“I’m bored…” Raphaela groaned as she stopped polishing her boots, throwing them at the nearby sofa.
“We’re all bored,” Ulrius spoke without looking away from the small book in his hands, the same one he had read a thousand times or more, as he rocked back and forth on one of the aluminium chairs at the table.
“Speak for yourself,” Seltieallia chimed in while juggling a trio of frag grenades at a supernatural speed in the corner of the room. Next to her, Gabriel noted the exact position in which each deadly item landed in her hands before being flung back into the air.
“So? What did Michael say?” Barachiel asked from atop the table, where he meditated on top of Aniel’s back, who had been doing push-ups for the last four hours.
“What do you think, brother?” Raphaela smirked at him.
“Be patient.” All of them said as one, mimicking their oldest sibling’s exact voice.
That part of the daily routine always made Iona’s skin crawl, partly because all of them looked almost identical, with long silver hair, pale skin, unnatural beauty, and burning amber eyes that glowed in the dark. That last part really creeped her out the first time she saw it. Another reason for her reaction was because these were the dreaded Icons of Sin – the Blessed Saint’s personal guards and assassins. According to the Scripture and more than a few rumours going around the servants at the Palace, each one of them was a monster, a demon, Emperor Constantine III Rütter chained to his will after entering the cursed depths of the Holly Garden of Hell. Although Iona was taught to know better, it didn’t change the fact that these things pretending to be human were monsters in every meaning of the word. Still, over the last year, she was tasked with caring for them, her initial revulsion slowly diminished to uneasiness and the occasional panic attack.
As quietly as a mouse, Iona stepped through the threshold separating the recreation room from the rest of the quarters given to the Icons of Sin. This, too, was a part of the daily routine. Those things made it clear that whenever she was around them, she had to move as quietly as possible and try to sneak on them. Of course, this was impossible because she was just a woman with basic military training from the two years of mandatory service every Terran had to go through when they turned sixteen. But even if she were some sort of assassin or well-trained soldier instead of a maid, there was no doubt they would sense her regardless. Iona inhaled slowly as her foot touched the polished artificial wood floor and six pairs of amber eyes fixed on her.
“She’s getting better,” Aniel spoke quietly without stopping her exercise while her eyes tracked Iona.
“There’s room for improvement,” Gabriel nodded before speaking to Seltieallia. “You’re cheating again. The second grenade has been stripped. It’s my win.”
“Damn… What gave it away?” The woman grabbed the deadly explosives from the air and smiled.
At that point, Iona tuned out the conversation between them because Raphaela had crossed the room and was standing right in front of her. At first, the maid had problems distinguishing between each member of the Icons, excluding the obvious difference that half of them were female and the other half male. But now, she could tell them apart even when looking at them from behind. It wasn’t because of any physical marking but rather a general feeling and presence that was unique for each of the eight monsters.
“Your heart… It’s beating faster. Why?” Raphaela cocked her head to one side, her expression a perfect imitation of childish confusion.
“It’s because of your proximity, ma’am,” Iona swallowed hard, trying her best to remain calm. She closed her eyes to stop looking at the burning amber tearing through her.
“That’s not it. It was thundering while you skulled next to the door.” The monster in front of her insisted.
Iona was fairly tall, but she was nowhere near the two-meter height of the thing scrutinising her with a poorly hidden sadistic smile. As such, Raphaela towered over her by a head and seemed to grow larger the closer she crept.
“You want to say something, but you know it will upset us.”
At her words, the others gathered closer, surrounding the maid. She could feel her discomfort grow, turning into panic and a primal need to flee. However, before she knew it, Iona was surrounded. Somehow, without even noticing, Ulrius had snuck behind her, blocking her exit, despite the fact that the woman was standing a single step into the rec room.
“There’s nothing to fear, child,” the man spoke in her ear as he took hold of her shoulders. His voice, although fatherly, had a hint of malevolence to it. “You know you can tell us anything.”
That was a trap Iona promised herself never to walk into again; however, hiding things from the Icons was dangerous. It was the reason for her predecessor’s sudden disappearance. Despite herself, the maid opened her mouth and revealed the secret conversation she had accidentally witnessed earlier in the day.
“I was practising avoiding the security cameras – just as you instructed me – while on my way back from the garden.”
Iona’s voice was trembling, and each word was a struggle to push out of her throat.
“I make my morning prayer there whenever my duties allow me!” She quickly clarified, seeing the hungry expressions surrounding her.
Although servants had free access to the Inner Palace’s Garden, Master Custodian Morn Teofan made it clear that Iona’s presence there wasn’t welcomed while she served the Icons of Sin. Apparently, the nobles and their servants weren’t too keen to have another set of eyes and ears spy on them. As for the paranoid monsters themselves, they didn’t want her to speak to anyone without their supervision, and the garden was forbidden to them.
“My, my. You’ve been naughty, love,” Aniel giggled, her smile turning cold.
“Inventive, too,” Barachiel droned next to her, his hand taking hold of Iona’s chin. “However, when we told you to stop this foolish religious obsession, it wasn’t a suggestion. If you can’t, we will have no further use for you.”
All the maid could do was glare at the man. The Blessed Saint’s bodyguard was the chaplain for the Palace garrison, making such a heretical statement an outright admission of treason. When they first told her that worship was forbidden, Iona had assumed it was a test of her devotion to the Church of the Third Hell; that’s why she always found ways to sneak out for the morning and evening prayer.
No, she pushed the thought away. This had to be another test. Faith is meaningless if it is not tested. And if she thought logically about it, nonbelievers would never be allowed to step foot inside the Outer Palace, let alone the Inner one, which was the home of the Blessed Saint himself.
“We’ll have to have another talk with Constantine. The religious sect has been left unchecked for far too long.” Seltieallia’s voice rumbled in Iona’s left ear.
“It was bound to happen,” Raphaela shrugged, shifting her attention away from Iona for a split second. “Balancing religion and science is a difficult game. What I find surprising is that Constantine has managed to keep up for so long without doing a purge or two.”
“That’s enough of that!” Gabriel clapped his hands. “Iona was about to speak, and you hijacked the conversation.”
As if his words were some unspoken command, the attention of the six monsters was once more upon her. When she was a child, Iona snuck out of her parents' underground home in the North Atlantic flats with her friends to watch rogue meteors from the Moon’s asteroid belt burn when entering Hell’s mesosphere. Of course, since they were brave kids, they went outside of the sonic barrier and, not before long, were assaulted by a pack of black scorpion wasps. The memory of the hover bike-sized carnivorous insects jumping after her under the buzzing sounds of their vestigial wings haunted her dreams for years. And, yet, Iona would rather face them than be surrounded by the Icons of Sin.
“Please, continue, dear.” Gabriel brushed the back of his fingers against her short black hair. The moment his skin made contact with hers, it felt as if he was draining the heat from the side of her head. It was a fleeting sensation for sure, but it was enough to send Iona into a panic while he smiled at her. “Don’t be shy, now.”
“LaFontaine… That is… Lord Alard LaFontaine… I… He… with…” The maid stuttered as her instincts screamed for her to run.
Before she knew it, Iona was sat down at the table, and a steaming cup of hot Albion coffee was placed in her hands. Across from her sat Raphaela with a friendly smile on her face, while the other five monsters stood behind her like hungry predators.
“Relax, love. You’re among friends.” The woman’s calming voice pushed the panic away, and she took hold of her hands. “Tell me exactly where he touched you so that we can return the favour.”
“No!” Iona exclaimed, feeling her face burn red at what Raphaela was insinuating. “Nothing like that!”
“Oh? So it was consensual? My, my, Ioni, aren’t you full of surprises, you little minx!”
“By all the Saints! No!” This time, Iona yelled at Raphaela and pulled away. She had to clear this up, or outrageous rumours would be circulating the Place before dinner.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at the cup of coffee in her hands and continued. “I overheard Lord Alard LaFontaine talking about making a move to enter the Upper Echelon and that his troops were ready and in position.”
“Is that it? What a let-down.” All six present members of the Icons of Sins spoke as one.
Iona looked at them in confusion. She had just informed them that one of the Echelon Houses was most likely about to assault the Palace, and they didn’t seem to care one bit. Her attention returned to Raphaela, who cleared her throat, the hunger gone from her gaze.
“Love, we know about LaFontaine’s ambitions to position himself closer to the Throne. But that has nothing to do with the Emperor. It’s just a power struggle between House LaFontaine and House Sato. If Ihro cannot keep his position, Alard has every right to take it. You know how it is. After all, the way you secured your post within the Inner Palace is what caught our attention.”
The maid allowed herself a shy, triumphant smile that her efforts were recognised. One had to fight for what one wanted, and Terrans took that quite literally when it came to status and advancement in the various societal layers. But strength alone wasn’t enough, and a person also had to be cunning. After all, for anyone outside of the nobility, murder was still a crime. It had taken Iona five years of planning, carefully made alliances and the occasional poisoning of a competitor to make it to the Inner Palace. She made it to a position that suited her perfectly without actually killing anyone because she knew her limits. The few humans who knew of and partook in this little dark secret of the inner workings of Terran society didn’t understand that failure meant losing everything and starting from the bottom. That’s why they usually overestimated their abilities and, when they lost, were quietly spirited away in order to keep the Holy Empire unaware of what was happening in Hell’s shadows. There were many rules and customs Iona – like everyone else – had to follow, but none was more important than keeping it a secret.
It was because of this that Raphaela’s remark struck a nerve. The maid crossed her legs as she leaned back on the chair, gently blowing the steam away from the cup in her hands while she savoured the aroma of the bitter beverage. Iona felt the need to prove herself, so she picked a fight she knew she was going to win. The Icons of Sin were ruthless, paranoid monsters that believed themselves smarter than anyone else, which they most likely were. However, that meant that they were insanely hungry for gossip.
“Then I suppose you know who Lord LaFontaine was talking to.”
Iona pressed her lips to the edge of the cup to hide her smile just as the Blessed Saint’s bodyguards turned back to look at her. Raphaela cocked her right eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest while exhaling slowly. The maid stretched the silence as she made a show of sipping her coffee as loudly as possible. Normally, Iona would be terrified, but right now, she felt emboldened by the fact that, for the first time, she was the one in charge of the conversation.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, love,” Raphaela smiled as the hunger in her eyes grew. “I like it.”
“Finally showing some backbone! How intriguing,” Barachiel snorted and sat at the table.
“I’ll play along.” It was Seltieallia who pulled a chair next.
“I see. You’re not going to talk until we all join you.” Ulrius nodded to Gabriel, and the two men took their spots at the table.
“A piece of advice, Iona,” Aniel spoke sternly while her face twisted in an exaggerated pout. “Don’t push your luck. If this is not interesting, you’ll be in trouble.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
With that, the last of the present Icons of Sin sat in Seltieallia’s lap.
“Oi! What do you think you’re doing, sis?”
“She’s in my chair,” Aniel smiled and kissed the woman on the cheek. “And this is the most comfortable alternative.”
“Well? Are you going to say something, love?” Raphaela grumbled as she rocked on the chair’s back legs.
“You probably know this, but Lord Alard LaFontaine has found a new secret lover.” The monsters surrounding her nodded slowly, which was something Iona had expected. If the servants knew this rumour, the Eight most certainly were aware of it long before that. “It’s been a topic of discussion of who that person might be.”
“Iona.” The warning in Barachiel’s voice was enough to tell her that she had kept them in suspense long enough.
“Her Imperial Majesty, Lady Aurelia.”
The room was engulfed in unnatural silence the moment the words left her mouth. For a moment, Iona feared that she had made a mistake seeing them become as still as statues. They were probably thinking of what humiliating punishment to inflict on her for wasting their time. Instead, five pairs of burning amber eyes turned towards Barachiel.
“Are you certain of this?” He asked in a voice that was more frigid than the winter wind in the North Atlantic plains.
“Yes,” Iona answered somewhat sheepishly, suddenly fearful for her life.
In her haste to prove her worth, she had failed to spot the danger of such a statement. The members of the royal family were forbidden from taking sides in the power struggle between the Echelon Houses. Infidelity aside, Empress Aurelia had gone against the Blessed Saint’s will, an action which damned her as a heretic. By claiming this, Iona had just placed her head on the chopping block because, if she couldn’t prove it, she would be executed for blasphemy against the royal family and, by extension, the Blessed Saint himself. One simple mistake and she was suddenly playing on a chessboard she wasn’t ready for.
“Can you prove it?” It was the question she feared and knew was coming.
“At first, I thought they were there by coincidence, but then they started talking, and something felt off. That’s the only reason I listened on Her Majesty’s conversation! Lady Aurelia was wearing a sight distortion veil to hide herself! I would never dare spy on her!”
“Then how do you know it was her?” Aniel asked as she stood up from Seltieallia’s lap.
“How did you know she was wearing a distortion veil?” Gabriel demanded right after her.
“The cornea implant in my left eye had to be removed to repair a cataract! The doctor who did the operation – Dr Volter – told me it would be another week before it could be reinstalled! That’s why, after disabling the implant in my right eye, I could still see! And since a sight distortion veil affects only cybernetically enhanced vision, and since every citizen of the Holy Empire gets one by the time they turn six, using it should usually go unnoticed. And I only noticed it because there was a shimmer, sort of a haze, surrounding her because I was lacking an implant in one eye. So, by doing that, I could see through it, and that’s when I saw that it was Her Majesty!” Iona blurted the words one after the other without pause, aware that the more she talked, the more convoluted her explanation became.
“There are ways to verify this,” Gabriel said levelly before nodding to Aniel, apparently satisfied with her answer.
“What did they talk about?” Raphaela asked the next question.
“Do you have any proof of the conversation?” Ulrius added before Iona could answer.
“Yes. Everything I hear is recorded both to my internal memory implant and a secondary external drive hidden in a dermal pocket in my left forearm.” She nodded and rolled up the sleeve of her rose-gold dress, pointing with a finger to the place where the memory chip was implanted under her caramel-coloured skin.
Without saying a word, and before Iona could react, Ulrius had a combat knife in his hand. In a single lightning-fast motion, he cut her arm and removed the memory chip with the tip of the weapon. Once the item was in his palm, he nodded.
“I’ll analyse this. But before that, give us a summary of the conversation you heard. As you recall it without accessing your memory implant.”
“Yes,” Iona spoke quietly as she looked at the small wound and the thin, dark-red, almost black line of blood that trickled down her forearm and landed in small droplets on the table.
“At first, they talked about general topics such as the recent firestorm in the Saharan Wastes and the increased seismic activity in the Zeeland Canyon and what aid should be sent. After that, they briefly discussed the pending repairs of the Cayan Habitat.”
Iona paused for a second to steady herself.
“All of that took two or three minutes, and they appeared to be ready to depart the garden. But when they stood up from the bench they were sitting on, Her Majesty Lady Aurelia asked if Lord LaFontaine was ready because the time was nearing. At that, he responded that his men were in position and that he had managed to smuggle twice as many as originally planned, including two walker entrenchment platforms. Hearing this, Her Majesty warned him to be careful with his words because there was no telling who might be listening.”
“I guess she was right to worry.” The maid smiled at herself, remembering hearing that part as she hid inside the thorny hedges. “Right. So, after that, Her Majesty reminded Lord LaFontaine that they had only one shot at this, that he shouldn’t underestimate Alpus’ new abominations and that he should make his move while they were busy cleaning the mess downstairs. After that, they held their hands briefly, like new lovers do, you know, touching only the fingers and such. However, there’s no mistaking that touch. And then, they parted ways.”
“Alpus’ new abominations? Are you sure?” Barachiel asked the moment Iona closed her mouth.
“Yes, although I’m not sure which House he belongs to since there’s an Alpus in House Olander, Inka and Stratzi. However, I haven’t heard anything about them being associated with abominations or the like.”
“You haven’t because they were talking about Cardinal Alpus Zhu,” Raphaela growled, earning herself a slap to the back of the head from Gabriel. “Why did you do that for? She doesn’t know who that is, and she’s too scared to check it!”
“True, sister, but still, you should’ve kept your mouth shut.” The man shrugged and looked at Barachiel. “Michael and Remiella are with Constantine on Mars to deal with Governor Stein’s screw-up and to observe the Gen 3 Deava’s test. Regardless, we should inform him of this development. The question is, should we intervene in the one we have prepared for the Demons?”
“I’ll be honest, I’m itching for a stretch, but that would nullify the test’s results,” Aniel interjected before anyone could answer the question.
“Sometimes the information you receive is not complete,” Ulrius spoke while scratching his chin. “Adaptability is one of the things we’re evaluating.”
“Fair enough. However, the test is already hard enough as it is.” Seltieallia drummed her fingers on the table as Iona realised that the Icons of Sin were actually arguing with one another.
“Not to mention we had to rush the schedule. As a result, they’re not at full strength. That’s why we’re here waiting on standby.” Raphaela added and looked at the others.
“We could level the playfield, but that would mean sacrificing one more House. LaFontaine is out, that’s for sure, but another… That opens a power vacuum within the Echelon, and that could lead to instability.” Barachiel sighed.
“We could introduce a couple of human players while we prepare successors here on Terra.” Seltieallia offered, but even Iona could tell she wasn’t confident about her idea.
The maid understood the dilemma they were facing very well. There was a huge gap in power between the Echelon Houses and the ones who ruled over the Terran underground settlements. Not only politically but in terms of resources and manpower. Iona herself was the pride of House Zei despite not being a part of the Zei family. For them, it was an achievement that a member of their settlement was serving within the Inner Place, and they had the capability of supporting a second person to try to aim for a similar position, but that was the extent of their abilities. Preparing a smaller House to replace a member of the Echelon would take decades. At the same time, more and more voices could be heard questioning the Blessed Saint’s promise to the Terran nobles. The domain His Holiness created was called the Holy Terran Empire, not the Holy Human Empire. The children of Hell were promised to sit at the top, and bringing in more and more neo-nobles from off-world only sparked fears and resentment. If a mere servant like Iona knew of this, then the Icons of Sin knew it as well.
However, the maid understood the other problem House LaFontaine’s ploy presented. Smuggling a few dozen men within the Inner Palace wasn’t the issue. The core of the problem was that Lord Alard would order his private armies to attack his opponents’ underground fortresses far away from the prying eyes of the Habitats, which meant that a House of similar or greater strength would need to deploy its armies to counter them. The loss of life would be crippling and result in that House losing its spot in the Echelon. Of course, LaFontaine would be purged to extinction regardless if they win or lose so that the royal family could remain appear to be neutral.
“Such a waste because of loyalty,” Iona sighed to herself.
“That is how your kind determines who is in power and who is not.” Ulrius declared as a matter of fact. He was correct, too. From the moment they were born, Terrans had to compete for Hell’s limited resources just to survive. Only once a person had proven themselves were they given support by the community in the form of becoming part of a House. And then, the real struggle of finding a place within the various layers of society truly begins.
“Still, it’s a shame so many would need to be killed because of the mistake of Lord Alard. Imagine how easier it would be if only those at fault were punished and the rest, along with all of LaFontaine’s assets, were formed into a new House…”
Iona’s voice trailed off as she realised that the room had fallen silent and the monsters were looking at her with unhidden curiosity. She felt like a blud-bug on Harbinger’s Eve, and the hungry gazes upon her were the ritual knife poised to cut her open. The maid expected the Icons of Sin to begin the Prayer of Sacrifice to thank her for giving her life to sustain theirs. Instead, Gabriel clapped his hands, almost giving her a heart attack.
“That’s an interesting idea, Iona!”
“There is a precedent,” Seltieallia smiled like a child that was given a free box of sweet ooze.
“I’d hardly call what we did for Anastasia the same thing.” Aniel curbed her enthusiasm. “Back then, we worked in the shadows to repay our debt to young Constantine. But now, we’re in the open trying to install a pawn. Somehow, I don’t think the other members of the Echelon would take kindly to that.”
“It is true,” Barachiel rumbled, “the Great Houses go out of their way to limit our movements as it is.”
“Well, what if,” Raphaela stood from her chair and began pacing around the table, “some unknown individual from somewhere remote usurps parts of LaFontaine’s holdings? Secretly, of course. Fabricating the existence of a minor House is child’s play.”
“Right… And where are you going to take the manpower from without anyone noticing?” Aniel countered with a mocking sneer.
“The Central Pacific Depression.” Raphaela licked her lips with gusto as she spoke. “Nothing there but radioactive winds, hurricanes and dust. And the Nora Vaults.” A hungry, sinister smile spread on her lips at the last.
“What are the Nora Vaults?”
Iona couldn’t stop herself from asking. The Central Pacific Depression, along with the Gobi Swamplands and the Arctic Iron Dome, were the three truly dead regions on Hell. To make matters worse, each of those actively killed anyone who dared to enter them. There were countless horror stories about the chemical ponds of the swamplands, which could dissolve a person’s flesh in seconds. Or, like anyone who entered the Iron Dome, was ripped into dust particles because of the effects of the localised wormholes used to depopulate the ancient megapolis during the time of the Third Hell. And, of course, there were the infamous radioactive winds of the Central Pacific Depression, which blasted you with a dose of neutron radiation measuring, on average, at four gigasieverts per hour. That said, Iona knew from her lessons as a teen that there were enough safe corridors crossing all three death zones to make traversing them more than possible. It was just a case of why would anyone want to.
So, to learn that there was something valuable in one of those horrific places really piqued her interest. There was just one slight problem, and that was that her question reminded the Icons of Sin that she was still there. Not that Iona was foolish enough to think they had forgotten about her. Rather, it was more a case of politely ignoring her existence. And if the maid listened to her survival instincts, she should have done all in her power for that to remain as such.
“Iona, my sweet.” It was never a good sign when Aniel tried to act innocent and friendly. Being stern and distant suited her better. “They were a backup in case Anastasia screwed things up. Thankfully, Constantine made sure that mommy dearest was on her best behaviour, and we didn’t need to use them.”
“That’s enough, Aniel.” The warning in Barachiel’s voice was unmistakable.
The two of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Aniel clicked her tongue.
“You’re no fun.”
Barachiel ignored her and continued as if she hadn’t spoken at all.
“The Nora Vaults are a cluster of underground bunkers that were purposefully kept isolated as a control group. Michael wished to see if a different social structure would emerge without our presence. However, the experiment was scrapped after we learned more about the sixteen hundred inhabitants and their so-called society.”
“It’s been quite entertaining to watch them fight over the few scraps of food we leave them,” Seltieallia chuckled. “A pretty good representation of what might have happened if Terra remained isolated.”
A sudden thought occurred to Iona as she listened to the Icons of Sin share a few chosen memories of sneaking in and out of the underground battlefield. In all honesty, that should have been her first question. However, these monsters had a way of luring her into a conversation.
“Why are you telling me this?” By all accounts, everything the six people in the room said from the moment she entered the room was supposed to be a state secret. Although Iona wished to think that she was good at keeping secrets, there was such a thing as knowing too much.
“Because you should know what you’re getting yourself into, love.” Without noticing her, Raphaela had made her way next to Iona and sat on the edge of the table right in front of her. “We don’t need to keep secrets from you. After all. You. Belong. To us.” At that, she slid her finger across the maid’s lips, the touch of her skin leaving a trail of static electrical discharge.
Raphaela’s voice became a distorted purr as she continued. “No one’s getting inside your lovely head without our permission. It’s one of the perks of being our toy.”
“Besides. You gave us such a wonderful idea, which also solves our predicament of what to do with the Nora folk. Though, I suppose we ought to rename them now. Don’t you agree, Lady Iona Clay?” Each word Ulrius spoke dripped with perverted satisfaction that lodged itself like a spike in the maid’s heart.
“House Clay… How fitting.” Gabriel joined with a similar expression on his face.
“I like it. It’s very appropriate.” Aniel and Seltieallia said as one.
“You must be joking! I’m not a noble. I hardly know the first thing about running a House. Sure, naming it after me is quite an honour, and I have no problem with it, but... But you must be joking! Surely!” Iona let out a panicked giggle while she searched their expressions for any sign that this was one of their sick games.
“Very well. I’ll contact Michael and His Highness and inform them of the issue and the solution we’d like to pursue.” Barachiel said with finality before turning to the maid. “You saved us a great deal of trouble, my child. It is only fitting that your effort is rewarded, and by accepting this paltry token of gratitude, you will be aiding us even more.
Iona was speechless. In a handful of minutes, these monsters reshaped her entire life. She felt as if she was drowning in a lake of acid and could only watch as Barachiel made his way to the door. However, before exiting the rec room, he stopped and turned to look back.
“Raphaela, you’re making dinner tonight. It would be inappropriate to have the head of a noble House cook for us. Pity… I’m actually going to miss Iona’s meals. They were a real feast.”
----------------------------------------