XLII. ANU-URO-SET

  The centori engulfed their party in turtle formation. Gone were the liberators of Ironore. By the way the COnqueror was clenching his gladius; it appeared more likely that he would order them to raze De-Asha to the ground. The enormous city gates rumbled open and a chariot rode out to greet the Triumph.

  It had been nearly six months since Asho had seen his cousin. Asho sat tall on Hellion, his grip tight. Admrilia appeared confident, poised, her armor neat and polished. Even her long hair was perfectly drawn back in the brutal heat. Admrilia handed the chariot’s reins to a man beside her, the legate most likely.

  She approached and kissed the Conqueror’s knuckles. “Emperor, how honored to see you and your Stormlord’s blessed Triumph.” She rose, gesturing behind her to the legate. “Allow me to introduce to you De-Asha’s legate, Titus Crassus Clavo.”

  “We welcome you and your Triumph with the utmost hospitality, esteemed Conqueror.” Clavo said thickly.

  Admrilia shuffled aside as Clavo kissed the Conqueror’s knuckles. “Cousin.”

  “Cousin.”

  She moved past Asho without a second thought to greet the advisors.

  That evening, House Uro’s great hall struggled to contain the Triumph. The legate introduced them to the members of the room. “My Conqueror, the House of Uro. My wife, Cythe-Uro, her brother, Lero-Uro, her mother Baset-Uro, and sister, Nia-Uro.”

  The Legate’s wife was beautiful and Asho roamed the curves of her body appreciatively. The brother caught him looking and growled under his breath. Asho gave a passing glance to the other sibling. She was nowhere near the older sister’s beauty, too sickly. To harsh around the edges. Asho struggled through the dozens of introductions to House delegates and other legates summoned from throughout Ker. When dinner was served, Asho gratefully took his seat at the Conqueror’s left. He ate ferociously through the offerings. Admrilia eyed him in disgust. It had been less than a day that Asho had been reunited with his cousin, and he had already had enough of her ‘holier than thou’ attitude.

  “As lovely as this meal is, Admrilia, the taste of your failure is even sweeter.” Asho licked his fingers clean. “If I remember correctly, you were sent to tamper down the kerai rebellion.”

  “To investigate, yes.” She said coolly.

  “They alluded you. In De-Urs the kerai revolted and attempted to take the Conqueror’s life. We uncovered their coup, not you.”

  Admrilia frowned before her cool mask slid back into place. “”I see. And was this an isolated incident?”

  Asho shrugged. “You tell me. Those involved are dead.”

  “As are two of the Conqueror’s legates. Both were involved in the flesh trade throughout the desert.” Admrilia bowed her head. “My purpose led me here. You will see tomorrow cousin. We ride for Anu-Uro-Set.” Admrilia’s smile was sharklike. “The place of resounding victory.”

  She’s planning something. Asho reasoned for the tenth time as their expedition made it down the final ridge towards the necropolis. Admrilia’s voice jolted his attention from the front of the pack. “We have arrived, your eminence. Anu-Uro-Set.” The Conqueror waved them forward.

  They rode down the crater and into the camp. The necropolis was larger than Asho had initially thought, encompassing the entire mountainous ridge. Twenty or more stone entryways were carved into its facade. At the bottom of the crater was the workcamp. Tents, ropes, sleds, and tools had all been cleared aside for their arrival. Proud laborers were lined up against the main thoroughfare. Asho wondered again why Admrilia had insisted on taking the Conqueror hours out into the Dunelands.

  What are you planning Admrilia?

  Legionnaires were stationed along the walls of the destroyed portico. The outdoor temple was in worse condition than Thrysne island. Their party approached the cliffs. Two massive statues of the goddess stood sentry over the desert. Admrilia pushed them inside the necropolis.

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  The room was brightly lit with brazzers. Admrilia dismounted before an ancient shrine to Sachmis. She turned and regarded the large crowd. “Today, we stand before the entryway of Anu-Uro-Set. Once this hallowed ground was dedicated to the travelers of the Dunelands as they braved the perilous journey between Houses. During the Conquering, it served as the shelter for the Ten Houses as they made their final stand against the empire. They were not successful. Ker bent to the will of the Ashenian Empire.”

  “It is the will of the Empire I have dedicated my life to. It is the will of Thrysne that I must follow. To overcome all obstacles, to instill order, and to fulfill the legacy of the Stormlord. To seek out the stars.”

  Despite the heat, Asho’s flesh was ice cold at Admrilia’s words sunk into his bones.

  “This oath spurred me on from Ash-Kai to De-Asha. The Conqueror had ordered the city to produce a star. A relic of the Conquering. A weapon fit for the Goddess Sachmis herself. Through the full assistance of House Uro, the ninth legion, and the accounts of the honorable deceased legate— I was able to do what they couldn’t. I was able to track the star here, deep inside Anu-Uro-Set. Foreman.”

  A small, permanently sunburnt man with a protruding overbite stepped forward nervously. In his hands he held a rectangular cedar box. THe foreman shook like a leaf as he approached the Conqueror. He dropped to his knees, holding the box aloft. The Conqueror’s hands were steady as he opened it, holding up a dagger as dark as night.

  “My Conqueror, may I present to you the Shard of Sachmis’ mane.” Admrilia said victoriously.

  The Conqueror smiled.

  Oh gods, oh shitting gods.

  The room awaited the emperor’s verdict. “You have recovered it.” The Conqueror said, his voice full of wonder. The room exploded into cheers as the Conqueror raised the blade aloft. Asho sat atop Hellion, blinking away the furious tears before they could fall. Knowing full well that he had just lost the Empire.

  The only relief the prince felt from the crushing weight of his failures was when he was on the track. With the reins in his hands, and the basket rattling beneath his feet, there was no triumph. No forced marriage alliance. No throne. As Asho guided the horses down the final straightaway, there was no broken oath.

  Centori Tygris held up his hand for him to stop. Reality crashed down as soon as Asho’s wobbly legs stepped out of the basket. The window of opportunity to earn the Conqueror’s favor had slipped through his fingers. It was all for naught. Admrilia had restored a star. A bloody relic of the Gods!

  Asho gratefully accepted the centori’s waterskin. The cold liquid dripped down his chin as Tygris signaled for two of his men to get his horses out of their harnesses. Tygris slapped him on the shoulder. “You look better today.”

  “Thanks.” Asho muttered halfheartedly. “Not that it matters. Admrilia couldn’t even be bothered.” Asho watched as other teams’ horses cantered to the starting line. Clearly, they were bronzed and experienced charioteers. Sturdy sons from one of the other Houses.

  “She is in a meeting with the Conqueror.” Tygris informed him.

  Asho turned. “Picking out what to wear at her own coronation, is she?”

  “Hya, prince. The year is not up yet.”

  Asho glanced away from the centori to the stone bleachers. In just days, they would be filled with the whole territory. Unexplainable trepidation clenched around his lungs. The uneasiness had failed to dissipate as Asho was escorted from the hippodrome by the Conqueror’s centori.

  Sweat clung to every surface of his body by the time they made it back to the Uro compound. He longed for a cool bath. To get out of the unbearable desert heat. As they walked through the estate gardens, a figure caught his eyes. The Uro matriarch sat at the edge of the pond. What was her name, Baset? A toddler waddled between her and the legate’s pretty wife. Ashow watched as the toddler fell into Baset’s arms, feeling deeply unsettled. Asho reached out and called to the wyrd, imagining a net ensnaring the woman. Baset-Uro glanced up sharply, amber eyes narrowing.

  Asho was escorted back from the hippodrome by the Conqueror’s centori. Sweat “Idiot.” Asho grit his teeth. He looked down at his sweaty palms. Why was the Stormlord forsaking him? What had he done to deserve this?

  Stormlord guide me. He prayed under the stars that night. Help me fulfill my family’s legacy.