AMNESIA

by Canada Jackson

  Whyle bristled when they insisted he abandon all forms of communication, including the wristband that all Thromians wore without fail.

  “My personal Comms?” He pulled his wrist from the Guard.

  “If you wish to see the Monarch, you will relinquish it.”

  Whyle frowned but dropped it into the bowl they offered. He waited while they scanned the rest of his body.

  “Whyle, I am so pleased you are visiting me. Will you also join me for dinner?”

  When Whyle was finally allowed to walk free, the Monarch patted the seat beside him, which was traditionally reserved for one of his sons. The Monarch hoped the gesture wasn’t lost on Whyle.

  He bristled when Whyle opted to sit opposite him, though the Monarch hid his disappointment. “I see you are wearing a sash of my clan’s colors.”

  “As a sign of respect, my lord Monarch.” Whyle accepted the drink.

  “When did you take your vow, Whyle? I forget.”

  “I took my vow when I was fifteen, my lord.”

  “Very young,” Gilroth sniffed. “Thromians are supposed to take it at twenty.”

  “Most Thromians aren’t in the academy for war instruction at six.” Whyle’s eyes clouded over as he pushed back the memories.

  “When you take the vow so young, you can make a mistake. Have you ever regretted it?”

  “Never. I am fully committed to the House of White in every way. Besides, to switch from one house to another is seen as betrayal, resulting in mistrust.”

  “Mistrust perhaps, but not by all. My house, the Royal House of Red, the house of the Monarch, is different. We feel that should a man move his allegiance to us, show support for the king, he would be perceived as brave and treated with respect. Those who left Wrexel have been welcomed.”

  “Respect from the House of Red, perhaps, but the others would see him as a traitor and a despot. Which is all a moot point, anyway,” Whyle said firmly. “I, for one, will never switch my allegiance from the White.”

  The king merely shrugged. “To me, it is an embarrassment to swear a vow of support of our culture and to uphold all things which are strictly Thromian and then have my sons treat it with disrespect. What do you think of Wrexel’s choice to take a human wife?

  Whyle did not respond.

  “Do you see her returning to her kind soon?”

  “Possibly.”

  “The purity of Throm is important, do you not agree, Whyle?”

  “Indeed, sire.”

  “We should not permanently bind ourselves to members of another race, and we should not consort with things out of our own culture, such as allowing a Yimmyrd to read our minds or interfere in our Thromian heritage. Thromians always greet the Yimmyrd with the expression of their will. We always ensure the Yimmyrd have no access to our minds.”

  Whyle wasn’t sure what the Monarch was aiming at. “Yes, my king.”

  “I was so overwhelmed by what Wrexel did with an unspoken law, I had to become vigilant to ensure that those closest to me do not consort in ways that jeopardize all that is Throm.”

  Whyle cocked his head in respect, but did not speak.

  The king had made the unspoken law spoken the day after Amber had wed his son. It was now treason to marry outside one’s race. The penalty was life in prison – or death. This law could not touch Amber, for her marriage was already an action of the past. Wrexel had abstained from the vote but Shihlo had agreed, making the percentage enough to pass it as law.

  “In light of this, I have redoubled my efforts to seek out any behavior that is detrimental to Throm, for that would be treason.”

  Gilroth folded his thick arms and scratched his beardless chin. “In the House of Decision, the law is in my hands. I am here to support the fathers who fear their sons and daughters being led astray. The same applies to my own family, of course.”

  Whyle went pale.

  “This week, I had to preside over my own kin.” The king shook his head. “Treason is a very serious crime. I consulted the law of ancients yet again and, thankfully, found volumes that the Monarch Sevian had written, defining what is considered treason.”

  Whyle grimaced. Sevian, Gilroth’s grandfather, had been a despot and possibly more mad than the current Monarch.

  “Death should be demanded according to the law of ages from Sevian, may he rest in peace and yet… yet my heart is torn because it is my kin who should suffer the fate of the law.”

  * * *

  Whyle’s concern rose. The king was clearly referring to Rix, but what could she have done that was so bad?

  “Who angered your grace this week?” Whyle feigned ignorance. “Surely no family member is accused of treason.”

  “Sadly, I wish that were true.” The Monarch called for the Book of Ages and then tapped its yellowed pages with his finger.

  “The rules are there for us all to obey.” He pushed the book across the glass table so that it skidded to Whyle’s chest. As Whyle read the text in front of him, the king explained the slippery rules of treason, which he had interpreted to include accepting the ways of another creation.

  Whyle closed the book. His tolerance for the king and his game had ended.

  “Don’t waste my time,” he said bitterly. “Who is the family member you plan to try for treason?” “Your sister, Whyle. Let us not pretend you are oblivious of whom we speak.” The Monarch spat the words in his truest angry form, no longer playing cordial games. “A royal being healed is the same as consorting with the Yimmyrd. It is opening your mind to reveal our secrets. Therefore, it is treason.”

  Whyle paled. “That is not the law of Throm; it is a twisted version of the truth, a reworking of words to suit your cause.”

  The Monarch smiled. “My role as overseer of domestic law is a burden, and yet I do it alone with the proxy to decide. I choose the fate of Thromians in matters such as these.”

  The brothers’ decision to leave the Monarch in charge of settling domestic matters was coming back to haunt them. Whyle’s muscles tensed as the Monarch’s guards filtered in on cue and spread throughout the room.

  “Where is she?” Whyle’s voice caught in his throat.

  “In the royal cell.” The Monarch smiled cruelly.

  Whyle’s heart raced.

  Thoughts vile and despicable filled Whyle’s mind. In distress, he roared to life and flew forward, stopping inches from the king when he felt at least four blades against his jugular.

  The Monarch laughed. “This is not the way to join my house.”

  “I will not join your house, ever!” Whyle roared.

  “Then today you will be an only child,” he hissed. “Try the girl for treason, death by electrocution… no, death by beheading,” the king told his head guard.

  “The brothers will not let you get away with this,” Whyle said, fighting to hide the desperation in his voice.

  “They already have.” He laughed again. “I have no doubt they will be livid and drive to change the scope of my power and influence, but it will be too late. On the other hand, maybe they will be relieved. After all, Rix is no joy to anyone except her long-suffering brother.”

  Whyle stepped in front of the guard who was leaving to do the Monarch’s bidding. He stopped the guard in his tracks and continued to challenge the king.

  “So, you will force me to wear your colors, knowing that I loathe you and will never truly support you.”

  “Yes.” Gilroth was unapologetic. “The news of your new allegiance will be enough. As a member of my house, you can deny me nothing I demand from you.”

  “Throm will know it is not a true pledge.”

  “Will you admit your weakness to them?”

  Whyle was trapped. If Throm found out that he had been blackmailed into making a choice to switch houses, he would be ostracized. Your house was your soul. You allowed nothing and no one to compromise your pledge, not even a sister.

  The White would turn their backs, but the Reds would accept him, believing his ple
dge genuine. If they rejected him, he would be without an affiliation, and this was not possible. To be without a house meant to be Un-Thromian.

  Those declared Un-Thromian left the planet, never to return.

  Banished.

  The king sat back in his chair, an evil smile on his face while Whyle’s mind raced.

  “What do you hope to get from this?” His voice was strangled. “Do you think you will gain more support from the brothers’ houses?”

  “Yes. Many would see it as brave and follow suit. Not that it matters. Once I have full command of your tower, I will not care a whit about who supports which house, for I shall own them all.”

  Whyle looked over at the basket that held his communication devices when the Monarch smiled at them knowingly.

  “Have you met my chief scientist?” He called forward the man who had taken his wrist monitor. “He has been working on decoding the entry portal to your tower for months. The problem is that your entry process is highly personalized. We need you to change it, and now you will.”

  The Monarch walked over, picked up Whyle’s devices, and smiled. “You can do nothing about it. You cannot even set off a warning.” He ordered his men to surround the tower and wait for his arrival with Whyle the following day.

  “Tomorrow I will take command of the army and air force and Throm will be mighty again.” Whyle stared at the man who had been the greatest cause of his misery all through childhood.

  The day they had taken back control was the best day of his life. To support the Monarch would rob Whyle of his soul, but nothing would be worse than losing Rix, especially now when he had just gotten her back.

  “Please allow me some time to think it over.” He was a goddamn genius; surely, he could find a way out of this.

  “You have the remainder of our dinner,” the Monarch replied stubbornly. “I am not a fool, Whyle; I will not allow you time to fight my men and contact Shihlo and his brothers, rallying support for your cause or conjuring a way to secure your tower.”

  * * *

  Whyle drifted to the window to stare outside.

  The Monarch knew that he had won and ordered more of his senior advisors to join him at the table. The guards kept a respectful distance from Whyle, but they donned both skeths and laser weaponry.

  Whyle’s stomach churned at the thought of Rix in the pit. Tough as she was, she would be no match for any criminals facing the last days of life. Even if she were alone, the number of days she had been there without food and water would have broken down his fragile sister.

  “Bring my sister to me now,” he said immediately, for there was no choice to be made, “and I will do as you ask.”

  Whyle had to be sure that she was well before he agreed to the horror before him. With one hand, he caught the clothing thrown at him. The crimson red of the jacket felt like blood in his hands.

  Shihlo would be dismayed.

  The king would add large numbers to his diminishing flock at the worst possible time and Whyle would lose the respect of Shihlo’s clan forever – the clan he had served most of his life.

  “My sister. I want her here with me, now, when I put this on.”

  Whyle stood, shaking with anger and trepidation, wondering if he should fight to the death once he saw she was safe. The Monarch would not let him get away, however, and it was too great a risk for Rix.

  Whyle stood with the cloak in his hands, his mind racing, but found no other solution. To decline meant Rix’s death; she was kneeling for the sword as they spoke.

  Once again, he was a boy before the king, a boy with no rights, tortured into doing his bidding.

  Loathing for the Monarch rose like bile in Whyle’s throat and he regretted not listening to Wrexel.

  When this was over, the Monarch would regret losing Shihlo’s only supporter against civil war.

  32

  Allegiances

  Wrexel came in from his exercise session and smiled when he saw Shihlo. The smile dulled when he noted Staede was close behind.

  “I don’t remember sending out party invites.”

  Shihlo’s face was somber. “The king has called for all to hear a decree.”

  This wasn’t unprecedented. At times, major announcements were made this way, but considering that the royals had not discussed this issue, it had to be a decision that did not require constitutional voting.

  Wrexel threw down his towel with a shrug. “It can concern only the areas covered by the Room of Decisions.”

  “We are days away from the next alignment. Why would he make a decree now?” Shihlo asked.

  “Because he wants to ensure more defections or new vows to his house,” Staede added gravely. “Whatever this announcement is, it will not be pretty.”

  “We should have sought to remove his command of the Room.” Wrexel looked at Shihlo accusingly, as did Staede, for he was the one who said to keep the Monarch busy so he would be less trouble.

  “His control is petty,” Shihlo reaffirmed. “He does not have enough power to do us irreparable harm unless we step out of Thromian law in a gross manner.” He glared at Wrexel in accusation.

  “He is the king of loopholes,” Staede warned. “Give him a finger and he will devour the whole arm.”

  Shihlo seemed to notice that the reference to “gross manner” was in the room. “My sister.” He greeted Amber politely and moved to give her a Thromian greeting.

  Staede followed and drew her into a human hug, then turned his attention back to the others. “Where is Whyle?”

  “He is off looking for Rix. Stupid little idiot is off garnering trouble for herself and him again, no doubt.” Wrexel had no time for his cousin.

  The brothers exchanged glances but shrugged with indifference.

  “I guess we have no choice but to walk to the balcony and hear his decree.”

  The order had been issued just hours before, but the crowds began gathering immediately, wanting to see the king make his announcement in person and on the huge screens projected into the sky.

  The castle walls had already opened, and supporters of all parties were entering.

  The brothers were expected to join the Monarch upon his balcony; it was tradition and neglecting to do this would not bode well for the people of Throm.

  They paced at the window overlooking the gathering crowds, coming up with possibilities and then shelving them.

  “What is the decree time?”

  “One hour.” Shihlo glanced at his wrist communicator. “We should dress accordingly.”

  All eyes fell on Amber.

  Wrexel looked worried. “I am unsure if I should take her with me or leave her here. It may be a trap.”

  His security was tight, but the circular balcony that connected all four wings had to be kept open, and this unnerved him.

  They nodded.

  “I will not be missed,” said Staede. “I can issue a statement that I am unfit to attend.”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “I will guard her.”

  Wrexel looked at his personal guards, who stood outside the main doorway. When it came down to it, the only ones he truly trusted were his brothers. Who knew what the king had planned? His warriors and sentinels were strong and fierce, but they could not match his siblings in battle. For the first time, the idea of Amber with Staede held appeal. He nodded in agreement. “Let us change.” Shihlo left to fetch his royal uniform. Wrexel tugged Amber from Staede’s side, demanding that she go with him.

  “Wrexel…” she said softly as he donned his cloak and checked his epaulette. “Do you think this announcement has anything to do with me?”

  He stopped his preparation and stared at her intently. Then, recognizing her apprehension in the way she twisted her fingers together, he moved forward decidedly and took her shoulders in firm hands.

  “And what if it is?”

  “I’m afraid he will kill me.”

  Wrexel’s eyes softened. “You will not be harmed, Amber. Not now or ever.”


  He tilted her head back and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. “Nobody takes what is mine.”

  * * *

  Shihlo led the way to the large balcony that circled the center dome. The two brothers walked to where the king stood and raised their hands in greeting as the roar of their people rose. They remained at Shihlo’s side, but the middle rail of reinforced glass and iron lifted, creating the appearance that they were in accord with the Monarch, who was meters away. Flags of support for the various houses waved. The siblings looked up to see their colors flying high above their own wings.

  This wasn’t a sudden announcement. It was part of a well-devised plan.

  The king’s decree would be accepted as one they had agreed upon. The flag bearers and communications coordinators would not doubt his claims that his sons knew of the declaration.

  Wrexel scanned the balcony in earnest then gasped when Whyle walked out of the Monarch’s quarters to stand at the king’s side, head bowed. Wrexel frowned when he noted that Rix clutched his arm. Her hair was a mess, and she looked frazzled.

  Oh God.

  He waited until Whyle raised his head and then balked at the sorrow and distress in his cousin’s eyes.

  Shihlo was the first to react.

  “What the fuck is going on?” he growled, drawing the attention of all the senior officials on the balcony.

  Wrexel put a warning hand on his brother. “Let it unfold, Shihlo. We can do nothing.”

  The king took to his stand, announcing to all that Whyle had decided to swear off his oath to the White, that he would leave Shihlo’s house and align with him. Tradition was his reasoning; he wanted to savor a pure Throm.

  As the crowd roared, some in dismay, others in joy, the two brothers stood rigid with shock.

  The supporters of White slowly turned their backs on him, dismissing him as their brother, their friend, and their comrade-in-arms. All except Shihlo, who stared at Whyle in horror until tradition dictated he turns his back on his cousin, too.