“I’d like little better, Your Highness,” I replied withheartfelt truth. I needed something to pep me up after forty hours of continuous wakefulness and calm me down so I could mingle with these seasoned socialites. The prince gestured towards the bar, and with a stilted courtly bow, I left him to make my way towards the libations.
There were more people in the hall now, and not all were Allied diplomats. Imp nobles had appeared, clustering at the far side of the room, but unmistakably Imperial. They towered over the Allies, reaching twelve feet if you took their horns into account, and wore fine silks garishly combined with cured skins from whatever dangerous beasts they’d killed, decorated with bright feathers from rare predatory birds, baring strong limbs and toned torsos to showcase their fearsome physiques. I glanced at their hips and saw the magnetic sheathes of zeroblades. They only carried daggers and short swords, but the fact that the Imp nobles wore real weapons gave me considerable relief. At least somebody on their side took us seriously.
Fortunately for me, none of the Imperials seemed thirsty, so I only had to compete with parched Allies to belly up to the bar. Before I could catch the bartender’s attention though, an earsplitting metallic bang echoed through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention to the raised stage on which no one had stood moments before. Imp guards stalked its perimeter, preventing partygoers from climbing atop it. Unnoticed by anyone, Imperial technicians had erected a golden portal ring. It was flanked by two pairs of guards, serious soldiers rather than the party favors who’d watched over us since we’d arrived. These warriors were eleven feet tall if they were a foot and wore little more than equipment-bearing combat webbing. Their greatswords, held pointed towards the ceiling, glittered with the unnatural dark distortion of zeroblades, delicately slicing through dimensions with eachtiny movement caused by the demons’ heartbeats. These were no calculated insults, but real Imperial guards.
Several hordlings scuttled out of the portal. These smaller, weaker, lesser demons carried an impressive throne of polished pearlescent nacre designed to represent a winged, crowned gryphon. The armrests and feet were carved to look like clawed paws. Silver-thread cushions adorned the armrests, seat, backrest and headrest. Large feathered wings stretched to either side of the silver back, and the headrest was surmounted by an immense metal sculpture of an Imperial crown. The hordlings set the throne on the dais and disappeared back into the shadows.
A demon prince emerged from the portal, appearing from nowhere, distorted as though viewed through a bubble of water, then resolving into ordinary proportions. She was a fearsome specimen, inches taller and better-muscled than any of the other Imperial guards, and armed well enough to take all of them on. She, too, was practically attired, although her belts and straps were midnight-blue and gold instead of silver, black, and burgundy like the guards, her horns tipped with zeroblade points. She cleared her throat and bared thin lips over a mouth of black fangs.
“Lords of the Empire, honored allies, and privileged guests, all hail her most Imperial Majesty, the Mother of the Voidskies, Overlord of Disparate Starlands, Domina of Fallspace, Invader of the Usurpers’ Homeworlds, Emperor Iyulya Romula Augusta Astridur!”
Her leg appeared first, encased in a shiny black boot with a shimmering silver high heel. Satin silk stockings ran over her muscular calf, knee, and thigh. Then the rest of her came into view: a dress black as an oil slick, slit up the one leg, concealing the other beneath a dark rainbow of shadowed colors. Black velvet gloves covered her hands and climbedalmost to her shoulders, with shimmering silver fingernail caps long enough to claw somebody’s face off. On her head, she wore a circlet of twisting platinum that contrasted with her sun-blonde hair. Winking purple amethysts shone from her forehead, throat, and bosom to accent her bronze skin and emerald eyes. Decorative platinum caps tipped her blue-black horns. Her heels clicked powerfully on the raised dais where she stopped as if to pose, lazily dangling the Imperial baton which signified her rank as Emperor. Every inch of her radiated power, from the lean lines of her legs and the sheathed points of her horns to the fierce, hard, accusing gaze she leveled at the Allied notables assembled before her.
In many ways, she looked like my old Academy girlfriend. She had grown taller since our school days, but somehow seemed less vibrant. Much of the joy had drained from her face. As had the rage. Both were replaced by an iron mask of strength.
Emperor Astrid had arrived.
EATING ONE’S WORDS
THE IMPS WEREall on their knees. Costume guards, waiters, the noble presenters, everyone except the four Imperial guards had fallen prostrate when the Emperor walked through the portal. The Allies, in contrast, stayed on their feet. Seated persons rose from their chairs, but there was no abject bowing. I could feel the friction between the two factions, the hatred emanating from bowed Imperial heads and the contempt from upright Allied individuals, but did not know which side I should side with. Dropping to one knee would be the appropriate sign of respect, but would it weaken the Commonwealth’s position at the negotiating table? I did not know, so I followed Boleslaw’s example and remained standing.
The Emperor – Astrid, I could hardly believe – scanned the silent crowd. Her eyes passed over my face, but no flash of recognition flared within. I don’t know what I had expected – she would never have walked down and re-instigated our abrogated romance – but I’d never thoughtshe would have forgotten me. Perhaps I had changed in the intervening ten years. I was more weathered, broader about the middle, more wrinkled around the eyes, but I had not imagined the differences were so pronounced as to render me unrecognizable.
After allowing the silence to stretch on uncomfortably long, the Emperor spoke.
“Thank you all for celebrating the twelve-year anniversary of my glorious reign. Your presence speaks to the solidarity all post-Fall people share, regardless of genetic lineage or political affiliation. I hope over the following decades of my rule, we can work together to restore the glory our forebearers saw when they first settled the stars.”
With that, she sat back onto her throne of pearly horns. Her black-gloved hands curled around the clawed armrests, and when she leaned back, the ornamental silver crown adorning the throne’s headrest perfectly framed her head, further stressing her regal status.
“Just to be clear, that is the woman you knew?” Boleslaw hissed, her voice an urgent whisper in my ear. She’d come from nowhere, but I was too awed by Astrid’s presence to be startled by Boleslaw’s sudden appearance.
I nodded. “I could never forget that face.”
“Step aside,” a low, gravelly voice commanded. I looked up to see an eight-foot-tall demon wearing servant’s garb glaring at Boleslaw and myself. He along with two other footmen, were carrying a long dining table. Boleslaw pulled me away, and the Imps went about setting up the hall for dinner.
“Boleslaw, here. Our seats,” Prince Aureli called before we could talk further, and a scaley hordling tugged on my sleeve, pointing me to a chair. Another scaled hordling grabbed Boleslaw’s sleeve and pulled her towards a different seat far down the table.
Boleslaw grimaced. “We’ll talk after dinner, but for Fall’s sake, keep quiet and don’t tell anybody you dated her.” She let herself be led away, and I followed the directions of my hordling to my straight-backed wooden chair several seats down from Boleslaw and the prince.
A thin pale lord with a thin pale mustache sat to my left, between me and the prince. He fussed with his midnight blue civil service mess dress before turning an inquisitive eye towards me. “I don’t recognize you. Are you new?”
I extended a hand. As he was a civilian, I did not have to salute him, but as a lord, he was still owed respect. “Sky Captain Levar Boylan, at your service.”
“Captain?” the noble said, his voice full of the bored surprise certain nobles had perfected.
“Yes, Sky Captain Boylan. And what’s your name?” I prompted, trying to get this noble to remember his manners.
Annoyed, the noble placed his hand in mine, limp as a dead fish. “Sir William Blandesky, of Her Majesty’s Diplomatic Corps.” I pumped his hand with a firm military grip, but before I could say anything, Sir Blandesky asked, “What on Earth is an army captain doing here… Oh.” He gave me another once-over, this one more disdainful than the last. “Ah, yes, the lover boy. The one with no training, no diplomatic experience.”
I did not know what to say, so I sat silent. Sir Blandesky needed no reply.
“Well, I’m certain you’ll be a credit to the diplomatic corps,” he said without any genuine feeling, then pointedly turned his back on me to talk with the higher-ranking officer to his left.
Belatedly, I realized Sir Blandesky’s entire introduction might have been a political gambit, a bit of theater meant to put me in my place. But we were both on the same side, so why did he feel the need to denigrate me in public?
I did not know, but despite being surrounded by diplomats,it seemed I would be eating alone. Morosely, I waited for the first dish to arrive.
Astrid – no, I had to think of her as the Emperor now – sat alone on her throne, a private table set before her already laden with food and wine. I wondered if she still preferred spiced reds or if she’d ever warmed to the fortified brandywines I’d enjoyed in school. Had we been back at the Academy, we would have occupied a corner table and quietly mocked the most pretentious people present, but we were not free to do so here. Here, there were rules, more serious than the societal norms we’d felt free to flout at school. Here, we could not be ourselves, but had to play the roles of diplomat and Emperor. Here we had to be strangers. I wondered if Astrid enjoyed being Emperor now more than she’d enjoyed being herself with me twelve years ago.
