THE EMPRESS I FORGOT

Chapter 3: The Empress Behind the Mask

The mysterious voice beneath the tannery floor spoke Julian's name a second time, and the thick wooden boards beneath his boots began to split apart with a loud groan.

“Julian Vale,” it whispered from the dark depths, its resonant tone vibrating through the floorboards. “You have taken far too long to return to us.”

Mira Thorne seized his arm with a firm grip and dragged him forcefully toward the open doorway just as a radiant golden crack raced swiftly across the adjacent wall. The thirteen-handed symbol blazed with sudden intensity, filling the ruined tannery with a blinding light that made every shadow in the room twist in the wrong direction. Behind Julian, Tomas stumbled over a fallen wooden beam, and the heavy air instantly filled with the sharp, acrid smell of burning wood.

“Get your brother outside immediately!” Mira shouted over the rising noise. “Do it now!”

Julian grabbed Tomas tightly by his coat and pulled him through the threshold into the damp night air. Mira followed closely behind them, slamming the heavy door shut to block the light, but the voice continued to seep through the splintered timber as though the physical barrier did not exist at all.

“You cannot hide what rightfully belongs to me,” the voice echoed through the wood before fading into nothingness.

The brilliant golden light vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the surrounding alley trapped in a sudden, unnatural quiet. Even the imperial soldiers searching the nearby streets had stopped their shouting, allowing Julian to hear the sound of Tomas struggling to catch his breath beside him.

“What was that horrible thing?” Tomas whispered, his young voice trembling with fear.

Julian had no clear answer to give his brother. He turned to look at Mira, whose sword remained drawn and ready, and noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly despite her obvious efforts to conceal her anxiety.

“You knew my mother,” Julian stated directly, stepping closer to her.

Mira's sharp eyes shifted toward him in the dim light. “I knew her name from the records.”

“Then explain why an ancient symbol appeared on the wall the moment you spoke her name,” Julian demanded, his voice rising. “Explain why a voice beneath the ground just called me its son.”

“This is not the place to discuss such matters,” Mira replied coolly, glancing toward the main street.

Julian stepped directly in front of her before she could lead them away into the darkness. “You came looking for me because of what happened on the execution platform today. You clearly knew about the clock beneath the palace, and you knew my mother's name would carry weight. If you expect me to follow you anywhere, you will tell me what you know right now.”

Mira studied him carefully, her guarded expression resembling that of a strategist measuring the narrow distance between a difficult decision and a fatal mistake.

“You have every reason in the world to distrust me,” she said, lowering her blade slightly. “However, the armed men approaching this alley have received explicit permission to kill your brother, and Lord Cassian will not hesitate to order your execution if he believes it will protect his political position. The empress is currently the only person in the entire capital who possesses the power to keep you both alive.”

“You want me to trust the very woman my mother explicitly warned me about?”

The defensive question escaped his lips before Julian could stop himself.

Mira went completely still, her entire posture freezing in place. “What did you just say to me?”

Julian realized his mistake a moment too late. He had not intended to reveal the contents of his vision, yet something in her expression suggested that his brief outburst had just confirmed a dark suspicion she had harbored for years.

Before he could demand a further explanation, the rhythmic sound of heavy boots echoing against wet stone reached them from the end of the street.

Mira sheathed her sword in a swift motion and pointed toward a narrow, shadowed passage nestled between two shuttered shops. “You can decide whether to trust us when you have more time to think. Right now, you need to survive long enough to make that decision.”

Julian hated the fact that her assessment was entirely correct.

He pulled Tomas into the dark passage and followed Mira through a hidden iron gate that opened onto a completely deserted stone courtyard. An ornate black carriage waited beneath a grand archway, its polished wooden doors proudly bearing the imperial crest of a crown surrounded by thirteen radiant stars. Two mounted guards stood motionless beside the horses, their faces completely concealed beneath dark steel helmets.

As Mira reached out to open the carriage door, Julian caught sight of a thin line of golden writing elegantly carved into the wood beneath the metal handle. Although he had never studied formal script, he found that he could understand the meaning behind the ancient characters instantly.

The forgotten hour belongs to the blood that paid for it.

The scar on his palm burned with sudden heat once again, and then the mysterious writing vanished from the surface of the door as if it had never been there.

Mira caught his sudden reaction. Instead of asking him what he had seen, she hurried both brothers inside the cabin and ordered the driver to set off immediately.

The heavy carriage lurched forward into the falling rain, its iron wheels grinding against the cobblestones.

Julian sat close beside Tomas, carefully keeping his injured shoulder turned away from the younger boy to hide the blood. Across from them, Mira kept a watchful eye on the dark streets through a narrow window, her gloved hand resting near the hilt of the dagger at her waist.

“Where are you taking us?” Julian asked, breaking the tense silence inside the cabin.

“We are heading directly to the imperial palace,” Mira answered without turning her head.

“And what happens if I refuse to cooperate with your empress?”

“Then you may soon discover just how many powerful people in this city would prefer to see you dead.”

“That is not a real answer,” Julian countered flatly.

“No,” Mira admitted, turning to meet his gaze. “It is a severe warning.”

The carriage soon passed through the massive inner gates of the estate, leaving the overcrowded, filthy streets of Greyhaven far behind them. Beyond the towering palace walls, the grim city gave way to immaculate stone gardens, flowing marble fountains, and enormous statues carved in the likeness of former rulers. Julian had seen the imperial grounds from a great distance before, but he had never imagined that the divide between the world he inhabited and the world of the high nobility could be so absolute.

Tomas pressed his face close to the glass window, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Do actual people really live here?”

“People rule from here,” Julian corrected him quietly.

He had barely finished speaking when the carriage rolled to a gentle stop before a magnificent set of towering bronze doors. A team of palace servants hurried forward to assist them, but Mira quickly dismissed them with a sharp wave of her hand and escorted the two brothers through a long succession of heavily guarded marble corridors.

At every single turn along the way, Julian noticed the repetition of the exact same symbol: thirteen stars arranged in a perfect circle around an imperial crown. The intricate pattern had been carved into structural columns, embroidered into heavy velvet banners, and etched into the brass handles of doors that appeared to lead nowhere. The closer they walked toward the central wing of the palace, the more frequently the golden scar on Julian's palm began to throb with intense energy.

At last, Mira came to a halt outside a pair of exceptionally tall wooden doors guarded by elite soldiers clad in polished silver armor.

“Your brother will be taken to a secure room where he will receive proper medical attention for his injuries,” she explained, turning to face Julian. “You, on the other hand, will be questioned directly by the empress.”

Julian caught her wrist firmly in his hand before she could step away. “If anything bad happens to Tomas while we are separated, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Mira looked down at his grip on her wrist, and then she met his fierce gaze with a steady posture. “If anything happens to Tomas while he is under my protection, you will not need to hold me responsible. I will already be dead.”

For the very first time since they met, Julian believed that she might actually be telling him the absolute truth.

A servant stepped forward to lead Tomas away, promising that a skilled physician would treat his burned wrists and attend to Julian's wounded shoulder as well. Julian watched intently until his brother vanished around a far corner, and then he turned his full attention back toward the heavy bronze doors.

Mira leaned closer to him, her voice dropping to a low whisper. “Whatever the empress asks you in there, do not attempt to lie about the nature of your power. She will recognize the deception instantly.”

“Why would she be able to tell?” Julian asked.

“Because she has spent her entire life waiting for someone like you to appear.”

The heavy doors swung inward with a low groan before Julian could question her further.

The grand throne room stretched out far before him beneath a high, vaulted ceiling painted with elaborate depictions of ancient constellations. Tall glass windows admitted the pale, eerie light of the ongoing storm outside, illuminating rows of noblemen and women dressed in finely embroidered silks. At the far end of the immense hall, seated upon a raised throne crafted from solid black marble, sat Empress Aurelia Veyr.

She wore an elegant dark gown threaded with fine silver detailing, and a narrow golden crown rested atop her tightly styled hair. Her facial features were striking, but it was the profound stillness in her posture that truly unsettled Julian. She appeared to be someone who had learned long ago that allowing others to perceive her fear was far more dangerous than experiencing the fear itself.

“Julian Vale,” she spoke, her voice carrying effortlessly across the wide expanse of the hall. “You have caused a considerable amount of trouble in my capital today.”

Julian bowed his head only slightly, refusing to show deference. “Your soldiers were on the verge of killing an innocent boy.”

A low murmur of hushed whispers spread rapidly through the gathered crowd of nobles.

Aurelia's cold expression did not change in the slightest, although her slender fingers tightened audibly around the carved armrest of her throne. “Innocent?” she questioned calmly. “The written law of this land does not recognize innocence as a valid excuse for theft.”

“Then perhaps the law should be deeply ashamed of itself,” Julian retorted plainly.

An older nobleman standing near the base of the throne stepped forward aggressively, his heavy jeweled rings flashing beneath the bright chandeliers. “Your Majesty, this arrogant commoner has already demonstrated clear contempt for imperial authority. If the official reports are accurate, he possesses forbidden magic. He should be thrown into the dungeons until the royal scholars can determine whether he poses a dire threat to the crown.”

“Lord Cassian,” Aurelia said softly, without even turning her eyes toward him, “I do not recall inviting you to answer questions that were directed at my guest.”

The nobleman bowed his head stiffly, but Julian easily caught the sharp flare of resentment in his eyes as he stepped back into line.

Aurelia returned her full focus to Julian. “Tell me exactly what happened when the executioner's sword was falling.”

“I do not know what you mean,” Julian replied neutrally.

“Do not dare to insult my intelligence,” she warned.

The spoken words were quiet, but the surrounding royal guards immediately straightened their posture and gripped their weapons.

Aurelia rose slowly from her black marble throne and began her descent down the stone steps toward him. As she drew closer, Julian noticed a detail he had missed from a distance: a delicate silver chain hung around her neck, supporting a small pendant shaped precisely like a clock with thirteen slender hands.

The mark on his palm burned so violently at the sight of the pendant that Julian nearly cried out in pain.

Aurelia suddenly stopped in her tracks. For the very first time, the powerful empress looked genuinely afraid. She reached out, seized Julian's wrist, and pulled his open hand up into the ambient light. The faint golden scar brightened dramatically beneath her touch, revealing the glowing thirteen-handed symbol etched into his flesh.

The entire throne room fell into an absolute, breathless silence.

“Where exactly did you receive this mark?” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

“I was born with nothing,” Julian answered honestly. “I have no idea where the mark came from.”

Aurelia released his wrist abruptly, recoiling as though his very skin had burned her fingers. Behind her, Lord Cassian subtly reached beneath his heavy coat, while Mira's hand moved instinctively toward the hilt of her dagger.

However, Julian could no longer bring himself to focus on the surrounding nobles. His entire attention had become fixed upon a massive historical portrait hanging directly above the throne, which depicted a younger version of Aurelia standing beside a beautiful woman with dark hair and striking, familiar eyes.

The woman in the painting was wearing the same thirteen-handed clock pendant around her neck.

Julian's breath caught in his throat. Although he possessed no clear memory of his own mother's facial features, something deep within his soul instantly recognized the woman captured on the canvas.

“Who is that woman?” he asked aloud, pointing toward the artwork.

Aurelia turned her body toward the massive painting. Her expression hardened so rapidly that Julian began to wonder whether the brief flash of fear he had just witnessed had ever existed at all.

“She was my mother,” Aurelia answered coldly.

“Then why does she wear the same symbol that is marked on my hand?”

The empress stared at him in complete silence for a long, heavy moment.

Without warning, she turned to dismiss the assembled court, commanding every nobleman, servant, and guard to vacate the chamber immediately, leaving no one behind except Mira. Lord Cassian began to voice a stern protest, but Aurelia silenced him with a single icy glance.

When the massive bronze doors finally clanged shut behind the departing crowd, Aurelia approached the base of the portrait and pressed her hand gently against its gilded frame.

“Your mother was a woman named Elara Vale,” she said softly. “She served my family faithfully before you were ever born, and she vanished without a trace on the very night my mother died.”

Julian felt the entire room tilt wildly around him as vertigo set in. “My mother died of an illness years ago.”

“Perhaps she did,” Aurelia replied, turning back to face him. “However, the official imperial records state that Elara Vale was executed for attempting to steal an hour from the gods.”

Julian shook his head in absolute disbelief. “That is completely impossible.”

“Then explain why the ancient clock beneath my palace began moving the exact moment your power awakened in the square.”

Before Julian could offer an answer, the heavy portrait hanging behind her produced a faint, metallic clicking sound. A thin crack appeared straight across the painted woman's face, splitting the canvas down the center.

Aurelia turned around sharply at the sound. It was clear that something had been hidden behind the artwork for decades.

Mira immediately drew her sharp dagger and sliced through the damaged canvas, revealing a hidden compartment containing a folded piece of ancient parchment sealed with heavy black wax. Aurelia broke the wax seal with visibly trembling fingers and slowly unfolded the letter inside.

Julian watched her eyes scan rapidly across the opening lines of the text. Whatever written words met her gaze completely drained the remaining color from her face.

“What does the letter say?” Mira asked, stepping closer.

Aurelia did not offer an immediate answer. Instead, she looked up at Julian with an expression that was no longer that of a ruler, but rather something painfully vulnerable and human.

Then, she read the final sentence of the letter aloud to the room.

“When the Timebearer returns at last, do not allow my daughter to remember the night she killed him.”

A deep, reverberating bell suddenly sounded from the dark chambers far beneath the palace floor.

It chimed once.

Then twice.

It continued all the way until it reached thirteen strikes.

And on the final, lingering stroke of the bell, Aurelia whispered a name that Julian had never heard in his entire life—his true name, which sounded as though it belonged to someone who had died centuries ago.