Lucian wasn’t sure that walking as a group was the subtlest way to go about things. He was not even sure why he felt the need to be secretive. A gut instinct, perhaps.
Shortening his stride to match Emilia’s, he spoke low to everyone, “Act naturally.”
“Right.” Ajax nodded. “If anybody asks, we’re going to drink and make out with each other.”
Lucian gave the deepest sigh of his life.
“You’re certain you remember the location?” Emilia asked. He understood her concern; it was two stories overhead, directly underneath the spire. The group followed a twisting stair to the second level, which was both smaller and more impenetrable than the main floors below. “A serpent’s knot,” Emilia called it, sounding impressed. The hallways coiled around and around the centerpiece—the throne room. There were multiple doorways that led to different “coils” of the snake, and someone who did not know the way could end up accidentally going in circles for hours.
“I remember,” he said. Lucian and his father had been led through these hallways by the old captain of the guard soon after the Vartl fjord triumph. Lucian had entered an egg-shaped golden chamber and knelt before Emperor Erasmus.
Lucian did not remember much of his audience with the emperor, but he remembered veiny hands that trembled as they settled a gold medallion about his neck, and he recalled eyes in a withered face, with hollow cheeks and a well-trimmed beard. Lucian remembered, also, that there’d been a little dried egg yolk at the corner of the emperor’s mouth. Lucian had wanted to wipe it away, feeling embarrassed for the feeble old man.
“When I saw the emperor,” he said to Emilia, “I thought it seemed strange to have a human being on that throne. It was like placing a piece of rotting meat in a golden box.”
“Well. One of us may soon be the rotting meat of choice,” she said flatly, but he caught the quirk of her smile.
Lucian brought them to a halt outside a golden door ten feet tall, ornately embellished with curls of abstract flame. The imperial seal—those five dragon heads in a star’s formation—hung directly in the center of the door. Before it, Rufus waited, wearing his horned black helm.
Upon seeing Lucian, the captain grinned.
“Sabel. Come to get a look at your future throne?” Rufus removed his helmet and held it against his side with one arm.
Hyperia stiffened. “How dare you be so informal, Captain,” she growled.
Rufus’s smile dimmed, and his gaze flicked to Lucian.
“Apologies, my lady. Lord Lucian and I are old comrades-in-arms.” Rufus resettled his helm onto his head. “Unfortunately, my lord, much as I would like to permit you entrance, the throne room is off-limits until the Trial is complete.”
Lucian glared at Hyperia, who refused to be cowed. You made our job more difficult.
“Rufus.” Lucian clapped the captain on his shoulder or, at least, the armored plate covering that shoulder. “There’s nothing to do until the priests get that final challenge fixed. It’s a bonding experience.”
Rufus snorted but didn’t remove Lucian’s hand.
“Bonding? How so?”
Ajax took the lead. “We’re gonna drink and make out with each other.”
Lucian froze. Both Emilia and Vespir made noises of disgust.
“I’d sooner die, you worm,” Hyperia growled.
“With tongue.”
“I will kill you.”
Rufus burst out laughing. He bent over, slapped his knee.
“Oh. You highborns are so bizarre.” He laughed harder, and Lucian joined in. Soon, all but Hyperia were chuckling.
“Only one of us can triumph. We all wanted a look before we meet our fate. Come on.” Lucian held up his hand. “Just five minutes?”
“For you…Ah.” Rufus tilted his head in Hyperia’s direction. “I’d hate for anything to get back to Their Graces.”
“We wouldn’t dare say anything.” If Lucian had to yank Hyperia aside and explain the concept of subterfuge, he would. Rufus nodded.
“All right. Five minutes.” With that, the captain stepped aside, and Lucian led the way into the imperial throne room.
The chamber was round, the walls arcing toward a point overhead—an egg, as Lucian recalled. Pure gold leafed those walls, with no windows to break the gilded absolute. Only a few candelabra dotted the edges of the room, while a great golden chandelier hung overhead, providing warm illumination. A few censers of pure gold, shaped like dragon heads with incense puffing from their jaws, lent the air a hazy quality and the smell of sandalwood.
“It’s like they expected us,” Vespir said in a daze.
“The candles and incense are lit every day, and the door guarded whether the emperor is dead or alive,” Lucian replied.
The floor was obsidian, a carpet of red velvet leading like a serpentine tongue to the raised platform at the room’s center. On top of that dais sat a golden throne. Two golden dragon’s wings formed the back. The red velvet cushion was cradled between great talons made of pure gold as well. The sides were scaled. The armrests had been designed to resemble a dragon’s clawed feet.
They stood in an ancient chamber, a space more sacred than even the white-pillared temple at Delphos. Everyone held their breath.
“Huh.” Ajax audibly swallowed. “Little much, isn’t it?”
“Shut up,” Hyperia hissed. She ascended the steps, though she did not sit on the throne. Her fingers hovered mere inches above the armrest. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Lucian saw, to his shock, that she had tears in her eyes.
“We have five minutes.” He gestured to the throne. “We should use them.”
The others had no problem touching. Ajax settled himself onto the cushion, wiggling his hips to get comfortable. When he leaned back, he grimaced.
“Not very cushy. Does the emperor have to sit here all day?”
“I believe it’s only required for formal audiences.” Emilia sniffed the air and rubbed her temples. “The incense would drive me insane.”
“I don’t see anything,” Vespir said, crouched behind the throne. She rose slowly, studying every inch. “I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be looking for.”
“I’m starting to think this is all crap.” Ajax stepped off the platform and strode toward the door. “Maybe the Truth or whatever flashed a bunch of things that we had on our minds before it broke. It’s the Truth, after all. Maybe it sensed we were all feeling anxious, so it made that freaky picture of the city. And of us.”
Lucian had to admit that it was a plausible explanation, and unusually sophisticated for Ajax. Sighing, he stood beside Emilia against the wall.
“But what about that strange symbol?” Emilia asked. “In that language.”
“What language?” Hyperia frowned.
“You remember.” Emilia traced her finger through the air in strange half-loops and swirls. Lucian remembered it as well:
“I’ve never seen it, either,” he said. To Emilia, “Is it ancient?”
“It could be an archaic form of the pictograph language from pre-empire Ikrayina, out toward the Temmurian plains. It could even be runic. There are old stones on the Hibrian Isles that predate—”
“I know what it is,” Vespir said.
“You know?” Emilia cleared her throat and tried to sound more polite. “I…I thought you couldn’t read basic Latium.”
Vespir’s nostrils flared. “I know what a put-waste-here marker looks like. It’s standard in every aerie stall. It lets the handlers know where to sweep all the dragon dung.” She blinked. “Have none of you ever cleaned out your own dragon’s stall before?”
The room filled with awkward silence. Lucian scratched the back of his neck; he’d never looked after Tyche’s basic needs, not even during campaign.
Vespir appeared disgusted.
“So, now we need to clean out some shit? This is officially the worst treasure hunt ever,” Ajax muttered. “I vote we go back to the parlor and drink wine until they fix the doorway. Who’s with me?”
“I’ve no objection to the wine,” Hyperia growled, “though I’d rather miss out on your company.” But Lucian noticed the relief seeping into her voice. She believed that this was all some shared fear that they’d witnessed together in the doorway of Truth. And really, he found he hoped for the same thing. It would certainly be less frightening than a cryptic warning.
“So that’s it?” Vespir looked around in bewilderment. “We’re all into this until it involves your dragons?”
“No, until it involves their shit,” Ajax clarified.
But Vespir would not be moved. “Well, I’m going to look in the aerie. If I have to deal with dragon shit, that’s just another normal day for me.”
The girl left without any shred of deference. Emilia put a finger to her lips.
“That was different,” she murmured.
“Different, but not bad.” Lucian hated to think of Vespir shoveling out the aerie stalls on her own, even if he was now halfway convinced there was nothing to find. “One last stop. If there’s nothing there, we end this. Anyone with me?”
“I’ll go,” Emilia said at once.
“I suppose,” Hyperia muttered. “I do hate to leave anything unfinished.”
“And then the wine. Okay?” Ajax said.