“Upon this fertile ground untouched by man —

Home’s mirror, memory fading in the mist

Of mind — our race again shall make its stand

With upraised fist, proclaiming, ‘Tellus, I exist!’”

—Cassilda’s words to the outcasts, The Heavenfall

----

Thorssel Palace of Governance

Tumbling Seeding 25, 1885 CE

“You really ought to slow down, Tvorh. It’s not gonna go away if you chew.”

Senrii’s advice was clearly falling on deaf ears. At every single meal today, Tvorh had set into his food with a voracious abandon that Oralie imagined only those who had ever known hunger would understand. His sisters were only slightly better, but they were limited by the servants who were cutting their meals. Tvorh had no such limitations.

Was that what this Gens needed? The iron will to survive — was this common child teaching them all something they, in their easy lives, had forgotten? For that alone, Senrii had been right to bring the boy back.

Oralie smiled and raised her voice just enough that it would reach the children, all of whom — Jorn, Norman, Hrega, Bilr, Tvorh, and Senrii — sat at the other end of the table in the dining hall. “Odette, dear.” A plump servant bearing an urn of water to the other end of the table stood at attention. “Send word to the kitchens that they are not to turn off the ovens or put the food away until Master Tvorh has given the word.” At the sound of his name, the boy perked up, and Oralie smiled at him. “He is our guest, after all, and he shall be satisfied.”

“As you say, Era,” Odette said, giving a curtsey.

“See?” Oralie heard Senrii say. “The food’ll keep flowing until you turn off the tap. Now you can stop cramming it all into your face, and maybe we can have a conversation, instead.”

“Senrii—” Oralie called.

Tvorh held up a hand, swallowed conspicuously, and then said, “It’s all right, Era. I’ve gotten used to your daughter’s grating manner.”

“Why, you little—”

“Street rat?” His eyes twinkled, and even Bilr smiled. The children were coming out of their shells. Oralie had learned to stand on ceremony from her bourgeois family, but she had seen enough hunger and pain not to expect perfect decorum from the unblooded. Not even at her dinner table.

“Your children are beautiful,” a sonorous whisper declared behind her.

“Oh. Thank you, Rosabella.”

The Ambassatrix smiled at Oralie and placed her hand on Oralie’s shoulder. “May I join you?”

“Yes. Of course, Rosabella. Of course you may join me.” But even as Rosabella sat down, Oralie wondered if she had made a mistake by acquiescing. In the presence of the beautiful Maga, all of the aches and pains of Oralie’s aging body were conspiring to come to the forefront.

Not to mention the aches and pains of her heart.

Rosabella nodded graciously to a servant as a plate of hot vegetables appeared in front of her. She straightened her back and untucked her napkin with a flick of her wrist, then smoothed it over her lap and took up her utensils. “You know, Oralie,” she said, leaning over and forming the words in a conspiratorial whisper, “that daughter of yours must be quite a handful.”

“If only you knew the half of it, Rosabella.”

“She is precisely the warrior queen every girl should be.” Rosabella speared a bit of broccoli, chewed, swallowed. “I blame her mother.”

Oralie reddened. Why was she reddening? “Her mother should be so lucky as to deserve the blame,” she murmured.

“And your boys. Strong lads! They take after their father, do they not? Ten and eight, yet so tall.”

“I am a lucky mother.”

“Not a lucky mother. A good one. I cannot imagine three more perfect children of two more perfect spouses.”

Oralie flushed fully, and she averted her eyes. Why was this happening now? No — she knew why it was happening now. It had been decades, and she had thought, convinced herself, that it would not happen again, but now, all of a sudden, she was once again giddy and befuddled and troubled all at once by Rosabella’s presence.

“Senrii will make a good mother,” Rosabella said. It was a magnanimous gesture, pretending that she had not noticed Oralie’s discomfiture.

Oralie was grateful for the conversational hook. “She’s worried.”

“Why?”

“She had an objective during the Assay, and she didn’t fulfill it. She’s worried that she will be denied entry to the Comitatus.”

Rosabella waved a hand. “I saw only the end of her mission, it is true, but she performed admirably. She has nothing to fear.”

“That’s what I keep telling her. But you know daughters. They never listen to their mothers.”

“Oh, do I know daughters!” Rosabella laughed so loudly that Senrii, at the other end of the table, turned to stare. “Yes. Yes, I know many of them. And I was one, once.”

As they all were. And yet, Rosabella was least of all; even if she had had two mothers, neither of them would have been Bound. Rosabella was, what, ten years Oralie’s elder? Sixty-three, sixty-four? Her mothers were most likely aged into decrepitude or dead.

Dead, having aged and passed away like every other mere mortal on this planet, while their daughter would outlive them by centuries. The girlish giddiness vanished, and the heaviness of the passing years settled on Oralie’s heart.

Scarlet hair swayed at the side of Senrii’s vision. Concern was written across Rosabella’s face with an intensity so great that Oralie had to look away. “I know,” Oralie mumbled, before she realized what she was saying.

“You must pardon me,” Rosabella said gently. “I do not understand.”

“I know that Dorsin went to your bed last night.”

“Oralie, on my honor and his, he was true to you.”

Oralie shrugged helplessly. “Who would blame him if he wasn’t? He never asked for… for this.”

“For what?”

The Era made an overwhelmed gesture toward her body. “I’m ill, Rosabella. Not just old—”

“You are not old.”

“But also ill. And I’m not able to be for him what I once was.”

“Nonsense.”

“I wish it were.”

“You have many years yet.”

“Rosabella, the crab has set its pincers in me.”

Rosabella’s mouth quirked slightly, a reaction she would never have had in public; but here she was among friends, and Oralie knew that it meant she had caught the Ambassatrix off guard. She put her utensils down and sighed. “I am so sorry, Oralie. I had no idea.”

Oralie shrugged. “What’s to be done? Man ages and passes away. And so does woman. Some of us more quickly than others. No; no, Rosabella. I don’t need your comfort, though I do appreciate it. I’ve been fighting this for years, and I’ve finally made my peace with my fate. It’s just… I look at my children, and I realize… Well. I’m a mother. And I’m also a wife, and I look at my husband… Since the doctors began treating the cancer, I haven’t been allowed to… do you know how long it’s been, Rosabella? With Dorsin? Since I’ve been able to…”

“Children,” Odette said. Her voice was distant, emanating as it was across the room, but loud. “Time to leave now. You may continue your meals outside. It’s a beautiful afternoon.”

“But Odette—” Senrii began. She was staring at Rosabella with a venomous intensity.

“Now.”

There was the Odette whom Oralie knew, able to make Senrii jump with a single word. The children did as they were told. Oralie cast a grateful look at Odette. The maid nodded and departed as well.

“Dorsin’s love for you has never required your body,” Rosabella said once they were gone.

Oralie laughed bitterly. “How long would you go, Rosabella, before you turned away into the arms of others?” Then, seeing the momentary shock on Rosabella’s face, Oralie put her hand to her mouth. “I— I’m so sorry, Rosabella.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“It is forgotten, Oralie.”

“Rosabella, I swear I didn’t mean that. I only meant… I know Dorsin. I know what he needs. And I know that ever since I began my treatments, I’ve been… I don’t know how to put it.”

“Out of order.” Rosabella’s words held no accusation.

“Yes. Both sensitive and tired. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. And even though I know Dorsin doesn’t blame me, I can’t help but feel that I’m betraying my duties as a wife.”

“Your only wifely duty, Oralie, is to convalesce.”

Oralie managed a smile. “Coming from you, that means a great deal. But I can’t help it. So how could I blame Dorsin if he sneaked away to the room of a young, forever beautiful—”

“On every moment of wonder I have ever shared with you, Oralie, he was true to you.”

“Forever beautiful,” Oralie repeated, “woman from his past. A woman devoted to him. Who would match his own lifespan.”

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“Oralie, I will not have this discussion.”

“Rosabella, promise me — I don’t have long—”

“I will promise nothing except that you will recuperate and live a hundred years longer.”

Oralie laughed. “A hundred years, in this body? If your gods did exist, they would have to be cruel indeed. No. Please, Rosabella. Promise me.” Oralie hated the begging tone in her voice, but she couldn’t excise it. “Promise me you’ll make him happy after I pass.”

“Listen to me, Oralie,” Rosabella said, cupping the Era’s face in her hands and bringing her eyes to meet her own. “I will not speak of your passing. You will live long and well alongside your family.”

Oralie shook her head. Focusing on the troubles of her own health had always been a means for her to ignore the greater fear within her, but here, seeing the earnestness in Rosabella’s eyes, hearing the earnestness in her voice as the Ambassatrix assured her that she would live, she was forced to imagine what she would have to witness if she actually did.

It was a thought more terrible than that of an untimely demise, and now, stripped of the protection of her own illness, she could not avoid it. Oralie tore away from Rosabella’s touch and buried her face in her hands. Gentle arms encircled her and rocked her as she wept silently for the fate of her husband’s Gens— her Gens.

“We’re dying,” she whispered when she had regained enough composure to be able to speak. “My parents’ dream of mixing their blood with that of a noble Gens was over before it even began. And it’s my fault.”

“How can you say such a thing, Oralie?”

“I drove him to rash decisions.”

“You have done no such thing.”

“He had to marry me. He panicked. If he’d… married you instead—”

“Oralie,” Rosabella interrupted, “how long since you have left this citadel?”

“What? Just yesterday, when I went to the airfield.”

“No, Oralie. How long since you left the citadel behind? How long since you let your cares go?”

“It’s my duty to care.”

“If you try to care for everything, you will succeed in caring for nothing. The Dux is a busy man, and he has so many trials of his own. You are a fine mother and a devoted wife, but how long has it been since you did a single thing for yourself?”

“I—”

“How long has it been since you saw a friend?”

Oralie shut her mouth. She could not answer the question, and Rosabella knew it.

“A friend is here, Oralie,” Rosabella said. “And she would like you to forget your troubles.”

“I wish I could.”

“Oh, Oralie.” Rosabella laughed indulgently. “She would like to take you on a date, if she may be so bold as to call it that, outside these looming walls.”

Oralie smiled tightly. “I don’t know that Dorsin would approve of that.”

“Nonsense.” Rosabella smiled wickedly. “He would approve greatly. But never fear. He was a perfect gentleman to me last night, and so I shall be a perfect lady to you tonight. Come!” Rosabella swept up to her feet. “The show begins in two hours. You must prepare.”

“Show? Two hours? I don’t have time. We’ll need to prepare transportation to wherever—”

“I have taken the liberty of placing one of your whorlboats on standby. The opera house has cleared a landing space and is awaiting their guest of honor. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Opera?” How long had it been since Oralie had been to a play?

“The Heavenfall, of course. I saw the troupe when they were in Acerbia. An exquisite performance, better than any other adaptation that I have seen. And you may trust that I have seen many in my time. Their choice to play Cassilda is exquisite.” Rosabella grinned. “Oralie, you are going to fall in love with Nera Oolo.”

***

“You didn’t lie,” Oralie said as she peered out the window. The amphitheatre of the Thorssel Players’ House loomed as the whorlboat descended, but it was a natural part of the skyline and Oralie seemed to pay it little mind; all her attention was on the crowd that had gathered just outside the perimeter that had been roped off in order to provide space for the airboat to land. “They really are waiting for us.”

Rosabella smiled and took Oralie’s hand in hers. “Of course I did not lie. They love their Ductrix Consort.”

“I think that’s probably an exaggeration. We’ve delayed the show by ten minutes.”

“Have you not heard of Magus Dux of Boganda Mbas Generosus Ortus Utulo? Why, he never missed a show, but he was perennially late.”

“Perennially?”

“Every time. And every time he arrived late, the players would reset the stage and begin again.”

“I’m sure the players didn’t appreciate that.”

“But they did appreciate having a fine patron who took genuine pleasure in their art,” Rosabella said.

“And what about the audience? Did they appreciate the constant delays?”

Rosabella shrugged. “The ones who appreciated the hand that fed them knew better than so speak ill of that hand, and the rest were small folk who never mattered.”

“Everyone matters, Rosabella.”

“Perhaps in the eyes of the gods, Oralie, but if you will claim that each and every one of the millions of subjects of Gens Nethress is individually important to the Gens or its politics, I will, with great love and respect, call you a liar.”

The Era fell silent and stared out the window. How regal she had grown with age! Would Rosabella ever be able to mimic that stable poise? Was it even possible to appear so thoughtful and wise without the elderly appearance that brought wrinkles to the eyes and wisdom-lines to a matron’s brow? Rosabella cherished youthful beauty, but the comeliness of the upright matriarch was worthy in its own respect.

How many of the people gathering down below did Oralie know? How long had it been since she had mingled with these folk — the lesser Gentes, the commoners who had scrimped and saved their earnings to buy a single night among the Blooded, the ever-growing class of the bourgeoisie who did not pretend to the ranks of the Gentes but rather found their pride in hard work, ingenuity, and common wealth? How long had it been since Oralie had clasped hands with any of them and listened to their news?

If Gens Nethress was to survive, Oralie would have to be an Ambassatrix to these people.

The whorlboat settled on the ground, and the cyclogyros spun down as the crowd outside began to move with greater agitation. Aural units and imagers appeared here and there in the hands of the people and press both. Excellent. It was time for Rosabella to shine and enhance Oralie’s own luminance.

Rosabella took Oralie’s hand, and they waited silently as a crew of men came out of the Players’ House, rolling a red carpet over the coral ground. It took them several minutes to reach the whorlboat. When they laid down the carpet at last and stepped to the side, the door of the aircraft swung open. A strong, wide hand, black as ebony, reached in.

“Genuine pleasure in their art,” Rosabella repeated to Oralie, then took the proffered hand and stepped out into the adoring crowd.

Here, she was at home. Here, she was the woman she was born to be, with her face the focus of everyone’s attention and the perfection of her grace the only thought on the minds of her audience. She played many instruments, it was true, but she was most proficient at tugging the heartstrings of man and woman alike. Pheromones or no, she knew her effortless allure could catch the attention, if not the affections, of anyone if she so wished it, and here in this place, she did so wish it.

It had been some months, too, since Rosabella had been afforded the opportunity to so present herself to an adoring public; the Sodality frowned upon ostentatious displays, preferring the intimate convenience of smaller encounters, of salons and private performances. But escorting an Era such as Oralie, while uncommon, was not unheard of, and in Oralie’s presence she could gain some measure of the adoration that she craved.

Without even hearing them, Rosabella knew the words that rippled through the crowd in whispers as she gave a magnanimous bow and turned to help Oralie down from the boat. “Who is she?” “Is that one of the Sodalites?”

Eventually, someone or another would recognize Rosabella from an encounter in Acerbia: perhaps a businessman who had required her help in starting a new franchise before Nxtlu had conquered the city, perhaps a patriarch from a lesser Gens who could not afford to marry his son into one of the greater bloodlines but still desired the opportunity for his child to get offspring on a genetically blessed girl, and so had come to Rosabella to bargain for the hand of one of her Uxori.

Word would ripple out from that person, or from several such persons, and before long everyone would know who she was. Let the rumors fly, then. If she played the part correctly, it would make her effort to insinuate herself into Gens Nxtlu all the easier.

Most importantly, however, Rosabella knew that her presence here would set Oralie at a modicum of ease. If she was as rusty as Rosabella expected, it would be important for Oralie to have an example to follow. So no sooner had Oralie set foot on the carpet than Rosabella flashed a dazzling smile her way and formed a loop with her arm. Oralie took it, and they walked toward the amphitheatre.

The Master of Ceremonies emerged from the structure and met them halfway down the carpet. Rosabella released Oralie’s hand, stood to the side, and fell into a sustained curtsy. Let the people see her deference to the Era, wife of the Dux, and let them emulate it. She stole a glance as the MC approached and bowed.

“My Era,” he said, “it is our honor to enjoy your presence this evening.”

“Sir,” Oralie replied evenly, “it is my honor to enjoy the works of your hands.”

“Will you enter now?” he asked. “Your box is prepared for you and your escort.”

“Of course, sir.” The man nodded again and turned back to the Players’ House, but before following him, Oralie gave a slow spin and wave to the crowd, smiling and nodding politely as she did so. Good girl. “Rosabella, my dear.”

“Yes, my Era?”

Oralie’s arm was a loop, and this time Rosabella took it. “Let’s see what these players have prepared for us.”

On the floor of the amphitheatre was the standing space for the common folk who could not afford better. Seats for those who could pay surrounded the floor, and of course, the best views in the house were afforded to the Blooded men and women in the boxes high above the stage. Naturally, the Dux’s family enjoyed the best of the best, and Rosabella and Oralie sat and made small talk as the House began to fill. Then the Master of Ceremonies spoke a few words of welcome, the lumins dimmed, and The Heavenfall began.

“Nera Oolo,” Rosabella whispered as the character of Cassilda made her entrance, singing of the loss of the land she loved. “Hear her voice. Could you not drown in it?”

“No more so than I could drown in yours,” Oralie replied. Rosabella stole a glance at Oralie’s face. There was no shame or coyness in it; she appeared to be speaking simple fact.

“Thank you, Oralie. But I have not trained my voice as Miss Oolo has.”

“You have had decades to perfect it where her intensive training has had only years. I can hear the youth in it.” Oralie smiled at Rosabella. “You would have made an excellent presence on the stage.”

“You are too kind.”

“But I wonder if you would have found it too dull, considering the life you lived before.”

Rosabella rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I long, on occasion, for a little dullness.”

“Do you really not find this dull? I’m sure you could do just as well as she, if you gave it even the slightest effort. May I make a confession, Rosabella?”

“If you do, I shall never tell a soul.”

“I envy you.” Oralie was silent for a moment. “Whatever you set your hand to, you excel at.”

“Nonsense. I only set my hand to the matters at which I excel.”

“Every woman wants to be beautiful.” Oralie sighed and gazed back at the stage.

“You are beautiful, Oralie,” Rosabella says.

“Not like you. Never like you.”

“Never like me? No. You were only ever beautiful like yourself, and I envied you this, because I was never beautiful like you. And no woman will ever be beautiful like you again.

“Beauty comes in many forms, Oralie. That is why I do not find this opera dull. Miss Oolo has a beauty unlike mine — watch for her unmasking; you will understand what I mean when you see it — and a voice whose beauty is unlike mine. Every moment that I can soak in that beauty, that difference, is a moment that I may take it into myself and let it change me.

“I will never be beautiful like her nor like you, and my voice will never be beautiful like hers nor like yours. I only can rest in her beauty, or in yours, feel it and love it until my heart grows larger with the fullness of it. To see beauty makes me beautiful— not beautiful like that beauty, but beautiful like myself.”

“Thank you, Rosabella.” Oralie murmured. “But what of the people who are beautiful on the outside, but rotten on the inside?”

“I rest in the external beauty and excise the internal ugliness.”

“Does the internal ugliness justify the external beauty?”

“The day that I believe it does, dear Oralie, I will become ugly myself. But I must give credit where it is due, and I must accept beauty where I can find it, while doing my best to ignore the poison that would harm it. The view of Acerbia from my window is no less powerful for the Nxtlu poison that seeps through it, and the lithe body of a panther is no less lovely for its viciousness. If I renounced the whole because of the half, that would be a shame. Better to remind myself always to love only the beauty, and never to accept an acid that hides within that loveliness. Watch! Cassilda unmasks, now!”

Oralie’s brows furrowed. “Green hair? I’m sure I’ve never seen that before.”

“I assure you, Nera Oolo’s hair is perfectly natural. When we speak to her after the show, you’ll see.”

“After the show?”

“Naturally. If the wife of the Dux makes an appearance, of course she will speak to the players, to tell them how much she loved their art, will she not?”

“I suppose she will.”

“You are enjoying it, are you not?”

Oralie nodded and smiled. “I had forgotten, but now I remember.”

“Tell me, Oralie. Do you follow the General Principles of Gens Nethress?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, if you are taking pleasure in this, I fear that you may be in contravention of those laws.”

Oralie sighed. “‘Pleasure is weakness’ is a misunderstanding, Rosabella. ‘The pursuit of pleasure is weakness’ is the principle.”

“Ah. So, since I dragged you here kicking and screaming, you are allowed to enjoy it?”

“If I had duties to see to, and I gave them up for this, that would be weakness. ‘Honor and duty before life.’”

“I thought you wanted to stay in the Palace precisely to see to your duties.”

“A wise woman convinced me otherwise.” Oralie took Rosabella’s hand. “She said, ‘If you don’t care for yourself, how can you care for anything else?’”

“She sounds lovely. I simply must meet her.”

“You are right. She is lovely.”

They fell silent and watched the rest of the show.