38 - SELERA

Three days passed, and for those three days I obeyed the Autarch, containing myself to the luxurious quarters assigned to me. I ate as much as I could. I read through the variety of books available. I used the exercise equipment, doing pullups and pushups until my arms, back, and chest felt like they’d explode.

And then I got bored and decided it was time to explore the city.

I was quite sure that Marak would be displeased. I was also sure that he likely was too busy to concern himself with what I did and didn’t do after our talk. In any case, even if I did decide to go along with his plan, to join him at the head of the Autarchy after my training, I was not yet a servant of his empire. I owed nothing to him nor his government. I wasn’t a citizen. And I simply refused to stay still.

Althira tempted me through those vast, glass windows every day. The bustling streets. The smoke. A million voices forming one great, low murmur.

I had to see it.

On the morning of the fourth day, a servant arrived to change out the chamber pot and provide me with water. He was a young lad, with bright eyes and sandy hair, and he looked more than a little alarmed when I approached him.

“Hi,” I said brightly. “What’s your name, friend?”

“Telemon,” the lad said, sniffing. I had a full head of height over him, so he had to tilt his face upward to meet my eye. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“This may be somewhat of an unusual request, but…could we swap clothes?”

He frowned. “Swap…clothes?” His servant’s garb consisted of dark trousers and a very rough cotton shirt, the edges frayed, the sleeves stained. Over the shirt was a leather apron that’d seen better days, and was thus perfect for my purposes.

“That’s right,” I said. I’d chosen to wear the finest, most luxurious clothes available to me. They had to be worth many times more than what he made in a year, possibly even five. I gestured to the silken trousers, to the finely polished boots. “All yours. To keep. I just need everything you’re wearing. Except for your undergarments. You can keep those.”

“But…” his frown deepened. “Why?”

“Part of the deal,” I said, “a critical part of it, is that you can’t ask questions like that.”

A cunning light entered his eyes. “If you’re trying to sneak out of the building, these clothes aren’t going to help you get past the operatives.”

My heart sank. “There are operatives here?”

“Of course. It’s the Victory Palace.” He said this as though he thought I was an idiot. “But…you could always jump out of a window. It’s only the fourth floor.”

I looked at him skeptically. “Do any of these windows open?”

“No. But you could break one.”

“Four floors is still a decent fall.” Although, it wasn’t really—I could simply use shadows to guide me down.

“I’ll wait at the bottom,” he suggested, “and catch you. So long as I get your clothes anyway.”

Probably should’ve thought of that plan in the first place.

Since I didn’t need his help, and didn’t want to risk his job, I sent him on his way with my clothes folded up in his arms. They’d do more good for him than for me. Then I picked up a chair and threw it through a window.

Glass shattered, glittering as it caught sunlight, a thousand beautiful, falling shards.

I ran, braced myself, and jumped.

There was a tree down below, an oak; I compelled its shadow to extend, to deepen, and to grow tendrils. The tendrils reached out and caught me, a pillow of darkness that guided me gently to the warm stone.

And then, because I knew someone would be on their way to investigate the sound of breaking glass, I ran.

#

An elegant garden surrounded the Victory Palace. Gentle, curving pathways twisted their way through a carefully maintained vista of short grass and exotic flowers. Red-barked trees with pure white leaves provided shade from the early afternoon sun. I heard voices in the distance, a shout or two, a curse, and guessed that my little crime had been discovered. They’d likely send people after me. I wasn’t worried. A single broken window and a day of exploring Althira was no big deal in the grand scheme of things.

A black iron gate surrounded the garden, but the guards there let me through without hesitation. From there, I walked along a wide street that delivered me into the heart of Althira. A deep breath filled my nose with smoke, with the scent of roasted meat, of spices, and of sewerage. Horse-drawn carriages rode past. Gentlemen in dark suits with tall hats perched upon their heads. To my right, an immense stone building, blocky and walled; a bank, yet it looked more like a citadel, and there were even a dozen armed soldiers in front of it. Instead of the fist of the Autarchy, they bore an unfamiliar sigil across their uniforms.

Canals ran all the way through Althira, across which glass bridges spanned. I crossed my first one in a state of absolute awe. They twinkled in the sunlight, so bright that they almost hurt to look at. My steps were slow, cautious, as though the whole thing might shatter beneath me, even though carriages and wagons were rolling across them without hesitation. I couldn’t understand how such a thing had been made. And in the distance, looming above all other buildings, was an amphitheater even larger than the one in Tymora. The columns of the amphitheatre were constructed from crimson marble, while the rest of it was white marble; the visual effect of the contrasting rendered it surreal, and for the third time since I’d jumped out of that window, I found myself breathless and amazed.

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This, I told myself, was important to see. All of it.

I could only make a fully-informed decision about my future if I understood exactly what the Autarchy was. I needed to see it. To experience it. To know the true extent of its cities, its people, and to glimpse the potential of civilization.

Perhaps Autarch Marak was a monster—but under his leadership, all of this had become possible.

Maybe civilization needed men like him. Maybe it was a necessary sacrifice that humanity had to make if it wanted not only to survive, but to thrive.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” A voice to my right. I spun around. There, leaning over the edge of the glass bridge, a woman in a dark blue dress. Her hair was as black as oil, curling about her shoulders in a shadowy cascade. There was something about her face. About her bright, blue eyes. Her too-perfect skin. It seemed almost to faintly shimmer before resettling.

“That it is,” I said quietly. “I frankly don’t understand how most of it was even made.”

The woman smiled at me. “Honestly, most of it isn’t as complex as you’d imagine. Impressive, yes, but when it really comes down to it…stone by stone is the answer. Piece by piece. Throw enough men at a task and anything can be done.”

“That sounds like the sort of thing only someone who’s lived here their whole life could say.”

Her smile turned into a grin. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t born here. Spent the first twenty years of my life or so living in the countryside. My head would’ve exploded if I’d seen a place like this back then. But you do get used to it, that’s true. I take it you’re not from a big city either?”

I shook my head. “An island, actually.”

“Ah, an island. I’ve always dreamed of living on an island. It must be peaceful, to be surrounded by the sea at all times. To listen to the waves at night, and to be so far away from all the problems of civilization.”

I shrugged, joining her against the side of the bridge. I found that I liked her already, even if I knew nothing about her. I felt at ease around her.

“Sometimes it’s worse to be apart,” I said. “We’re all brothers and sisters.”

“Hm. Sounds familiar.” Before I could ask her what she meant by that, she turned to me, said, “Aurion, may I offer you some advice?”

A chill swept through me, and without thinking, I took a step back. “And how, exactly, do you know my name?” I was beginning to get sick of just how many people in the Autarchy knew things they weren’t supposed to. Was she an operative of the Seeking Hand? Had she been sent to find me?

“I’m afraid I can’t answer that,” she leaned in. “But I can assure you that I’m a friend. Relax, Aurion.”

“Friends ought to introduce themselves.”

“Call me Selera.”

“But that’s not your real name.”

“No. It isn’t. But although you may be new to this game that we play, I’m sure you can appreciate the value of anonymity. Stand next to me, Aurion. You never know who might be watching. And when you speak, cover your lips. The Seeking Hand is very good at what they do.”

So. She wasn’t an operative.

Or she was, and she was just fucking with my mind.

A long boat eased its way along the canal, a tall man rowing while a young couple at the front sat hand-in-hand.

“What did you make of the Autarch?” Selera’s tone was conversational, casual, as though we weren’t talking about the most powerful and dangerous man alive.

“I’m not quite sure,” I said slowly. “I’m still making up my mind. But he’s not how I thought he’d be.”

“How’d you think he’d be?”

“More…tyrannical.”

Selera’s laugh was bright. “He can be that sometimes. But the thing about Marak is that, over the centuries, he’s become very good at changing how he behaves depending on who he’s talking to. He wants something from you. In fact, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him so interested in someone new. I dare say he even sees a little of himself in you, Aurion.”

That was not a pleasant thought. I shook my head vehemently. “We’re nothing alike.”

“Oh, for the record, I agree. You lack his selfish ambition. His drive. His ruthlessness. I won’t pretend to know you well, Aurion, but I get the sense that you’re a good man.”

My mind showed me images of dead Terarch Guards. Of skeletons leaping out of their ruined bodies and dancing amongst the carnage.

“I’m not so sure about that,” I said quietly, one hand resting on my chin so that my fingers concealed the movement of my lips. “I’ve done bad things.”

“And do you feel guilty about them? Do they haunt you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“There’s the difference.”

I said nothing. More boats drifted down the canal. Street vendors were setting up on the other side of the glass bridge, and the smell of their cooking caused my stomach to spasm with hunger.

“And how,” I asked, “do you know we even spoke at all? Are you an operative?”

“Something like that.”

I was getting real tired of people being vague.

“Well,” I snapped, “say what you have to say and then leave me to it.”

“I will tell you just this: do not trust him, Aurion. No matter what he says.” A pause. “No matter what he shows you.”

“You went to all this effort to tell me something that any fool would advise. As though I would blindly trust the man who’s oppressed the continent.”

“Be careful with your words. The Autarchy can be…sensitive.”

“I don’t care,” I hissed. Frustration bubbling inside of me. Control.

Selera nodded. “I’ll be in touch, Aurion. Good luck at the Academy. My suggestion: don’t stand out too much. Perform well, but not too well. You’ll be competing with the children of the most powerful people in the world, and to them, this is everything, a game of life and death. They will do whatever they can to remove you if they believe you’re an obstacle on their road to power. The Autarchy has reached this point because, above all else, it teaches its sons and daughters to value ambition.”

“Thank you, lady, for the helpful words.”

She patted my shoulder. “Last thing. Disentangle yourself with the Thorns. Even if their goals align with yours. Destroy the Autarchy if that’s what you want to do—but do it your way. The Thorns are mad butchers, and they’re destined to lose.”

I opened my mouth for a rebuttal, harsh words upon my tongue, but when I turned to follow her, Selera was gone, and I was alone upon the glass bridge.