Chapter 10

  The Palace in Kolina

  After many days of peaceful travel, they at last arrived in the center of all they knew, Kolina, the capital of the Empire of Radina. She and her people resided on a great hill, which was girdled by ancient stone walls as wide as roads and taller than the trees. Surrounding the city like a fine skirt were fields of green wheat, not yet gold with the maturity of autumn, stretching as far as the eye could see, fields of green and silver wind. The air in Kolina was sweet and fresh. It was a land at peace.

  The blue and copper carriage rattled past the city gates, and they were surrounded by the chatter of the people, their drumming voices, and rumbling foot falls. Nephis leaned out the carriage window to see the many colors and ribbons of the town in the depth of her heart, the red banner of her father’s and father’s father’s ambition flying proudly at every arch. Even Kugo peered from behind his shuttered portal to see the stone homes, sturdy in might, and the great and tall roofs they supported. These were taller and thinner than anywhere in the lands, like hats or needles they sat, pricking above the high walls of the city.

  But as they approached the road coiling up to the palace, Nephis returned to her seat and stole her face away. Her eyes were sharp and cold as she returned to the high place. And as they ascended, Nephis instructed Moss and Kugo on how they were to defer to her and all the residents of House Radina. And Kugo pinned that blue and copper broche that Nephis had bought him to the front of his shirt, the blue raven bound by copper daisies glinted in the midmorning sun.

  Once Nephis had shown her ring, the gates were opened, and they were attended to by the servants of the palace, adorned by the king in spotless, white garments. As Kugo and Moss stepped out, they were met by gasps and fright. But seeing the princess so calm and ordinary, they relaxed. Kugo and Moss handed over all of their things aside from the clothes on their backs, and the cart and her horses and the servants of Governor Gil were ferried away to be attended to before their return.

  Kugo wondered in awe at the palace. It was mighty and ornate, with high walls and shining windows. Its towers were ornamented, so that it seemed flower petals rippled up them. Her archways and balconies flit from the body like the frills of a lead white collar. And in its might, it was tall and great. And in its arrogance, it was made almost entirely of wood. The palace beckoned all to challenge it, for no one could.

  Kugo snapped down to see Nephis, still unbelieving of what he saw. And a smile cracked through her, and she raised her eyebrows in triumph, before turning back to face the great doors being opened to them. “Come along now,” she instructed, “You must rest up before tomorrow comes.”

  “Before tomorrow?” Kugo asked, “What is tomorrow?”

  “Where you decide to stay for the rest of your days, freely in the hills, or here with me in the palace,” she said, “A gilded cage, I believe you called it.”

  Within the palace was high and deep walls, where from hung tapestries of green and gold of battles won. And one, which lay across from the doors of the throne room, of the ascension of the sorcerer king to his throne; it was red, like blood streaking down the white wall. A dozen servants glided through the halls. The room was bright with the warm light of the sun, shining through the high windows of thin and unobscured glass, like crystal.

  “Welcome back, your highness,” a servant welcomed her, “May I bring you anything?”

  “Yes,” Nephis said in a cold and strong voice, “A draught of something cool for me and my retainers. Prepare rooms for them as well.”

  “I will do so swiftly, my Lady,” the servant replied and hurried off, her long and pale dress sweeping the floor and yet it was unblemished.

  “Well, what do you think?” Nephis asked.

  “When you said who you were, I believed you eventually,” Kugo said, his gaze pulled up to the lofty ceilings, “But even still, I did not understand it.”

  “Perhaps you’ll treat me with the proper respect then,” Nephis bragged with a smirk. “And what of you, Moss?”

  “It is like a village,” he observed, “With a roof.”

  “That it is,” she said absentmindedly.

  “It is cold,” Moss finished, “You are acting different.”

  “Wh-what?” Nephis stammered. “It’s summer, you know. And I am as I always am.”

  But Moss would say nothing else.

  As Nephis fussed over Moss and his words, she caught out of the corner of her eye a small girl. She was a little thing with long, black hair. Nephis hurried over to her little sister. “Calina!” she exclaimed with a grand cry, “I’m back!”

  But little Calina only turned her head with a stiff and haughty gaze, her nose upturned as high as it might go. “Father is not happy with you,” she simply said.

  “That’s my problem,” Nephis snapped, “And what’s wrong with you? And are those my robes?” she exclaimed.

  Indeed, Calina wore a beautiful set of green and blue robes, shining with silk and embroidered silver. “No, these are mine,” Calina huffed.

  “Those are mine!” Nephis grabbed at the collar.

  “Let go!” Calina whined, her stiff exterior vanishing in a moment, “Mother said I could have them!” She swiped wildly at Nephis’ arms. “You haven’t worn them in ages! It is a waste!”

  “Take them off!” Nephis demanded, “How many more of them have you stolen?”

  “I can’t steal what’s mine!” Calina protested.

  The two of them scrambled for a while, until Calina broke away and sprinted some down the hall, her long, black hair trailing behind her. She turned and stuck out her tongue at Nephis. “Mother said they were mine, so they are mine!” And she pulled the green and silver robes up and about her face before waddling away.

  “Can you believe this!” Nephis bemoaned to her retainers.

  “How does it feel to look in a mirror?” Kugo asked.

  Nephis was befuddled for a moment before the realization dawned on her, “She is nothing like me!” she denied in a harsh voice, looking down her nose at Kugo. “She used to be so nice, and she’s turned into a little brat.”

  Kugo bit his tongue.

  “Now, if you excuse me, I must prepare myself to meet with my father,” Nephis said before leaving the pair of them in the hands of a faithful servant.

  Nephis was ferried away by a flock of maidens in white. She was bathed in lavender water and scraped clean by bronze hooks until her skin was red, and the dirt and defilement of the road had left her, tossed out the high walls of the palace. A dozen servants tended to her, brushing her hair, painting her face with makeup, and stitching her into a dress of her choosing, a long flowing blue dress in fitting with the fashion of the time. And around her waist she wore a belt, which from hung silver chain, chatelaine, like archways bearing charms and baubles that caught in the sunlight. Even with all of this, Nephis insisted on slipping over her red robe, though she could not tuck it into her skirt as she normally would, and so did not tie it close either.

  When she emerged, she seemed to Kugo the same and different. Her coyness far away, and her grin now stark and cold. Where she was like the sun, she was now the moon. A lamp shaded. “Come now, you two,” she called to them, “We are to meet the king, my father.”

  Nephis Flores was to be married to the Duke of Cetryl, a most horrid and corpulent man. And as her hard heels echoed through the lofty halls of House Radina, the courtiers began to whisper, for the Fair Lady had shirked her duty. And yet they held their breath, for the High King was displeased with his daughter.

  Nephis curtsied before the stairs of the throne, and before him, she was a small thing. For the High King of Radina was a giant of a man. And she lay in his burning gaze. “Father,” she announced herself, “I have returned,” Nephis told him nearly all of what had happened in her journey, presenting the empty velvet bag and the purse full of money stolen from him by Primar Minhae.

  Once she had finished her telling, she looked up expectantly at her father, waiting for his approval and praise. But that was not to come.

  “Nephis,” his voice boomed, “Why did you leave your guardians behind?”

  Nephis stammered, unable to find a way to spin the story.

  “Nephis, why did you dismiss your driver?” he asked. And then he beckoned her driver, now thin and in chains, his yet frail arms thinner than she remembered. “Why did you condemn him to death?”

  “What? Death?” Nephis exclaimed, “No, I released him! I sent him away of my own accord! He was to take me where I wished; he fulfilled that!”

  The High King was handed the chain that bound her driver, Dorin, by the neck. And with his great arms, he yanked on it, bringing the servant to his knees, gasping for air in a rattling voice. “His burden was to take you where I wished. His duty was to ensure your safety. And because of you, he failed in that. You, my daughter, are my visage. When you speak, you speak in my voice. How my servants, my subjects, and my enemies treat you is how they treat me. And he let my visage be stolen for eight pieces of gold,” the words of the king pierced all who heard them. The High King then threw the very gold coins onto the floor, and as they clattered onto the stone, they rang in the silence of the throne room, like the ringing of blades. “And so you have killed this man for eight pieces of gold.”

  “No!” Nephis protested, crawling to the very steps before the throne. “No, it’s not his fault! I forced him to do it! Do not hurt him! I beg you, please!”

  The High King dragged the man to him, pulling the chain as if it were an anchor. Dorin grabbed at the shackle around his neck, his mouth agape, trying to breathe a whisp of air. His choking and the gurgling of his throat filled the room, it seemed the loudest thing in the world.

  “It’s not his fault!” Nephis cried, “What of Primar Minhae? He was the one who tried to have me killed! What about him?”

  “I will deal with Minhae in due time,” the High King spoke calmly. “But if your driver had not abandoned you, would Minehae have thought to hurt you? Would the bandits have been able to catch you? Greed drove Dorin to abandon you. And greed is what would kill him.” The Emperor pulled the servant, now purple in the face, his eyes bulging from his skull, to him. And he held him by his very neck. “But I am merciful.” And the High King removed the pin that bound the shackle together. The iron pin and the servant clattered to the ground. Dorin gasped for air, holding his own neck as if he feared he would still lose it.

  The servant bowed before the king, not daring to even touch his feet. “Thank you, your majesty,” he croaked.

  “Go,” the King commanded him.

  And the servant ran.

  Nephis trembled on the floor, sweat dripping onto the stone tiles like rain.

  “I gave you the opportunity to serve me,” the King said calmly, “And you failed to learn a thing.”

  Nephis had nothing to say.

  “Unruly child, I cannot leave you alone.” His voice was harsh and cold, and yet he paused. “You are to marry the Duke of Cetryl. You will be his ward, and the silver and iron of his lands will flow into the crown.”

  “What?” Nephis sputtered, “That’s not what we agreed! You said I needn’t marry him.”

  “I said no such thing,” her father corrected her.

  “Please, anybody but him!” she begged. “Anyone in the world, but him!”

  “Who is there left that you have not burned?” the King asked.

  “I will join a convent!” she promised, “I will be a spinster!”

  “No,” her father said, “The visage of the High King will not die a spinster. I will not subject my unwise daughter to the throes of her ignorance.”

  “Father, please!” she whimpered. “Mother!” She turned her eyes to her mother. A most beautiful and gentle woman. “Mother, please, he will listen to you.”

  “Your father has made up his mind,” she said softly, a blue smile upon her lips.

  Nephis searched for a word, for an argument, for an offer. But she could do little but mouth nothing. She grabbed at her red coat and pulled the sleeves towards her, threatening to tear them.

  “Daughter, Nephis,” the High King said in a strong and iron voice, “Look up at me.” His eyes burned like coal, as if a whirlwind was aflame within him. “You are to marry to Duke of Cetryl.”

  Nephis’ gaze fell to the floor. She was cold and still. “Yes, father,” she said, her voice like copper on her tongue. And she rose and returned to her room, where she would not emerge from for a long while.

  When she had not shown herself for many hours, Kugo and Moss waited outside her door. No one else had, only her little sister Calina stopped for a moment, before shuffling away. Knock knock knock. There was no answer. “Nephis?” Moss called. And after a long while, she responded.

  “Enter,” a sad voice called.

  Nephis sat in the center of an enormous room, upon a great and luxurious bed. But the room was dark, only dimly lit by the silver moon through a window that spanned nearly the whole wall. There was not a speck of dust or a candlestick out of place, and it was cold.

  “Erm,” Kugo did not know what to say, “How are you?”

  Nephis glanced up from her bundle of blankets. “Terrible,” she said with bloodshot eyes.

  “What is wrong?” Moss asked and lumbered to the bed.

  “Oh, Moss,” she bemoaned in a small voice, “I’m going to be wed to the most horrible man in the whole world.”

  “What does it mean to be wed?” he asked.

  “To be united,” she sniffled, “To be made as one.”

  And the room was quiet, for no one had the heart to say a thing.

  “Have you made your decision?” Nephis asked the both of them in a sore voice, “Are you going to leave me?”

  “I won’t leave you,” Moss assured her in his deep and lumbering voice. He sat next to her, throwing the bed into small waves.

  “Thank you, Moss,” she said and laced her small hands around one of his great claws. “You have been my surest friend these past months.” And then she turned her gaze to Kugo, who still stood in the warm light of the doorway. “And what of you?” she asked.

  Kugo was quiet for a while. “I will go with you,” he firmly answered.

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  And Nephis smiled, a sad watery smile, “I suppose the world will not be so dark then. Tomorrow, you will declare yourselves to my father. Be on your best behavior.”

  And the two boys sat with her until she had sobbed herself to sleep.

  In the morning, Nephis ordered her attendants to prepare each of them. Each of their clothes was cleaned and polished. At the Fair Lady’s request, Kugo was granted a room where he might sequester himself. The only thing they did not take from him was his mask, which he was adamant they not touch. As he sat alone in the chamber, he gazed at the wooden mask, the twisted grimace of the demon, and wondered to himself what he had just promised that girl. It felt more light in his hands, like it might vanish. And he held it all the tighter.

  Both of them were granted a private bath, warm steaming water, and mint to purge the grime and dust of the road. How long had it been since Kugo had been treated so well, he supposed he may never had been so spoiled. Moss too sank into the water, his knotted, taut body relaxing. This was at last a pleasure that the two of them could share in equally. He could not prove it, but Kugo swore the growth on Moss’ head grew a little thicker in this water.

  The grand doors to the throne room were opened, and lining the halls were conniving courtiers and hard steel knights, all nobles watching carefully how the king would judge. And from the door, they could see the king, seated upon his high throne. The Sorcerer-King Aoth Flores was a towering man, even in his seat. His long, raven black hair fell about his back and shoulders. An iron crown burst from his head and shimmered in the dull light. He had a hard face and a sharp gaze.

  “Moss, of the Woods!” A crier announced. And Moss stepped forward and walked down the hall, proudly wearing his blue coat and hat. The servants were all a buzz; those who had not yet seen the golem gasped, and those who had gestured, still in disbelief. He stopped before the stairs and looked up at the king and waited.

  “Creature!” the Emperor called, “What are you?”

  “I am Moss,” he answered simply.

  “What manner of creature are you?” the Emperor asked again.

  “I am me.”

  “How did you come to meet my daughter?” he demanded.

  “She found me,” Moss said, “In the forest.”

  “Do you have a maker?” he asked in a foreign tongue, and then in another, and then finally he asked the question in the common language.

  “I heard I was made by elves,” Moss said, “Maybe.” And the court all began to murmur and rumble.

  The king did not react at all. “What do you do?”

  Moss raised an arm, and then another.

  The King made a face, though whether it was annoyance or masked amusement, Moss could not tell. “You will be handed over to my archmage, and then, if found satisfactory, released to my daughter,” he decided. “Go on.”

  And Moss ambled back down the hall and next to the monk.

  “Kugo of Ordo!” the crier bellowed.

  And Kugo walked with his head held high all the way to the stairs, where he fell to one knee and cast his gaze and neck down.

  “Why do you hide your face from your king?” the Emperor demanded to know.

  “I have had a horrible disfigurement from my birth,” Kugo said.

  “And you think I would cower? That I have not seen the disfigured?” the king asked.

  “I did not wish to offend your majesty,” Kugo answered, “Or his court.”

  Emperor Flores raised an eye. “All of you!” he bellowed, “Shield your eyes. I will look upon the face of this servant of the Empire alone.” And the court hid their eyes behind cloaks and billowed sleeves. “Reveal yourself, Kugo of Ordo, for no one here will take offense.”

  And with slow hands, Kugo slid the helmet and its furs and cowl from his head, and looked upon the Emperor, his bluing skin and jagged tusks bared before him. And Emperor laughed, a deep and bellowing sound that echoed through the palace.

  “What interesting retainers my daughter has brought home!” he cheered, “Go on. You may hide yourself once more.” And once Kugo had, the King continued. “What is it you do?” he asked.

  “I was a monk,” Kugo answered, “In the service of Our God.”

  “But no more?” the Emperor asked, “I did not ask what you did, but what you do.”

  “I have sworn myself to be the blade of his majesty’s daughter,” Kugo answered, “And as she is his majesty’s visage, I am sworn yours as well.”

  “A wise man, no doubt,” the Emperor chuckled, “But I know your eyes.”

  Kugo nearly fell back as the black eyes of the Emperor bore into his soul.

  “You learned your craft for another purpose,” the King quietly alleged. “Am I wrong?”

  Kugo was frozen for a moment. “You are not,” he answered in a quiet voice.

  “Then I have one demand of you, Kugo of Ordo, as your lord and hound master,” the King said. “Guard my daughter, even if it costs you your life or your heart. That is my order to you, my blade.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” Kugo answered.

  “You may go,” the King said.

  “My king, a boon!” Kugo stuck his neck out, “That I may ask his majesty a question?”

  “You may.”

  “His majesty’s daughter travels with a strange man and a strange beast, before she is to wed in marriage she detests. And his majesty would let that man go with her?” Kugo felt his mouth go dry.

  The King huffed a proud and haughty breath. “For all my daughter’s faults, she does not lie to me. And so I will trust her with a celibate and a creature.”

  “Thank you, your majesty.”

  Once he was dismissed, Kugo bowed as deeply as he could and left in the same great strides he entered in.

  Kugo returned to see Moss being ferried away by soldiers and servants to some lower part of the palace. Nephis waved him off, assuring him he would not be taken advantage of. Seeing Kugo approach, Nephis turned to him with a sad gaze. “You’ve bound yourself to me then?” she asked.

  “I did that in the flood, if you recall,” he answered.

  “That was only a word; you could have left at any time,” she replied quietly.

  “An oath is much more than just a word,” Kugo said in all conviction.

  “But what about your quest?” she asked, “The man who stole your family from you?”

  “I still intend to find him,” Kugo assured her, “And I intend to help you find the Vallai Kei.”

  Nephis smirked weakly. “I will help you find your man as best I can. But it may be best that I give up childish things; I am to become a woman, after all.”

  Kugo was taken aback by her words. “You are not allowed to say that,” Kugo said, “You’re going to find it, and Moss and I are going to help you.”

  She smiled wryly, “Thank you, Kugo,” but she would say little more, her eyes cast to the growing shadows on the wall.

  “Where did they take Moss?” Kugo asked.

  “He is going to be seen by my tutor,” she said, “An archmage, a sorceress of the highest order, Plíris.”

  They took Moss down beneath the castle and her dungeons. The tunnels were packed in by shelves and records, leather-bound tomes and frail, fading scrolls, the histories and promises of a hundred and a hundred years. The air was stale, suffocating, and every breath was tinged by bitter velum and burning oil. But deeper and deeper still was a great, oaken door – plain and unadorned, but tall and heavy. They opened with a low moan, and inside was black night. The guards and servants ferried Moss in, and inside was nothing but shadow.

  “So you are the servant of my student?” the harsh and withered voice of a crone called from the darkness. “Can you see me?”

  “No,” Moss replied, “It is too dark.”

  A small, orange flame flicked into being in the darkness, and yet it shone more brightly than any star. And, shrouded in the black, was a pale and thin hand, wrinkled and bony and far too long.

  “Can you see now?” she asked.

  “I can, a little bit,” he said.

  “Then come to me,” she ordered in a quiet, compelling voice, like cinnamon and honey to Moss.

  And Moss stepped closer to the light. But as he did, something blocked his way and crashed onto the floor. And as Moss tried to continue, he found himself ever tangled, tripping onto the floor, until he could hardly move at all.

  “If you only ever look with your eyes, you are missing a great deal,” she called, and the light was snuffed out. “You will find a flame in the darkness, and like a moth you will fly to it, only to be caught or burned.”

  “I don’t understand,” Moss said, “Why are you doing this?”

  “This is the first trial for a sorcerer,” she said.

  “But I’m not a sorcerer!” Moss cried. “You have to find me satisfactory!”

  “No?” she asked. And something approached him. He could not see it, but he could hear the shifting of cloth and the shifting of feet; he could feel the air pull around him. And he turned his head to either side, but there was nothing but darkness.

  “What are you?” the voice asked.

  “I am Moss,” he answered.

  “A fitting answer, and I am Plíris,” she said, “But what manner of Moss are you?”

  Moss was quiet for a while. “I don’t know,” he confessed.

  He felt a hand touch his back, long and wide and thin, and then another and then another and then another. And then she began to laugh, an old and horrible laugh. It was deep and knowing. “What an unfortunate creature you are,” she crooned.

  “Do you know what I am?” he asked in a heartbeat.

  But she did not answer him. “Why are you retainer to my student?” she asked instead.

  “Nephis asked me to be,” Moss answered.

  “And is that all?” she asked, “Would you follow any who asked?”

  Moss did not have an answer.

  “Would you follow me?” she asked. “I could teach you.” Moss could feel her soft breath by his head.

  “No,” Moss said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am Nephis’ truest friend,” he repeated her words.

  “Oh? How quaint, how wonderful,” she said, “It is a shame, I wished to study you.”

  “Do you know what I am?” Moss asked in his slow voice, “You called me unfortunate.”

  And Moss felt something deep within him, like a cord he never knew he had. And Plíris pulled at it like a harp. All at once, Moss felt anger and rage, and she plucked at another, and his heart was heavy and weak. And then another, and he felt each of the emotions welling up inside him all at once. He let out a great roar that was not his; it was bestial and clockwork all at once, like the shrieks of turning metal. And he felt the hands of Plíris leave him as she recoiled. He lashed out, hearing metal bend and glass shatter all around him. And he saw flashes of something he did not know, great and mighty trees like he had never seen, not even in the Ceroil. The roots bent up around him, like mighty snakes, dressed in red fabric. And in the air was the scent of blood. And then the visions faded.

  “What was that?” he asked. “I did not see with my eyes.”

  “Do not tell me your visions, not now,” she answered. “You are constructed, and quite simply so. A master work, and yet I could pull and tug you wherever I should like.

  I will ask you one more time,” she said, “Join me instead, and I will study you, and I will learn what you are.”

  And Moss sat in the quiet darkness.

  “Come with me instead,” she whispered by him. Again, he felt her hand within his very essence, in the deepness of his chest. And a cord was plucked, a warm and salivating note, deep desire. “Follow me, Moss.”

  Moss sat, trembling. He deeply wanted to follow after Plíris, his claws dug into the stone floor, and he tried to rise through the tangled metal and rope and glass that lay all around him. “Nephis cannot walk very far on her own,” he said, “I said I would follow her.”

  “How disappointing,” Plíris groaned, “I suppose you will never find who you are.”

  “You never will,” Moss simply answered.

  Plíris cackled. “Very well, I find you satisfactory. Go and be good to my student.”

  And Moss was shunted out of the chamber and into the dim light, which now seemed blinding to him.

  Moss was returned to Nephis, who sat quietly in a small corner with Kugo. She held a cup of tea, full and cold. Seeing him, Nephis looked up with some light in her eyes. “Your back!”

  “I am satisfactory,” he answered.

  “I had little doubt,” Nephis praised him, “Plíris is kind.”

  “I am not sure . . .” Moss replied timidly.

  “She is not often nice,” Nephis explained, “But she is kind and goodhearted.”

  Moss still did not believe her, but kept that to himself.

  And as they sat and talked of what Moss and Kugo had done and said, Nephis looked across the hall to see a strange and familiar sight. Standing in the great room were twins. Two of her siblings, sharing the same face. One tall and thin, with a sharp nose and upturned eyes, he was ever watchful. The other, not so tall, but just as beautiful, with fair skin and an ever soft smile, she was ever quiet. Nephis ran to them.

  “Brother, sister!” she cried, “What are you doing here?” she asked. For they were far from their holdings. They were not much older than her, only by three years. But Mirella was beautiful, and had been from her youth the admiration of many suitors. And so, upon her fifteenth year, she was sent away, along with the sharer of her soul, Grigore.

  “Father called us,” Mirella said, “Some weeks ago. We are very happy for you.”

  “We are here for your engagement,” Grigore explained.

  Nephis’ face fell. “Weeks ago?” she asked.

  “Indeed,” Mirella said in her soft voice. “It is happy that you will finally share in that joy, so why do you look dour?” Mirella’s husband was a handsome man, not too much her senior, and he was kind and gentle.

  “It is nothing,” Nephis muttered. “I did not think it was so soon.”

  “Soon?” Mirella asked, “You are nearly twenty, and not yet wed. But that is no matter now.”

  Nephis did not have an answer, and her heart fell deeper.

  “I brought you gifts!” Mirella tried to cheer her up, “They have very fine seamstresses in the north. And you best appear your brightest, for I hear the Duke is only a day away.”

  When Nephis did not answer, she continued, “I have brought perfumes and oils, all the way from Chan’ra. And a silver washing bowl. We can make you feel and be more beautiful, and woo the Duke. I hear Cetryl is a very rich land, you should be glad. He is clearly a shrewd man.”

  “Well,” Nephis said, “He is certainly shrew like.”

  Grigore snorted, but said nothing. Mirella gave Nephis a sad and warm look. “I hear Cevril is coming,” she said.

  “Cevril?” Nephis brightened up, “He is coming? He never visits.”

  “Yes!” Mirella encouraged her, “I know how you always adored him, I do not think he would miss it for the whole world. But, I do not know when or how far he is.”

  The excitement at seeing her older brother kept her heart afloat for a moment, but soon the grey clouds of circumstance returned her to how she was. “I should hope he comes soon,” Nephis said, “It has been so long.” And she and Mirella retired together to speak of all the things that had happened to them in the passing years.

  The following morning brought with her sorrow, for the Duke of Cetyrl arrived. He brought with him a parade of wagons and carts, horses and many servants, singing minstrels and fearful acrobats. For all who saw it were amazed and wondered at the grand wealth that Cetryl must possess. All wondered and were amazed, but Nephis, who sat alone in her room.

  At last, she was called for. Nephis descended the grand stairs, dressed in the regalia of a proper woman. She was stitched into a pale dress, silver chatelaine around her waist, not yet having any keys. And indeed she glowed, purified in rare spices and perfumes, her skin whitened by lead and her cheeks reddened by safflower. Indeed, even now, she was not dressed in the respectability of a virgin, but in the might of the Empire, her neck graced in gold and her arms ringed in precious stones. Her raven hair shone in the light of the morning. Waiting for her were all manner of servants, and indeed Kugo and Moss, and her betrothed.

  Duke Valeriu of Cetryl stood at the base of the stairs, salivating at his white dove, which he sought to fret. As she graced the stairs, she curtsied before him, not saying a word. And from his hand, she took a key, a key to his manor. And a servant hooked it to her chatelaine. A woman she was to be.

  The Duke of Cetryl was a most vile boar. He spilled over himself, his fingers enveloped his silver and gemstone rings, and his brows sunk before his eyes so that he seemed a dullard. But he was a fox. But most horrible was his smile. He had a maw, gnashing and devouring, and dribbling over with desire. His grin was crooked and coiling up in expectation, his fangs bared in lust, for he consumed all that came before him. His teeth were real and false, those that rotted away replaced with ivory and stolen teeth; and he cared not, for the fake ones did not rot or stink or betray himself.

  He held her hand in his, like mud, and kissed hers with fattened lips. And she felt upon her wrist his hot and wet breath. “Dear,” he lapped, “I was delighted to hear you had changed your mind. I have long desired to see you again.”

  Nephis pulled her hand away, recoiling by instinct alone. And she nursed the wet hand in her other. “It is good that blood did not spill between us,” she merely answered.

  “And by it, new blood borne,” he answered. And she saw in his eyes and mouth: hunger.

  “So be it,” she swallowed, “If you will excuse me, Duke, I must be away,” and she hurried off.

  The Duke watched her as she went, with narrowed eyes, and he bit his lip until it should burst.

  Kugo stepped next to him. “You would degrade the daughter of your lord with your gaze?” he chastised him, and all the servants pulled away.

  “Who are you to speak to me?” the Duke spat, turning to see Kugo. He was hot in the face with wet anger. “Beast,” he called him.

  “I am the blade of the Fair Lady Flores,” Kugo refrained from calling her by her name. “And by it, the hound of your master.”

  “My master to be,” the Duke corrected, “I stand here an equal.”

  And Kugo was aghast. For though Cetryl was a rich land, it was small.

  Seeing his frozen stance, the Duke smiled again, “And I will be your master soon, and you will be my blade. And you will guard her when she is swollen. And you will be grateful that I did not cut your tongue from you for insolence.”

  “How dare you speak-” Kugo began.

  “Mind your words, leper,” for who else would disguise himself so, “Lest your mistress cry for your sake.”

  And Kugo swallowed his tongue and left the Duke with a bow.

  And in those days, the Fair Lady Nephis Flores sequestered herself often in the dungeons, to be with the tomes and scrolls of those days long gone by.