On their second day, Rosslyn and Carolien attempted to get out and explore a bit once more. They at least wanted to find a souvenir for Rosslyn’s father. But their hearts were not invested in sightseeing, and they soon found themselves trudging back to the embassy.
Lord Baranack tried to cheer them up.
“Dear ladies,” he said, “I hope you are enjoying the cultural offerings…”
But there was little he could do or say to affect the spirits of the royals he was saddled with.
So Lord Baranack employed his typical method of dealing with unhappy royals; he bowed his head and left them to themselves.
Rosslyn and Carolien spent the day largely in quiet contemplation. In the end, they sought out one of the still active temples of the Goddess in the city—there were still many such temples, as in Claustria. Only the more beautiful buildings had been appropriated for the worship of the Demon God. The lowly still flocked to the remaining temples, and it was easy to follow a family that looked particularly contemplative to the nearest location. The two women lit a pair of candles and offered up prayers for the salvation of the city and its people.
For now, that was all they could do.
In her heart, Rosslyn knew that the Goddess would act through her and her father. If it was fate that the city should be liberated again, then her prayers would have an answer.
There was a certain nervous tension in her body that night, as she tossed and turned, wondering if this was a task given to her or her father to accomplish—if the scourge of the Demon Empire was to be purged from these lands in her lifetime.
Finally, the day dawned that brought her the opportunity to act. To perhaps move toward a future where this city might be free again—or at least to try to avoid a future where Wayn and the rest of Claustria met the same fate.
It was time for her to execute her mission.
Rosslyn had already decided on the excuse she would offer for her plan to disappear for a few hours.
“I am going to go and scout out more of the city. It is important to be aware of possible exit routes in the event of an emergency here, unlikely though that may seem. Otherwise the ambassador could be caught up in any unrest that might arise.”
Carolien rolled her eyes. Her expression seemed to say, Really? Do you truly believe the Emperor’s lackeys are listening in on the conversations in this building so closely?
Rosslyn simply shrugged. She knows what I was trying to say. If we can communicate well enough, why not speak in code? I told her that I want to go and scout the city, and she can guess my reasons well enough. If any authorities are listening, they will fail to do so. I have to take my life’s task seriously. It may be that the good I can do in this world—and for the followers of the Goddess in general—is to liberate this city or to strike a blow against the Empire. Perhaps it is arrogant of me to imagine it, but I have to give it my best shot. And that meant speaking in subtext when others might be listening in on her plans.
In reality, as soon as she left the embassy, she meandered through the streets until she made her way to the Grand Bazaar she remembered encountering before. There, she very carefully lost herself in the crowd.
When she was certain that it was impossible that anyone from the embassy could be following her, she casually entered an alley and made her way back onto the quieter streets where private residences stood proudly, almost defiant of the Demon Empire’s yoke.
Many of these buildings predated the conquest, Rosslyn knew. There was a marked difference in architecture that made her stop for a moment and take notice, even at the risk of possibly being late for her appointment with the spy.
The older buildings were more elegant, though in a way she would have trouble putting into words. Every touch of the chisel and the hammer seemed designed to glorify the Goddess, nature, or both. There were delicate arches and ornate decorations.
The newer buildings had a more brutal, cold quality to them. They might have been thrown up more quickly, Rosslyn imagined. The only touch of the human about them was that many of them featured gargoyle statues, which were thought by some to ward off evil. The subjects of the Demon Empire and the followers of the Demon God were known to be a more superstitious lot than Goddess worshipers.
Even these statues looked to Rosslyn to have been uprooted from the older buildings. They were carefully detailed. A product of a better time.
Rosslyn found herself falling into the mindset of a local for a moment. She felt nostalgia for a better time for Stalenton and imagined the more civilized age that had once held sway here. She was so distracted with these thoughts that she stepped into the river as she walked, though she managed to pull herself away before she actually fell in.
Getting her foot wet brought her back.
She resumed her walk, searching now for the hotel where she was to rendezvous with her contact.
Retracing her steps, Rosslyn found her way back onto the main road through the residential area. She began remembering the directions her father had given her before she left.
She walked for half an hour before she began to worry again that she would be late for the meeting. Even if I was late, she would still be at the hotel, right? She would not leave without passing on the information we need.
Rosslyn silently prayed that she would find the hotel quickly, or that, failing that, the woman she was instructed to meet would remain in place regardless.
The building almost snuck up on her as she began to feel anxious about finding it—looming over her from among a group of uglier newer buildings. Her eyes focused on the sign across the facade, and she confirmed that she was in the right place.
The Royal Hotel.
It added an air of greater class to the street it inhabited. An old building like this felt like it might be around until the end of the world. Ironically, the hotel had outlasted the monarchy it was constructed under and named for. Maybe it was one of the pillars of the earth.
Perhaps all of us royals will go the way of all flesh, and you will still be here, standing tall, Rosslyn thought morbidly.
Then she marched briskly toward the hotel.
Once in the lobby, she strode past the bellhop, waving him off with a brusque gesture, and continued to the front desk. There was a woman on duty there who chewed on the nib of a quill pen as she looked Rosslyn over with a careful, appraising eye. The clerk’s name plate said “Adalhaid.”
“Are you here trying to get a room for the night?” Adalhaid asked slowly in Demontongue.
“No,” Rosslyn replied in Ursabian, which she guessed was the woman’s first language, “I am here to meet someone staying in the hotel.”
“Do you know where you are going?” Adalhaid asked in quick, fluent Ursabian.
“I do,” Rosslyn replied.
“Very well. Please enjoy your visit.” The woman gestured to the stairs behind her.
Rosslyn tried to move casually while she was within Adalhaid’s sight range, but as soon as she made it to the second level of the stairs, she broke into a light, quiet sprint. She was still running late for the meeting, and it was still possible that she might fail to meet her contact.
It was only when she was on the correct floor—the twelfth—Why does this woman have to choose a room right beneath the rooftop?!—that Rosslyn allowed herself to slow. She walked to the door, and she gave it a firm knock.
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
After a moment, she heard a female voice and then a male grunt in response. Then she heard the creaking of the floorboards as someone heavy approached.
The door swung open, and Rosslyn saw a large man in long, flowing silk robes with a ring through his nose like one she would expect to see on a bull. He wore a stern, intimidating expression on a slightly rounded face. Rosslyn would have assumed he was someone of importance, given his clothing, except that his neck bore the collar of a slave.
He stared down at Rosslyn with suspicion in his eyes.
“Lagash, who is it?” called a female voice from somewhere in the hotel suite. Hopefully the woman Rosslyn was here to see, but it was impossible to know for certain.
Rosslyn could not see much past Lagash’s robes, and the scowling man’s forbidding expression demanded her attention in any case.
He stamped his foot twice.
“The guest we were expecting, then?” asked the woman, her voice almost laughing.
Lagash stamped his foot twice again.
Is that two stamps for yes?
“Let her in and take a walk, then, Lagash,” the woman ordered. “Make it a long walk. A walk until suppertime should do well. The guest and I have much to discuss between us, and you will not want to hear any of it.”
Lagash uttered a guttural growl, lowered his eyes, and looked Rosslyn up and down. She felt a slight urge to cover herself, which she successfully suppressed. Then he brushed past her and walked out of the room.
Rosslyn stepped in where he had left and closed the door behind her. Something about that man was off-putting. Wrong somehow. She did not want to give him the chance to change his mind and come back. It was not that she was afraid, of course. Simply that something about him disturbed her, and she could not put her finger on what.
As she turned around to move further into the room, Rosslyn finally took in the environment. She found herself in a massive suite.
Gilded furniture, a tasteful oil painting, silk curtains, and natural light streaming in through a huge window all spoke to the luxury afforded to the person who could manage to stay in this room.
Which made sense, given who Rosslyn was meeting.
She heard the sound of dripping water and turned to see a woman standing in a large bathtub, naked except for one arm covering her bosom and steam that obscured the area below her waist.
That water must be quite hot.
The woman covered her mouth to stifle a yawn, and her large breasts barely moved with the hand covering them removed.
“So, you are the King’s new messenger?” the woman asked.
Rosslyn simply nodded, slightly stunned at the naked woman in front of her. She was not normally the type to be jealous of another woman’s appearance, but the Emperor’s concubine was shockingly beautiful. Her long hair, the color of ripe orange rind, was something Rosslyn knew was prized in this region for its rarity. Her figure was partially concealed by the steam, but the combination of large, firm breasts and small waist was visible.
Especially considering that Rosslyn knew this woman to be roughly twice her own age, her looks were incredible.
Maybe if I looked like her, I would already have a good match, Rosslyn thought—and instantly hated herself for thinking it.
“You are not much of a talker, are you?” the woman asked, raising a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
“I speak as much as I think necessary,” Rosslyn said, her voice slightly tight.
“No, no, that will not work,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Please take off your shoes. Feel free to take off the rest of your clothes, too, if you like. Make yourself at home. In fact, I would be most comfortable if you at least dip your toes in the water. It is very pleasant.”
“Do you normally like to spend your free time…?”
“In a state of nature?” the woman asked. She looked as if she was thinking about the question seriously. “It certainly feels better than clothing one does not like.”
Rosslyn began removing her shoes. This was the concubine’s show. She was the one taking the biggest risks to be here, having this conversation, not Rosslyn. She who pays the piper gets to call the tune.
“Now, what should I call you?” the woman asked. “I am called Jocelyne.”
“My name is Rosslyn,” Rosslyn replied. She already knew this woman’s real name, but she did not mind using the name the concubine went by here. It was likely that no one had called her by her birth name in years.
“Two ‘Lyns,’ eh? How about that?” Jocelyne shook her head as if the coincidence was unbelievable. Her enthusiasm brought a little smile to Rosslyn’s face.
Maybe I can get along with her. She seems very open-hearted. It was strange to think that one so apparently guileless could be a spy—but then, that was probably what made her effective.
Rosslyn approached the water and dangled her toes in.
“Much better,” Jocelyne said, beaming at Rosslyn. The concubine walked through the water to where Rosslyn stood at the other end of the tub.
Then Jocelyne extended her hand, and the two women shook.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Rosslyn said.
“The pleasure is really all mine,” Jocelyne replied. “Normally my circle is limited, as you can imagine. Other women of the harem, the guards, and of course, the Emperor.”
Rosslyn sat down at the water’s edge and bowed her head. “Your country thanks you for the sacrifices you have made in its service,” she said.
“I know how the peasants live, so I certainly do not bemoan my fate,” Jocelyne said, “but I will admit, I wish I could have known my family for longer before I came here.”
Rosslyn knew the bare outline of the woman’s background. She was the oldest daughter of a Claustrian noble family. The family agreed that she might be trained as a concubine, with the plan that a trustworthy ship captain who was known to procure women for the Emperor would deliver her. The family received a quiet promotion from Barons to Earls. And it was theoretically not a terrible fate for their daughter.
Imperial Concubines enjoyed a privileged position in the Empire, so at least Jocelyne’s servitude must be comfortable. The current Emperor gave her two weeks off from her duties each year, and she was enjoying one of the two vacation periods right now.
It was still horrific to think about. And concubine training began at thirteen years old. Within the Empire, that was the preferred age for a new concubine to enter the Imperial Harem.
“I cannot imagine what you have been through,” Rosslyn said, lowering her head again.
“I doubt that,” Jocelyne said, her smile turning wry. “I think it is easy enough to imagine. As I said, it is not as bad as some possible fates that might have befallen me. Lagash, for instance, lost both his manhood and his tongue so that he could serve effectively as a slave to the Emperor in the Imperial Harem. Compared with him, all that I have lost is some independence and the opportunity to have children of my own.” Her smile turned bitter. “The Emperor prefers that his favorite toy never changes its shape, you see. But otherwise, he treats me more kindly than many husbands treat their wives. I know. I hear the stories. I am never beaten. I eat well. I enjoy many privileges.”
“You still help us willingly,” Rosslyn said. The words came out almost as a question. She did not quite understand what would motivate a woman like this to keep faith with the Kingdom.
“I do,” Jocelyne agreed. “There are some matters more important than my personal comfort. The security of the nation apparently rests on my slender shoulders—”
Another thing I have to be jealous of, Rosslyn thought. Her own shoulders were prominent for her body type. Reflective of all the physical training she had undergone over the course of her life—but she had heard this was not what men preferred aesthetically. Why do I keep thinking about this? Rosslyn was annoyed at herself once more.
“—and I have sworn to serve,” Jocelyne finished. “I will not break my oath. Even if the Emperor sends men with hot tongs to pull out my nails and cut out my tongue.”
“You are very brave,” Rosslyn said, giving her a small smile.
“You and I both,” Jocelyn said, reaching out and patting Rosslyn’s leg. “I am surprised to see the King send a woman in as his spy. He must trust you a great deal—for some reason?” She gave Rosslyn a suggestive look.
Rosslyn understood the implication.
“I am his daughter,” she replied icily.
Jocelyne stared at Rosslyn agape for a few seconds.
When she finally spoke, she was profane.
“Fuck! Shit! Goddess, why? Seriously? The King sent you into the lion’s den? This is almost as bad as if he came himself…” She shook her head and muttered, almost under her breath, “No, this is my fault as much as anything. If I could have communicated with the palace sooner, he would not have felt such urgency that he would resort to sending you.”
“Why is it bad that I was the one he sent?” Rosslyn asked, a prickling feeling creeping up her spine.
“It is part of the intelligence I was going to give you,” Jocelyne said, “after you updated me on how my family is doing. But given this difficult situation—”
“Your family is well,” Rosslyn interrupted. She would at least make certain that Jocelyne got the information she wanted, before the conversation shifted to Jocelyne’s information for her—and the faster this conversation proceeded, the better. Rosslyn reached into her robe for a rolled up piece of parchment. “Your baby sister gave birth to her second child.”
Rosslyn held up a painted image of a baby girl with wispy red hair so that Jocelyne could see it without needing to touch it with her wet hands.
“And your brother inherited the estate,” Rosslyn finished.
“Very good,” Jocelyne said. She drew herself up to her full height again. “Your Highness, I should not waste any more of your time. The news I have to tell you is grim. The Emperor will be ready for war by the end of this winter, and he will march no later than the beginning of summer. He believes that military technology on his side has advanced enough to secure the victory—and he has another advantage.”
“What advantage is that?” Rosslyn asked impatiently.
“He has had a spy in the palace for some time now,” Jocelyne said.