Compete

  Okay, now I’m officially terrified.

  “Will the Imperator speak in English or Atlantean? What if I don’t understand?”

  The Consul thinks for a moment. “I believe you will be addressed in English, since the Imperator is aware of your situation. But if by any chance it happens to be in Atlantean, you are permitted to explain your difficulty. But—fear not, it will not come to it.” And he squeezes my hand gently.

  We stand a few minutes more as the rest of the Low Court fills the room. Then, grand tones once more sound, to indicate the arrival of the Imperator.

  I hold my breath. . . .

  The Imperator of Atlantis does not come up the red path as I imagined he would. Instead, a hidden doorway appears in the golden wall near the Throne, and he comes forth like a god from the darkness and steps directly onto the dais. . . .

  Romhutat Kassiopei, the Archaeon Imperator of Atlantida, is a tall middle-aged man—as far as I can tell by the ageless features of his handsome stone face, at this distance. He wears a stunning floor-length robe of dark scarlet, and over it layers of gold cloth cascading from his shoulders glide along the floor behind him.

  On the Imperator’s chest a wide heavy collar lies, gold encrusted with jewels. His hair is natural Kassiopei, long and pale gold, and he wears the Imperial Crown of Atlantida—it resembles the Ancient Egyptian headdress known as the Khepresh, or the war crown, but it’s made of scarlet cloth with a wide band of gold circling his head.

  From the center of the forehead, a golden serpent rises. This is the Uraeus, the symbol of absolute Imperial power. This is the part of the crown that designates the Imperator.

  The Imperator stands briefly before the Throne, looking at all of us. And then he sits down in the middle chair, straight-backed and motionless.

  He is terrifying.

  This is Aeson’s Father, I have to remind myself. There is a vague resemblance in the features, yes, but more in the bearing and lines of jaw. I suppose the greatest resemblance would be in Aeson’s mother who is purported to be the most beautiful woman of her generation.

  Will the Archaeona Imperatris be here tonight?

  For that matter, I wonder with a twinge of stress, where is Aeson?

  Meanwhile, the hall remains in perfect silence as we wait for the Imperator to speak.

  At last, he opens his mouth and his deep resonant voice strikes us with force. “My Court Opens,” the Imperator says in Atlantean, and I understand this much with my rudimentary Atlanteo skills.

  In the next instant, profound musical tones sound once again, and the entire Assembly, High, Middle, and Low Court, bows their heads before the Imperial Throne. Consul Denu squeezes my hand lightly and I lower my head with everyone else.

  “You may Look upon Me,” the Imperator says.

  We all raise our heads once more.

  And as I look up, in that surreal instant, my gaze falls upon the front row of the High Court and suddenly in a weird second of coincidence, I see a young woman there, dressed in stunning gold, who is, I’m perfectly certain, none other than Lady Tirinea Fuorai.

  Oh, wow. . . .

  Lady Tiri is tall and gorgeous, and even more amazing in real life than I expected—so perfect that my eyes hurt looking at her. And she stands next to several other similarly stunning girls, one more beautiful than the other. Though, I must say, she stands out slightly with her confident bearing and superior air.

  While I stare at Lady Tiri, almost forgetting everything else, the Imperator speaks again. “I will now Receive You. First, the Imperial Crown Prince of Kassiopei may approach the Throne.”

  My heart immediately skips a beat painfully, and my eyes widen as I search the room for any sign of him. The rest of the Court seems to respond similarly as the Atlantean nobility stares. . . .

  And then I see him.

  Aeson Kassiopei strides upon the red path, walking from the back of the chamber toward the Throne.

  Oh. My. God.

  Aeson wears a formal jacket of deep blue, so dark it is nearly black, and similar trousers. His feet are encased in soft black leather dress shoes studded with gold. Gold wrist bands hold his sleeves in place, and a fine gold trim circles the fabric of his collar in an exquisite web rendered in lines of intricate symmetry.

  His hair is long and loose, down his back. It is brushed to a gloss, and lies neatly back from his forehead to frame his stunning cold face.

  Aeson wears no additional makeup, but he does not have to.

  He is luminous and unreal.

  The Crown Prince walks up to the dais, his footfalls against the stone floor causing echoes to rise in the hall. There he stops and inclines his head briefly.

  Without changing his stone expression, the Imperator nods at him. “Welcome, My Son. I congratulate you on successfully accomplishing the important task given you, and returning the children of Earth here in safety. You may speak of your successful journey in detail.”

  At least, it’s the general gist of what he’s saying, because, again, my Atlantean language skills are barely adequate. Thank goodness Consul Denu taught me some basic common Court phrases and ceremonial language. This is all very traditional, highly stylized and formal stuff. One might hope the Imperator does not talk this way all the time. . . .

  “My Father, Your Imperial Fleet and I are glad to be home,” Aeson replies. His familiar low voice rings forcefully throughout the hall and sends strange pleasant chills down my back. Oh, it is so good to hear his voice in this surreal alien place!

  “I have much to tell, and the achievements of this endeavor are historic in their ramifications, both for Earth and Atlantis,” Aeson continues. And then he pauses slightly. “But before I go on, I would like to make an Imperial Formal Announcement before this Court. I believe this is an Announcement you have been waiting for me to make for quite some time. . . .”

  There is another pause.

  And then, for the first time, the Imperator smiles. I can see the shadow smile all the way from where I’m standing. And then he inclines his head, graciously. “My Son, I am glad to hear you have come to this decision at last. Yes, make your Announcement now, and we will Witness.”

  Aeson inclines his head once more, and then turns around to look at the Court with a sweeping glance that reveals a flash of energy overriding his carefully composed expression.

  “My Father, as you have guessed, after much careful thought and consideration, I will now announce My Imperial Consort and Bride.”

  Oh God, no!

  Sudden dark despair washes over me.

  Meanwhile, excited soft whispers fill the great expanse of the chamber. And the High Court sections in particular react. . . . I can see Lady Tiri, and the other girls of noble families in that damned front row, all stand up straight. Lady Tiri looks at Aeson with a triumphant smile.

  I am without breath now, faint and collapsing inside, as though all life has been leached out of me. . . . If I weren’t standing in such a tight crowd, I think my feet would buckle from under me. Consul Denu must sense my sudden agitation because again he squeezes my hand and holds it tight.

  In that moment, Aeson turns from the Throne and starts moving along the red path. Slowly he paces, glancing in both directions, to the right and left of the path, as though making careful considerations among those present.

  In just a few steps, he is now by the High Court section, where Lady Tiri stands, turned toward him. Aeson pauses before her, looks at her and smiles also.

  It’s a smile I can see from all the way across the room, and it destroys me completely.

  I am numb, barely breathing. . . .

  The Assembly is filled with whispers, the High Court especially.

  The Imperator watches with a satisfied smile.

  Aeson looks at Lady Tiri.

  And then he resumes walking.

  I feel my heart pound in my chest as I watch Lady Tiri’s expression go from confident triumph to slow fading confusion. She frowns and stares in Aeson’s
wake, as he continues to pace slowly down the red path, glancing leisurely on both sides of him.

  He passes the Middle Court section and keeps walking.

  There are more whispers everywhere. . . .

  And then Aeson Kassiopei comes before Consul Denu, standing at the corner of the Low Court section. He glances at the Consul and then his composed gaze falls upon me.

  I catch my breath, and my face must reflect a million things in that moment.

  Suddenly Aeson’s eyes come wide open and they are wild.

  He takes an aggressive step forward and he reaches out for me and grabs my hand.

  I almost stumble at the shock of contact, but there’s no time, because suddenly I am being pulled forward and dragged along, as Aeson Kassiopei has me in a painful iron vise that compresses my fingers. . . . And all I can do is half-stumble, half-run after him as he rapidly walks back up the red path toward the Throne, taking me with him, while my mind is in shock.

  A few steps from the dais, we stop. I see flashes of stunned faces on both sides of the aisle, and most of all, I see the Imperator suddenly frozen in his golden chair, his expression turned to stone, a frown gathering.

  The Imperator is looking at me.

  But before anyone can speak, I hear the loud ringing voice of Aeson Kassiopei at my side, and he is using a power voice of command.

  “I have chosen my Bride and Imperial Consort and her name is Gwenevere Lark of Earth!” he exclaims, at the same time as he raises our clasped hands up for everyone to see—in the process pulling my arm up painfully, because he is so much taller than me, and I don’t think he’s fully aware of what he’s doing right now—or for that matter, I don’t think he is in his right mind. . . .

  Or maybe it’s me—I am not in my right mind, and I am about to fall. . . . Or I would if he wasn’t clutching my hand and forcefully keeping me upright right now.

  And then Aeson turns to me and faces me, and he still holds me tightly but no longer enough to crush my fingers.

  “Gwen Lark,” he says in Atlantean, and then repeats everything in English for my sake, all the while staring into my eyes with his lapis lazuli own—wild, completely raving mad with unspeakable emotion and violent intensity. “I take you as my Imperial Consort. . . . I claim you as my Bride. . . . I open you and seal you as my Wife! Let it be Known and Witnessed as my Immovable Will before the Imperial Court of Kassiopei!”

  “What?” I gasp. And my voice sounds tiny and faint in the stunned silence of the great chamber.

  But Aeson releases my fingers and now takes my upper arm, pressing my flesh forcefully as he draws me to him, so that now I stand directly before him, chest-to-chest, looking up into his eyes with absolute shock and disbelief.

  “Gwen. . . .” he says, starting to lean in closer.

  At first I think he is about to whisper something in my ear. But then he keeps going and turns his head slightly so that I feel the wash of his hot breath on my cheek. . . .

  And suddenly, there is no more space between us, or between our breath.

  Aeson Kassiopei kisses me, hard.

  He opens my mouth with his and enters me, and it is like a live circuit closing, life force connecting with another source of life force, coming together as one, flowing between us in a stream and then a circulating ocean.

  In that moment of shock I feel a stab of explosive indescribable desire pass through me. It hurts and burns and tears into me, rendering me into nothing . . . and it expands and fills me, like an empty vessel, so that I come awake at last.

  This is what desire feels like. . . .

  There had been no kisses before this one. That gentle, sweet flowing honey, the sensual lassitude I’ve felt with Logan, even the breathless euphoria—all of that was but a poor faded ghost, a shadow of the real thing that is happening to me right now, as suddenly I burn.

  When he releases my mouth at last, and stands back from me, I gasp, pulling in air for the first time, and meet the intimate gaze of his eyes.

  “The Sacred Opening of the Mouth has Sealed us, Gwen Lark, as it is written in the Book of Life and the Book of the Dead,” Aeson says softly, yet his voice carries with power across the multitude of the great chamber. “My lips have kissed no other, and from this day forward I will kiss no other but you, my earthly Bride.”

  And then Aeson Kassiopei, the Imperial Crown Prince of Atlantida, takes me by the hand again and turns us both to face the wrath of his Father, the Imperator.

  In that perfect moment, nothing can compete with us or conspire against us—neither Imperial wrath nor all the forces of the universe united against us—in that moment, we are one spirit.

  And it soars and sings like a lark.

  The End of COMPETE: The Atlantis Grail, Book Two

  The story continues in . . .

  WIN: The Atlantis Grail, Book Three

  Coming soon!

  While you wait . . . for a change of pace, try the intensely romantic historical epic fantasy Cobweb Bride . . . or the madly hilarious Vampires are from Venus, Werewolves are from Mars.

  Don’t miss another book by Vera Nazarian!

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  Other Books by Vera Nazarian

  Lords of Rainbow

  Dreams of the Compass Rose

  Salt of the Air

  The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

  The Clock King and the Queen of the Hourglass

  Mayhem at Grant-Williams High (YA)

  The Duke in His Castle

  After the Sundial

  Mansfield Park and Mummies

  Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons

  Pride and Platypus: Mr. Darcy’s Dreadful Secret

  Vampires are from Venus, Werewolves are from Mars:

  A Comprehensive Guide to Attracting Supernatural Love

  Cobweb Bride Trilogy:

  Cobweb Bride

  Cobweb Empire

  Cobweb Forest

  The Atlantis Grail:

  Qualify (Book One)

  Compete (Book Two)

  (Forthcoming)

  The Atlantis Grail:

  Win (Book Three)

  Survive (Book Four)

  Pagan Persuasion: All Olympus Descends on Regency

  Thank you for your support!

  About the Author

  Vera Nazarian is a two-time Nebula Award® Finalist and a member of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America. She immigrated to the USA from the former USSR as a kid, sold her first story at 17, and has been published in numerous anthologies and magazines, honorably mentioned in Year’s Best volumes, and translated into eight languages.

  Vera made her novelist debut with the critically acclaimed Dreams of the Compass Rose, followed by Lords of Rainbow. Her novella The Clock King and the Queen of the Hourglass made the 2005 Locus Recommended Reading List. Her debut collection Salt of the Air contains the 2007 Nebula Award-nominated “The Story of Love.” Recent work includes the 2008 Nebula Finalist novella The Duke in His Castle, science fiction collection After the Sundial (2010), The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration (2010), three Jane Austen parodies, Mansfield Park and Mummies (2009), Northanger Abbey and Angels and Dragons (2010), and Pride and Platypus: Mr. Darcy’s Dreadful Secret (2012), all part of her Supernatural Jane Austen Series, a parody of self-help and supernatural relationships advice, Vampires are from Venus, Werewolves are from Mars: A Comprehensive Guide to Attracting Supernatural Love (2012), Cobweb Bride Trilogy (2013), and Qualify: The Atlantis Grail, Book One (2014).

  After many years in Los Angeles, Vera now lives in a small town in Vermont. She uses her Armenian sense of humor and her Russian sense of suffering to bake conflicted pirozhki and make art.

  In addition to being a writer, philosopher, and award-winning artist, she is also the publisher of Norilana Books.

 
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