The Ëchüha Incident: Part 5
The Nadir of Her

The Ëchüha Incident

Part 5: The Nadir of Her

Ashes slipped through her fingers. The urn, there on the marble floors, shattered to pieces, the grey aftermath scattered on godless ground. Looking up, she saw the priest. He was standing with his back to her, fastening his robes with a length of black rope. She watched as he smoothed his robes, settled his shoulders, and walked away, never once acknowledging she was even there.

Gathering what was left of her clothes, she knelt down and tried to scoop up her mother’s ashes, putting whatever she could into scraps of her dress she tied around the corners. Then she rose to her feet and left the sanctuary, the last of her tears drying on her cheek.

As she went, blood trailed behind her, painting the floors, and then climbed the walls, and then the vaulted ceilings in darkening shades of crimson. When she reached the doors, the whole of the church was a deep maroon. She placed her hand on the doorknobs, and the cathedral turned black.

“NOBUO!” a voice shouted in the distance.

Fhá felt her blood go cold.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Lìngbi! Godsdammit!”

She whipped her head around, eyes locked on the altar. There it was, that horrid, emaciated thing—the priest’s robes sloughing off of it. Its jaw unhinged like a snake and it arced its head back, letting out a shriek that shook the walls. Stained glass shattered, cracks in the stonework spiderwebbed from around the creature.

“No, no, no,” Fhá whimpered, backing up into the doors.

The creature’s head snapped back, eyes locked on Fhá. There was a crack of fire between her legs and urine poured out onto the floor. The creature cocked its head to the side and opened its mouth. Instead of another long, piercing screech, the voice of Hvórþ screamed from its maw.

“NO! GODS DAMMIT! LÌNGBI! NO! FUCK!”

She dropped the bundles in her hands. Her clothes fell to the floor and the severed, dessicated heads of Kàng, Lìngbi, and Nobuo rolled out. Screaming, she turned and reached for the door handles behind her. Instead of cold bronze, she felt cold, damp, clammy skin.

Slowly, she looked up and—

“Fuck!” Fhá swore, toppling out of bed. “Empress’s Ovaries! Fuck! Gods dammit!”

Naka, her boyfriend, moaned from the three quarters of the bed he always ended up occupying. Fhá thumped her hand blindly about on her bedside table, eventually finding the switch for the bedside lamp.

“You okay?” Naka grumbled, patting the quarter of the bed Fhá always ended up curled up in.

Folding over, Fhá slumped against the side of the bed and tried to slow her breathing.

“Nope,” Naka mumbled, crumpling himself over. “Definitely not okay.”

“I-I really don’t need your shit right now, Naka!” Fhá exclaimed, fresh tears flowing down her face. “Fuck!”

“What happened?” he asked, pushing himself out of bed.

“I can’t talk about it,” Fhá whimpered, curling up into herself.

Naka shuffled over and sat down, placing his arm around her.

“It’s okay,” he said, pulling her closer. “I got you. I always got you.”

“I know,” Fhá sniffled, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Which one was it?” he asked, rubbing her arm with his thumb.

“The funeral,” Fhá answered.

“Shit,” Naka swore.

“Piss and vinegar,” Fhá added.

“Tell me about it,” Naka chuckled, “fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke about that.”

“It’s fine,” Fhá sighed.

“No it’s not,” Naka said.

Fhá wanted to snap at him, to tell him to just shut the fuck up, but he was right. It wasn’t fine. It was the opposite of fine. Every time she thought she could make it a week without waking up in the middle of the night in a puddle of sweat and urine, screaming axe murder and chipper shredder jubilee, it happened again. Always. And there Naka was. Always. Always there with a shoulder to cry into and half his arse sat in a fresh mess.

“I’m sorry,” Fhá said.

“Nothing to apologise for,” Naka dismissed, shifting his weight so he could slip an arm around her waist.

“I woke you up again,” she argued, “and pissed the bed.”

“You know I love your golden showers,” Naka said in that special way of his. “Best alarm clock a guy could ask for.”

“Stop it!” Fhá exclaimed, blushing.

“You wanna talk about it?” Naka asked, pulling her closer.

“Don’t you get tired of hearing the same…same fucked shit every week!?” Fhá said, exasperatedly.

“How many times have you heard the Copper Pot Surprise?” Naka asked.

“Okay, that’s different,” Fhá objected.

“Is it? Come on. You’ll feel better. You always do.”

Sighing heavily, Fhá turned, placing a hand on the chest of her favourite, insufferable, obnoxious, slightly rotund, feckless gobshite. Naka and his stupid, infectious smile and all the compassion and care he’d somehow not had squeezed out of him yet. She loved him. And hated him. No one was this good.

He deserved so much better.

“It was different this time,” Fhá said, lowering her gaze, “It-it started….” Fhá took a deep breath. “It started after, and it-it never starts after. Always before and-and there was this-this—fuck! I-I can’t talk about it. I just can’t!”

“Is it about work?”

Fhá nodded. Naka sighed angrily. She felt him tense up in that way he did when rage had set into his bones.

“It’s classified, isn’t it?” Naka assumed.

Fhá nodded.

“Motherfuckers,” Naka swore.

“It’s okay,” Fhá said, rubbing her hand over his chest. “I got this. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not okay,” Naka growled.

He was right. But what could she do? There wasn’t a way out. Not with the Duchess Premiere being involved. All she could do was soldier on.

Fhá shifted her head, placing her ear over his heart. Closing her eyes, she focused on the sound his heartbeat until nothing else—

BZZZZZZZ

“Oh, who the fuck is it!?” Naka exclaimed, glancing over his shoulder at the clock on his bedside table. “It’s four-thirty in the fucking morning!”

“Just leave it,” Fhá said, before the buzzer sounded off again.

Naka withdrew his arm and rose to his feet, hands forming big, meaty fists.

“Naka!” Fhá pleaded, clutching at his wrist.

He shook her off as the buzzer sounded off again, even more insistently now.

“Naka! Leave it!” she cried out, as he stormed across the room.

“I got this,” he said, flinging the door open.

Fhá sputtered out a babble of pleading nothings, but he had his mission. Once his mind was set, there was no persuading him.

“Ow! What the fuck!?” Naka swore from the main room.

Rising to her feet, Fhá called out, “hon’, who is it!?”

A thump on the floor sent Fhá’s pulse back through the ceiling. She leapt to her feet and raced to the doorway. Peeking her head out into the hallway, she saw—

“’Ello, sweetcheeks,” a man in a black mask said.

Fhá saw a streak of black and—

—her head rolled forward. Groaning, Fhá came enough to her senses to feel the right side of her face pounding like a drum brigade on Victory Day. Immediately her pulse spiked and everything flooded back in.

She opened her eyes, but realised she’d had her head stuffed in a black sack that smelled like arsecheeks, stale vomit, and bottom shelf, bargain market aftershave. Without even needing the feedback from her pinched nerves, nor the pointless, dramatic struggling, cursing, and rainbow streak of all colours of foul language, she knew she’d been ziptied. Wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles. The seatbelt strapping her in and the leather seats stank of the Inquisition.

“This it?” a man said, the vehicle slowing to a stop.

“Well if it ain’t the fookin’ crown cunt o’ the ages!” the other swore.

Fhá heard a window roll down, and the sound of bare feet on stone approaching.

“Oi! Got you a present!” the second man called out.

The door to Fhá’s right opened, and she felt a cold breeze rush in. A second later, the door shut again. She heard footsteps circle the vehicle and stop at the second man’s window.

“Park the car,” she commanded in a voice like songbirds and velvetine.

Fhá heard the driver shift the car into park.

“In the garage, Kàn.”

“Sure thing, guv,” the second man, or Kàn by the sounds of it, said.

“Bloody hell, you’re even worse than Bajin,” the woman muttered, “don’t do anything more until I get there.”

“You the boss, guv,” Kàn replied, rolling up the window.

Just from how the words dripped off his lips and polluted the air, Fhá could taste the amount of shit he’d eaten to make that grin possible. Kàn chuckled darkly and bumped fists with the other Agent of the Inquisition—Bajin by deduction.

Kàn put the vehicle in gear and she felt it take several slow turns before stopping again. The two men unfastened their safety belts and exited the vehicle simultaneously. Both approached her side of the car and Fhá felt her pulse skyrocket again.

The door flung open and four gloved hands grabbed her by the arm, attempting to yank her out of the vehicle without undoing the seatbelt. These were clearly not Agents of the Inquisition but bottom rank, ex-military, Inqmercs. All brawns and no brain.

One hand released her arm long enough to unfasten the seatbelt before jamming back into her armpit. Together, the two men dragged her out of the car and flung her onto a cold concrete floor, cackling like juveniles as her oversized t-shirt came up over her buttocks.

Turning over, Fhá tried to pull her shirt down, as the two men snickered and laughed.

“Oi!” Kàn barked, kicking her in the side. “Din ya mum tell ya don’ block a good view!”

Fhá gritted her teeth, curling up on her side, kidney splitting. To the howling delight of the two men, her shirt bunched up over her hips even more. In the distance, she heard an elevator ding.

“Hey! You like that, huh!?” Bajin jeered, kneeling down.

Ice ran through Fhá’s veins and she went still. She knew this music. It was the only song that played in church pews and in throats of devotional choirs. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for—

“BAJIN!” the voice from before roared, lightning crackling off her voice.

The two men went silent. Fhá curled up even tighter. The garage emptied of air, but the woman’s voice echoed like the fury of a goddess off its walls.

“Where is Naka!?” the woman demanded.

“He’s…uh…in the car, madame,” Bajin stammered.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” the woman responded, like a mother chastising her delinquent son.

“Uh…no,” Bajin said.

The woman flung the door to the car open again.

“The Duchess is going to have a field day with you two,” the woman growled.

Bajin snickered.

“You think this funny?” the woman retorted.

“Innit?” Kàn chuckled.

“Not the first time we’ve upset the Duchess,” Bajin added, “what’s she gonna do?”

“Nothing,” the woman said.

“Exactly,” Bajin responded, smugly.

“His Imperial Majesty does not accept sloppy seconds,” the woman added.

A cold pit dropped like a bomb in Fhá’s stomach. The Emperor was behind this!?

“Unbind them,” the woman commanded, “swiftly. And I swear by the Emperor’s Signet, you’d best treat their wrists like those of Her Majesty’s.”

“Yes’m,” Kàn peeped, all the bluster and bravado replaced by timid, quaking, terror.

Fhá felt a warm touch on her back.

“Miss Vngví,” the woman greeted, gently pulling Fhá’s shirt down over her buttocks. “I am so, so sorry about all of this.”

She felt the tip of a knife slip between her wrists and immediately tensed up.

“It’s okay,” the woman said, the zipties snapping off her wrists, “I have you now. You’re safe with me.”

Once the zipties around her ankles and knees had been cut, the woman slipped a hand under Fhá’s armpits and helped her to her feet. Grabbing at the bag, Fhá pulled it over her head, immediately regretting that decision. The light of the garage gouged her eyes like the noon sun.

“Oh, fuck,” she groaned, blinking and shaking her head, “who the fuck are you people!?”

Lifting her head, she looked square in the face of—

“Holy shit!”

#

Fhá gripped the hem of her t-shirt, feeling even more embarrassed and humiliated than before. Even with an Orkidean standing tits and ass fully in the wind beside her Fhá wasn’t comforted in the least. Walking around like it was their birthday was kind of the Orkidean thing. No one really gave it a second thought either. If anything, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like sacrilege to dress one up like they were some kind of pathetic, banal human. Orkideans were avatars of an actual deity—or something like that. Whatever their deal was, Fhá was most decidedly not that.

Standing in the actual Duchess Premiere’s palace in nothing but a ratty, oversized t-shirt about as full of holes as a dish sponge and soaked in urine, sweat, and a few crusty stains from a few nights back, she felt worse than naked. At least if she was naked, she wouldn’t have had her filthy night-shirt on display.

Worse still was Naka, splayed out on a cushioned table looking thing. His face looked like a blueberry with the right side dipped in strawberry jam. Adding the cherry on top the fruit bowl of douchebaggery, he had fallen almost entirely out of his trademark bedtime banana hammock.

Seeing him like that didn’t make her blood boil. It made her blood go supercritical. If the Inquisition wanted to parade her about in a walk of shame, fine. They didn’t need to bring Naka into it too.

This was even worse than yesterday. Yesterday it was only her and her coworker, and all she wanted to do was curl up and die, but at least it was only Hvang, and he gave her his gym clothes.

Here, today, all she could do was stand there on display for a small audience to see, one eye swollen over, desperately wanting to just cover Naka with her shirt and then go find the nearest closet to hide in and never come out of again. But no, said the Orkidean. She was quite insistent they all stand there and wait. Well, all except Naka. Who was still out cold from having his face pulped by Agents Rapey and Sexpest.

Duchess Tví was on her way, posthaste, the Orkidean said. She’d be here in less than five minutes. There was no time and vanishingly little point in appropriating someone’s clothes or taking them off the Inqmercs. Why? Because reasons.

In the eternities between seconds, Fhá wrung her hands, the muscles of her belly clenching compulsively as waves of fresh embarrassment and humiliation tsunamied through her like a seiche following a glacial collapse in a polar fjord.

What was she going to do when the Duchess arrived? How was she going to explain this? Any of this?

Please let this be another nightmare, Fhá thought, curling her toes as tight as she could in the lush carpet. Please, please, please.

Across the room, she saw the sliding doors shudder ever so slightly. Fhá winced. Through a crack in her eyelid, she saw the doors slide open, almost without a sound. Attended by a trio of handmaids, Fhá saw the Duchess sweep into the room like a beautiful landslide, her already vexed expression deepening into an indignant scowl.

“You two,” the Duchess said, pointing at the two Inqmercs, “I’ll deal with you in a second.”

Turning, she addressed the Orkidean, “Yuhii, what happened?”

“The inevitable, it seems,” the Orkidean replied, deep frustration in her voice.

“Énv! Tían!” the Duchess barked, making no attempt to hide her fury, “Take the young master Ikedo to Qer’iñol at once! Then see to it he is prepared for His Majesty!”

“Yes, m’lady,” two of the handmaids said, in unison.

Fhá watched as they gathered her beloved up into their arms, taking great care to ensure his thong was properly adjusted. Together, the pair of young, resplendetly dressed handmaids lifted Naka and whisked him away, the third opening the door and departing behind them, sliding the doors shut with a bowed head.

After they had departed, the Duchess crossed the room, stopping first in front of the two Inqmercs.

“Stay here,” she said, “exactly here. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes’m,” the two men responded.

“Excuse me?” the Duchess recoiled.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the two men blurted out.

“I’m not convinced you know what remaining in the exact spot you are presently in means,” the Duchess retorted. “Look at your feet. Do you see where they are? Good. That is exactly where they will remain until I return to personally tell you otherwise. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the two man said.

“I’m not convinced,” the Duchess fired back, “do you see this face? Yes. This one. My face. Do you see how my mouth is moving when you hear me speak? Yes? Good. If you see any other face and hear words coming out of it, words telling you to move from the exact place I told you to be, expressing it even as my direct command, is that my personal return and command for you to move?”

“No, Your Highness,” the men responded.

“So you do understand clear and direct instructions,” the Duchess said, “which means until my return, you had best think long and hard as to how you’re going to explain why you ignored His Majesty, the Emperor’s, clear and direct instructions on how His Imperial Majesty’s Honoured Guests were to receive their Invitation and Summons!”

“Your Highness, I—“

The Duchess raised a finger, silencing Bajin in black.

“Did I give you permission to speak!?” The Duchess barked.

“No, Your Highness,” Bajin responded.

“Then why do you defile my home and insult my guests and me by polluting the air with excuses!?” The Duchess snapped.

Fhá saw Bajin open his mouth to offer a reply, then he closed it again, recognising the nature of the question. The Duchess nodded and produced from her robes a ceremonial dagger. Bajin’s face fell. Fhá didn’t know exactly what the dagger meant, but she knew enough about the traditions of Nobility to suspect there was an expectation of blood in it. Bajin’s shaking hands receiving the dagger all but confirmed it.

Turning to Fhá, the Duchess’s expression changed dramatically. Fury washed away, replaced by an expression of genuine shame and concern.

“Miss Vngví,” she said, leading her away.

Yuhii—the Orkidean—followed as the Duchess opened a set of double doors at the back of what Fhá assumed was some kind of foyer and ushered them through. Yuhii shut the doors behind them. The Duchess set off at a brisk pace, leading Fhá away from the room and the muffled cries of Bajin as he performed whatever act of mutilation was expected of him.

“I must apologise profusely for the circumstances that brought you here,” the Duchess said, hurriedly but with sincerity. “I must apologise as well for the suddenness of all of this. I’m afraid events have accelerated too far for me to explain everything, but I will endeavour to fill in some details for you.”

“Of course, m’lady,” Fhá responded, struggling to keep up with the Duchess and keep her shirt from flying up over her buttocks.

“I briefed His Majesty, The Emperor this morning on some details you shared with me earlier. He demanded a complete audit of your administration and requested to speak with you personally at the earliest possible moment. His instructions were appended to an Imperial Summons that was intended to have been given to you by Yuhii, not those two bumbling idiots.”

The Duchess ushered Fhá into a bathroom, continuing her monologue, “It seems Duke Itsikasho dignified no part of His Imperial Majesty’s instructions with more than a passing glance. Yuhii, who will be assisting you from here forward, was meant to be the one who delivered them to you, personally, and at an appropriate hour, and most decidedly without the use of violence.”

The Duchess leaned up against one of the counters in the resplendent bathroom, pinching her brow in frustration.

“Yuhii, don’t even think about apologising,” the Duchess said, before the Orkidean could even open her mouth, “this clusterfuck is not your fault.”

“I was responsible,” Yuhii objected.

“The duke did an end run around you,” the Duchess countered, lifting herself off the counter.

“Something I failed to account for,” Yuhii argued.

“I do not have time to debate this issue, Yuhii,” the Duchess said, turning back to Fhá. “Tomorrow you’ll be meeting with His Majesty, Emperor Chéxing XXIV. My staff will ensure you are prepared for this. I’m afraid, Fhá, that the process will be somewhat uncomfortable. Acutely so given what you’ve just been through. I wish there was another way, but, unfortunately, there are traditions and customs even His Majesty must abide.”

“M’lady,” Fhá spoke, “may I ask why His Majesty wishes to speak with me?”

The Duchess sighed heavily. Fhá’s heart sank. Whatever the reason, it could not have been good.

“He wants the measure of the woman,” she answered, “before he makes her an offer she would be wise to accept.”

A chill went down Fhá’s spine. Before she could ask what the Duchess meant, she had departed, leaving only the Orkidean behind. Something deep inside Fhá told her she really did not want to know what wasn’t being said.

“Come,” Yuhii said, placing a soothing hand on Fhá’s back, “let’s get you cleaned up before the tailors get here.”

“The what?” Fhá blurted out.

“There are many ways to appear before His Majesty,” Yuhii elaborated, taking Fhá by the hand, “one’s appearance should only match the occasion.”

Fhá felt herself being pulled along, her brain fogging over like that time she’d humoured Naka’s whim to go see a hypnotist. What a night that turned out to be. Something told Fhá there would be no psychedelic mushrooms, and no mindbending threesome in a pillow pit.

Wait…no, that threesome was the Sonorian we went to, Fhá realised. That was wild. I’d like to do that again. The psychedelic mushrooms too.

“All that and more can be arranged,” Yuhii said, turning the faucet on an enormous marble tub.

“Are you in my head?” Fhá recoiled.

“Relax,” Yuhii replied, a dense, fruity, floral smell filling the room. “Ah, yes, the boiler received my nudge. Very good.”

“Why-how-can you not!?” Fhá exclaimed.

“You wear your thoughts on the surface, miss Vngví,” Yuhii responded, “as most do. I cannot help but feel them like the rising steam.”

“I-I-I give up!” Fhá stammered, ripping her shirt off. She threw it on the floor and thrust her arms out angrily. “Happy now! Anything else you want to—”

The Orkidean placed a finger to her lips, amethyst eyes silencing her with no more than a locked gaze. For a moment, they both stood, looking into each other’s eyes. Fhá couldn’t explain how, but she felt like she knew what Yuhii had been through before, the pain and shame and horror of it. A violation so deep and so intense that the violence of it never went away. No peace could be made with it. All she could do, like Fhá, was carry it. And Yuhii had carried her pain far longer than Fhá could even comprehend.

Yuhii turned away, and Fhá looked down at her feet, at the shirt she’d thrown there, then back up at the Orkidean. This time, though, all the magic veils she hid behind were gone. Nothing hidden.

“Yes,” Yuhii said, idly twirling a finger in the water, “you’re beginning to understand.”

“I…” Fhá began, standing there in total confusion, “I don’t understand anything.”

“Come,” Yuhii said, closing the faucet.

The Orkidean swung her legs over the side of the tub and slipped into the water, the enormous tub deep enough for her to submerge in completely. Yuhii broke the surface like a mermaid, so graceful and mesrmerising it drew Fhá in like a sailor to a siren. Without even realising it, she’d crossed the space between and—

“Ah!” Fhá yelped, colliding with the side of the tub.

Fhá! You dumb, clumsy cunt!

The world inverted as she fell over the edge into what could have been a swimming pool. While hanging upside down, head resting on the marble floor of this excessive monument to absurd luxury, the absolute state of her situation crystalised in a moment of acute clarity.

What in the ever-loving fuck am I even doing here? On Imperial Seat? In Duchess Tví’s palace? In the Duchess’s bathroom!? In her tub!? With another woman!? Butt fucking naked!? Without Naka!? Without Naka knowing!? Without him agreeing to it!? What the fuck!? This is so fucked! Fuck me! Fuck Tví! Fuck this! Fuck everything!

She wanted out.

Out of this bath.

Out of this palace.

Off this planet.

Off this ride on the crazy coaster speeding at mach fuck to loony land.

She wanted to wake up.

In her bed.

To her alarm clock screaming in her ear.

To roll over before dawn and find this was all a weird, crazy, terrible nightmare.

She wanted to get dressed in her uncomfortable officewear, ride her usual stuffy, overcrowded, sweaty train to her terrible job. She wanted to go back to her terrible assignment, have more terrible memory arqives downloaded into her brain, have another terrible mental breakdown, and be committed to a terrible institution where they’d stick her in the ass with the stupid juice and leave her in a drug-induced, drooling stupor until she expired of neglect and dysentery.

More than anything, she just wanted her life to go back to that blissful era when it was only her boyfriend and her gynaecologist who saw her in a state of undress.

Unfortunately, by the distress in her lungs, it very much appeared there were no lucky stars, and she was going to have to go through with whatever it was her imperious imperial overlords had decided she would.

Ballsacks and cockweasels, Fhá thought. Maybe I could just…

Before Fhá could finish thinking about drowning herself, much less succceed in doing so, she felt two soft but strong hands grip her and guide her back to the surface. Fhá sucked in a huge breath, felt delicate fingers push hair out of her face, saw sunkissed skin over her shoulder. Looking into Yuhii’s face, what Fhá expected to find was not there.

It wasn’t a judgemental expression. There was no chiding glint, no disappointed scowl, no furrow brow of equal parts exhaustion and frustration. Sympathetic understanding. That’s all. Fhá didn’t know how, but this being, who couldn’t feel this way about being so exposed in front of others, understood her. It was like Yuhii knew it from experiencing it through the eyes of others, every intimate detail of it, but thousands upon thousands of times over. Memories upon memories contained within her crystalline heart, whole liftetimes absorbed like some kind of mimetic sponge.

The moment of clarity passed like so much gelatin off a hot tin roof. In its place a new clarity came over her, an inversion of the shadows, the tarry thornbushes, the eyes glinting above bared fangs. She felt her abdomen relax, the tension in her shoulders melt away. Everything was okay. Yuhii was there and she would take care of her, ensure nothing happened to her.

She was safe.

Safe…

What a novel idea.

“Mm-hmm,” Yuhii murmured, wading in front of Fhá.

“I…” Fhá said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t want… I don’t want to do this.”

“I know,” Yuhii said.

“I want to go home,” Fhá sniffled.

“I know,” Yuhii repeated.

“Can you...can you make it just...go away?” Fhá asked.

“I can,” Yuhii answered, “would you like that?”

“Yes,” Fhá answered.

“Okay,” Yuhii hummed, a blanket of psychic soothe descending on Fhá.

Waves of intoxicating mesmer flooded Fhá’s mind, pushing aside her discomfort and anxiety, quieting her inhibitions. Shame, humiliation, all the roiling tumult of violence and violation retreated beyond the offing. Deep inside the Orkidean’s Soothe, Fhá drifted off and all of it stopped mattering anymore.

She felt Yuhii’s hands washing her head to toe, and it. Felt. Heavenly. Every delicate motion like an effleurage by a masseuse who’d spent aions mastering her craft. Yuhii’s were just the first of dozens of hands to pass over every millimetre of her body, pushing, pulling, measuring, marking and moulding her until her flesh passed the court’s muster. From this safe distance Yuhii had taken her, Fhá could see things differently, see it removed from trauma and pain kept at bay, and it was blissful.

Duchess Tví had sent her personal retinue. Gentle but firm, they saw to her with the same attention as they would have the Duchess Tví herself. Not because they had been ordered to, though they had, but by each individual’s own desires. This army of tailors and beauticians, all with no fewer than six different advanced degrees in subjects Fhá could not even pronounce worshipped at the altar of the human form, had dedicated themselves so totally to their respective arts that nothing short of perfection would do. Their gaze was glorifying and their touch sanctifying, like they saw the image of the gods in her, and to bring it out like sculptors from stone was a most sacred duty.

By the time she found herself in a thin silk robe, lying down beside Naka on a bed that felt like cloud nine met the best drugs money could buy in the heaven of emperors, it wasn’t because of the Orkidean’s strange magicks. So sublty had Yuhii withdrawn her Soothe that Fhá only noticed it after Duchess Tví’s Sonorians had departed, having left her with the crown of an Orkidean.

All that care, that tender attention, it was wonderful. She felt aglow. She felt like she did when Naka would spend an entire Solsday treating her like a queen—when he’d bring her breakfast, carry her to a delicious bubble bath and spend hours washing and massaging her hair. He’d massage her back, draw beautiful things on her belly with a marker, and they’d make love for hours, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. She felt like that. Like she would laying in bed, tangled up in Naka, eyes half-closed in blissful contentment.

Turning her head, she looked up at Yuhii, sitting on the edge of the largest bed Fhá had ever seen. For all that had happened, all that she’d been through the last few days, and how upset she would have been right to be over this Imperial Makeover, she was grateful the strange and beautiful creature sitting there had been there. Yuhii had made an experience that should have been exrcuciating a blissful one, one Fhá could remember fondly.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching her hand out.

Yuhii smiled and Fhá knew exactly what the Orkidean meant. It was what she lived for, what brought her more pleasure than anything in The Way. Leaning over, Yuhii stretched out an arm and placed a hand over Fhá’s. Closing her eyes and fingers, Fhá absorbed every part of the experience for as long as felt right. Then she let go, rolling back onto her side, and draped her arm back over Naka’s chest.

The day had been long, and its light was many hours passed. From the bedside, Yuhii began to a hum a wistful melody and Fhá felt heself drifting off to sleep. As she went, the lilting voice of Yuhii was in her ear, singing softly a song in a tongue Fhá didn’t know, but nevertheless could understand as if it were in Kàé Làm.

Yuhii sang of a lesser quantum of serenity bought by tooth and claw and the long, arduous descent from the lonely mountain where one embraces their dark passengers and leaves them.

Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, for once, the Imperium’s callous hand wouldn’t leave her with a fresh set of scars. Maybe.