Salute the Dark

He looked towards Seda, seated between himself and the Emperor, seeing her fidget distractedly. Her time, which would be his own time, had almost come. It now needed only the blood of an Emperor, and Uctebri knew exactly where to acquire that. With such blood on his hands, and therefore on hers, she would be his to control, and the great might of the Wasp Empire would be at his fingertips.

He was still undecided as to which way to turn it. The Moth-kinden were due an extinction, since they had done their best to extinguish Uctebri’s people so long ago, but Uctebri rather thought that his first act as the power behind the throne would be to teach the naysayers of his own breed a lesson. He would root them out of their holes, drag them into the light and before the throne. He would then show them his creation, his puppet, the witch-queen Seda, and perhaps he would have some of them exsanguinated as in the old days. Yes, the Empire was ripe for the reintroduction of a few customs from the Days of Lore, and all the easier since these Wasps were such a guilelessly cruel and energetic breed.

Seated beside him, Seda glanced around again. She looked ill at ease and nervous, but inside she was noting the faces around her that she knew.

They are all in place, those of them I can see. She would be either victorious or dead by dawn, she knew well. Either way, she could no longer live under the shadow of her brother’s spite, or of Maxin’s knife. Always plots within plots within plots.

Crouching behind Uctebri, Tynisa had eyes only for Tisamon. Her hands were shackled, her feet chained to the floor. A cold and terrible feeling overwhelmed her. I do not want to watch this.

But I must. Because someone must, and that should be someone who knew him, and who cared. Whatever was about to happen, there must be a witness.

When he stepped out before them, the crowd fell very nearly silent, as though 700 Wasp-kinden were collectively holding their breaths. It was not just for him, of course, for Felise had stepped out to face him across the arena at the very same time. She had been fighting her practice matches too. They had watched her, just as they had watched him, and it had not taken much imagination to realize that now at this climax of the games they would come together.

They had taken away her iridescent armour that was glittering proof against sting-shot. She wore only a band of cloth across her breasts, a leather binding about her shoulders and back, and otherwise the same loose, short britches that Tisamon did. The Wasps liked to see their blood on display, their wounds clearly visible. Her pose was defiant, as though she had never been captured, and Tisamon realized suddenly that she had not, just as he had not.

We are neither of us prisoners, not standing here with our blades drawn. These are the parts of us that mere bars cannot hold.

His mind felt clear now. It was twenty years since it had been so clear. What a mad time for him to suddenly become sane! What a moment for him to understand, in front of all these witnesses, that he loved Felise like nothing on earth.

He looked Felise straight in the eyes. The shock of such visual contact made him misstep as he walked towards her. Her return stare lanced into his mind with the fierce intensity of her passion.

Not hate, love. She has every reason to hate me. Standing before the host of his enemies, preparing himself for his last fight, Tisamon considered, I am a lucky man and I am thankful.

She carried her sword, of course: that long-hafted Dragonfly blade that moved like light and shadow in her hands. He himself had his clawed gauntlet, his constant companion that was like part of his body. This would be a match such as had never been seen before by imperial eyes.

The bindings about her shoulders were not armour, nor merely decorative. The Wasps had given some careful thought to how to banish a slave’s Art wings without stopping her moving freely. They wanted her to fight, but not to fly.

He held her eyes. He did not even need to mouth anything, or look anywhere else but there. She understood, and she let him know what she could give him. They faced each other across the sand in the stance of rival combatants but they were of one mind. He could feel his own mind letting go, piece by piece, stripping itself down to this one honed purpose. The Wasp crowd was now so quiet that it was as if they were merely part of the plan. The hush was almost conspiratorial.

He had drawn his blade back, his offhand extended forwards to parry, his weight resting on the back foot. Felise’s sword rose vertical before her, leaning slightly forwards. His view of her face was now bisected by the blade.