Long Live Evil, page 31
When the manticore’s chain broke, Lady Lia flung herself between the Last Hope and danger. Enemies and admirers alike watched, sure they would witness the death of the world’s most beautiful woman and her white knight.
Until the Emperor descended, a dark storm with a burning sword.
Time of Iron, ANONYMOUS
Rae strode into the king’s chambers of midnight sin in broad daylight. “Up and at ’em!”
King Octavian’s ruffled bedhead emerged from a heap of satin and velvet blankets. Somewhat to Rae’s surprise, he was alone.
“Up and at who? Has the country been invaded!”
Rae leaned against one of the bedposts on the four poster. “Not yet. But the day’s young.”
The staff exchanged speculative glances. Behind a screen inlaid with mother of pearl, Rae heard the splash of water into a copper tub. She also heard giggling. Rae had no doubt the whole court would shortly be informed of Lady Rahela bursting into the royal bedchamber unescorted.
Could her reputation get more ruined? Time to find out.
Rae could hardly bring her guard, since he was confined to bed after a whipping carried out by royal command. Whenever Rae thought about that, she felt something close to hate.
So she didn’t think about it. Everyone conveniently forgot the worst elements of their favourite characters while dwelling on the failings of their least favourite. There was no other choice. Going against the hero would be fatal.
Her plot to steal the key had ended in utter failure, as villains’ plots tended to. But the Cobra said, those who walk into the story have an advantage because we know the rules. Rae had the manual. The Emperor rose, the lost gods were found, everybody loved Lia. This was the Emperor, his power inexorable as disease. She couldn’t fight him. She couldn’t be paralysed with fear of him. She had to make the story work for her. She had to win back his favour.
Reassured his country wasn’t in imminent peril, Octavian lounged back on his velvet pillows. His bedhead was TV bedhead, which should by rights have been created by several talented stylists and an ocean of gel.
Octavian noticed her gaze on him and stretched, damask sheets slipping down to show an expanse of bare skin and rippling muscle. Rae didn’t know if the king slept bare or if there were regal boxers involved, but she might be about to find out.
“Lady Rahela. What do you desire from your king?”
Rae let her phone-sex voice slide low. “I desperately, burningly desire… to fulfil a divine prophecy.”
Octavian abandoned his lounge and sat up straight. “What?”
Rae adopted her prophecy intonation, which sounded like a phone sex operator with a nasty cold. “I mentioned before the future is flexible in certain ways. In my vision, I saw the tournament for the lady who will rule by your side. You’ll be delighted to know Lia wins!”
Octavian squinted, as if still sleepy. “Are you not intending to compete in the tournament?”
“Hard pass.” Rae clasped her hands as though in prayer. “The gods have spoken! I’m not the woman for you. I am the woman who elevates you to greatness. Here’s the issue. On the day of the tournament, I foresee you will demonstrate your imperial power to the whole city.”
“Before I descend into the ravine?” Octavian asked sceptically.
“The dread ravine is only a means of unlocking power that is already yours,” Rae explained. “You’re the child of gods. You already have prowess in battle beyond the dreams of heroes, and the ability to heal the ills of your people.”
Octavian sounded very doubtful. “I think I would have noticed that.”
Rae had once adored the Emperor’s cynicism. Right now she found it annoying.
“It’s very common for a character – uh, of legend – to have a mental block about using his powers. Just believe in yourself or the magic of love or something, that always does the trick. I know you can do it,” she added, to be encouraging.
Morning light caught the green of the king’s eyes like dew in the grass. “Promise?”
Rae nodded. “You’ll be a great hero. And what does every hero need? A cool signature weapon.”
King Octavian’s royal regalia was laid out on the chest at the foot of his bed. Sometimes Octavian was so different from the Emperor in Rae’s head, she couldn’t believe they were one and the same. Seeing this, Rae scolded herself. Who else could the Emperor be? The regalia was exactly as she had imagined. Clawed gauntlets, crowned mask, and the Sword of Eyam. The ancestral symbol of royal power, in its embossed sheath.
Rae gestured helpfully to the royal blade. “The gods showed me a vision of this sword being broken and reforged. Let’s get on that now. You should name the sword Longing for Revenge.”
Octavian blinked. “Revenge against who?”
Why must he concentrate on these irrelevant details when Rae was trying to progress the plot?
“Don’t overthink. It doesn’t have to be revenge against anyone specific. It’s just a badass name.”
Steam rose from the bathtub behind a screen, thick as if an enormous kettle was boiling back there. It was good to be the king. Octavian rose from the bed wearing only silk sleeping pants. (Well. Now she knew.) He sent a sidelong glance Rae’s way as he moved behind the screen. Rae promptly turned her back, though she did notice that he worked out. Or didn’t work out, but had a rocking bod anyway. Once again, book characters achieved spectacular muscle tone while too busy with corporate takeovers or magic destinies to have time for the gym. Fictional men had abs for pages. Octavian’s were impressive in a way Rae had only seen on screen in her world.
In this world, Rae had seen better.
“So you want me to break and remake the royal sword,” Octavian murmured from behind the screen. “Tell me why I should.”
While he was occupied, Rae tried to pick up the royal sword and wave it dramatically. She succeeded in almost dropping it and hastily replaced the sword on the chest. As it emerged, broadswords were heavy.
In two days, the Last Hope would volunteer to be Lia’s champion at the Queen’s Trials. When Lord Marius’s match went spectacularly wrong, the Emperor needed to leap from the royal box and slay a magical beast with his reforged blade.
It was imperative they speed-run acquiring a weapon of mystic power.
“If you do,” Rae promised, “you’ll get everything you want. You can protect the people you love. You will be Emperor. Lia will win the tournament and be your queen.”
“What else?”
Octavian emerged from behind the screen, hair damp. He gave her a smile. Rae recalled with a jolt Alice saying the Emperor used to smile all the time in the first book. She knew he wouldn’t smile much later.
“Having a sword that will defeat all your enemies isn’t enough? You need Longing for Revenge. The ice raiders are coming for you.”
“Are they indeed?” Octavian asked softly. “Shall we go somewhere private and discuss this further?”
Rae took a chance. “I would enjoy a stroll in the royal greenhouse.”
Octavian paused for a long moment, gaze travelling thoughtfully over her. Rae felt a brief pang of panic that she’d betrayed her desperation. The Last Hope must have told Octavian everything. He had no reason to let her anywhere near the Flower of Life and Death.
Yet as he held out his arms for the servants to garb him, the king nodded. “Let’s do that.”
Off to the greenhouse she went, arm in arm with the hero. Miraculously, finally, everything was coming up Rae.
Since glass was expensive in Eyam, the royal greenhouse was the only greenhouse in the country. It was accessible via a walkway on the highest wall, guards posted at every battlement and at the top and bottom of the steep stone stairs. Security was tight.
On the king’s arm, Rae breezed right through. It was an undeniable thrill. The masked crown and clawed gauntlets made him almost the Emperor already, anonymous and imperial, a splendid mystery.
What was forbidden and set apart seemed sacred. They descended a semicircular flight of marble steps. The entryway at their back was a goblet of light. The huge glass windows were arched, the arches made of metres-thick stone to capture heat. The hushed, warm air made everything quiet and still. This was a great glass cathedral.
Octavian tossed his gauntlets to a guard. “Wait here.”
The prospect of being alone with him made the glass before Rae’s eyes go wavy. She dragged her mind from the brink of panic into the realm of getting shit done, and nodded graciously.
They walked under the spreading branches of citrus trees. Not a breath of wind touched the riot of bright leaves and brighter fruits. The king’s garden was a parterre in green curves and dark earthen squares beneath a vaulted ceiling instead of a sky. Plants in one patch looked like ordinary green clumps, but made the ground hum with the muffled cries of young children. All the trees grew in handsome pots of elaborate iron fretwork and ebony, which resembled cages. Rae and the king passed beneath a tree, brandishing branches exuberantly in every direction, with tiny leaves like chips of green glass and large low-hanging fruit the colour of rubies. Pomegranates, Rae thought, and remembered a story of a girl snatched to another world. The girl ate a pomegranate, and as a price for being hungry had to stay.
She wouldn’t be tempted by any beauty or any hunger. She was leaving, but she didn’t want to destroy anybody on her way out.
“Remember the legend of how the First Duke forged his sword using the bones of monstrous beasts and the thinking dead, and his blade cut down all who stood before him? It’s true. The gods told me,” Rae tacked on hastily.
Octavian stared in regal confusion. “Is that so?”
The royal sword was already made of the finest orichal steel, metal dug from the Sedlace mines and forged in Themesvar. But there was a way to make the weapon twice-charmed. The method that would transform the king’s blade into the Emperor’s Longing for Revenge.
On a long-ago night lost reading weird facts online, Rae had learned Vikings performed rituals to infuse their sword with spirits, burning bones beneath the forge to give their ancestors’ strength to their blades. Viking rituals accidentally turned iron to steel, because burning bones produced carbon. In Eyam burning bones turned steel to something else, metal both unbreakable and hungry. It seemed like magic to Rae, but it had seemed like magic to the Vikings too.
The people of Eyam had lost this art, whether it was science or magic. The Emperor accidentally rediscovered it when reforging his broken blade. All the strength of his dead enemies went into his orichal steel to serve him.
Time to make the magic happen. Ahead of schedule.
“This is the scheme. Break your sword, grab some unicorn, manticore, or griffin bones, re-forge better sword. Hey presto, undefeatable in battle! You must forge the sword yourself. And you want to be undefeatable in battle for the Queen’s Trials. Trust me.”
“Should I?” There was an odd note in Octavian’s voice. “Because you’re so devoted to me? You would betray me if it benefited you.”
Rae remembered the Cobra saying, Trust my wicked heart. Game recognized game: heroes recognized villainy. “Of course I would.”
It was hard to tell beneath his shining mask, but Octavian seemed startled.
“How is it betraying you to tell you how to forge an invincible sword?” Rae persisted. “You’re a god. Why would I ever be on anyone else’s side?”
“What about the Cobra’s side?”
Rae bit her lip. “The Cobra and I have had a disagreement.”
For some reason, that seemed to please Octavian. Some people were like that. They didn’t really want you, but they wanted you to want them.
“Tell me, why did you mention the ice raiders?”
“Because they are going to invade,” Rae answered. “There will be two attacks. First a battalion will come, then an army. You repel the small force that comes in a couple of years, when the abyss yawns wide, but years after that—”
Octavian sounded amused. “Oh, years after that?”
“Yes! Years after that, their boats will come down the Tears of the Dead River.”
Octavian sounded tolerantly amused. “The Tagar raiders can only come across the Bittersea and up the river. Nothing comes down the Tears river. Its source is in the ravine.”
Nobody got to question Rae’s expertise on the epic battle scene, where the Emperor rode to war on his tamed monster.
“The raiders go up the Trespasser river running through the duke’s estate, then portage the boats over land. After that, they sail down the Tears of the Dead River when nobody is expecting them, and invade! You need to set guards on both rivers right away. You need to make sure you have guards at their posts and not on the balconies on the night the abyss opens, when the smaller force attacks.”
“The future seems very dramatic,” Octavian murmured.
“Before any of that,” Rae continued firmly, “you need your sword for the Queen’s Trials. You must defend Lia and the country. Listen to me. You will defeat any disaster. I believe that, but you must be ready.”
A long pause followed. “Almost you persuade me to trust you, Rahela.”
“Why not? You will be the world’s Emperor, and I your prophet. Trust my desire for power.”
Rae had always loved the monsters of Eyam, the Emperor most of all. His blood had transformed this land. The same divine power that brought the dead to monstrous life caused metal to gleam red and invincible animals to meld into fierce strange creatures, and flowers to save lives. In this world, every fantasy was possible.
Because of him.
Trapped sunlight slanted through the leaves of the trees around them, on the man before her. The gold of his masked crown and the green of his eyes burned bright.
“This is what you want. Once I forge my sword anew for the Trials, you will forgive our quarrels.”
Sure, the little disagreements where Octavian had Key whipped and Rae almost executed. He hadn’t suffered, so he could brush their suffering off. If you were king, nobody else’s pain had to be real.
Rae hesitated.
“Look up,” King Octavian added casually. “The gardeners say the Flower of Life and Death will bloom in nine days.”
Over their heads a great stem grew in an arch, like a living green lamp post. Tender oval leaves curled about the stem, the bud suspended above. The bud was green as the leaves. Rae couldn’t discern the colour of the flower that could save her life.
In dreamy reminiscent tones, Octavian said, “Last year when the Flower of Life and Death bloomed, we lay beneath the flower and watched it die. We didn’t pluck it, because you said it was pretty. The petals fell in our hair and you laughed.”
No. The Emperor wouldn’t do that. In the Time of Iron books he always brought the Flower into the Cauldron. This flower could have saved someone’s dying beloved, their fading parent, their wounded friend, or their sick child. The Emperor couldn’t be like this.
But he was.
Bitterness stung the back of Rae’s throat. The taste carried her back on a bitter tide to days in the smallest bathroom in her mother’s house, vomiting and voiding until she felt she’d lost everything inside her and was now a hollow thing. No longer a person at all.
The king’s smile was an offer. “Want to do it again?”
She understood the offer all too well. Lia was the virtuous angel who would never give it up before marriage, so the king wanted Rahela to be his subject-with-benefits. The time would come when the Emperor wanted nobody but Lia, but he wasn’t there yet. Once he gained his full power, he would be. By then Rae would be long gone.
Don’t let your mouth write a cheque your ass can’t cash, Rae’s mom warned whenever Rae got overly enthusiastic. But when Rae’s master plan succeeded, Rae’s ass would be safe in another world. This would be nothing but entertainment to her. She would read and laugh so hard she was shaking.
Rae grasped the stem of the Flower of Life and Death as if it were a stripper pole. “It’s a date.”
A sunbeam arrowed straight onto Octavian, ultra-concentrated by the thick greenhouse glass. A spotlight selecting the chosen one.
“It’s a promise. I will have an empire, and the two most beautiful women in the world on either side of my throne.”
Rae gave him a temptress’s smile. “Be a hero.”
When Octavian moved towards her, she expected him to smell as heroes did in books: forest and fine leather and another scent that was uniquely him. Only expensive cologne wafted towards her. Heroines must have a better sense of smell than villains.
He pushed up his shining crowned mask and leaned down to kiss her. He really was beautiful. The sight of Octavian’s face made memory tear through her. Key’s wild hair and ruined back against her white sheets and pillows. Memory black as ebony, white as snow, red as blood, and it hadn’t been a story at all but someone ripped apart.
Rae’s courage failed. She wagged a finger archly, then broke and ran, up the stairs and right into Key. Sweat stung her eyes. Even in her blurred vision she saw the stone terror that was Key’s face without a smile, and realized he’d heard everything.
Gripped by the certainty Key intended to commit crimes, panic scythed away schemes leaving her with desperation. Rae grasped the front of his jerkin and pulled him into a kiss. She felt the pull as he took handfuls of her hair, the sting of teeth as his mouth opened. When she drew away, his face had come alive again, fingers curled around her hair rather than his knives. She hissed, “You can’t be here!”
“Punish me then, my lady,” Key suggested.
She was in trouble. He only said ‘my lady’ when he was angry.
She seized his hand. He let her drag him along the battlements, sullen heat rising from the ravine below and cold wind driving in from the grey smoke-stained sky above. When Rae turned her head, hair flew into her eyes in a black storm. Blinking, she glimpsed an expression that made her think Key’s injuries were giving him a lot of pain. Then he grinned. Her worries dissipated. His grin was sharp and alarming as a bared dagger, but she’d become familiar.
