by RJ Metcalf
“I––yes. Of course.” Christopher saluted as Weston left, then he let himself sag back into his chair, tilting his head over the edge, staring up at the molded ceiling. Now to survive here. For an indefinite amount of time. Holding onto a strand of hope that he wasn’t sure was real enough to hold onto anymore.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Weston
Weston watched as the Antian airship rose gracefully into the air, taking Princess Abigail and Kaius, home—hopefully to root out other malcontents and to provide the army support that they so desperately needed. He turned away from the airship yards with an aggrieved sigh. She was gone to do her thing—even gifting him with official pardons for Raine and all the crew of the Phoenix—and now it was up to him to not let everyone here down.
It was as if Emperor Ezran’s words last night calling him “Lord Weston” had placed an invisible mantle on his shoulders, weighing him down. He’d felt it when going to bed, and it was still there in the morning. The terrifying knowledge that he’d have to finish what his father started.
He was considered above average when it came to military strategy amongst his peers, and his nation as a whole practiced the art of war more than all the other nations. But there was a difference between mock battles and using his own men and women—as well as the soldiers of the kingdoms that had entrusted their military might to him—in a war that meant they lived freely or they died as slaves.
He’d thought briefly of visiting Francene, but now that Jade wasn’t staying there, he didn’t want to give the appearance of something that wasn’t happening. Besides, Francene’s prowess was in things more subtle than outright, blatant war.
Still, Francene’s voice that had hounded Jade for so many weeks about how to carry herself echoed in Weston’s mind, and he pulled his shoulders back, outwardly walking with the confidence that he lacked internally. The summit would be technically ending tomorrow, but how that would appear now, with all the nations but Perennia having loaned their army to Aerugo’s leadership, he didn’t know. Would the leaders wish to stay longer? Would they leave their seconds? Would they return home and send their generals first, armies on their way? When those questions had been asked last night, no one had definite answers yet. Now they likely would.
Weston rubbed his forehead as he entered the hallway to the summit meeting room. He needed to develop a strategy between now and the morning that he could send with each leader. It would be best if he didn’t have all the armies converging on Lucrum. They had a whole stretch of northern border to protect, and all the armies in the world would do no good if they weren’t where they needed to be.
Conscious of how rumpled he felt, Weston ran his hand over his jacket, confirming that everything was smooth as it should be, everything in place. He had to look the part to instill the other leaders with the assurance that they’d chosen wisely. He strode into the room, noting the mostly empty table. For the first time in so many days, he was one of the first to arrive. Finally.
His mother smiled at him as he approached, his steps hesitating just a moment when he realized that she had chosen to sit in the second’s seat, further cementing his role as Aerugo’s leader. Cold leather met his palm as he pulled his chair out to sit and lean over to kiss his mother’s cheek.
She gave him an encouraging smile. “One day at a time,” she whispered.
Weston nodded and pulled to himself a sheath of paper with the Aerugan crest stamped on the top. He should start writing out ideas while he waited for everyone to arrive. The original purpose of this particular meeting was to discuss shipping taxes, but somehow he didn’t think they’d stay completely on topic. Soon, the seats were filled, and he settled his pen on its hook, preparing to call the meeting to order.
The door opened for a late comer, and Jade hurried in, Zak on her heels. She flashed Weston an apologetic smile as she moved to the seats reserved for the Doldran nation. His heart lightened. So she truly was investing herself in the role of leadership.
Was it odd for him to feel proud of her, stepping up to the mantle?
Now for him to do the same.
King Rowan stood, and Weston stilled, uncertain of what to expect. Thus far, his uncle had been the most quiet of the nations when discussing unification, and Weston had only met the man a handful of times, making it difficult to get a read on him. Even Violet had admitted to Weston in so many words that she didn’t know what direction her brother would take. Weston gripped his knee caps, caught sight of his white knuckles through the clear table top, then forced himself to relax his hands.
“I openly admit that I was suspicious of Lord Everett’s plan for unification when it first came up,” Rowan’s deep voice rolled through the room. He crossed his arms over his colorfully patterned shirt. “And I was even more hesitant when it transferred to you,” Rowan nodded at Weston and Weston’s palms started to sweat.
Would Rowan unravel everything, by casting doubt on Weston’s leadership? Never mind the fact that Weston doubted himself. None of the Aerugan nobility had challenged Weston yet, but if Perennia’s king had reservations, then others would too. And if it all fell apart here, what chance did any of their people have?
Rowan’s stern countenance gave way to a grudging smirk that was almost a smile. “But you surprised me. I have been impressed by your humility and your leadership thus far. Perennia pledges her military and support to Aerugo.”
Rowan sat amongst the uproarious applause of the leaders around the table, and the ambassadors, royalty, and nobility behind them. Weston gripped the edge of his seat, trying to not let his dizziness show on his face. All the nations. They were all pledged to fight under his leadership. What if he let them down, and led them into a stunning defeat? What had Rowan seen him do that was so impressive? Everything up till now had been reactionary.
“I thank you for your support, Perennia.” Weston heard himself speak, but the words were automatic, his mind too overwhelmed to stay in the moment. “Together, with all of our nations united, we stand a chance against the northern Elph and their blood-bonded armies. I look forward to serving all our people in this capacity.” He chuckled slightly. “I must apologize now, as instead of discussing shipping taxes, I’d rather go over some intelligence I recently received.”
He gestured and Niles handed a rolled parchment that Weston spread out on the table. “This is an updated map thanks to our Void Born prisoner. I wish to discuss some of the biggest army threats now, and how we can best counter them.”
Talks evolved into what the odds were of a full-fledged attack in the soon to come winter, and if the Elph would be content with waiting until after the spring melt. Granted, Aerugo’s melt happened before it was actually spring, but that was a trifling matter. They needed more time.
The moment the discussion ended, he all but bolted out the door. He needed to run his design past Pistoia to know if he could factor that in as part of his strategy.
The workshop was a hive of activity when he arrived, everyone hard at work in different phases of making steam rifles. He found his desk littered with the tiny mechanism gears for inside the casing, and Pistoia bent over her desk, putting each piece into place, carefully soldering in place each component as needed. He waited for her to finish the set she was on before coming around their desks and speaking, skipping greetings in favor of her typical straight-forward manner.
“I have an idea for the war, and I want your thoughts on it. What do you think of parajumpers?” Weston pulled out the sketch from his pocket and turned it around to let Pistoia see it. He pointed to the x-shaped harness. “Similar to a grappling hook, but it fits the whole body, and with the turbine here, it turns the wearer into a personal airship of sorts.”
She lifted her bug-eyed goggles to her forehead, leaning over the desk to study his design. She tapped a corner. “How heavy would the frame be?”
“I figured we would make a composite material for that, and maybe we can get by with the frame being only three stones.”
Weston shrugged. “And now that the barrier is down, if we could somehow get some gravity stones from the Shifting Mountains …”
Pistoia barked a laugh. “Keep dreaming, Wes.” She rubbed her chin with the back of her hand, considering. “Interesting concept. And with the steam rifles?” She glanced up at Weston. “Have you shown this to anyone else? Mentioned it?”
Weston scratched the back of his neck. “I might have mentioned it in passing to Abigail.”
“Abigail?” Pistoia raised one eyebrow. “Princess Abigail of Antius?”
“Yes, of course.”
A small smirk grew on her face while she nodded slowly.
Weston frowned, crossing his arms. “What’s that look for?”
“Oh, nothing.” The smirk vanished as she gave him an expression of wide-eyed innocence. “Where is the princess now?”
“She just left for home,” Weston stated. He sat at his desk and stared all the components before pulling a casing over for him to start assembling while he talked. “She’s going to hopefully find any more of the traitors that want to take us down from the inside, and she’s also going to send some of the army up here for me to use to protect all our people.” Weston grabbed a bolt and twiddled with it for a moment. “I think we’re actually on neutral good terms now, too.”
Pistoia snorted. “Well, we definitely know you have a type.”
“What?” Weston dropped the bolt and it skittered across the table. He slapped his hand over it to prevent it from falling to the floor. He stared at his pink-haired teacher. “A type?”
“Strong willed women,” Pistoia stated, utterly nonchalant. She lowered her goggles again and picked up a fresh steam rifle to assemble. “Have you not noticed? First Francene—”
“We never dated!” Weston exclaimed.
“—then Jade—”
“I—” Weston tried, but Pistoia plowed on, ignoring his protests.
“And now this Abigail.” Another smirk formed at the edge of Pistoia’s mouth. “You have a habit of finding women who have strong opinions and aren’t afraid to let you know it.”
Weston set the bolt back where it belonged and stared at the distant wall. “I hadn’t thought of her like that.”
“No? Shocking.” Pistoia snickered. She noticed his surprise and relented. “I suppose you’ve had a bit much on your plate already. But you know, she sounds like quite the partner for you to work with.” Her eyes gleamed. “Imagine what our tech could be like when teamed with a manipulator’s ability!”
Weston chuckled gamely. “Imagine what our tech could be like if we had the time to invent more.”
Pistoia tsked and waved her ludicrously small screwdriver at him. “War is the mother of invention, Weston. Don’t let the stress dampen that.”
“War.” Weston sank onto his stool. “I don’t know how we’re going to survive this.” He lowered his voice, even though the noise of the workshop covered his words enough that he didn’t think anyone would be able to eavesdrop. “If the north has as many in their army as we estimate, and they’re all bonded …” he trailed off, unwilling to even speak his dark thoughts.
How would they beat an army that could fight through pain? How could they battle, when the other side could be ordered to fight until they dropped? It was like facing an army of berserkers.
“Break down the problem.” Pistoia set her work aside and leaned her elbows on the desk, giving him her undivided attention. “So they have the bonded. We have tech and ingenuity. Let’s use that.”
Weston spun a screwdriver on the table and tried to battle the weight in his stomach. “We have the ideas, we just need time to build them.”
She grabbed the screwdriver out from under his hand and waggled it in his face, her voice sharp. “If that’s your solution, then stop talking and get to work.”
* * *
The heft of gold, diamonds, and sapphires weighed just as heavily on Weston’s head as the invisible pressure of responsibility and leadership, with the burden of so many lives entrusted to him now as ruler of Aerugo. He consciously straightened his back, not willing to risk the crown sliding down his forehead within his first ten minutes of wearing it.
He strode from the throne room—bedecked in blues, silvers, and blacks following in the traditions of his coronation—to the comparatively simpler white marbled hall. Niles and the rest of Weston’s retinue followed, as well as the leaders and their respective people. The pomp and circumstance was considered a necessity by the historians and nobles of the land, but right now it had as much usefulness to Weston as a dancing stalker in a tavern. He had too much to discuss with the other national leaders to be distracted by the simple, yet gaudy crown that he’d witnessed his father wearing only once in all his years as lord of Aerugo. Or by the apparent meanings of the flowers picked to be decorating the throne room. Or the color of his vest and jacket, as well as the material used, and what those signified in these trying times.
This wasn’t the time for such theatrics. And yet it was something that somehow soothed the nobility in the face of war: the simple fact that traditions are being followed.
Well, it was time to throw that comfort out the window.
Guards pulled open the double doors for the Summit chamber and Weston marched through, head high as he walked straight to his seat at the rounded table. He stood by his chair, eyeing the original itinerary that covered the stationary for note taking. Today he’d deviate off the course for summit discussion again, but no one expected this summit to follow the standard anymore, did they?
His mother sat to his right as he acknowledged each leader who came to the table. He gave a gracious nod along with thanks as they voiced their congratulations. Jade joined them, taking the seat that Brandon had been in before, her bearing as regal as he’d ever seen, a black Monomi dagger hanging on her belt. At last they were all seated, and he finally nodded at the doormen to close the room to anyone not already inside. It was past time to get down to business.
“Honored Ezran,” Weston sat finally, steepling his fingers on the crystal-topped table. “I recognize that your allegiances are different, and we don’t know who’s in charge of the northern Elph armies, but would you be able to provide any predictions for tactics to expect from them?”
Ezran blinked. He knit his fingers and raised them to his mouth as he leaned back, his gaze contemplative. “Part of it will come down to weather and timing. Are they prepared to invade right away? How has their technology progressed these last sixty years?” His golden robe shimmered as he shrugged. “Assuming they haven’t created something that makes their armies impervious to winter weather, and assuming they aren’t already prepared to invade this very moment, I would expect them to wait until the first melt, then move their forces through the Arid Plains stretch. I would also expect them to send smaller groups through the mountains to stab us in the back.”
“And they probably want to get to the Shifting Mountains,” Chancellor Bertozzi added. “If they can get their hands on any of the gravity stones there, they could use those for their own airships.”
Lady Catherine folded her hands on the table. “Advisor Thistle is overseeing the mining operation there, now that the old mines are accessible. How long it’ll take, how much they can find, that’s all anyone’s guess. But they have a contingent of Monomi and Doldran guards, just in case the Cursed get any ideas.”
“Excellent.” Weston scratched update on gravity mining off his checklist. “And they’ll send anything they find to Piovant?”
“I sent word to my top mechanics just this morning through carrier hawk,” Bertozzi interjected. Her eyes gleamed. “They’ll soon be on their way to Doldra with their tech and materials. They’ll build in Doldra.”
Weston stilled and glanced at the Doldras askance. Had Bertozzi already talked to Jade or Lady Catherine about this? Brandon hadn’t mentioned any such plan before he’d left for the Hollows. Catherine lifted her chin, a hint of a smirk playing at her painted lips. So this
had been previously agreed upon. Good enough for Weston. “That’s great news. As for soldiers to man the ships …”
As he guessed, Catherine nodded at him. “Doldra will provide as many soldiers as she has.”
Jade straightened. “Doldra will also provide what materials we have for the airships, as well as any metals needed for other war production.” She shot Catherine a sharp glare. “We will also be sending winter clothing and portable shelters for the refugees. There’s still a need for foodstuffs, clothing, and more permanent shelters.”
“We’ll work on those things next. And Doldra’s provisions sound excellent, thank you.” Weston turned his attention to President Guth. “What can Lasim provide?”
Guth’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the center of the table, his white fingers tapping out a pattern on the table. “Healing stones and potions and ready-made salves. We can provide at least a thousand mani-meds, and we’ll begin production for more goods and training for more healers right away.” He added in, almost as an afterthought, “and all the soldiers we can give, obviously.”
“Vodan will supply blankets, tents, and soldiers.” Chief Sichi announced. A grim smile stretched across his broad face. “We will want to gather everyone together sooner rather than later, which means many exposed to winter. We will do what we can to ensure that all our soldiers don’t feel the cold.” He nodded to Jade. “And we’ll send extra for the refugees.”
“Thank you,” Weston gave a tiny seated bow over the table. Aerugo experienced a much more mild winter than the rest of the nation, due to her being so close to the Arid Plains. But the soldiers that he would have to station along Doldra’s mountain ridges, and in Vodan would feel the chill of winter in ways that he’d never even experienced. Such help would be greatly appreciated.