The Five Daughters of the Moon

Chapter 5: Celestia

It is the eve of the winter solstice. The tiny, cobwebbed windows bar the way in for the Moon’s light. The ceiling is low, the thick roof beams deeply grained. I lie on a bed, next to a man who smells of incense and musk, feral. Furs and sheets shelter us from the cold, but neither are white. I am not sure where I am or why I am here. I am sure of only two things.

In mere hours, when the clock strikes twelve, I will claim my place as the Crescent Empress. And mere moments ago, I let a man touch me for the very first time. And that…

I rise to lean on my elbows, away from the body that presses against mine. A thousand rules bind a Daughter of the Moon, a thousand ceremonies await her. By doing what I have done, I have skipped one of the most important ones. “The ceremony…”

“Ah, Celestia.” His voice is but a quiet growl, a thunder rolling in the distance. “Do you not remember? There is no need for one. No need to announce your lover to the court, for your mother to witness the consummation, for the gathered gagargis and nobles to watch me examine the stains on the sheets and preach prophesies that may or may not come true. In your empire, there is no need for such useless, ancient antics.”

My empire. Yes, I am the oldest, and it is mine by birthright. Mother, may she live a long life in her exile-to-come, under her guidance the empire has expanded, but at a terrible price. In the coming revolution, hers will not be the winning side. Mine will be.

“What the Crescent Empire needs is the empress and her sacred gagargis working together for the better of their people. There cannot be a more blessed union than ours.”

But for a moment, I struggle to even remember his name. He speaks as if I know him. Which must be true, for it isn’t in my nature to lose my virtue to a complete stranger.

“Come closer.” The bed creaks as he shifts to sit with his back against the headboard. He draws a sheet with him, either to keep him warm or to shelter me from seeing that which has already been inside me. “Lay your head on my lap.”

I roll over to accommodate to this, for it would be silly indeed of me to refuse this request that is so innocent in the light of what we have just done. It is then that I see his pale, bearded face. My eyes lock with the gaze so dark and intense that I can’t believe that I ever forgot his name.

“You need not worry.” Gagargi Prataslav smiles at me, and it is as if he knew every thought that has ever crossed my mind. He brushes a lock of hair behind my left ear. He caresses my cheeks with his long, bony fingers.

Though unfathomable sadness buds in the pit of my stomach, I refuse to cry. An empress never cries. For a ruler’s best weapon is her mind, a machinery that must keep on working even in the most dire of circumstances. Though I am not made of metal, tears may dull the cogs and wheels. I swallow the lump swelling in my throat, and think and analyze.

“You wanted it,” the gagargi says, drawing a circle on my forehead. His skin is rough against mine, that of an artisan who works with metal. I try to remember what his touch felt like earlier.

Lovers do intimate things together. But I can’t remember any that I may or may not have done with the gagargi. When I was with him—this man I must obviously be in love with, though I don’t feel it now—was I passionate? Did I desire his attention? Or did I merely lie limp and unresisting? Awful, awful questions to ask oneself. Why am I thinking of such? I am the oldest Daughter of the Moon. I may choose my lovers as I wish. Why would I be with a man I didn’t want?

“You were good.” His words, so soft but heavy still, carry the weight of truth. “You liked it a lot.”

These statements… I stare back at him. His gaze is fully focused on me. His pupils dilate, and the whites of his eyes gleam. No one else has ever looked at me as he has, as if they saw straight into my soul…

I feel it then. I wanted it. I was good. What we shared was good. The lump in my throat dissolves. I am in control of myself again.

He opens his arms, and it is an invitation to an embrace. I crawl up, and rest my head against his chest that rises and falls with his steady breaths. His skin, covered with thick black hair, radiates the warmth I need. He isn’t muscular like a soldier, but wiry akin to a man who takes no pleasure in eating. With no sheet to cover me, I am similarly exposed to his scrutiny. It does frighten me to be like this.

“Celestia…” He draws another circle on my forehead. This calms me more than any words ever could. “You are very important to me.”

And as if he had pushed thick clouds aside, everything becomes so clear to me. What came to pass wasn’t an accident, a misjudged moment of lust. I have been drawn to this man, the great Gagargi Prataslav, for almost a year now. He was the first to listen to my concerns when I realized that the empire teeters on the edge of change. He spoke only facts when others beautified them. He agreed that drastic measures might need to be taken. And it was he who… Or was it me? It doesn’t matter which one of us first mentioned the possibility of a coup.

I snuggle against him, and as I shift, a sticky rivulet coils around the inside of my thigh. I am torn in mind and body alike. This pain is but one of the many prices to be paid. Yet for some reason, I am more ashamed of this than the fact that I am about to depose my own mother.

“There is nothing to feel ashamed of.” The gagargi wraps his arms around me. I brush his oiled braid aside and bury my cheek against his chest. How did I bear to harbor such horrid thoughts earlier? He has always been a frugal man, who never gave in to the pleasures that would have been available plenty in the court. He placed the best of our people above himself, something Mother failed to do. “Yours is the empire. Our children will rule it in peace. For that is what you want, isn’t it?”

And… yes, that is what I want. Peace and prosperity for the Crescent Empire. This great man, Gagargi Prataslav, he wouldn’t have tricked me into anything. For he always promised to wait for me, for the day I am ready.

On the eve of the coup, I have to be ready.

We are in his laboratory now, both dressed up; though, without a servant to help me, not all of my gown’s buttons are fastened. The long, narrow room has neither a fireplace nor a coal brazier, for he prefers low temperatures when working with souls. The draft finds its way onto my shoulder blades. Lingering in the doorway, I adjust my shawl. Better to hide my state of undress than risk causing rumors or catching cold.

“Do come in. Close the door.” Gagargi Prataslav sits at the back of the room, on a three-legged stool before a massive desk littered with soul beads and the instruments of his art. His braided head is bent down in concentration, and he murmurs incantations under his breath. He is holding something white on his lap, and that something is big and alive.

A part of me wants to see where his relentless pursuit of knowledge has led him this time around. Another part of me already knows, and this calls forth shivers that ripple down the whole length of my body. This room is also in the cellar, and dust clings to the row of tiny windows above the desk. My father can’t see us here either. I push the door closed behind me and enter the gagargi’s den… I shake my head sharply, for this drowsiness that ever accompanies me these days has tangled my thoughts once more.

“What are you working on?” I ask. The gagargi should be preparing himself already. We should be preparing ourselves. It is a mere two hours until midnight.

But the gagargi is too absorbed in his incantations to answer. I must go to him to find the answer. And so I do.

The laboratory is lit with soul beads, the harsh white light of ospreys and hawks. Black wrought-iron lanterns hang from the low ceiling and the hooks attached to the un-tapestried brick wall. I pass the small round table where his dinner lays, without doubt untouched, under the silver dome. Next to it is a candelabrum that holds five speckled soul beads. Owls, perhaps. But even in the plenitude of light, this place is haunted by shadows. The animals that enter the room leave it without their souls.

I breathe deep and unclamp my fingers from the folds of my shawl. I need not fear here, with him.

Gagargi Prataslav toured me around the house once, the second or third time I visited him on my own—I can no longer remember the details. He doesn’t entertain. He doesn’t hold servants. The rooms that aren’t occupied by his apprentices are filled with cages of domestic birds and birds of prey alike. Not all of them are white. And not all the animals are birds. In the room that always has a roaring fire he keeps big black apes imported from the south at a great cost. He has been experimenting with them a lot lately, and part of it is from my urging. I think. Our plan for the better empire has but one weakness. The Great Thinking Machine requires human souls for fuel.

“The machine needs the intelligence to calculate the results correctly, just as any other being needs their soul to guide them through their lives.” Gagargi Prataslav turns on his stool, replying to my unasked question. As I meet his gaze, I veer to a halt. Though he has never claimed so, I believe he can catch glimpses of the world beyond this one, a skill that has been lost to the empresses for centuries, a secret guarded most closely. “Look at this swan, for example.”

I can only break the eye contact upon his prompt. No matter how curious I was earlier to see what he was doing, this couldn’t compete with his undivided attention. Now, as he so told me, I look at that big white something: a swan that isn’t quite alive anymore, but not yet dead either.

The sacred messenger of my family rests on the gagargi’s lap. The bird’s webbed feet clutch at his black robes. Its neck is looped around his right arm, and its elegant head rests on his palm. The bird’s beady eyes have already glassed over, but its folded wings shift with its faltering breaths.

Why a swan? I want to ask. Why my family’s heraldic charge and not some other animal? What spell does he need the bird’s soul for? I have seen him separate a soul from the body a hundred times or more. But swans are… they are reserved for ceremonies, not for him or anyone else to practice his art. The gagargi smiles, revealing his slightly crooked teeth, and it is almost as if he were amused by my confusion.

“What is there to look at?” I avert my gaze from both him and the swan that is about to die. It annoys me that he is playing guessing games with me. There is precious little time left. Not for me to change my mind, but to prepare ourselves for the coup. Perhaps it would be better if I left now. My carriage has been waiting for me for hours already. “I…”

“You should stay,” he suggests, and it is as he says. I want to stay with him. In any case, I will be allowed entry to the palace, no matter what time I arrive. Only guards that are sympathetic to the cause man the posts tonight. With my seed, the great General Monzanov, supporting us, there was no difficulty in finding such soldiers. “Observe.”

Gagargi Prataslav hums an incantation as he gently strokes the swan’s back. The way he focuses on each caress reminds me of Merile and her dogs. My sisters… they might hate me after tonight, for having to send mother to Angefort. For a while, there won’t be balls or concerts or any of the other frivolities Elise so enjoys. Sibilia might have to settle for a less extravagant debut than the one she has been dreaming of. Merile will be fine as long as she has her dogs. The three of them will adapt, but little Alina, with her mind already so fragile… What will become of her? But this is a risk I must take. Eventually, if the Moon shines bright, they will come to see I was right to take action, that there really was no other choice. The Crescent Empire, such as it is, can’t continue to exist. I must depose mother, and eventually marry the Moon.

“Contrary to the popular belief…” The gagargi’s voice draws my attention back to him. He twirls his forefinger and middle finger back and forth in a pattern too complex to describe with mere words. The swan twitches. Its black beak parts, revealing a pale pink tongue, but no cry comes out. Instead, the thinnest of white wisps protrudes through its eyes, faint but impossibly strong at the same time. The beak clenches shut, but it is too late. The wisp coils through the air, around the gagargi’s fingers like rings spun from mist. “It is possible to extract only a part of a soul.”

This I didn’t know, and it is an honor to have such information bestowed on me. Curious now, I meet the swan’s gaze. Its eyes are dull, but the bird is still very much alive. “What does it mean for the bird?”

The gagargi gets up, rising to his full, towering height, and only a palm’s width remains between his head and the ceiling. He unloops the swan’s neck from around his arm and then offers the bird to me. “It depends.”

I glide the rest of the way to him and hold my hands out, for what else could I do? Yet nothing could have prepared me for the weight of the bird, the stiffness of its body, the oily sheen of its feathers. My knees buckle, but the neck remains looped, just as he left it, with the head perched in a perpetual tilt. How can the bird remain so still?

The gagargi plucks a down feather from the sleeve of his black robes. He raises it to the eye level of the bird, then lets go of it. The feather drifts down, finding the currents of the laboratory’s persistent draft. “Done with great skill, by taking the strands of the soul that affect autonomy, the subject becomes unresisting and obedient.”

As if suspended by an invisible string, the feather floats just above the floor. Then it touches the cold stone tiles and settles there. The swan remains unmoving in my trembling arms. The gagargi meets my gaze. His eyes bear the strangest sort of fondness, but his mouth is drawn into a… smirk?

I can’t bear the weight of the swan any longer. I lower it onto the stool, more unceremoniously than it deserves. The bird retains its unnatural position. Will it be frozen in this posture for the rest of its life? If so, I can’t imagine a crueler torture. That can’t be the purpose of this demonstration. Souls shouldn’t be played with. Not even animal ones.

“Can you…” The thought is almost too horrifying for me to voice. But we need the Great Thinking Machine to calculate the optimal decisions for us, and the Great Thinking Machine needs a constant supply of its terrible fuel. That is the weak point of our plan, something the gagargi has been working relentlessly to overcome. Is this his solution?

The gagargi grunts, or perhaps chuckles, I am not sure, and I am not sure why it occurs to me to think he might be amused. He lowers his hand on the swan’s head once more. His lips move, and he twirls his fingers. A few heartbeats later, a thicker wisp coils through the bird’s left eye. He snaps his fingers, and the bird falls limp. The neck can no longer support the weight of the delicate head. The head plunges down and ends up with the parted beak mere inches from the ground. Oblivious to this, the gagargi curls his fingers into a fist around the last wisp. He picks up from his desk an empty—I think—glass sphere no bigger than a child’s fist. He hums a short incantation, and as he opens his hand, the wisps are gone, inside the soul bead. But something must have gone wrong. A swan bead should glow white. Instead, this one bears a pale yellow hue.

I in turn study the dead bird and the gagargi. For some reason it feels as if I have had this very same conversation with him before. That I have forgotten it more than once. I feel distanced from myself, almost… almost as if I were watching myself from afar. But still I have to ask, “Can you do this to a person?”

The gagargi inspects the soul bead, nodding to himself as if pleased with his handiwork. The white swirls bear a definite yellow hue. I am sure of it. But the question to which I am waiting for an answer is too important for me to get sidetracked by trivialities.

“I can.”

The relief is such that I must seek support from the desk. There is no free surface, and pieces of metal and glass press sharp against my palms. I don’t care. This breakthrough must be recent. It fills in the last missing piece in our plan. I am grateful, so very grateful, but also drowsy. But tonight is an important night for my empire. I can’t allow myself the luxury of feeling tired.

“Yours will be a different empire.” The gagargi places the swan bead on the desk, amongst the cogs and wheels and pliers, empty glass spheres and golden springs and pieces of silver cable. The light of the newly created bead meets green and blue. “The time has come to put an end to mindless waste. No more children starving to death. No more soldiers sent to certain death.”

His voice is like the sweetest nectar. He places his long fingers on my right shoulder. His gaze is luminous, lit with promises of the better world. But my attention is drawn to the green and blue that emanates from… Alina’s name day gift.

“The Great Thinking Machine,” I whisper. My youngest sister was almost as afraid of the mechanical peacock as she was of the Great Thinking Machine. I remember promising to take the peacock away, but not bringing it here. How curious that is. How curious of me to think of it now that it is certain that the coup can’t fail.

“People will accept our guidance. They are ready for the machine.” The gagargi leans toward me in that way of his that I at first found intimidating, then later on irresistible. For he is fully focused on me, and only me. “Adult souls, though tarnished by name and past deeds, will suffice at first. There will be volunteers and those volunteered. Convicted prisoners. War criminals. Engineer Alanov has made extensive calculations and projections. Even if we cannot extract the whole soul at first, partial extraction will suffice for the first year.”

His words wash over me, so comforting. I tried my best to comfort Alina. But, haunted as she was by her visions, her grim imagination, there was nothing I could do to make her feel better. But perhaps time will heal her. And what was that last thing the gagargi said to me?

“What happens after the first year?”

He cups my cheeks, lips a mere paper’s width apart from me. He is more intoxicating than any wine I have ever tasted. “There will be more volunteers. Once the Great Thinking Machine brings the people equality, or at least the promise of equality, they will not want to go back.”

I don’t want to go back either, and there is no return anyway to the idealistic, simple childhood of mine where things were ever golden and unchanged. The old world, that of traditions, that of my foremothers, will come to an end soon. The new world, that of machines that can count and equality for all, is upon us.

“Imagine an average family in the countryside, dwelling in one of those villages that are not even marked on the maps. The father works in a dwindling coal mine. The mother takes care of the pitiful cottage. They have six children. The four boys are conscripted to war. Years later, one or none comes back. The father dies of a lung disease. The mother and daughters fall to poverty and starve. It is likely they won’t survive the next winter.”

This is the reality, what has become of the mighty Crescent Empire. Mother has been so keen on expanding the borders that she has forgotten the price. And though I have tried to make her see that, she has chosen to remain blind. I wonder what would have happened to the empire if it weren’t for the gagargi and me, my seed, and the people ready to sacrifice themselves for the cause that is most just.

“These people are never heard of, never seen.” The gagargi’s mouth is so close to mine that we might as well be kissing. As he exhales, I inhale. I drink the wisdom he shares so willingly. “Imagine they were offered an option. What if there were a tax that applied to everyone, regardless of their birth and origin?”

This is my cue. I have asked this before. I have heard the answer before. But I can’t stop myself, not when nothing separates us anymore. “What would we tax?”

The gagargi kisses me. His mouth is hot against mine as he pries my teeth apart with his persistent tongue. Soon, it throbs inside me, though I didn’t invite him in. Yet I can’t tell him to go away, because I need him. Because I want him.

I think.

He breaks the kiss too soon, and I want to beg him to continue. But before I can do so, he simply says, “Every other child.”

I blink, abashed that I got distracted by a kiss, of all things, when we were discussing matters of state. Tax every other child? But of course, he has told me this before. He has kissed me before. I followed him into his bed, under his sheets.

“My studies have confirmed that children’s souls are the purest form of energy. Their souls are easily extracted whole. Nothing goes to waste.”

It is because I have my gaze averted from his, my head bent down, that I catch a glimpse of the mechanical peacock again. No matter how I always tell Alina that her fears are irrational, she is certain the gagargi means to feed her to the Great Thinking Machine. I think the bird reminded her of that, just as it now reminds me of my sister’s disquietude.

But in the light of the gagargi’s words, perhaps she is right. No. Nonsense. Why would I think such? Even if some people were willing to gift their soul or their children’s souls for the better of the empire, for the Great Thinking Machine, my little sister has nothing to fear. Of that I am almost sure.

“Celestia, tell me, what are you thinking?”

I keep my chin stubbornly pressed down. It is almost a crime itself to doubt him who has placed himself at such great risk on my behalf. After all, if anyone were to find out that we are plotting a coup, if we were to fail tonight, it would be exile for me, execution for him.

“You are filled with such good intentions,” I reply, for how could I refuse him? Yet at the same time I ask myself, how does the gagargi know all this that he is sharing with me? Has he been experimenting with people more extensively without keeping me informed? It wouldn’t be difficult for him to get a child from an orphanage or a workhouse. It would be easy for his apprentices to dispose of a body.

“Of course I am.” He prods my chin up, to meet his eyes. I blink rapidly, a futile attempt to keep my thoughts straight. “Ours will be a merciful empire. But it will only come to be if you play your assigned part.”

His gaze locks on to me, and his words bind me. What am I doing resisting him, discarding the sweet bliss of his guidance? I can’t afford second thoughts now. I must—

Someone knocks at the door.

“Ah, it’s time,” Gagargi Prataslav says, and pulls his hand away from my chin. His gaze, however, remains locked with mine. He doesn’t seem fully satisfied with me. “Do enter.”

Captain Janlav steps in. He bears proudly the midnight blue uniform with silver epaulets and crescent buttons, but he wears red gloves. He has a rifle strapped across his back and a curving, ceremonial sword at his hip. He clicks his heels together in a salute and says, “Gagargi Prataslav, everything is ready.”

Captain Janlav notices me only then. He offers me a crisp bow and, as he straightens his back, a knowing smile, as if we shared something more than the same side in the coup to come. What could that possibly be?

Then I remember, and again I feel foolish. Elise has lately been sneaking out with him almost every night. My silly sister thinks I don’t know, but nothing can escape the gagargi. He has a thousand eyes and a thousand ears. Ours is the just cause. Together, with the people and my seed on our side, we can’t lose.

“Good.” Gagargi Prataslav glances at me from the corner of his eye. My skin suddenly gets goose bumps. Somehow he knows that I thought ill of him earlier, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. “Stay,” he says to me, and strides to the door to confer with the captain.

My stomach knots so tight it hurts. I have displeased him on the eve of the coup, the time I need him the most. Perhaps my mind is in some ways as weak as Alina’s. But weakness isn’t something an empress-to-be can afford. I pick up the mechanical peacock. I will not let my nerves get the better of me.

“The men are at their assigned places,” Captain Janlav reports to Gagargi Prataslav. It is clear the gagargi doesn’t want me involved in the conversation. It is my own fault.

I turn the peacock in my hands. There, the spring is under the folded tail of iridescent blue-green feathers. I wind the spring before I set the bird back on the desk. Instantly, it starts pecking at invisible seeds, the magnificent tail balancing the movement.

“When the clock strikes twelve, we wake up the daughters and escort them into the observatory. The curtains are already drawn shut.”

I glance at the tiny row of windows above the gagargi’s desk. It might be just my imagination, but the Moon seems to shine brighter. Oh, father, you must know that I take no pleasure in the thought of yanking my sisters out of bed, of herding them through the hallways manned by unfamiliar faces. But it is of the utmost importance they don’t know about our plan. For if something were to go wrong, it must be only I who face the consequences, not them.

The gagargi asks something in a low voice not meant for my ears. Captain Janlav answers as loudly as before. It is good he doesn’t detect the rift between the gagargi and me. “The train is ready, too.”

When the peacock’s head is next raised, I place my little finger under its path. I wait for the beak to fall and pierce my skin. A heartbeat later it does so. I close my eyes and wince in the pain I deserve. Why did I have to start doubting the gagargi? Have I endangered our plans, the coup?

Once my family is gathered in the sacred observatory, I will explain my terms. Mother will step aside willingly and join her sisters in exile. She will order her bodyguards to surrender. There will be no need to spill the blood of my people. It is an inconvenience that I can’t marry the Moon before mother ceases to be, but I am sure my people will accept me as a ruler with Gagargi Prataslav at my side.

“I have handpicked the soldiers for the journey,” Captain Janlav continues, eyes wide with boyish enthusiasm, square chin angled up. “Servants we change at every stop on the way to Angefort.”

A single drop of blood glistens in the Moon’s light. It isn’t my imagination. His light really is stronger now. It cascades through the windowpanes as if there were no veil of dust. It brushes the mechanical peacock to a glorious shine. It bends around the swan bead, and the yellow strands turn golden.

I whisper before I can stop myself, “My father is listening to us.”

Gagargi Prataslav’s head snaps in my direction. For a moment, his jaw hangs slack. Then he pulls his hood up and says, “Step away from the light, Celestia.”

His is the voice I have listened to and obeyed without hesitation. Until tonight, at least. But as I bask in the Moon’s light, I don’t understand why I, the empress-to-be, have done so. My little finger still bleeds. On the desk, the mechanical peacock continues swinging back and forth. Peck, peck, peck goes its golden beak against the scarred surface.

“Join us here.” The gagargi motions at Captain Janlav. The soldier glances at the gagargi, at me. He doesn’t understand what is happening either. “The time has come for you to take your mother’s place and lead this empire into the age of progress.”

“The age of progress,” I repeat before I can stop myself. It is as if he has wound some invisible spring inside me. As if he could control me even from across the room, long after winding up the spring.

Behind me, the peacock continues pecking.

“The age of unity.” Captain Janlav’s eyes shine with fervor. Is he equally affected by the gagargi’s manipulation? How many others does the gagargi have under his influence? By what means did he achieve this?

Though I yearn to drift to the gagargi, I force myself to remain in the Moon’s light. Next to me, the swan lies limp on the stool, dead. Its soul swirls inside the glass bead, the golden strands strengthening more with each heartbeat. I pick the bead up to examine it closer. For there is something about it that—

“Celestia?” The way the gagargi says my name stings like a needle. “Put it down, dear. I have told you before not to tamper with my experiments.”

A chastisement? Since when has anyone apart from mother had the right to chastise me? I hold on to the soul bead with both my hands, and yet a part of me wants to set it back on the desk. It shouldn’t be difficult for me to do as I wish. But it is, and I have to say something. “I will not drop it.”

“No, you won’t.” Gagargi Prataslav looms at me from the door, clearly barely able to resist the urge to stride to me. I realize he doesn’t want to step into the Moon’s light. He is afraid of my father. As he should be.

“Captain Janlav,” I say, bolder now. I no longer know how the night will play out, and even if I could, I wouldn’t try to stop the coup. The Crescent Empire can’t continue to exist as it is. And yet, I have to find out if there is something the gagargi isn’t telling me.

Captain Janlav blinks, and with that he is more present again. He stares keenly at me, for it is an honor to be addressed by a Daughter of the Moon. I say, “On a night like this, many things might go wrong. I trust you will personally take care of my sisters’ safety.”

“The train is ready…” He glances sideways at the gagargi, frowning. He clenches his mouth shut. He folds his arms behind his back.

“The train is ready for my mother,” I say, even as the gagargi glares daggers at me. I cradle the bead in my open palms. The glass feels warm against my skin. “That is what you mean, is it not?”

“Be still.” Gagargi Prataslav lifts his right forefinger up before Captain Janlav can reply. The soldier’s eyes go blank. Indeed, the gagargi has the soldier under his power. “Listen only to me.”

Then the gagargi turns his full attention to me, and when he speaks his voice is thick with what could be concern, but is actually… a suggestion. “Celestia, are you feeling unwell?”

If I were so inclined, if I were to want to return to the sweet bliss of ignorance, I would only have to say yes.

“We have gone through this countless times before. Do you not remember?”

It is as if he is giving me the permission to remember, and then I do remember everything so clearly that I can’t fathom how I could ever have forgotten it. The train is for my sisters. It is better for them to be sent away, in case unrests follow the coup. But what about mother, then? What did the gagargi say about her?

“A deposed empress would pose a risk to our rule.” The words form on my lips on their own, and it isn’t me who is talking but someone else altogether.

The gagargi nods in paternal approval. “And what must we do with anything that places our plans at risk?”

“We…” must eliminate all risks.

“Yes?”

“She…” must die for me to marry the Moon.

I realize these are his words, not mine. I will not say them. Not now. Not ever. Even if I may have condemned my mother before, now that I have regained my senses, I will not order her executed.

The gagargi’s thin lips draw back, revealing his crooked teeth. “Out with it.”

But my father’s light is pure silver. The bead in my cupped palms blooms in amber. It is the key to everything. The Great Thinking Machine needs human souls for fuel. A human soul is amber in color. I think of the swan, how the gagargi stroked its forehead. I think of myself, lying with my head on his lap as he drew circles on my forehead and muttered words of… devotion, I assumed, but what if…

No, it is too terrible, too horrifying to even think of. I have wanted this empire to change for as long as I can remember. Gagargi Prataslav and I share the same goals. He would never… I glance at him, and find him staring hungrily at me from the other side of the room.

Oh, he would. He would have me order my mother executed, have me marry the Moon without ever realizing what I was doing. For even as my father can see into my soul, if I were still under the gagargi’s spell, I would think it my idea and my father wouldn’t turn me aside.

“I will not do it.” I lift the bead higher, before my face, and bask in the glow that is both disquieting and comforting. My hands tremble with my fury. But my voice is as regal as ever. “Even if you have somehow managed to steal a part of my soul.”

“Don’t you dare to—” The gagargi strides toward me then, regardless of the Moon’s light. His black robes flap in his wake. His boots strike hard against the rough stone floor.

“Stop.” I extend my hands toward the gagargi. The bead rolls so close to the edge of my fingertips that I am sure it will fall. Yet, somehow, it remains there, but only barely.

The gagargi halts as if he has hit a wall. He offers his palms at me in a pacifying gesture. But as he speaks, his nostrils flare. They are red inside, as if he were about to bleed. “Everything is all right. Nothing has changed. Just put the bead down, Celestia. Let us talk in peace.”

This is the confirmation I needed. If I put the bead down, he will regain his control over me, I am sure of that. And after my defiance, he will extract even more of my soul, until nothing remains but an automaton crafted for his purposes. It is awful to realize the truth. I really don’t matter to him—a soulless shell would suffice. For with me by his side, married to the Moon and bearing his child, he could rule the empire all by himself.

“Everything has changed.” I pry my palms apart. The bead rolls into the widening gap, so bright now. I have lost a part of myself irrevocably. But I would rather lose it permanently than let a man like Gagargi Prataslav possess control over me. “I will not become one of your soulless automatons.”

The Moon blesses me with his strength. I part my hands. For a moment, the bead just floats there, suspended in the air. Then it drops. Slowly, slower than it should. The gagargi dashes toward me, regardless of what my father might see. But it is too late.

The bead shatters as it meets the floor. The impact jars my every bone and muscle, as if I were the one slammed against the cold tiles. I fold onto my knees, spreading my arms to brace for the impact.

Golden haze blinds me. Pain binds me. It is my enemy that I have to thank for recovering from this daze.

“You stupid, stupid girl,” the gagargi shrieks, descending to all fours before me. He lifts one hand up, fingers twirling shapes. I realize he is trying to capture the soul strands that coil above the shattered bead.

He may not have them. But how does one capture back one’s soul? The strands coil toward me like a lost child rushing to greet her mother. Could it be as simple as to…

I bend my head down and inhale as deep as my lungs allow, even more, until it feels like they will explode. The shimmering tastes familiar, of midsummer roses in bloom mixed with endless fields of pristine snow. Even upon the first breath, I feel invigorated, stronger, faster. I inhale more, and I see… green grass under bare feet. Mist rolling to cover poppy fields. Alina laughing as she runs through dawn. Merile petting her dogs in a white wicker chair. Sibilia dreaming of her debut, of short-sleeved, sequined dresses. Elise sparkling on the dance floor, red-gold curls forming a halo around her head. But I can also see and smell and taste and feel the blue skies that stretch on forever and clear-watered blue lakes that are perfect for nesting.

“Stop resisting me,” the gagargi curses, and slaps my cheek. The impact is so hard that my head lolls sideways. The memories fade with the sudden, blooming pain. But they aren’t lost. If I were to want to do so, I could easily recall them.

“Never,” I hiss, even as sparks cling to the edges of my vision. Defiantly, I fan the air between us, bringing the last lingering amber strands toward me. I suck in the air. This is my soul, not his to toy around with.

Gagargi Prataslav, still on all fours like a snarling bear, raises a paw at me. He attempts to push at my shoulder, but I evade him gracefully. He growls at me, “What is mine will be mine forever.”

But that is where he is wrong. He may have fooled me once, but he will never fool me again. There are no soul strands left for him to catch. “You will never have me.”

I feel whole again, or at least in control of myself. Whatever I have lost, I can hopefully regain with time. I get back up on my knees. I sway onto my feet. I need to make it out of here, back to the palace to warn my family.

“Celestia, Celestia…” The gagargi stares at me from under his thick, black brows, and then he rises to his full height. He is tall, dark, and menacing. How I ever found him anything else, I don’t know. I regret that mistake, even as I know that will not be enough. Unless…

Captain Janlav stands by the door, staring fixedly ahead. He truly is under the gagargi’s control. If I can dash past the gagargi, I might make it past him, too.

“My little defiant empress-to-be.” The gagargi’s gaze deepens, widens. I can feel his voice winding around me. He can’t resist trying to see if he can still manipulate me. I steel my mind against him. I brush his words aside.

“Ah!” The gagargi taps his forehead theatrically. But this experiment of his, it has revealed that I can stand up against him now. “Ah, my dearest Celestia, it is of no use to fight against me. When the revolution comes we must all choose whether we are with the victors or whether we are but one of the victims.”

“Without me by your side,” I say, spitting the words out, circling around him, forcing myself to maintain the eye contact, until it is me who is closer to the door, “you will never rule the empire.”

Mother will believe me. My seed will believe me. Together, we can craft a plan. Surely we can prevent this coup attempt from turning into the revolution the gagargi desires.

“Well…” The gagargi stares at me, and his dark gaze intensifies. In it lies a challenge. And more. I recognize treachery now. “We shall just have to see how things pan out tonight, won’t we?”

I flee to the door then, past the dazed Captain Janlav, out of the laboratory. I don’t dare to look back as I scamper up the steep stairs, away from the gagargi’s ghastly chambers, into the entrance hall. I must stop what I have started. I must protect my mother and sisters.

“Run, my dearest Celestia, run!” Gagargi Prataslav’s words roll against my back, cold and heavy like waves about to drag one under the surface. “You may run as fast as your little feet can carry, but you will be too late. The revolution starts tonight, and you will be safe only with me!”

I push the hall’s double doors open with both hands and sway into the freezing, black night. Even though my carriage is waiting for me, I fear the gagargi may be right. Everything is ready for the coup. By the time I reach the palace, it will be too late to stop it. There will be blood, and some of it may be my family’s.

I glance up at the sky, at the Moon’s glowing face. Oh, Father, please help your strayed daughter!