Philippa Ballantine - Wrayth

The only danger on the Imperial Island was the living.

Merrick was expected and indeed a little late. The guards at the gate nodded and waved him through—just as they had all the other times. If they wondered at his invitation to a party rather than coming during the day, they did not show it. Gossip however, he was sure would be hard on his heels. He tried not to show his nerves by scampering up the main path, and instead slowed his steps.

Impatient as the Deacon was, he could not afford to let anyone know it. Also, he must perform the task Zofiya had set him. Thinking all this, steeling himself to be as he was not used to being, Merrick let the rest of the partygoers filter past him. Immediately he knew he was proved right—he was a crow among hummingbirds.

Certainly not every Prince in the vast Empire was here tonight, but ambassadors and their entourages were—and in greater number than the pigeons perching on the crenellations. Every one who had a beautiful son or daughter appeared to have decked them out with pearls and gems, and the latest fashions. Merrick couldn’t help blinking and staring about as the youthful best of the aristocracy sailed about him. Men wore stiff collars and sharply tailored suits, while ladies in tight-fitting bodices trailed next to them, their skirts considerably shorter than would have been dared on the streets.

Merrick was still young enough to remember the fashions when the Emperor had first come to Arkaym. It appeared that Emperor Kaleva had brought a new level of restraint to the trends of the day. The Emperor did not like to see money spent idly, and so the yards of fabric a woman once wore had been consigned to the history books.

He was just musing on that as he walked up the stairs toward the ballroom, when he heard his name called.

“Deacon Chambers!”

He turned and there stood Grand Duchess Zofiya, sister to the Emperor and second in line to the throne. For a second, all thoughts of Sorcha and his cunning plan evaporated. She stood in her finery, one gloved hand holding an ivory fan, the other extended toward him in greeting. Her evening gown was the color of fresh green leaves, standing out against the fine polished bronze of her skin. It was cut low and square across her bosom, embroidered and beaded so that it appeared pale pink peonies trailed down across her right breast over her hips, and fell across the small train at her feet. It did indeed have little fabric, but it in no way could be considered austere. Meanwhile her thick, dark hair was piled up in elaborate braids that only served to accentuate her elegant neck and shoulders.

Merrick had never seen the Grand Duchess like this. She was known for her martial nature, for being a crack shot, and for pruning out the members of the aristocracy who disagreed with her brother. None ever really dared to comment on her beauty.

In that moment Merrick was struck by even greater doubts. Maybe he had misread the situation. Maybe Zofiya was in no way interested in him—perhaps she only thought of him as a friend and confidant. She was a highborn lady, sister to an emperor, and daughter to a mighty king. Though he had some aristocratic blood in him, it was very minor compared to hers. What’s more, she was a dazzling dark star who could have any man in the Empire. What would she possibly want with him?

All these things ran through his head as he stood gaping up at her. Never had the Order’s archaic dress felt so dowdy. In his confusion he sketched a bow—a far too deep one. The Deacons were not exempt to showing deference to the royal family, but the form was the most fleeting of any rank. She smiled at him, and the look of it quite washed away the memories of her stern past.

On the airship back from Orinthal, they had both had their perceptions and attitudes turned all upside down—some for the better.

Then the Emperor Kaleva himself appeared at his sister’s side. With him was his new bride, the once Princess of Chioma, Ezefia. They were scarce a month married, and already everyone was looking to her belly for a child to secure the succession. She was a beautiful enough woman, darker of skin than the Emperor, with eyes of deep blue—but there was also a deep scar in her mind. It fairly blazed in the ether, so that even those not of the Order could see it. He had seen such things before; the result of a traumatic event. The new Empress had certainly suffered not just one—but many—of those. Her father had been killed and his principality had been lost along with him.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on the point of view, Merrick had larger things to worry about. As long as his new brother, Lyon and their mother were safe he really didn’t mind that they could have had more. In his experience such jockeying for position only ended badly for the families.

“Deacon Chambers, indeed!” The Emperor’s smile did not reveal any ill will. “A pleasure to see you once more in our halls.” He shot a sideways glance at his sister. “We have become quite used to your presence.”

Zofiya did not move, but Ezefia flicked open her fan and began to wave it back and forth. Her eyes were fixed on Merrick with something that might have been a baleful look. “His presence did my father little good.”

The Emperor glanced at her and Merrick sketched a brief rune of Kebenar in his mind. It was another advantage of being a Sensitive Deacon—most of their runes did not require their talisman to be activated or even touched. Actives were considerably more flashy and less subtle. Kebenar unrolled before him, laying out the strains and stresses, the structure and the curvature of the situation. The russet air between the Emperor and the Empress spoke of a not entirely content marriage. Kaleva still had both of his favorites within the Court, and the lines that stretched between them were a fiery red of passion. His bond to his sister looked strained also, though still the soft, rose pink of affection. Hers in return was thicker, but the pink was slightly stained with green. A change was coming over her.

Merrick closed his eyes, dropped them away from Ezefia, which neatly concealed him pulling back his Center and letting the rune fade in his mind. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty, but my partner and I tried our best to save the Prince of Chioma. He made a valiant sacrifice for his people—but it was a path he chose willingly.”

Zofiya turned on Ezefia. “Sister, you should honor his choice, and hold his memory dear. He did what all sovereigns should be willing to do.” The words were said pleasantly enough, but the look on her face was as sharp as a blade. The Grand Duchess was never unarmed, even when she carried no weapon.

“Ah, Little Wolf,” the Emperor interrupted, “you have such a sharp bite—even on the defenseless.”

His sister glanced at him, a flicker of a frown on her brow. She did not reply, but instead, turned to Merrick and held out her hand. “I have been told that the Order does not prohibit dancing. Do you know how, Deacon Chambers?” Then before he could answer, she whisked him away from her brother, up the stairs to the ballroom.

The largest and most ostentatious room in the palace, it looked even more so tonight. Exotic flowers were crammed in every vase, and filled the room with a cacophony of scents. Gaslights, so unlike the candles used at the Mother Abbey, reflected off every polished window and gleaming brass surface, while an orchestra of beautifully dressed musicians played on a balcony above the dancers.

Merrick found himself out on the floor with the best and brightest of the Empire, moving as agilely as he could to the Drevense quadrille. It was lucky indeed that the Order had taught the basics in Court etiquette for those living and working at the Mother Abbey. This had included two days on the favorite dances of the Court. He’d thought it quite the most useless class in the novitiate—but now he was extremely grateful for this passing acquaintance with dance. Even so, he was in deadly peril of squashing the Grand Duchess’ toes at every move. The strange thing was she was allowing him to lead—a totally unexpected turn of events.