The Eventide Child (11 page)

The adrenaline finally seeped from her body and her senses returned to normal, her breathing ragged and rough. Why had he come at her with such anger? Why had he been so unreasonable? Why hadn’t he just listened? Her hands shook. When had it become so easy for her to use this power? She did not know, nor could she dare chance finding out. She brought her head up, the Legionnaires had stood silently side by side, Samar wearing a grim expression on his face. The deed had been done. There was no turning back from it. The pain had driven Titus out of consciousness as he lay motionless upon the ground.

“He was a traitor,” she said with shaky voice, finally managing to calm her breath. “Y-you all saw how he came at me!” she cried, attempting to justify her actions before their peering eyes.

Never apologizing for doing what must be done.

Their silence was borne either out of fear or admiration, she knew not which, but she chose not to press the issue. She saw now why Cass had wished to keep her abilities secret, the chaos they could bring among the superstitious gentry.

“Back to business.” She turned with a toss of her cape as she marched to the sarcophagus. It was her prize, now. Two Legionnaires aided her as they pushed the heavy stone casket open, the top falling to the ground with a thundering crash. Inside, the Regalia awaited. A gold signet ring bearing the mark of a phoenix, a pair of golden bracelets, a heavy amulet, and a fine sword said to have been forged by Vulcan himself for the Imperial family.

A legionnaire reached for the sword, but pain surged through his body as it rejected him and he gave a cry. “It’s cursed!” But she paid him no mind as she adorned herself in the jewelry before reaching within. She grasped the hilt of the blade and pain pulsed through her body.

Focus. Embrace it. Overtake it.

Just as her mother demanded, she focused her energy into the sword. She clutched onto the pain and owned it, teeth gritting as she hoisted the glimmering white blade from the confines of the tomb. The pain subsided, the sword giving a small pulse as it shifted and changed. Her energy overtook it, the once pristine and white metal shifting and changing until it was as dark as the night itself. She held the blade high, turning to face the men as it radiated its magical energy and seemed to twinkle with the light of stars.

“Ave Imperatrix!” the men shouted, saluting her. Whether out of fear or joy, she still did not know. Soon the legionnaires poured into the tomb, collecting the gold and valuables from those that had been victimized by the Sphinx “Regroup outside,” she instructed, watching as the Centurions hoisted Titus aloft to carry him outside, “It’ll be exile for him.” She understood his fear, but she could not trust him any further.

She needed air.

The heat of the desert suddenly felt comforting.

She was glad to be rid of the damp, musty darkness of that Gods forsaken tomb. The magical beasts that lay within, the discarded corpses, the arcane sacrifices and even the treason of Titus. The events haunted and hurt her. Had she made the right decision? Was there a way out of it? She could not say for certain as she paced nervously before the entrance of the tomb. Samar was the first one to depart, having apparently grown bored with the revelry of the men as they picked clean the corpses.

“He has two children,” Samar said, his voice echoing through the silence, halting her mid stride “It will be hard for him to provide for them.”

“Everyone has family, Samar,” she replied callously as she drew her cloak closer to her body. She suddenly didn’t feel like being seen, the weight of the two blades heavy upon her hip. “He was going to kill me,” she added, eyes darting toward Samar. “I saw it in his eyes. A hatred I’d never seen.”

“Perhaps. Exile is a cruel punishment.”

“I should have killed him.”

She must have seemed terribly weak in that moment. He was trying to kill her and yet she still chose to spare him. An action that could prove to be a mistake in time.

“Strength is not always taking a life, cousin. Sometimes it is just as powerful to spare a life. If you are to rule, you must not forget your kindness.”

His words cut her like knives and she drew her cloak tighter around herself as she began to pace again. “What would you have me do, Samar? Shall I keep him around? Invite further attempts on my life?” She spat back with all the venom and anger she could muster in her voice, pacing to and fro like a dog on the defensive.

This world was changing her, and she knew it. It was the kind of world that etched and eroded kind hearts until there was nothing left save a gaping wound. The harsh truth was that sometimes there was no good options, only bad ones. She had become jaded since she left the farm, viewing the world with a more cynical eye as the months had passed by. She missed the days when her only concern had been sheep.

“I’ve not forgotten, Samar.” She sighed, wiggling free of those large arms as she stepped back. “But I can’t keep him around. He’s dangerous. I don’t understand why he was so angry.”

“Like many older Legionnaires, Titus is a devout follower of Sol Invictus. The Unconquerable Sun.”

She had heard of such a God before, but did not know many still actively practiced its faith. She was certain the cult had died out years before she had even been born, but she still listened to Samar.

“In the magic you used, he saw something irrevocably tainted. I imagine the warning at the entrance shook him as well. His religious conviction overrode his reason,” Samar finished, shaking his head slowly.

It seemed a concept so foreign to her. Alexandra gave a sigh as she bit into her lip. Was that why Cass had urged her to conceal her power? Was it truly something forbidden, or was it just a fear of the unknown that drove men toward hatred?

“I’m not a devouring Darkness, Samar,” she whispered finally, her head shaking. “After all this ... he still believed I would leave nothing but ruin in my wake?” she asked, fingers nervously playing with her cloak now. It was hard to process everything that had happened, but she gnawed at her lip in silence.

“In his mind, yes. You were The Great Destroyer, the All Devouring Darkness sent to scourge the world.”

It almost made her laugh, if it hadn’t been so sad. Perhaps he wasn’t far off, though. Her time so far had taught her little of the blessings of magic. What had magic done? It had destroyed her peaceful community. It corrupted. Killed. Maimed. It was magic that conjured the Sphinx into existence. It was magic that fueled the Shahzad’s conquest of the world. Even now, Alexandra attributed Cass’ death to her desire to keep her powers secret. It seemed so easy to blame magic for all the things what had gone wrong in her life this past year.

“He was a zealot,” she finally said. “In the end he was just as corrupt as the Hashashin that killed Cass. He forsook his vows.” Magic was dangerous, true, but it was the foul heart of man that twisted and corrupted this world. “There is nothing we gain from dwelling on Titus any further.” Her voice carried, turning to face Samar. “I would not blame you if you left my side, cousin.”

Samar’s faced twitched as he contemplated her words, her pacing stopped as the man gave a small nod. “Samar will not leave your side so easily,” he replied, a smile crossing his lips. “It is now my duty to instruct you properly. One had hoped that Titus and Cass would have been here to see it,” he admitted as he stepped toward her. She tensed, remembering Cass for a fleeting moment before his large hands grasped her cloak and straightened it out. “There is no denying who you are now, Alexandra. The road ahead will be long and fraught with many more terrors. The Shah will stop at nothing to see you dead. The Arkadian Republic will want you disposed of. The people... The people will whisper of your deeds. But for now, we shall return to Alexandria and bide our time beneath a happy, corrupt, and friendly government,” he explained, readjusting her cloak again before he stepped back. The Legionnaires emerged from the tomb at last, a large chest filled with bounty.

“At your command, Imperatrix,” the lead centurion bellowed, the men beaming bright eyed and happy. They had gotten the gold they had been promised. They could sing songs and tell tales of how they had valiantly faced down a Sphinx. How they had helped restore the Imperial family to greatness. Not one man would utter Titus’ name again, however. His shame, his betrayal would remain hidden forever. That tomb truly was cursed, she mused as she turned away from it again, her hand hoisting upward.

“Forward,” she barked, her hand falling as the Legion began its march to the sea. Titus was left at the first village along the way that they found. She would wrestle with whether or not it had all been worth it for the rest of her life. Her fingers playing at the surface of the gold ring as memories of Cass and Titus filled her mind. She would never see their smiling faces again. Never hear their laughter as they shared tales of their old days together. In the end, she remembered that final night, where Titus had told her it had not been her fault. She couldn’t tell now whether he had been true in his words or if he had said them only to provide comfort to a young girl.

Their return path was to be different, she had demanded as much. She couldn’t bear going past the camp where Cass had died. It would take them longer, but she doubted the men would care, they were now rich beyond their wildest dreams. Besides, taking a different route was simply safer considering they had been ambushed on their old route.

You would do well to never forget this feeling. The stab of betrayal, the anger. Trust is a luxury
.

The journey back was uneventful, the soldiers marched into Alexandria triumphant and tall. It was as if they had won a great military campaign, their treasure chest held high and Alexandra stood poised front and center for all to see. The Regalia was in the open, now, and citizens who knew what such items meant could only gasp and stare in awe as their party came upon the home of Samar once more. They had gone to the forbidden places, braved the darkest of curses, and lived, though their number was fewer than when they left.

She smiled. Smiled and waved to the small gathering of individuals while Samar remained close by her side.

It was such a relief to be rid of the leather armoring, stripping it from her body almost immediately once she was safe in the confines of Samar’s villa. There was no hiding their station now, so Samar had ordered the Legionnaires out to guard upon the walls. Large banners of purple emblazoned with a black phoenix hung at the gates. Everyone knew who lived there.

Samar came bursting into her room unannounced and Alexandra gave a shrill shriek as her hands flew to cover herself. “Samar!” she barked, throwing the nearest sandal she could find in his direction. Fortunately, the older man still seemed quick on his feet as he avoided it, the sandal bouncing harmlessly from the wall. He just shook his head at her, his laughter reaching her ears.

“I’ve seen more naked girls than you can imagine, you're all the same!” He shouted before pushing his way toward her, a bundle of cloth held between his hands. Before she even knew what was happening he was spinning her around, taking her measurements. When he was satisfied, he pulled the dress over her head. It was fancy. Far fancier than the dress Tullius had given her. A pristine white tunic with a large purple toga.

“It is normally customary for a woman to wear a stola,” Samar explained, making sure the tunic fit her properly as he adorned her with the Regalia. “But we are not looking to broadcast customs. We are looking to project gravitas. Authority. Power.” He gave her a final once over before he stepped back. “So... We dress you as the Imperator’s of old.”

“I ... is this necessary?” she asked, feeling rather strange about the sudden shift in her wardrobe.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

She gave a nervous shake of her head, examining the fabric between her fingers before he stepped back away from her.

“Being a ruler is just as much about appearance,” Samar said, turning her to face the balcony. He pointed toward the waiting crowd below. She didn’t need instruction to know what he wanted. She moved quietly across the floor until she pushed beyond the opening to stand upon the balcony. A sea of faces gathered below, staring up at her in wonder from beyond the wall of Samar’s complex. Thunderous applause followed her arrival and the people shouted and cheered.

Cries of "Ave Imperatrix" echoed throughout the night, though she said nothing to the crowd. Her gaze froze upon their faces, the people simply jubilant upon seeing her adorned in the Imperial Regalia, looking proper and at her finest. Samar slowly stepped beside her, his arms folded behind him.

“Imperatrix Alexandra Septimius Augusta,” he announced to the crowd, grasping her by the wrist and lifting her arm into the air. “Protector of the Realm. Guardian of the Provinces. Rightful ruler of the Empire!”

Reclaiming an Empire, it seemed, was not a quick process. For two years after she raided the tomb, she sat, lamenting, within the walls of Samar’s compound. In that time, court etiquette was drilled into her as she was forced to entertain the local nobility week after week, sometimes nightly. When she had nothing, they were quick to dismiss her presence. Now that she bore the Imperial Regalia and had gathered a small legion, they showed interest in her. It would be dangerous to ignore them, Samar told her, as there was little to stop them from betraying her to the Shah and his men. So for two years she made nice. For two years, she studied history, religion, and politics. She debated. She argued. She sat at the feet of renowned philosophers that came from far around. Alexandria offered comforts, which she had never known, and to some the idea of reclaiming the Empire drifted ever further away. Arkadia was a relatively stable puppet beneath the rule of the Shahzad Empire, but for how long? Spies told tale of oppression, of people who would burst at the chance to rise up in the name of their rightful leader. But was it true, or was it bluster? Either way, it was hard to believe it had been two years. The gold they recovered from the expedition had been more than enough to make the soldiers rich, retain them on pay, and fund her lifestyle. It seemed two years was the time it took to cultivate an Empress.

“Is today the day?” she asked, leaning upon the window as she stared into the distance at the ocean. “Will we muster and depart, to reclaim my homeland?” There was a small giggle behind her, her brow arching as she turned. “Have I said something amusing, Layla?” she called. Layla. A strange girl, no doubt. She was the daughter of one of the Prince’s, sent to study beneath Samar alongside herself. A nice girl, usually humble, but decidedly attractive. Caramel was the color of her skin and her hair was as dark as the night. A smile crossed her lips as she plucked a fruit from a bowl.

“You stare out that window each day, asking that same question.” She replied, her soft accent peppering her words before she bit the berry. It was remarkable, really, how quickly Layla had grasped the fundamentals of Greek. Alexandra herself still struggled with the native tongue of Egypt, and found it a blessing that Layla had been able to learn so quickly so that she could converse with someone. Samar was a loyal friend as any, but it was nice to be able to speak to someone of her own age.

“You are the so called Imperatrix, are you not? Simply order your little soldiers up and go.” Layla’s words carried in a sing-song tone, her arm making the motion of an ocean “Perhaps you will survive the journey, perhaps we will even speak again.” It seemed Layla had even managed to grasp the finer nuances of sarcasm, though the girl had been unable to resist bursting into laughter when Alexandra’s face tinged red with frustration.

“I know, I know,” she spat back at the laughing girl, shaking her head as she threw herself upon a pile of pillows, starring across the way toward Layla.

“You must be patient,” Layla said, flicking a grape casually at Alexandra as she did so. “Even Abeiron says so. You are too impatient. It is like debate. You must be precise. Calculating. Exacting. If you lose your patience, you lose.” The other girl lectured her so elegantly, though Layla was doing her best to imitate Abeiron, their instructor in the fine art of orating. “At least you actually get to rule,” Layla added. She always forgot that Layla was destined to be a wife, to never rule in her own right. It was a fact the young Princess was comfortable with. “Of course, I will simply be spoiled and adored,” the girl added with a sinister smile as she popped another grape into her mouth. They were both waiting patiently, but for different things. Layla had no hurry. Alexandra, however, could feel the weight of her people’s hearts upon her mind every day that she lingered in the Land of the Nile.

“To be honest, I feel as if I am a prisoner.” She rolled over and stuffed her face into one of the pillows. There was a silence in the room with that statement. Layla uncomfortably chewing her fruit. It was odd for her to be so silent, really. It was so strange, even, that she lifted her head from within the pillows and turned toward Layla. “What is it?”

Her words made Layla freeze mid chew, the girl swallowing hard as she looked around quickly. They both knew there were aspects of their lives that they could not share, but it seemed as if Layla was having doubts. She eased forward, pushing close as she leaned in. “Many of the Noble Families worry. They fear if you are allowed to leave, you will return with conquering Legions,” Layla said, the girl obviously looking torn as she drew back. “I overheard father talking with some of them. That is why they tarry.”

“I had feared as much,” Alexandra sighed as she rolled onto her back, promptly applying a pillow to her face and screaming into it in frustration before she threw it aside. “I fear I will die in this place, Layla. I fear Abeiron will bore me to death if I must hear the tale of Hercules once more.” She laughed, and Layla laughed along with her. She slowly pushed herself up. The horrors of the past had felt so distant. She could almost see herself content here, living out the rest of her days as a de facto prisoner within Samar’s compound. It would be a peaceful life, but it was a life she could not bring herself to live. She had lost too much already. As she closed her eyes and let her mind drifted back, she was reminded of the words her mother spoke and heeded them well. She did not forget the suffering she felt, nor the betrayal. She kept those two emotions closer to her heart than any other.

“It is not my destiny to languish so,” she said. “I will leave this city, Layla. One way or another.” It was a promise she intended to keep. She had seen first hand the suffering of her people, the refugees stacked up outside the walls of Tripolis. It was a nightmare then, she couldn’t imagine it had improved much under the rule of the so called “senate.” This was the same senate who was quick to enact a ban on Alexandra, denying all her claims of legitimacy and painting her to be some charlatan whore with false trinkets. Their condemnation of her passed unopposed, as things are wont to do within a puppet government when its legitimacy is challenged.

“I wish you nothing but good fortune,” Layla said, her melodic voice ringing in her ear.

She wished she could believe those honeyed words, her eyes cast upon Layla’s features. She was slower to trust, these days. Titus had taught her the lesson of trust well, it seemed. She could remember his face as well, twisted in agony as her power broke his arm and she had left him to languish in exile.

Her time would come.

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