In the House of Five Dragons
5. The House
“The men of Carce have never loved war, but how they adore order! The lands beyond our borders were wild and dangerous. When diplomacy failed to order them, Carcemen turned to blood and the sword. And so it is out of our desire for that perfect peace that Carce has produced the greatest soldiers in history.”
— From Our Red History, by Avilla Sallusi
The circular stone room was dark. It was always dark. There were rich, shining things secreted away in the endless shadows, but those were only for the Eyes. And for their master, of course: the Crest of the House of Five Dragons.
The only light came from a single lamp that dangled on a long chain at an unnatural angle to the floor. Nothing in the room seemed real. In the wavering circle of yellowed light loomed the Jade Throne — a huge, polished gem in the otherwise empty room. The antique throne was wide enough to seat two men side-by-side and carved with the lion and laurel of Carce. Heaps of overstuffed velvet cushions filled the massive throne like the bloated bodies of dead things.
The Jade Throne was a stark and heavy thing, the stone fossil of decades past. From before Tychon’s empire, from the days when Carce had been a simple scholar-state, not home to the greatest warriors the world had ever known. Not long after the founding of the Carcaen Empire, a new throne — one made of jewel-encrusted gold, brought as tribute from the first provinces — had replaced the hereditary seat of the Carcaen kings and stood even now in the center of the Lyceum.
It was said that the Jade Throne had been destroyed decades before, ground to dust. But its massive presence, brooding here in the darkness, testified to that untruth. Exactly how the House of Five Dragons had come to possess the throne, Caelin had no idea.
He staggered along the slanted floor and prostrated himself before the Jade Throne. It was empty, of course. The Crest was the leader of the House and had far better things to do than hand down orders to an unimportant Talon.
Instead, one of his Eyes stood just beside the throne. She was a tall, regal woman of obviously noble Carcaen birth. Her smooth golden skin had the papery look of well-preserved age. The lamplight glittered on delicate crystal beads that sprinkled her black tabba like stars. She held her hands delicately crossed at her waist. They were as smooth and perfect as porcelain — the hands of a woman who had never done an honest day’s work.
But then again, the work of the House of Five Dragons isn’t precisely honest.
Caelin did not even know this Eye’s name. In over twenty years of service to the House of Five Dragons, he had never received a bloodmark before. What did the House’s elite want of him now? Caelin’s orders always came from the Talons or Flames above him. Simple things: small thefts, pick-ups and lockbreaks.
He bowed his head in respect. Servitude. The Eyes served the Crest of the House directly. Her words were his words.
“Rise, Talon.” Her voice was as delicate as her skin.
Caelin stood, making his knees pop and his spine creaked in protest. A grunt of discomfort escaped his lips and one of the Eye’s brows arched into a delicately sculpted ebony bow.
“Let’s hope that you can carry out the Crest’s orders,” she said.
“Still fit enough to serve, lady,” Caelin answered quickly.
“We will see. You have a reputation among the other Talons, Caelin. They like you. They say you’re charming and funny.”
Did they? Caelin knew how to tell a joke, but charming? Maybe the bloodmark, summons to receive the Crest’s orders, was better luck than Caelin first supposed.
He smiled at the Eye. Charming.
“I do try my best,” Caelin said. “Most of us live out in the Rows. Life is stark tough out there.”
“Hae.” The Eye waved a hand dismissively. She obviously had far more important concerns than the suffering of the lower ranks. “The Crest is sending you to Gaius Mazrem.”
Caelin’s smile faded and he gaped. “Gaius Mazrem…? Captain Mazrem’s son?”
That was a mistake. The Eye frowned.
“Gaius Mazrem is the youngest consul of the Lyceum and everyone expects him to succeed Emperor Tychon,” she said. “He’s an important man.”
“Hae, my lady! How am I supposed to see him at all?”
“Arliss will take care of it. She has recommended you to the Mazrem’s steward, Bastil.”
“Arliss? Isn’t she a cook? I don’t know a biscuit from my backside! I can’t work in a kitchen!”
“You don’t need to feed Gaius Mazrem, Talon. You will serve him in a manner befitting your status. When you have his trust, give him some of this as a gift honoring his father.”
She held out a thick envelope in her delicately spider-like hand. Caelin opened it and inspected the powdered scarlet contents. The scent inside was spicy and made his head spin even more than the crooked, slanting room.
“Ophellion?” he asked. “But this is far too much for a shrine offering.”
“Gaius Mazrem has a taste for fine things. He will be curious enough to try it.”
Caelin frowned, confused. “I’m sorry, I still don’t understand, my lady. Forgive my saying, but this seems like a great lot of work to give Master Mazrem some drams. Can’t we just have Arliss sell them to him? Seems you could make a tidy profit that way.”
“You’re even less clever than you appear, Talon,” the Eye informed him icily. “Encourage Gaius to try the ophellion. You’re not to charge him an acorn for it. It is a gift. Come to us when he wants more. You will be provided with as much as he needs. Ensure his addiction.”
Caelin gulped. His mouth was suddenly so dry.
Splitting Gaius Mazrem on ophellion? It didn’t feel right. Not at all. Young Lord Mazrem was the only son of a great man. Of the greatest man.
“What… what about his mother?” Caelin asked. “I don’t see that she’ll sit aside while her son gets split.”
“Lady Mazrem is a formidable and ambitious woman,” the Eye agreed. Her respect was grudging but genuine. “She knows as well as we do that her son is the route to power. She’s protective of him.”
“Then… what should I do?”
“We understand the delicacy of your task,” the regal House Eye went on, as though Caelin had not spoken. She inspected her perfectly clean nails. “You will be busy. The Crest doesn’t want you distracted by… family concerns.”
Caelin forgot all about Gaius Mazrem.
“What?” he asked.
“Your wife is quite ill, I understand. The Crest has generously brought her to the tower. The Crest, in his kindness, will ensure her safety until you complete your task.”
A Fiore winter was warmer than the smile she leveled at Caelin. He fell to his knees. He clawed imploringly at the hem of the Eye’s expensive tabba. She stepped back out of reach. Caelin pressed his forehead to the floor. Tears ran down his cheeks and rolled away down the slanted floor.
“Please, my lady! No, you can’t! Milla doesn’t even know that I belong to the House! Please,” Caelin begged. “She’s my wife. She’s all I’ve got!”
“Do as you’ve been told, Talon, and she has nothing to fear. The Crest is an honorable man. Finish the job and then you and your wife can crawl back to the Rows to rot with the rest of the trash.”
Caelin scrambled to his feet and staggered from the room.
