by Nick Martell
There were five days left until I could check up on Sirash in person. Or was it six? He hadn’t been clear on whether yesterday or today would be day one. All I wanted was a glimpse of him, to know that he was well.
“Not there?” Gwen asked.
“Not there.”
“Doesn’t he work at bakeries all over the city? He might be closer to home.”
“He was planning on moving to the West Side. Thought there would be a chance,” I said. I tore the loaf in two and we walked toward the Upper Quarter, eating as we went. “How long have you known about Lyon and his future child?”
“Since Kayleigh suspected. He needed to talk to someone, and you and Angelo weren’t really options.”
I couldn’t blame him, given my reaction last night. “You’re fine with it all?”
Gwen pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes and behind her ear. “If you’re asking me if I’m fine with him having a child, then I am. He can take care of himself. If you’re asking if I’m fine with how he’s been acting recently toward our family in general… I’m not sure I have an answer for that yet. Not that I think you reacted well either, Michael. Family supports family even when they disagree.”
“Tell that to Lyon,” I exhaled. “Sorry. That was petty of me. I’ll apologize to him when I see him next.”
“And to Kayleigh.”
“And to Kayleigh. My anger got the best of me, but… I don’t know… it’s one thing to condemn our father, but he’s condemning all our ancestors and our mother, too. They deserve more than that, after everything they’ve done for this country.”
“They do. Hollow wouldn’t have been founded without them. We know that, but how many others do? Unless you study history or listen to us, it’s hard to think of them as anything more than relics of the past,” Gwen said as we reached Refugee Plaza, where the roads that went to the Upper Quarter, Sword District, and the Hollow Asylum diverged.
There was normally a bustling market here, with overpriced goods sold to desperate travelers, but today it was oddly deserted. There wasn’t even someone from the Hyann High Noble family that oversaw the merchants in attendance today, only an auburn-haired woman paying her respects to the refugee statue in the center. This market had been losing significance as travelers stopped coming to Hollow, preferring to visit New Dracon City instead. Not that I could blame them. All things considered, New Dracon City was superior to Hollow… well, except for the fact their rulers were as ruthless and corrupt as Mercenaries and deserved to be buried alive in a shallow grave.
For most in Hollow, hatred for New Dracon City ran deep, because everyone remembered what they had done to our country in the Gunpowder War… but for us remaining Kingman it was inherited. Their rulers had murdered my grandparents, my aunt, and the Queen at the time under the pretense of peaceful diplomacy. That was hard to forgive, and I doubted we or our descendants ever would.
As we neared the end of the plaza, I saw two Sacrifices notice us out of the corner of my eye. Both gathered their things and left in a hurry. I didn’t point them out to Gwen, and she didn’t notice them herself. We all had something that reminded us of what we had lost… and Sacrifices were hers. She blamed herself for their fate, even though Lyon and I didn’t.
“With everything going on with Lyon, I’ve been thinking about my future more,” Gwen said. “A long time ago I decided that I would participate in the Endless Waltz when I was of age if I felt I had no other option. Even though I’m a Kingman, as a woman, they’re more likely to let me in than you or Lyon. For most participants, a disgraced Kingman is still better marriage material than a commoner, a merchant, or a Low Noble.”
That surprised me, and I did little to hide the shock on my face. “You’d be condemning yourself to a political marriage if you did that, Gwen.”
“Potentially,” she said. “But what else can I do? Neither the Ravens or Scales will take me, no High Noble will accept a Kingman into their Fabricator army, and unless I get lucky and apprentice to a doctor, my medical career ends in the asylum. And as much as I enjoy working as a blacksmith twice a week, masquerading as a boy all day is tiring. At least as a noble’s wife I wouldn’t have to hide.” Gwen sighed loudly and dramatically for emphasis. “You’d think after the Mother Kingman created the Ravens, women would have more options than we do. Our next ruler will even be a Queen! But I can’t be anything more than a wife.”
“If you weren’t restricted, what would you do?”
“It doesn’t matter if I—”
“Humor me.”
Gwen stuck her tongue out at me.
I ruffled her hair and she swatted my hands, cursed, and then attempted to fix what I had ruined. As she did I said, “Fine, don’t tell me. But you’re a Kingman, and a Kingman can do anything. Do what’s best for you, Gwen. I’ll take care of our family.”
“You can barely take care of yourself, let alone the family’s legacy.”
“I’m doing better than you may expect.”
That made her laugh. “Why don’t you become an Archivist? Then you can ensure the Kingman family isn’t forgotten. After everything we’ve been through, that would be enough.”
We parted ways after that, so she could see some of her friends before her shift at the asylum started and I could see Domet before it reached midday. This was the first of my days being his companion, and I had no idea what to expect.
I didn’t get hassled as I made my way into the Upper Quarter and toward Conqueror Fountain, its half-broken statue of one of my ancestors in the center of it another reminder of how far my family had fallen. Despite promising that it would be easy to find, Domet’s redbrick house blended in with the lavish houses around it. If it weren’t for the amaranth in front of it, I would have passed it dozens of times without realizing. There was no doorman, so I hopped up the steps and tried the door myself rather than tug the bell with a potentially hungover man inside.
The house was immaculate. An expensive pink-and-white marble floor complemented the deep azure walls and framed paintings on display by every master that ever was. I expected to have a servant intercept me, but I saw no one, and as I made my way deeper into his house, I heard two people in the middle of a quiet conversation.
I couldn’t understand anything that they were saying until I made my way into the middle of Domet’s living room. He was spread out on a divan in a silk robe, an empty bottle of vodka in his hand and another on the floor beside him. His companion, an old man with a potbelly and mismatched eyes wearing the robes of the Church of the Eternal Flame, was in an armchair beside him.
“Michael!” Domet exclaimed. He attempted to rise, got tangled in his robe, and then returned to how he had been. “You’re late! Where were you?”
“We didn’t decide on a time for me to be here, and it’s not even midday.”
“I thought we did,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t matter: you’re still late, and there’s plenty to do today.”
“Right.”
I wondered if he had even slept yet. I suspected not. It was still early to be so drunk.
Domet’s companion waddled over to me. “I do apologize for Domet. He’s an old friend, so, when I heard of his release, I took the opportunity to catch up. I’m afraid we’ve been drinking since last night. The poor man needed a release after those dreadful conditions in the asylum.”
“I didn’t think Domet had friends.”
“No, he has plenty. There’s a whole group of us, but throughout the years we don’t get to see each other quite as often as we once did. One of the downsides of growing up. There never seems to be enough time,” the man said. “My apologies! I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name is Rian Smoak, Scorcher for the Eternal Flame. As you may have noticed, I’m not quite as intense as my brethren, since I spend most of my time as a—”
“Dragon!” Domet screeched as he surged up, only to collapse back onto the divan in a fit of laughter.
We both looked at the drunk man cackling on the d
ivan. With a sigh, Rian said, “What he’s trying to say is that I’m a Dragon Historian for the Church of the Eternal Flame. I swear to the Eternal Flame, he does this every time.”
“Dragons aren’t real,” I countered. I hated when adults tried to claim they were; it was childish at best and foolish at worst.
To my surprise he agreed. “You’re quite correct! They’re not. I study the various myths about dragons in different societies to understand how the creature we know from the stories came to be. Most of the legends can be traced back to the Toothless Wyvern, a large and mostly harmless herbivorous lizard that could glide through the air for long distances. Farmers blamed them, rather than bandits, for carrying off sheep and destroying their crops, since the Dukes were more likely to compensate them for the damage. Bandit activity is the most likely explanation for the monstrous fire-breathing dragons we love hearing stories about.” Rian spoke quickly and rarely paused, like a small child who had been allowed to talk about his favorite topic.
“I’ve never heard of a Toothless Wyvern before.”
“No surprise there,” Rian said. “They went extinct around the time Celona was shattered. I believe they were more or less blind and needed the light from both moons to forage. Without Celona, their extinction was guaranteed. It’s a shame, but that’s nature for you. Everything dies eventually.”
“Nature didn’t shatter the moon, though,” Domet interrupted. The jovial drunk had vanished in a moment.
“It could have,” I said.
“That’s not what the Archivists say.”
“The Archivists twist history so it’s only remembered as they want it to be,” I said without thinking, face flushed. “They aren’t reliable anymore. And, regardless of what they say, my family couldn’t have shattered a moon. No Fabricator is that powerful.”
“Since when have you been an expert on Fabrications?”
“I’m not. But it’s quite the coincidence that Archivists just happened to find proof that my family shattered Celona a year after my father was executed.”
“Their evidence came from ancient Eternal Flame doctrine. Some dedicate their life to preserving and reading it,” Domet said.
“Anything is possible with enough time and determination.”
Rian glanced between me and Domet. “I think I shall take my leave. You two seem to have a lot to talk about, and I don’t like being reminded of the fanatics I deal with every service. Michael Kingman, a pleasure to meet you. I hope Domet treats you well. If you ever want to talk about dragons, please do find me at my church. Domet can give you the specifics.”
With that, the fat old man left. After Domet heard the door shut, he stood up from the couch, cracked his back, and then made his way over to the liquor cabinet to pour himself another drink.
“How are you going to teach me about Fabrications if you’re so drunk you can barely stand?”
“Calm yourself, Michael,” he said as he dropped a cube of stone into his glass. “Only one of those bottles over there held vodka. Please, do you really think that’s what I’m like when I’m drunk? I’m a functioning alcoholic, not a child.”
“Then why—”
“Fake it?” he said. “Because when you’re in a position like I am, people rarely give you anything for free. But they do have a tendency to spill all kinds of interesting information if they think they’re taking advantage of me. When they think I’m drunk, they tell me what I need to know in exchange for some useless tidbits they think I’ve mistakenly let slip.”
“But he said he was your friend.”
Domet took a sip from his drink. “I don’t have friends—only accomplices and enemies. You’d be amazed at how often they change sides. Now, sit at the table. We have much to do before the Endless Waltz begins.”
I didn’t know what to make of Domet. Every time I had some insight into him and his goals, he seemed to change in an instant. If I was going to continue working for him, I’d need to have clarity—or risk ending up as one of his enemies by mistake.
Once we had taken a seat, Domet reached under the table and brought out a small square box. He opened it with a click and hid the contents from me as he rummaged through it. “For some reason— I suspect because he likes to fluster the Court—the prince moved the date of the Endless Waltz up to tonight and we need to get you prepared for it.”
“The first event is tonight?”
A nod. “My tailors are working as fast as they can to get you proper dressings, so there’s no need to worry about that. But there are other things we need to prepare for. What do you know about the Endless Waltz?”
“It’s the nobility’s courting process. Or has it changed in the past decade?”
“It’s changed. Roll up your sleeves and hold out your arm. I need a blood sample,” Domet said, a syringe in his hand.
“No, what’re you doing with that—”
“We don’t have the time for stupid questions. Either do what I say, or leave.” Domet pushed my sleeve out of the way, tied a tourniquet around my arm, and tapped the veins professionally before he inserted the syringe right below my biceps. He filled it with blood, and then took the needle out of my arm and handed me some gauze to cover the wound. He set the syringe down next to his box and fiddled with a few vials of liquid, pouring a few drops of each into a copper bowl, then said, “I’m testing your blood to see if you’re a Fabricator. No point in attempting to teach you if you’re not one. Your mother wasn’t, which means there’s a chance you aren’t either.”
“Is Lyon a Fabricator?”
“The Executioner Division doesn’t think so, but their reports also say he was never tested. If he is one, he’s done a remarkable job hiding it,” Domet muttered. “Now, listen closely: I’m only going to explain the Endless Waltz once.
“It changed after your father’s death,” Domet began. “What once was an organized set of challenges among the noble debutantes, designed to develop alliances—romantic or not—based on merit and ability not position or wealth, has devolved into a mad scramble for power. Over the years the Corrupt Prince has twisted it into a test. Only those who prove themselves to him are deemed worthy of entering the Hollow Court, whatever their status. Those who fail may try again the following year or, in a few cases, are stripped of their titles and banned.”
“So it’s no longer about courting?”
“No, it’s about the Corrupt Prince consolidating his claim to the throne. The Endless Waltz still encourages the formation of relationships, but it’s also an opportunity to show the older generation which upstarts are going to be the best to work with in the future. For you to get an opportunity to steal the king’s memories and prove your father’s innocence, you’ll have to earn an invitation to the king’s birthday party. It’s the final event of the Endless Waltz, where the most successful young nobles and their new partners are introduced to the full Hollow Court.”
“So I have to impress a Royal to be let into the full Hollow Court?” I asked.
“Not just any Royal: the Corrupt Prince, one of the vilest Royals there has ever been. You’d be in a stronger position with the princess, since she’s the Royal you’ve been bound to protect since birth. But who knows where she’s off to these days. The court hasn’t seen her in years.”
“There’s no chance this will work. The Corrupt Prince won’t let me in on principle.”
“Don’t give him a choice. The Endless Waltz has three events”—he paused with his vials and potions to tick them off as he spoke—“a reception at Ryder Keep, a hunt in the King’s Garden, and then a concert by the renowned singer Red. That’s three opportunities to impress and ally yourself with every young noble you can. Ensure that the prince can’t reject you from the Hollow Court without dividing his own supporters. Because even if he’s in a better position than you, he can still be held accountable and face pressure from the other High Nobles. Not so much the Low, obviously.”
“So,” I said, drawing out the word, “I need to imp
ress the other nobles around my age, get an invitation to the king’s birthday party, and then steal the king’s memories so we can prove a High Noble set up my father for the murder of Davey Hollow?”
“Essentially.”
I stared at him. “You realize how crazy this sounds, right?”
“This is the only way we’ll get close to the truth.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a page from Dark’s envelope. “What about this? I found this last night and it seems like a good place to start. There are names in there that we could question about what happened.”
Domet snatched it from me. “What is this?” He read it over, silently. “Where’d you get this? This is all classified information. Even I would have difficulty getting it.”
“I accidentally stole it from a Mercenary.”
“You did what? What are you doing interacting with a Mercenary? Do you realize how much you could have put at risk if you were caught?”
“I wasn’t. But this information is good, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. It tells us nothing except the Evokers were investigating a High Noble that used the pseudonym Shadom. Even the other names here are useless. The Raven mentioned was burned alive with the other nobles in Naverre years ago; her husband, Colton Blackwell, vanished from noble society shortly after, and no one has seen Idris Ardel since he left for Goldono years ago.”
I took my paper back from him, grumbling. He’d be even less interested in the handwritten account of the battle at Hollow Academy. “Say I do get invited to the king’s party and find his memories, what are we even looking for among them?”
“We find out why your father pled guilty. His motive was never revealed to the public, and I’ve always suspected that it holds the key to finding whoever framed him. The truth can’t be hidden from the world, or denied, if we have a record of the king’s memories… no matter how much he wants history to be remembered his way.”
His plan didn’t sound too terrible. Because most nobles used Fabrications and risked losing memories on a daily basis, they had systems in place to record the most valuable information. The system depended on the person: tattoos, journals, paintings, and other things that were harder to misplace. If we compared the king’s version of history to his memories… well, it would certainly separate fact from fiction.