If you're as strong and mighty as you say you are, you wouldn't be afraid. -- Erin Entrada Kelly, Lalani of the Distant Sea
Liameon Palace was widely considered the last word in elegance. If it was fashionable or expensive, Princess Líusal Hartannasvóeln had it somewhere in her home. People would travel for miles just to get a glimpse of her famous collections.
Abihira had witnessed Mirio's ill-advised attempt at painting. She'd encountered a disturbing number of corpses in all stages of decomposition. She'd even been seen some of the more bizarre styles of clothing in both Seroyawa and Saoridhlém.
Yet she had never seen such a cluttered eyesore as her older sister's house.
Pottery from five different eras shared a shelf with dolls made in Lianruil, sporting ghastly grins dressed in clothes so colourless and moth-eaten they were practically rags. No matter where she turned she found suits of armour, so flawlessly clean and undamaged it was obvious they had never been worn in a battle. An entire wing of the palace was devoted to opera costumes. Several rooms were given over to jewellery and headdresses -- most of them replicas of long-lost originals.
How anyone can live in a glorified museum is beyond me, she thought, side-stepping a rug made of bedraggled phoenix feathers.
Líusal and her family lived at the back of the palace, where the sightseers were forbidden from intruding. It should have been easy for Abihira to find her way there. She was the princess's sister. Her visit was expected. The servants at the entrance hall had told her where to go and even offered to lead her there. But she had stupidly thought it would be easy to find on her own. Now she was in a room displaying various carpets and rugs, and she had to admit she was well and truly lost.
Transportation spells were one of the first things magicians learnt. They were also extremely unreliable when used indoors. If she tried to cast one here she would probably end up in Líusal's living room. Only problem was, she would probably also take the entire display room with her.
Every immortal who was capable of telepathy could communicate with other immortals over great distances. Abihira had long since forgotten how to specifically send a message to Líusal, even if she'd ever known it. Instead she broadcast a message to everyone in the house.
This building is a damn maze, she shouted to anyone who cared to listen. Someone please tell me where I am!
A vague feeling of surprised amusement brushed against the edges of her awareness, probably from the servants or the visitors. Telepathic communication was always clearest when between relatives or close friends. Abihira ignored the faint whispers of people laughing at her and waited for a more distinct response.
It came fairly quickly.
You little idiot! Líusal's voice was full of laughter and the smug superiority of older siblings everywhere. How did you get lost so easily?
"Easily", she says, Abihira thought with a huff.
Líusal continued, Come downstairs. I'll tell the servants to wait for you. Try not to get lost on the stairs.
~~~~
By the time the servants finally showed Abihira into her sister's living room she would have happily raised an army of the dead just to destroy the house. The sight that greeted her was not calculated to improve her mood or raise her opinion of the palace. Líusal's living room was a riot of colour and tastelessness. Never before had Abihira seen wallpaper with stripes of magenta and sickly yellow. She hoped she never saw it again.
"Hello, little sister. I hope you enjoyed your tour of the museum," Líusal said, perfectly straight-faced. Wonder of wonders, she was dressed in a pale blue coat that was neither tacky nor hideous. Her maid deserved an award.
Abihira was hardly able to respond to her greeting. She was too thunderstruck by the room's sheer ugliness. If only a suitably sarcastic remark had presented itself! But her mind remained stubbornly empty of any comments, sarcastic or otherwise, and she sat down after speaking barely a full sentence.
Líusal sat down opposite her and stared at her with the blatant rudeness of an older relative about to say something very offensive. Abihira gritted her teeth and prepared for the worst. She wouldn't let it affect her no matter what it was. She wouldn't.
"Well, I never thought you'd be a great beauty, but I must say I'm surprised at how ugly you are!"
...All right, that did sting. Abihira knew perfectly well she would never be listed among the most attractive royals. Her teeth were too sharp and crooked, her face too long and pointed, her nose much too harsh.
It was also her unfortunate lot to always be around much more attractive people, and to look worse than she was in comparison. She had also spent over five hundred years in the same court as Kiriyuki, who had no shortage of admirers until they got close enough to be scared away, and Mirio, who on multiple occasions had caused outbreaks of swooning and awful poetry among the young ladies of the court just by existing. As if that wasn't bad enough her fiancé was commonly called one of the most beautiful men of his generation -- though it must be said that Abihira had never noticed anything extraordinary about him.
(What was so wonderful about him, anyway? He had black hair? So did she. So did half the people on the planet. He had blue eyes? Again, so did she -- if you stretched the definition of "blue" far enough to include "silver[1]". So did countless others. No matter how often she thought about it she still didn't understand all the fuss.)
Anyway, it was disgusting hypocrisy on Líusal's part to call Abihira ugly when she was no beauty herself.
"At least I don't look like a gorsim[2] dressed up in a peasant's hand-me-downs," she retorted.
Líusal's eyes widened until she looked like she was doing an impression of a gorsim. "You little--"
The door opened. Hostilities ceased at once. Both women schooled their expressions into polite indifference and tried to look as if they were only talking about the weather. Abihira expected a servant would enter with kainoren[3] and snacks. Instead an only too familiar figure appeared.
"There you are, little sister!"
Abihira gave a most undignified screech and tried to jump over the back of the chair. Not him! Of all the people it could have been, why did it have to be him? She'd thought she was safe from him at Líusal's house. He couldn't stand Líusal! What was he doing here?
The bane of her existence, the nightmare she'd thought she'd escaped, the worst pest she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter advanced on her with the wide grin that always warned he was about to play an especially nasty trick.
"I only heard yesterday you were back in the city," Arafaren said. He spared Líusal only the briefest of nods. Even in the midst of her shock Abihira noted their older sister did not look pleased to see him. "What did you do this time? Whatever it was, I would have helped if you'd asked me."
That was only too true. Of all her siblings Arafaren was the closest in age to Abihira, and they had been expected to play together for most of their childhood. They had alternated between being bosom friends and sworn enemies. When they were adolescents Arafaren had gone through a phase of pranking the people around him -- usually Abihira -- on a daily basis. She had been the victim of far too many tricks before she finally lost her patience and pranked him in return. The resulting war had robbed everyone of peace for years. Occasionally they had teamed up. The memory of those incidents made even the bravest tremble.
"I didn't do anything," Abihira said when she had somewhat recovered. She eyed her brother suspiciously. It didn't look like he was holding anything in his hands, but the last time she assumed that, he dropped a centipede on her head. "Look, if you're going to play a trick on me, do it and get it over with."
Arafaren had the audacity to look offended. "How old do you think I am? I grew out of that childish nonsense a century ago."
Really, Abihira thought. I could have sworn you were still playing jokes fifty years ago.
The unfortunate incident of Grandmother's hat was not easy to forget. Some memory of it seemed to strike Arafaren too. He winced and looked ashamed.
"Well, I've grown out of most of it," he corrected himself. "But why are you here? I couldn't believe it when Mother told me where you'd gone. I can't think of anywhere more boring."
Líusal made an insulted noise.
"Mother gave me a list of relatives to visit," Abihira said. She relaxed slightly as minutes ticked by and Arafaren still showed no signs of dropping centipedes on her. But she still kept a watchful eye on him. The memory of Líusal's earlier remark prompted her to add, "I came here first to get the worst over with."
Líusal made another insulted noise. Neither of her siblings paid any attention to her.
"I got a letter from your foster brother," Arafaren said, reaching into his pocket. Abihira prepared herself for the pranks to begin. Instead he took out a slightly rumpled sheet of paper covered with Mirio's distinctive spidery handwriting. "Couldn't understand most of it. Something about keeping you away from graveyards. But he says--" He paused to find his place in the letter. "Where did I see that? Oh, there it is. 'Tell her to give our regards to any corpses she meets, and to beware of hungry ghosts.' I was up most of the night trying to figure out what in the Twelve Realms he meant by that. So please, have pity on me and let me in on the joke!"
Abihira only just stopped herself from facepalming. Of all the people Mirio could have written to, he chose Arafaren, and of all the things he could have said, he wrote that. He had to be trying to make sure she didn't meddle with necromancy. She was sure of it.
"None of your business," she said, making a mental note to send Mirio -- and Kiriyuki, who was sure to be involved somehow -- a strongly-worded letter about minding their own business.
Arafaren opened his mouth. Behind him Líusal's scowl suggested she was about to start one of her lectures. Abihira took stock of the situation and decided discretion was the better part of valour.
"Oh my, look at the time!" she exclaimed, jumping up. "I'll be late!"
She ran out of the room before they had a chance to respond. Behind her, she heard Arafaren say, "What in the world was that about?"
~~~~
For the next few days Abihira had no time to worry about necromancy, Mirio, or Arafaren's tricks. Not only had her parents summoned her home unexpectedly, they'd done it right before a festival. She had to listen to arguments about wedding arrangements while also choosing a suitable outfit for the Day of Comets. She wrote a short and painfully awkward letter to Irímé while her parents discussed the wording of the invitations. The one time she saw her grandparents, it was for less than an hour and all they wanted to talk about was the wedding too.
At last she got a chance to leave the palace unnoticed. She went straight to the royal crypt. She couldn't try any necromancy there. Even the most unobservant people would notice if a long-dead emperor walked out of the crypt. But it was quiet, out of the way, and rarely visited. There she might finally have a chance to look over her notes.
Most of the royal palaces were close together and connected by avenues and winding roads. The crypt was set behind them, and could be accessed from almost all of them. Including Yaruael Palace. Abihira brought a bouquet of flowers with her, just in case anyone wondered what she was doing.
The doors were never locked. There was no reason for them to be, when nothing valuable was stored in the crypt and grave-robbers would never dare break in. She pushed them open and stopped abruptly. Someone must already be in the building. The gas lamps were lit, casting a pale light on the stairs leading down to the graves.
Abihira almost turned and walked out again. Just when she finally thought she'd get peace and quiet...!
It would look odd if I didn't leave the flowers, she thought as she hesitated at the top of the stairs.
She pushed her notes deeper into her pocket and stepped forward. Her footsteps echoed around her until it sounded like a large crowd was following.
When she reached the main crypt she at first thought she was alone after all. The royal crypt was a vast place with three different levels. The most important graves, those of past monarchs, were closest to the main stairs and the easiest to reach. Royals from lesser branches were buried in the sections set aside for their family. It was easy to look over the graves and have a good view of most of the top level. Yet there was no one in sight.
The guard must have left the light on, she thought. How careless.
Abihira made her way to her family's plot. There was a memorial to one of her brothers there. A memorial, but no grave. Everyone would expect her to leave the flowers there. She rounded Emperor Fenmaer's grave and stopped in her tracks.
The crypt wasn't empty.
Her first illogical thought was that a vengeful spirit had taken up residence. The bright green clothes of the figure sitting cross-legged in front of a tomb certainly gave that impression. Common sense took over almost immediately. With some embarrassment she realised it was just a normal -- if eccentric -- immortal.
The person looked up. He wasn't one of her siblings, or cousins, or any of the other relatives she would recognise on sight. The first thing she noticed about him was that he had bright green eyes to match his clothes.
How unlucky, she thought.
That was quickly followed by the realisation he had been crying. Tear-tracks stained his pallid face. He turned away again and wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Sorry to bother you," Abihira said, feeling suddenly very awkward. No one liked to be interrupted while crying.
She moved on and found a different path to her family plot. She didn't see the stranger again.
Chapter Footnotes:
[1] Silver eyes are common among the Sinistrahs, the royal family of Saoridhin. They range in colour from greyish to pure silver.
[2] gorsim = A goat-like creature with multiple, very large eyes that lives in caves and eats fungi.
[3] kainoren = A sort of drink made from fruit juice, usually served warm. Among the upper-classes it's always served to visitors as a sign of hospitality.