Lord Wheel—the Wheel of Fortune—was a glowing pair of playing dice. He’d been drinking his way through the backroads of America for years now; I’d never actually met him in person. Lord Devil was also a projection. The flickering image showed him in his animal form, a massive tiger slouched in shadows.
And then there was the Hanged Man. In a bitter twist of coincidence, his pedestal was next to the seat for the Sun Throne, empty since my father’s death.
These were the Arcana of New Atlantis. The men and women whose mercurial and violent attentions maintained what remained of the Atlantean race.
And there I was, about to pull their unwavering focus on me.
“I object,” Lord Hanged Man said calmly. “We have not finished voting on my motion.”
Lord Judgment raised a hand. He was the aging quarterback of the bunch. Stupidly good-looking jaw, bronzed Native American skin, muscles just going to paunch, a lifetime devoted to making his own rules. His staff of office—a six-foot monstrosity—was in his hand.
“I haven’t said I’d bring your motion to the floor,” he replied. “And I won’t. This nonsense ends now.” He angled his hand into a point. At me. “This is a very unwise gambit, Lord Sun. I do not appreciate your manhandling my agenda.”
“Matters overcame diplomacy,” I said with a little bow. “When you hear me out, I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“Is it necessary that I understand? This is a private grievance between Gallows and Sun.”
“It began that way,” I admitted.
“And now?” he said.
“And now we discuss a threat to our people.”
“Outrageous,” Lord Hanged Man said. “Brothers and sisters, this is an affront. He’s young and untested and unworthy of our time. He’s using you as a shield against his own well-deserved peril.”
His Aspect pushed at me—all carrion and frost. He regarded me with dead eyes in a dead, frozen face.
I smiled at him, like I would any dog whose bark and bite I had sized up.
“Gods’ teeth,” Lady Death sighed. “Just tell us what this is about.” A tall black woman with shoulder-length braids, she wore a sharp business suit in burgundy and smoke. Not too much older than me, she was the youngest of the Arcana. She’d assumed her throne when her mother, the Dowager Lady Death, was wounded during the Atlantean War.
Seeing the Hanged Man glaring at her, Lady Death waved a hand. “Stop with all the posturing. Go on, Lord Sun. And keep it simple. Too many adjectives and adverbs, and I’ll start chucking water balloons at you.”
“Fair enough,” I said, and gave her a bow.
“Little Brother,” Lady Justice said, and fixed her sharp gaze on me. My heart skipped at that, because it was a good sign. She’d called me brother before; an early sign of respect. “You’ve been dragging my son through all sorts of adventures recently.”
“I have, Lady Justice.”
“It’s his decision, of course. My headstrong boy.” Her gaze filtered behind me and, for just a second, I saw an unexpected twitch of muscle. “Boys. My headstrong boys.”
Addam had once told me that she treated Quinn like an afterthought. I turned my head in time to see Quinn give his mother a happy wave, which said everything about him, and, maybe, everything about her.
But I needed her and the Moral Certainties on my side.
“I will hear him out,” Lady Justice said to the rest of the room. Her stare lingered on the Hanged Man. “He is young, you’re right. But he’s hardly untested. We’ve all read the red-pages.”
I didn’t know what red-pages were, but a few other Arcana made murmurs of accord, including Lord Judgment.
Lord Tower, though, just stared at me. A cat on a ledge, waiting to spot the entirety of the game spread out beneath him so he knew what to pounce on.
“Then we’ll hear him speak,” Lord Judgment said. “He’s a child of the Arcanum. He’s entitled to a voice. Lord Sun, are you seeking redress in a grievance against the Hanged Man?”
“No,” I said.
“Beg pardon?” Lord Judgment said.
“As I mentioned, matters have grown beyond diplomacy. There is a threat to my island. I have the same responsibility to New Atlantis that all of you do.”
“I don’t . . .” Lord Judgment gave Lord Tower a quick look, who continued to just stare. “I’m not sure I follow.”
I took a thin breath.
There weren’t many moments like this in a person’s life.
Most of the time, change fell on you like a load of bricks. You didn’t see it coming. You didn’t plan for it. You didn’t have an actual awareness of the moment as you tumbled and slammed through it.
But sometimes?
Sometimes you were the one that stood with your hand on the lever. Sometimes you were the one that stepped off the cliff, or walked in front of the gunfire, or pulled the pin from the grenade.
“I asked you here to bear witness,” I said.
And across the room, Lord Tower straightened in his chair.
“From this moment forward,” I said, “I would have it be known that I have claimed my father’s throne.”
And as my pulse doubled—like quick sharp finger clicks—I said the words my father had once said:
“In thought and deed, in mind and heart, I claim what is mine by law and legacy. Let it be known that from this moment forward, I am, as I was always meant to be, the voice and the will of the Sun Throne. I am Arcana. I am Arcanum. I am the Sun of Atlantis.”
Lord Tower rose to his feet. He stared at me and mouthed my name, shaking his head.
I took three steps to the center of the room, away from my friends. Away from Addam. Away from Brand, whose stunned amazement was racing along our bond.
In a building warded against spells and cantrips; and despite the bracelet against my wrist that barred most of my abilities; I drew on my deepest magic. I called on my Aspect.
Flames burst from me. They raced from my eyes, down my face; swept along my arms; fanned across the jade floor in a plume of solar yellow. The world became my silhouette.
I repeated, loudly, “I am Arcana. I am Arcanum. I am the Sun of Atlantis.”
Our most potent vows happened in threes.
I turned in a slow circle. Saw upraised arms, against my light. Saw shocked expressions. Saw the Fool doubled over in uproarious laugher.
I saw Quinn pressing into Addam’s arms, both their eyes reflecting my flames.
Saw Max with both hands over his mouth.
Saw Ciaran dip his chin, eyes to the floor.
Saw Brand. And I saw Brand. And I saw Brand.
I shouted, “I am Arcana. I am Arcanum. I am the Sun of Atlantis!”
My vow pulsed through the chamber in a roar of magic.
The fires died, leaving the Iconsgison in utter, thorough silence.
Into that silence, I added, “And as a member of this body, I officially petition for a raid on Lord Hanged Man and his holdings.”
LORD SUN
“Clear the room!” Lord Judgment shouted into the unrest. “We move into closed session now!”
Most of the Arcana subsided, though the mad Fool still shook with laughter. He must have had handfuls of spare change in his pockets; his delight sent metallic clinks across the room.
Addam was the first to come up to me. His eyes were glassy with either shock or sun-blindness. “You are either crafty or impulsive, Hero. But either way, I did just tell you we would make a court. Good luck. We shall be close by. I’m going to kiss you now.”
I opened my mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say.
“Arcana do not hesitate,” Addam whispered against my lips, and kissed me.
Then he tugged on Quinn’s sleeve to pull him away. Quinn stayed long enough to whisper, “It’s so loud. I can’t hear what happens. We shouldn’t have given up our sigils.”
The last bit raised goosebumps on my arms.
Max still had his hands over his mouth. “You’ll be fine now,
” I promised him.
“You did this for me,” he said through his fingers.
“Of course I did. I protect my family. Stay close to Brand, until we’re home. Watch your surroundings.”
He nodded. Brand, who had come to stand by Max, murmured something to him. Max hurried after Addam and Quinn.
Ciaran didn’t look like he was about to go anywhere, but he did step away to give my Companion and me a private moment.
I gave Brand a guilty look. “How much trouble am I in?”
“I don’t know. Do I get a raise?”
I barked a surprised laugh. “Do I? We split everything fifty-fifty.”
“Fine. Can I get in writing that we’ll always split everything fifty-fifty when you become a god?”
“Brand.”
“Rune,” he said, mimicking my tone. He bumped my shoulder, enough to show he cared, but with a little extra to leave a bruise. After all, I had kept him in the dark.
“Go ahead now,” he whispered. “Show them who you are.”
Then Brand was gone too.
“Ciaran,” Lord Judgment said. “You’ll need to leave.”
“I don’t believe I will,” Ciaran said cheerfully. “I have material evidence to present. I’ve explained it all to Lord Magician.”
“And I’ll explain it to the Arcanum as appropriate,” Lord Magician said stiffly. He was, like so many other wealthy male Atlanteans, handsome and tall. His good looks were as predictable as the mint toys that a collector kept sealed in their original packaging.
“We did talk about this,” Ciaran reminded Lord Magician. He smiled in apology as he said it, but there were teeth in the look he gave the Magician.
Lord Magician lowered his face as a flush crept up his neck. “Fine. He should stay. He knows things.”
“It’s not unprecedented,” Lady Justice offered. “Principalities have been welcome in our session before.”
“Then so be it,” Lord Judgment said impatiently. “We are now in closed session.”
The avatar of the Devil—the massive tiger—rumbled. It rose and stretched, furred muscles rising along its back like ocean tides.
Lady Death laughed. “What he said. Let’s get this show started, yes?”
The Hanged Man tapped a thin finger on the arm of his chair. “I’ll admit, it was a pretty declaration. But a slow child could say the same words. It doesn’t make it binding, and it certainly doesn’t make it enforceable. He has no court; he has no seat of authority; and his sigils are the equivalent of beggar rags. Aside from that, the lack of Arcana Majeure—”
“Lord Hanged Man!” Judgment said in a surprisingly loud, sharp voice. “You will guard your words, or this will become an entirely different discussion.”
Ciaran cleared his throat. He was enjoying himself entirely too much. He was all but grabbing my cloak and waving it behind me to ratchet his sense of spectacle. He said, “My most august colleagues. That is why I wished to remain. I do believe Lord Sun has already stumbled on that particular secret, even if he doesn’t have the full grasp of what it is.” Ciaran gave the room a red-lipped smile. “Rune has used the Arcana Majeure.”
The whispering in the room rose as Ciaran added, “I was there when it happened. I will provide witness.”
I had no idea what was happening—or, no, I had an idea, I just didn’t understand the actual words. The Arcana Majeure? I’d never heard of it.
And yet . . . In my head I saw churning clouds ripped apart to reveal a blistering blue sky. It was a leap of intuition, helped by the memory of Quinn’s scared voice. He’d once said, about that moment, It was the most important thing in the world.
“We monitor such things,” Lord Judgment said. “We would have known if he’d shown the ability. Unless . . .” His eyes roved to Lord Tower.
The Tower took a tired breath, and made everyone wait as he exhaled it. “Unless,” he admitted, “I employed resources to obscure the fact.”
“It’s true then?” Lord Judgment said.
Lord Tower nodded. “In the Westlands. The incident with the lich. Rune used the Arcana Majeure to break that weather spell.”
At least three distinct questions itched up my throat, but I kept my lips clamped shut. I needed to listen. I needed to listen very, very closely.
“I see,” Lord Judgment said, but his disapproval was lost in Lord Chariot’s own rising voice, who said, “That was poorly done.”
Lord Chariot, a short man with a line that stretched back before modern Asian countries, stared at Lord Tower. He repeated, when the Tower remained silent, “Lord Tower, that was poorly done. We have agreements. This knowledge would have been of vital interest to this body at the time you learned it. I am immensely disappointed.”
Lord Tower raised his gaze and stared at Lord Chariot. Lord Chariot finally broke and aimed his bluster elsewhere. And even then, Lord Tower continued to stare, for another long moment, until the Chariot—arguably the richest person on the face of the earth—was fidgeting.
“And so,” Ciaran said into the uncomfortable moment, “Rune is one of you. He has passed the threshold that marks Arcana and Principalities. Let’s not whip this conversation in circles, when there are better things to discuss.”
“He is not one of us,” the Hanged Man objected. “Amongst each other, if not the city at large, we stand on ceremony. Raw skill doesn’t translate to the right to take a seat amongst us. There are formalities to be attended. This talk of a raid—of him taking a seat—is intolerable.”
Lady Priestess stirred for the first time. In a wispy voice, she said, “He learned a Soul Bind spell from me.” She blinked at everyone else, as if the point should be obvious. “A very advanced magic. Have you used it yet, Lord Sun?”
“I have,” I said. “Recently, in fact. Against a go-ryo, on my—” My father’s estate, I was about to say. Not anymore. No longer my father’s throne; my father’s pedestal; my father’s compound. I said, “On my estate.”
“Your ruined estate,” Lord Strength said, which earned him a cool look from Lady Justice. I was very reminded of the fact that I’d killed his son Ashton, and in doing so, saved his court from probable ruin. There was no predicting his thoughts on that, even though I knew he and Ashton hadn’t been close. “Let’s speak plainly. The Sun Estate is uninhabitable. It’s one of the most haunted plots of land on the island, excepting Farstryke. You can’t live there. Your only home is a house barely larger than this room. How do you expect to survive as a court? How do you expect to defend your court?”
“Though . . .” Lady World said. “That Aspect. There hasn’t been a burning man since . . . Well, since Rune’s father. You all saw what I saw. If I’m not wrong, it’s mixed with bless-fire. His Aspect isn’t simply a manifestation—it has utility. Very rare.”
“Enough,” Lord Tower said, as the Hanged Man began to object again. “Rune is Arcana. It’s done, and we all know it. Take your seat, brother.”
Shivers raised the hair along the back of my neck. With as little selfconsciousness as I could manage, I walked over to the chair my father had once sat in.
I sat down. The world didn’t shift on its axis. The ground didn’t rumble. Though I did have to go the bathroom very badly.
Next to me, I felt quiet, cold hatred pouring off the Hanged Man. I smiled at him, and glanced over at Lady Death, who was on my other side. She was scratching what looked like a mosquito bite on her ankle, which seemed like something I would do. She needed a Brand in her life. I could already hear it. You can literally heal bullet wounds, but you’re going to sit there and fucking annoy me.
She stopped scratching and gave me an aggrieved sigh. “Now there’s nowhere to toss my jacket. You better be a good neighbor.”
“We shall have order,” Lord Judgment said. “Let’s return to the matter before us.”
“And the matter before us,” Lord Tower said, “is Lord Sun’s request to destroy another court. It’s his claim to defend.”
He looked stra
ight at me as he spoke. I didn’t need a cartoon thought bubble to explain it. He was telling me I’d forced his hand, and now I’d well and fucking truly play through it on my own.
“We will not vote on a raid,” Lord Hanged Man said. “I will not abide.”
“I wouldn’t expect a vote,” I said. “A formal hearing will need to be scheduled. But I’m entitled to present statements of fact to justify that hearing. Isn’t that right?”
Lord Wheel’s ivory dice laughed. “In other words,” he said in an American drawl, “he’s allowed his shot across the bow.” The dice shimmered and stretched, into a virtual representation of a carrot-haired man. He was thin to the point of sickly, with needle marks along his arms, and underwear-model cheekbones you could shape diamonds with.
Lord Hierophant stirred. “I want to hear what he has to say. Please do stop objecting, Lord Hanged Man. You’ll have a chance to refute.”
“I won’t sit in silence and listen to lies,” the Hanged Man said, and for the first time, his anger didn’t have the glossy polish of rehearsed remarks. His composure was cracking.
“Why not?” Lady Justice asked. “Why wouldn’t you? Slander would only help your cause. Let him lie and dig holes beneath his feet, if you’re so certain he has nothing honest to say. Lord Sun. It is time. Speak.”
I took a few shallow breaths, hiding my nervousness as a pause. Before Lord Judgment could prod me, I stood up.
“Lord Strength is right. I don’t have a compound. My own sigil collection is limited. Ragtag, you might say. But for all that, I am New Atlantis. I am a child of our reduced circumstances. Here, in this room, we shouldn’t deceive ourselves. We lost the war. We live on the sufferance of humanity, which outnumbers us in the billions. In the billions. Without a single spell, without a single magical weapon of war, they could crush us simply with their growing mass.”
I turned and swept a look along the semicircle. “Our sigils are a lost art. We fight amongst each other. Our most powerful beasts lie dormant. The dragons of Atlantis sleep—and that is an uncomfortably accurate metaphor.”
The Hanged Man Page 29