Allora, qual è il valore dei desideri dei morti?
Quando saturo d’acqua sono vita fuochi freddi?
Con alghe capelli e ossa dei cirripede
Nella trono conchiglia
The smooth, husky voice – a little too deep for a man of 19 seemed to float away, carried on the breath of someone who would always have a little bit of the ocean in his blood. He hadn’t even realized he was singing until the mention of a throne – the very object he was currently striding down the halls of the Deamone palace towards. He had to stifle a laugh as guards in carbon black armor pulled their swords out, a few of them noticing his presence as a vaguely fuzzy light. He unveiled the invitation before his own appearance, ensuring they had stood down before he was able to be seen. Not that he’d needed to. His appearance disarmed the men immediately…no wonder the Prince ended up dead. With guards like these.
The nicest clothes he’d had, aside from his dealer uniform was the school uniform he still fit into, one year after graduating. Even in Deamone, where power and money spoke more than appearance – he knew his everyday clothes would not do. Still, Leto knew he looked out of place with his light hair and his aquamarine eyes. One was common enough if rare. But his eyes? They were entirely his mother’s. He remembered asking her where her coloring had come from once and being answered with a heavy sigh. The mostly-forgotten treasonous undertones of the shanty should have clued him in…but they never had. No. That disappointment had come years later – enough time for him to love his family enough to regret rejecting them.
The Deamone Council met in war rooms, protected enclosures deep in the core of the Earth. The room he was walking into was not the main throne room, but it was the one (of many, apparently) he’d been asked to come to. The guards moved aside wordlessly, swords sheathed, and he strode in. As Leto approached the occupant of the seat he stopped and bent himself over one knee. His silvery head tucked downwards as his arm crossed over and hand balled into a fist against his chest.
“Dowager Empress.”
Leto had moved to rise when he heard two more voices, one of which caused his knee to drop instantaneously.
“This is your man, then, mother?”
“Indeed.”
“And you vouch for him as well, Milina?”
“As far as my word carries in my Lord’s eyes.”
“Well then,” went on the amused voice. “Rise.”
Leto’s body did, but his gaze remained steadfastly on the ground at his feet. Anyone who lived under the looming shadow of the Deamone palace would have done the same – for this was the voice of disgraced former Prince, Lord Duncan Deamone.
“My Lord. I am at your command.” He heard himself say, in a tone more subservient than he had ever heard come out of his own mouth. Even the Dowager Empress didn’t command as much respect as her displaced son. And with good reason. She, in all the time he’d known her, had been a charming, agreeable sort of woman – if not a little sad. But Duncan Deamone’s cruelty was legendary…and Leto did not particularly want to experience it for himself.
“Oh my.” Mused the Dowager Empress, a smile playing on her ruby red lips. “Leto I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you be quite this formal!”
Any other day and he might have smiled. The last time he had seen the Dowager Empress he had been shoving her down a narrow alleyway, as a band of what could have been reporters just as easily as they could have been mercenaries chased them out of the Casino in which he held employment since the (illegal) age of 15. Just as his invisibility would provide no more disguising (a dead end) another one of his regulars had grabbed their hands and transported them to the basement of an old hotel. Imagine the displaced citizen of northern Deamone, finding out in almost the same instant that one of his regulars was none other than the Dowager Empress Nicolette and the other was Duncan Deamone’s personal assistant, Milina Skala. His ears had been filled with a buzzing hum as the two women thanked him for his assistance, handed him a small purse of coins and disappeared. A few days later, the invitation had arrived.
“Do you know why you are here, boy?” Asked Lord Deamone and Leto’s ears burned at the word.
“Not entirely, my Lord.”
“You were offered a position here in the palace, correct?”
“Yes my Lord.”
“And do you desire, to work for the Royal family?”
“I am a man who understands the value of hard work. And a citizen who would gladly die for my country. If I was to be offered a chance to fulfill both then yes, my Lord, I should desire it greatly.”
Gracefully, the Dowager Queen brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. It was one of her tells; she’d won this hand. Milina too, was unconsciously showing her pleasure – a long fingertip was twisting the ruby ring she wore on her right ring finger.
“I understand you have some talents in the veiled arts, young man. Is this so?”
“I possess the gift. But whether I possess talent is for my Lord to decide.”
Duncan Deamone’s smile could have melted the flesh off a newborn child, if he’d wanted it to. Leto knew it instinctively and yet he couldn’t help but feel a flush of pride that he’d pleased him. It was strange, as if his own father was patting him warmly on the back. He couldn’t break away from the fog of joy even as the nobleman went on.
“I’m in need of a trustworthy young man to guard a…very special possession of mine. …However I understand you are of…mixed breeding?”
That snapped him out of it.
“Yes my lord. My mother is…”
“Yes.” Duncan continued, his lip curling in distaste. “But Milina informs me you are no longer in close contact with your family.”
“No my Lord. …I visit them sometimes…but I do not agree with their views.”
“I should hope so. Normally this process would be…more tiresome. However I am a busy man and my mother and Milina have both vouched for you. I leave the explanation of your employment to them.” The feeling of joy washed over him again as Dun…Lord Deamone approached him. It became like a fuller weight in his chest as he got closer and was near to bursting when the former Princes’ hand came to rest on his shoulder. “Your family may have the views it wants, it is of no consequence to me. But if I find that your sympathies change…”
Leto’s eyes rose – his sight leveling with Duncan’s chin. The implication disgusted him…and he didn’t need to hear the threat that came after it. “Dishonoring myself by adopting their…way of life would be the greatest harm that could befall me, my Lord. You have my loyalty…there is no question.”
“Good man.” Was his reply, before he strode out.
Leto turned around and knelt again, not rising until the older man had left the room. By the time he was back on his feet, the Dowager Empress had slipped her arm into his.
“No time to waste.” She practically sung, her bright red eyes blinking excitedly. “We must present you at once! Aaah, how lovely to see her again.”
“Begging your pardon, Empress…but…who? And what job was the Lord D…”
“My son is a bit long winded, isn’t he?” Nicolette mused, her steps never touching the ground as she practically glided down the hall with Milina in tow.”
Milina chimed in, prim voiced and a bit sharp but never rude. “My Lord has many matters to attend to. Perhaps we should explain, Mr. Garth. We require the use of your abilities in guarding a rather…special individual.”
A guard? Well…he couldn’t do as bad a job as the fools he’d encountered in the hall. Then there was the ultimate question.
“To whom?”
“My granddaughter.” The Dowager Empress whispered into his ear, before winking and pulling his stunned body along with her.”