The Iron Palace was built with a stone outer wall to guard its grounds. The Palace itself consisted of an iron-walled first floor, slanted inward at a steep angle, while the second floor had no walls at all. While the first floor suggested the creation of a ziggurat, a set of columns made of iron rose above, ten by ten. Far above, three storeys up perhaps, was supported another floor, but it was little more than a balcony and rampart. Somewhere in the midst of that forest of iron pillars was the shape of a stone keep, plated with iron, where the Emperor’s private quarters were; it also housed his order of priests, the Aura.
From the sweltering streets of Rema, where Vaenuth, Banno, and Tagg travelled, the iron columns were like beams of darkened sunlight, gleaming, but not as brightly as the spear-points of soldiers they passed. The street markets were crowded with vendors, citizens, and workers. They passed someone making fans out of dried reeds, and another man selling fruit he had picked from the riverside. A seamstress, selling dyed silks, was busy putting away a big wicker rack of silkworms while her stall was perused by a dozen women and children.
A narrow line of cast metal led the way down the main street of Rema, until it reached the Palace.
As they neared the Iron Palace, the number of wooden stalls and shouting merchants began to decrease, replaced by a calm hubbub of discussion that mellowed the air from the frenetic buzz of monetary transaction to the obsessive religion of Tag’na.
It was the second day of the five-day week; on both the second and fourth, the Eternal Emperor opened the gates of the Palace for public audience, known as the Three Courts of Rema. On the first day of the week, the Emperor accepted prayers and praise from his devout, while the other days were his private days.
Fearing such radicalism, Vaenuth had decided not to bring Iloli. Some of her caravan observed the faith—the Ascendancy, as it was called—but Iloli was the only one in Vaenuth’s inner circle who wanted to see the Emperor when able to.
The outer gates, big iron doors set in a tall stone wall, were already swung outward. Their hinges did not open inward. The opening was guarded by a dozen members of the Emperor’s Aura, their burnt orange robe forming a fiery screen for entry. Soldiers in complex, customized armour stood inside and out, spears and sabres bristling for the slightest threat. Banno and Tagg went ahead and behind Vaenuth as they pressed through the crowded lines to the Aura.
They were not asked any questions, merely examined visually. Vaenuth had worn her blue vest and jewelry this time, but the men and women in robes barely gave her a second look, nor the dagger at her side.
Once admitted to the massive courtyard, Banno and Tagg regrouped with her. There were hundreds here, and shouted voices in the distance taunted the Third Court of Rema. They passed a few beggars, and at least one woman that Vaenuth was sure was a prostitute, with only a transparent grey dress on her concealing nothing. One cluster of men with swords and chain armour surrounded a banner that used an Old Numa script as a mercenary sigil. Banno said, ‘it reads Treasure Guard’, as they passed. They had heard of the Treasury Guard before, an elite company of sellswords.
Closer to the Third Court, they marched. With a small amphitheatre built against the base of the Iron Palace’s first floor, the crowded bowl offered them a view of the Court past the small army of guards. Twenty lords and ladies, known as the Selected, sat around the theatre, while members of the public brought their complaints, questions, and concerns onto the stage. It was practically a procession across the stage, with the lords haggling and shouting when necessary. The chaos only paused when one of the Selected stood up; then they would all discuss the matter with whomever was on stage. Mostly, the Third Court dealt in issues of the common law: marriage licenses, divorces, crimes, loans.
It was, unfortunately, the only way to reach the Second Court. Vaenuth was certain she would not find Ovoe the Keeper discussing such matters with the common rabble.
Banno led the way, forcing their way into the line; nearly twenty minutes passed as they shambled down the steps into the amphitheatre. Vaenuth spent the time listening to the debates, though it was mostly a passing of turns between all of the Selected, where each would have the final say on the issue. Six or seven times, while they waited, the Selected instructed the Emperor’s Aura to guide the concerned public party to the Second Court, and a few of those were people with correspondence for a lord or lady there.
At last, it was Vaenuth’s turn to pace the stage. “Next,” called one of the Selected, a heavyset woman with unmarked dark skin. She eyed the caravaneers with disdain, and said a comment under her breath to one of her friends. They smiled and looked at Vaenuth.
“I bear a letter for the Keeper,” Vaenuth said, straight to the point. “Ovoe.”
The fat woman sat up straight, and swallowed her mouthful of wine in surprise. “Aura,” she intoned. “Please bring this woman and her comrades to the Second Court.”
There were no more comments about her appearance. A man in an orange robe bowed to her and held out his hands. The Aura never spoke, only permeated the space around the Emperor. The man had a scar under one of his blue eyes, but his head was shaved like all the others. Vaenuth bowed to the Court sarcastically.
They climbed the fifty steps to the iron columns of the Palace. Within the square created by the first four columns, the Second Court of Rema was held. Here, the proper Councillors of Numa’nakres sat in raised chairs where they spoke with the commoners and the lords and ladies of their realm that came forward. Matters here were more decisive and important. Though the First Court handled laws, many exemptions were issues by the Second Court. Vaenuth and her friends still had to wait in a line, on the steps, but it was not a long one. They sat on the hot rock stones like many of the others were.
Ahead of them was a man with four heavily armed guards; the fellow wore a silk robe and golden jewelry. He kept looking over at Vaenuth, her white skin, tattoos, and revealing vest, and smiling at her. She tried to ignore him. If they’d been in a bar, she’d have smashed his nose off the counter.
“Want me to make him look the other way?” Tagg asked. He didn’t even bother with keeping quiet, but it didn’t seem to bother the offending party.
Vaenuth shook her head. Let them look. If she was the talk of the capital that night, she’d be a rich woman soon enough. Even if it was because of her ink. “We won’t be waiting much longer,” she assured them, with a smile. She wouldn’t be rich until she had finished her task, until she had killed that horrible man on the other side of the world. She just needed to know his name.
At last, they were welcomed before the Second Court. There were fourteen Councillors here, seven men and seven women, of varying ages. Most were black-skinned, but four looked olive skinned, like people from Radregar. The shadows under the distant ceiling were blocked by colourful partitions behind the Councillors. Somewhere across the huge expanse of this Palace, the Eternal Emperor and his own inner circle held the First Court. Vaenuth enjoyed the publicity Kivrad’s favour was granting her, but she had no desire to go before that Court.
“Welcome…” drawled an elder man without a hair on his wrinkled head. The speaker wore a tunic composed entirely of shiny beads that made no particular pattern.
They seemed to be waiting for a name. “I’m Vaenuth,” she said, and stepped forward. They sat in a semicircle, with the forest of iron columns at their back.
“Of what family?” asked one of the women. One or two people had made note of her already.
“None,” Vaenuth said, with her lips pulled back. Should she bend over and show them her slave brand? She wished she could spit at their request of ‘what family?’ She knew such an offense could cost her tongue.
A young man with a chisel chin spoke up next. “And what matter have you brought to us today, Vaenuth the orphan?”
Vaenuth trembled. “I bear a letter,” she said. “Business between myself and Ovoe the Keeper.”
There was silence for a few moments and the fourteen Councillors exchanged glances. At last, the eldest of them jingled his beaded shirt once more and said, “I see. Please present this letter. We will not open it.”
Vaenuth shrugged. “It is in my scabbard,” she said, and when no one reacted, she slowly drew her large knife. The folded paper was undamaged, and she straightened out its crease before stepping forward. She showed them the wax seal.
“It is Kivrad of Rainrest,” said the closest Councillor, a middle-aged olive woman. “Why do you act on his behalf?”
“I don’t,” Vaenuth said. She briefly explained that it was his favour, leaving out any specific information about the job she had done for him.
They seemed content. “Aura, bring this letter—unopened—to the Keeper.”
A woman with a shaved head and copper robe stepped up to Vaenuth with awaiting hands. The Emperor’s Aura was everywhere, tendrils of his magic that leeched everything in his web inward to him. Vaenuth gave the woman the sealed letter and she silently walked past the red and blue partitions into the rest of the Iron Palace.
“Will we wait?” Vaenuth asked.
The old man nodded. “Ovoe the Keeper sits in the First Court, Vaenuth. He will read your letter and determine what shall be done.”
It did not take long, to Vaenuth’s reply. No more than ten minutes passed, and the same member of the Aura brought a folded parchment to the old man in beads. He raised an eyebrow. “Ovoe will speak with you privately. And alone. Please follow.”
The Aura held out her hand toward the left of the Councillors’ seating.
“Wait on the steps for me,” Vaenuth said to Banno and Tagg.
“Are you sure?” Banno asked. “Do you trust them?”
“No,” Vaenuth said. “But I’ve survived people like them before. I’ll see you soon enough.” She smiled to Banno, her loyal friend. Then, she quietly thanked the Second Court and followed the Aura.
The Iron Palace was hot, despite the darkness within its metal columns. The woman in front of her was quiet and walked evenly, unlike Vaenuth’s casual gait, and she did not seem to sweat at all, despite how the Palace seemed to hold the sun’s heat within its open spaces. They passed other people: some members of the Aura; a few men sharing a wine sat on cushions nearby while their servants cooled them with colourful canvas fans; a pair of elderly woman argued to one another as they stood on the edge of the platform, with angled sunlight illuminating the dust and incense smoke that wafted toward the massive ceiling; some young people played a card game at a small stone table.
At last, the Aura stopped, and waved her forward. A man with bright white hair leaned against a nearby columns, shirtless. He was not muscular, but did not look unhealthy either. He was not armed. She was confused at first, because his body was not that of an old man. When he rose from his lean and tossed away the letter he had been holding, she realized his tightly woven hair was dyed white and that he was only a middle-aged man.
Vaenuth glanced back at the Aura, but the young woman had gone. “Are you Ovoe?” she asked the stranger.
“I am,” he said, quietly. His voice was slow, calm, and bespoke a faint accent of some kind. “You are Vaenuth, a sand merchant.”
She took a breath and began to defend her case. “I proved my—”
Ovoe raised a hand and smiled. His teeth were perfect. “Ah-ah-ah… Kivrad spoke of you in the letter and you need not defend yourself…” He paused before some words, but not to think of them, simply to savour the pace of them. “First, welcome to the Iron Palace.”
Vaenuth smiled. “Thank you.”
“Are you comfortable? This old place may be made out of metal, but we enjoy… everything here,” Ovoe said.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Ovoe laughed, quietly. “Wine,” he said. He did not call it out, but without a moment’s rest, the Aura appeared from the shadows, with a small folding table and a pitcher of wine. Ovoe watched them set it up and pour two glasses, then asked, “Would you like anything?”
Vaenuth sighed. “I’ll have a wine, I guess.”
“No,” Ovoe said. “You’ll have whatever you want.”
“I came here to ask a favour, or to make a bargain,” Vaenuth explained. “That’s—”
Ovoe chuckled again. His eyes did not leave hers, despite her appearance. “Oh, do not misunderstand. This is no trick to give you your favour as a drink…”
“Oh.” Vaenuth hadn’t truly thought it was, but she was wary.
“Calm down,” he said, erring on the side of patronizing her. “You want water? Beer? Ale? Soma? Drops?”
Before he continued listing drugs, she interrupted. “I’m thirsty, in truth. A water would be nice.”
He didn’t say anything else, but the Aura appeared again, this time in the shape of a young man bearing a big pitcher of water. Another cup was placed on the short table and water poured for her. Vaenuth took it, and took a sip. “Thanks,” she said.
“I’ll ask you once more. Are you comfortable?”
“A little hot,” she said.
Another orange robe broke the shadows, and a large cloth fan began pushing a breeze at Vaenuth. She smiled. There were ears everywhere, but she came here to be heard, and she realized she was not afraid. She was at ease.
“Do as you would,” Ovoe said. “Whenever you are a guest here, you enjoy the same benefits as we do. Such is his Ascendance’s favour. Embrace it, fully. We will discuss business at whatever leisure we desire.”
Vaenuth smiled. “Very well.” He was going to see her slave brand soon enough, if they agreed on their task, and she was hot. The iron columns pulsed with warmth. With a slight smile—there was still some thrill to it—she shrugged and dropped her blue vest from around her shoulders, into one hand. Ovoe watched her, without ogling, and sipped his wine. She turned around, and set the vest against the base of a nearby pillar, and then faced him again.
“I’m glad I did get to see you,” she said, trying to calm her nerves about business and all of the state procedures to get here. “Do you receive many such letters?”
Ovoe smiled, slyly. “You’re entirely unique, Vaenuth.”
She blushed ever so slightly, for his remark held a double meaning. “You said—Should I put that—”
Ovoe lifted his hand and grinned. “I’m sorry, it was a poor jest. I’ve seen much more indecency amongst these pillars. As for the letter itself, it was not too uncommon. I deal in information.”
“You’re a spy?” she asked. She took a drink of water.
“Everyone on his Ascendance’s inner circle is,” Ovoe said. “But we spend most of our time plotting amongst one another. Kivrad is an old business colleague. He wrote that you are a ruthless survivor, not just a ruthless merchant. He suggests I grant you a favour simply as a blessing for our friendship.”
“We’re to be friends?” Vaenuth asked. She knew what he meant, but she preferred to lead with questions, not answers.
Ovoe shrugged. “Everyone is my friend,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. “You asked for someone with certain knowledge did you not?”
“I want you to find someone for me,” she said. “A name, a location…”
“An ordinary request for someone in my position,” he said.
“When I was a child, I was captured by slavers from my home in Bellasa. I was sold at a slave market, you can guess what for,” she said, her voice stern. “I will find the man responsible.”
“The man who first enslaved you in Bellasa?”
Vaenuth nodded.
Ovoe pursed his lips. After a moment, he took a sip of his wine, savoured it, then swallowed. “Very well,” he said, quietly. He asked for a writing board, and held out his hands. This time, close to a minute passed, and he was handed a small clay tablet and a shiny metal blade. “Turn around. I will draw your brand.”
Vaenuth sighed. Despite all of her attempts to change and own her body, she still felt uncomfortable when focus was placed on that brand. Nonetheless, she showed him her back. He was silent as he worked, but it only lasted a moment. She watched the orange-robed servant swishing the fan at her, and smiled to her.
“Thank you,” he said, and she turned back to face him. She took a sip of her water, which had been served in a cool glass. “I will look into this, but you must understand how busy I am.”
“Of course,” Vaenuth said. Her heart was racing and it wasn’t the heat. “Thank you, thank you so much…”
“Kivrad owes me one,” Ovoe said, with a joking smile. “Please return to the Palace next week, and skip the First Court. Good day, Vaenuth.”
She grinned. “Good day,” she breathed.