Endworlds - Nicholas Read [63]
Training would be stepped up for the Three From Above, so fortuitously delivered to them a few short years ago. A search would commence for the Two From Below.
The Clansfrau prophecy may have been murky, but it was clear enough for them to make a start.
THOUGH THEIR BODIES were bloodless and a fiery tide now lit their veins, the Fae’er had learned that immortality came with neither immunity from fatigue nor a reprieve from sleep. So with the day’s ministrations now complete and her Chakanni-khi dismissed till next dawn, Queen Fae’Elayen finally reclined on her billet in a purple robe and arched her back in a long feline stretch to unkink the knots, her thoughts her own as she kneaded pressure points in the soft flesh of her feet.
It wasn’t long before she began to drift, scenes from the spent day taking center stage in her mind, a nondescript echo of music in the wings, and soon above all, the honey-malt voice she knew so well, clear enough to have been in bed beside her, as he once had been, long ago.
Were her eyes open, she would have seen the lights in her room dim ever so slightly, a lengthening of shadows, her breath becoming faint clouds of fog in the suddenly chilled air. But she was too tired to notice these changes or the hairs prickling on her neck as tears welled in her eyes. Such was the effect of a Dae’mon’s presence on a corporeal being, driving a surge of adrenals at the same time as drawing off that surplus energy and placing the body under imperceptible duress. The mind may not have registered the milking, but the body never lied.
But so familiar was she with his companionship, so seduced by his kindness, she did not think of him as a threat. In fact, she counted Grand Ephir Bøsexiéède as one of her oldest allies, a voice of certainty against confusion, a candle in the dark, and a thrill to be around. He had been so before being voted Grand and before even being promoted to Ephir, back before politics split the Fae’er into two camps.
“From all accounts, you moved the cause forward today.”
Bøsexiéède was flattering. Few were these days she reminded herself. She replied, dreamily, her eyes still closed. “Bösexiéède, thank you for coming. Surely you give me credit where it is due one of my Braces.”
“Maybe so, wise queen. But who is it that tutored handsome Aragenti?”
She chuckled at his name, as the shade’s fingers pressed imperceptibly into the receptors of her mind that serve as both axon and dendrite, embedding opinion as memory into the very cells of her body. “I did. And yes he is handsome, not that you need be jealous, Bø.”
“Your Majesty’s heart is sufficient for all your people, and your Affairs are your own. He chose his trigger words with care. Tell me, by what other name did we once know the Builders?”
“The Self Existing Ones.”
“Yes, how well you remember. And why were they called that?”
“You tease me, Bø.” She turned in her bed, her pillow inviting. “Unlike us mere mortals, they require no higher power to sustain them. They live by the golden rule.”
“Whoever has the gold makes the rules!”
An ancient joke they had shared. She chuckled at it now, the familiarity pleasing her.
“Yet you are no longer mortal, sweet Elayen. And surely more than enough gold fills your regal veins for you to make the rules. You are more like the Builders than you know. What do the Builders most need to see in you, to see that their children have become as one of them, worthy to raise up at last?”
Too many thoughts! All she craved was sleep. “I don’t know this riddle, Bø. You tell me.” The music was louder now, lulling her away.
“I need not tell you what you already know to be true. If you will be raised as a Builder, by whose rules must you live?”
A flicker of interest on the precipice of sleep. “By theirs. Obedience is one of the