Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

“And you will no doubt expect a reward when she does.”

“You worship a god, but she does not, and yet she permits your worship. When Volar falls she will be Empress, an empress willing to tolerate a return of the old gods.”

Sheʼs more likely to tear this charnel-house down around you. Revaʼs gaze tracked over the bow once more. Uncle Sentes would have seen the Fatherʼs hand in you, as he saw it in me. It occurred to her that this event, should it ever become known, would form the key verse in the Eleventh Book. The Blessed Lady and the Bow of Arren, a gift from the Father. The storm couldnʼt kill her, the arena held no terrors for her and, with the Fatherʼs love to guide her aim, she sent an arrow into the black heart of the Empress herself.

“I will do this,” she told Varulek, handing back the bow. “But if I do not live, you will ensure this thing is burned and no mention of it ever made to my people.” Iʼve told them enough lies.

“Owwwww!” Lieza squealed, rolling on the floor and rubbing her knee. For such a finely made person she remained aggravatingly clumsy and mostly devoid of coordination, despite two weeks of constant training.

“Get up,” Reva sighed. “Letʼs try again.”

“You too quick,” Lieza grumbled, getting to her feet. She pouted at Revaʼs insistent frown and assumed the crouch she had been taught, bent almost double, one hand touching the floor. The information Varulek had provided about her upcoming spectacle had left Reva in little doubt that attempting to train the girl in combat would be unlikely to aid her chances of survival, but the ability to dodge a charging opponent might.

Reva met her gaze, forcing a smile. This time Lieza wasnʼt fooled, springing to her right, rolling and coming to her feet, just beyond the reach of Revaʼs flailing arm as she flashed past.

“Better,” she said. “But the thing we face will have a longer reach.”

“You really think you can kill it?”

If I get my hands on the bow quick enough. “We have a chance. Remember what I told you. There will be chaos, when it happens you run for the western exit. Do not wait for me, do not look back.”

Lieza blanched, hugging herself as the fear returned. It was less frequent now, but still had occasion to leave her shivering and tearful. Reva had grown accustomed to waking with the girlʼs slender form pressed against her, tear-stained face nestling into her shoulder. She hadnʼt yet found the will to push her away.

Lieza started as the locks on the door rattled for the first time in days. Their food was provided via a slot in the base of the door, the only means of gauging the passage of time as they had been left alone since Varulekʼs surreptitious visit. When it swung open she was dismayed to find the black-clad absent. Instead two Arisai stood there, grinning as they bowed, unconcealed lust in the gazes they directed at her and Lieza.

One of them spoke, deepening his bow and gesturing at the corridor. Lieza swallowed before providing a translation. “She wants to see you.”

Think nothing. Feel nothing.

She knew she was asking the impossible of herself; how could any living mind think nothing? But still she found the constant refrain a comfort, placing her faith in the Empressʼs patent madness, the hope her mind was too clouded to allow her gift free rein.

To her surprise the Arisai led her from the arena and out into the broad parkland that surrounded it. The Empress was overseeing some form of modification to a life-sized bronze statue standing on a plinth opposite the main entrance, a team of slaves moving quickly at her shouted instruction. Most of their work seemed to be focused on the statueʼs head, working feverishly to hammer iron pegs into its bronze neck. Nearby a dozen Arisai stood guard, a kneeling man in their midst, naked, slumped and chained.

“Ah, little sister,” the Empress greeted her, pulling her into a warm embrace. “And how does the morning find you?”

Think nothing. Feel nothing. “What do you want?”

“We havenʼt had occasion to speak since your delightful demonstration. I wouldnʼt wish you to think I harboured some anger towards you. Sisters shouldnʼt fight.”

“Weʼre not sisters.”

“Oh but we are. Iʼm quite convinced of it. I was meant to have a sister, you see. But she died before she could be born.” The Empressʼs gaze snapped back to the slaves and the statue. “Hurry up!”

Their efforts instantly became frantic, hammers moving in a blur as the last of the iron pegs were pounded into place. “Handsome fellow, isnʼt he?” the Empress asked as the slaves secured ropes around the statueʼs head. “Not to your taste, I know. But still, I assume you can still appreciate the aesthetic qualities of male beauty.”

Reva glanced at the bronze face, now partly obscured by a net of ropes. He had certainly been a handsome man, strong-jawed with a narrow nose, though his expression was even more stern and commanding than the plethora of heroes the Volarians erected in every spare corner of their city. He wore the armour of a senior officer, though it seemed more elaborate and ornate than others she had seen.

“Savarek Avantir,” the Empress said. “The greatest military commander in Volarian history. And my father.”

The slaves hurriedly hitched their ropes to a team of horses and began flailing at their flanks with whips. The iron pegs in the statueʼs neck fell free as the rents they had forced in the metal widened, the bronze giving a whining groan of protest until the head finally came loose, falling onto the plinth with a loud clang.

“Conqueror of the southern provinces,” the Empress went on, moving to the plinth and laying a hand on the metal head. “Victor of sixty-three separate engagements. One of only two citizens to gain the red by virtue of martial merit rather than property, creator of the Varitai and Kuritai and the first to receive the Allyʼs blessing. A fellow of singular achievement, wouldnʼt you say?”

“Did he kill as many people as you?”

The Empressʼs mouth twitched in a smile as she caressed the head. “More than both of us combined, little sister. And we have killed so many, have we not?”

Think nothing. Feel nothing. “If he took your Allyʼs blessing, where is he? I thought your kind lived forever.”

“Even the Allyʼs gift is no defence against a skillful blade.” She turned to regard the man kneeling amidst the Arisai. “Nor it seems, sufficient reward to ensure good service.”

She waved a hand and the Arisai hauled the kneeling man upright, dragging him forward. He seemed to be absent any injury but sagged as if wounded, head lolling and limbs slack. He made no sound though the stench arising from the dark stains that covered his thighs spoke of bowels loosened by fear.

“Allow me to introduce General Lotarev,” the Empress said as the Arisai allowed the stinking man to slump to his knees before her. “Commander of the Third Volarian Army, whom I elevated to the red and promised the Allyʼs blessing should he fulfil his boast of bringing that golden-haired bitch before me, preferably in chains though a corpse would have done. In the event his heroic troops fled the field with such alacrity Iʼve little doubt some have reached the eastern shore by now.”

She crouched down, taking hold of the unfortunate generalʼs hair and jerking his head back, revealing a face twitching in unalloyed terror, bleached bone white and the eyes betraying a near complete loss of reason. “Why did you come back, Lotarev?” she asked him, her tone not unkind, though since she spoke in Realm Tongue, Reva doubted the man could comprehend a word. “What did you imagine your reward would be? Was it duty? All those years of service donʼt fade easily, I suppose. The capital in peril, you racing to bring me warning regardless of the risk to your own neck. Hoping for a statue of your own, eh?”