14 Finesse

HEAT PIERCED LIVIANA’S flesh. Light stabbed her eyeballs in an explosion of agony. Euphoria followed as power filled her limbs. The vibrancy of an angelic soul electrified her nerves. It was always that way when she gave in to that part of her. She did not submit fully, of course, just enough for her needs.

It was her new self, in part at least, her true spirit rising to the surface of her consciousness. It cocooned her body, settling like a cloak of feathered light. A near-full moon dappled the courtyard, clouds threatening to overwhelm it. With unhurried steps she approached the house and outer buildings, the hem of her cloak of light an inch above the mud. It did not illuminate her path. It wasn’t that sort of light.

Screams rose from inside. Thraels, in the guise of exemplars, smashed through doors and windows. A dog’s heavy cough came from the main building.

Brutus had five members within conclave. Four, she’d dealt with. Influence and position had garnered the Brutus family with land and wealth since they’d pandered to the whims of the old imperator. Now they scorned their new imperatrix? They were the politicians she loved to hate.

She climbed the pink granite steps, to the sound of screams. White statues of alabaster guarded the entrance. Brown veining marred the angelic features. Liviana paused, staring at them, tracing one with a finger. Their wings curved outwards in a protective pose. She readjusted her winged headdress and entered the house.

It was late. The family had been in bed but not all the servants. They now adorned the courtyard. The victims did not all die right away. Unnecessary perhaps, but she needed to send a strong message. Her men had arranged the corpses like nightmarish puppets. Several of her followers had embraced the darkness, which lay deep within humanity. It disgusted her.

Oh, not the deaths nor the brutality, of course. It was that they possessed no finesse. Death was beautiful when handled in the correct manner. There would be countless beautiful deaths to come, if she was to save the Spectrum from itself. Death and life were both a part of existence after all.

A dog growled and then yelped as she entered through the long dark stone corridor and into the main house. She crossed the granite floor to a wide stone hearth. A grey warghound lay on the white fleece, throat cut. Berg moved away while it thrashed, bleeding out into the fibres, turning the fleece ruby. The fire was low. Embers glowed beneath lumps of charred timber.

Berg shouldn’t have killed the hound. Kneeling, she laid a hand on the beast as the last of its life fled. She found such creatures magnificent. Its death did not serve her needs. No finesse. Canaan, for example, would see the use of such creatures but not their beauty. Instinctual and savage, and capable of the most enduring loyalty, they were far more beautiful than humans.

An old man was sitting at a cedar-wood table, a two-wick lamp at his elbow. The light in the room was dim, magnifying her own luminescence. Ancient bones rattled against the fragrant wood. Berg and Altus stood to either side. Liviana rose, and dismissed them with a look.

‘You’re the last of your name, Eadricus.’

The old man spat, but his hands shook harder. He stared at the glowing sigil beneath her ethereal cloak. Though shrouded in light, part of her clothing was visible. A closed circle of solid silver spheres, the foremost and largest was tinged blue, encircled with thorns. It replaced the white wings that had been the Todralan imperial sigil.

‘Your brothers, Eadan and Markus, have departed this world. Your sons, Augustus and Ethon, and your daughter too. Do you know why?’

‘What unholy hell belched you forth, witch?’

‘Let’s make this quick, shall we?’

Eadricus tried to stand, but his legs gave way. ‘I’m a member of the imperial conclave and a paladin of the Imperial Church. You have no right to do this.’

‘Cooperate and you might receive a quick and merciful death, hmm? Yes, I think that would be best, don’t you?’

The conclavist’s face paled a little, but he kept his courage. ‘A pact with the Grim is a pact with death. I serve the Church and the Icarthian Imperium. I will make no deals with hell, not even for my life. The Seraphim of Grace above protect me from evil.’

Liviana stepped closer, allowing him time to see it coming. Finesse. ‘I am not the Grim. He’s a myth, like your primitive concept of hell. I, however, am real. Several nights ago, your family harboured a woman. She arrived here to this house in the evening. She was gone by morning. They were moving her from house to house. Your sons and siblings knew nothing. I made certain of it. Who has her now?’

‘We don’t like visitors, never have.’

‘Oh, Todralan was here.’

‘She is your imperatrix.’

‘Why, has there been a vote in conclave, then?’ She would teach him who his imperatrix was.

‘She’s a Todralan, and no vote will change that. Hasn’t it been enough for nigh a thousand years?’

‘Times change, traditions die. Please try to keep up, Eadricus.’

‘Markus Olen was a tyrant,’ the paladin said, voice shaking, ‘but we knew him. We knew his daughter, a strong girl with a good heart. How we prayed to the Spectrum above he would die so she might rule.’ Eadricus barked a nervous laugh. ‘I think the Seraphim have a twisted sense of humour.’

‘You speak of them as though you knew or even understood them. You know nothing. Give me a name.’ She reached out to touch both sides of the old man’s head. Her hands elongated as tongues of flame pierced her fingertips. She felt pain, but that was nothing beside the rush of power. Finesse.

A stench of urine rose from beneath the table. It ruined that wondrous scent of cedar. ‘Never,’ shouted Eadricus, body in spasm. ‘You’ll get ... your reward ... Avitus. Yes, I know you. I ... promise you—’

The flaming growths pierced the conclavist’s head and brain. His skin bubbled. There was no scream, no pleading, and no final exhalation of breath. Eadricus Brutus fell forwards. His charred head bounced off the table with a satisfying thump.

Liviana stepped outside feeling irritated. She should not have given into her anger, but the old man’s defiance enraged her. Now, she had no leads. Cloud obscured the moon as she descended the steps to the courtyard.

‘Three conclavist families remain,’ she snapped at her soldiers. Those that had not managed to escape the city at least. ‘Find them. Leave no one alive when you’re done.’

Liviana felt the power ebb away as she let go of her angelic soul. The human form was weak. Holding on to such power for too long could incinerate her. As it was, she felt the pain of burning throughout her insides. Her pale youthful skin, a pleasant side effect to her powers, was reddened as though sunburned. Such limitations were maddening. Cold replaced hot vigour.

‘Where are you?’ Liviana whispered, and then froze where she stood. A sensation touched her soul, heavy and lingering. They were not pleased. Worse, they wanted her to know it.

The feeling passed and she breathed out with a heavy sigh. She had to find that wretch soon. Then there was the other matter. The fool had better have succeeded, or she would make him howl in the black flames of Oblivion. She gestured to a thrael, Altus. She would send him west to make certain Pen Luthus did not fail.

An idea occurred to her regarding her first problem. She wondered if it was possible.

Yes, time perhaps for a new approach.

Finesse.