SIGNED The Throne of Eleven (Paperback)

A month ago, Raen was the ruler of a desert empire who’d ushered in an era of peace. But emperors only serve for five years under the watch of the mysterious Remnants of Eleven, and then they disappear. Now, cut off from his family and everyone he knows, with his name and face changed, Raen is a servant to the new emperor—an emperor bent on tearing down the peace Raen worked so hard to forge.

The Throne of Eleven is a standalone epic fantasy novelette set in a fully inclusive world!

The Remnants of Eleven flowed with panther-like grace and barely left a print in the sand, though their seven and eight-foot frames weighed more than any two of us combined. Gray-robed, with their faces covered in a mist that let no one see through it, only the tips of their right ears jutted up out of the mist in a glossy, black point. They walked in silence, and we followed in silence. They were, of course, our gods.

The walls of Memekarte flushed pink at our coming and stretched fingers to the brightening sky. The gate tower guards waved and shouted down at us, though their words were cut by the wind. Gold-plated iron grated into the arch above, and waist-thick wooden doors yawned open.

The Elevens crossed the wooden bridge first, and then three more servants in my line, and then me and the seven more servants behind me. In the gateway, the silence was hollow, the city sounds dimmed to a murmur against the slap of our sandaled footsteps. Then we crested into sunlight and sunned faces and waving flags and ear-battering cheers. Memekarte.

They did not cheer for me.

I smiled as I should—not too wide; fierce and proud, but not too proud. Sound ebbed from my ears as I passed mansions that belonged to my friends and my enemies and houses of state where I’d once conducted matters of state. The wide cobbled street drained into the half-mile-wide Palace Square, and the noise came up again. 

The shouting and screaming grew louder as we approached the circular platform that sat in the center of the Square, draped in the red-on-brown double-slash emblems of the Elevens. On the platform was a throne, and on the throne was a young man. He reclined in his seat, but the lines around his mouth were taut. And whose mouth wouldn’t be, with five red-robed Elevens on either side of him and the Eleven proctor behind—and now eight more Elevens and this new gift in front of him?

The gray-robed Elevens escorting me stopped before the steps to the platform and bowed low, opening their hands into gestures of respect, not subservience. The Elevens in red held their palms up in acceptance, and the crowd hushed. 

“We present you with a service, Your Majesty,” said the tallest of the gray Elevens. Their voice was muffled by the mist over their face but still managed to carry across the Square. The eyes of children sparkled at this display of Eleven magic. 

We, all eleven of us perfect servants, bowed deep on cue and said, “We humbly present ourselves as gifts to you, Your Majesty, for your service.”

The young man who would be emperor stood, and his ruddy cheeks flushed redder. The freckles on his nose grew bold, and his dark brown hair wisped against his silver circlet. He looked much as I’d used to. His gray eyes searched us, but not too closely, and he nodded as his own Eleven had trained him to do.

“Thank you for your gift,” he said. “I welcome you to my service.”

We bowed again.

Then the Eleven proctor behind the throne lifted high the true crown. An Eleven to the new emperor’s right pulled the silver circlet from his brow and the true crown came down, the intricate silver webbing glowing the emperor’s face. The filigree came to a point above and below his strong forehead and curled up past his temples, cresting over his right ear in an upward sweep that mimicked the upswept ears of the Elevens. The whole scene was straight out of a children’s tale, like the fanciful crowning of the first emperor in the thousand-roomed palace in the sky.

The emperor rose, and the crowd cheered. I willed the emperor to look at me and see that I had no crown, and no status save that of a gift. I willed him to look at me and understand what he would become.