“Xel!” I say, while my temples start racing wildly, with a combination of discomfort, embarrassment, and a kind of pleasant relief at the sight of him.
Oh my lord, what must Xel think of me now? And for that matter, what must Aeson think?
While I am still worrying over this, Xel turns to Aeson. “Congratulations, I am impressed. I see you’ve chosen her after all, My Imperial Lord,” he says. “I didn’t think you would have the guts to do it. . . . You’ve proven me wrong.”
Aeson looks at him without blinking. “Careful, Xel.” But there is a faint smile at the corners of his lips as he speaks.
“What’s the use of being careful when My Imperial Lord Kassiopei has taken the best for himself, and left me with nothing but sweet memories and a broken heart?” Xelio says with a strange mixture of bittersweet mockery and amusement, looking from Aeson to me.
And just as my own smile starts to falter, in a pang of worry, Xel winks at me and gives Aeson a slightly feral grin baring his white perfect teeth. “I’m watching you, My Prince—take very good care of this new precious jewel in your crown.”
“Or I will have to answer to you—I know,” Aeson replies, with calm amusement. “And yes, she is a jewel indeed.”
I take a deep breath. “Okay, you both need to please stop talking about me in third person and in extended metaphors. I’m right here, and this Court Protocol double-talk is silly!”
Aeson glances at me, raising one eyebrow. Xel turns to me and starts to chuckle. “And now the jewel sparkles so bright it blinds me. . . .”
“Seriously?” My lips part and I glare at Xel with annoyance.
“My Imperial Lady, and now I am unequivocally blinded by you. Well then, I obey—for I am yours,” he replies with a tiny bow.
Oh my Gawd, this is insane! The worst part is, I’m not even entirely sure if both of them are in fact kidding.
“Wisely spoken,” Aeson adds, watching me all this while without taking his eyes off me.
“Wisdom is all I have left to me,” Xel says, keeping his mouth very tight. And then he adds, with a meaningful stare at me, a stare that momentarily loses the humor. “If he hadn’t claimed you, I would have—My Imperial Lady.”
I blink, watching the moment of fierce intensity in Xel’s black eyes.
And the next moment, the sound of deep bass tones comes from the Pharikoneon Gates, as unseen wind instruments fill the air with a profound C Major chord.
It is time. . . .
The rest of the Court enters through the wide gates while Aeson and I are taken aside and directed by special servants to a small discreet door in the colonnade-lined wall of the ante-chamber. We enter a strange hidden passage that apparently runs through the walls of the Palace and leads directly to the Throne.
Here Aeson takes my hand and squeezes it hard with his warm powerful own. “Remember, I will be there, waiting for you. . . . It will be quick and over before you know it, I’ll see you in a few moments! You know exactly what to do, do not hesitate, it is nothing!”
I nod, while breath catches in my throat. Aeson smiles with reassurance at me and then walks quickly through the narrow passage, turning out of sight. I know he is heading for the hidden chamber directly behind the Throne, used by the Imperator and his family to make a dramatic entrance onto the dais.
I, meanwhile, must make my journey to the Throne alone, this once—I have to walk the red path by myself, before the entire Court.
The servants take me a few steps along the dim passage and toward another doorway which opens inside the Pharikoneon chamber. I stand there, paused before the closed door, waiting for the sounds of the wind instruments to die down, as previously instructed by Consul Denu. I can hear the noise and hum of the Court settling in their places, and then a pause, followed by more rich musical tones indicating the entrance of the Imperator and the Imperial Family.
I start counting seconds in my mind.
And then, just before I go insane, I hear it, the deep oboe-like sound that is supposed to signal my entrance.
The small door opens for me, and I step out into a spotlight. . . .
I find myself near the formal opening of the Pharikoneon chamber, at the very entrance just beyond the gates. On the opposite wall, all the way across the chamber, are the Imperial Throne and the Imperial Seats, framed against a wall of pure gold with the sunburst relief.
The Throne is occupied—I see the Imperator in a deep violet and black robe, and on the golden lesser throne to his left, the Imperatris in shimmering mauve and gold, and next to her, on a backless golden bench, the Imperial Princess Manala dressed in jade and gold. Aeson sits to the right of the Imperator in the other lesser throne. The empty golden bench next to him indicates my own designated place.
To get there, I must traverse the length of the Pharikoneon.
I blink. . . .
The grand chamber is so vast that the distant ceiling—formed like an inverted stair pyramid, reminiscent of a temple—is cast in shadows and darkness. The room perimeter is lined with massive column supports of mauve stone. Wow—okay, on some deep level the daughter of a classical historian in me is going nuts, seeing this architecture. . . .
But little of it registers properly right now, because the chamber is filled to capacity with Atlantean nobility—glamorous, bejeweled, haughty people, all looking at me.
They stand at the six designated sections, three on both sides of the central red path. The first section—closest to me and the entrance—is paved in rust orange, designating Low Court. Next, comes a red floor divider strip, and a yellow cream floor section, which is Middle Court. Finally, there’s another red floor strip and at last, pale off-white stone tiles indicating High Court, beyond which begins the dais and the Imperial Throne.
When the Imperial Court is in session, only members of the Imperial Family are allowed to tread on the red portion of the stone floor.
I take a deep breath, and take a step forward onto the red floor tiles. . . .
The spotlight, coming from an invisible light source from above, follows me. The moment I begin to move, the gold and faceted jewels on my outfit reflect the light wildly, and I become a mirror of light . . . at least it seems that way, as I see the bright blinding radiance coming from me, the fabric, the skirt, the sleeves—everything visually dances. . . .
Stand up straight, Gwen Lark, I chant to myself in my mind. Shoulders wide, back straight, head held high. There are a thousand eyes on you, don’t let them see you nervous. You represent Earth!
My soft slippers make no sound upon the tiles. The red path stretches in a straight line before me, culminating at the dais across the room. Its length, maybe five hundred feet. . . .
I start walking.
I look straight ahead, seeing with my peripheral vision the silent faces of the people lining the path on both sides, eyes following me, occasional traces of whispers moving in faint waves. Somewhere among them are my sister Gracie and my brother Gordie, but right now I can’t make them out in the crowd.
And then the snow starts falling.
What?
I see tiny sparks of light, like dust motes, begin raining down from the ceiling. They swirl, sail down gently, and there are millions of them, tiny, glowing, ethereal fireflies. . . . They seem to land on people’s heads, clothing, the floor, and fade away, winking out of existence. Or maybe it’s an optical illusion, as they continue to swirl about, filling the great chamber with points of microscopic starlight.
My breath catches, and I move through the amazing light show, which momentarily distracts me from being nervous by its sheer beauty.
What are those tiny things? I wonder, as I see them come down on my own clothing, hair, even along the skin of my face. I feel no warmth or heat, in fact no sensation of physical contact.
Furthermore, it seems that the sparks are not aimless, but are levitating of their own accord, before they happen to land and dissolve into nothing, or move away, bouncing off my skin. . . . There i
s no end to them, as they keep falling, or maybe simply soar everywhere without landing.
What in the world are they?
I continue walking, and at last I am at the bottom step before the dais of the Imperial Throne.
I pause momentarily, seeing the Imperial Kassiopei Family seated before me, watching in formal silence. Aeson’s encouraging warm gaze bores into mine, as though he is sending me his own strength. His mother’s gentle eyes are upon me, and Manala’s expression is energetic and joyful.
Only the Imperator himself observes me with a basilisk stare.
But I ignore him.
I climb the five steps up the dais and stop before Aeson, my Bridegroom. His hand extends toward me and I take it with my own, then turn around, facing the great expanse of the chamber and sit down on the golden bench.
Phew . . . I did it!
There is a long moment of silence, and then the Imperator’s cold powerful voice rings out, speaking in Atlanteo:
“My Court Opens.”
Chapter 14
I admit, here’s where my mind and attention loses focus. Because now that I’ve done my formal part of making an entrance, and the Imperator has spoken, the rest seems to be just a bunch of confusing and irrelevant ceremonial stuff.
And so I sit very stiffly next to Aeson and listen to the proceedings. For about twenty minutes the Imperator receives various important courtiers and makes formal pronouncements, granting favors apparently, as the important Atlanteans bow deeply and take their places among the three designated sections of Court. Moving among them are gold-robed priests of various sects, and they glide before the Throne with ritualized movements, serving to present the petitioners, and mark some of the Imperator’s pronouncements with ornate gestures like dance. Incense-filled levitating censers sail before us through the air, and other thuribles manually suspended on chains are carried past the Thrones. Those are the only interesting moments, so I watch the golden priest dancers, enthralled by their performance . . . until the next important petitioner or long-winded noble takes their place, at which point I zone out.
Aeson glances at me frequently, and smiles in reassurance, while his hand remains clasping mine. “Not much longer,” his gaze seems to say.
What a boring nightmare this is, I start thinking. How can these royals endure this ritualized nonsense?
I eagerly wait for this to be over, and the next, more casual portion of the Court Assembly to begin—the part where we can rise and mingle, as I have been told will happen eventually.
But first, one more tedious and annoying thing must happen. At least I know what to expect—the formal announcement of our Wedding Date, followed by the Imperial Gift to the Crown Prince.
At last, the deep musical tones of the hidden wind instruments fill the air, and the Imperator raises his hand for silence and turns to look at Aeson and me.
“My Son and Your Bride, I have decided that your Wedding will be held on the Ninth Day of Red Amrevet. The Imperial Palace will begin preparations immediately.”
We incline our heads in courtly acknowledgement.
“And now,” the Imperator continues, “Aeson, I make my gift to you. Rise, and be Honored.”
Aeson immediately stands up and descends the dais to stand before the Throne. I watch the strange formality wherein the Imperial Crown Prince must be facing the Imperator from a level below.
“Tonight, Aeson, My Son, I give you the Golden Bay of Poseidon, with all the waters surrounding it, and all the air space above it.”
Aeson inclines his head deeply. “My Father, I thank you. It is a most generous gift, I am well pleased.” He then walks back up the dais, and stops before the Imperator.
Romhutat Kassiopei, the Archaeon Imperator of Atlantida, extends his hand. His son bows again, this time placing his forehead against the hand in a sign of Imperial obedience. Then he returns to his seat next to me.
Phew, that’s done also! I think. And now, we even have an official wedding date.
The musical sounds of oboe form another grand C Major chord.
Aeson glances at me with a quick smile.
“We’re almost done with this thing,” his expression seems to tell me.
But the Imperator raises his hand again. His head turns, and he is looking in our direction once more—only this time, he is looking directly at me.
“Gwen, my new daughter, I have decided to give you a gift also. Rise, and be Honored.”
Okay, what?
I get up, while nervous surges of electricity rip through my gut. Doing what Aeson did, I descend the dais, stepping carefully on each stair in my exquisite slippers, and stand before the Throne.
The Imperator’s serpent eyes examine me, as he observes my progress.
“It has come to my attention, Gwen, my daughter, that you have a long-standing wish for which you have been striving, all this past year while you made the journey here on board our Fleet ships. You have worked very hard to achieve it, and your efforts have been admirable. Your wish is to enter and compete in the Games of the Atlantis Grail—”
As soon as he says it, my heart slams inside my chest, losing its rhythm. Meanwhile the Pharikoneon chamber fills with loud exclamations and whispers.
I look at the Imperator but instead see Aeson next to him, as he suddenly sits forward in his chair, and his lapis lazuli eyes widen with intensity.
“Tell me, Gwen Lark,” the Imperator continues, his voice gathering power and volume. “Is it true that you have been training for months with the help of several others such as the son of Vekahat, to improve your strength and endurance and fighting abilities?”
“I—” I start to speak but my voice fades. My breathing is faint and shallow. “Well . . . yes . . .” I say. “But—”
At my answer, the Imperator slowly smiles.
“Good. My daughter, it pleases me to grant you this wish. It is my Imperial Decree that you will enter this year’s Games as a competitor, going directly past the Pre-Games Trials into the official Contender lineup—”
“Father! No!” Aeson’s voice cuts in.
But the Imperator ignores him. “You will compete with the rest of the entrants, in all four stages of the Games. Fortunately, the event will be concluded in time for the wedding. Such is my gift to you.”
My lips part. . . . There is only cold, an impossible cold filling me. . . .
It is not possible to refuse the gift of the Imperator, I recall. It is not allowed.
“My Sovereign Lord, thank you . . .” I barely manage to say, hearing my own suddenly impotent voice echoing through the new silence of the chamber.
The Imperator watches me, and there is a shadow of that smile, imprinted on his hard austere lips.
Without having to be told, I know what I must do next.
I climb back up the five stairs of the dais. The Imperator’s hand extends to me. . . . I do what Aeson has done: lower my forehead to rest against it in a brief cold moment of contact.
It’s like touching my forehead to death itself.
I draw back then return to my seat next to my Bridegroom, whose expression has grown dark and tragic, and whose gaze of perfect despair now reflects a shadow of that same death I had felt momentarily when I touched the Imperator.
In my wake, two golden-clad priests emerge from the right and left of the dais. They converge and glide past each other soundlessly before the Throne, flanked by incense-filled levitating censers, wafting their delicate aroma in our direction. . . .
The great chamber around me is still plunged in a sea of whispers. There is shock and confusion, and grim satisfaction, and even generous pity. . . . But I know none of it.
I sit frozen to stone, while Aeson’s large hand clutches mine, hard, fierce, desperate.
I’ve just been given a death sentence.
The formal portion of the Imperial Court Assembly ends soon after, and we are permitted to descend the steps while the Imperator and Imperatris remain enthroned, watching the room.
Aeson continues clutching my hand, and I his, as he gets up and pulls me after him, with Manala rising swiftly to follow us. I realize that both our hands are shaking. . . . And when I look at him, I see my Bridegroom is pale with despair and fury.
I have never seen Aeson so terrifying.
Trumpets and oboes sound, and a portion of the floor is cleared for dancing. But the mood in the chamber is still volatile, as everyone continues to look at me, especially now as we walk away from the Thrones.
“Aeson!” I say. “What’s happened?”
It’s a stupid thing to say, I realize, but I have a desperate need to speak, to say something.
But Aeson continues dragging me by his side and does not reply. My beloved Prince has turned into a serpent of darkness, and he frightens me, at a time when I am already scared out of my wits.
“Aeson?”
Manala hurries after us, her own eyes wide with fear and shock. I feel the gentle touch of her hand against my arm as she catches up and then walks at my side. “Manala . . .” I begin to say.
“Oh, Gwen! I am so sorry! I am so sorry!” she whispers in a tumult of words, looking into my eyes.
But there is no time to speak, because Aeson maneuvers us quickly through the chamber.
Various Atlantean courtiers step aside, with bows and nods, making way for us, as we pass the stone tile section of High Court. Here I see many men and women in gold filigree skull caps and long white and gold robes—members of the Poseidon Imperial Executive Council. Two of them, a worn-faced man with river red clay skin, and a middle-aged woman with severe dark hair pinned up under the skull cap, step forward and advance toward Aeson.
“My Imperial Lord, a moment of your time—” says the man, nodding with formality.