Empress Petra of Valcotta stood at the center of the nearly empty yard, only her bodyguard, Welran, and a servant holding a pitcher of water in attendance. She wore training leathers, her eyes closed as she moved through the same exercises she’d completed every morning for as long as Zarrah had been alive.
Zarrah stopped at the edge of the sand, standing at attention while her aunt finished, trying to keep her racing heart in check. Not once had she disappointed her aunt, not like this. And though her aunt didn’t know the half of what Zarrah had done, what she did know still smacked of defiance.
Which was something the Empress had no tolerance for.
Without speaking, her aunt went to a rack of weapons and selected two staffs, one of which she tossed to the ground at Zarrah’s feet before accepting a glass of water from the servant. Eyes on Zarrah, she drank deeply before setting the glass back on the tray.
Her mouth dry as the sand they stood upon, Zarrah retrieved the staff and moved to the center of the space, taking her position.
The Empress attacked.
A blinding whirl of wood, which Zarrah barely managed to block, her arms shuddering from the impact. Then another and another, her aunt putting her on the defense and giving her no respite.
She never did.
At her best, Zarrah was barely a match for the older woman, who made up for the strength age had sapped with a lifetime of experience. But today, Zarrah was far from her best. She was exhausted from nights of little sleep, her body stiff from lying on a rooftop, and her mind sluggish from ale.
Crack.
The blow caught her across the ribs, ripping a gasp from her lips and sending her staggering. Zarrah rolled as her aunt swung at her again, trying to give herself the space to regain ground, but her aunt relentlessly pursued.
Crack.
Pain spidered down her hip and she staggered, struggling for balance, but her head was spinning with thirst. Her aunt hooked her leg, sending Zarrah toppling onto her back and knocking the wind from her lungs.
Before she could suck in a breath, her aunt’s staff whirled, driving straight toward Zarrah’s face. She lifted her own weapon to block the blow, but it tangled in her ankle, and she braced for the pain.
The staff stopped a fraction of an inch from her cheekbone.
“Shameful!” Her aunt threw the staff to the sand, then spit on it for good measure. “Not since you first picked up a weapon have you fought so poorly.”
“Apologies, Your Imperial Majesty.” Zarrah climbed to her feet, head lowered, stomach filled with self-loathing for having embarrassed herself so horribly. “I—”
“Oh, I know exactly what you’ve been up to, girl.” Her aunt inhaled, then wrinkled her nose. “Rumpled, stinking of liquor and sweat and man, your eyes dull from lack of sleep.” She rounded on Welran and the servant. “Leave us.”
They departed without question, leaving Zarrah and her aunt alone in the silent yard. For a long moment, the Empress said nothing, and Zarrah’s mortification grew with every heartbeat. Her aunt had raised her, had given her everything she wanted and guided her on her chosen path. To her aunt, Zarrah’s behavior must appear as though she were spitting in the face of all those gifts.
“I arrived to word of a great victory against the Maridrinians who dared to step onto our soil, victory delivered by my chosen heir,” the Empress slowly said. “An heir that I expected to greet me with plans for how we might capitalize on this win. Except instead you were out drinking and rutting in the slums of the city like some common soldier. If I wanted an heir like that,” her voice rose, “I’d have named my own cursed son!”
Zarrah flinched, looking away. “One night’s misstep. And one that will not happen again.”
“Don’t you lie to me!” Her aunt’s palm cracked against her cheek, the pain making Zarrah’s eyes water. “Don’t you lie, girl. This was not the first night, nor even the second. Do you think you aren’t watched?”
Zarrah’s blood ran cold, though instinct told her that if the Empress knew everything, she’d be on her way to be executed for treason.
Her aunt pressed her fingers to her temples, drawing in a deep breath. Then she fixed Zarrah with a steady gaze that seemed to see into her soul. “I know it is hard, dear one. Always having to hold yourself above the rest, never a moment’s respite. I know what it’s like to want to lose yourself in a lover’s touch, or to drink and laugh until dawn with comrades. But those are pursuits denied women such as you and me. Women who rule, or who are destined to rule, must never let their guard down. Never lose their focus.”
Zarrah gave a tight nod, knowing that her aunt lived by her words. That she held herself to the same standard of conduct.
“I don’t want to lose you, my love.” Her aunt stepped closer, cupping her cheek. “If I’m hard on you, know that is why. But if my path is no longer the one you wish to follow…”
“It is!” Alarm filled Zarrah’s chest, fear that because of one mistake, her aunt would send her away. “It’s all I want.”
Liar, a voice whispered in her head, but she shoved it away.
Her aunt’s eyes glinted liquid bright, and she scrubbed at them. “It’s rare that you remind me of your mother, for she was ever impetuous. Ever seeking life’s pleasures, no matter the risks that came with them. But you remind me of her today, and that terrifies me.”
A tear rolled down her aunt’s cheek, and Zarrah stared at it in horror, having never seen the Empress weep before. To be the cause of such grief made her ill.
“It was your mother’s recklessness that got her killed. I told her not to travel so close to the border. Told her it wasn’t safe, but she was desperate to visit her lover, and he was to meet her there for an assignation.”
Zarrah gaped, having never heard this before. “I don’t remember a lover…”
“She hid her lovers from you out of respect for your father, may his soul rest in everlasting peace.” Her aunt smoothed the fabric of her trousers. “Like yesterday, I remember the news reaching us in Nerastis that the villa had been raided by the Maridrinians. How my heart plummeted and fear took over as we rode as fast as we could.” Her voice caught. “And when the wind blew over us, carrying that smell, I knew we were too late.”
Zarrah’s own eyes burned with tears, the words dragging up emotions that she fought so hard to keep buried.
“They’d lined the road with the bodies of every soul who lived at the villa.” Her aunt’s eyes were distant as she spoke. “I remember searching them for your face, praying that you’d escaped, that you were safe. And when I found you tied beneath your mother’s body, covered in gore and flies, I thought I’d lost you.” She sucked in a ragged breath. “And then you looked up at me.”
Tears poured down Zarrah’s cheeks, because that moment was burned into her soul. Her aunt, her empress, her savior.