Chapter Text
“Did you hear the news, Lady Athamyra?” Her governess asked over breakfast. They sat at the table, set with a full collection of delicate china and silverware. The dish was one Athamyra usually enjoyed: a flaky pastry served with a side of fresh red berries. Such fresh food was a delicacy reserved for the truly wealthy on the hive-world of Terra.
“The entire civilized galaxy has surely heard by now.” Athamyra said with all the biting derision of her thirteen years. She wore her hair pulled back from her face with a green velvet ribbon. It fell in ebony waves down her back, standing out against the ruffled white organdy of her dress.
“It is a joyous occasion.” Her governess responded with patience. Lady Barbary was an older woman, pleasantly rounded, with graying brown hair tucked up in a bun with jeweled hairsticks. She wore clothes that were several years out of style, but the air of an absent-minded spinster was an affection that hid a sharp and subtle mind. “That you would do well to remember.”
“Hmph.”Athamyra played with her food.
“Get all your bitterness out now, because in three weeks the Emperor and his son will be back on Terra and you know what is expected of you.” Lady Barbary sipped her recaff calmly, as if her ward was not in the beginnings of a tantrum.
“I’m not bitter.”Athamyra snapped. She was, of course, and she knew it. She felt a certain juvenile resentment towards the man who had her parents killed, though she knew it was unreasonable. He had hardly been there, and she didn’t even remember her parents. But always, when she was unhappy, she imagined life would have been better if she had been with her family, even though all she had ever heard about the Rajal line was violent and cruel. At least there was passion there, not merely the cold calculation that bled off the Emperor’s every decision like vapor from dry ice.
“Yes you are. Understandably so, but you are. Would you like some more recaf?”
“You don’t even know who I am.” She replied sullenly.
“You are forbidden to tell me. I don’t have to know, to know that you had a family once, and now you don’t. It is the story of all the Imperial Wards.”
“And we’re all bitter.”
“Not all. Some choose to make the best of it and shed their grudges like an outgrown skin.” Lady Barbary said.
“Maybe I’m not that good a person.”
“I think you are. You come from a good family.” She took a bit of her pastry. “These are very good. You should eat yours before it gets cold."
Athamyra grimaced at her plate. “I heard my father had my mother flayed. But even that would have been better than this prison.”
“That is most likely an unsubstantiated rumor. Narthan Dume’s excesses were often attributed to his nobles too. Still, I highly doubt your previous position would have be better than this. You have your family’s lands, incomes, and estates, held in trust until you are an adult and ready to serve the Imperium.” Lady Barnaby’s unflappable exterior was slowly giving way to concern.
“I don’t want to serve the Imperium. The Imperium killed my family and it’s going to kill me.” Athamyra said with hard finality.
“Why on earth would you think that?”Lady Barbary returned in shocked tones.
“My first governess told me that my father’s pet psyker predicted I would die at the hands of the Thunder Warriors, so he sent me away to the mountains.” Her voice was barely more than a murmur. “The psyker said ‘She will die at the hands of the children of the Emperor' and my father believed him.”
“Lady Athamyra, stop. If my lord ever found out you were discussing your family-” Lady Barbary’s words were quick and nearly fearful. “Well, I would lose my job and that would be the least of our worries.”
“I’m sure he’s plenty distracted, and so is the Emperor. The Emperor has a son now, forged out of his super-human genes like the greatest Thunder Warrior that ever lived. We’re only important so that we can later control the lands of our birth in his name. And with the Primarchs being found, he can maintain control effortlessly with the might of his demigod children. I can talk about my parents all I want.”
“You would get us both in trouble. Think of others besides yourself! Everyone who overhears this will be tracked down and silenced, including me. They cannot allow your origins to be known, not until you’re old enough to manage how everyone will try to use you.” Lady Barbary said with quiet urgency.
Athamyra sat still for a long second and then slumped in her seat. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. But you have to be careful. Just because the attention of my lord and our beloved Emperor is elsewhere doesn’t mean that others won’t exploit that. You still have power. All the Wards do. You need to look out for yourself, because in the end no one else will.”
“Not even you?”Athamyra asked as she started to cut her pastry.
“I can’t. I would if I could, but I am only a governess. The addition of a Primarch to this mix will destabilize things in ways I can’t begin to predict.”
Athamyra frowned. “How so?”
“He is no longer a solitary figure. He has a son. That is a monumental change. You should keep your eyes open.”
* * *
She only saw him from a distance that day, and she didn’t hate him like she had expected to. He seemed not to notice the swirling politics around him. He smiled with the shining, infectious goodwill of someone who believed everyone loved them. When his gaze met hers, for the briefest moment, she felt as if he were singling her out and telling her everything she wanted to hear without saying a word.
The effect was unnerving and she broke his gaze. He moved on.
She pitied him. She wanted to tell him that the world was not a kind place and that even though many were taken in by his boundless charisma, there would always be some who would not.
Her pity didn’t mean she didn’t think he was a warmongering idiot, though. She was jealous despite ignorance, because being a warmongering idiot in this galaxy was still l better than being an orphan girl.
* * *
It was a decade before Horus came back to Terra once more. Athamyra stood with the other Imperial Wards at the welcome ceremony, as she had ten years earlier, and managed to avoid him all day. She had no particular desire to spar with his inhuman charisma again. She imagined she could, but she wanted to see how he behaved on the floor of the Council before she tried to engage him in private conversations.
It was not difficult. She doubted he realized who the Imperial Wards were, if he even knew they existed. He was much more occupied with the High Lords and similar noteworthy people. However, this was not the short stay that rumor had indicated, it seemed he intended to be here for some time. He took to attending sessions of the Council of Terra, drumming up support for the Great Crusade with the untutored genius that talent provides.
Athamyra was being groomed for a position as a representative from the Pan-Pacific and saw him from across the vast, marble lobby of the Council of Terra. She did not think it would be hard to avoid him. She took a roundabout way across the floor, stopping to chat with other politicians, nobles, hangers-on, and the staffers that actually did all their work. She smiled and laughed and passed along and received dozens of subtle hints and facts about the upcoming debates so that when she stood beside Representative Sing of the Pan-Pacific delegation, she would be able to inform him of what he needed to know. Some secrets, though, she planned on keeping to herself. Representative Sing didn’t need to know that some of his allies had switched their allegiances from him to her, or that some of the old guard were too busy shoring up their own positions against the circling sharks of the new generation to assist him in defending his position from her.
Despite her efforts, it was becoming common knowledge that she had already usurped power from the Representative and only permitted him to continue in his position because if she governed visibly, her age and origins would be questioned. The Representative himself had yet to realize it, but it was only a matter of time.
She was engrossed in conversation with one of her fellow Wards, from Merica, when she noticed everyone around her suddenly fell silent. Feeling not unlike a wildcat cornered by a bear, she turned to face the looming figure of Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the Luna Wolves, and so far the Emperor’s only son. He was handsome, in a strange, gigantic way. His wide spaced blue eyes sparkled with his smile. He looked like his father after a fashion, or at least the image of himself that his father chose to be writ upon propaganda posters and vast murals across Terra. She had never actually met the Emperor, or seen Him up close.
Some of those around her stared at Horus Lupercal in awe, losing control of their niceties and regarding him with slack-jawed adoration like the demigod he was. Others fell to their knees. Some few had the presence of mind to bow. These were the ones who had met him before, she imagined. The only people entirely unaffected were his escorts, four bare-headed marines in shining Luna Wolf white.
She curtsied. No trick like this would awe her. She had been able to curtsy when she was three before the throne of Narthan Dume, despite the twisted experiments that guarded him and the crackle of warp taint that surrounded his pet psykers. Though she imagined no one here would recognize it, she added the sweep of the gown and the near-kneeling posture that she would have given the so-called tyrant of the Pan-Pacific Empire. It was petty of her, she knew, but sometimes a little self-indulgence was necessary.
“Primarch.” She greeted him.
“My Lady.” He replied. His voice was deep, resonant, and so smooth it seemed to calm even her nerves. She suppressed a shiver at the sound. The Emperor had done a good job building him. Everything about him urged her to trust him, believe in him. “I hope I am not intruding, but I know I have seen you somewhere before.”
“It was a very long time ago, but when you first arrived on Terra, I was among the throngs of nobles who came out to welcome you to our home.” Yes, her home, where she had been born and raised and he had not.
“Might I have your name?” He asked, all charming goodwill.
“Lady Athamyra, my lord Primarch.” She imagined he already knew it and her face. This might have been planned by the Emperor, to let her know that ambition did not go unnoticed. She was the first of the Wards to aspire to a seat on the council, likely decades before anyone expected it. She would have to keep a lower profile.
“Would you do me the pleasure of walking with me to the Council Chambers?” Whispers started like a breeze in the grasses. That was unexpected.
“It would be my honor.” She smiled, but her tone let him know she was doing this because politeness demanded it and nothing else. Everyone seemed too enthralled by his aura to notice the sarcasm. Except him. Oh, the flicker in his smile was well worth it. A crack in the perfect façade.
“I hope this day finds you well.” He extended his arm, and feeling not unlike a child beside him, she took it. A glance over her shoulder at his quiet guard showed a mix of expressions - the light-haired one looked surprised, the broad-shouldered one was smirking, the one with a topknot glowered at her like she was a threat, and the one that looked like a smaller version of the Primarch simply raised one eyebrow.
“As well as can be expected, my lord.” She kept her calculating gaze on him mostly to unnerve him rather than in the hopes of detecting anything from his facial expressions. “I imagine we will have quite the debate ahead.”
“How do you see it going, my lady?” He was everything a warlord at peace should be, it seemed, polite and interested in what she had to say. No doubt he would disregard it completely.
“Oh, I imagine that His Imperial Majesty will find His funding eventually, but we Terrans will manage to pull out enough concessions to ensure that the irradiated wastelands the Unification Wars wrought will be cleaned up.” It was a gamble, reminding him of the wars. If his father had told him about them in detail, he could wave it off without excuses. But if the Emperor hadn’t, he might be surprised to learn the scars of Unification were not already healed.
The slight pause before he replied spoke volumes to her. Oh, she had him now and he didn’t even see it. “I am sure you understand the need for the Great Crusade.” He said in reply.
“Oh, yes. I do very well, sitting as I do at the tops of the Spires. But I am hard-pressed to explain it to my fellow citizens who still linger in refugee camps. There go I but for the grace of our beloved Emperor.”
“Your diligence to your duty does you credit.” Horus stated with another one of those smiles he gave so well.
“A leader is hardly worth the robes they wear if they do not provide for those who owe them fealty. It is their taxes that feed us and the ravenous hunger of the Imperial Armies.” She gestured around at the opulence that surrounded them.
“As you provide for your people, I must provide for mine.” He smiled indulgently at his escort of marines, who for the most part remained impassive, though the light-haired one’s lips twitched in what might have been an Astartes smile. It was hard to tell.
“Those are your people, then?” She asked in the most innocent voice she could muster, but she pitched it to carry. As if everyone wasn’t already listening, but she might as well.
The moment of surprise that flitted through his beautiful blue eyes was exactly what she wanted. She couldn’t expect him to be shocked or angry, but she could put him off balance.
“What can I say? I’m an indulgent father.” He played it off like a joke, but she knew he was struggling to keep up, and went for the kill. One of the guards, the broad-shouldered one, made a coughing sound that might have been a laugh.
“Providing your children with new ships to carry them to new wars so they can fire new guns and kill people is most certainly an indulgence when the children of my lands starve through each winter, Primarch.” She said with dead seriousness. At this rate she was going to win the debate before they even stepped into the Council Chambers.
He did not expect her to pull that one out so fast and he struggled to recover. “You are a compassionate woman, my lady.” He feinted. She saw it for what it was and ruthlessly turned it back to her point.
“I am merely human.” She answered as if it explained everything, with a rising note of tension. The look of hurt in his eyes made her realize that was a sore point. Perfect.
“Lady Athamyra, I highly doubt you are merely anything, and any appearance of normality hides immeasurable depths.” He seemed to mean it.
“You should try bullets rather than compliments, my lord, as they are more likely to hit their target. You seem so much more skilled with them, after all,” she fired back as they approached the doors to the hall where they must split off to their respective delegations. He appeared completely stunned that she would rebuff him so and she suppressed a smile at his expression. “Good day, my lord Primarch.” She curtsied once more.
“My lady.” He replied with a short bow before stalking off with his escort. The broad-shouldered one appeared to be suppressing laughter.
She walked towards the Pan-Pacific delegation through a wall of whispers. Let them talk; it could only help her cause. Besides, the thirteen year old in her had enjoyed showing him that genetic modification could not match skill.