicken, yet she was branded barren. She stabbed her needle too hard into the fabric and pricked her thumb.
She hissed as she stared at the bloom of crimson on her digit. Then Yvette handed her a handkerchief to stanch the bleeding. Aristea took it and waited for it to stop. It was a small prick, nothing serious. And that was what she should think of Duke Mattison’s proposal, a small prick. She snorted.
Her lady’s maids looked at her sidelong but made no comment.
If she stopped to recount all the injustices of her life, nothing would get done. It was better to use that energy toward her plans. For instance, she had a meeting scheduled with Captain Rosen. Captain Rosen had been in charge of the stardust-smuggling case. Liane had been able to uncover Heinrich’s plot in part thanks to Captain Rosen’s help. If anyone knew who Heinrich’s co-conspirators might be, then it would be her. Aristea needed to find them and either bring them to heel, or remove them from power. Whichever fit Aristea’s ends.
Liane might have helped her, if she hadn’t sailed off to Basilia to become the beloved avatar. Before she’d left, her great miracles had already been growing in exaggeration. Last Aristea had heard, Liane had cured a dozen sick with a single touch of her hand. It was religious propaganda, Aristea was certain. She knew because she’d seen how it shaped Mother’s power and influence. The people believed she ruled with the goddess’ blessing and by the Golden Blade she used to hold at her side. With it gone, Aristea feared their positions were weakened.
She wished the blade had chosen her instead. Maybe then she wouldn’t have to plot and scheme to keep her throne. For weeks since Heinrich’s death, she’d been sifting through his ledgers and documents, looking for shreds of evidence as to his accomplices and connections. All she’d managed to find was a tangle of incoherent notes and boastful letters to friends. It was becoming increasingly clear Heinrich wasn’t the mastermind they’d thought he was, but perhaps a figurehead to a broader operation.
When he’d been alive, she’d thought he was rather clever because he often painted himself as such. Heinrich walked with the air of someone born to rule. Men had flocked to him, throwing themselves at his feet to do his bidding. While she had to work hard for every scrap of recognition she got. No matter how hard she studied or worked to be a worthy successor, even his ghost overshadowed her.
Since he’d died, many of his closest allies had fled to their country homes. Though knowing the fools he surrounded himself with, she doubted they were of much concern. It was the dukes behind Heinrich who were the problem.
Aristea laid down her embroidery. She hadn’t made any stitches in several minutes, and there was no point in pretending it was distracting her now. She stood up and her lady’s maids rose as well, but she waved them down and headed back to her writing desk, where a pile of Heinrich’s correspondence was waiting for her. Before her meeting with Captain Rosen, she’d prepared a list of suspects. She’d scribbled down a few names, but she wanted to cross-reference them once more before heading out. She flipped through the sheets of parchment, but nothing stood out to her. The same names she’d written on her list were signed at the bottom of the letters. The usual suspects. Save one. Duke Krantz. She’d seen him at Duke Mattison’s ball. And before Heinrich died, they used to visit him often. She’d never paid much attention to their conversations, because the man hardly spoke in her presence, and his wife was severe and cold. She tapped her paper. Why hadn’t she considered him before? Most of the other dukes of their faction listened and respected him. Could he be the true mastermind behind the stardust operation?
Aristea had asked once or twice about him, but Heinrich had always dismissed her inquiries and said he was clever and that was it. Duke Krantz wasn’t among those who’d left the capital when Heinrich had died, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t guilty. Maybe he had business to attend to. Chasing him down might lead to nothing at all. But it was something.
Aristea gathered up her notes and returned to the drawing room, where her ladies were still chatting and working on their embroidery projects. She dismissed them for the day before heading out to her meeting, with her head of guard shadowing her. She greeted courtiers as she went, but no one stopped her to chat. The veil had other advantages in that it kept idle chitchat to a minimum. Captain Rosen’s office was in the Midnight Tower, the church’s foothold within the Golden Palace. Officially, they were there to protect the capital from corruption. Though Aristea had never seen any evidence of that. Guards stood sentry at the entrance. They bowed, moving aside to allow her entry. The interior was sparse stone, with a single spiral staircase upward to the next floor, where the captain’s office was. Aristea left her guard at the foot of the stairs and climbed with her guard escort, who opened the door to the captain’s empty office.
“Where is the captain? We had an appointment,” Aristea said.
“She’s running late, but she’ll join you shortly. Would you like refreshments while you wait? It’s nearly lunchtime, your majesty.”
“No, thank you,” Aristea said stiffly. Was the captain against her as well? Officially, the church was neutral, but Aristea knew that wasn’t entirely true.
She bit her tongue and resigned herself to wait. The guard left her, and Aristea stood still for a few minutes, but as they ticked past, she grew restless and cast about the room. It was rather spartan, all things considered. Captain Rosen was a formidable woman, a few years older than Aristea and one of the only women who’d risen to a position of power within the Midnight Guard, which was primarily a male-dominated sect of the Church of Sol’s military branch. Before Mother became empress, women were banned from joining altogether. Aristea admired her. Whenever they met, she was efficient and straight to the point, which Aristea appreciated. But Liane idolized her, and most of what she knew of her illustrious career, she’d learned from her sister. And maybe her loyalties were with Liane and the church, and that was why she was making her wait…
Time was ticking by, and the captain still hadn’t returned. It wasn’t like her to be late, and after this appointment, Aristea had council meetings to attend and dinner with a duchess. She was about to leave and reschedule when she heard whispers coming from the tower steps.
The voice was a low, feminine voice, different from the captain’s gruff, clipped tones. And she wondered if someone else was coming up the stairs. She listened harder, but as the seconds stretched on, the voice grew stronger, but there were no footsteps.
“Aristea, pretending you’re strong again.”
She felt a chill curl down her spine. The voice seemed to be coming from the room she was standing in. She pulled back the curtains on the window and checked under the desk. But there was no one in the room but her. Was someone pulling a trick on her, perhaps hiding from a hidden passage?
“You’d dare insult your princess?” Aristea asked.
The voice merely chuckled. “Do you think they’ll take you seriously? Do you really think they’ll make you empress? Why choose you? Isn’t that what Heinrich always said? Your brother lives, ripe for rulership and on his way to becoming a hero just like the beloved emperor he’s named after. He will do as his grandfather promised and rid the empire of elves at last. No one will want you after that.”
Aristea wrapped her arms around her torso, as if she could block out the voice’s cruel words.
“Show yourself.”
“Poor, fragile, Aristea. Crying again. You always were emotional.” It wasn’t Heinrich’s voice, but those were his words, whispered to her by a stranger. He’d always been careful to save his insults for when they were in private. But someone must have heard, and now they were taunting her with them.
