Chapter 33: Celebration

[Trigger warning for emotional abuse, cruelty, intimidation, and sexual assault.]

Chapter 33: Celebration

Ber, Day 25 of Melia

Solar Eclipse

Year 602

I do observe traditional worship of the Pantheon, and often pray to Calumn,

but my “belief,” such as it is, is more out of superstition than reverence.

I suppose I would be more conscious of my faith were I to discover more hard evidence.

Which is why I am extremely curious to know more about my very unusual student.

—From the private journals of Bricot Camdetch,

Master Alchemist at Craestor University from 600 to 604

Alisia watched in feigned delight as Beynon’s fools grotesquely entertained the group of partygoers.

It was troubling, was what it was.

This happened every year. Every. Single. Year.

In all the time she and Bryn Beynon had known each other, since she’d first come to Daitak Keep, since the marriage had been arranged and set—they had never consummated their union.

They didn’t have to. The rules governing such a marriage were very loose. The two of them were considered joined until death whether or not they produced an heir. Beynon had people he could appoint as emperor regent after himself if he chose, and Alisia had plenty of extended family that rulership of Urda might pass to in the event of either Beynon or she dying or abdicating.

And I might decide to abdicate, she thought to herself. I could leave. If I grow unhappy enough.

It was a difficult position to be in. She felt the responsibility of her position keenly and enjoyed the easy way she might influence Urdan citizens for the good, even if their lives only improved slightly because of her. And if the empress was truthful with herself, she had to admit that she found her husband tremendously attractive. She’d tried for years to entice him into her bed, but he seemed loathe to trust her.

She tried her best to understand that.

His attachment to the court concubines had always bothered her, and he seemed especially enamored with this new one, Treese. It occured to Alisia then that the girl’s looks vaguely suggested her own—she wasn’t sure if she should be encouraged or disappointed by that. In spite of all her resolutions to conduct herself decorously and exercise her well-earned maturity, Alisia was dismayed to find herself maddeningly jealous of the courtesan—frequently. Some nights she wept over it.

Knowing you felt a way that wasn’t good for you—that might damage you over time—and believing one could not change the situation was… well, it was awful.

Every year, Beynon teased her. He grew bold on his summer celebrations. Something about turning a year older and having the whole empire celebrate with him granted him an attitude she had yet to understand. It had begun a few years before with a lascivious note that set her heart on fire.

But that night when they’d retired to their shared apartments, he had done nothing.

On other years, he’d leaned over and whispered in her ear during the banquet in the keep. She’d nearly dropped her fork, barely able to believe he was capable of voicing such wishes in such a—a public place. By the time the party had ended and she was alone, she’d been utterly primed for him. And again, nothing.

In later years, he’d conveyed similar wishes but spent himself on concubines instead of her. He usually made sure she could hear them.

And now he sent his fools to deliver his overtures, here, in her chambers, and in front of her friends.

Alisia became aware she was staring at the undulations of the fools with tear-glazed eyes, and blinked them away.

Surely there was no reason for him to torture her in this way. Should she tell someone? Who might believe her? And beyond that, who would care?

Sitting up a bit straighter, she did her best to focus her attention on Lady Eileen, who was gabbling inanely about the price of Glamours. The other ladies present were chiming in, and Alisia realized some were shooting her furtive glances.

Beynon hated potions, and the empire knew it. Most people also understood—if they cared—that he was now twenty-four and could outlaw the practice of brewing if he wished. He probably would, she reflected. But most people also surmised that she had no problem with the brewing and sale of the stuff. She used them herself for aches, pains, concentration, and beautification. Why not? Better living through a bottle; she saw no reason to hesitate.

The country of Urda would be divided very soon.

They already were.

Alisia had decided that after Beynon made his political move, the sale of potions would probably continue, but covertly. Underground dealers, she thought. It would change life for everyone, and significantly. If she truly needed something, she could find a way to have it brought to her. Others who urgently needed brews would have to get more creative.

Oh, but she had her work set out for her.

The present company was delicately discussing the price of potion ingredients, but everyone was carefully avoiding the actual matter of the thing. It was so silly. She nearly addressed it, expressing her own views on the subject, but stopped herself at the last minute.

It would be foolish. At least in public, she’d need to appear aligned with her husband, no matter her feelings.

Her husband. What a mess.

Alisia brought her attention back to the fools. They were doing handstands and walking about the room that way, with random objects balanced on the pads of their feet. She thought again of the message Beynon had sent her through the strange creatures and dismissed it.

He did this every year. Presumably it meant nothing, and she would behave as if it meant nothing. An empty promise.

It was later that evening that Alisia began to suspect he meant it.

The ballroom was absolutely filled with merrymakers. Some were still sober, so the dances continued without incident, winding intricate forms on the sand-strewn floor.

She took a few turns with dignitaries—an ambassador from West Urda, a wealthy landholder from Boradîn. All of her partners were considerate and careful, holding her hand gently and guiding her through the patterns, progressing up and down the long lines of dancers.

When the music slowed, she retired to one of the sideboards and took a glass of wine for herself.

Beynon materialized, seemingly out of nowhere, and greeted her. “Is it nice?” he asked, indicating the wine.

She stopped mid sip and forced herself to relax. She hadn’t seen him coming. That was all. She nodded and offered the cup to him.

The emperor took the vessel and glanced down at it, carefully turning it so he might taste it from the edge her own lips had touched. He looked up at her over the cup as he took a delicate sip.

The sight made her ache with desire, and she looked away.

After he swallowed, her regarded her, then turned his attention to the slowly moving dancers that filled the hall. “Did you receive my message earlier?” he asked.

She too watched the others. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“And?” Beynon prodded.

Alisia hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “I think you are very cruel.”

He smiled at her—a slow smile. She hated it.

“I wish you would not do this,” she continued coldly. “You cannot know how wrong it is. Consider it from my position.”

“What is your position?” he asked silkily.

“I think you know,” she snapped at him. “I have no patience for this, Bryn. Go to your woman if you must, but leave me out of it.”

“How do you know I’m not serious this year?” he asked her maddeningly.

That was enough. She walked away from him. She didn’t even know where she was going, just away. Off of the dance floor.

A few guests glanced over at her, startled by the look upon her face. Alisia didn’t even know how she appeared to others; she simply needed to bring her dizzying world to a standstill for just a few moments. She was owed that, certainly.

She stalked through the halls, her feet making no sound on the thickly carpeted stone floors. The sounds of garbled conversation, music, and the rhythmic stomps of the dancers echoed through the keep but grew quieter as she drew farther away from the celebration.

A guard posted near the door to her quarters straightened as she passed him. “Evening, My Lady Empress,” he murmured.

Alisia glanced at him, not deigning to answer as she flung her door open wide. Then she stopped. She needed a good cry, and by Calumn, she wasn’t going to collapse sobbing on her bed with this stranger listening intently outside as her world crumbled.

“Go,” she said. “You are relieved for the evening.”

The man was dumbfounded. “Lady?”

Alisia could feel her face flushing. The tears were going to start at any moment. “The celebration is for everyone, not just our wealthy guests. Even our lowliest servants should be permitted time to relax. Take some time. Change. Go and eat.”

He seemed to be considering. “What if Empress Alisia should need me? I mean no disrespect, but surely it cannot be wise to leave her unguarded.”

She barked a laugh at him. “The Empress Alisia will be fine, believe me. No one in the whole keep is interested in what I have to offer. I doubt my absence will even be marked.”

The guard was young. Under his uniform, his muscles were stringy—steady, but immature. A lock of light brown hair fell over his forehead and pulled her attention to his gently freckled face. He nodded once, slowly. “The nearest guard is in the next hall by the baths,” he told her, “If you should need assistance.”

“My thanks,” she said dismissively, and hurried into her room, shutting and locking the door behind her.

He must have gone, though she didn’t hear his footfalls receding.

Alisia turned and looked at her empty parlor. It had been scrubbed and tidied from earlier when she’d dined here with her retinue. A trace of food smells still lingered, though everything had been cleared away. Empty.

The tide that had been threatening her for the past few hours finally broke, and she lowered her head into her hands and wept.

Pitiful, plaintive sounds escaped her throat, and she allowed them to fill the room. She moved slowly from the reception chamber and into her own bedroom. The doors that connected her quarters to Beynon’s were closed.

Still crying, Alisia shuffled to her bed and sat down, curling tightly over herself at the waist as if she’d been physically wounded and needed to protect herself.

This couldn’t possibly be the way her story went. She was so alone. So unwanted.

Many a noble before her had endured a loveless marriage. She knew she would not be the last. But it stung. It stung that he had taken so many women to his bed, and would not take her.

There was a soft knock, and Alisia lifted her head, startled. She wiped her eyes gently with trembling fingers, then stood unsteadily. There was the knock again.

She moved slowly from her room and toward her parlor, thinking it had come from her outer door. But before she could leave her bedroom, one of the doors adjoining her room to Beynon’s opened.

Alisia froze, struggling to catch her breath.

It was him.

She frowned in confusion as he made his way toward her. She looked past him as he entered the room—alone? Yes. He was alone.

A moment of surprise registered in his dark eyes at her condition, but he said nothing. He was still dressed in the burgundy and grey of Daitak Capital. His hair had been freshly clipped, and his broad shoulders swung easily as he moved. He was perfect.

“What do you want?” she asked, hating the way her voice sounded congested, her nose swollen from weeping.

For an instant, he stared at her. Then, “You,” he said simply, huskily, and reached for her.

Alisia stood unmoving as Beynon’s arms snaked around her and he crushed her lips with his. His breath tasted just slightly of alcohol, and his skin was perfumed with cosmetics. He smelled warm and inviting, a pleasantly male scent.

Coming to herself, she took a gasping breath. Was this finally happening?

Her body responded to his instantly, even in her shock. Heated desire uncoiled in her and traveled down to pool in her lower belly. His arm gripped her waist roughly, and she could feel the tip of his tongue at her lips, asking for her permission. She opened to him and he tasted her.

The involuntary sound of pleasure this wrought from her brought Alisia to herself. Suddenly, she pulled back, needing a moment to think.

How could she condone this? She’d been so starved for physical affection that she’d given into him without question, and now she was engaging with him as wantonly as if she’d initiated the contact. It was all moving too fast.

“Wait,” she tried to say, but he moved forward insistently, covering her mouth with his own.

She let him continue, viewing him for just a moment as an insatiable, impetuous boy.

But then she sobered instantly when she remembered he did this all the time. He bedded other women, seemingly obsessively. The thought chilled her, and she pulled away again. Again, his grip strengthened on her and she let him go on, fixing her gaze on the curtains at her window.

Alisia knew at that point that she’d had enough. The enthusiastic response her body had to his was dangerously incongruous with the unsettled feeling in her heart. She wasn’t his only lover. And she certainly wasn’t her first choice.

“Stop,” she said, pulling her mouth away from his.

He didn’t reply, only bore against her harder.

“Stop,” she repeated commandingly. “Beynon, please. Stop. Give me a moment.” Her voice shook on the last few words as he spun her around and pushed her up against the closed double doors connecting her room to his. They shuddered in their catches.

“Beynon,” she said, fear waking up in her and crawling up her spine.

He was larger than she was. They were alone. Her outer door was locked—though she didn’t know about his. And she’d sent her guard away.

Slowly, he began to grind against her. His arousal was so hard against her stomach that it hurt a little. She attempted to move away from him, but he captured her wrists in his large hands and held her there.

Now she was panicking, alarm bells sounding in her head. What if she could not get him to stop?

With a wordless cry, she brought her knee up, attempting to catch him between the thighs. But he was so close to her that she couldn’t gain any momentum and only bumped harmlessly against him. He seemed to like it. He trailed little kisses down the side of her neck—something she’d always wished for, but now they left a trail of fire on her sensitive skin and she squirmed against him, trying to get away.

With a grunt, he lifted her by the forearms and painfully moved her toward her own bed.

Something animalistic awoke in her then and she pulled sharply against his grip, dropping her full weight to the floor in an effort to try and confuse him. He was satisfyingly surprised by her maneuver and his reaction was slowed significantly by the wine in his system. She used the extra time to scrabble to one knee and punch him hard in the shin.

Beynon gave a strangled cry and stumbled away from her.

Alisia ran. She reached the door to his bedroom and wrenched it open, then fled out into the quiet hall, refusing to look behind her to see if he pursued.

Hair mussed and mouth swollen, she scampered along until she reached a more populated area of the keep. The strains of music reached her once more, and drunken party goers passed her on the way to the baths, flinging incoherent greetings her way.

It was a nightmare. A swirling, tumbling, nightmare, and she needed to be alone for awhile, needed to think. Who could she trust? Everyone here was either Beynon’s guest or in his pay.

Alisia turned a corner as if to go back to the dance floor. It would be painful, but she could pretend for a bit that she was alright. She’d sit alone as if listening to the music. No one would bother her—she hoped. As she rounded the corner, she nearly ran into another body, and screeched her surprise.

The stranger gave a fearful cry in response, and Alisia realized she was looking into the eyes of that young girl she’d met earlier in the day—Repht. Hodric’s young wife.

There was a tiny moment of stunned silence, and then her guest stammered, “Empress Alisia. Beg pardon.” Repht seemed to be breathing hard and had a wild look in her eyes that mirrored Alisia’s own emotions.

“Evening,” the empress told her absently.

The girl looked behind herself and then back before seeming to notice that Alisia was distraught. “My Lady Empress,” she said, concern deepening her gaze. “Are you well?”

Alisia blinked back tears, moved by the simple words, then sighed. “Not remotely, my dear. You?”

Repht shook her pretty head. “I like you very much, but I do not care for this party at all,” she said, adding belatedly, “No offense. I’d like to go home.”

Alisia took the girl’s hand and began to stroll her toward the ballroom. “I’d like to go home, too,” she said, thinking tragically of Eral. Ridiculous. “Will you come and sit with me for a moment? It’s that time of evening where everyone who’s going to get sodden has. I’m not. I don’t think you are. We might keep each other company while everyone else wears themselves out.”

Repht nodded, biting her lip. As they continued to walk, she offered, “Hodric said when I tired, I might take the carriage back to Guben House, but there are so many coaches lined up in the courtyard, and I cannot find ours. There are enough torches close to the keep, but the outskirts are dark so I cannot find my way.”

Alisia was beginning to calm, her breath coming a bit easier. “There are plenty of guardsmen we can employ to help you home. I need to call upon a few good souls myself tonight. Before you go, will you take some tea with me?”

“Of course, Lady Empress,” Repht replied. “I would welcome that.”