Interlude: Traitors
Wolof had seen better days. A quarter of the city lay in shambles after Sargon's uprising, a full half of its citizens dead by the Madness demon he unleashed. The lesser devils still haunted Wolof's back alleys. In their final hour, when they realized defeat was certain, Tasia Sahelian's loyalists had tried to escape by blowing a hole through the outer wall. The hole was still there, absurdly covered by a patch of canvas.
The wind that poured through was felt in every corner of the city.
Once, upon stepping past the gates, the first thing a traveler saw was the twenty-foot statue of Naya Sahelian, the second Dread Empress and first usurper. No trace of the statue remained. The plaza itself had been the site of the most bitter skirmish of the rebellion, and its hasty reconstruction in wood and sand-brick made it look more like a Proceran shantytown than the crown of the North. As Akua walked over dirt paths that had once been paved in bronze, she thought she could understand a fragment of what her queen felt for Callow.
The palace was nearly unrecognizable. Half of it had completely caved in, and even now, over a year later, a team of construction workers and mages (the wards in those fallen walls had teeth yet) worked to clear the rubble. At least the west wing had survived, even if that new paint job almost made Akua wish it hadn't. The Sahelian colors of red and gold had been painted over in black and purple. Malicia's colors.
Akua walked up to the gate. The guards held up their spears.
"Halt, traveler. What business do you have here?"
The veil over Akua's face vanished.
"You would block the passage of your ruler? Things certainly have gotten lax since I've been away."
"Lady Akua! I thought – we thought – after Liesse…"
She strode past them. After half a second, they hastily followed, asking her to wait while they fetched Sargon. She ignored them. The halls were familiar to her, and she breathed in the scent of lavender. She had spent twenty years here, studying, gathering allies, perfecting sorceries with Papa. Even her mother could be kind, when Akua exceeded her expectations. And yet things had subtly changed. The statues had shifted. Paintings had been replaced. The palace was quieter than she remembered, almost silent, the only sound the clicking of her heels as she walked through the halls that had once hosted the most illustrious royalty of Praes.
She flung open the gates of the throne room.
Cousin Sargon was in the middle of court. He lounged uninterestedly on the throne, head propped up by a fist. In front of him, seated in lesser tiers, arrayed what remained of the Sahelians: second-cousins and third-cousins so far removed from the bloodline they resembled mfuasa more than Sahelian. Sargon himself had only been sixth in the line of succession. His entire rebellion had been backed by Malicia, the final chain in a link that began decades ago to bring down Akua's mother.
Sargon had been listening to a petitioner, it seemed like, and falling half-asleep. At her entrance, he shot her an annoyed glance.
"Who are you? Why are you disturbing – "
A gasp shuddered through the court. Akua swept her gaze through them. She relished the recognition in their eyes. Impact was needed here – weight, her queen was fond of saying. Akua had never trusted Stories as much as her queen did, but what else could she do in the face of such a captive audience?
"Good afternoon, my fellow traitors."
"Akua," Sargon said. He stood up, neck arched like a rooster. "We thought you were dead."
"One gets used to it. I see you've been nice enough to keep my chair warm for me in my absence."
It took several seconds for the threat to sink in. Sargon sat down with a sneer.
"Another of Krasi's tricks. Begone, imposter. Your master has no hold here."
"There is a vault in the labyrinths below us," Akua said quietly, "reachable only every second moon through a hidden door in the laboratory. The existence of the vault is a secret kept by the Sahelians for centuries. The only ones who can open it are those from the main family. You have not been able to open it, cousin. Shall we see if I can?"
Sargon's face paled. The court began muttering. There would be no more doubts regarding her authenticity.
"I'm glad to see you back," Sargon said at last through tightly-gripped teeth. "In these trying times, Wolof needs a wise advisor."
"Wise advisor indeed. I shall be sure to appoint one, though I fear you do not qualify."
His face turned red with rage. Akua was quickly starting to see why he had gone for the demon-summoning kind of rebellion over the political one.
"You can't be serious," he spat. "You've been gone for almost two years. You could be an animated corpse for all I know. Your mother is dead. Your father is dead. You have no claim to the throne."
"No claim? You dare to tell the first daughter of a Highborn she has no claim? I get ahead of myself. Even if I were a servant's daughter, my claim would be stronger than yours. The only claim that matters is power." She raised her voice, addressing the court. "What has become of Wolof? I walked through its streets, and my heart burned with shame. We used to be the crown of the North. Now I see a city so poor it can't even maintain its walls. The colors of Malicia fly where once had been Sahelian's. Are we vassals now? In two years, we have changed from the most powerful family in Praes to its laughingstock. Will you wallow in poverty for the rest of your lives following the very Lord who dug you into this hole? Once the name Sahelian struck fear into the mind of the Empress herself. Under my guidance, we will do so again."
The court erupted angrily.
"How exactly do you plan to do that?"
"Impudent words from someone who got whipped at Liesse."
"You know nothing of what we've gone through," Sargon said. "The fact that Wolof still stands is a testament to my rule."
"The Black Queen comes," Akua said. "Her army marches on Praes as we speak. She will scour the Wasteland of all who oppose her and choose from her supporters a new Tyrant. I hold the Black Queen's highest council, my fellow traitors. We shall throw in our lot with hers, and together restore Wolof to its former glory."
"The Black Queen. Of course." Madly, Sargon cackled. "Of course. The Black Queen defeated you, and instead of killing you, she shackled you like a slave. Now she sends you to goad our surrender."
"Not surrender. Allegiance." Akua observed the faces of the court. Some showed contempt, some showed fear, some showed potential. "The blood of the Tower is betrayal. You know this as well as I. How are Malicia's boots? Was the taste of leather the reason you murdered my mother? I grudge you not for her death. I'm disappointed by what came after. Was this your grand ambition, to beg for scraps from Malicia's table? I fear you would all be richer had you done nothing."
"Derision from the Black Queen's dog," Sargon sneered.
"There is another upheaval coming. This time, the reward is nothing less than all of Praes. In a century, your names shall not be known as the rebels who killed Tasia Sahelian, but as the lords who usurped the Dread Throne itself. We shall bleed Malicia for every insult. We shall execute every fool who had laughed at our name. The Black Queen comes, and upon her tide we shall ride to victory and turn the name Sahelian into a household word that would make all the Empire tremble."
Her words echoed like stones thrown down a well. The ripples they made were trebuchets'. The Black Queen's march filled the mouths of every Praesi; just that morning she had heard children skipping rope to a rhyme: Catherine Foundling comes to Praes/marching from Callow to the Wastes/First the living/then the dead/How many heads will she take? One, two, three…
Every lord lay awake at night wondering if it was their heads.
"I grow weary of your tricks," Sargon said. "Seize her."
"One step and you die," Akua said sharply to the guards. "The crime of treason against your ruler is execution."
The guards shifted, looking from Akua to Sargon, Sargon to Akua. The seconds passed, and Sargon's face grew redder and redder until he finally stood up, hands glowing with magic.
"Shall we, Diabolist?"
Within her something dark uncoiled. The fragment of Night her queen had gifted her curled around her body like a loving embrace. Hastily, the few in attendance who recognized the scale of that power stepped back. Sargon advanced, tracing runes, the most rudimentary of High Arcana. A spear of fire shot towards her. She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. With as much effort as releasing a breath, she sent out a tendril of Night, and Sargon began to burn.
He screamed, writhing on the ground, covered in black flames. The wards woven into his amulets shattered like glass in a kiln. Akua delighted in his screams like music, in the simple application of power against a weaker foe. Lately she'd grown too fond of her queen's leash. Sargon would burn for as long as she willed it. But her point had been made. Further torture would be a faux pas.
The fire vanished. Sargon's clothes – untouched – fluttered to the floor. Nothing remained of Sargon himself except a pile of ash.
Akua sat on the throne she had always been meant to take, and it felt like returning home.
Within days, she had sent messengers to every Highborn in Praes. She did not trust the Empire's scrying relays – it would be giving Malicia a free ear. Their replies came a week later. Hatar of Okoro flat-out called her a traitor. A few gave their implied support. Most, as expected, remained noncommittal.
It was a testament to Malicia's skill that she still sat on the throne. The sack of Nok, the disaster at Thalassina, the capture of the Black Knight, Callow's bailout of the remaining Legions, the goblin rebellion…any one of those blunders would've sunk a lesser Empress. As is, with the brilliant stroke of getting the Dead King's aid, Malicia barely hung onto her seat. The threat of losing the Dead King had stayed many betrayals. Yet Malicia's position grew more precarious with every day the Black Queen marched. Although the nobles smelled blood in the sand, they still hung back, waiting for others to commit first. Malicia, after all, had weathered similar disasters. You don't get to become the longest-reigning Tyrant in generations without building a reputation.
Malicia sat under a sword hanging by a hair. One cut and the entire thing would impale her through.
Akua missed Catherine. Once she had relished the Game, the fine back-and-forth movements that formed the backbone of Praesi politics, where one wrong word was the difference between an ally and an execution. With the grandest prize of all within reach, the Game should've been more enjoyable than ever. Yet she found the nights of writing letters and striking backroom deals tedious. The Court had fallen far since Tasia Sahelian's death. Under any other Tyrant, a dozen coups would've already been in the works, battling each other as much as the Empress. Akua was insulted. Only two attempts had been made on her life (as if she could be killed). Akua loathed what Malicia was trying to turn the Empire in to. That would be the first thing to fix. Growth necessitated competition.
Her greatest joy came in the twice-weekly scrying sessions with Catherine, but Malicia could always be listening, and their time together had to be cut short to the barest essentials of their war. It amused her, when Catherine had asked her if she loved her. The other questions Akua had expected, but that one she had not. For all her tenacity, her queen had never been able to separate herself from romantic entanglements. She partook too much of love.
And so have I, Akua thought, burying that stab of loneliness.
The last time Akua had been to Kahtan had been when she was seventeen, attending the birthday banquet of Highlord Krasi. Kahtan was neither the richest nor the poorest city in Praes, and Krasi neither the smartest nor stupidest Highborn. He was a man of middling ambition, content to sit back while everyone else tore each other down in their climb. In an era past, he wouldn't have even made a footnote. After Tasia Sahelian's fall, however, he had joined the Moderates, a group almost tailor-made for him, and after the simultaneous destruction of Nok and Thalassina and the royalty therein, Krasi suddenly found himself one of the most powerful men in Praes. Taking to his new position with characteristic deliberation, he had done what he did best: absolutely nothing.
It had taken Akua weeks to be granted audience. She represented the greatest disruption to Praes yet, anathema to someone like Krasi. He had put her off until he could no more. The throne room of Kahtan was styled like a magistrate's court. Oak paneled the floor and walls – wood was a luxury in the Wasteland – with a circular spire that arched high over their heads. Like a criminal on trial, Akua stood at the center of the room, almost completely boxed in by the lecterns of the seven lords in attendance. Highborn Krasi stood immediately in front of her. Arranged circumferentially around Akua were the lesser lords: Lords Talal and Myrin, also of Kahtan; Lord Aravi, who ruled the town of Hospes; Lady Raqira, Malicia's plant from Ater; Lady Ochen, the only noble who had escaped Foramen before the goblins took it; and Lord Naga, former Highborn of Nok, which had been sacked by the Ashurans and even now still burned.
"I was surprised to learn you were alive," Krasi said. "Doubly so that you're now the Black Queen's servant."
Krasi was tall and gray-haired, wearing a rich purple cloak enchanted with so many wards the air around him shimmered. His wariness pleased her. News of Sargon's death and the strange black flame that killed him, unknown to Trismegistan sorcery, had already spread to every mage in Praes. It would be easy for her to kill him, for her to kill all of them, but that would've defeated the purpose of coming here. She needed their alliance – some of them, anyway – not their corpses.
"Are we not all servants to our queens?" Akua said. "It is an easy adjustment, my lords, to go from serving one queen to another."
"You speak of treason," Talal said.
"Such an ugly word, treason," Naga said. "That deserves the death penalty, doesn't it?"
"Let's hear her out first," Ochen said.
"Then we feed her to the devils," Aravi said.
"I come bearing alliance from the Black Queen, who marches on Ater with an army of fifty thousand. Against her is Marshal Nim's sole Legion of four thousand. You don't need to be an astronomer to understand the numbers here, my lords. Any who stand in her way will only delay the inevitable."
"An army of one million cannot breach Ater," Myrin said. "Marshal Nim knows every crenel of its walls. The Black Queen might as well as throw her army directly into the sea."
"Don't forget the devils," Naga added.
"Come now, Sahelian," Raqira said. That she was Malicia's pawn was an open secret. "The very fact you're here, trying to win our alliance, is proof that the false queen does not believe she can win alone."
"The Black Queen will emerge victorious as surely as the dawn. But she is wise, and she prefers not to fight on the battlefield a war that needn't be fought at all. So I come bearing the gift of mercy. Those who ally with her will find themselves richly rewarded with the spoils. Those who stand against her will share Malicia's fate."
"Empty promises, emptier threats," Krasi sighed.
"What of the Crusade?" Talal said.
"That problem has already been dealt with, though I am not at liberty to reveal the details. Suffice it to say, upon the Black Queen's victory, you will no longer need to worry about the Crusade."
"Thus we trade one invader for another," Krasi said sadly.
Akua resisted the annoyance that almost flickered across her face. Krasi was not technically one of Malicia's loyalists, but his inaction was worse than if he'd been her enemy. After Abreha's exile, Malicia had purposely propped him up as the new leader of the Moderates. The old fool had pretended not to see it.
Yet the others certainly had. They watched her with intensity, and beneath those masks Akua detected the lifeblood of the Empire itself: ambition. Not all of them, she had learned, were as content as Krasi.
"I need not remind you that the Black Queen is undefeated in battle."
"Undefeated against peasants and cattle-farmers," Raqira said. "I must say, Sahelian, I didn't expect you to turn into her lapdog. How badly did she whip you?"
"We both serve our masters, Lady Raqira. The difference is I serve mine willingly, while you are too weak to do anything but."
"You insolent – "
"This is not the place for insults," Krasi said. "Lady Akua, we listen out of courtesy. The Empire has been unconquered for millennia. It shall remain unconquered for millennia more."
"You call yourself Praesi?" Akua said with contempt. "What is the Tower if not built on the back of betrayal? Kahtan is now the second-richest city in the Empire, and yet you still sit back and watch your lessers catch up. You could've been Dread Emperor by now, Lord Kahtan, had you simply stood up. Lord Naga, your proud city of Nok was sacked by Ashur, and Malicia didn't even send so much as a single legionary to defend it. You allied with the Moderates out of necessity, but you'll find nobody here will grant you the revenge you seek. Foramen is now a goblin fortress, Lady Ochen. Even should it be retaken, Malicia will seize the opportunity to give the city to one of her supporters over you. Yet you can rule again, and over a territory even vaster. The Black Queen treats her allies generously, and in her alliance you will find all your desires come true."
One by one, Akua met the eyes of the Moderates and found only cool masks well-experienced in the Game. Raqira openly smirked at her. Someone had begun humming The Tyranny of the Sun.
"Your attempt to fracture us was ill-made," Krasi said. "Above our own petty goals, we are united in seeking Praes's stability."
No other lord spoke. They waited like a drawn breath. This could go on for a very long time, Akua realized. Weariness seized her. She wanted to be with her queen, not this assemblage of failed ambitions lead by a man so impotent he couldn't even decide which hand to use when polishing his sword. Akua had learned this from her queen: If you had a big stick, sometimes the best thing to do was to swing it.
"The Black Queen comes."
Krasi coughed politely.
"The Black Queen comes with the largest army Praes has seen in a century. As her commander, she has Juniper of the Red Shields, the most brilliant military tactician since Grem One-Eye. Riding with them is the Order of the Broken Bell, once Legion-smashers, the largest heavy cavalry force on Calernia, against whom magic might as well as be water. Calvary will be useless in a siege, you say? You are correct. That's why the Black Queen brings the greatest siege unit on the continent: trebuchets which can launch stones half a league, Spitters that can lob goblinfire, ballistae that can fire a dozen bolts without pause. And let us not forget the twenty-five thousand Callowans, those humble peasants and cattle-farmers, and you might think them poor, but I have seen a Callowan lynch another because his grandfather had stolen a goat. I need not remind you of Callowans and their grudges."
"All this is common knowledge," Krasi said.
"The Black Queen comes leading an army from the Everdark. Have you ever seen a drow? Their weakest can slay a dozen legionaries. Their strongest rival Named, and I have seen the Black Queen herself at the height of her power brought low by a single drow. She leads an empire's worth. They are invisible, soundless, and they can slit every throat in an army within a single night."
"Mere gossip," Raqira said.
"The Black Queen comes, and upon her shoulders perch two goddesses."
"Will you quote the Book of All Things next?" Raqira mocked. "Are bedside tales all you have left?"
"Ater has broken greater armies," Krasi said.
Gods Below, those two were infuriatingly dull. Krasi and Raqira could not be convinced even if their heads were mounted on pikes. Neither would her queen welcome the blind. They didn't even see the pit of vipers they had fallen in to. Akua glanced at the others, who still had not spoken a word. Their eyes shone like wet stones. The web was almost complete. She had swung the stick. Now all that was left was the carrot.
"You have heard, of course, of Lady Abreha," Akua said.
"The traitor," Raqira said.
"She used to lead the Moderates, did she not?"
"She lost her position when she betrayed Praes," Krasi said. "She is not missed, I assure you."
By you and nobody else, Akua thought. Abreha had been the founder of the Moderates and its most influential member, before she took one step too far and Malicia effectively exiled her to the Blessed Isle. Her departure had carried away debts and promises Krasi was woefully unprepared to fulfill. No matter what Krasi said, the Moderates had followed Abreha far longer than they had followed him.
Here lay the genius of her queen: if Catherine had killed Abreha, the Moderates were lost to her. All the royalty of Praes would be lost to her. She would only have ever been another invader. Instead, she had swayed Abreha to her side, and so proved she would climb the Tower by the Tower's own rules. Callow, after all, had once been part of the Empire, and every child born under the Empire's rule had a claim to that highest of thrones. Krasi failed to recognize that decree more sacrosanct than written law: This was not an invasion.
It was an insurrection, and power between Tyrants had never transitioned peacefully.
"When this war is over," Akua said, "in addition to Aksum, Lady Abreha will rule over Okoro and half the Northern Steppes."
Raqira chuckled. "And when Abreha is dead, I shall be sure to take care of Aksum in her stead."
"I grow weary of this empty debate," Krasi said. "I had hoped you would come bearing something other than swords. Leave us, Sahelian, and tell your master she will find no allies with us."
"But my Lord Krasi, I don't need all of you. I only need, say…two."
Her words were met with dim incomprehension. What followed was swift and brutal. Ochen was the first to act, drawing her sword and running it through Myrin next to her. Ochen was, in turn, brought down by a bolt of lightning from Talal's palm. Raqira sprang forward, a hidden crossbow in her wrist aimed at Akua. The arrow met a wall of Night. Before Raqira could fire again, Aravi's sword pierced her chest. Aravi's expression of triumph turned to screams as lightning ate his flank. Turning to flee, Krasi stumbled over a corpse. Naga bent over him, and there was a slick squelch, and only Naga rose.
"Gods help us," said Talal of Kahtan.
"Let us see how Malicia likes it," said Naga, Highborn of Nok, "when her city is getting sacked."
"You've chosen well," Akua said, and felt a scorch of pride. Praes, that old empire, had teeth and claws yet. "Come, my fellow traitors. We have an Empire to unravel."
Ater's throne room was familiar territory, even though the last time Akua had been here had been, gods, back when she was still Heiress. The room lay on the twenty-fourth floor of the Tower. Up here there were only clouds. Black marble walls stretched to a ceiling impossibly high, while the floor was covered tile-to-tile with mosaics of the Empire's greatest victories. Today, every noble of any importance was present. Dressed in multicolored tunics and elaborate jewelry and more than a few live animals – let it not be said that Praesi were not exorbitant, even in the middle of a war – they formed a silent masquerade before the dais, upon which sat the throne, upon which sat Dread Empress Malicia, First of Her Name.
This was not a court Malicia had wanted to hold. Wolof, Aksum, Kahtan; Aker, Okoro. She was outnumbered. Petitions had been signed. Votes had been cast. Protests had been arranged. And so the court had convened.
The vizier called Akua's name. She rose gracefully, the red-and-gold folds of her dress trailing behind her as she strode up the dais. All of Praes fell beneath her heels.
Malicia looked down at her, expression beautifully neutral.
Akua bowed.
"The Black Queen comes."
A/N: Final chapter up next.