The Empire. Grayson Reyes-Cole

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СКАЧАТЬ dry and brittle. Her skin began to flake. Dark half-circles developed beneath her eyes. Her lush curves diminished. When she evaluated the image in her mirror, all the womanly trappings that had lured Galan to her had disappeared. Though the bards still wrote songs of her beauty she heard none of them. Raeche made few appearances in public, ignoring many of her duties as Empress. She talked to herself incessantly, often arguing over the puzzle of her daughter’s conception. When Taritana interfered, Raeche sliced through her insincere overtures with the lethal truth: the Personal loved the Emperor and could therefore not do her duty to the Empress, though it was Raeche to whom she owed her fealty and devotion.

      Her existence grew unbearable. As cycles scraped by, she spent her free hours apart from the world in the Imperial Library. She read books, scrolls, the Codex of the Empire, and the Codex of the Spirit. Searching for answers–even searching for a reference to a strange blood-eating vanity–but she learned little more than she already knew.

      Steeped in yawning despair, she would have willingly and with relief gone into death this way, if not for a Chance of Spirit in the form of Rucha taking her first steps.

      Raeche had not even noticed Rucha was of an age to walk, so long had she dwelled in a compartment of fear and confusion. As she passed the Emperor’s apartments one day she saw his door standing ajar. Though not unusual, a whisper of breath on the back of her neck made her turn her head and she saw her daughter’s first steps. Of course, Rucha had been walking to her father. From his loud whoop as he swung the girl in the air, Raeche knew for certain the Emperor had never experienced a happier moment. He did not contain his Spirit and it overwhelmed her, pouring happiness into her. She did not remember ever knowing the Spirit of Happiness or Contentment.

      In this breath of a moment, Raeche was reminded of her husband’s masculine beauty. More than the most powerful man in the Empire, from head to foot he was the most handsome, courageous and terrible. His coloring so different from her own, his body so large and undefeatable in battle, he stole her breath at the strangest of moments. Galan had never stolen her breath or stopped her words and she had been so thankful for that. The Emperor had sea-green eyes that stroked her. The Emperor’s hands were scarred and had thick calluses on the palm yet were gentle as they directed her in a dance.

      She had always known him to be handsome but, until that moment, she had allowed her nervousness to cloak him in something ugly and aggressive. Her husband exuded danger without compare.

      Rucha did not fear her father, only felt his love and protection, and yes, occasionally, the cruelty required to exert command. Raeche, by this time, had witnessed the child’s unerring reading of Spirit. If Rucha had faith, there could be no doubt Lanus was completely and utterly devoted to Rucha’s happiness. Perhaps his thirst for blood was duty rather than passion.

      Her own duty had been to fill the Emperor’s life with protection, happiness, and fealty, yet she had failed him because she feared him. Even worse, deep down, in her heart of hearts, she wanted to hurt him for making her a coward when more than anything she wanted to be brave. Such a lapse in Spirit was shameful. Her distance from her child was shameful, but she was the Empress. She would repent. Take action.

      Raeche squared her shoulders. She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over the purple gown that bared one shoulder and was at once loose and flattering on her petite curves.

      She knocked on the open door frame then stepped inside the Emperor’s chamber. When he looked up, his smile faltered, though Rucha’s did not. Sitting on her bottom, the toddler lifted her arms and squeezed her hands at Raeche. Instead of picking the child up, Raeche gestured to the floor. “May I?”

      “Of course,” the Emperor returned.

      Raeche lowered herself to the ground beside him and playfully pinched her daughter’s chin before bending to kiss her.

      Rucha giggled then reached for her once more. With a soft touch, Raeche pulled her child onto her lap and embraced her. Rucha hugged her back, sent her flashes of warmth and joy before reaching up to place a tiny hand over each of Raeche’s eyes.

      At once, guilt washed through Raeche’s body. Guilt for her immature infatuation with Galan. Guilt for betraying her rearing and the Emperor who had done nothing but marry her and lay an Empire at her feet. For nigh on two rings he had left her completely alone but for the occasional required appearance. He demanded absolutely nothing of her–not even time in his bed. Instead of recognizing the strange freedom allotted to her, she had squandered the time on avoiding her husband and daughter. She had wasted circulations fretting over and investigating what she should have considered the blessing of Rucha’s parentage.

      She pulled back and stared down at her daughter. Raeche trembled.

      “Ray-ray-ray-ray-ka,” Rucha gurgled.

      “Ru-ru-ru-ru-ka,” Raeche returned, accepting a sloppy kiss on the mouth.

      Rucha raised one hand and leaned over to slap it hard against her father’s chest, right over his heart.

      “Ow,” he yelped, though he was smiling.

      “Lanus!” she squealed, enunciating: Lahhhh-noooss. The Emperor’s name sounded like a melody in the child’s voice. “Not Dada,” she added.

      Raeche looked up at the Emperor so fast she hurt her neck.

      He lifted one shoulder. “She should call me Lanus. She must see me as the man, the leader, even now, for she must learn what it means to rule this Empire.”

      Suddenly feeling like an intruder once more, Raeche nodded and scrambled to stand. She muttered something and started away. But she felt the tiniest tug at her hem.

      “Raeche, take me.” The child had not spoken but the request was clear in Raeche’s mind.

      So rare was it for Rucha to choose her mother’s company over her father’s that Raeche looked to her husband for permission. In one breath he granted it and assured her that she never needed to ask in the next.

      “Mama, Rucha.” She slid a glance at Lanus. When he said nothing, she repeated, “I am Mama.”

      Raeche took her baby to her room. She played with her, talked nonsense to her, and felt her torn soul begin to knit and her view of her life begin to evolve.

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