BEGONIA HOUSE
Interstellar travel, she discovered, made Zara queasy. Ixo waited outside the restroom while she puked her guts out for twenty minutes upon arrival in the Viverides system. When she finally had nothing left in her stomach, she cleaned herself up and then wobbled to the exit looking pale and haggard and sporting a wet spot on her loose-fitting dress. Zara paused, catching the sight of herself in the mirrors near the door. She looked rough. Her family had eschewed all finery during the war, and she’d become skilled at making her own clothes out of scraps or repurposing old clothes into new garments. She’d eventually made things for the entire family and their servants, contributing what little she could to keep the household’s finances down. But, dressing in homespun clothes left her looking like a ragamuffin. Her lack of makeup made the dark circles under her deep brown eyes more evident. Having been underground for so long, her pale skin hadn’t been damaged by the sun, but it had taken on a sallow tint. Zara’s once-lustrous long hair, so deeply brown it neared black, had become stringy and oily from lack of proper care. The soft gray dress she wore hung loose around her, though she’d made it specifically to be comfy rather than fashionable, including the two big pockets large enough to carry an intellipad or a ball of yarn or whatever else she didn’t want in her hands.
She looked like a homeless woman compared to even a normal crew member on the royal cruiser.
It hadn’t really been noticeable on Ankali. Nobody paid much attention to their appearance during the war. And it was important that the best fabric go to the soldiers for uniforms and to hospitals for wound dressings and blankets. But now, after seeing rosy-cheeked crew members in makeup with hair swept up into fancy coiffures, Zara felt like the galaxy’s ugliest pug dog. She tried pinching her cheeks to make them pinken, but it just made her look overheated. With a heavy sigh, she shook her head and left to join Ixo.
Through the viewing monitor in the lounge, Zara watched as they approached Viverides. The planet’s purple oceans surrounded a single large continent in the northern hemisphere. Wispy clouds encircled the globe, and a few stronger patches indicated storms. With night having fallen on half the planet, brightly lit splotches indicated cities all along the western seaboard, the most populated area. There, somewhere among all of those twinkling lights, would be the Imperial Palace nestled deep within the massive Forbidden City.
But they would not be traveling to the Forbidden City. The lowest-ranked Hostage Concubines lived miles away in the Walled City of Ebonrue. It was said of Ebonrue that the only way for a Hostage Concubine to leave was in a golden litter, having been sent for by the Imperial Palace, or by throwing oneself into the Rosepetal River, so named because of the heaps of rose petals that would flow downstream past Ebonrue after the morning sweeping of the Forbidden City.
“We will travel the rest of the way by shuttle,” Ixo said. “Follow.”
In the shuttle, Zara finally met up with Rowan and Trisla, both of whom immediately mobbed her with overconcern for her well-being, though Rowan in a much more boisterous way than reserved, mute Trisla. Rowan lifted up Zara’s arm soon after spying the bandage and demanded of Ixo, “Did you do this?” while Trisla took off her shawl and put it around Zara’s shoulders so as to help her hide the wet spot on her dress. The pair had been employed by House Kalimat for years, and had worked as Zara’s servants since she’d moved to the bunker. Despite being their employer, she counted them among her closest friends. Zara wasn’t exactly sure how well they’d do in Viverides, however, between Trisla’s muteness and Rowan’s headstrong rejection of polite etiquette and complete eschewing of definite gender identity. She could only hope that they tempered each other’s personalities.
Ixo ignored the question and batted away Xaz’s tail as it ventured too close for the robot’s comfort. “I will be transmitting the Code of Viverides to your intellipad. Read and memorize it as soon as possible. Your adherence to these rules is required at all times, and any violation may result in penalties, imprisonment, torture, or death.”
“Sounds like light, pleasant reading. I look forward to it,” Zara replied, trying to keep the sourness out of her voice and not really succeeding.
“Your sarcasm has been detected and noted. A demerit has been issued,” Ixo proclaimed as he motioned for them to sit. “We will be landing shortly.”
“A demerit? Just for that?” Rowan asked incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Zara placed a hand on Rowan’s shoulder. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.” Secretly, however, she found herself glad that Rowan had little fear about speaking up when need be, even if she knew it might lead to trouble down the road.
Rowan grumbled despite Zara’s words, eying the robot with malice. “I could take him. He’s just a pile of nuts and bolts.”
Ixo tilted his head, “Attacking an Adjudicant without provocation is a level three offense and punishable by imprisonment or removal of a hand.”
Rowan considered it for a moment before replying, “Might be worth it. I’d be a badass with hooks.”
For the first time since leaving Ankali, Zara laughed.
Rule 1: The mandate of the Emperor is sacrosanct. Your obedience and loyalty to him must be total and without question. Other romantic entanglements are not permitted. Fornication with others is not permitted.
Begonia House was less of a palace and more of an old country cottage. Ixo had mentioned that this particular ward, Ward 43, had been outside of the walls of Ebonrue until about a decade prior. However, with the growth of the Emperor’s harem over the years, this area had been purchased from local craftsmen and the walls were extended to contain it. For this reason, Begonia House did not smell of begonias, but of cheese. Before it had been the residence of a Hostage Concubine, the front room had been the shop of a cheesemonger. The scent of cheese permeated every part of the building. So, when Rowan announced, “Lady Zara, the basement is full of cheese,” she found herself not at all surprised.
“Everything is going to smell of cheese in short order,” Zara said, and Trisla nodded, giving her the sign for ‘stinky’ in reply. “And we’re going to smell of cheese too, I suppose. Is the cheese at least tasty, Rowan?”
“Not sure, milady. Bit afraid if I eat it, I might die. And I’m too pretty to die.”
“Feed a piece to Xaz. He doesn’t get ill easily.”
With Xaz’s help, It was soon determined that the cheese wasn’t just edible, but rather delicious.
To try to get the smell of cheese out of Begonia House, they opened up all of the doors and windows on the first day as they cleaned. Every corner hosted cobwebs long since absent the spiders who built them, or dust so fine it felt like grease upon one’s fingers. Grass higher than a person’s knees obscured the stone-lined path to the door. The windows had collected so much grime that if you looked out of them, the world appeared as blobs of distorted color, like a depressed Impressionist’s canvas. Even though the lane contained other, similar cottages, many appeared unoccupied. Perhaps these empty houses awaited the 1000th Hostage Concubine. When the residents of Begonia House waved at the few people they saw in the distance, going about their lives, none of them waved back. Instead, those people scurried away, unwilling to become entangled in the affairs of the newest Hostage Concubine.
Begonia House contained little of note beyond the cheese. Each room had furniture appropriate to it, but none of the furniture matched. The sitting room held a green velour sofa, faded red-and-gold brocade armchairs, and several holographic landscapes of an unnamed planet hanging on the walls. In the corner, a large orange clay pot sprouted the enormous feathery fronds of some dried plant. One of the walls was a floor-to-ceiling viewscreen for entertainment and communication, but the bottom right quarter sported a dent as if someone once kicked it. Now it just showed a frantic array of bright colors in that section, though the rest worked as it should.
The rest of the ground floor had those things one might expect. A decently sized kitchen. A dining area. Facilities for laundry. A small office. Upstairs were two bedrooms, one for Zara, and one to be shared between Trisla and Rowan. As for Xaz, he’d claimed a corner of the basement, though he’d likely sleep on the roof, or a tree in the yard, when the weather permitted. And the weather would generally permit, Zara knew. According to her reading, Viverides had been chosen as the Palace Planet for the lovely weather much of the year.
Now and then, for breaks during the cleaning, she’d step outside and peer up at the sky. Somewhere beyond the wispy clouds… Somewhere beyond the little white moon and the big blue moon…
“No, not that way,” Xaz said, his sudden presence spooking Zara enough that she jumped.
“Xaz, you frightened me…” She wanted to scold him, but couldn’t really bring herself to do so. He didn’t sneak up on purpose, she just wasn’t paying attention.
The strange creature took Zara by the shoulders from behind, slowly turning her to the left. One of his arms reached past her cheek and pointed into the sky at nothing Zara could see. “Ankali is that way, Lady Inkblossom.”
“W-what? How can you know that, Xaz?” Zara could never tell if Xaz knew what he was talking about, or if he just made things up as flights of fancy.
“I know,” he replied solemnly, “Because the stars told me.”
Rule 2: The prosperity of your homeworld is directly tied to your standing. Higher standing will benefit your planet with increased access to the Galactic Empire’s resources, lower taxes, more favorable laws, and increased trade. All that you do is reflected upon millions, billions, or even trillions of lives.
“I am 3D1. You may call me Edi.”
Rowan poked ruthlessly at the Bronze Adjudicant’s various housings and panels whilst pulling a terribly sour face. “Lady Zarathenia, your babysitter is here.”
Quite suddenly, the robot’s hand swiftly grabbed Rowan’s and began to crush it in its metal grip. Zara heard something pop, and Rowan wailed in agony. A haphazard battle began, with Zara trying to pry Rowan away from the robot, and the robot refusing to let go of the hand, instead crushing it more and more as each second passed. When Edi did finally let go, both Rowan and Zara went tumbling backward, tripping over each other and landing in the tall grass outside of the cottage.
The robot sharply pronounced, “Do not accost or assault an Adjudicant. Punishment may constitute…”
“...Imprisonment or removal of a hand. Yes, yes, we know,” Rowan grumbled.
Zara managed to stand and then helped Rowan up. “Go inside. Ask Trisla for some ice for your hand.”
Once they were alone, Zara turned to consider the robot. Edi’s appearance didn’t differ much from Ixo, save for the color of the robot being bronze instead of silver. How was she supposed to tell the different Adjudicants of the same level apart? “I’d ask you, please, not to damage my servants.”
“You are in no position to make such a request,” Edi replied, “And I was the one accosted.”
Zara opened her mouth to reply, but she couldn’t manage any scathing retort. Edi wasn’t wrong about being the one accosted, even if the response could have been less injurious, in her opinion. Better to find out what the robot wanted, in order to get it to leave. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath in an attempt to reign in her desire to argue, Zara forced herself to reply with a polite, “What can Begonia House do for you this evening, Adjudicant Edi?”
“A complaint has been lodged against you by another resident of Ward 43.”
“But…” Perplexed, Zara could only tilt to the side and stare past Edi to the other cottages further up the lane. “I haven’t met anyone else from Ward 43.”
“A complaint has been lodged,” Edi reiterated. Several lights on the robot’s chest switched on and off and then it continued, “Concubine 999’s mode of dress is insufficient as a representative of the Emperor. It is said she dresses as a peasant and smells of cheese.”
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“Wait, what?” Zara didn’t know if she should be offended or amused. While she did still smell faintly of cheese, she hadn’t been close enough to anyone other than the residents of Begonia House to inflict that smell on anyone else. As for her clothes, well… She had been wearing the same homemade dresses as she wore on Ankali. They allowed for a wide range of movement and could be easily washed. Cleaning and repairing Begonia House had been a messy affair, after all. Although the material was cheap, it was thick enough to keep her warm during the cool Viverides mornings but loose and thin enough to not be a bother during the afternoons. Zara slid her hands into the pockets of her dress and peered at Edi. “Does it really matter what I wear? The Emperor isn’t likely to visit Ward 43 soon. Or ever, really.”
And who would complain about Zara? She’d tried not to make any waves, as the rivalries between Imperial Concubines were legendary and could escalate not just to bloodshed, but an outright war between worlds in some cases. Had she already made enemies without even knowing it?
“I don’t have any other clothing, Adjudicant Edi, beyond what I brought from Ankali.”
“Then I recommend,” Edi said, motioning towards the gate far in the distance, the only entrance or exit to Ward 43 without the assistance of a shuttlecraft, “That you go into town and purchase some. Your account has already been credited with your monthly stipend.”
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Rule 3: Your rank and standing are determined by Merit. Once you reach the appropriate level of merit, you can be promoted from Hostage Concubine to Honored Concubine. From there, your rank can increase to Honored Consort by merit. Above the rank of Honored Consort is Imperial Consort, which requires an Imperial Decree to obtain. The final rank is Supreme Imperial Consort. There may only be one Supreme Imperial Consort at a time, chosen by His Majesty and confirmed by the Noble Ministers. Note that you may also lose rank via demerit.
Unlike the relatively dreary Ward 43, the market square of Ebonrue bustled with life. Although each ward’s walls blocked outsiders from viewing the Hostage Concubines, a town had grown up around them. Farmers brought to market food deemed unworthy for the Forbidden City. Fourth-rank Imperial Craftsmen and Artisans plied their trades, in the hope that putting their crafts in the hands of the concubines would bring them recognition and fame, or at the very least, an increase in rank. To service the farmers and craftsmen and artisans, taverns and brothels appeared. In back alleys, more illicit trades might be found. Drugs - for the sad and homesick concubines. Augmentations - for the ambitious concubines. And poisons - for the malicious concubines.
Zara noticed two things right away. One, she didn’t see any vehicles. No motorcars. No hoverbikes. The town had only a single shuttle landing pad. Upon questioning a local, she learned that electronic conveyances on Viverides were highly restricted. This helped to prevent concubines, or other political guests or hostages, from being kidnapped or running away.
The second thing Zara noticed was that the Korkudai, the Imperial Guard of Viverides, were everywhere. On corners. At gates. Perched even on rooftops. Zara wondered if their charge was to protect the concubines… Or if they were meant to protect the Emperor from the concubines. Stories did tell of bitter concubines who found ways to incite violence against the Emperor. But, even then, it seemed like more Korkudai had been posted in Ebonrue than could possibly be necessary.
Trisla nudged Zara to get her attention, and then signed, “What about that fabric store, milady?”
The fabric store in question had numerous colorful samples on display in the window, all of them far fancier than anything Zara had worn during the war. The pair ducked under the awning and between hanging pieces of fabric into the shop. Silks and satins and ribbons and lace lined the interior in tidy piles or as bolts. A young clerk greeted the pair, letting them know to ask if they had questions. The proprietress, however, appeared to be locked in conversation with a rather demanding young woman and her two attendants. The woman, referred to by her attendants as “Lady Astrid”, had a slightly upturned nose, immaculately coiffed silver hair with pink highlights, and despite her perfect makeup and ravishing beauty, dark brown eyebrows that immediately betrayed the lie of her hair’s coloring.
“Lady Astrid ordered it in cerulean blue, but you delivered a navy blue,” the attendant said as her mistress stood by silently. “We want it replaced immediately.”
“My apologies, milady,” the proprietress replied as she held up a notebook with various fabric samples affixed to it, “But this was the color swatch you chose. I have your signature right here…”
Lady Astrid immediately spoke up, shoving her attendant out of the way. “Are you calling me a liar? How rude! Do you even know who I am? I could have your entire shop closed down for violations!”
“What kind of violations?” Zara asked, inserting herself in a conversation she knew she shouldn’t. Trisla cringed visibly and took Zara’s wrist, trying to silently urge her not to interfere. “You’re going to close her down for not giving you free fabric?”
Lady Astrid turned slowly, her haughty gaze landing on Zara. She gave Zara such a look of utter disgust that Zara briefly wondered if she’d stepped in something unsavory on the way into the shop.
“Violations,” Lady Astrid pronounced, her voice clipped and certain. “There’s definitely something in here that isn’t as it should be. Maybe she buys off-world lace on the black market. Or maybe she doesn’t use Imperial-approved dyers. Who knows what violations the Korkudai might find?”
The proprietress had turned ashen during the course of the conversation, and Zara wondered if Lady Astrid actually knew some terrible secret about the shop, or if it was a bluff. Either way, the proprietress said, “Th-that won’t be necessary, milady. I’ll have a replacement sent to Marigold House right away.”
“As you should.” Satisfied with winning her argument with the proprietress, Lady Astrid then turned her attention to Zara. “Though, if this establishment continues to attract business from cheese-smelling peasants, I doubt I’ll be placing any future orders.”
Zara’s confusion, likely written all over her face, amused Lady Astrid enough that she let out a delighted titter as she and her attendants exited the shop.
“Well,” Trisla signed to Zara, “At least we know who made the report to the Adjudicants.”
Zara supposed Trisla was right. But, why? She hadn’t met Astrid before.
“You must be new,” the proprietress said as she moved forward to greet Zara. “It’s rather dangerous to go against Lady Astrid. Even though she is a low-ranked Hostage Concubine, number 983, she still wields a lot of power in Ebonrue.”
“Why is that?”
“Her twin brother, Lord Astor, is the captain of the Ebonrue Korkudai. Anyone who finds themselves a target of Lady Astrid’s ire might end up being harassed by the Korkudai. Or worse.” The proprietress forced a smile and then smoothed down her dress and her hair, “But, I do thank you for stepping in. Lady Astrid can be a bit hard to deal with sometimes. I’m Madame Olendra.”
“A pleasure, Madame Olendra.” Both Trisla and Zara bowed in greeting. “I’m Lady Zarathenia and this is Trisla. We were…just looking for…”
“Yes,” Madame Olendra interrupted while nodding, her voice kindly and understanding, “Let’s find you something more appropriate.”
Rule 4: Concubines must not bring harm to the Imperial Family, but also must not bring harm to one another through direct action or purposeful inaction. Other concubines are the property of the Emperor, and to injure them is to damage the property of the Emperor. A concubine, similarly, must not purposefully harm herself, as they are also the property of the Emperor. However, augmentations for the purpose of becoming more beautiful or useful to the Emperor are excluded from this rule.
“These are the addresses for a hairdresser and perfumer I trust,” Madame Olendra said, passing a slip of paper to Zara. “I’ll have Kerry bring your purchases to Begonia House later this evening. Speaking of which… Where did she get to?”
Zara assumed Madame Olendra spoke of the clerk who greeted them upon entry. She couldn’t see the girl anywhere. However, their brief confusion came to an immediate end when Kerry burst in through the fabric flaps hanging over the door.
“Madame!” Kerry exclaimed, “He’s here again! The entire retinue is making their way through Ebonrue!”
Madame Olendra lit up, suddenly looking ten years younger. She even patted her hairdo as if to check everything was in place. “Really? Oh! Come, come Lady Zarathenia. You’ll want to see this!”
Outside, a dozen horses strode side by side, each one being ridden by a much fancier armored member of the Korkudai than the ones stationed around Ebonrue. Following them, a man on a horse with an incredibly sleek black coat rode. His thick leather gloves gripped the reins with confidence, but his face betrayed only coldness beneath long, unrestrained black hair whipping about in the breeze. Zara could not remember ever seeing such a beautiful yet sad-looking man, as if sorrow permeated every inch of him. He wore the insignia of the Imperial Household on his cape, and as he passed, the gathering crowd all kneeled and bowed their heads. Madame Olendra motioned for Zara to do the same.
“Is that the Emperor?” Zara whispered.
“Him? Oh no. The Emperor doesn’t ride about openly on a horse. That’s Prince Senthir, one of the Emperor’s half-brothers. Because they share a mother, they are close, but Prince Senthir is not in line for the throne, so the Emperor trusts him highly.”
“Why is he in Ebonrue?”
“Oh, it’s quite mysterious,” Madame Olendra murmured, “Every month he comes to visit Old Lady Kessandra, Honored Concubine 8. Everyone says she’s a witch, and Prince Senthir has her trying to remove some terrible curse from him. But, nobody really knows for certain. It’s possible he’s under a spell she cast. Or maybe she just provides him with poisons to use against the Emperor’s enemies.” While she explained, another dozen horses passed, these carrying various officials. After them, porters carrying various fancy carved wooden boxes walked along behind, trying deftly to avoid stepping in anything the horses might have left on the ground. Zara watched as Madame Olendra surreptitiously waved to one of the handsomer porters, giving him a flirtatious wink as he passed.
Zara tried not to smile. “A friend of yours, Madame Olendra?”
“Oh, no. No. Just…an acquaintance.”
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Rule 5: In all the Concubine does, they must be a representative of the Emperor and the Galactic Empire. A concubine’s speech, actions, and mode of dress, all must represent the Empire in the best light. A concubine of low virtue, a breaker of confidences, or one who causes trouble will find themselves punished, replaced, or worse.
Kerry bowed low to Zara as a porter handed off the purchases to Xaz and Rowan in front of Begonia House as the sun dipped low in the sky. As the pair took the items inside, Kerry said, “Lady Zarathenia, Madame Olendra thanks you for visiting her shop today. She’s included some free thread matching your purchases, in the hopes that you will patronize her shop in the future.”
“Please thank Madame Olendra for me, Kerry. Oh,” Zara scooted a bit closer to Kerry and dropped her voice. “What’s the name of Madame Olendra’s acquaintance in the retinue of Prince Senthir?”
Kerry gave Zara a conspiratorial look as she whispered, “That’s Mr. Falsan. He and Madame Olendra grew up together. But, they…”
The neighing of a horse cut off their gossip, and the pair looked to the east. A small hill rose towards the end of the lane, and on it stood another cottage, this one in much better repair than Begonia House. The horses and men from the retinue of Prince Senthir milled about in the yard.
“Kerry, why would an Honored Concubine live here among the Hostage Concubines?”
“I’m sorry Lady Zarathenia, I don’t know the answer to that question.”
As they watched, Prince Senthir emerged from the old cottage and headed for his horse. But, all of the items carried by the porters were gone. Had he given all of it to Lady Kessandra?
The retinue mounted their horses and began down the hill. When the group passed Begonia House, Kerry bowed, but Zara remained standing. She wanted to see if the sad but beautiful prince’s face had changed demeanor. Had he received what he wanted from Lady Kessandra? Had she caused him to become happier? More sorrowful? Angry? The entire mystery intrigued Zara.
To her surprise, Prince Senthir came to a stop right in front of Begonia House’s gates. The look he gave Zara betrayed no emotion as if ice had frozen his features in a permanent state of disdain and disapproval. The prince looked from Zara, to Begonia House, and then back again. “Are you the cheesemonger’s daughter?”
“What? No.” Did she really have such a pungent odor? He couldn’t have smelled her from twenty feet away, could he? Zara considered lifting her sleeve to sniff it, but decided against the action. “The cheesemonger doesn’t live here anymore. I am Lady Zarathenia, the nine hundred and…”
“That’s too bad. I liked the cheesemonger,” the Prince said, interrupting her introduction. “He’d always give me a sample when I came to visit.”
“Well, he… He left some cheese in the basement. Aging. It’s quite good. If you’d like some…”
“Oh? Free cheese from a strangely dressed Hostage Concubine who doesn’t even bow? Sounds like a good way to get poisoned.” He sounded serious, but Zara sensed some level of mischief beneath his level tone. Prince Senthir’s horse shook its head and whinnied as if comprehending the danger in the word ‘poison’. Leaning forward, he patted the animal several times to calm it. “Well, it’s a long ride back to the Forbidden City. It’d be annoying if I died of hunger on the way. I’ll have to risk it. Fetch the cheese.”
Zara didn’t really know what to think of his pronouncement, so she hesitated.
Prince Senthir blinked and then loudly commanded, “Go!”
The sternness shocked Zara out of her hesitation and she rushed inside. Within minutes, she returned carrying an enormous wheel of cheese that took all of her strength to carry. Because she had no idea how much cheese the cheesemonger normally gave the Prince, she didn’t wish to further offend him by offering too little. Unfortunately, cheese wheels were heavier than they looked and so Zara struggled to the gate. One look at the tiny woman carrying the massive wheel caused the grim prince to start chuckling. After nearly dropping the cheese several times, Zara handed her burden off to one of the porters. By that time, the Prince’s laughter had become loud enough for others in the retinue to pick it up and laugh along with him.
Catching his breath, he asked, “You said your name was…”
“Lady Zarathenia, your Highness.” She finally bowed, but mostly in the hopes that her red-faced embarrassment might be hidden by her stringy hair.
“Huh.” She could hear his horse begin to move. But before he rode out of earshot, she heard. “Well, at least you’re interesting.”