The Empire (The Lover's Opalus) Read Online Free
Author: Grayson Reyes-Cole
despite her distance from the girl.
She tried Taritana’s therapies but they failed to restore her as they did not solve the ever-present puzzle. She watched her daughter grow blonder. The daystar did not harm Rucha, but did not warm the tone of her skin either. Her eyes remained pale green, like the Emperor’s, but shaped like Raeche’s, as were her nose and cheeks. The Empire rejoiced over how beautiful its heir would be, and how strong.
Raeche considered more than once that perhaps Galan had been an unconscious production of Spirit. A figment of her imagination, or even a phantom. Still, in all her imaginings, she had known little of the relationship between man and woman before him. She had received no education in such things when she was given to the Emperor. It had been her mother’s duty to prepare her, but Annikah had merely told her that she knew all she needed to know.
“Look at you,” Annikah had said, gesturing to her. “Of course he will want you. There is nothing left for you to know.”
When Raeche began to ask questions, her mother had kept her distance but scrutinized her as if scrying, her gaze delving her daughter’s. The moment had passed soon after, and her mother had gone, leaving her to her fate. The things the Empress had learned since the few ill-fated couplings with her husband had not come from her imagination. They filled her mind at the oddest of times, made her cheeks and belly hot.
Galan was real, but he could not be the father of her child. Yet, it could be none other.
Raeche’s hair became dry and brittle. Her skin began to flake. Dark half-circles developed beneath her eyes. Her lush curves diminished. When she evaluated the image in her mirror, all the womanly trappings that had lured Galan to her had disappeared. Though the bards still wrote songs of her beauty she heard none of them. Raeche made few appearances in public, ignoring many of her duties as Empress. She talked to herself incessantly, often arguing over the puzzle of her daughter’s conception. When Taritana interfered, Raeche sliced through her insincere overtures with the lethal truth: the Personal loved the Emperor and could therefore not do her duty to the Empress, though it was Raeche to whom she owed her fealty and devotion.
Her existence grew unbearable. As cycles scraped by, she spent her free hours apart from the world in the Imperial Library. She read books, scrolls, the Codex of the Empire, and the Codex of the Spirit. Searching for answers–even searching for a reference to a strange blood-eating vanity–but she learned little more than she already knew.
Steeped in yawning despair, she would have willingly and with relief gone into death this way, if not for a Chance of Spirit in the form of Rucha taking her first steps.
Raeche had not even noticed Rucha was of an age to walk, so long had she dwelled in a compartment of fear and confusion. As she passed the Emperor’s apartments one day she saw his door standing ajar. Though not unusual, a whisper of breath on the back of her neck made her turn her head and she saw her daughter’s first steps. Of course, Rucha had been walking to her father. From his loud whoop as he swung the girl in the air, Raeche knew for certain the Emperor had never experienced a happier moment. He did not contain his Spirit and it overwhelmed her, pouring happiness into her. She did not remember ever knowing the Spirit of Happiness or Contentment.
In this breath of a moment, Raeche was reminded of her husband’s masculine beauty. More than the most powerful man in the Empire, from head to foot he was the most handsome, courageous and terrible. His coloring so different from her own, his body so large and undefeatable in battle, he stole her breath at the strangest of moments. Galan had never stolen her breath or stopped her words and she had been so thankful for that. The Emperor had sea-green eyes that stroked her. The Emperor’s hands were scarred and had thick
She tried Taritana’s therapies but they failed to restore her as they did not solve the ever-present puzzle. She watched her daughter grow blonder. The daystar did not harm Rucha, but did not warm the tone of her skin either. Her eyes remained pale green, like the Emperor’s, but shaped like Raeche’s, as were her nose and cheeks. The Empire rejoiced over how beautiful its heir would be, and how strong.
Raeche considered more than once that perhaps Galan had been an unconscious production of Spirit. A figment of her imagination, or even a phantom. Still, in all her imaginings, she had known little of the relationship between man and woman before him. She had received no education in such things when she was given to the Emperor. It had been her mother’s duty to prepare her, but Annikah had merely told her that she knew all she needed to know.
“Look at you,” Annikah had said, gesturing to her. “Of course he will want you. There is nothing left for you to know.”
When Raeche began to ask questions, her mother had kept her distance but scrutinized her as if scrying, her gaze delving her daughter’s. The moment had passed soon after, and her mother had gone, leaving her to her fate. The things the Empress had learned since the few ill-fated couplings with her husband had not come from her imagination. They filled her mind at the oddest of times, made her cheeks and belly hot.
Galan was real, but he could not be the father of her child. Yet, it could be none other.
Raeche’s hair became dry and brittle. Her skin began to flake. Dark half-circles developed beneath her eyes. Her lush curves diminished. When she evaluated the image in her mirror, all the womanly trappings that had lured Galan to her had disappeared. Though the bards still wrote songs of her beauty she heard none of them. Raeche made few appearances in public, ignoring many of her duties as Empress. She talked to herself incessantly, often arguing over the puzzle of her daughter’s conception. When Taritana interfered, Raeche sliced through her insincere overtures with the lethal truth: the Personal loved the Emperor and could therefore not do her duty to the Empress, though it was Raeche to whom she owed her fealty and devotion.
Her existence grew unbearable. As cycles scraped by, she spent her free hours apart from the world in the Imperial Library. She read books, scrolls, the Codex of the Empire, and the Codex of the Spirit. Searching for answers–even searching for a reference to a strange blood-eating vanity–but she learned little more than she already knew.
Steeped in yawning despair, she would have willingly and with relief gone into death this way, if not for a Chance of Spirit in the form of Rucha taking her first steps.
Raeche had not even noticed Rucha was of an age to walk, so long had she dwelled in a compartment of fear and confusion. As she passed the Emperor’s apartments one day she saw his door standing ajar. Though not unusual, a whisper of breath on the back of her neck made her turn her head and she saw her daughter’s first steps. Of course, Rucha had been walking to her father. From his loud whoop as he swung the girl in the air, Raeche knew for certain the Emperor had never experienced a happier moment. He did not contain his Spirit and it overwhelmed her, pouring happiness into her. She did not remember ever knowing the Spirit of Happiness or Contentment.
In this breath of a moment, Raeche was reminded of her husband’s masculine beauty. More than the most powerful man in the Empire, from head to foot he was the most handsome, courageous and terrible. His coloring so different from her own, his body so large and undefeatable in battle, he stole her breath at the strangest of moments. Galan had never stolen her breath or stopped her words and she had been so thankful for that. The Emperor had sea-green eyes that stroked her. The Emperor’s hands were scarred and had thick
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