The Black Queen

Queen Arsinue’s slaves came to wake her in the dark, and she squinted into the light of the tall candles and wondered for a single moment if this were the stroke of an assassin, but death did not come and she looked up into the faces of her maids and then sat up, running her hand over her face. It was night outside, the moon coming weakly through the curtains, and she smelled the salt of the sea and the muddy tang of the river.

“Who summons me so late?” she said. She knew only her brother could give the command to wake her, and that made her angry. Menkha was a fool and often disturbed her studies with his foolish worries or silly questions, for all that he was the elder.

“Your forgiveness, my great lady of the Most Ancient Kingdom, but the lord, King Menkha, summons you to the throne hall, for there are warships offshore.” Her body slave bowed her head, looking fearful, and now Arsinue saw the guards waiting in the shadows of the entryway, and she knew this was, in truth, a serious moment. Warships. Who could it be but the Varonans? Warships from Varon could not mean anything good.

She waved the guards out and slipped naked from her bed. Her slaves converged, lighting lamps, and they drew her braided hair back and knotted it into a coil that cascaded down her back. They dressed her in silks and weighted her arms and neck and ankles with jewels. She stepped into her sandals and they laced them for her. It was not a moment to pause and paint her face, but she permitted a dusting of gold over her dark skin and a smear of it on her eyelids.

The palace was quiet in the night, with only a few lights flickering here and there as slaves moved in the hallways and through the courtyards. Arsinue saw the flicker of the moon on the waters of the Nahar, so wide and slow here beside the sea. The city of Qahir stood on a rocky jut of land that thrust out into the water like a finger. In the flood seasons it was cut off from the land altogether and could only be reached by boat. Usually that was a comfort, for the invading Hatta from Kadesh were horsemen, not sailors, but the Varonans were another matter.

She walked through clouds of sweet smoke and into the throne hall, dark and close-feeling in the night. The guards that flanked her fell away and she went to the twin thrones that stood at the head of the chamber, and she found her brother already there. He was holding a written message, his advisers huddling close around him. They saw her and made way as she mounted the steps to the thrones she and her brother shared in an often uneasy alliance.

Menkha, was only two years older than she, and they shared the throne by the demand of their father, dead these three years. Her brother was a slim man with a long face and sad eyes beneath heavy brows. He watched as she seated herself on her throne, and then he held out the message.

She took it and held it up, waiting for a slave to bring a lamp close enough for her to read. It was brief, written in Varonan, and stamped with a wax seal. She cursed and threw it on the ground.

“It is Dekenius,” Menkha said. “He is here with thirty ships, by the count of men at the harbor. How many men he has brought with him, I do not know.”

Each ship could hold as much as a hundred men, Arsinue knew. The Praetor could have an army with him. If the ships were full, that would mean as much as three thousand men. Even half of that number would make him the master of the capital. She thought about how many troops she could summon, and how many would answer and how quickly they would come. The calculations were not encouraging. “He did not say he comes to conquer,” she said.

“No, and what need would he have for that?” her brother said. “If he comes ashore with a few thousand men, he has mastered us in fact if not in name. And if we refuse him, then he can simply force a landing, and then we have gone to war with Varon and cannot pretend it was an accident.” He rubbed his face, brooding on it. “Why is he here now? We have had no warning of this.”

“Something has happened,” she said to herself, shaking her head. “He is a Praetor, he is not permitted to spend more than ten days away from the city. It would take him twice that time just to reach us. Something is wrong, and we must discover what it is.”

Her brother slumped back in his throne, as he had when he was younger. It always annoyed her. “So we simply invite him to land and take control of the city?” His voice sounded petulant.

“We invite him, yes.” She held her tone even, refusing to sound angry with him. “We will comport ourselves with the utmost dignity, courtesy, and grace. We will receive him as a guest of the highest order, and treat him as such. We will give him no cause to be displeased while we attempt to discover why he is here, and what he wants.” She looked to the servants and slaves clustered nearby and gestured for them to go. “You have heard the command, go forth and do so. Send me a scribe to make reply to the noble Praetor that we are humbled and honored to receive him.”

She watched them scatter, and she puzzled at the development, like trying to pick apart a recalcitrant knot. First came the word that a new king ruled in Kadesh, then the story that an army of nomads commanded by a sorcerer had come from the south and overthrown their sister realm, leaving only Greater Ashem to stand for the Old Kingdom. Now a great former general and current power of Varon arrived with warships. Something was coming for them all, and bitter omens walked the stars unseen.

o0o

It was not yet dawn when Praetor Dekenius entered the throne hall. Arsinue had clothed herself in her best gown, decked herself in her brightest jewels. On her head was a crest of gold and the braids of her hair were twined in it and twisted with gold and pearls. She had seen to it that the hall was dressed in finery, with bright white silken hangings and the floor scattered with fresh lily petals. Fine incense burned in the shadows, layering smoke in the air.

The hall was lined with a dozen guards, and she could not add more without making the room seem crowded and them too obvious. They were dressed in their burnished breastplates and their gold-inlaid helms, their eyes beneath painted with kohl and azure dust. They carried their ornate, processional spears hung with horsetails and plumed feathers. She had even caused her brother to wear his best false beard and his most grandiose crown. He still slouched upon the throne, but there was little she could do about that save give him a glare as the horns called and the approach of Dekenius was announced.

He strode into the hall at the head of a knot of attendants and flanked by his own soldiers. As always, the look of the Varonan troops put her on edge. They were so unadorned, their armor plain and intimidating with its straight lines of iron plates. Their helms lacked grace, but she knew they were hard, competent soldiers. These carried no spears or ornamental objects, only their square shields and the short swords strapped to their belts. Their businesslike war gear always offended her in a subtle way.

Dekenius himself was a man of middle years, his hair turning gray at the temples. He was clean-shaven like all the Varonans, and she always thought a grown man without a beard looked somewhat foolish. He had a strong jaw and heavy, hooked nose, and his eyes, while small and close-set, were hard and aware, and they seemed to see everything. He was not dressed grandly either, only wearing a red tunic under his polished breastplate, a cloak of deep purple thrown over one shoulder and fastened with a plain brooch. His sword was at his side, the sheath inlaid with a little silver, but otherwise as plain as any trooper’s weapon.

He bowed, but not deeply enough, and he did not wait for leave before he stood straight again. She had come to expect this from Varonan envoys, but it still rankled her with disrespect. There were benefits to being representative of the greatest military power in the known world, and one of them was not having to show proper obeisance to a divine ruler.

“Rise, Praetor,” she said, pointedly not acknowledging that he already had. “We are gladdened and honored to greet you, here in our palace. What brings the famed Dekenius to our shores? We trust you will favor us by accepting our hospitality and our generosity. Had we but known you were imminent, we would have prepared a more proper welcome.” She did not mention the strange hour, nor the fact that he had brought troops with him – a number of troops that her spies were even now attempting to count.

“Most noble and exalted king and queen of Great Ashem,” he said, his Ashemic quite well-spoken for a foreigner. “I regret the suddenness of my visit and the abrupt nature of my arrival. I would have sent a ship ahead to warn you, yet I was unable. I assure you my visit shall be brief and without trouble.” He smiled, and she was surprised by how it transformed his face, made him seem almost handsome.

“I bear the fond wishes of the people of Varon and their desire for nothing but peace between our realms. I must ask you, great king and queen, have any other ships of Varon come to seek port here? Has there been any sudden word of discord in my homeland?” He watched them, and Arsinue noted how his gaze lingered on her.

She glanced at her brother, and he coughed and stirred himself. “No such knowledge or news has been brought to us,” he said. “We have received no Varonan visitor so elevated as yourself. Not for some years.”

Arsinue pondered this, and she did not like anything that thread of thought brought her. It Dekenius was here, it meant he was no longer a Praetor, and that lent the question of what he was, and in what capacity he had come here. And now he asked what they had heard about discord in Varon. All gathered, it made her think that he was not here in any real official sense, but was, perhaps, fleeing some political conflict. And a man who flees a political conflict with an army in his train was not a fugitive, but rather a rebel.

She decided quickly and then she stood. “You are most welcome here. Please, to us it is the beginning of the day, but you have journeyed a long way, and you must be weary and in want of proper hospitality. Let us see you and your men housed and fed and rested before we trouble ourselves with any weightier questions. Please.” She descended from the throne and held out her hand to welcome him to come closer, and she sensed the uneasy stirring in the room as he clasped her hand and smiled at her. It was not common for her to permit anyone to touch her, but she could see the way he was looking at her, and there was one ready way for her to learn more of why he had come here, and what his purpose might be. And if it proved ill-omened, then there was yet the recourse of the sword.

o0o

She spent the morning in his bed, as the sun sifted golden through the curtains and the sea breezes rose. It had been some time since she had a lover who was so forceful, and whom she found so pleasing. He was not handsome or firm with youth, but he was strong and experienced and she enjoyed his embrace. After, she caused food to be brought, and they ate iced fruits and drank wine as they lay in bed together, sweat cooling on their skin.

“You spoke of hospitality,” he said. “I did not think to be served so well by a queen.” He smiled so she knew he meant it lightly.

“Consider yourself honored,” she said. “It is not every sailor I so favor.” She ate pomegranate seeds, feeling them pop between her teeth. “But then, not everyone is so illustrious as you.” She lay back and looked at him sidelong. “For all that you are no Praetor. Not any longer.”

He looked at her, eyebrow rising, and then he laughed. “You are correct. That office has passed from me. I am now only a general, commanding the legion I brought with me aboard my ships.”

A legion! She knew that meant at least five thousand men, unless they had suffered losses. “They must be packed in to the very limit, if you brought a legion aboard only thirty ships.” Her mind was spinning rapidly. Why would he have brought a legion here? There was no answer that soothed her.

He laughed again. “Did you come to bed me or to glean information? Ah well, likely both.” He ate a fig, wiping his mouth with his fingers. “I have more ships following, and they shall be here in a few days, I do hope. I have been sent to garrison your frontier against the Hatta, for there has been news of trouble in their ruling house. I am told they may move against you, and as you are allies of Varon, I am sent to guard against that possibility.”

Arsinue chewed the inside of her lip. Such a story seemed reasonable, and yet the request should have been made diplomatically, through a courier and a letter from the Varonan senate, not the peremptory arrival of a legion on her doorstep. There was something here that did not make sense at all, and she dreaded uncovering it.

Rather than show her unease she rolled and stretched, knowing it would distract him. “I have enjoyed this, but now I must see to affairs of my kingdom,” she said. “Among those affairs is seeing to the feeding and resupply of your men.” She crawled from the bed and wrapped herself in the robe her slave handed her. “I shall see you tonight at dinner just after dark. Rest until then.” She gave him a smile and left him there, plots simmering in her belly.

o0o

As was her habit, she retreated to her library. Here the rows of scrolls and volumes of bound histories gave her comfort. She was glad to see the dust motes in the light that beamed through the narrow windows, pleased by the smell of ink and papyrus.

She sat down and rifled through the documents she had been studying. Whispers from the southland had named the rogue sorcerer as a prince of some ancient land, as one called “The Black Flame,” and she had been seeking through her texts for some mention of such a legend. Each search had driven her to older and older writings, until she was attempting to translate works so old the language was almost indecipherable. They spoke of a mythic land where a sea had lain where now was only desert, and a war between princes, one light, one dark.

Arsinue turned when her slaves admitted a woman she used as a spy. She was a procuress near the waterfront, and between the gossip of sailors and whores, she heard everything there was to know. Her name was Sadi, and Arsinue was pleased to see her, waved her slaves away so they would not hear what was said.

“Please, sit, tell me what you have heard,” she said to the older, shorter woman. Sadi had once been a great beauty, but now she made her wealth with her mind, not her body. She settled herself on a stool and smiled, fanning herself with a reed fan.

“My girls have been busy with the sailors and soldiers,” she said in her musical voice. “Of interest are matters other than that. Firstly, the soldiers have unloaded supplies, but not so many as would be expected for a legion on the move. They seem short of food, and they moved quickly to obtain fresh water.” Sadi glanced around and leaned closer. “Of more interest are the wounded.”

“They have wounded?” Arsinue said.

“Indeed, a good number. The legion seems light – perhaps only two thousand men – and they have several hundreds of wounded. From the state of them, I would guess they were in battle perhaps fifteen days ago, or half a moon.” Sadi adjusted her skirts and frowned. “And there is the other matter.”

“Yes,” Arsinue said. “I asked you to investigate it.”

“I did. Many ships pass through here from Varonan ports, and there is so much trade it is difficult to be sure. But I spoke to a harbor steersman who guided in a smaller, quicker Varonan ship a moon ago, and he says the ship carried a man who seemed well-bred, and who was escorted to the palace with all caution taken to avoid being seen.” Sadi fanned herself, stirring dust in the beams of sun. “I do not know who this envoy spoke to.”

“It was not me,” Arsinue said, and she scowled. There was only one other such a messenger could have come to meet, and that conclusion twisted anger in her belly. Dekenius came here with a wounded legion, asking about news of discord in Varon. He was a fugitive then, of some kind. He had lost a battle and fled here for refuge, and he would drag them all into a war she knew nothing of. And her brother was part of it, she knew that now.

She took a bag of gold coins and pressed it into Sadi’s hands. “Go and find soldiers of the legion, screw them, ply them with wine or lotus or whatever you need. I must know what is happening, and I don’t care how you find out. Spend what you wish and there will be more if you get me what I need to know.”

Sadi smiled and inclined her head. “No Varonan boy can keep secrets from me, my queen. It shall be done.”

“Good,” Arsinue said, looking at the pile of esoteric manuscripts on the table. Times were suddenly quite dark, and she sensed danger everywhere. Well, she had weapons no one suspected, and now she would gather them.

o0o

When night came, the slaves made the great hall ready for the feast. Arsinue dressed in her black silken gown and hung gold about her shoulders and painted her eyes dark as shadows. Before she left her rooms she opened a small chest and looked long at the small vial she kept within. The fluid inside was almost as black as soot, and it moved sluggishly when she tilted the chest. It was said to be the blood of an immortal, and that it would safeguard from death one who swallowed it. She touched it, wondering if it were true at all. She almost left it behind, but then she took it and slipped it inside her sash. Tonight she would leave nothing behind.

The hall was filled with a thousand oil lamps and hung with sweet smoke from incense and the smells of roasted meat. Arsinue took her place on the high seat beside her brother, with Dekenius on her brother’s right side. It made her uneasy seeing them pass words she could not hear. She tried to watch the entertainments of dancers and musicians, acrobats and magicians working wonders the eye could not follow – and yet she could not stop worrying about the two of them, of what they had agreed on without her, and what they planned now.

The feast was beautiful, the food exquisite, and yet Arsinue felt herself growing sleepy, her head feeling heavy and her thoughts moving slow. She reached for her winecup and spilled it instead. Menkha looked over at the sound and saw her, and she beheld there a flash of something in his eyes and she knew in an instant that she was already slain. She looked at the black wine spreading on the white linen and she seemed to detect a slight sheen, as of something else there. Had she been poisoned?

She tried to stand, pushing herself up from the table, and her legs would not hold her. She stumbled and fell, her face striking the floor with a force that stunned her, but also pushed back the cloud over her thoughts for a moment. It was poison, and something very subtle that she had no smelled or tasted it. Desperate, she reached under herself and drew out the small vial, glad to find it unbroken.

She heard voices and moved quickly, her fingers growing numb as she peeled away the wax and unstoppered the vial. It almost slipped from her fingers, but she held it and drank it down, tasting a bitter, metallic flavor that almost made her vomit. She swallowed fiercely as hands took hold of her and turned her over. She looked up and saw her brother through a haze that darkened around her vision, Dekenius behind him.

“It seems my sister has indulged in too much wine,” Menkha said. “Carry her to her rooms where she may rest and recover. I will see to her later.”

Arsinue wanted to curse him, but the words died on her numbed lips, and all she could do was move feebly when strong hands lifted her and bore her away into the dark.

o0o

She woke in darkness, and she felt a stiffness in her limbs, and she was very cold. She tried to move and found she could not. She felt as though she were floating, and she heard voices coming nearer to her. It seemed a long time before she could make out words and understand them.

“I would have preferred you consult with me before you kill her,” Dekenius said. “It seems rash.”

“We planned to do away with her regardless,” came her brother’s voice, sounding more assured than she had ever heard him. “She would never have agreed to our alliance.”

“I have little doubt she could have been persuaded,” Dekenius said. “It would have been a matter of time only.”

“Don’t let her willingness to debase herself with you color your imaginings,” Menkha said. “You can have a thousand pretty girls for your bed, she was too dangerous to be left alive.”

“Are you certain she’s dead?” Dekenius said. “She looks to be only asleep.”

“It is the nature of the essence of the blood lotus,” Menkha said. “It kills swiftly and without sign, and leaves a corpse that appears to be only asleep. I assure you, she is quite dead. Feel her limbs, feel for her breath, if you wish.”

Arsinue heard footsteps coming closer, and a tingle seemed to run along her veins, as though she were filled with a simmering fire. She felt hands hot as coals on her arm and her hand, lifting it and then letting it fall to the bed. She felt someone close to her, warm breath on her face, and then a hand covered her mouth.

She felt a trembling inside her, almost enough to break through the casing of ice that held her motionless. She smelled his skin, felt the burning warmth of him so close, touching her, and she smelled something else behind his skin, something sweet. There was a rushing in her ears and she realized it was his heart. It was the beating of his heart and the rushing of blood in his veins.

“You are right,” Dekenius said. “She is cold as the grave, and no breath stirs in her. She is dead.”

Arsinue felt a cry rise up inside her, boiling in her chest, searing against her ribs, and then she forced it out and arched, her mouth opening as she screamed, and then she caught Dekenius’ hand and sank her teeth into it, all her paralysis washed away in a gush of hot blood.

He cried out and wrenched away, her teeth ripping his flesh as he tore free of her. Blood gouted across her face, feeling as though it were boiling, and she felt it run down her throat. Part of her longed to spit it out, and yet there was a satisfaction in it, a feeling deeper than the mere taste, and it sent warmth flowing into her body, a new strength.

“Curses of all the gods!” Dekenius cried, clutching his wounded hand, and Arsinue opened her eyes and saw him, saw a thousand colors in the light of a single lantern flame. Blood dripped on the floor, and she ached for it.

“Blood of Hadad!” Menkha swore, and he drew his dagger and lunged for her, pinning her down on the bed, hand reaching down to hold her in place for the stroke of the blade. “By all the gods, you will die! You will die and I will be king! I will be the only king!”

He brought the blade down and she felt it strike on her shoulder, and then the iron snapped without so much as marking her skin. She reached up her hands, fingers hooked, and caught her brother by the throat, and then she dragged him down to meet her teeth.

He gave a quick, desperate cry, and then she sank sudden fangs into his throat and felt the blood rush out and fill her mouth. It tasted revolting, but the bone-deep hunger she felt could not be denied, and she drank from him, tearing at his neck with her teeth until it opened up and blood poured over her face. Warmth and strength rushed into her body, and she cast him away, his body twitching and gushing blood across the floor, and she rose up from the bed, a crimson-stained apparition.

Dekenius hurled the lantern against the bed and it spilled burning oil across the sheets, setting them ablaze. She cringed back from the fire, feeling her skin singe at the nearness even as her black gown, soaked in blood, smoldered in the heat with a terrible stench. He cried out and she heard running steps as his soldiers closed in, and the flames made a barrier between them, the burning oil spreading across the floor.

Arsinue drew away from the flames, seeing no quick way around, and the sounds of many men coming were close. She looked across the fire at Dekenius and bared her blooded teeth at him. “I will come for you,” she snarled. “I will drink your blood and spit your heart into the fire!” And then she turned away and sprang to the window, even as the silken hangings caught fire. She plunged through and into the night, and the night embraced her.