A brutal beginning for a tyrannical empire.
Tallora cowered as the empress studied her. “Does it speak?”
“When it chooses. I’ve yet to know its name.”
The empress smiled, practiced charm in her visage. A true monarch, and Tallora hated her. “What is your name, Mermaid?”
Tallora merely pressed herself deeper into her cage.
The empress’ kind façade slipped by degrees. “My name is Vahla Solviraes, Empress of Solvira, the greatest country upon this mortal realm. I hold the power to drop you from the highest tower of the Glass Palace and let vermin pick at your corpse. I’ll ask again—what is your name?”
Death was a predictable path, the chance to rest in the arms of her chosen deity. She said nothing, merely stared at the stern monarch.
“Perhaps not killed—merely flayed.” She returned her attention to Dauriel. “Starve it until it’s compliant. Rel can keep it at the brink of death until it bends—”
Beyond, Tallora heard a door echo across the high walls. “Empress, we hear you have something worth seeing?”
Tallora turned to the new voice, one bearing the guttural tones of the De’Sindai tongue—the descendants of demonic and mortal blood. Three figures approached, each of different sizes and builds, and the one who led them held a giant’s size but a demonic form—hooved and horned, with deep blue skin. Striking, with her glowing eyes and silver tattoos, she led the rest.
Two human men followed, one in robes to rival the empress, and the other bearing dark clothing and a hood, yet the hands peeking from the engulfing sleeves and the hint of his countenance suggested this might be the oldest person Tallora had ever seen.
“General,” the empress said, practically biting the word, “I would never purposefully waste your time.”
“Only accidentally,” the De’Sindai replied, and Tallora saw then the extent of her vast musculature—her height made her imposing enough, given she towered above the rest, but her bulk made her massive. “This is a mermaid. I have seen mermaids.”
“And a lovely creature it is.” The richly dressed man practically fawned over her, causing Tallora to cringe. “My darling, what a fantastic gift, truly worthy of your title.” He kissed the empress on her cheek—somehow, Tallora found this strange, given his groveling tone. He, too, had eyes as silver as the moon’s light—perhaps this was a Solviraes trait.
“Where is Greyva?” Vahla said, her focus shifting to the ancient man.
He replied with far more power than his feeble pose suggested. “The High Priestess prays to her Goddess, esteemed empress. Neoma summoned her, for what we do not know.”
Neoma? The goddess herself? Whatever Tallora’s fears for her life, she realized it hardly touched the surface—she lay surrounded by beings of true power and influence.
The empress looked merely perturbed. “High Priest Rel, this creature’s disrespect has set it and myself at odds. Prepare a prayer to Ilune—perhaps a bit of necromancy will sustain it until I’ve been appeased.”
The threat in the words caused Tallora’s breath to fail. Lightheaded and starved, her will steadily depleted. She could still speak, she could say her name, perhaps grovel an apology—
“Empress, give her time. What use is a tortured woman to your collection? None would look upon her and be impressed—only think you cruel.”
Tallora dared to stare at her savior, the blue De’Sindai who spoke with absolute disregard to the Empress of Solvira. “You would humanize this creature?” Empress Vahla said.
“I would.”
Tallora suppressed a nervous smile at the blatant disregard shown to the esteemed empress. Could she possibly have found an ally here? Beyond, she watched Dauriel fight the same amusement. Immediately, Tallora swallowed it.
Vahla looked murderous; her husband looked merely nervous. “My love, my heart, my dearest empress, perhaps we should turn our attention to creating an enclosure for her—for the creature, yes? Lest she dry out in the air.”
The empress had turned quite red, an unflattering color with her sea-green dress. “Take it out,” she spat, then her husband led her away, proclaiming apologies with every step.
Magister Adrael said, “Perhaps to the menagerie? We can set up a temporary enclosure until we’ve designed something grand.”
“I’ll supervise.” Tallora hated Dauriel’s voice and wished for a stone dagger to cut it out. “Whatever it takes for Mother to be appeased.”
Priest Rel went away. So, too, did the general, but Tallora reached out to touch her, desperate to cling to her only ally. “Wait,” she whispered, grasping the callused, blue hand, but it echoed all about. Everyone turned, each as surprised as the next. Save for the general—she remained utterly aloof. Tallora stared only at her. “Thank you.”
The general looked unimpressed. Tallora’s heart sank. “For what?”
Beyond, Dauriel stared at their interaction with absolute bafflement. Tallora ignored her. “For saving me from a terrible death.”
“Death would have been more merciful than the empress’ justice.” The general pulled her hand back. “You are welcome.”
She continued away, her steps more pronounced than the rest. “Khastra, wait,” Dauriel said rushing to meet the general. She whispered, too quiet for Tallora’s ears.
“I will not ask her name,” General Khastra said, making no effort to curb her volume. “This is your doing and thus your problem.” In an affectionate gesture, she patted the princess’ arm, but perhaps harder than necessary given Dauriel’s flinch. “I will see you tonight for training.”
Khastra walked away. Tallora’s hope went with her.
Dauriel returned, in tandem with scuffling servants. “To the menagerie,” she ordered, and Tallora prepared her stomach as she was hoisted up.
* * *
Tallora lay centered among a sea of exotic beings—animals with fur, with scales, some who roared and bared fearsome teeth and some from across the sea. A giant spider stared behind bars, its ominous web sweeping to the ceiling, and a smaller, insect-like creature clicked from a separate, shady enclosure, surrounded by strange green crystals. Nothing humanoid, save herself. They paced in cages, magnificent beasts enslaved to these royals’ whims, the greenery lush but tainted with cruelty. The sky sat open, no roof to trap them, allowing birds to enter, but not the ones kept within to leave.
Tallora stared out from her cage, watching as Magister Adrael created the same sort of water globe as he had below the ship—but enormous now, large enough for her to stretch her limbs and tail.
The servants had scattered, leaving only Adrael and Dauriel. The princess heaved a great sigh when Adrael lowered his hands. “It will do.” She turned her attention to Tallora. “I’ll have to lift you. Fight me, and I’ll let you flounder in the dirt.”
The cage lid creaked as it tilted open. Tallora cringed at Dauriel’s touch, though the princess held her with care. Her hands, no longer gloved, held the roughness of work, not the softness of royalty. Tallora wondered at that, but more so at the glimpse of tattooed ink upon her wrists.
Still, Dauriel did as she said—she pushed Tallora through the watery barrier and released, then withdrew her hands and shook them off, her cotton sleeves and skin drenched. “Adrael, leave us. I wish to speak to her alone.”