Lieza started as the locks on the door rattled for the first time in days. Their food was provided via a slot in the base of the door, the only means of gauging the passage of time as they had been left alone since Varulek’s surreptitious visit. When it swung open she was dismayed to find the black-clad absent. Instead two Arisai stood there, grinning as they bowed, unconcealed lust in the gazes they directed at her and Lieza.
One of them spoke, deepening his bow and gesturing at the corridor. Lieza swallowed before providing a translation. “She wants to see you.”
? ? ?
Think nothing. Feel nothing.
She knew she was asking the impossible of herself; how could any living mind think nothing? But still she found the constant refrain a comfort, placing her faith in the Empress’s patent madness, the hope her mind was too clouded to allow her gift free rein.
To her surprise the Arisai led her from the arena and out into the broad parkland that surrounded it. The Empress was overseeing some form of modification to a life-sized bronze statue standing on a plinth opposite the main entrance, a team of slaves moving quickly at her shouted instruction. Most of their work seemed to be focused on the statue’s head, working feverishly to hammer iron pegs into its bronze neck. Nearby a dozen Arisai stood guard, a kneeling man in their midst, naked, slumped and chained.
“Ah, little sister,” the Empress greeted her, pulling her into a warm embrace. “And how does the morning find you?”
Think nothing. Feel nothing. “What do you want?”
“We haven’t had occasion to speak since your delightful demonstration. I wouldn’t wish you to think I harboured some anger towards you. Sisters shouldn’t fight.”
“We’re not sisters.”
“Oh but we are. I’m quite convinced of it. I was meant to have a sister, you see. But she died before she could be born.” The Empress’s gaze snapped back to the slaves and the statue. “Hurry up!”
Their efforts instantly became frantic, hammers moving in a blur as the last of the iron pegs were pounded into place. “Handsome fellow, isn’t he?” the Empress asked as the slaves secured ropes around the statue’s head. “Not to your taste, I know. But still, I assume you can still appreciate the aesthetic qualities of male beauty.”
Reva glanced at the bronze face, now partly obscured by a net of ropes. He had certainly been a handsome man, strong-jawed with a narrow nose, though his expression was even more stern and commanding than the plethora of heroes the Volarians erected in every spare corner of their city. He wore the armour of a senior officer, though it seemed more elaborate and ornate than others she had seen.
“Savarek Avantir,” the Empress said. “The greatest military commander in Volarian history. And my father.”
The slaves hurriedly hitched their ropes to a team of horses and began flailing at their flanks with whips. The iron pegs in the statue’s neck fell free as the rents they had forced in the metal widened, the bronze giving a whining groan of protest until the head finally came loose, falling onto the plinth with a loud clang.
“Conqueror of the southern provinces,” the Empress went on, moving to the plinth and laying a hand on the metal head. “Victor of sixty-three separate engagements. One of only two citizens to gain the red by virtue of martial merit rather than property, creator of the Varitai and Kuritai and the first to receive the Ally’s blessing. A fellow of singular achievement, wouldn’t you say?”
“Did he kill as many people as you?”
The Empress’s mouth twitched in a smile as she caressed the head. “More than both of us combined, little sister. And we have killed so many, have we not?”
Think nothing. Feel nothing. “If he took your Ally’s blessing, where is he? I thought your kind lived forever.”
“Even the Ally’s gift is no defence against a skillful blade.” She turned to regard the man kneeling amidst the Arisai. “Nor it seems, sufficient reward to ensure good service.”
She waved a hand and the Arisai hauled the kneeling man upright, dragging him forward. He seemed to be absent any injury but sagged as if wounded, head lolling and limbs slack. He made no sound though the stench arising from the dark stains that covered his thighs spoke of bowels loosened by fear.