II—Soriana Capri of Lucia

Soriana Capri, daughter of Lord and Lady Capri, fanned herself. On this hot summer day the coach sliders had to stay open or else she might die.

“Gods it’s hot,” she complained. “We should have brought a weather mage.”

“It will not be long now.”

“Brassian, that is what you said nearly an hour ago!”

He smiled.

The coach bumped along on the road. The interior was fashioned with the finest woods and lacquers that money could buy, the leather on the plush seats smooth. But in this heat, Soriana was beginning to wish for felt lined cushions.

Gods it’s hot!

“What is this foolish gathering all about, anyway?” Does Her Majesty the Empress truly wish to parley with those backstabbing Florencians? So greedy, the lot of them.

“That is what mother and father seem to think.”

“It’s never worked,” she said. “I don’t see why we’re going to all this trouble—or why the Florencians are buying this ploy.”

“You think it’s a ploy?”

She shrugged, an eyebrow going up. Soriana was a shrewd, no nonsense woman. She did not believe in fairy tales, and this idea of a parley between Lucia and Florencia was nothing but.

“What else can it be?” Our lady empress has finally come up with a plan to do away with those Florencian scum. “It will be bloody—I assure you. Be ready, my brother.”

He looked at her skeptically. With his shock of blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, he looked much like his older sister. But Soriana was far more the attractive sibling.

She glanced out the coach window. The hills were made up of a rolling countryside of green grass, flower patches, farms and trees of the cypro variety. They were thin and thick, not losing their leaves even in the winter.

Ahead of them on the road, Soriana could see the tail end of the second coach where Remini and Tilia, their father and mother, were.

She sighed heavily.

“Though she is a dreamer,” Soriana complained.

“What?”

“Our fool of an empress.”

Brassian’s eyes widened. “Hush, sister. That is our empress you speak of! It is treason to utter such insults.”

Smiling, she said, “It’s fine, Brassian. No one can hear us in the coach.”

“But still,” he said, glancing out the window as if someone could hear them.

It made her smile deepen and she laughed melodically.

“We don’t want to make a habit of that behavior, now do we?”

She shrugged playfully. “I just wonder if she and Emperor Justin have hatched some scheme together.” Then under her breath she muttered, “If it weren’t for the Battle of the Dead Emperors, we would have a ruler with a modicum of strength.”

“More treasons, I see.”

Do not be so afraid. What are we, sheep?

“I said it quietly.”

“If father were here, he would scold you.”

She laughed.

“And mother would thrash you.”

“Please,” she said. “We are not children any longer, Brassian. You must think for yourself. Gods, I can’t wait to see Liandra.”

“What makes you think she is even coming?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Brother, the summons is for all the nobility—not a select few. Did you not read the letter?”

“Of course I read it!”

“Read it again!”

“Whoa!” the driver called, and the carriage slowed.

The fool actually had the audacity to rein in the horses enough to make Soriana need to brace herself with her foot.

“I think we’re there!” Brassian said excitedly.

“Calm yourself, Brother. Do not comport yourself like a commoner.”

He looked at her with the good sense to seem somewhat contrite. With a nod, he waited for the coachman to open the door, but before exiting, he asked, “How do I look?”

She smiled. That was more like it. “Excellent,” she said.

He stepped out, and as she followed him, he turned to take her hand as she stepped down.

She breathed in the fresh air and aggravatedly swatted at a small bug that flew near her face. She missed, so instead she fried the godsdamned little creature with a magically projected plume of energy.

“What, I was killing the retched thing.”

“It is a bug.”

Ignoring him, she stepped forward and glanced down the tree-lined road. Carriages were lined up as far as the eye could see.

She made a noise of impatience.

“Why do we have to be this far from the House of Gates?”

“I’m sorry, Lady Capri,” the coachman said. He wore fine trousers and a silk vest. Only the best for the House Capri servants. “It seems with the number of carriages, this is as close as we can get.”

“Do not make assumptions, Anton,” she snapped with a pointed finger. “Go and find out for certain, you fool!”

Remini strode over.

Gods, father, your paunch is getting bigger by the day.

“And so we have arrived,” she said.

“Indeed, my daughter,” he said with a big smile. “Brassian, I do believe the last time you saw the House of Gates was when you were not more than twelve years old.”

“Yes father.”

“Gods it’s so hot,” Tilia complained as she tightened her coat around her neck. “And there are insects.”

“My Gods,” Remini said with an air of impatience. “We are outside. Of course there are bugs. You’re going to burn up in your coat, Darling.”

She turned about without a word and went back into the carriage.

“Now,” he said, sounding devious, “we will find out what this ‘parley’ is all about, shall we?”

Soriana did not say what she had told Brassian earlier.

It was important for children to grow up—to be independent and to find their own way—to break away from the old and tired beliefs of their parents.

“Indeed,” she said with a smile.