The Upper Umbra lives again after a few months…

“We have accomplished much,” a low voice echoes down the hallway in the new palace that sits in the middle of the city.

Tamrissa turns away from the open window, her fingers closing around a broken amulet. She smiles silently at Naraka as he strolls towards her, his appearance still as lovely as the first day that they met. A crystal glass held in his hand, his lace-edged linen shirt hanging about his muscular torso and looking perfectly disheveled, polished black boots reaching up to his knees and slightly puffed sapphire blue pants tucked into them. He reminded her of some hero out of a Victorian romance novel…both in looks and in personality.

Only lately he had begun wearing these kingly threads and had demanded that she at least changed out of her battle-worn clothing, saying that she was the rightful ruler until Fei returned and she deserved to look it. So, she had gone back to wearing her laced bodices and full skirts. Of course, his own tailors were the only resources for such garments and they often matched hers to his. Tonight, she had purposely made sure she was dressed in an a scarlet red gown, her curls pulled up and a chain of silver lying over her brow, a line of teardrop rubies glittering across her forehead.

“You think of him tonight,” he steps around her and stands at her shoulder, bringing his glass up and looking out over the city.

“I do,” she raises her chin slightly and slips the amulet into a hidden pocket near the waist of her skirts. “We make little progress in bringing him back. All we succeed in is bringing his power to the surface…and then only in parts.”

“You are tired, my lady. Your eyes show it, your voice shows it…let him go for a bit. Let the priests continue to work the ritual,” he slowly brings a warm hand up to her neck and begins to massage.

“No,” she closes her eyes and tilts her head back at his touch. “No.” She shrugs away from him and steps forward, placing her hands on the window sill. “If I wait, it may be impossible to bring him back…and I wish to be there when the priests uncover another part of him. I cannot stop trying, lest he be eaten up entirely by the abyss.”

“Or perhaps…you are afraid that you will forget him?” he drops his hand, a sudden haughty look coming to his eyes.

“No!” she whirls on him and puts her finger in the center of his chest. “I will never forget him! He is the true Emperor of the Upper! Neither I nor you could take the place of his power or his wisdom!”

“Shh,” he gently pulls her finger away from him, her eyes following his hand. “You mistake me, my lady. I have no wish to rule here…though I do wish to serve…and I believe that you have the strength, wisdom, and power to be the Empress. Master Serumen may not even be able to speak or walk or think when you finally pull him out. He may be an empty shell.”

“He is stronger than that,” she pulls her hand from his and turns. “He will return and I will serve only him.”

Naraka steps closer to her and lowers his lips to almost touching the side of her neck, making as if he should whisper in her ear. His breath is warm against her skin, “You love him then?”

“I love him as my ruler and my friend,” she stands steady against his seductive moves, eyes narrowing at his forwardness.

“Ah,” he lifts his head and smiles at the back of her head. “Good night, my lady.”

-------------------------------------------------

In the depths of the newly built temple, where the Tomb of Ancients lies, Tamrissa has set up a complex ritual that takes place in the darkness each night. In a circle made of the ruined stones of the old arena, she stands at an altar…the Tomb. On the altar a golden bowl lies. Twenty priests chant arcane words that she has taught them as they stand in a circle around her. Two of the more powerful priests stand on the other side of the altar from her, scarlet-jeweled ritual daggers rest perched on their wrists waiting to taste blood.

“Demons of the abyss stand back,” she says in a monotone voice, her hands holding the broken amulet above the bowl. “Let go that which you have taken. Fei Serumen’s soul is no longer yours!”

Candles flare up suddenly just inside the circle of stones and on each end of the altar. The priests chanting becomes louder and the two at the altar lower their wrists just above the bowl, the dagger slipping cleanly across their wrists. Tamrissa places the amulet in the bowl and begins to chant along with the priests. The blood in the bowl spins with a sudden current, the bright red gleaming in the flames of the candles. She stares down into it, feeling a hunger that she only feels during the rituals. The amulet rises to the top of the swirling blood, unmoved by the quickness of it.

“Fei,” she whispers and her hands glow a bluish green, hovering just above the bowl. “Fei, come back to me.”