Chapter Text
Kanaya yawned as she washed the make-up off her face, staring at her bored reflection. She wished that she could get more interesting shoots, but catalogues and advertisements paid well for simple work, so she felt like she had little right to complain.
Her partner for the shoot, a cute Italian girl named Luisa, noticed her boredom. “Do you like books, Kanaya?” The Italian rolled easily off her tongue. Kanaya loved how it sounded.
“Yes, I like to read.” Her Italian wasn’t as good obviously, but she was proud of the fact that she could answer without switching to French. “Why?”
“You should take a look at this American author, Rose Lalonde.” Luisa ducked under the dressing table to grab her purse, removing a Kindle. “I have her books in Italian, of course, but I’m sure there’s a French translation too.” She offered the e-reader to Kanaya.
It was a minimalist cover, with a waifish looking model fading into the background under the title, Giorno della mente. The Day of the Mind. “Le jour de l’esprit?” she asked, making sure she was translating correctly.
“Oui,” Luisa said with a smile. “Read it. It’s sooo good.”
So, Kanaya made a note in her planner. She knew it would save her time and money to buy an e-reader, and the Kindle was definitely nice, but she just really liked the tactile sensation of books, the feel of flipping the pages under her thumb, and the calming air of a used bookstore. Call her a purist or a Luddite, she didn’t care.
So, she made a note to drop by the bookstore on her way home that evening, not knowing that that note would change her life.
--
The owner was excited to see the book on the counter. “This book was so great, Mlle Maryam, you have no idea how much I loved it. I have one other book by this author in stock right now. I will give it to you half off if you promise to read it.”
Kanaya blinked. “Sure, why not?”
The owner added the second book, Le 11e seigneur, with a smile and a flourish. “They’re in the same universe, so I would read Le jour first, and then Seigneur, okay?”
“Okay, thank you.” She handed over the money and tucked the paperbacks into her bag, her curiosity growing. The owner, Mme Monarque, an ageless, regal, generally elegant woman, rarely got that excited over Kanaya’s choice in books. Normally, she tutted quietly to herself, chiding her with something like, “Oh, ma petite, you spend so much time in the dark with these books. Don’t you want something where the majority of scenes are in the sun?”
For Mme Monarque to be so enthusiastic... Hm, perhaps there really was something to this author.
--
She got home to her apartment, wiggling her fingers at her betta fish, who started to dart around excitedly when she turned on the lights, knowing that she was going to be fed. Well, Kanaya liked to think that the electric blue fish was a she, but you never really know with fish. Privately, she was sure she read somewhere that only the males ever got as bright and pretty as hers. Still, the fish was named Vrishchika, since she had spiny fins that reminded Kanaya somewhat of a scorpion’s tail.
She sprinkled some food into the tank all the same, watching Vrishchika dart around and eat. “It’s time for me to eat as well,” she murmured to herself after a moment. “Then I’ll take a look at this supposedly amazing book.”
Dinner was chicken alfredo, because she had been eating rabbit food all week and because it is delicious.
Finally, after the plates were washed and the silverware put away, Kanaya made herself a cup of tea, settled herself in her reading chair and pulled out Le jour de l’esprit.
And within ten minutes, the world had melted away. The story was centered on a young woman of noble descent, who lived under the tyranny of an empress of indeterminable longevity and the power to control the minds of her subjects, effectively making her l’esprit, the Mind, of her people. The protagonist was immune, and sought a way to overthrow the tyrant, seeking out a mysterious and shadowy group of rebels who were rumored to be immune themselves.
When Eria entered the desert, the realization began to sink in that this land of swirling sand could easily become her cemetery. The sun beat hot and heavy overhead, and she shielded her dark hair under the gray hood, holding the Prophet’s words in her head like a talisman of protection.
«Seek out those who hide in the sands. Find the one who flies as men walk, and his companion, whose blood is the lifeblood of his people. Trace the path of the setting sun, and you will find them.»
The man sat in her mind’s eye, blind gray eyes deep set in a pallid face, hair white in spite of his ageless features. The staff in his hands was a deep green, gold leaf swirling across its polished surface, impossibly ornate for a man of his status—he who was buried deep in obscurity to hide from the ever-present eye of the Mind.
She looked to the sky, shielding her eyes, determining her orientation against the red glow. Having done so, she straightened her shoulders, turned due west, and began to walk.
It was close to 2am when Kanaya finally tore her eyes away, almost three-quarters of the way through the book. Her limbs were stiff, and the tea had long gone cold, left untouched. Vrishchika was darting around her tank, confused by the overhead light still being on so late. With a regretful sigh, Kanaya got up and turned it off, letting the fish sleep.
She tried to sleep as well, but ended up getting out of bed after 40 minutes to grab the book from the endtable and curl up in bed with it, reading until the end.
Blood soaked into the rug at her feet, turning the royal purple to a dark tyrian. The Bird and the Crab lay dead, their blood dripping from Eria’s trident. The Empress was laughing.
«Well done, little one! You’ve done my job for me, finding those rebels, even giving me a show with their execution! The looks on their faces! Ah, I missed that look of betrayal. Unfortunately, double-crossing is rather expected of me now, so they’re hardly even surprised anymore. I’m glad to see that it lives in our blood, aren’t you, my little Heiress?»
Eria said nothing, staring only at the blank, dead eyes of those she had come to call friends.
The Empress brushed past her, looking down at the leaders of the rebellion she’d fought so hard to control. «They’re much smaller in person.» She kicked the Crab’s head, causing his tongue to loll out of his mouth. «What if we did something unprecedented?» Her eyes didn’t leave her former enemies. «You serve under me for the next, say 300 years or so, and then I retire with grace and leave the crown to you?»
«Somehow I doubt you would hold yourself to such an agreement,» Eria said slowly. Her feet were moving, gently, softly, approaching the Empress’ back.
She laughed. «You know me so well! It’s a shame you have to die so soon.»
«That’s why I won’t.» The trident shot out like a snake, burying itself into the Empress’ back, spearing her heart on the center prong. It beat frantically outside of her chest, blood pouring out of both it and the gaping wound it left behind.
And so the Empress died at the end of her niece’s blade.
Eria pushed the corpse off the end with her foot, ignoring the wet squelch and thud of it hitting the floor. She looked up, and noticed a young man standing in the doorway, transfixed by the sight of the dead. He was perhaps a few years younger than her, wearing the yellow cloak that marked him as a member of the house of Mercury.
Once, Eria might have smiled at him, tried to become his friend, but she was tired. Tired of talking. Tired of fighting. Tired of betraying. Instead, she set her trident down, and took the crown from where it had rolled off the Empress’ head, settling it on her own.
«Boy,» she said, causing him to jump. «Find whatever slaves or servants are left and get someone to take care of these bodies, would you?»
He nodded quickly and ran away. Eria wondered if his father had survived the battle with the rebellion’s forces at sea, or if Lord Mercury even was his father. Some of the houses’ bloodlines had become strange, after the adoption of promising soldiers became popular. She wondered if any of the houses would be loyal to her. Neptune would be, presumably, since that had been the Empress’ house, and thus, by extension, her own. The houses of Venus and Lune would also be wise to court, being the houses of politics and of warriors respectively, but as such, would they accept a usurper?
She sighed and rubbed her eyes, imagining her near future, and only seeing more bloodshed on the horizon.
The sky was rosy by the time Kanaya managed to put the book down, feeling fulfilled but sad as well. She felt for Eria, and hoped that the kind, thoughtful girl from the beginning of the book would remain, but as she imagined her future... well, it was hardly certain.
Grateful for the weekend, Kanaya finally fell asleep, waking a few hours later to shower and dress, so that she felt a little bit more like a human being. Then, she pulled Le 11e seigneur out of her bag, and settled down at the kitchen table behind a mug of coffee and a croissant.
Le seigneur of the title turned out to be one of the lords of the Empress, and took place before her death. They had known each other as children, but she had grown distant and he had begun to love. This gap between them twisted love to hatred, and then to desire for revenge, though he had never truly been wronged.
Lord Uranus’ boots clicked against the stone floors of his audience room, violet cape blown out behind him like a cresting wave. The Empress’ words floated through his mind, directionless and yet stinging with each pass, like a jellyfish in the current.
«I fail to see what it is that you are driving at. We were friends once, but such things are long passed. We are but empress and vassal now, why should I afford you special privilege when there are other lords who give far more of themselves to me and my service. Lord Mercury for instance, has given me his entire fleet, and thus, I have named him Admiral of Her Imperial Service. Such a distinguished title, is it not? But what have you to offer, Lord Uranus? A dwindling treasury of dubious worth? Stories of how noble your house was in the past? These things mean nothing to me, Balafre. Prove your worth to me, then perhaps we can speak of favors.»
Prove your worth, she had said, as if all those years of assisting her in her rise to power, being by her side when she needed it most, all those years of scrubbing salt from the collar of his cape where she had cried into his shoulder! And Lord Mercury! The name made his blood burn. That man with his garish yellow robes and his grotesque teeth, jutting out of his mouth like a leech’s maw! How anyone could stand to look upon that face would forever be beyond his comprehension.
Balafre twisted his head sharply to clear the image from his mind, resuming his frantic pacing. Call me useless, will she?! He seethed, gnashing his teeth at a nearby tapestry. «I should be her admiral! Is my grandfather not the one who created the damned navy?! Scorpion!» He roared the spy’s name, and she melted out of the shadows as if she’d been there the entire time. The pale blue crest of Uranus shimmered on her breast, seeming to glow against the black uniform she wore.
«How can I be of service, my Lord?» Her voice was soft, belying the poison her words concealed.
«How do you think one would go about the usurping of an Empress?»
Kanaya let out the breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding, her stomach choosing now to growl at her hungrily. She glanced at the clock, and reluctantly put the book down, stretching as she got up from the kitchen table, eying the book warily, as if it would suck her back in if she didn’t pay close attention to its movements.
She went back to her bedroom, deciding that she needed to get out of the house and walk around, or else she’d be in no shape to go to bed early enough for her job the next day. So, she adjusted her jacket and scarf, and left the apartment, intending to grab some lunch at her favorite café... but not before she grabbed the book off the kitchen table and slid it into her bag.
The lady at the counter smiled at Kanaya as she entered and sat in her usual spot by the window. She ordered some scallops and a glass of Rosé. And while she waited for her food, she went back to reading.
The Scorpion walked many roads, some high, some low, even some below ground, so it didn’t take her very long to hear whispers of a man called The Prophet. It was said he was omniscient, but the Scorpion knew that only meant he had good sources.
It took her far too long for her taste, but she found him, hiding in a small village called Prairie, which was known only for its strange green and black wildflowers. The Prophet was a small, white man, with blind-gray eyes. He held a staff in his hand, deep green, and inlaid with curls of gold along the body. There was no top to it, though it appeared as if there were supposed to be one.
«Filière, it took you quite some time, didn’t it?»
The Scorpion bristled. It had been many, many years since she had heard that name. Still, despite her confusion and sudden uncertainty, she forced a smile on her face. «I knew your sources were good. Where’d you pick up that little gem?»
«Why, don’t you remember what your people told you? I’m omniscient.» His smile was cold, thin on his paper white face. «But I know you don’t believe that for a moment.»
«Tell me what I want to know... Prophet.»
«The Empress has a niece she is currently unaware of,» he said immediately, running his hands over the staff in his lap. «She is the daughter of a sister whom Her Imperial Majesty thought murdered by House Ceres. You will find her in the land of wheat, but she will not be easy to catch. A mother’s fangs are by far the most wicked.»
«So, you’re capable of giving me a straight answer, but you won’t because...?»
The Prophet smiled, but his eyes shone with a cold light. «Because just giving it to you would defeat the purpose of your journey.»
“Your scallops, Mademoiselle.” The waitress set them on the table, and Kanaya closed the book slowly, taking in the last few words of the page before sliding in her bookmark.
“Thank you.”
--
She continued reading as she walked home, and she finished the book by sundown.
«It’s over, Lord Uranus!» The yell cut through the wooden doors of his bedchamber, his last refuge. «Come quietly and your life may be yet spared!»
Balafre began to laugh, a madman’s laugh. «Fool! If my life is spared by your hand, then it will only be taken by the Empress herself! Try to kill me if you dare!» He hefted his crossbow, pointing the bolt towards the doors. «I wait for your move, Saturnian dogs!»
The doors opened. And Balafre fired, piercing the first man to enter clean through his stomach, the bolt landing solidly in the thigh of the other man behind him.
But crossbows are hardly a weapon of speed. Within moments, it had been taken from him, and he was flat on the ground, pinned in place by Lord Saturn. The man leaned over him, one black boot pressing into his wrists. He could feel the heavy club that was the signature weapon of the house sinking into the space between his shoulderblades. The weight increased as the lord leaned closer, pushing it farther into his spine.
No one knew Lord Saturn’s true name, because his tongue had been cut out. Some said that he chewed it out himself in a fit of madness. He was the Empress’ most deadly enforcer and assassin.
Then, the weight was lifted from his shoulders, and Balafre could feel Lord Saturn shift back, handing the club to some unseen member of his squadron.
«I’m doing you a favor, you traitorous scum,» came a low growl of a voice, and Balafre caught sight of crazed, violent eyes and jagged scars cutting across a face far too young to bear them, before the club came down and there was nothing left but black.
Meanwhile, in the basement, the younger son of Balafre clutched a little girl to his chest. He could hear the battle going on upstairs, and knew in his heart of hearts that his father was not going to live to see the dawn. He remembered his orders though.
«Keep her secret. Keep her safe. Take her to Lady Ceres. She will know what to do. And remember, you are not to tell anyone of your blood, do you understand? If I do not survive the night, you will be a traitor along with me, and I cannot lose the last of my line. Hold it tight, do not forget who you are, but tell no one.»
Filled with the determination of youth, he shushed the girl as she began to wake, and opened the servant’s staircase, climbing until he reached the gardens. Then, a dead sprint to the hedge to try and avoid being seen out any windows. Being careful of the thorns, he wrapped the girl in his cape, and pushed through the bush, hissing as the spines cut into his skin, slicing at any exposed flesh, and shredding his clothing. The girl began to hiccup, the beginnings of a sob, but he smiled at her and told her that everything would be okay, finally reaching the other side.
He oriented himself, remembering that Ceres land lay to the east, so he found the sun, tracing his path with an outstretched hand. And he began to jog, blood dripping onto the ground behind him, only for it to be swallowed by grass and earth, leaving no trail to follow.
Three days later, a servant of Ceres discovered a half-crazed boy kneeling outside the gates, clutching a wailing babe in his shaking arms. «Please,» he begged. «Please, all we need is a safe place to live...!»
Mme Gouache was hardly the type to turn two children away, so she opened the gates and brought them inside, wiping away the boy’s tears with her apron and cradling the girl to her chest to try and stop her cries. «What are your names, dear?»
And the last of Balafre’s line answered, «I don’t remember.»
So fell the house of Uranus.
Kanaya sighed as she set the book on the table, staring at it, that hollowness of finishing a good book settling in her stomach. She wanted more. The repeated presence of the Prophet had been suspicious, and she suspected he was not the simple background player he pretended to be. She wanted more.
Now filled with purpose, she left the book on the table and went to her bedroom, where her laptop sat charging on the desk. She didn’t use it much, but it’s not like she was, er, completely incompetent with it. She turned it on, and went to bother Vrishchika as it warmed up. She was hiding in her plant and refused to be interesting, so back to the bedroom Kanaya went, sitting down behind the laptop and bringing up her browser.
It didn’t take long for Kanaya to find Rose Lalonde’s blog, very tastefully done with a pale striped lavender background and easy to read black text. It was simple and elegant and satisfied Kanaya’s designer side. Rose Lalonde was written across the top in script, forming the header, and the language options were simple enough to find, so she turned it to French. It felt like cheating, but she really needed to learn the next release dates, and didn’t much feel like struggling through the English.
Ah, there it was. Le 3e livre d’Eria : Celui qui voit tout ; 25 octobre
Kanaya glanced at her wall calendar (it had very pretty pictures of plants and flowers) and sighed. That was a good six months away. She clicked around the French language blog, but soon realized it was just simple schedule stuff about book signings and release dates, while the actual author posts were untranslated, aside from the “thank you for buying my books” ones.
So, she switched back to English, brought up her online dictionary and made herself comfortable. Hm, on second thought, this needed tea.
One brief tea trip later, Kanaya made herself comfortable and starting looking through the blog posts. There were book reviews, in addition to links and commentary on psychology articles and studies, as well as introductions and explanations of myths, both familiar and strange. Very occasionally, there were small tastes of books to come, but Kanaya was scared to read them, for fear of spoilers.
Out of curiosity, she checked out the US release dates and was dismayed to discover that book 3 had already been published there, and book 4 was slotted to be released two months in the future, which was labeled “the end of the series”. The word “series” linked to a blog post entitled, “What is to come”, posted on Christmas Eve.
I’m very pleased so many people have enjoyed Eria’s books. It has been a pleasure reading your emails and comments, and, of course, meeting you in person.
Of course, now that Eria is getting a well-deserved rest from my bloodied pen, I’m sure you all are at the edges of your seats wondering what comes next.
I’m afraid I have a great many ideas, and as many projects currently in process, so I cannot say precisely what is to follow in the next few years, but I assure you that it will be quite different from the last project, even alien, one could say. I am not your average science-fiction writer, and so I promise it will be worth your time and attention.
And, because I do need to eat, despite all rumors to the contrary, your money as well.
I wish you all a pleasant New Years, and look forward to meeting you in 2013.
Kanaya chewed her thumb as she read, frustrated by the sentence construction, but after she understood what was being said, she was able to appreciate the flow and rhythm of the author’s words. She tried reading it aloud, but her accent disgusted her, forcing her mouth shut.
English had always been a secondary language interest, compared to Italian, which she encountered more in her work, and she had always considered French books to be the best anyway, but now she wasn’t sure. If she enjoyed these books as much as she did in French, what were they like in their original tongue? Could they even be better? She could see very careful details placed in the texts after all. How many other ones had been lost in translation?
So, she bought books 1-3 from Amazon.co.uk, and grabbed her old English textbooks off the bookshelf, spreading them out across her desk.
She was going to need more tea.