In a dystopian world, Empress Sy rules supreme from behind a mask of lies and augury, until she tastes a blue fruit that changes everything. Already chosen to rule, can she also be the chosen one who will liberate? Whom should she trust to help find her truth: the Palace bodyguard, the charming ambassador, or the rebel General?
Prophecy is a dangerous vice.
Motivated by an age-old prophecy, a group of dissenters plot to remove the Empress from the Star Palace, believing she is the foretold Empress of legend. Their forces await her to command against the IQ, whom she has sworn to serve till the day she dies. No one realizes the limitations of her station or how deep the IQ's influence runs. But being forced to sojourn beyond the Palace Compound exposes her to millennia-old injustice and reopens childhood heartaches.
The rebels' faith in her is seductive. She dreams of rising above her station's constraints and making a real difference in her world. Nevertheless, how much of the prophecy should she trust when she knows herself to be nothing more than a proxy?
Is a prophecy worthy of risking everything?
In a dystopian world, Empress Sy rules supreme from behind a mask of lies and augury, until she tastes a blue fruit that changes everything. Already chosen to rule, can she also be the chosen one who will liberate? Whom should she trust to help find her truth: the Palace bodyguard, the charming ambassador, or the rebel General?
Prophecy is a dangerous vice.
Motivated by an age-old prophecy, a group of dissenters plot to remove the Empress from the Star Palace, believing she is the foretold Empress of legend. Their forces await her to command against the IQ, whom she has sworn to serve till the day she dies. No one realizes the limitations of her station or how deep the IQ's influence runs. But being forced to sojourn beyond the Palace Compound exposes her to millennia-old injustice and reopens childhood heartaches.
The rebels' faith in her is seductive. She dreams of rising above her station's constraints and making a real difference in her world. Nevertheless, how much of the prophecy should she trust when she knows herself to be nothing more than a proxy?
Is a prophecy worthy of risking everything?
“Let it end,” I pray. But, alas, I am neverending. From behind my golden mask, the mask of Sy, I move through the motions of my station, as has been done for millennia. I allow the worlds under our governance to glorify me. It is second nature now. I can almost remember a time when the adulation embarrassed me. But the mask has succeeded in erasing all that I once was.
Now the names and faces of those at Court blur with the same types of petitions and tedious veneration. They all approach me with equal parts awe and fear, scrambling for the honor of my audience and then rarely knowing what to do once in my presence. Not that I can blame them. I understand the gravity of my immortal introduction.
My concealed eyes scan the alcoves along the gilded walls. Counselors fill the theater seats, still as stone, yet not nearly as honest. I use them sparingly, as is appropriate. The Court of Stars collects experts, as one might pick pebbles from a beach. Every once in a while, I am obligated to dust them off and lift them to the Light. It is a waste of energy, as I have instant access to any question I could ever ask via the Uplink, through my implants. But appearances must be maintained and alliances curated. I will certainly shine my Light upon one of them before the session ends.
No one moves, as only I can break the standstill, but I find that I do not care to. What if I just stood here for the rest of the cycle, freezing the Court in place, as though I actually controlled time? But I am no timekeeper, I am a silence-keeper. Silence is one of my most useful tools as Empress.
Even the Ven Mistress seems to be behaving herself this cycle, though she appears bored and impatient. Her tight knot of honeyed hair lifts the dark of her eyes into an expression of perpetual vexation. She is ageless and relentless and unscrupulous. But even her formidable gall cannot hasten the proceedings without my acquiescence.
Nothing ever happens quickly at Court; everything plays at a specific tempo. A distinct melody hums subtle and consistently through the Star Palace, punctuated with deliberate rests. As the maestro of the assemblage, I understand how long I can allow the silence to grow before I lose the song. It is all a part of the histrionics.
Inhaling imperceptibly, I roll my shoulders a fraction, ignoring them all, including the billions of Twinkles watching me through the Uplink. Instead, I stare out the window and spy blue Cearanach- the first of our moons to rise. It appears just behind the tallest peak in the Mantori mountain range. My mother named me after that moon once, a detail I keep tucked away, even from myself.
I wonder why I am thinking of her now.
Evryn notices my subtle distraction. He is the token male in my Court of estrogen. His warm whisper tickles my ear, bringing me out of my reverie, "Apologies, my Queen, do you require rest," he barely touches my arm, directing me back to my seat, "Or should we keep the pace and retire early?" He breaks the silence without my signal. I do not look at him, but I silently approve of his impertinence. He knows my moods.
Inclining my head towards him, I answer, "Well, that depends on what you have brought me. If you pique my interest, I would be willing to stay all evening." I lean a few drops closer, yet more drops than my royal bubble usually allows.
He clears his throat and whispers with a smile, "We welcome a phys ambassador from the planet Oorium (though he pronounces it Ar-ee-um and then repeats Uh-ree-um, as he struggles to find the correct way, Or-ee-um)." His face flushes red with the mispronunciations. I pretend to not notice his struggle and simply nod as I look out over the hall.
The baritone of Evryn's voice calms me. The timber he uses just for me keeps Court amusing. I return with renewed anticipation to our conversations. Naturally, I appear only marginally interested in what he says, as my reactions remain guarded and monitored. But in truth, I live for the moments we officially interact, regardless of the galactic audience. I can only stare into his chiseled features without inquiry while on public display.
He reignites the dreams I had long since doused, of friends and secrets shared beyond the Palace. We have become a team. I approve of how quickly the servants respond to his commands. He is a natural leader. He can be intimidating and forceful, with steely, dark eyes under thick eyebrows. But when he has my attention, his gaze softens, and his underlying patience emerges.
"My Queen," he breathes, "His name is Mordus Hort, called Tantus on his planet." Half a deep snicker catches in his throat. Then, he looks straight into my eyes, "He seems to be making some sort of disturbance- they keep referring to him as a farmi on the comm."
Farmis- small, hairless, blue creatures- have been likened to miniature people, especially when they sit up on their haunches and use their delicate hand-like paws. I straighten in my seat and lengthen my spine into the sound of his voice. I would laugh with him, if appropriate. But, instead, I nod, encouraging the light banter.
He smiles, and my stomach flips. "I don't believe there's anything to worry about. It sounds like it might actually be an entertaining meeting if I may be so bold." He leans in too close and lingers too long. I like the way he smells, clean and musky. He sports a closely cropped beard and a smattering of brown curls that never seem out of place. My true eyes blink unconsciously, captured in his stare-though he cannot see them.
"It is just that boldness which keeps me listening," I reply, with little emotion, though I smile inside. Smiles are a rare indulgence when I can never share them. “Physical visitors are a treat." Then, lowering my voice, I chance a joke, "Show the farmi in."
The amused look on his face is worth any reprimand I might receive later. Our time together grows shorter, and I can not miss the few opportunities we have to enjoy one another.
I appreciate how he addresses me, with only thinly veiled formality- quite honestly scandalous. He smiles too often and dares to look into my eyes, or at least what he thinks are my eyes. One can only guess my true expression when they stare at the gilded mask I must wear. Listening to the easy way he speaks, I can almost imagine us being friends.
Keeping my hands within the folds of my golden cloak, I type one-handed into the hidden code-pad installed under the skin of my palm. Immediately, lists, charts, and schematics appear within my retinal implant. I peruse the information provided concerning the next supplicant while simultaneously motioning toward the door porters who had been waiting for my signal. With so many things mechanized, their role is entirely ceremonial. But, we all have our role in the public Court, whether it makes sense to us or not.
They push the double doors open, revealing the puckered face of Ven Dissoli, dressed in the white and gold robe of her station as Ven. The Ven class manages the business of running the Palace. They know more about palace life than even I do. Standing stiff and straight, she announces, "Presenting Tantus Mordus Hort to her Imperial Majesty the Empress Sy, Supreme Ruler, Queen Augur and the Heart of the Star Alliance."
On cue, I stand slowly, opening my arms and taking the deep folds of my cloak with them. Like a halcyon butterfly, I await the Tantus' approach to my dais. The walk always takes longer than any supplicant anticipates. Most unconsciously speed up a quarter of the way in, as they fear inconveniencing me with their lethargy. Then, as their shoes unintentionally clack on the shiny floors, they slow again with embarrassment. Staring them down with graceful power, I set the tone for every meeting. By the time they stop at the Golden Squares of Reception, I have divined much of their ilk.
Definitely a farmi, I think, half-turning my head toward Evryn. He smiles.
Everything about the man is blue. His eyebrows, thin mustache, and hair are dyed the same royal blue. He wears a blue tunic with silver lacework embroidery over a bulbous belly and wide, silver pants. His thick, blue hair stands up straight on his head, as high as a loaf of bread; a bold choice. I even think I see the tiniest blue tufts of hair peeking out of his neckline. I find myself wondering if he hides more blue in the crotch of his pants.
He is my first supplicant from the planet Oorium. I stifle the urge to laugh at the mental image of a colorful crowd of naked Oori. Did they all dye their hair? Were they all blue? Where is my mind today, I think? My eyes flick to Evryn, but he stands at quiet attention, unaware of my uncharacteristic musings.
Crossing his hands over his heart, the Tantus lowers down onto one knee with a wobble and bows his head, as is customary, "Your Imperial Majesty, I am most honored." He bows lower than most. The position looks uncomfortable. His head bobs minutely as he wonders whether he should rise or wait for me to signal him. He berates himself under his breath. After an appropriate pause, I answer him by mouthing, "Please rise Tantus Mordus Hort." An ethereal voice speaks for me, enunciating each word as I form them with my silent lips.
He does not know what to do with his hands- should he keep them on his heart or use them as leverage to stand? So he does something in between, awkwardly pushing his overweight body back up with his elbow on his knee, struggling to keep his balance. He grunts with the effort.
As the Tantus rises, the intuitive mask bestows upon him a benevolent smile, though my own face remains lax. I sit stiffly upon my backless seat with precise posture. It hangs down from the vaulted ceiling like a child's swing on thick, molded glass posts. Seemingly filled with twinkling stars, it represents the descent of Empress Sy down from the heavens, called Descendere. The glass throne of the Empress is not comfortable for me, but it was never meant to be.
Using my palm-pad, I privately scan the readouts concerning the Tantus behind the mask. Finally, I choose one of the offered conversation starters printed across the bottom of my field of view, "It has been too long since we have hosted a delegation from the planet Oorium in our Court. The Oori are most welcome. Please indulge in all that the Capital has to offer as our distinguished guest."
"Thank you, Your Majesty," he begins, standing alone in the center of my vacuous receiving hall. I do not offer him a seat. He fidgets, and I hear an unidentified advisor clearing his throat somewhere. The sound echoes, drawing the Tantus' eyes up toward the rows of spectators.
"This...this is precisely why I have made the long journey on behalf of my homeworld. We hope we have not been forgotten." He pauses as though waiting for a response. I assume my mask gives him little reaction as I read up on his planet and its social structure, undetected. Lists of the partitions of Oorium cycle through my vision screen. Clem is the largest, with the most resources and technology.
I turn my face toward Evryn and coo, "If you would please Tor Crimdor, I am parched." As the musical sound of my false voice addresses him, he lights up with a half-smile. He turns to whisper to another attendant, who then disappears. Without haste, I return my gaze toward the Tantus.
He clears his throat, likely uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the highest Court. He glances at the assemblage of attendants lining the walls and then the billions of Twinkles buzzing around the faux expanse of my ceiling- watching Court via the Uplink. They swarm closer to him, chatting amongst themselves, spreading rumors, and passing judgment. He pulls at the hem of his tunic. "With respect, we understand how busy the Star Palace is. But to date, we have not received any prophecy concerning our affairs since before my father's time. It was our understanding that…."
Evryn appears at my side with a steaming cup of wild ariass tea, sweetened with milk of kekk. A rare delicacy, it is my favorite moon-rise treat. He places it above my hover-saucer to cool. But I want to feel the heat on my fingers and scoop it off immediately, blowing over the hot surface. While the Uplink Twinkles might hear the blowing sound, I know that they can not see my pursed lips. But I like to pretend that as Evryn smiles and backs away, he can see my true eyes smiling back at him.
"Thank you, Tor Crimdor," I speak slowly, exaggerating each syllable, "It is just as I like it." I take another sip, still looking at his beaming face, "Please give my regards to the service staff. The temperature is just perfect." I take another slow sip. The Tantus, clearly stymied by the interruption, shifts his feet on the echoing floor.
I do not offer him any tea.
My head turns toward him methodically as I place the cup back above the hover-saucer. It floats, waiting for the next time I will need it. "You were saying," I drone. The frustration wipes from his face as he becomes aware of my full attention.
"Yes, as I was saying," he stammers, searching my metallic face with his eyes; I am keenly aware of my golden face's effect on my subjects. "It was our understanding that the Court of Stars remains neutral and offers information equally. But our informants have suggested that certain systems are receiving regular counsel from your augurs, while we have heard nothing for a generation. This seems hardly fair."
Words appear along the bottom of my field of view. In all of my official interactions, our Intelligence Quorum, or IQ, provides the dialog that I can speak freely. With billions of subjects watching, every move I make is carefully orchestrated. I read aloud with mild indignation, "My dear Tantus, are you here to lodge a formal grievance with the Court, or have you come with other business? I shall be most disappointed if you traveled all this way, just to cast accusations."
"Apologies. I am sure this is just an oversight, Your Majesty. I offer no accusation. I merely wanted to alert you to any possible communication issues our people may be experiencing. We are one of the furthest systems within the Empire."
"Yes," I nod, reading the last time we had contacted his system through my IQ's readout, along with suggested responses, "While it is true that the Myrillutius system has had little, direct interaction with us in quite a span of time, it is also true that we leave well enough alone. We do not dabble in local affairs just to follow some imagined schedule of prophecy. We allow cultures to thrive or perish on their own merits. It encourages invention and enterprise." Then, I stand for dramatic effect, adding my own warning, “I am sure I do not have to tell you that although prophecy is a useful tool, it is a dangerous vice."
"Of course, Your Majesty," he bows under the weight of my vacant stare upon him, "I understand. I thought that perhaps the best way to keep our system fresh in the minds of your augurs was to make an offering of ourselves."
"Continue," I answer, sitting back down upon my glass throne. I have already reviewed Tantus' information, and I know his agenda. He hopes to strengthen our ties to his homeworld with the arrangement of a bond-mate match.
In truth, it would prove a wise union for both sides, though I would never give that away freely. All augurs working in the Temple are expected to find a bond-mate from a neighboring system. Genetic diversity heightens their offspring's gifts for prophecy. Female augurs generally breed true, strong prophets. Male descendants, unfortunately, tend to display diminished traits or none at all. But curiously, the gift of prophecy entirely skips generations when male augurs bond with female augurs, as though they cancel each other out. So it is forbidden. Female augurs never bond with any males from Sy to avoid this as an extra precaution. We had not bonded anyone to an Oori during my reign. New gene combinations are always sought out by the IQ.
"We understand that worlds are asked to pay homage by sending their sons here as bond-mates. We do not want the Star Palace to think we are above offering our men to help strengthen the Empire and our alliance. We have not made such arrangements over the past generation, but we are eager to rectify that. Furthermore, the House of Hort would like to be formally considered as bond-mate to the Empress herself, thereby linking our most remote system with the heart of the alliance here on Sy." He returns to his knee and wobbles on the Golden Square.
I snorted audibly, embarrassingly. The mask could not cover my gut reaction to the impropriety of this bold proposal. I sneer under the placid face of Sy. Bond-mate to the Empress? A farmer from minor nobility? I search my view screen for the eloquent chastisement the IQ will undoubtedly offer. None appear.
On instinct, I glance over at Evryn for some reaction. He keeps his body at attention, but I catch the corner of his eye looking at me with interest. I cough, trying to cover for my slip-up as I imagine how to let him down with dignity. Although it is not uncommon for delegates to offer bond-mates to the Greater Court of Stars, it is unheard of for someone to make such a proposal to the Empress herself. My finger flicks a question about bond-mates to the Empress.
"What makes you think I am interested in taking a bond-mate?" I ask, without an answer from the IQ. I am curious why he thought he had the right to publicly make such an announcement. It makes me believe that he must be following some ancient precedent I am unaware of. I will not be addled in public.
"As Queen Augur, your potent lineage must be preserved," he explains, without raising his head, "It has been too long since you last produced an heir for the Temple. We would be honored to assist in keeping your House strong."
I freeze for the first time in a decade of wearing the golden mask. I know nothing about the heirs, but in the millennia that Empress Sy has ruled unchallenged, it appears she/I have outlived bondmates and sired prophetic children. Who are they? Where are they? Why have I never been instructed on this history?
Tantus Hort remains on his knee, waiting for my response. I palm-type my query, needing to know more about Empress's offspring. Was there a family of augurs in the Temple who considered me their mother, or grandmother? The idea reminds me of my own mother again, and my stomach sinks. Two thoughts of Mother in one cycle is unwise.
Instead of an answer, words scrawl across the bottom of my eye in bold print: WE WILL BEGIN WELCOMING SUITORS AS BOND-MATES FOR THE EMPRESS IMMEDIATELY.
I read the words three times before I choose to react. Would I actually be expected to let this chubby, blue man handle me? Of course not, I decide. The IQ is slippery with their promises. It does not go unnoticed that they choose not to answer my question about heirs or bond-mates.
"You may rise, Tantus Hort," I say on auto-pilot. I wonder what expression my mask conveys as my true face twists in confusion. I remind myself that I am not in a position to have an opinion one way or the other. I wonder why the Quorum's response surprises me. "You make an excellent proposition, but I will take it one step further. We will begin welcoming suitors from throughout the Empire." I swallow before continuing. Though my Empress voice will always speak with precise intonation, I pause for clarity. "Congratulations Tantus Hort. You have secured your spot as my first suitor. Palace attendants will see to updating your accommodations. You are now a treasured guest of the Palace for the extent of your stay. I look forward to our coming interactions." Releasing him, I finish with a traditional colloquialism, "May you find the brightest future…."
The peoples of the Star Alliance, are together under the rule of one woman - the Empress Sy; the immortal goddess who gave her name to the planet she rules with a golden fist from. She is merciful, staunch and resolute; she imparts her justice almost dispassionately, but cares so much for her subjects. She is the Queen Auger, ensuring her wards in the Temple are cared for and taught to always seek out the brightest future with their prophecies. She is eternal, and she is the Light. Except, she's not. She's a 26 year old woman named Ceara who has been the embodiment of Sy for ten years. She is not as omnipotent as her subjects would believe; with all of her knowledge being fed to her through her technical implants by the governing IQ - the Intelligence Quorum - who use Ceara's body as a proxy for their golden queen. But when she inadvertently stains her fingers blue through a fruit from a distant solar system, she sets into motion a prophecy which has been hidden from her, Sy and the IQ. In fact, she's somehow started the rebellion.
For what is, technically, a sci-fi novel, The Never-Ending Empress felt more like fantasy novel. The tech wasn't mind-blowingly complicated, with actually less reference to it than one may think. It was more of the fact that this woman needed to find herself far from home and not know who to trust that made it feel more like a fantasy. That she was whisked away from her golden prison, simply because of a prophecy. And, what else is high or epic fantasy than a novel set on a different world? Just because there were planets, doesn't mean there were not fantastical elements that made reading this book feel magical.
There are parts of The Never-Ending Empress which are difficult to read - the subject of child abuse is skirted around with Ceara's recollection of when she was being groomed to step into the Sy persona. The complicit nature of the society she rules when a child is forcibly taken from her parents purely because she's an Auger (a prophet). Even Ceara's scant recollections about her parents, and that even thinking about them was literally beaten from her. But, these themes - as difficult as they are to read about - are handled with delicacy and empathy. And it was the fact that Laroche broached these subjects in such a way that made it stand out.
S. A.