The soon-to-be Empress of the Eternal Sun stood in a dusty living room clutching a framed picture. Her fingers absently caressed the edges of the white frame. A little girl stood on top of her two fathers’ shoulders. Both men supported her legs as she stood, beaming with her arms stretched out wide. She was happy, blissfully unaware of what was to come. She hadn’t dug her fathers’ graves yet. She didn’t have the Emperor’s blood on her hands.
That little girl couldn’t imagine one day she would be known as the Lioness of Sol. She couldn’t fathom that her rage would one day set the Empire ablaze, that it would lead her to the Solar Throne. Lania Rosfara didn’t want a title or power, she wanted her fathers.
Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heavier is the heart.
Lania inspected her old living room. A couch, a bookshelf, a coffee table, a creaky wooden chest full of old games. Everything was where it was supposed to be. Just off the living room, the dining table her sula had bought from the town’s carpenter as an anniversary gift for her oka sat collecting dust. It hosted only three dinners before their deaths. Lania’s oka would have had a heart attack if he had been alive to see the state of the house.
Her home was now a museum, a reminder of the atrocities com-mitted by the former emperor and his ilk. Hundreds of bronze placards littered the room. She stopped to read each one, noting the small nails that kept them in place. The floorboards creaked with each step, keeping her mind from wandering to the commotion outside. She ran her fingers along the dingy orange couch on her way over to a small end table. Lania inspected the lumpy piece of furniture with a pained smile, replaying the memories of resting her head in her sula’s lap while he read to her.
Another picture sat in a thin black frame atop the end table next to the couch. She sat and grabbed the frame, reading the placard attached to the bottom. In two sentences, it named her fathers, their jobs, and the nature of their deaths: An execution by the Yeli Sai’ait, the emperor’s secret police. Her jaw tightened as she looked at the picture. The two of them smiled as they embraced in front of the house. It was the day they bought it, years before Lania was born.
She caught her reflection in the glass. Empress Sevara’s coronation gown, and the thousands of gems sewn onto it, glistened in the dim amber light of a nearby floor lamp. She couldn’t help but wonder what her fathers would think of the woman she had become.
Maybe it’s best they can’t see me now, she thought.
Her oka and sula would have struggled to recognize their daughter, standing resplendent in a red floor-length dress. Long flowing sleeves covered her muscular arms, hiding the years of well-earned scars. The thick fabric and well-constructed corset forced Lania’s naturally boxy frame into something unrecognizable. She had picked the thousand-year-old dress out at random after being offered over a dozen similarly priceless and ancient dresses. She had little desire to indulge in the planning of her own ascension.
She continued to stare at her reflection—soon to become the embodiment of what killed her fathers. The thought was enough to make her sick to her stomach. Or maybe it was Errin Vakryis, Sar of Mars, standing at her front door.
“Your Radiance! A word?” he shouted, his voice having yet to settle into an octave.
Lania continued to stare at the picture, savoring one last moment of peace before shuffling to the door. The rigid hoops in her skirt and gem-encrusted heels nearly sent her tumbling. She stumbled and caught herself on the door handle. The hinges groaned as the door swung open, allowing the pandemonium of the outside world to hit her like the hot air carried by a nearby explosion.
She was disciplined enough not to show her discomfort to the gaggle of press and cameras lining the property. She looked down as Sar Vakryis’s beady eyes traveled from her long amber hair toward her chest, lingering where red fabric gave way to the ornately carved plate protecting her otherwise exposed breast.
Vakryis swept into a deep bow, one arm crossed over his chest, the other tucked behind his back. The movement accentuated his lanky form. He had the soft, boyish look of someone who had never lifted anything heavier than a wine glass.
“Your Radiance,” he said, his Martian accent so thick his words were nearly incomprehensible. “You look positively divine.”
Behind him, Jossara Denisen looked as if he were seconds from developing an ulcer. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his white tunic cut high enough at the shoulders to reveal a red-and-white tattoo curling around one arm. Copper stitching caught the light against his tanned skin; sandy blond curls had already come loose across his forehead. He was the Dawnward, her closest advisor, and currently the only thing standing between Lania and a diplomatic incident.
She waved away the compliment. “Sar Vakryis,” she said dryly, “what is the emergency?”
He snapped upright and took a quick step back. Up close, the thick layer of pale makeup on his round face did little to hide the acne along his jaw. One pencil-thin eyebrow lifted. “What? There is no emergency.”
Lania glanced at the drones hovering overhead. Empress or not, she had to be careful. The boy’s ogling did nothing to change the fact he was the head of one of the Empire’s oldest royal houses. He had ambushed her in front of every camera on the property, and unlike the attacks she had survived during the war, she didn’t get to kill her attacker.
Joss shifted behind him. The subtle scrunch of his nose told her he already knew where this was going. When Lania looked past the sar, Joss met her gaze and tilted his head, pleading with her silently. His deep blue eyes—nearly sapphire in the morning light—cooled the fire in her chest.
She suppressed the urge to smile. “There must be,” she said, “if you thought it appropriate to be standing on my front porch.”
Red flushed beneath Vakryis’s makeup as he fought to keep his composure. Lania stepped forward, smiling for the cameras. “Sar Vakryis, I need you to be very fucking far away from me. Now.”
“I—I, excuse me?” he stammered.
Lania peered over his oily black hair at Joss. “Joss, perhaps my accent was too thick. Can you repeat what I said to Sar Vakryis?”
Joss mimicked Lania’s toothy smile. “Get the fuck off the porch… Your Excellency.”
The Martian Sar let out an insolent huff before turning on his heel and walking across the dusty yard. Lania smiled and waved to the cameras as he walked toward the gaggle of press, knowing he would say nothing about the disrespect she had just shown him. He might choose later to be a pain in her ass, but today was the coronation of the People’s Empress, and he knew better than to get in the way of that.
Lania waited until he was fully out of view before dropping the fake smile. “Joss, what the fuck is he doing here?”
He shook his head incredulously. “He pushed right past me, Your Radiance. I tried to tell him that it wouldn’t be a good idea to interrupt you.” He fidgeted with the chunky bronze belt clasped around his waist. “It’s not like I could have thrown him off the porch. He’s still the Sar of Mars.”
Even if he was right, Lania couldn’t help but be reminded of who should have been standing in his place. Horashi Ko would have stopped Sar Vakryis, formalities be damned. Lania’s second-in-command during the war, she was the only person who could match the ferocity of the Lioness of Sol. Together they led the 615th Special Operations Squadron, informally known as Zainin’s End. Horashi and the other fourteen members of Lania’s squad had become her second family, keeping each other alive during their decade-long struggle for justice.
Until they betrayed her. Now all Lania had was Joss.
He took out his small glass comms-pad nestled inside one of the pockets of his tunic. “It’s about time to get going, Your Radiance.”
Lania pushed down the still-raw feelings she had about Horashi and followed Joss off the porch. The drones hovering overhead followed her as she moved, kicking up fine white sand and obscuring her last view of her childhood home. A clawing pain gripped her chest as she realized she would more than likely never return.
She turned back to the crowd of reporters, who grew increasingly frantic as she approached, held back by a wall of soldiers clad in bronze armor. Like rabid animals, they pushed at one another, hoping for the chance to ask their soon-to-be Empress a question.
“Empress! How does it feel being home?” asked one, her sharp voice cutting through the incoherent mess of shouting.
A man in a yellow tunic pushed aside his fellow reporter, locking eyes with Lania. Few had the courage to look at her with so little trepidation; it caught her attention. “Empress! What are your plans to rebuild the Empire now that the war is over?”
Lania found herself under heavy fire, standing exposed in an open field with nothing more than a silken gown. Joss stood beside her, his eyes darting from face to face, desperately searching for a friendly face.
She looked up to the pale pink sky above in time to see the sar’s shuttle shoot overhead. It traveled toward the rising sun on its way to where Lania would be crowned Empress. “The Empire will be rebuilt freer and more prosperous than ever before.” The statement silenced those nearest her. Her voice was loud and steady, carrying the power and authority of the Empress she was soon to become.
The crowd erupted into a cacophony of follow-ups and remarks, sending Lania’s nervous system into overdrive. It had been far too long since she was last in front of a camera. Each question hurled her way was as dangerous as a bullet passing inches from her head. Joss squared his shoulders and motioned at the soldiers in front of them. Within moments, they had parted the crowd, giving Lania a clear path to her shuttle.
The aluminum cigar-shaped craft was large enough to fit her, Joss, and several people from the palace comfortably. As soon as the door slid shut, she was once again engulfed by the sweet sounds of silence.
“Empress,” Joss began, interrupting her moment of peace. He held his comms-pad in one hand and motioned with the other at the nearest attendant. “With all due respect, it would be best to leave the talking to the Imperial Press Office.”
Lania rolled her eyes, taking a seat in the well-stuffed velvet chair nearest to her. “What did I say that was so bad?”
Joss took a sip of water the attendant fetched for him while Lania inspected the dark purple fabric of the seat. He looked down at his comms-pad before clarifying. “‘Freer?’ What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t matter what it means, Joss.” Lania gestured at the attendant, annoyed Joss had accepted the water without so much as a nod.
He turned to the frail looking man, now standing silently in the corner of the shuttle, and smiled apologetically. “On the contrary. Everything you do matters now.” He handed over his comms-pad to Lania. “Look.” Reluctantly, she grabbed it and read the headline:
Empress Vows New Freedoms in Pre-Coronation Comments.
Lania tossed the comms-pad back at Joss. “What the fuck? This was thirty seconds ago.”
He shrugged. “This is what I am talking about. You aren’t running a war anymore, nor are you the Shield of Sol. You’re the face of the Empire. Including the zainins, sars, corporate ensi, and all the other minor nobles and aristocrats, not just the commoners.”
“Joss, you’re a commoner.”
He rolled his eyes and continued talking. “When we get to the church, maybe… don’t talk to anyone?”
The suggestion would be ignored, but Lania nodded to make him feel better and to preempt any unnecessary worrying on his part. The shuttle lifted off the ground, rattling the metal floor under her feet. They were headed to Sanhathos’ new capital city, Morhana. The original capital, Trehis, had been reduced to nothing more than a crater nine years ago. Morhana was merely a supply depot for the outlying towns when Lania was a child but had since been transformed into a sprawling city of over ten million.
“Everything is in place,” Joss said as he continued to scroll on his comms-pad. “We are going to land in the city center, right in front of the cathedral. You’re going to walk in with the Sword of Sol and accept the crown from the Archon of Light. You remember the rehearsals, right?”
“I’m a thirty-year-old woman. I think I can follow simple instructions.” Lania braced for another hour of Joss yammering on about details she couldn’t bring herself to care about and found herself wondering what had happened to the man she’d first met. Back then, Joss had been one of the most prolific black-market weapons dealers in the Empire, supplying Lania and her people with most of their small arms in the early days of the war. He had been ruthless, cunning, and—more importantly—a true believer in the cause. Now he had been reduced to an anxious secretary.
He took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. “Very well, Empress. My apologies.”
The hour passed without another word, allowing her mind to wander. Her thoughts returned to Horashi and Zainin’s End, the second family who sacrificed their lives so Lania could get retribution for her fathers. It was a gift and a burden. She hated the resentment she harbored toward them, but it clung to her like the stench of death. They were responsible for what came next. Lania’s suffering lay at their feet, and theirs at hers. She could have said no, fled to the farthest reaches of the Empire, and hid. But she was a soldier before anything else. It was her duty to carry out the mission, no matter the personal sacrifice.
The shuttle landed with a dampened clank, pulling her out of her thoughts and back to reality. She had to remind herself that Lania Rosfara was still at her house with her fathers. The woman about to step out of the shuttle was the Empress of the Eternal Sun, the Lioness of Sol—a woman birthed by war and bloodshed.
The Empress also didn’t pay attention to the rehearsals.
The light of the outside world poured into the shuttle as the sidewall peeled away, and a metal ramp extended down to the polished limestone ground. She stared out, mouth slightly agape.
What in the name of Sol is that?
Directly in front of her stood a twenty-foot-tall marble statue of a scowling woman, her features exactly matching Lania’s own. The high cheekbones and chiseled jaw were perfect copies of her sula’s. Had she been a man, Lania would have been able to pass for his twin, the only difference being she had her oka’s eyebrows, thick and serious.
She wielded a golden sword and shield in her muscular arms. Her thick hair, twisted into braids, sat pinned to the back of her head. The sculptor carved nothing more than a thin sheet of fabric for her to wear, kept in place by a strong wind.
Gazing at her own deification made Lania’s skin tingle with shame. “Joss,” she hissed, remembering to smile as she turned for the hundreds of cameras pointing at her. “What the fuck is this?”
“This,” he said, shouting over the screams and cheers from the millions who had gathered for the occasion, “is a gift from the Zainin, Landra Ventis, along with the beautiful cathedral she built to accommodate the coronation.”
Lania’s cheeks strained as she continued to force a smile. Zainin Landra Ventis was the matriarch of Sanhathos and the other colonies in the system. She was also Lania’s most powerful ally.
“Remind me to thank her later,” Lania said, starting the long march to the cathedral.
The adoring crowds pressed against a metal barricade nearly six feet tall. Beyond the masses, about ten feet from the barrier, stood thousands of imperial soldiers adorned in the same gleaming bronze armor as the ones guarding her home. Lania could only imagine how ridiculous it must look seeing one woman walk down a nearly fifty-foot-wide empty street. Flowers, copper coins, and other offerings were thrown toward her as she approached the massive cathedral where the Sword of Sol waited. Drums from an unseen band shook the ground like artillery shells with each passing moment. For the Empress, this was a coronation; for Lania, it was a funeral.
The cathedral was gargantuan, looming over everyone with its limestone façade and emerald statues, which hung off the various buttresses and spires. It reminded her of the many castles she and her team had infiltrated and destroyed over the years. She wondered what her squadron would think of her now.
In her mind, she reconstructed all fourteen members of Zainin’s End. Horashi walked beside her, opposite Joss. She was laughing her ass off seeing Lania wrapped in imperial silks and walking in ornamental heels. Senk Heisen walked behind her, talking with Ogra Salm about how he planned on flirting with Zainin Landra. The bastard was both endlessly charming and insufferable. All the others followed behind, ready for front-row seats to Lania’s funeral, as she had been for theirs.
The sonic boom from a Halcyon fighter pulled her out of her daydreaming and back into the tumult of her procession. Petals flew in the air, scattered by the drones hovering overhead. Camera flashes burst endlessly like the cracks of an imperial las-rifle as she approached the great white wooden doors of the cathedral. In front of it stood an imposing elderly gentleman, firmly gripping a golden sword and shield like the one her marble counterpart was holding.
Lania looked around, still smiling as the muscles in her cheeks cried out for relief. “Venihan, remind me to court-martial you after this,” she half-joked, inspecting the imperial gold uniform he wore. The fabric shone nearly as bright as the sword and shield in the sunlight, complementing the multi-colored medallions pinned to his chest.
“Careful, my dear. The microphones are sensitive,” he said, waving at a drone now positioned over the two.
The Sword of Sol—or, as Lania knew him, Xavier Venihan—stood a head above her despite his advanced age. His leathery skin stood in stark contrast to the white hair of his beard. Had her fathers been given the luxury of old age, she imagined they might have looked similar to him, albeit much shorter.
A pause settled between them. Lania remembered she was meant to request the ceremonial sword from her most senior admiral, the leader of the new Imperial Navy. Unease tightened her chest. Her heart was heavy, and her thoughts scattered like notes from the imperial anthem playing behind her. Venihan’s piercing green eyes seemed to tell her it would be all right. She did not believe him, not after what he had done to her.
“My sword,” she demanded, squaring her shoulders and holding out her hands.
Her heart skipped a beat. Her voice boomed across the city like a god announcing its arrival. She looked at the sky, where the drone still hovered. Venihan was right about the microphones, as usual. Without missing a beat, he twirled the sword upward and turned it to the side, the flat of the blade resting on his calloused palm. For the first time ever, Lania found herself looking down at Xavier Venihan, who knelt on the ground in front of her.
“For my Empress of the Eternal Sun, the Sword of Sol,” he shouted.
Lania grabbed it with all the conviction she could muster—an act she would have to keep up for at least another few hours. Venihan kept his head bowed as he released his grip. “Turn around and hold it in the air, Empress,” he whispered, loud enough for only her to hear.
I really should have read that briefing.
Lania followed the order like the good soldier she was. The crowd seemed pleased as the cheering threatened to blow out her eardrums. The sword, held high in the air, shone as if Sol herself—the First Mother and supreme goddess of mankind—dwelt inside it. The blade was made from the largest Hazar gem Lania had ever seen. The beauty of such gems would bring most to tears, but for Lania, they were nothing more than a reminder of the greed of the Empire and its leaders.
Sanhathos was the only planet in the Empire where the gemstones could be found. Her ancestors came to the planet millennia ago in search of new lives and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Instead, they and the rest of the people of Sanhathos found themselves mired in backbreaking labor, receiving only a fraction of the wealth they deserved.
Lania lowered the sword and turned back to face Venihan. He stood with one hand pressed on the door, the other gripping the ornamental shield.
It was a blessing, she had always thought, to be with a fellow soldier in the moments before they passed on. Lania had the honor of comforting thousands over her years of service. Each face, each word, flashed by in an instant. She closed her eyes. Every soldier who laid down their life did so to put her where she was. Whether she desired this life or not, she had a duty to serve.
