Uninvited Guests

The Queen’s social events were like the state of the Empire in miniature—an enforced melting pot where different cultures were slowly, grudgingly integrating, more because they feared their sovereign than because they desired harmony.

Fifteen years into Khellvain the Conqueror’s rule, she had made enough progress that at least they mingled—pale, blonde and brunette Miurdan ladies intermixing with coppery-skinned and jewel-haired Rahabin in the castle garden in which this afternoon tea party was being held, talking together in small blended groups. That was progress; a decade ago, the two races had glared at each other from opposite sides of the space like lines of soldiers preparing to charge.

Over the years, styles and traditions had begun to fuse. Miurdan traditionally carried weapons at formal occasions, and wore mantles crafted either from trophies of defeated foes or creatures of totemic significance. Rahabin favored bright silk rich with embroidery, showing off their prowess in the form of wealth. Now, there were Miurdan ladies present wearing their sword belts and tribal mantles over silken gowns, while the Rahabin ladies had begun to carry daggers and rapiers, and even accented their jewelry with feathers and claws.

Queen-Consort Tamara embodied the blending. Upon her blonde hair rested her Imperial crown of bejeweled gold and swan feathers; she wore a gown of white Rahabin silk embroidered in thread-of-gold and stitched with pearls, over which was draped her mantle made from the pelt of a snow leopard, overlaid with the white pinions of mountain eagles and decorated by a fringe of heximander claws. Though its scabbard was now of soft white leather chased with gold and adorned with gems, the gladius hanging at her side was the same simple, horn-hilted weapon she had carried alongside her husband in their conquest of this Empire, its sheathed blade marked by countless old scars.

Her blue eyes were no less alert than during the days she had spent fighting across the continent alongside Khellvain, and now snapped to the door from the castle into this outdoor garden when a new entry prompted a chorus of gasps and whispers across the entire space.

Morenna val Haarstein stepped into the sunlight with her head held as high as only an Imperial Princess could dare, her expression cold and disdainful. All conversation throughout the garden party ceased as all the noblewomen and servants present turned to stare at her, aghast. Morenna simply stood in the doorway with one hand resting casually upon the pommel of her sword, slowly panning a calculating stare across the grounds, seeming unfazed by the hostile regard of the entire court.

Only once the gathered nobles had had a moment to take her in did Morenna finally turn and glide off to one side of the door, keeping beneath the shadows of the small ornamental trees. In passing she lifted a cup of tea from a tray carried by a butler, who opened his mouth to protest, then clearly thought better of it. The ladies who had been clustered in the shade scattered away as Morenna approached them; far from looking disappointed, she appropriated their quiet perch in the corner and set her stance, sipping her tea as her black eyes continually scanned the rest of the now somewhat stifled party.

For a moment, they met and held the blue eyes of the Queen. Then moved on, as if Tamara were no more interesting than any other piece of scenery.

Hushed conversations burst into being all around the garden, now all on a singular topic.

“How dare she!?”

“What does that accursed child think she is doing?”

“The gall!”

“Don’t look at her, who knows if that curse can be spread!”

“Malicious little beast, you just know she pulled this trick to slight the Queen deliberately!”

“The nerve of her, daring to show her face here after she killed Consort Jevenna!”

“What?” That last line had been spoken in the group clustered around Queen-Consort Tamara, and finally met pushback from another lady present, who turned a reproachful frown upon the speaker. “Jevenna died in childbirth, like countless women before and since. Are we really going to charge unfortunate infants with murder? Don’t be absurd.”

“This is not an invitation-only event,” Tamara stated. She did not raise her voice, but the authority in her tone cut off the furious whispers in her vicinity before a true argument could erupt. “A daughter of the Emperor is surely a lady of the court; she is entitled to be here. More importantly, in fourteen years she has never done anything like this. I am curious to see what she wants.”

“As your Majesty wishes,” one of her supporters said dutifully, if uncertainly. Other ladies nearby murmured grudging acquiescence as the muffled furor around the garden began to die down.

In her corner, Morenna silently sipped her tea, eyes constantly prowling the space as if on the hunt.

Tamara gave the young Princess a last, long stare before turning back to her group. “Lady Noria, before we were interrupted, I believe you were telling us about the planned opera of the upcoming season.”

“Ah…why yes, your Majesty. I have sponsored a composer who grew up right here in Kourvald; it’s long past time the Empire began to assert its place in the arts, I believe.”

“I could not agree more, my lady. The court owes you a debt for taking the initiative to advance our Empire’s prestige. I look forward to attending the finished result.” The Queen casually held out her teacup to the butler who appeared diffidently at her side, proffering a fresh pot from the appropriately respectful distance. He poured her a refill while Lady Noria answered, then drifted back discreetly as a good servant ought.

Tamara raised her cup to take a sip, and suddenly a black shadow was looming over her.

The girl hadn’t even seemed to move—she simply sprang into existence beside the Queen. Morenna snatched the cup from her hand before even the battle-hardened Tamara could react.

In the next instant, however, the Queen lunged to her feet, whipping out her sword, as did several of the ladies surrounding her. Unperturbed by the show of blades suddenly aimed at her, Morenna simply held the cup to her nose and sniffed.

“Poison,” she stated in a tone which rang out across the garden. Turning, the Black Princess pointed at a man in butler’s livery who was moving toward the exit. “Guards! Seize him!”

It wasn’t as if Morenna had any credibility with the court; her accusation might not have been believed, except that as soon as he saw her pointing, the man burst into a run.

“Guard this with your life,” the Princess commanded, thrusting the cup into the hands of a startled Rahabin woman who carried no weapon. “It will need to be analyzed.”

Then she burst into motion, a black streak shooting across the garden.

The butler dived between two confused guards who reacted too slowly, but before he could make the exit, Morenna vanished into a bystander’s shadow and burst out of another directly in front of him. With one surgical sweep of her rapier, she slashed his ankles out from under him, sending the would-be assassin to the ground.

“ No, you don’t,” the Princess declared as he frantically jammed a hand to his mouth; the man let out a wordless shout of pure frustration and Morenna held up the vial she had just conjured right out of his hands. “The same poison you gave the Queen, I take it? Thank you, this makes it easier. No easy out for you—you will tell everything you know to…the Emperor’s…”

She trailed off, lowering her sword, and then stepped back from the man, frowning in consternation.

He collapsed onto his back, blood gushing in torrents from his mouth. Screams rang out from all around the garden, ladies and servants rushing away from the fallen assassin even as Queen Tamara strode over to him.

“A…second poison?” Morenna said, staring down at him in confusion. “I confess I was…not prepared for that.”

“No poison,” said Tamara. “He bit his tongue off.”

Morenna blinked, then frowned in consternation.

“It bleeds like little else,” the Queen explained, dispassionately watching her would-be killer die before their eyes. “Death from blood loss alone is quick, and all but inescapable. Faster if he drowns in blood. It is…not a kind way to go. We must acknowledge that this took courage.”

Slowly, the Black Princess turned from the gruesome spectacle of the dying assassin to face the Queen.

“What in the world did you do to make someone this angry?”

“I helped conquer the continent,” Tamara said wryly. “And nonsense like this is exactly why I let your father hog the credit.”