and a sword, all made of bone, carved with images of the Death of the Aurus. The carvings were both gruesome and beautiful.” She remembered her hand hovering over the objects, craving their cold touch, unable to choose but one.
“You felt at peace there.”
“Not at peace, Emperor.” Embarrassment heated the back of her neck. “I am not certain that peace would ever put me at peace. You never make me feel peace, yet I yearn for you. Do you understand?”
Lanus nodded. “Then you shared Spirit with it.”
“Yes.”
“What was special about the vanity and the objects?”
“It is the only mystery of my life, Emperor. All I know is that my mother sent it away.”
Raeche presented her husband with her hand. She was not as skilled with the Spirit of the Empath as Taritana, or even her daughter, so she did not have to cover her skin. This memory she would share.
Lanus took her hand.
* * * *
On the eve of Raeche’s ninth birthday, after Dark had settled on the Eastern shore, the future Empress sat up in her large bed alert as if it were long Light. Once the idea had sprung to life in her mind, she had thought of nothing else and had appetite for neither food nor sleep. The thought had been like the tiniest of eggs, now it coiled as a full-grown timra within her. Restless scales scraped her insides raw.
On the eve of her ninth birthday, the girl padded through the halls in her bare feet. The palace hummed with activity. No one paid attention to her other than to stop and bend and tell her how very pretty she was.
Before long she found herself in her mother’s chamber, staring at the woman’s locked closet. She had been barred from this room for much of her life. The obstacle of a lock seemed natural to Raeche. As did her attempts at breaking into it. Annikah had caught her several times, warning her enigmatically that once she was able to get in she would know her future and her past, and it might destroy her.
Raeche had not understood the warning because she had been in her mother’s room once with the closet unlocked, the double doors flung open. There sat her vanity. Made of white translucent birgdahn horn, pale blue blax pulp and woven blax bark, the elegant piece of furniture had fascinated little Raeche. It seemed out of place. In her short life, Raeche had never seen anything like it. When she stared at it and squinted, it seemed to glow.
Though common toiletries sat upon it, quality and intricacy made them uncommon. Her brush and mirror were both carved from white bone, daedal patterns covering them. Her mother had never let her get close enough to make the patterns out. Still, it never lost its intense allure.
That Dark, the child–who had been storing her Spirit, something her teachers could neither do nor understand–waved a hand across the seam of the double doors and they swung silently open. Her eyes widened. She had not hoped to accomplish even this quietly.
Inside, the vanity glowed white-blue in the dark. Raeche crept closer. She held out her hands, letting them hover over the top. Her palms tingled. When she laid them flat against the vanity a roar of warmth rushed through her and she almost faltered. She did not let go because she craved this sensation, this new joy.
The child sank onto the dainty seat and rested her cheek against the desk. A smile stretched her face. Tears dotted her skin. Her mother had been selfish to keep her away from it.
When she recovered, she held her hands over the items again. Which should she investigate first? She picked up the brush, intent on seeing the carvings up close for once. It too glowed blue-white. She ran her fingertips over the scene depicted–the slaughter of a great beast with a short snout, large, intelligent eyes, thickly-muscled shoulders heads and heads above its murderer. The scene grew a lump in her throat.
She put the brush down and reached for the mirror hesitantly–she did not want to see another depiction of the Death of the
“You felt at peace there.”
“Not at peace, Emperor.” Embarrassment heated the back of her neck. “I am not certain that peace would ever put me at peace. You never make me feel peace, yet I yearn for you. Do you understand?”
Lanus nodded. “Then you shared Spirit with it.”
“Yes.”
“What was special about the vanity and the objects?”
“It is the only mystery of my life, Emperor. All I know is that my mother sent it away.”
Raeche presented her husband with her hand. She was not as skilled with the Spirit of the Empath as Taritana, or even her daughter, so she did not have to cover her skin. This memory she would share.
Lanus took her hand.
* * * *
On the eve of Raeche’s ninth birthday, after Dark had settled on the Eastern shore, the future Empress sat up in her large bed alert as if it were long Light. Once the idea had sprung to life in her mind, she had thought of nothing else and had appetite for neither food nor sleep. The thought had been like the tiniest of eggs, now it coiled as a full-grown timra within her. Restless scales scraped her insides raw.
On the eve of her ninth birthday, the girl padded through the halls in her bare feet. The palace hummed with activity. No one paid attention to her other than to stop and bend and tell her how very pretty she was.
Before long she found herself in her mother’s chamber, staring at the woman’s locked closet. She had been barred from this room for much of her life. The obstacle of a lock seemed natural to Raeche. As did her attempts at breaking into it. Annikah had caught her several times, warning her enigmatically that once she was able to get in she would know her future and her past, and it might destroy her.
Raeche had not understood the warning because she had been in her mother’s room once with the closet unlocked, the double doors flung open. There sat her vanity. Made of white translucent birgdahn horn, pale blue blax pulp and woven blax bark, the elegant piece of furniture had fascinated little Raeche. It seemed out of place. In her short life, Raeche had never seen anything like it. When she stared at it and squinted, it seemed to glow.
Though common toiletries sat upon it, quality and intricacy made them uncommon. Her brush and mirror were both carved from white bone, daedal patterns covering them. Her mother had never let her get close enough to make the patterns out. Still, it never lost its intense allure.
That Dark, the child–who had been storing her Spirit, something her teachers could neither do nor understand–waved a hand across the seam of the double doors and they swung silently open. Her eyes widened. She had not hoped to accomplish even this quietly.
Inside, the vanity glowed white-blue in the dark. Raeche crept closer. She held out her hands, letting them hover over the top. Her palms tingled. When she laid them flat against the vanity a roar of warmth rushed through her and she almost faltered. She did not let go because she craved this sensation, this new joy.
The child sank onto the dainty seat and rested her cheek against the desk. A smile stretched her face. Tears dotted her skin. Her mother had been selfish to keep her away from it.
When she recovered, she held her hands over the items again. Which should she investigate first? She picked up the brush, intent on seeing the carvings up close for once. It too glowed blue-white. She ran her fingertips over the scene depicted–the slaughter of a great beast with a short snout, large, intelligent eyes, thickly-muscled shoulders heads and heads above its murderer. The scene grew a lump in her throat.
She put the brush down and reached for the mirror hesitantly–she did not want to see another depiction of the Death of the
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