Wolves of Empire [EPIC DARK FANTASY] [Book One Complete]

Twenty-Three

Sephara

Empyria, the Imperium

7th of Otanus

Though Dexion suggested she stay with him at the Praevin compound or even move to his neglected estate in the Exalt District, Sephara knew she had to leave. If he didn't already find her devastation at Valerian's death suspicious, her inevitable descent into despair would certainly prompt him to. Besides, she couldn't stay here, not with the man who'd once tried to assassinate her father. She needed a quiet, lonely place to self-destruct and then build herself back up again, to ready herself to face the world that had cruelly murdered Valerian Boratorren.

Dexion let her go with little argument, even when his offer of an armed escort was rebuffed. He feared she might be targeted by those who knew she'd been Valerian's bodyguard, but she was in no state to care for her own wellbeing.

"The Caetoran will want to seize all the Boratorrens' property soon," Dexion had warned as she'd shrugged on her coat in preparation to leave. "I'll send word to you if that happens, but you'll have your employer's estate to yourself until then." He'd looked at her with heartfelt concern and laid a lingering hand on her shoulder. For a moment, she'd been tempted to stay, to take comfort in a man who didn't yet suspect who she truly was.

But no, that was too dangerous. Until she was emotionally stable again, she couldn't risk being around those she might reveal her secrets to.

She let Dexion wrap her in a warm embrace, returning his grip with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, then turned away. "Just give me a few days," she said. "I'll be back for you."

He nodded, his mouth curling with subdued amusement. "I'm sure you will."

As understanding as he'd so far been, she'd need to come up with an explanation for her reactions. Maybe she could claim some distant familial link to Valerian, or pretend he'd been a kind, caring master and she missed the man as much as the employment. Nothing sounded legitimate to her scattered mind, but she couldn't have Dexion suspect her even slightly.

Her feet steered her northeast, towards where her father's now-empty estate sat. She was just approaching a wide public bridge spanning the River Kemoris when she physically recoiled, her gut churning with cresting sickness. She turned away, almost ramming into the people who'd been walking behind her, and stumbled back across the street. She planted herself up against a shopfront and bent over, hands on knees, trying to breathe past the acidic mass in her throat.

Even this early in the morning, foot traffic and horse-drawn carriages already clotted the streets. A few pedestrians paused as they passed her, aiming frowns at her. One or two even made to help, likely thinking she was choking, but she managed to wave them away and straighten. Again, her breath caught in her throat, and something like a throttled sob burst from her lips.

I can't do this. My father's dead. They killed him in front of me.

Even calling upon her years of extensive training did little to lessen her panic. She tried to breathe deeply, to quash her hysteria with measured inhales and exhales, but that didn't help. It was only when she forced her eyes skywards and fixed them on a roaming thundership that she guided herself to calmness. She watched the lumbering beast, no doubt ferrying nobles across Empyria to spare them the hassle of walking the streets alongside the commoners, and tried to clear her mind of all else.

Just think about anything else. Look at how stupid that ship looks. Like a flying cow. And look at some of these idiots on the street, wearing those damn faux-military coats. I doubt any of them even know which end of a sword to hold. What a stupid city this is. What stupid people these are. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

When the thundership disappeared behind the roofs of the looming street and the civilians she'd been mentally insulting wandered out of sight, she pressed her back flat against the shop behind her and deflated.

"It's a stupid city," she whispered to herself. "I can deal with stupid."

But she couldn't go home. Not yet. And she couldn't return to Dexion.

She headed south, following the Kemoris in the opposite direction to her father's estate, telling herself she wasn't running away from her problems. She just didn't want to remember how her father had died, the way he'd faded slowly and bloodily, the way Khian had held up his severed head and his dead, dim eyes had looked back at her as the heartless crowd bayed in the background. If she went home now, his dead face and butchered body were all she'd see.

Without really thinking, she crossed the Kemoris as it flowed through the Industrial District, and lost herself to the smoky, chaotic clamour of the city's factories at work. It amazed her that industry still plodded along as it always had, when only a few days ago the spectacle at Traian's had occurred. To her addled mind, Empyria should have halted, the world stopped, reality as she knew it fractured.

But, in the grand scheme of things, her father was insignificant, and only she mourned his passing.

The metallic clanging and boisterous bellows of workers drew her out of her head, forcing her to pay attention to her surroundings. This close to the river, the factories were built almost atop each other, businesses grappling for space like starving animals. Most of Empyria's output along this stretch of the district concerned thunderships for all its cities, and arms and armour for the army of the Reign of Adhistabor. By memory Sephara aimed herself at Iana Mallian's armoury, the place where, if she followed the trail backwards far enough, the pattern of the Caesidi killings had first emerged.

She wondered, briefly, what path her life might've taken had she ignored her uncle's request that fateful night, when he'd asked her to uncover his aunt's killer and set her on a path of conspiracy. But then, she likely still would've been drawn into her family's intrigue, as she was always destined to be.

The harsh, square front of the Mallian Armoury stood bare, the windows shuttered. Scrawled across one of the lower walls in uneven, angry handwriting glared the words Iron Wolf's whore.

Iana's armoury was shut, that much was clear. Sephara approached the nearest worker and asked how long the building had been abandoned.

"The morning Boratorren was arrested," the soot-streaked man replied, frowning in the armoury's direction. "The Caetoran's Guard came looking, but she was gone."

"Do you know where?" Sephara asked.

The man shrugged and returned to his work.

In the panic caused by her father's capture, and his brutal execution, Sephara had completely forgotten about Iana and Lexia. And Kesa and Bekker, for that matter. Dexion had mentioned the former two had sought refuge with the latter, but she hadn't had chance to consider that it meant they were in hiding. It was no secret Lexia and Bekker were Endarion's bastard children, and any attack against the Boratorrens and their allies would inevitably involve them. The graffiti illustrated how the common people already felt about her family and those affiliated with them, though she couldn't expect any less, not after Khian had turned the Prodessium against Endarion for supposedly slaughtering Dykumas and then drawing overt similarities between the Iron Wolf and the infamous Cnaeus Casus.

She resolved to head to the Heavens' Paramours and ensure the two women and their children remained safe within Kesa's protected domain. Before that, though, and because she was already most of the way to the southern extent of the city and across the river, she started towards the Path of Triumph.

Sudarium had told her he'd left a compartment at the base of Canisius Thurinus's statue at the Path's beginning, which they could use to contact each other. Though she had nothing new to give, and doubted the mage had reason to contact her yet, she still felt the need to check. If only because it was a tangible destination, and it would keep her from returning home for just a little longer.

The Path of Triumph began at the Triumph Gate, to the city's south-east. It was a wide, regal arch of characteristic white stone erected by Thurinus and Traian themselves when they'd founded the Imperium almost five centuries ago. Most foot traffic entered the city through its three northern gates, and this one was mainly used by the surrounding villages, and as a monument to the founders' legacy. Sephara stood between the two colossal marble men who flanked the Path and found herself wondering what they'd think of the state of their nation now.

They'd carved the Imperium from the warring Reigns, uniting them beneath one throne and one cause. Almost half a millennia later, her family and the Tyrannuses had, between them, started the gory process of tearing it apart. Would the Imperium fracture back into its constituent Reigns if the insurrection failed? Or would it, like the United Empire of Adhistabor and the Arisen Theocracies before it, break apart completely and irredeemably?

History was a cycle, it seemed. In a few decades another set of conquering founders would rise from the ashes of the insurrection to establish another empire that would look fondly upon the Imperium as its ancient predecessor. In time, that empire would crumble as well, and the suffering spawned by war would grind eternally onwards.

For a heartbeat, her father's death lost its totality when she pondered these larger issues. But then she remembered, and everything threatened to flatten her again.

She studied the two statues for a long moment. Thurinus, the first Caetoran, had always been lauded as the master politician, the leader who attracted the combative factions to his cause and yoked them all within his plot of unification. Much like her father, she supposed, with his honeyed words, promises, and verbal manoeuvrings, all used to secure allies who had died bloodily alongside him in Traian's.

Which brought her attention to the arena's namesake, standing silent guard opposite Thurinus. Where Thurinus was the charisma, the talker, Marcus Traian had been the brute, the blunt force. The commander of Thurinus's armies, and eventually titled the first Warmaster, he'd apparently been a career soldier recruited into Thurinus's campaign early, a loyal follower of the man forever after. So like Endarion, in that sense.

"History repeats itself," Sephara muttered. Only, this time, her father and uncle had failed where Thurinus and Traian had succeeded.

She paced around the five-foot-tall base of Thurinus's statue, feigning curiosity. She spent a moment studying the plaque, just in case anyone was watching and wondered what she was doing, before she started searching for the compartment. After a fruitless moment, she slunk behind it and hoisted herself up onto the base, using Thurinus's feet for support.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

There, just beneath his right heel, was the slimmest crack, an imperfection anyone else would assume was the statue's natural degradation. She prised it open with her fingernails, lifting a chunk of marble the length of her forearm. In the hollowed space nestled a triangular slip of leather, and excitement burned away her despair for the second it took her to retrieve the package. She tucked it into her coat, paranoid she'd be seen, then pressed the marble back in place.

She resisted the urge to look until she'd satisfied herself that no one monitored her.

It was a slim sheath, and inside, a dagger. An exact copy of the one Novissa had given to Endarion, minus the hidden engraving on the handle. The Fensidium's shield and tower emblem adorned the pommel, and the blade shined with newness.

A Fensidium dagger. Hers.

There was a note wrapped around the handle, two scrawled lines: I did not have one to give you when we first met, but I hope this dagger serves you well now. Welcome to the Fensidium.

She re-sheathed it and returned it to her pocket, a giddy sensation bubbling up within her; she wasn't alone, and she needed to remember that. Her father was gone, but there were still things to be done. Things she'd already agreed to do, and things her family needed her to do for the insurrection.

Because the Boratorrens had not failed yet. There was still hope, with her uncle and cousin in the field, her brother safely hidden within their ranks.

Bolstered by her new purpose, she strolled along the Triumph's length and made for the Heavens' Paramours by way of the Grand Imperial Library, where the Path ended. The wide, paved thoroughfare was as busy as usual, though Sephara found herself veering towards the sides, up against the statues themselves, keeping away from the heaving centre. Crowds had taken on a malicious undertone from her experience in Traian's, when thousands of citizens like the ones who now surrounded her had cheered as her father perished.

She passed statues of the Imperium's historical heroes, paying them little heed. In truth, most of them were revered commanders, famous only for the catastrophic wars they'd directed. There was Sorrex Tyrannus, for example. The first Tyrannus Caetoran, who'd seized the throne from his predecessor by force a little over a hundred years ago. And there, further along, was Gaius Aruns, the arch-general who had, seventy years ago, managed to temporarily conquer Tharghest for the first time, holding onto it for a scant two years before an internal uprising eroded his domination. And there, towards the very end, Endarion and Dobran, two arch-generals who now perched on either side of a devastating civil war.

Endarion had been awarded his statue when he'd been thought killed at Shaeviren, a martyr of sorts. Dobran had been added to the Path at the same time, supposedly for the same campaign. Though the Imperium's aborted conquest of the alien planet had been an embarrassing defeat in every way, it had been the first time an Imperial army had set foot outside Eld—the first time any mortal had left their home planet since the Novhar had destroyed the Atlas Gates, it was assumed.

Sephara suspected that, at the time, Janus had thought the historic use of an Atlas Gate heralded a brave new future where the Imperium spread out across the Vast Infinite as the Novhar had once done. A great shame for him when it had been confirmed the Shaeviren Atlas Gate was all that remained of the Novhars' planetary network, and that the hostility of the planet's natives had been the reason no one on the southern continent of Dunstria, where the Gate was located, had ever tried to pass through it.

She halted before her uncle's statue and wavered.

His head had been removed, the stone mass now set on the base between his feet. A chunk of marble had been cleaved from his stomach in cruel mimicry of the wound that had killed Valerian, and the words on his plaque had been scratched out and graffitied over with numerous insults. Sephara spied Cnaeus Casus reborn and traitor among the tangle of words, as well as crude phallic sketches no doubt meant to mock Endarion for his rumoured castration.

Lest anyone notice her aghast reaction, she turned away and continued towards the Library.

It hadn't taken long for the city to turn against the Boratorrens, but she hadn't expected it to. She only hoped everyone had so far overlooked Kesa and Iana. Though, if her family was somehow triumphant and did claim the Imperium for themselves, her uncle would have a difficult time winning back any popularity he'd enjoyed before.

A big if, and a problem for much later.

All told, the walk to the Triumph and back up to the Heavens' Paramours, in the Exalt District, took her several hours. Her black coat, chosen for anonymity, was stifling, and the midday sun beat down on her as if personally affronted by her existence. She tugged at her coat with one hand even as the other went to the Fensidium dagger in her pocket, reassuring herself of its presence.

She heaved a deflating sigh when she drew up before the headquarters of the Paramours to find it intact. Kesa was further removed from the Boratorrens than Iana, and her Castrian heritage made her harder to reach, but Sephara had expected to see the building ransacked and aflame. Instead, the same complement of guards stood by the front gate, and the same immaculate building perched with austerity behind a lush garden. For now, Kesa remained immune to the rampant anti-Boratorren sentiments gripping the city in the wake of Valerian's death.

The guards escorted her in, even after she supplied her name. That was to be expected; Kesa must've anticipated attacks.

She was halfway through the communal hall, with all its padded seats and reclined women enjoying the quiet daytime hours, when she spotted a familiar face chatting amicably with several older women. Lexia saw her at the same time and leapt up with all the energy of an excited puppy. She swept Sephara up into a fierce embrace.

"Fuck, it's good to see you," the girl said, beaming. "We weren't sure what'd happened to you, and then one of Bek's men saw you in the royal box at Traian's." Her smile dropped. "Shit, sorry. I mean, I'm sorry about your father. That was horrible, what happened to him."

Tears threatened at the execution's reminder, but she blinked them away and slapped the other girl's shoulder. "It's fine."

"It's not fine," Lexia said. "First those fuckers try to assassinate him, then they go ahead and execute him anyway. That's the furthest thing from fine, Sephara."

She looked away, unwilling to let her cousin see her cry. Lexia grabbed her chin, grip firm but gentle, and steered her gaze back.

"We're going to ruin them all," Lexia said through a grimace. "My father's going to march on this fucking city and he's going to throw every last Tyrannus and Tyrannus-lover to his dogs. We'll sit in Traian's and watch and cheer as they're eaten." With her heavy brows, and a youth's best attempt at severity, Lexia looked like an adolescent rendition of her stern-faced father, and Sephara found herself nodding in agreement.

"I would very much like that," she murmured as Lexia released her. "I'm glad you're safe, by the way. I stopped by the armoury and saw what'd been done to it. I was worried about you."

Lexia dismissed the lingering guard and nodded towards the other end of the hall, then started walking. "Bek's men got to us the same day your father and his allies were taken. Kesa'd heard about the purge and acted quickly. We've been here ever since, but it's only a matter of time before someone thinks to target Kesa."

The younger girl took her straight to Kesa's office, and Sephara was surprised to find Iana seated opposite the First Mistress, the two women sharing a bottle of Quendinthan wine. Bekker loomed behind them, looking every inch the Iron Wolf's son with his ramrod posture and crisp uniform. Iana and Kesa both angled to face Sephara as she entered, and for the first time, seeing them together like this, she was struck by how similar they were. Both were in their mid-forties, but as poised and aristocratic as if they both absolutely refused to age. They regarded Sephara with matching hard, knowing gazes, their canniness and cunning evident not only in the way they regarded Sephara, but the mere fact they sat in this room, safe and comfortable when so many others had been taken and cut down. Her uncle, she decided with a small smile, certainly had a type.

Kesa rose, graceful in a fitted gown of muted Denjini blue. "Sephara, child, please come and take a seat. I wasn't expecting you."

Lexia herded Sephara over to the spare chair and hovered eagerly behind her. "It's good to see you again, First Mistress," Sephara said, then glanced to Iana. "You as well, Lady Mallian."

Iana made a dismissive gesture. "I think we can dispense with the titles," she said. "We're in safe company here."

Kesa sank back into her seat and steepled her hands together over her desk. She gazed at Sephara, though there was no seduction in her eyes today, only concern. "For what it's worth, and even though I know he looked down on us all, I am sorry for what happened to your father."

"Not your fault," Sephara replied. Mine, actually. Say as much aloud though, and she'd no doubt crumble all over again. "None of us thought the Caetoran would dare execute him."

"Least of all his brother," Iana noted with a hint of bitterness. "But then, I've long suspected the Iron Wolf never truly cared for anyone."

"I was the one who insisted he be told of what I'd learned," Sephara countered, choosing her words carefully. No one else in this room—not even Lexia, who she'd shared her investigation with—knew the full extent of their discoveries. Only she, her father, uncle, and Palla Hasund knew Dexion was an Arisen, and responsible for the killings.

"Don't blame yourself for how thoughtlessly Endarion reacted," Iana said. "We all know the price of our plotting. Your father was unfortunate enough to be caught. The rest of us need to make sure his death means something."

Sephara nodded, though she didn't see how that was possible; Valerian had been killed as an example, his execution prolonged for no good reason, suffering for the entertainment of thousands. Even if Endarion somehow managed to take the capital and place Kaeso on the throne, Valerian would still be a cold, butchered corpse, and the memory of his violent end would linger in the collective memory of the populace even beneath a Boratorren dynasty.

"What will you all do now?" Sephara asked, fearing the answer.

There was only one thing they could do, and Kesa confirmed it with her reply. "We will be leaving the city imminently. In the next few days, I hope. We tempt fate by remaining."

"Where will you go?"

Lexia leaned forward, her grip on Sephara's chair unsettling it. "To help Father, of course."

Iana looked up at her daughter, an expression of distaste on her face. Why, Sephara couldn't tell, but she assumed it had something to do with her poorly concealed bitterness towards Endarion. "We can't go to his armies," Iana countered, and Lexia sighed. "What good would slinking off into a warzone do any of us? Bekker is the only one of us who's been trained at soldiery."

"I would've been able to fight if Father had trained me," Lexia said, and Iana's eyes flashed with anger.

There it is, Sephara thought. She doesn't want her daughter taking after Uncle. Understandable.

"There are other ways we can help the cause," Kesa said, interrupting the argument before it could begin in earnest. She gestured to her silent son. "Bekker has limited command experience, but I think that is all we need for what I have in mind."

Sephara reclined in her chair. "Can I ask what? Or do you require another secret?" Back when she'd first made the older woman's acquaintance, Kesa had only been willing to share what she knew when Sephara had parted with sensitive secrets. An exchange of information as a way of proving their trust in one another.

Kesa's full lips curved in a sensuous smile at the memory. "I think the time for secrets has passed," she said. "You are family, and if we cannot trust you, there is no point in even trying. We are going to the Howling Tower."

"Uncle's estate?"

"He's got an army there," Lexia said enthusiastically.

"Part of an army," Iana amended with a frown.

Kesa nodded. "None of the armies fielded their full strength when they marched on Kalduran. There may be up to ten thousand Denjini soldiers left behind, and Endarion would have stationed them at the Tower, which is itself hidden quite effectively in the Canis Mountains. If we can recruit them, if Bekker can command them, the Iron Wolf has more chance of success, if he succeeds in crossing the border into the Imperium."

Sephara stroked at her chin, impressed. She hadn't even thought of the remnants of the Imperial armies, and how they might be best utilised. She wondered if any of her uncle's leftover officers even knew he'd defected.

But then, she'd be losing her only true allies in Empyria with these four. She would be the last Boratorren in a hostile city, with no contacts, no way of reaching her uncle now Palla Hasund had no reason to return, no one to fall back on if she encountered danger. No one to turn to in her despair, as she'd done today.

"How can we win?" she found herself asking. "My father's dead. Endarion and Daria and Kaeso will die too if the battle turns against them. Who does that leave?"

Kesa aimed a pointed glance at each of the rest of them in the room, and Iana released a derisive snort. It was Kesa who replied. "We may not have the Boratorren name, but we are the same as you. There will always be a Boratorren to continue the fight, of this you can be assured."

She averted her eyes from the older woman's intense scrutiny. Of course, she'd been thinking only of the members of her family who bore the noble name, unconsciously echoing her father's prejudice. She knew these four were just as much Boratorren as her father. More so, maybe, because they'd survived when he'd fallen. And even now, when a lesser noblewoman would flee and find safety away from it all, Kesa and Iana were determined to continue, even with their children to think of.

They were better than her because she'd been ready to give up.

She stood abruptly, energised by renewed confidence, and inclined her head to Kesa, and then Iana. "Well, then. If the fight continues, I'll do what I can from Mendacium's side."

Rather than return the slight bow, Kesa again got to her feet and rounded the desk. She enveloped Sephara in a hug, abandoning her usual languid allure in favour of a hearty embrace, a thing shared between two close relatives. The unfamiliar warmth of safety ignited in Sephara's stomach, reminding her she wasn't alone, would never be alone. Because, as violent as the Caetoran might be in his reprisals, and as many of her family as he tried to slaughter—or succeeded in slaughtering—the best of the Boratorrens didn't bear their name at all, and would continue their cause when all others failed.