The Audience

Khellvain the Conqueror was a rugged man of the north; though he sought to accommodate his Rahabin subjects by honoring the opulence of their culture, just having a throne was as far as he went. He almost never sat in it, loudly declaring that a man did business on his feet.

And so he stood now in front of the throne, in its towering marble chamber. Waiting, and watching, as the one he had summoned for the first time entered.

Princess Morenna stalked into the long chamber from its huge doors opposite the throne, her left hand resting on Blackwing’s pommel, and found her way immediately barred by the guards on duty crossing their spears in her path.

“No one enters the Emperor’s presence armed,” one stated.

“No one disarms a daughter of Khellvain the Conqueror,” she retorted, curling her lip in contempt. “If the Emperor is afraid of his teenage child, I’ll hear about it from him, not the likes of you.”

“That isn’t—hey!”

Morenna simply vanished into the shadows at their feet, reappearing from one cast by a support pillar several strides behind them. Both guards whirled to give chase.

“Enough,” stated the Emperor in a deep voice that resonated through the chamber. “She is correct. Miurdan are not to be deprived of their weapons.”

“Your Majesty,” one of his advisors said quietly, leaning toward him, “we have security rules for a reason—”

Khellvain waved him off. “Children of the Emperor are above such things.”

Everyone on the dais looked sharply over at him at that, but just as quickly returned their focus to the Black Princess striding toward them, cutting an ominously dark shape through the bands of color cast across the floor by the stained glass.

At the Emperor’s right stood Queen-Consort Tamara, and on her other side, their two children, Prince Aldan and Princess Ophia—one and two years younger than Morenna, respectively, both pale and blond like their parents, both wearing northern short swords and mantles of white fur. She studied them without expression as she approached, as they did her; they had seen glimpses of one another over the last decade, but the half-siblings had never actually met.

On his other side were three advisors: the two Rahabin were only the current representatives of a rotating roster of tribal politicians who vied for a place at the Emperor’s side, and the chance to sway his will in favor of their interests.

By contrast, Zaurgan the Seer stood at some distance, a constant presence in Khellvain’s orbit. Tall, his brown hair and beard hanging long and showing gray, he wore a mantle of black fur decorated with bear claws. Rather than a traditional sword or axe, he carried only a long staff as a weapon. On his shoulders sat two huge ravens, silent and well-trained.

Morenna arrived at the foot of the dais upon which her father stood, flanked by his family and viziers. This was the point at which petitioners before him were expected to kneel.

She stood with her head high, palm still resting on her sword’s pommel.

Waiting.

The two Rahabin advisors scowled, Queen Tamara raised an eyebrow, and Zaurgan narrowed his eyes. Khellvain, however, smiled in approval at his daughter’s defiance.

He was a tall man, and still powerfully muscled even now, over a decade after his last battles. The Conqueror wore his blond hair and beard trimmed short; his crown was antlered and decorated with crimson hawk feathers. His mantle was the spiked pelt of a razorbeast, adorned with strips of multicolored fabric taken from the banners of defeated armies. In his hand he gripped the haft of his legendary battleaxe Equalizer, as always holding the weapon like a scepter rather than hanging it from his belt.

“You entered Queen Tamara’s garden party,” he rumbled, staring down at his daughter, “the first time in your life you have ever tried to attend a social event in this castle. Almost immediately, you intercepted an attempt upon her life. It is clear, Morenna, that you knew such a thing would happen.”

“It was not a certainty,” she replied, “but the likelihood was high.”

Khellvain grunted. “All my spies and soldiers failed to catch wind of this plot, and even now struggle to put together the pieces. Yet you of all people were forewarned. How?”

“I will not tell you that,” Morenna stated.

One of the Emperor’s advisors leaned close, beginning to whisper urgently.

“Agh!” Khellvain swatted with the back of his hand as if repelling an insect. “Cease this buzzing. If you’ve something to say, speak it like a man.”

“It is not acceptable for a member of this court to hold dangerous secret knowledge,” the other Rahabin said aloud, glaring down at Morenna. “Especially one so little trusted. Withholding this from you is a challenge and a threat, your Majesty!”

“Had I wished harm,” Morenna said coldly, “I could have done it by taking no action. Let my actions speak for themselves. If I wanted anyone in this room dead, you would have been long ago.”

“How dare you,” began the advisor, but the Emperor held up a hand for silence.

“She has kept her sources private til now,” he said pensively, “and we have only benefited from it. Very well…Morenna. I shall, for now, allow you to keep your secrets.”

“Your Majesty!” protested both viziers in unison.

“I have spoken.” Khellvain’s tone asserted his will as inexorably as thunder on the horizon.

“It is wise to reward loyalty and effective service, my Emperor,” said Zaurgan. “It is wise also to remember that showing loyalty can be a means of maneuvering close enough to apply the knife.”

“Is that an accusation?” Morenna snapped. “Face me with a blade or keep your forked tongue behind your teeth.”

The Seer smiled thinly behind his beard. “Catching one assassin doesn’t make you a warrior, girl.”

“That’s Princess to you, old man.”

“We have determined,” Zaurgan continued, “that a steward in the service of Concubine Linnea was the mastermind of the Queen’s attempted assassination.”

“I—wait, what?” Morenna frowned. “That makes no sense. Linnea wouldn’t benefit from Tamara’s death, she is not close to being a candidate for Queen-Consort.”

“So you know that, do you?” Zaurgan mused. One of his ravens croaked smugly.

“Linnea is innocent of wrongdoing,” said Khellvain. “The steward in question has been a known agent for years. Politics is war without the honesty of battle, Morenna. In war, it is often valuable to keep an enemy around, provided you can manage the risk. The scapegoat will be expended, the court will deem the matter resolved, and the true enemy will not believe they are still being hunted.”

“And all it cost,” said Zaurgan, “is advancing the position of one curse-bearing child who dares to use her blasphemous shadow magic in the presence of the Emperor.”

“That blasphemous shadow magic saved my life today,” Tamara said quietly. “I am inclined to be forgiving. It was…like old times,” she added, turning her head to address Khellvain.

The Emperor nodded, and drew in a breath as if to steel himself for a difficult task. “You have done your father, the court, and the Empire a great service today, Princess Morenna. Name a favor you would ask. If it is within my power, it shall be yours.”

Slowly, Morenna’s lips drew back, baring her teeth in a snarl that it took her a few extra seconds to bring under control.

“When I was first born,” she said tightly, “there were many things I needed from you. You have already done me the favor of making me strong enough to do without.”

The Black Princess turned on her heel and stalked back toward the doors.

Once again, the guards moved to impede her. “The Emperor has not given you leave to—”

“Oh, enough,” Khellvain exclaimed. “How many times must I make it clear? Leave her be.”

All those on the dais watched Morenna depart, each thinking very different thoughts, and already laying different plans.