QUEEN OF RUIN
"Say no more, I have just the thing!"
And without further ado, the man behind the counter handed her the most useless sword she had ever seen in her life. It was golden with a handle big enough to clearly display all manner of clever designs of rearing griffons making it just big enough to be over-sized. She could tell at a glance the balance was non-existent with its thin, tapering blade that would snap at the slightest bit of actual pressure. Renia held the gilded abomination of a weapon gingerly.
She plastered a smile on her face. "How long have you had this shop, Armont?"
His startled blink washed the eagerness from his face. "Eh? About seven years, give or take."
"You're experienced then," she commented mildly as she hefted the art piece. "You know exactly what you are doing." It wasn't a compliment and from the mild apprehension beginning to creep into his expression, he realized it. She set the heavy golden item down on the counter top. "I would ask how many you've cheated like this, but I care only that you tried to cheat me."
Rapidly paling, Armont opened his mouth only to be cut off by the swift, threatening sweep of her right hand.
"I would be well within my rights to have you dragged into the streets and flogged." She kept her smile. "Ten lashes? Twenty?"
"I - I apologize my lady I -"
"The correct address is Your Imperial Majesty," she corrected him coldly. "You got complacent, Armont. And that kills."
Now completely white faced, he snatched the offending 'weapon' off the counter as if getting it out of her sight would make her forget the insult. It wouldn't, but she was well accustomed to swallowing slights. She let herself sigh loudly, raising her left hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose in a blatant display of exasperation. She shook her head.
"You thought I would be easy to fool because I'm not in armor, but a dress. I do not already carry a weapon. You thought me some fop's wife or lover seeking a present for him with no experience, but money to lose. No, don't answer, I already know." She pinned him in place with a look and held out her left hand. "Shake my hand."
He reached out quickly, like he was expecting to grab the head of a snake then froze as her calluses grated against his. His entire posture slumped as he realized how badly he had misjudged her.
"Be more discerning," she spoke softly, gently squeezing his hand. "Next time."
His head jerked up.
She averted her eyes as if just looking about the shop, but let him see the small, genuine smile on her lips. "After all, you do run a business."
She was not Edmund. She had no quarrel with the instigators of small, petty crimes as long as they weren't disruptive and as long as everyone knew their place. It would be beyond the height of hypocrisy were she to oppose such activities on moral grounds. In an ideal world, perhaps she would be able to ensure the common man lacked the incentive to cheat and steal, freeing her to remove the unwanted elements of society with a sure hand.
This world was far from ideal.
"You are...very gracious, your imperial majesty" the blacksmith ventured cautiously. "Two handed or left handed?"
"Left," she replied. There was a point in favor of their Church, she thought as he showed no reaction beside raising his eyebrows. Her mother had taught her to hide it, forcing her to learn her letters with her right hand. She had to relearn in the days following the contract, when her right arm had been flayed down to the bone.
"I am trained in the use of broadswords," she said and watched his eyebrows raise further. She knew she didn't look like she'd be able to wield one handed with strength, but it didn't matter. Call it an inherited trait. "Nothing fancy, if you will."
He flinched and carefully put the golden sword underneath the counter. "Left-handed," he mused quietly to himself. "I do have a couple you might like, allow me to collect them from the back."
She waved her right hand dismissively and watched him slink into the back room with his figurative tail between his legs. She waited three heartbeats after the man had disappeared out of sight to glance toward the 'bargain bin' of old, crude weapons.
Find and contain.
The demon leapt from its ruby, unerringly drawn towards the presence of another. A long sword, badly rusted, vanished into the gap between before it could make a peep. It might have even been able to, she had no way of knowing, but demonically possessed objects always tended to be...more than their mundane counterparts.
The rubies of her Arcanum were a prime example.
Armont came back with two swords cradled gently in his arms and she could tell just from their hilts that they were magnificent pieces. He set them on the counter gently and she reached for the closest one, pausing to look up at him, seeking permission. He gave it with a small smile and a firm nod. Her hand closed around the rose-guard hilt and the blade seemed to leap from the scabbard.
She let out a delighted gasp as she hefted it. It had a mirror finish, catching the stray rays of sunlight from the shop's front window. The blade was plain, but elegant, a little on the thin side with a diamond taper into the tang. The handle was a dark wood burned with scrawling rose vines with thorns and a blooming ruby rose pommel. It was no Andale, the sword of kings, but it was pretty with a near perfect balance.
The second had a subtly curved hilt and a broad flat blade with a silver fuller and golden inlays, reminding her of the palace sword instructor who always had a fancy trick to show off. It was a functional weapon, however, balanced and well made despite the embellishments. She stepped back from the counter and listened to the blade sing as it cut through the air. It sat in her hand like it was made for her, but practicality won out.
She had acquired a new demon.
She needed a new ruby.
"This one," she said, laying a possessive hand on the rose-guard blade. "What is the asking price?"
Armont winced. "Five hundred ecu?"
Amused as he glanced down at the counter like a schoolboy asking for more time to finish an assignment, she asked, "Is that a question or a statement?"
He raked a hand through his hair. "Surely your imperial majesty agrees that a blade like this deserves a fitting price?"
"It does," she admitted easily. "I imagine swords made for left hands are a rarity as well." She could have let him short change himself, but that would suggest she placed any particular value on money. She could conjure more as needed, and it would take prodigious amounts to affect the local economy in any real way. The standard influx of a visiting dignitary spending money that originated elsewhere would be absorbed and she would lose nothing but literal handfuls worth of dirt.
She lowered and softened her voice. "Armont, look at me, please."
His eyes darted to her crown.
With a sigh, she removed it, setting it on the counter. Now, his eyes met hers. "You have a talent. This blade is worthy of me, and I will not have it undersold, understand?"
He did understand. She could see his mind work behind his green eyes, mentally compartmentalizing and reorganizing. He took a breath.
"It is worth eight hundred and fifty ecu. I will not let it go for anything less."
"Very good," she said and dropped her entire purse on the counter. "Eight hundred and fifty ecu for the blade, two hundred fifty for services rendered." His eyes widened. She reseated her crown upon her head and suppressed the shiver its familiar cold weight provoked. "It is worth eight fifty, surely you don't expect to merely break even?" She smiled. "You do run a business, do you not?"
He took the purse and glanced inside. "I - I am in your debt."
Her back stiffened.
She could acknowledge that. She could own that. She looked at his beaming face and swallowed thickly.
"Don't be absurd," she said from numb lips. The air felt heavy, difficult to breathe in. "It was well earned, I assure you."
"If - if you ever need anything…" he said with hope in his voice and she knew he was determined to make this difficult for her. "I would be happy to oblige."
Do not say that to a sorceress, she thought, nearly pleading. Please, do not say that. But it was already too late. She closed her eyes and found her sword on the counter.
"What will you name it?" He asked, ignorant of the threat of promise that lingered between them now.
"No name," she said quickly. "Not until after our first battle together.." Not until it tasted blood. The demon would give the name. "An old tradition of my family."
She picked up her purchase. She would have liked to have named it, she thought. Chances were high it would make a beautiful pair with Andale. The thought hurt, as most thoughts of its nature did, but it was a tired hurt she could bury with the rest and forget for a time. She slid the blade a few centimeters out of its scabbard, just enough to catch the sunlight. The ruby pommel glinted cruelly.
It would look splendid under a full moon, she thought.
"The pommel, did you do that yourself?"
"Ah," he chuckled sheepishly, a hand scratching the back of his neck. "My wife."
And she was sure he had children, maybe a dog as well.
"It's gorgeous," she said softly. "Please pass on my regards."
She was a sorceress.
She chose this.
"I can count on you for sharpening, repairs, anything of that nature, I trust?" She tried one last time.
"Anything," Armont confirmed.
She smiled an empty smile.
"I will hold you to it."
Only four left.
Only four.
When she exited the shop, the sun was still shining and the great blue above had not a single cloud in sight. She felt the sardonic pull at the edge of her lips as she observed the people walking to and fro about their own errands and lives. More than one caught sight of her and her crown, offering awkward, hesitant bows and curtsies in her direction. She offered no more than a nod of acknowledgement in return, clutching her purchase to her breast as if it was a fragile, precious thing and not a weapon. In the display window of the shop behind her, her reflection sneered and Renia caught sight of it out of the corner of her eye.
Her grip on her sword tightened. The sudden urge to smash the window, shatter the glass into so many pieces and rid herself of the golden chains on her right arm burned in her throat. But as with all such urges, she brought it to heel. She had only herself to blame. She was reluctant. Hesitant. She would regret all the while knowing she could not have chosen any differently. It was a weakness.
Weakness was death.
In truth, five victims were cheap for what she gained. She witnessed her mother giving much more in exchange for similar boons and she had been taught to price things accordingly. She did not have to convince herself of this. The calculus was sound.
Cheap, Edmund's voice said and Renia bit her tongue.
Her reflection had changed. It was a boy on the cusp of becoming a man, wearing a white and gold uniform with a blue parade sash across his chest. He had blonde hair and stared at her with amber eyes.
Her demons were not equal. Some were powerful, some were barely more than sprites. Some cordial, some aggressive. Each had their own temperament and appetites. Her relationship with each differed accordingly. Just as her anchor was the last demon that would harm her, there was this one.
She hated this one.
There was blood in her mouth.
The deal was not with you, she told it. How it is kept is none of your concern.
The last time this shadow had deigned to grace her with its presence, she had been sitting down to dinner with her son. There had been poison in her cup.
The image in the window changed again and this time the boy was dressed in ceremonial garb. The elaborate gold and silver crown on his head with the two faced imperial eagle with outstretched wings on the front, the fur lined cape with the golden clasp on his shoulders and holding the gem encrusted scepter in one hand with the silver Andale in the other. She stood there, drinking in the image and the pain it caused, before she turned away.
If she allowed it to torment her, it would.
She called one of the weaker ones, few that she had now. It strained and pulled at its tether like the dumb beast it was, until she wrapped that ephemeral cord about it and pulled tight. It soon ceased its tugging.
She focused on the image of Louise, the acrid acidic smell of her magic. Lead me to her.
There was a moment of hesitation before it took the offer, slinking down to the street and tasting the air. It found what it was looking for and darted off into the crowd to the north. She followed at a more leisurely pace, watching the world around her.
The lifeblood of Tristain wandered the streets and she, the parasite waiting for the opportunity. It was not a flattering comparison, but it was apt. Years of habit had her cataloging the chinks in the armor. Men and women who seemed harried, tired with tempers on a short wick. People with problems, concerns and struggles that could be alleviated in exchange for a promise. People whose eyes glinted with greed and callousness, a selfishness that could be exploited for a deal. People who had lost hope, the beggars on the side of the street and within the alleys that no one would miss.
Children that didn't know any better.
Four left.
She would have to manufacture a reason to stay the night, she decided. It was always easier in the dark. She could change her appearance and her voice. She could become someone else in the shadows. And she would have to call in the favors sometime later, closer to the end of her thirty day deadline to obscure any possible connection to the 'spirit' she sensed today. She could conceal it, if she was careful. And she would be.
Having a plan did not make her feel any better.
It never did.
She bumped into someone, like the foolish, clumsy girl she was and heard the telltale sound of something expensive shattering. She winced. She had let herself drift. She hadn't been paying attention. She took several, hasty steps back, experience urging her to place herself just out of easy grabbing range and bowed her head.
"I sincerely apologize for my clumsiness," she said, inwardly cursing. She could see the remains of a porcelain vase littered on the cobblestone street, resembling bits of splintered bone in the sunlight. The man she bumped into let out an explosive breath.
"Do you know -" he began angrily and then seemed to run out of steam. His walrus mustache twitched as he blinked several times. "It's - it's…"
She lifted her head and blinked guilelessly. "It's…?"
"Fine," he said helplessly, drinking in the sight of her crown. It was a remarkably useful thing, this band of gold on her head. Still, she allowed her chagrin to show on her expression.
"It is not fine. It was my mistake and I will be allowed to rectify it." She gestured with her hand and focused streams of wind gathered around the porcelain pieces. Putting together the jigsaw puzzle of broken pottery using nothing more than air was a testament to her given abilities. It was different than putting it together by hand. She could feel the way the pieces fit together by how the air moved across the edges, finding the gaps and filling it in. It wasn't perfect, but she was able to recreate a crude caricature of what the piece had been.
A swan with two cygnets under her wing, craning her neck to check on them. It was a pretty, sentimental piece glazed with soothing cool tones that shone silver against the white porcelain. It wasn't the kind of decoration you got on a whim for a home without thinking of someone. She looked at the man's devastated gaze and felt something in her tighten.
She had a similar piece to this one, in her study at the Winter Palace.
Eadred had gifted it to her.
She closed her eyes, cursing herself for a fool.
Just this once.
She grasped a different demon, the very same she used to create the Imperial Ruble coins and ground the porcelain pieces to powder. Once she had nothing but a pile of dust, she mixed in some dirt from the street and began to shape it. The form came together as easily as breathing. The outstretched wings of the swan couple, the two cygnets between their parents as they glided on silver water with a jade lilypad trailing behind them. She meticulously crafted each gleaming white feather and each silvery scale of a fish surfacing just in front of the swan family.
When she was done, an exact replica of her memory was on the street. The cob was slightly ahead of his family, looking back at them as the pen doted on her children, gently pushing one with her beak. The water surface glittered with diamond dust, see through all the way down to the muddy river bank at the bottom of the bowl shape, set with onyx stones. She could remember the look on Eadred's face as he had handled the piece, a sheepish but fond smile as he had set it on her desk.
For you, he had said.
For us, she had answered.
She had considered sacrificing her ambitions for him, once.
Eadred was dead. It had been two years.
She bent to pick her elaborate vase up. It was lighter than it looked and just as fragile. "For you."
The expression on the man's face as she handed it to him was awestruck. Someone clapped and belatedly, she realized she had an audience. The crowd had stopped moving around them, openly staring at her gift and at her.
The whispers and murmurs were loud, using words like 'square' and 'royal.' Now they saw her. It was exactly what she had wanted them to see.
It was suffocating.
"Excuse me," she told the first person to step forward. "I am sorry, but I really must be on my way."
She did not care who saw.
She reached out for the air once more, turned on her heel and vanished from sight.
Agnès let out a frustrated grunt as she scanned the streets once more. She could have sworn she caught a glimpse of that crimson and gold, but perhaps that had just been wishful thinking and she'd been chasing shadows. There was still neither hide nor hair of the woman. She should have been easy to spot with just that sleeve of gold alone.
Nothing.
She let out a soft exhale and turned. There were other streets she could look down - and froze as she saw the target of her search just behind her.
Empress Renia was leaning against the side of the building, her right arm gilded in gold crossed over her chest to grasp at her left arm, holding on to the scabbard of a sword that had a blooming ruby pommel. She was gazing out at the people walking by, listlessly.
"Did something happen?" Agnès asked sharply.
"What?" The woman started, coming back to herself with a shake of her head. "No, no, not much at all. I made a purchase and an apology."
"And the...spirit?"
"Safely contained." The ghost of a smile crossed the woman's face as she straightened, pushing off the wall as an errant breeze swept all traces of dirt and grime from the red fabric. "The girls are waiting for me, I imagine. More or less patiently."
There was nothing to do but nod. It was true. The princess had been ready to launch a search party for the woman.
"Follow me, if you will."
"I will," the woman allowed and together they entered the streams of people winding through the city streets. Agnes kept the woman within her peripheral vision as she pondered what she had just seen. When she had turned and saw the Empress behind her, there had been this emotion on the woman's face. It was more than the melancholy or homesickness of someone displaced from their home. It had been something closer to grief, to anguish.
There was only one word for it.
Heartbroken.
It would be an insult to ask if the woman was absolutely certain nothing untoward had taken place, so she chose a tangential topic.
"How are you finding the city?"
The look the woman gave her said she knew what the question was really asking.
"I feel as if I have only just scratched the surface," the Empress said instead. "So many things are just as they would be in any city in Rutenia, and yet so much is different. It would do you a disservice to make a quick judgement."
She could hear an unspoken word. "But?"
"But," the woman sighed. "It's not home."
"I see."
The piece did not fit. You did not grieve for a place you could go back to, but there was nothing else she could say. She could not push. She could not pry.
It was not her place.
"You want to stay longer?" The princess asked in mild, pleasant surprise. The diner around them was empty, giving them the space equivalent to a large room all to themselves. A few noble guests sat around the edges, shooting them glances as they whispered in low tones. The table was set simply, but she was sure that it counted as elaborate for the locals. The number of utensils could be counted on one hand with even fewer plates as everything was taken from larger main dishes in the center.
Renia took a sip of watered wine, ignoring the way her stomach scrunched in on itself as she swallowed. "Is that not possible? I have seen the physical layout of the city, but I was hoping to familiarize myself with your country. Surely you have places of history, plays and displays of art that we could visit as well?"
Marie's eyes lit up as she mangled a serviette between her fingers, looking towards the princess hopefully. Henrietta's eyes in turn darted over to Louise, who hastily swallowed. "If we were to return in the morning, I would only miss a bit of practical work." The smile on the girl's face was hollow. "I do not mind at all."
The princess was not yet experienced enough to keep the pity from flashing through her eyes. "Of course, we would only need to make the arrangements then."
The chevalier frowned. "I will be making requests for a few guards from the local garrison."
The princess opened her mouth to argue, but stopped herself with a defeated sigh. "If you feel it necessary."
"I do."
"Very well then." Henrietta bit her lip. "That is not to say that the streets are not safe, but a surfeit of caution is far better than a lack."
"I understand," Renia told her. "I am well used to it by now, truth be told."
"Well," the girl said with false cheer. "We should decide what our next venue should be then!"
The rest of the day was spent doing as she suggested, visiting art and history collections of wealthy owners who fell over themselves to allow them entry and enjoying whatever caught their eye whether it be a play in the park or a food vendor on the side of the street. The chevalier had gotten her guards following them like lost ducklings in plate trailing their mothers, unsure of which royal to pay more attention to. They bought a few more things, including some reams of fabric that Renia promised to turn into their dresses for the day after, and had dinner at an outdoor venue where the girls pointed out the constellations for her.
She had days like this before. When she allowed herself to forget the scars on her right arm for a time. Always with Eadred and Edmund, visiting a zoo with the boy or an opera. There had been that one time when it was just her and her son on a tour through the gardens of the Spring Manor…
As always, the truth would reassert itself.
She put her hand on the glass. The room was modest, but comfortable with a table, chair and dresser to go along with the bed. She had already finished the dresses for the girls, folded neatly within the drawers. She had reasonable hopes the bed was free of bed bugs, but it was just an idle thought. She had no intention of sleeping tonight.
The glass was cold as she pressed her cheek to it. The gold of her Arcanum burned colder.
Four left.
She pulled away from the window and closed the drapes. She withdrew a shadow and tossed it on the bed.
Be me.
She left the gold behind, transmuting her clothes to a simple red blouse and dark pants. A cloak with a hood completed the ensemble as she strapped a purse with coins clinking within to her belt and slipped out the door.
She wandered the streets. It did not take long.
"Mercy," a man in an alley called out to her. He was leaning on a crude crutch with the stump of a missing leg within a pinned up pant leg. He tried to keep himself groomed, even as his threadbare clothes told the story. "Have you coin to spare for a veteran?"
"I do," she said with a soft smile. Her stomach clenched and roiled. "What can you give me in return for it?"
He eyed her suspiciously, hackles raised as he glanced about the street searching for others. "What'd you want?"
She presented the gold coin, holding it just out of reach. He would have to step forward to take it.
"A favor."