5
The Volakian emperor, Dreizen Volakia, was dead.
That fact, and the beginning of the Rite of Imperial Selection, filtered into the empire surprisingly quietly.
It was hard to argue that in his twilight years, Dreizen had been a very fitting ruler for the Volakian Empire, but at least, his final moments—consumed by a howling flame in front of all his children—had been suitably proud.
The emperor’s death meant that there would be a span of time during which the throne sat empty, but the citizenry were used to these lacunae in leadership while the succession was determined, and neither the sovereign’s demise nor the vacancy of the throne particularly upset them. After offering up a silent prayer in mourning for the deceased ruler, the interest of the empire’s people turned toward who would be victorious in the Rite, the dispute for the succession. They went through the names of the emperor’s various children, chatting and laughing as they discussed who would be the next sovereign.
Those participating in the Rite were the very ones who had witnessed the emperor’s immolation and who had then passed the first hurdle to becoming the next emperor: grasping the Bright Sword to see if they were worthy.
Speaking of which—
“So eleven people survived drawing the Bright Sword. I’m not sure whether to consider that a great many or a great few, however.” Prisca leaned on the armrest of her seat and sighed.
The Rite of Imperial Selection had begun, and the battle to determine the next emperor was already underway. Naturally, Prisca was among those who had drawn the sword and survived. Upon the annihilation of the emperor—which was to say, after the crisping of Prisca’s foolish older brother Rommel—thirty of Prisca’s siblings had remained. Not all of them had chosen to attempt to draw the Bright Sword, however, and ultimately, the number of people who could potentially claim the imperial throne had dropped to eleven. Meaning Prisca had ten enemies, ten rivals for the imperial seat.
“Enemies—it’s almost funny, suddenly finding myself in a death match with brothers and sisters whose existence I was hardly aware of until yesterday.” Prisca perched her shapely chin on one finger, her posture rather extreme.
Eleven candidates for the throne. All the others had either refused to draw the sword, fearing their own fiery destruction, or were fools who had met that same blazing fate when they overestimated themselves and mindlessly tried their hand at something they were not qualified for. Neither cowards nor the dead warranted Prisca’s concern.
Thus, her only real enemies were the other ten contenders for the succession—and of course, Vincent Abelks was among their number. All the siblings could at least agree that at present, he was both the greatest threat and the biggest obstacle to the succession of any of the others.
And so…
“An alliance?”
“Good heavens, does it sound so strange to you? I should think that in a situation like this, joining forces would be the first thing you would think of. Well… Maybe not you, Prisca. You’ve never exactly been the cooperative type.” Lamia Godwin, her lips rouged scarlet, smiled, but it only made her look like a venomous flower.
Prisca’s half sister was another of the children who had survived the drawing of the Bright Sword—and she was also among those Prisca despised most in the world. Lamia must have felt a similar hatred for Prisca. They had spent every day until this moment hating each other so intensely that it had seemed one might well kill the other long before the Rite gave them an excuse. Hence, Prisca could only smirk when Lamia visited her mansion—and came bearing a suggestion like this—immediately upon the beginning of the succession dispute.
While Prisca considered the proposal, Lamia, sitting on the sofa, let her eyes wander around the empty parlor. “This house does feel a little lonely, doesn’t it? Not nearly enough servants… I know how much you like showing off. It’s a little pathetic somehow to think you live your private life in such meager circumstances.”
“I’m afraid you’ve caught me just after I uprooted each and every useless servant I had. Some she-devil planted a whole troop of fools in my home, and I’m afraid good replacements have proven hard to find.”
“A she-devil? Oh my. That must have been terrible for you.” Lamia smiled innocently and checked her fingernails as she offered a banal bit of sympathy. Given how Lamia had behaved on the day when they saw the emperor die, it was abundantly clear that she had been somehow involved with the treacherous help—but Prisca didn’t pursue the matter at this moment. She had no proof, whereas she was sure Lamia was more than prepared to talk her way out of the matter. Prisca’s victory this day would have to consist of making sure those preparations went to waste. Anyway, she had more important matters at hand.
“ ”
“—? Yes, Prisca? Whatever’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I simply never imagined that, servants or no, I would ever be entertaining you in my house.”
“Goodness, I’d almost think you don’t like me. Well, I know you don’t like me. Neither of us likes the other.”
The obligations of hospitality held no meaning. After all, Lamia didn’t so much as take a sip of the tea Prisca had offered her. This went double when the person you were entertaining was a blood relation—such was the way of the Volakian Royal Family. To do otherwise was to evince a great deal of trust in one’s host—or else to demonstrate that one had absolutely no enmity toward that person. Otherwise, it would be unimaginable.
Ultimately, neither of these conditions could be hoped for between Prisca and Lamia. But it was precisely because of their relationship, in which only blood could wash away blood, that Lamia’s suggestion was worth considering.
“What do you say? Will you think about your dear older sister’s idea?”
“Fair enough. At the very least, I offer you this much praise: It is an unexpected move. I never thought the first person to approach me for an alliance would be you. I was sure—”
“That I would immediately take advantage of the excuse I finally had to kill you? Ooh, you do know how to push a person’s buttons, Prisca. Surely, you don’t think I would do something so reckless, do you?”
Lamia perched her chin on her hands in imitation of Prisca and smiled cruelly. Mimicking the other person’s behavior was one way of establishing a rapport in conversation. Lamia understood that not through logic but by instinct.
It wouldn’t work on Prisca, naturally, but Lamia didn’t shift positions as she went on to say, “Of course, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t occurred to me to crush you first. But even I know how to use my head, you know. My lovely, perfectly coiffed head.”
“ ”
Prisca didn’t respond.
“Say I impulsively destroyed you—what then? What happens after that? Only an idiot acts without thinking about the consequences. Like our brothers and sisters who didn’t take up the challenge of the Bright Sword. Although, of course, the ones who did, and failed, were even stupider.”
To mock the dead, and dead relatives at that—Prisca winced. It wasn’t due to anger at Lamia’s remark. She was just irritated that, for once, she completely agreed with her sister.
Indeed, thus far, Prisca was in total agreement with Lamia. She shared her disdain for their more cowardly siblings, as well as those who had been incinerated when they tried to take up the sword. And she, too, had briefly considered immediately making her first move of the Rite against her most hated sister.
Most hated, of course, not so much because the two didn’t get along, but because Prisca had judged Lamia to be one of her most dangerous enemies. She had no doubt that Lamia was among those whom she would want to eliminate most swiftly.
There was, however, another, even more deadly foe. Namely…
“Our beloved brother, Vincent Abelks,” Lamia said.
“You never cease to be the most unpleasant woman…”
“I think I’ll take that as a compliment.” Lamia smiled triumphantly, having all but read Prisca’s mind. Prisca felt the bile rise in her throat when she saw the barely concealed viciousness that rested deep in Lamia’s eyes. At least it appeared that she was not the only one struggling to endure the humiliation of talking to the sister she hated most without letting it turn into an outright duel to the death.
“The only way to stand a chance against our brother Vincent is to work together. And as long as I have to work with someone, I see no point in choosing chaff and trash. If you’re going to take poison, who would pick anything but the strongest poison? And besides, I somehow suspect you agree with my assessment.”
“And that’s why you come to me with talk of alliances? Exactly the sort of underhanded scheme you would come up with.”
“Underhanded? I’m hurt. I wish you would say sly.”
“Sly—indeed. The perfect word for a vixen like you. I don’t object.”
Lamia laughed, emitting a sound like a tinkling bell; it was the laughter of someone who was sure that even here, her back was not against the wall. Sure, because her Pruning Force would ensure that Prisca could do no violence to her. It was her private army, recognized as the strongest among all the retinues in Volakia.
It wasn’t as if the Pruning Force was surrounding Prisca’s mansion at that moment, of course—but its very existence posed a threat to her. She and Lamia might be speaking in solitude, just the two of them, and this might be Prisca’s home—but the sisters were certainly not on equal footing. Lamia might look defenseless, but she was anything but, and she knew it.
“ ”
What did Prisca have to contest Lamia’s army? Only the modest forces of the Benedict household—not something she could count on—and Arakiya.
Any alliance between them would not be one of equals. For Lamia, there were virtually no advantages to joining forces with Prisca—other, perhaps, than the perverse satisfaction of forcing Prisca to bend the knee.
“Prisca, I think highly of you. I haven’t the slightest interest in House Benedict. Only you personally.”
“ ” Prisca said nothing.
“So I decided to make you my friend before you became my enemy. Sure, we might have to kill each other before this is over, but that’s all the more reason to play nice now…”
“You’re suggesting you’ll protect me so that I won’t snap like a delicate branch? Awfully conceited of you, I’d say.”
“I’m sorry to hear it bothers you so much. But do you even have the option of saying no?” As she spoke, Lamia spread her arms, making her chest—far more generous than one would have expected for her sixteen years—bounce. Then she looked Prisca straight in the eye and said, “I’ve been preparing for a long time. Getting ready for this very day. Judging by the age of our now-dearly-departed emperor, I knew it would have to come soon. A few years sooner than I expected, perhaps, but within tolerances. I don’t expect any trouble from anyone else, unprepared and thoughtless as they are. Except…”
“Except what?”
“Except who. You and Vincent are different. Everyone knows Vincent is a threat. But you, Prisca—you’re a threat, even if you don’t look like one.”
“ ”
“I know you’re dangerous. The question is, how dangerous? In what way? If you don’t know an animal is venomous until the moment you reach out and it bites you, it’s too late. And so…”
“So you mean to keep me close and observe me?”
“Surely, one sister is allowed to bounce another on her knee?” Lamia uncrossed and recrossed her legs, which were hidden by her skirt, before stroking her own thigh invitingly. She gave a thin smile, the look of a woman who understood that her beauty was one more weapon she could use to bewilder those around her. Many a man would not hesitate to do the unthinkable for a chance to lay a hand on that body. And Lamia Godwin had the allure and the wiles to make them think they could.
Her tricks didn’t work on Prisca, a sibling who hated her, but there was enough value in Lamia’s suggestion that Prisca couldn’t turn her down out of hand. So she didn’t.
Lamia looked at her and nodded in satisfaction. “I never thought I’d have a chance to say this to you—but you don’t need to decide right away. Take as long as you need to reach a favorable answer and then tell me.” Smirking in the knowledge that Prisca couldn’t reject her proposal immediately, Lamia stood up slowly. Then almost languorously, she turned her back on Prisca, as if inviting her to cut her down then and there— No, it was more like she was emphasizing the fact that Prisca wouldn’t, couldn’t rise to the bait. “Ah yes, I’ll be back for my answer… I’m sure you know when.”
“When you’re done pruning, no doubt.”
“Heh-heh. That’s right!” Lamia turned only her head to glance back at Prisca, and then her beautiful, malevolent visage exited the parlor, letting the door close noisily.
“Damned vixen,” Prisca muttered as she watched Lamia leave, not bothering to escort her even out of the room. Lamia knew Prisca’s mansion well enough anyway; she didn’t need a guide. And with the Pruning Force waiting for her outside, there was nothing in the empire that could have stopped her.
With Lamia gone, Prisca was alone in the room—until a new voice spoke. “Princess. Is this all right?” The voice belonged to a silver-haired girl who slipped out from Prisca’s shadow—Arakiya. As Prisca’s attendant and the sole person she could count on in battle, Arakiya alone had been present at the meeting, watching from the shadows. It had been overkill; there had never been any real chance that Lamia would attack Prisca under those circumstances.
In fact, Lamia had probably known she was there.
“There’s no all right about it whatsoever. I have nothing to gain by striking now. Much as it nettles me to say it.”
“You could have had her head.”
“Yes, but think: What would we have lost in exchange? I’m sure you would have taken off her head, had I not insisted that you refrain from doing so.”
“—I hate her. She makes fun of you, Lady Prisca.” Arakiya stubbornly held on, like a child; Prisca put her hand on her chin, pleased with the way Arakiya’s eyes glinted with hostility. The way she wore her heart on her sleeve and the devotion she showed Prisca made her seem like a pet. That adorable side of hers was one of the reasons Prisca kept her around. Unfortunately, the trade-off seemed to be that she wasn’t always the quickest thinker…
“And comparing myself and our older brother—what a bit of cruelty. In any case, I know you will obey the strictures I’ve given you. So long as you do, then you should grow strong and healthy.”
“ ? Yes. I will. I understand.”
She didn’t sound like she really understood, but Prisca knew she would try her hardest. That was enough.
“As for that scheming woman, let her think I’m dancing to her tune for a while. Don’t do anything rash, Arakiya.”
“ ” Arakiya didn’t say anything.
“Arakiya, answer me.” Uneasy that there was no response, Prisca knit her brow.
Finally, Arakiya touched the lock of red hair at her forehead and said, “I wasn’t helpful. Are you mad?”
“What do you mean?”
“I lost. To Master Vincent’s blue-hair.”
“Oh, that.” Prisca remembered: The source of Arakiya’s insecurity was her defeat by the young blue-haired swordsman Vincent had brought along to the mansion the other day. Arakiya rarely fixated on anything other than Prisca, an attitude she justified with her special qualities as a spirit eater and her fighting prowess. To have that self-confidence shaken by a boy her own age must have been quite unsettling for her. To her, it must have seemed that she had failed Prisca. However…
“Fool.”
“Ow!”
…Prisca flicked Arakiya on her drooping forehead, causing tears to brim in her eyes. Prisca found the sight rather endearing, but she repeated “Fool” once again. “I am neither stupid nor mad enough to hold on to tools that are of no use to me. Remember that, Arakiya: It is not your place to denigrate my tools.”
“Even…myself?”
“Do you believe that you are your own?”
“ ”
That drew a wide-eyed look from Arakiya, who quickly shook her head. Her ears flopped with the motion, almost as if she was wagging her tail. And indeed, the tail on her behind was wagging energetically, so perhaps she was feeling better.
“Then, Lady Prisca, what is…pruning?”
“Pruning means to allow plants or trees to grow by cutting away unnecessary leaves and branches. In a word, it’s a chore that will have to be done to seize control of the Rite of Imperial Selection. I have no intention of involving myself in such trifles, but…”
“Yes, Lady? What is it?”
“I think it’s the first thing Lamia will do. That’s just how vulgar she is.”
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