Quiet, hurried steps on the mosaic tiles of the Palace courtyards. A nod at a patrol, a flash of a signet ring. The swaying hem of a tunic, decorated with geometric designs in red, a palla in deep blue wool, pulled up to cover golden ringlets.
Eirene Caelia Aeliana will to pay visit to one of their esteemed guests. They have answers, she has questions.
The Imperial Palace does not have a prison of its own. It is a home — it was born as such, in easier times, when the sun-blessed’s power extended over just a city and some lands around it, the King’s residence — and one would not keep enemies in their own home. It is not a mere residence anymore, of course, marble colonnades and frescoed rooms housing more than just the body of the monarch. The Empire grew and with it its power, its Palace, its enemies.
Holding certain prisoners close and separate from common criminals became a necessity, and the Imperial Prison was built over two centuries ago, a building of mud bricks and timber settled by the stables.
Her Grandfather had it externally restored when he rose to power, dark basalt and slim columns with volutes and rosettes so that it would not be a too jarring contrast to the elegant opulence of the Palace and its Gardens. The court took to calling it the Guest Palace.
Eirene knows firsthand that inside there is no need for veneer and the Guest Palace reveals its true nature.
There is a courtyard, encased by basalt-covered walls. Beaten dirt, wooden posts that are nothing more than vague shapes in the torchlight — yet Eirene knows them to be bloodstained.
Torches burn, tracing elongated shadows of columns. A guard, arms crossed, head tilting downwards, tenses up and pushes himself off the wall. He moves as if to stop her, but stills when she lets the palla fall backwards, torchlight glimmering gold on blonde curls and green eyes. The guard steps back, bows his head.
“My lady.” He mumbles.
A nod of her head, a dismissive wave of her hand. “Rest.”
She slips past him, ignores the heavy wooden door behind which are the stairs leading down to the more inhospitable cells — cold damp stone, the darkness of being underground, air reeking of piss and blood — and proceeding along the dim-lit corridor, past another wooden door. The iron handle is cool in her hand. The door opens with a creak, Eirene steps inside.
There are more cells — square rooms with a seat carved into the very stone of the building, an iron-wrought door, a small, high slit of a window. Torches light this corridor too, red-gold, the smell of sulfur.
There are three guards at the far end of the corridor. They are laughing, jeering.
There is an open cell at the far end of the corridor. The guards prowl closer to its entrance.
Eirene is close enough to hear them, now, their smoke-rough voices, the satisfied purr of a hunter whose prey is cornered.
“Come now, sweet thing, your pretty mouth is so skilled at talking, surely it has other uses.” One drawls. “Maybe we’ll even let you have proper clothes.”
A female voice, crackling with disdain, fracturing with fear. “You have no right to—“
“Oh, do we? Who’s going to save you, pretty whore?”
Eirene clears her throat. The guards do not hear.
Eirene crosses the distance on delicate shoes embroidered with gold thread and pearls. A few drops of blood fall on the light green silk when her dagger sinks into the hand of one of the guards, leaning against the wall.
The man screams.
Eirene smiles.
“Tormenting our guests?” She asks, with the same airy tone she uses at court functions. “I believe my most honored mother ordered for Lady Sofia to be treated with utmost respect.”
Four pairs of eyes turn on her, wide. Two of the guards scramble backwards, one of them raises his open palms as if in plea. “Please— please my lady, please we never meant to—“
“Dishonor my mother?” She tilts her head, draping fabric swaying. “It is not to me you should plead for forgiveness, it is not me your actions have insulted.”
“We just— there is no need to inform her highness, nothing happened—“
They always fear Mother more than her, how obtuse. “Leave.” She hisses, pulling the dagger out of the man’s hand and letting him crumple to the floor. “And I might forget to mention this to my mother.”
The talkative guard dives to grab his companion by the shoulders, to drag him up. “Of course, my lady— thank you, thank you.”
She watches them run off, waits until their heavy steps disappear down the corridor. Then, she wipes her dagger clean on the deep red wool of her outer tunic and slips it back into its sheath. She steps inside the cell, glancing at the woman curled up in the far corver, bruised, half undressed — only her undertunic covering her, sheer fabric leaving nearly nothing to be imagined.
The thing is, it would be logical to gain her trust with kindness, as her parents are refusing to collaborate and Sofia might be more willing to share information than she has been thus far.
The thing is, Sofia is as much a beauty as she is rumored to be and Eirene’s preferences lean towards women and she knows that the robe of savior is an alluring one.
The thing is, when her father’s wife found her robbed of any worth a bastard child could have—
The thing is.
“Here.” She says, divesting herself of her cloak and offering it to the prisoner.
Eyes the color of rosewood blink at her. The other woman rises, takes the fabric from her outstretched hand.
Eirene does not let her gaze linger on Sofia Silva Nerva’s vase-like hips and freckled shoulders. She has had the chance to feast her eyes upon her body before, in more pleasant circumstances.
“Thank you.” The traitor’s daughter says, once her dignity is protected by the heavy drape of wool. She tilts her head, studying her. “How should I repay your kindness?”
She cannot help but smile, sharp. “You could follow me quietly.”
Sofia opens her mouth as if to object, but seems to think better of it, snaps her mouth shut and just nods. She pulls up the fabric of her palla to cover honey-coloured curls. “As you wish, my lady.”
They walk past the rows of cells, outside the wooden door, down the colonnade — she beckons the guard from earlier close and speaks to him in hushed words, after which he runs ahead of them with a hurried nod, to have her room prepared for her unexpected guest — the empty gardens, the quiet halls of the Palace.
There are servants in her rooms, carrying buckets of warm water to a copper tub placed behind a screen, piles of towels, lengths of fine cloth.
“The bath is ready, my lady.” One of the maidservants says, bowing her head.
Eirene dismisses them with a gesture, waiting until the chambers are empty but for her and her guest. She turns to Sofia, nodding towards the steaming tub.
“Wash yourself.” She says, seating herself on a padded chair. “There are clothes for you, as well. We will talk later.”
The other woman nods, shoulders stiff, and disappears behind the screen. The room is quiet but for the rustle of fabric, the slosh of water. The sweet smell of milk and honey soap fills the still air, orange-scented oils. She plops a dried fig in her mouth, raising her gaze to the ceiling.
This is now how she had planned for the evening to go. Sofia was never meant to be brought to her rooms, never meant to be washed and clothed. Eirene curses herself and her uncharacteristically soft heart. Her liaisons with Sofia might have compromised her more than she thought.
“You knew about the conspiracy.” She says, to the rose branches painted on the ceiling, soft petals and thorns against a sunny sky. “Didn’t you?”
The quiet sounds of washing stop, silence weighing heavy on the room.
“You’re far too smart to not have noticed that your parents were plotting something and far too determined to not have unearthed their little plot.” She continues, twirling a dried apricot in her fingers. “Which suggests you were aware of the treasonous plan to kill my family.”
Water splashing around as a body leaves the tub, droplets falling on the marble floor. She’s always known Sofia to be dangerous — underestimated, of course, just as she herself is, but sharp-minded and sharp-tongued. It had been alluring, at first, drawing her close like a moth to the flame, kissing those lips that had ended a man’s political career just hours before but tasted so sweet. Eirene realizes now how dangerous it is, to feel anything akin to fondness for her.
“To betray one’s family is punished by the Gods.” That sweet voice says, as Sofia steps out from behind the screen in but a thin undertunic, now-clean skin mostly exposed, still damp hair falling on her shoulders.
Eirene steels her expression, eyes blazing. “To betray one’s Empress is punishable by death, and I would fear mortal men more.”
The honey-haired woman glares back, eyes bloodshot. “I heard my brother scream through the night. On and on and on. You cannot think I would ever have condemned him to that, regardless of how pleasant our encounters were.”
“If you had told me—“
“You would have denounced us!” She snaps, voice breaking. “You would have— I understand why you would have done it, but do not deny it— I had to keep my family safe.”
“They would have killed my family!” Eirene yells, fists clenching.
Sofia’s shoulders fall, tired, defeated. “And now you’ll kill mine.”
The gentle drum of water droplets on the floor, running down Sofia’s hair. The whisper of fabric as she gestures towards the table and it’s tray of dried fruits. “Sit. Eat.”
Sofia obeys. She eats a fig, when Eirene presses it against her lips. Drinks a sip of watered down wine, when Eirene pushes a glass towards her.
“Can’t you just get it over with?” She says, very quietly. “I know why I’m here.”
Eirene laughs, because screaming would be counter-productive. “You are here to answer my questions.”
Dark eyes rise from the table. Teeth bared in a more dangerous version of a smile. “I will not be participant in my family’s death.”
Eirene tilts her head. “And in their saving?”
Sofia stills. Swallows. “What do you mean?”
“Mother has no intention to kill the children. You and Damianos, however…” She looks at the other woman, smiling. “Help me prove only your parents were involved and I will do my best to sway the Empress towards the choice of mercy.”
The traitor’s daughter studies her for an incredibly long time. “You know I was aware of it.”
Eirene laughs. “Mh, we must make sure all evidence of it is destroyed, then.”
“But—“ Confusion, fear, the blankness of Sofia’s court persona. “What do you want in exchange?”
She tries not to feel offended that she would even think— after what she saw in the cells, though, she supposed it makes sense. She knows how that sort of fear muddles your thoughts, seeps deep into every fragment of you.
“I suppose I would quite like to not get a knife in the back. And, you are an enviable political ally.” She offers a smile, softer now. “You are welcome to grace my bed, Sofia, I never tried to hide my feelings towards you, but only of your own accord.”
Sofia blinks at her and shoves a fig in her mouth, choking on a sob. She chews, very slowly, and breathes, very slowly, and Eirene waits patiently for her to get her bearings once more.
“Alright.” She whispers. “Alright, I will help you.”
“Eirene.” The Empress greets, sitting at the vanity, pushing dark curls away and holding a gold-set pearl, big as her thumb’s nail, up to her ear. “Join me for breakfast?”
She bows her head in greeting and settles on a stool by her mother’s side, looking at the beloved reflection in the polished silver of the mirror. “I have already eaten, mother, I apologize.”
“No need to apologize.” The woman shushes her, holding up a ruby earring. “Mh, no, the pearls are better.”
The Empress dons her pearl earrings and raises from the vanity, turning to look at her daughter. “Oh, my dear. Did you know one of our guests disappeared from her cell last night?” She sighs. “The guards are turning the Palace upside down looking for her.”
Eirene swallows. “Mother, I—“
Dark eyes narrow. “I did not think to have you banned from the prisons because I did not expect you to break a traitor out, Eirene! What were you even thinking!?”
A roll of green eyes, a sharp smile. “Now, mother, I cannot be held responsible for your lack of foresight.”
A tired sigh, a scathing glare. “Eirene Caelia Aeliana.”