Footsteps could be heard approaching down the marble hall. All eyes turned. As Aalia stepped into the room, a few gasps greeted her. One of them might have been from Jubayr, but he was too shocked to know for sure.
Aalia stepped into the room naked, her skin oiled to a dark ebony, nearly the same hue as the table. Enhancing this effect was the tracery of silver lines that wrapped her skin. Across her belly, they formed a shining hawk, the Haeshan crest. Her long hair had been unbraided and ironed into a fall of shadows.
In her hands, she carried a silver platter. Atop it rested the imperial circlet of dark iron. Its bright blue sapphires matched the waters of the bay behind her. As she crossed, the Stone Gods towered behind her shoulders.
Two princes flanked her, Rami on her left, Kanthe on her right. They stopped halfway and let Aalia continue forward on her own, bared to all. She kept her gaze forward, humble but unbowed.
She stepped to the table and placed the circlet and platter down before Jubayr.
“No hand has touched this since my father forced it upon me. I now lay it before you all.”
She retreated four steps, while the two princes came forward, flourishing a grand cloak between them. It was a silken gold on the inside and layered on the outside with petals of every hue of red. They placed it across her shoulders and drew it over her nakedness, transforming her in a sweep into the Illuminated Rose of the Imperium.
She took one step forward again, asserting her space. “I have no desire to be empress. I only come to repeat and share my father’s wishes before delirium fully consumed him. I leave it to you all to decide to set it aside or honor it.”
Jubayr realized he had been holding his breath. He let it out slowly, glancing to his right and left. No one had the wind to speak, still stunned. Mareesh barely noted Aalia. His gaze was fixed to the circlet. He looked ready to lunge over and grab it, and he might have, if not for the presence of Shield, Wing, and Sail. To ever hope to wear that crown, one would need the approval of all three.
Jubayr glanced to the circlet, too. Unlike Mareesh, he had hardly looked at it. If anything, he felt a trickle of fear at the sight of it—whether due to the hard man who once wore it or his own reluctance to ever carry its weight.
The first person to speak did not come from the table but from behind Jubayr’s shoulder. “And what of Emperor Makar?” Chaaen Hrash asked. “How does he fare?”
Aalia closed her eyes, her chin dropping. “See for yourself.”
Upon her words, another trio entered. This time, everyone truly did gasp.
Jubayr stood up, choking himself with his cloak. “Father…”
Emperor Makar hobbled in, leaning heavily on the arm of the Augury of Qazen. At his father’s other side came Abbess Shayr, governess of X’or and one of the most esteemed healers of the Klashe. The emperor was dressed as resplendently as always in a stark white gerygoud habiliment, complete with polished snakeskin boots and gold cap. Only the rich attire seemed to mock the man wearing it. His father looked everywhere and nowhere. Spittle flecked his lips. His right cheek twitched with every step.
Chaaen Hrash rushed around the table. “Makar,” he blurted out, shocked into forgetting any proper title or honorific. Only when he reached the emperor’s side did he finally collect himself. “Your Illustriousness, it is I … Chaaen Hrash.”
Makar looked at his closest friend, but clearly there was no recollection. Still, the emperor tried, as if Hrash’s heartbreak more than his words had worn past the haze that overtook the emperor’s senses. A single tear rolled down his father’s face.
Jubayr noted Rami wringing his hands as he watched this greeting, his face furious and frustrated.
I feel the same, dear brother.
“What has caused this affliction?” Hrash asked.
The Augury nodded to the abbess to answer.
“As well as we can discern, from the muscular tics and waves of lucidity, we suspect a poison of Quelch Bonnet. A venom from an asp that resides in the Shrouds of Dalalæða.”
“In other words,” Shield Angelon sneered out, casting Prince Kanthe an accusatory glare, “from the highlands of Hálendii.”
* * *
KANTHE FOUGHT TO keep his face stoic as guilt etched through him. What afflicted the emperor wasn’t a Hálendiian poison, but Kanthe and the others were still to blame.
Aalia spoke up in his defense. “If it wasn’t for a plot uncovered by Prince Kanthe, a most loyal friend, Prince Rami and I would not have been able to save my father. I wish we had only known sooner and whom to trust. We still remain leery and don’t know fully whom we can depend upon.” She turned to the figure on her right. “Except for the Augury, who pulled my father from the brink of death and who offered us great counsel throughout our ensuing ordeal.”
“If I may speak?” Tykhan asked with a bow of his head.
Jubayr sank back to his seat and waved permission.
“While the state of His Illustriousness may look distressing, there is hope. He does have moments of clarity. Like when he urged for his daughter to accept the heavy mantle of the imperium.”
Kanthe noted he directed his words at Prince Jubayr, who fingered the clasp at his neck.
