The Aether of Night Page 3

  The third son must be Dari. All of the important Lines had their own Dari, a son whose main purpose was to petition the Ancestors on the family’s behalf. Other than himself, Raeth had never heard of a first son being made Dari.

  The decision had been made when Raeth and Hern were just days out of their mother’s womb, right after the Aether bonding. Raeth had been the elder son, but his twin had been more powerful. Far more powerful. Emperor Vaetayn’s decision that day had shaped Raeth’s life.

  He sighed to himself, wondering again at his sudden whistfulness. It must be the festival. He thought to himself. Saedin, the Festival of the Unremembered, was the time when Aedin honored those Ancestors whose names had somehow been forgotten through the passing of time. More importantly, it was the time when fathers chose brides for their sons. As soon as their youngest son turned eighteen, age of marriage, a father chose brides for all of his sons at once. All of his sons, except those who were Dari.

  “There,” Darro said, shaking Raeth’s shoulder and pointing.

  Raeth stood as a breeze flapped across the Corpate platform. The winter days were cold, and for once he was glad for the thick Dari’s robes. Some of the larger buildings broke the wind, but it was still chilly atop the Corpate’s back.

  A short distance away, he could see a square Sending platform. It was covered with people, many of them soldiers. Darro was pressed up against the side of the Corpate’s rail, looking down eagerly. Raeth smiled to himself. He’d missed his brother. At a younger age, the two of them had been inseparable—of course, the alliance had been a necessary one. Only together had they been able to stand up to Hern.

  “Let’s go,” Darro said, climbing over the side of the Corpate and down the flapping rope ladder.

  Raeth sighed. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this. You’re not supposed to see the brides—you aren’t even supposed to know who you’re marrying. That’s why father picks.”

  “I’m ignoring you,” Darro informed from down below.

  Raeth sighed, turning to the Corpate’s Nurturer beside the pillar. “Please wait for us,” he requested.

  The woman nodded. Like many of her kind, she was pale-faced and expressionless. It was said that the Nurturers—those members of Ferrous Lines who didn’t decide to become Corpates—preferred the company of their entombed brethren to other humankind. Perhaps that was why their Line was the smallest.

  “Yes, your highness,” she whispered.

  Raeth nodded, then turned and swung off the side of the Corpate, climbing down the swinging rope ladder. Though he hesitated to admit it, the deviation excited him. During the last five years, he’d rarely had an opportunity to do something unconventional. Of course, he hadn’t had Darro to get him into trouble.

  When he reached the bottom, he found Darro unclasping his wide High Aedin cloak and rolling it up. Raeth didn’t bother mentioning the taboo move—Darro often removed his cloak. Not only did it proclaim him a High Aedin, his clasp bore the markings of the imperial Line—both things that made lesser citizens uncomfortable. Darro left the cloak beside the Corpate’s foot, then strolled forward as if he were nothing more than an average Aedin citizen out to gawk at the potential imperial brides.

  There was quite a crowd on the ground—Vae Annitor, with its food augmented by Verdant Aether Bonds, had a large population. For many of them, this would be their only opportunity to see the assembled brides—only the richest and most powerful would be able to travel to Saeris Va, the City of the Ancestors, later in the day. The rest would have to celebrate Saedin in Vae Annitor.

  Darro happily began to elbow his way toward the front of the crowd, Raeth in his wake, earning not a few dark looks. Tan-skinned, brightly-clothed Mahallens cursed at them, short Shorriken in bureaucratic robes simply rolled their eyes, regular Aedin elbowed back, and angry-faced Khurs just regarded them with harshness. In no other city would one find such a diversity. There were even a few dark-skinned Seaborn in the crowd.

  Eventually, Darro’s proddings landed them with a view of the platform. The members of the separate bridal parties were speaking quietly with one another, waiting for the Vo-Dari to begin the Sending.

  “Ahh,” Darro said speculatively. “Let’s see what we have.”

  Raeth raised an eyebrow, looking past several stiff-backed soldiers as he regarded the women. Darro had done his job well—his maneuverings had placed them within full view of most of the parties.

  “There’s Alean,” Raeth noted, pointing toward a large group of High Aedin, their green cloaks—sign of those who had Bonded Verdant—flapping. It was common knowledge that Alean, daughter of the High Senator, would be chosen as the Verdant Line’s bride offering.

  “Alean,” Darro said, his voice almost a growl as he stared at the well-endowed blonde woman. She wore a gorgeous green gown, along with several rings and a necklace that sparkled even at a distance.

  Raeth snorted. “Good luck, Darro. Chances are good she’s the one who will end up marrying Hern.”

  “I can dream,” Darro said, his eyes wide and wistful.

  Next to Alean was the Shorriken party. Their offering was a pudgy, mouse-like woman with dark brown hair and an almost frightened look on her face. She wasn’t an impossible choice—the Shorriken were highly regarded by the High Aedin. Without the Shorriken people to run the Imperial bureaucracy, and to fill places in the lesser courts and town senates, the Imperium could never function.

  The offering of the Bestarin Line was a shorter blonde woman with a stern face. She was also a likely choice—not only was she High Aedin, but the Bestarin and Amberite Lines were hereditary allies. The other High Aedin, the Ferrous Line’s offering, was a stoic-looking woman who bore the typical expressionless face of her kind. Raeth couldn’t see her ending up with Darro, but any High Aedin bride offering was a strong contender. It all depended on Emperor Vaetayn’s political decision.

  There wasn’t a Khur offering in attendance, of course. The Khur spurned Aethers and the Sending, and their bride offering would have been transported by carriage to Saeris Va, a trip that took months to complete.

  “Now, that one looks like trouble,” Darro said, pointing. Raeth followed the gesture, his eyes falling on a tall, tan-skinned woman in bright clothing with an extremely low neckline. She was laden with jewelry, her wrists bearing no fewer than ten bracelets each, her ears pierced at least four times, and her neck bearing a couple of necklaces. Raeth couldn’t see them from the distance, but she certainly also wore golden breast-hoops as a mark of her virgin status.

  “Mahallen, eh?” Raeth said speculatively. The woman had keen eyes and a determined expression. Mahallen women tended to be somewhat more…feisty than Aedin ones. “Trouble indeed,” he agreed.

  “Father would never do that to me,” Darro said, a little nervous.

  “Probably not,” Raeth agreed. Mahallen women had been chosen as brides for Imperial sons before, but mostly to placate the Mahallen people, who, like their Khur relatives, tended vocally critical of the government. The Mahallens had been quiet lately—or, at least, relatively quiet—and so it was unlikely that Vaetayn would choose one to wed either of his sons.

  “My guess is that you’ll end up with one of the two other High Aedin women,” Raeth speculated. “Father’s very traditional.”

  Darro nodded. “Assuming, of course, that he chooses Alean for Hern.”

  Raeth frowned. “Why wouldn’t he?” Raeth asked. “I’ve been a little out of things, but last I heard the alliance with Verdant was almost certain.”

  Darro shook his head. “That was before last month. Father wanted there to be no executions this Saedin, because of the Imperial Bride Choosing. Then High Senator led that motion in the Senate to overrule him. Father’s still fuming.”

  Raeth raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard about that—which, of course, wasn’t surprising. He didn’t hear about much, especially during months when he was saying a poem. He considered Darro’s words, then shook his head. “Father w
on’t let something like that influence him. If choosing the Verdant bride is best for the Imperium, then that’s what he’ll do.”

  Darro shrugged. “Probably.” Then he fell quiet as he studied his other potential brides.

  As he did so, Raeth’s eyes fell on a small group of new-arrivals. Unlike the other groups, which were surrounded by soldiers and attendants, this one was made up of only six people. Their clothing—simple robes, for the most part—marked them as rural. Could this be a bride?

  Kavir, Raeth realized. The smallest Imperial subkingdom was notorious for its rustic simplicity. Raeth was about to dismiss them—no Kavir bride had ever been chosen for an Imperial son—when he noticed the girl, and paused.

  She resembled a Shorriken woman—short, with dark hair—but she didn’t have the typical Shorriken plumpness, and was a few inches taller than the average Shorriken. There was very little that was distinctive about her. She didn’t have the Mahallen woman’s tall, graceful poise, nor did she have the curves that made men salivate over Alean. She didn’t have the luxurious blonde hair that so many High Aedin women flouted, nor did she have the statuesque, carefully-painted face of the Ferrous Line’s bride.

  Yet, there was something about her. A simple, unintrusive beauty. Her hair wasn’t long and flowing, but it fit her small frame and almond face. A face whose eyes were wide with wonder as she looked around her—yet at the same time, those eyes were keen. Intelligent.

  “What about her?” Raeth heard himself ask.

  Darro paused from his study of the Ferrous Line’s bride. “Who?” he asked, turning.

  Raeth nodded, pointing. “That one. She’s probably from Kavir.”

  Darro raised an eyebrow, then slapped Raeth on the back. “You’ve been in the Irae far too long, Raeth. Come on, let’s go.”

  Chapter Two

  “Why in the blessed name of D’Lum did I agree do this?” D’Naa whispered as she eyed the crowd. Men and women of a half-dozen different ethnic groups gawked at her, nudging their companions and whispering. D’Naa felt like she knew what they were saying. Who’s that scrawny thing? From Kavir? Do they really think the Emperor would choose her for a daughter?

  “It’s not so bad,” her grandfather said, beaming as he regarded the crowd. He’d been waving affably a few moments earlier, but D’Naa had prevailed upon him to stop. They already looked like buffoons—there was no reason to provide reinforcement.

  She still wore her bland woolen travel dress—the Sending was to begin in a few moments, and she had been informed that she had to go immediately. There hadn’t been time for her to change, let alone brush her hair or wash her face.

  D’Naa shot a self-conscious look to the side, regarding the other women. They were, of course, perfect—especially the Aedin ones. The three High Aedin bride offerings had curves and glowing blond hair—models of feminine perfection. The Mahallen woman was sultry and exotic with her tan skin and scandalously low-cut dress. Even the short Shorriken woman made D’Naa look wan by comparison.

  Of course, the situation only deepened her dislike of the Aedin people. They were the ones who had put D’Naa in such a position—they were the ones who insisted the Kavir people provide a bride offering, even when the Emperor almost nearly chose High Aedin women for their sons.

  “Don’t worry yourself, child,” Shaad soothed, placing her hand on D’Naa’s shoulder. “These women have been bred and trained to be brides. They’ve never had to prepare meals for famished workers, or search out a wandering lamb in the highlands, or even help deliver a fearful woman’s twin babies. Everything has been given to them. They may look nice, but it’s all fluff. There’s no strength underneath.”

  D’Naa frowned. “Well, that’s what the Emperor will look for, isn’t it, grandmother? He wants fluff.”

  Shaad turned thoughtful eyes to the side, regarding the women and their entourages. Few of them paid any attention to D’Naa or her group, and those who did glance her direction were dismissive. To them, D’Naa wasn’t even really competition. Most of them appeared to be growing impatient, though they had only been standing on the platform for a few minutes. D’Naa heard more than a few muttered curses directed toward the Vo-Dari, who had yet to arrive.

  “If that is what he wants, child,” Shaad said, her aged eyes dissatisfied, “then Emperor Vaetayn is hardly the wise man he’s rumored to be.”

  D’Naa sighed. This day wasn’t likely to get any easier. In a few hours she would have to stand before the Emperor, like a calf on sale at the fair, while he judged her potential worth as a daughter. Hopefully, she’d have time to change and clean up a little bit before the actual choosing. If she had to bow before Aedin whims, she at least wanted to look her best while doing so. Even if he wasn’t going to choose her.

  But, what if he does choose you?

  D’Naa paused. She’d been trying to suppress such thoughts, telling herself that she wasn’t going to let the Aedin play with her emotions. Yet, seeing the glories of Vae Annitor made her wonder. She couldn’t completely deny her feelings, or her desires. She was excited. What if he did choose her? What if she did get to move to this wondrous city, with its culture and its magics? What if?

  The snappish voice of a High Aedin woman brought D’Naa back to reality. The woman was waving impatiently for one of her servants to fetch something for her. The woman—the Verdant bride offering—noticed D’Naa regarding her, but turned away with a roll of her eyes.

  That’s how they see you, D’Naa, she told herself. As a lesser citizen, a non-Aedin. The Emperor won’t choose you. Even if he did, do you really want to be associated with them?

  It wasn’t that the Aedin were oppressive—they were just rulers, all things considered. They were just arrogant. Their nonchalance about Kavir’s problems had cost hundreds of lives. The Harrmen barbarians were clever despite their savage nature—they didn’t raid Kavir enough to draw Aedin attention away from the northern border. The barbarians attacked just enough to harrow her people, but at the same time let the Aedin conveniently ignore them. It was a situation that worked for everyone except the Kavir.

  D’Naa shook her head slowly. She suspected that was why she was here. If she did become the empress, she could make certain that Kavir got the troops it needed. The potential gain was worth risk of her Aether being discovered. Still, it was odd that her cousin would choose her. There were perhaps a half-dozen other marriageable women of the proper bloodline to be a bride offering. Why D’Naa?

  She turned resolute eyes back toward the crowd of onlookers. She didn’t really blame them for coming to gawk—one of these women would be their empress some day. A flash of light caught her eye, and she turned slightly to the side, her eyes narrowing as she noticed what had drawn her attention. A pair of men stood by the base of the platform, speaking quietly. One of them—a large, well-muscled man with short blonde hair and rich clothing—stood with hand to the side, so she could see the palm. Set in its center, catching the sunlight as he gestured, was a rose-colored gemstone. The Aether of Amberite.

  The man’s companion nodded, moving his own hand, which also flashed a bit of rose-colored Amberite. D’Naa shook her head. She was in the heart of the Imperium; she was going to have to get used to seeing Aethers. Things that were nearly myths back in Kavir were commonplace here. Nearly every Aedin or High Aedin had an Aether bond.

  Of course, it was a little odd that the large man’s companion was wearing dark brown robes, the hood up against the day’s chill. A Dari—the Aedin equivalent of a priest. From what D’Naa had read—lessons given underneath the careful tutelage of her grandfather—Dari were rarely seen outside of their temples.

  The two men turned to shove their way through the crowd. Apparently, they’d seen enough. D’Naa wished she could escape so easily.

  She heard several exclamations of relief to the side, and turned as a pair of white-robed men climbed onto the platform. Vo-Dari. It was finally time to go.

  #

  The trip to
the palace was a short one. Raeth smiled wistfully as the building approached, remembering times before. Times when he and Darro had been the terrors of the palace, always getting themselves into trouble—or, more likely, trying to escape one of Hern’s temper tantrums. That had been before he and Hern turned fourteen, their Placeday.

  The palace was a beautiful construction—as was only fitting. Four golden domes made up its wings, and a wide, keep-like tower lay at the very center, rising nine stories into the air. There was nothing else like it in Vae Annitor, let alone the rest of the Imperium. For a moment, as they walked up the steps through the main gate, Darro’s red cloak flapping behind him, Raeth could almost imagine that the last five years had been a dream.

  They walked through the magnificent archway, Darro nodding affably to the guards at the door and calling them by name. Inside, they passed through sculpted hallways, rich with paintings, carved woods, and chandeliers. The larger rooms were lit by glowing Corpate pillars, their metallic bodies radiating a soft, steady light. Soldiers stood at every major intersection, standing with straight backs and keen eyes. Shorriken bureaucrats scurried in every direction, their robes rustling, their floppy, brimless ceremonial hats bringing a smile of remembrance to Raeth’s lips.

  After a seven-story ride up a Corpate shaft, the two brothers crossed through a tile-covered hallway and entered Darro’s personal chambers. Raeth shook his head with wonder. His brother’s rooms were large and majestic—far different from the chambers of a Dari. Rugs from the Seaborn islands coated the floor, and the room was decorated with the finest Mahallen wood furniture.

  Darro idly whipped his cloak free and tossed it over the back of a plush, embroidered chair, then strolled over to a side room. “Here,” he said a moment later, returning with a bundle of clothing.