Empire of Sand

The barracks were the only piece of Tristan that we would retain for the next two and a half weeks. The stone structure was carved by slaves centuries earlier, its tiny alcoves serving as bedchambers for the members of the Emperor’s personal guard. They had expanded the palace since then, grander than its ancestry. I wondered if Tessie knew of its modest origins, but I thought it better not to ask her.

There were a dozen alcoves, each fitted with a thin bedroll and a single candle. We passed through a pair of doors made from rusted steel, impenetrable, resembling those of a prison. Would they lock us inside after hours?

“Each of you may choose a bedroll. The bath house is down the corridor. Follow it past the prayer hall, and it will be on your right. These gates are precautionary for His Highness’s security. They only close during siege or uprising. You may come and go as you please, but you may not venture onto the royal grounds.”

The guard pointed to the foothills just north of us. A winding dirt trail led up to a set of stone steps. Beyond that, a magnificent garden adorned a large courtyard and a pair of sentries stood beside lit torches, a small contingent of soldiers at their backs. The palace was behind them, gleaming like a great gem in the waning sunlight—a grand gesture to the lesser inhabitants of Tristan.

“While you’re enlisted in the Trials, we consider you members of the Emperor’s guard. This means you’ll conduct yourself with honor and integrity. If I or any others discover you are engaging in unsavory behaviors, you’ll be discharged. Is that understood!?”

Our ragged group mumbled its understanding, and the guard swept out of the barracks, leaving us to acquaint with one another. Tessie used her magic to light the candles, a small nod to her ability after such a deafening defeat in the pod.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” one girl called, “but I am going to pay a visit to His Highness’s bath house. Maybe I’ll soak my blistered feet in the same basin he washes his royal arse.”

I snorted, and the others laughed.

“I’m sure His Majesty only bathes in golden basins. And I’d wager he’s got slaves to wash his arse,” Tessie said acidly.

The group quieted.

“Shall I tell His Majesty that you’d like to apply for the job?” the first girl taunted.

“My god, Roweena, you gab more than anyone I know,” one boy said. “Go take your bloody bath. Your mouth is as foul as the rest of you.”

“Shut up, Ian! If I want the opinion of a cowhand’s bastard son, I’ll ask for it!”

The boy called Ian bolted to his feet and stuck his hands out in front of him. Two golden orbs glowed within his hands, each one radiating heat and power. Roweena’s eyes turned blood red, and her golden hair vanished, revealing a bald head underneath.

She parted her lips and blew Ian a kiss. Ian shot the orbs at Roweena, and they connected with her body and launched her backward. She grunted as she slammed into the wall and slid to the floor. Ian blinked and staggered back as a strange red mist enveloped his body. I realized belatedly that it wasn’t a kiss Roweena had blown from her lips. It was poison.

Ian swayed and faltered, and he turned a ghostly pale. He scurried off into a dark corner of the barracks and vomited into the sand there. Roweena righted herself and planted her hands on her hips, a smug expression on her face.

“Don’t worry, little mutt, the effects only last a day or two.”

Ian responded by vomiting a second time.

_#_

Ian lay in his bedroll for the rest of the night. Tessie and I checked in on him as the group rotated through the bathhouse. When our turn came, we walked side by side in silence to the bathhouse, ignoring the way others stared. These were the lower-level servants of the Emperor. They lived and worked below his golden palace, serving and tending to the soldiers that protected his throne. I thought again of the cowardly Emperor I fought to serve. If fate smiled upon me and I emerged from the last match a victor, could I submit myself to protecting a man I despised?

I supposed if it meant a better life for my family, I could do almost anything. I spared my older brother. In the most secret part of my heart, I’d come to redeem myself in my mother’s eyes. To make her proud of me. A fool’s errand, but an endeavor I desperately wanted to accomplish.

The bath house was grand. The hollow space was cavernous with tile floors and murals painted on its walls. Torches lined the walls and strange plants lined their windows, tended to by hooded men with tattooed faces. Steam drifted from hot pools of water, and servants stirred each basin, adding floral seeds and scented oils. I’d never imagined such luxury and never imagined the Emperor’s finery extending to us. Perhaps His Highness was vain enough to insist upon clean soldiers representing his mighty power.

I eased into the steaming water, drawing in a sharp breath as the heat enveloped my sore feet. Tessie hissed as she submerged herself, leaving a dirt ring in her wake. Though the bath house was empty except for its servants, neither of us had removed our clothing. We sank into the sweet-smelling water, tunics and all, sighing as every muscle relaxed.

“I used to draw baths like these for the masters,” Tessie said after a while.

I opened an eye to peer at her. She reclined on the stone steps, submerged up to her chin in warmth. The room glowed in the firelight, the polished tile winking in its reflections.

“How many masters have you served?” I asked her.

“Fourteen. Fifteen, I suppose, including the last one. Though he only lasted a week.”

I quirked my eyebrows at her.

“How do you mean?”

“He suffered an unfortunate accident,” she said.

I sat up, creating a cascade of ripples throughout the basin. Tessie kept her eyes closed and her shoulders relaxed, feigning nonchalance.

“What kind of accident?”

The servants had all gone, leaving the two of us to ourselves. The bath house was silent, except for the gentle lapping of water and the hissing of candlelight. The tone of her voice hinted at a secret, or perhaps many of them.

“I mean, he practically lived inside his wineskins. And when he overindulged, he did foolish things like attack his slaves. One evening, he drank more than he ought to, and he fell down the stairs. Unfortunately for his estate, he was carrying a torch when it happened. The slaves escaped, but the estate burned from the ground up.”

I waited for more, but Tessie had gone silent. She opened her eyes and turned to face me.

“It is a deadly mistake to overestimate yourself,” she said, quoting Banshee. Her eyes bore into mine, the weight of her admission hanging in the air. I nodded and gulped as my understanding seeped in. My skin felt cold all over, despite the warmth of the water.

Tessie’s old master hadn’t fallen. And his torch hadn’t caused the fire.

“How unfortunate,” I whispered.

Tessie closed her eyes and nodded.

“Terribly.”