Now he turned, and gave me a small smile. “No, Rune.”
I let out a breath.
“You were worried about that,” Lord Tower said.
“Excessively. You asked me to stand down, and I didn’t.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
I laughed. I mean, honestly.
He sat down on the edge of the dais and gave me a wry look. “I do admit I’m wrong occasionally. Or at the very least, I’ll admit I don’t always appreciate all the potential avenues toward a solution. You did what you thought was right. And you saved not only Matthias but the Dawncreek family as well. That said,” he emphasized, “I wasn’t aware of Anna Dawncreek. That would have changed my plans somewhat dramatically.”
I sat down near him. Almost next to him, but not exactly. “I wasn’t aware of her either, back when we had brunch. Quinn spotted her . . . talent not long after.” I rubbed my eyelids and said, “She’s so young.”
“Others will covet her.”
I cut him a look.
“Yes. Myself included. But I respect the Sun Throne’s sovereignty in this. Although Rune . . . Raising a child like that? A power like hers is generational. Maybe centennial. She must be raised well. You won’t get a second chance at it. So make no mistake: I will be paying attention.”
“You caught what Quinn said, right? About her maybe being your heir instead of mine?”
“I’m not quite sure he framed that as a compliment. And I’m old enough to appreciate that raising children is . . . not one of my specialties.”
It was a remarkable statement, considering the whitewater rapids that flowed under that bridge. One of his two children, Dalton, had not been kind to me. An awful episode with him had nearly fractured my relationship with Lord Tower, and left Brand with scars on his back.
But in a way, I’d moved past that. So I examined what he said at face value and was able to spot the tiny flicker of hurt inside it. I said, “I don’t know. You did pretty well with me, didn’t you?”
Lord Tower gave me a slow, real smile. Just for a second. Then, before it got sappy, he brushed his hands together and stood up. “Look at this room. Such wrecked formality.” He pronounced wrecked as they did in Old Atlantean: wreck-ked. “One of the burdens we bear as Arcana. So much pomp and circumstance expected of us. I can’t wait to see what your court looks like, when you start holding it.”
“Why did you make that sound like a verb?”
“Holding court. Formal court sessions.”
“Oh, yeah, no. That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
Lord Tower gave me a much more familiar smile: patronizing amusement. “You’ll have people. They will have grievances. They will want to appear before you, to have you decide on their behalf.”
“Hell they will!” I barked out before I could stop myself. “Gods-damnit. Are you telling me I’ll need to have office hours?”
“Rune Sun, you are about to drown in administrivia. You really must put some thought into this. It’s one of the reasons I called you here. We have a rather urgent matter before us.”
“No! We’re going to the beach. The party? You’re invited. I’m going to the beach,” I implored.
“As you say. But first I need your input on the division of the Hanged Man’s estate.”
I let that settle. “Oh.”
“You initiated the raid. While it was most unusual, in its execution, it was still a raid. Several thrones were involved. You could assert your claim to the spoils, as your evidence spurred our action. That said, Lady Death arguably took the greatest damage, between summoning the ghost steeds and the sustained Majeure battle with the Hanged Man. Or you could acknowledge that Lord Judgment—”
“I want the smallest share,” I interrupted.
Lord Tower stared at me.
I shrugged. “Maybe you agree, maybe you’d do it differently. You’ve got a good mind for things like that. But this was my debut. I want to show deference to people who I can learn a lot from. I’ll take the smallest share, give Lady Death the largest, and then let her decide the rest of the shares. She really did the heavy lifting—you’re right.”
Lord Tower kept staring another moment, then nodded his approval.
Since I couldn’t help myself, I asked, “Would you have done it differently?”
He pretended to think it over, one of his really-I’m-only-human tricks. “I might have claimed everything and offered only large gifts in gratitude. But we walk different roads. Don’t doubt your choice.”
I didn’t. It was a strange feeling, this confidence.
“There are two other reasons I wanted to see you this morning,” he added. “One more pressing than the other.”
“Okay.”
“It will take time to educate you. On matters that only the Arcanum is privy to. But there is one we must discuss now. All of us—all Arcana, and most Principalities—understand the nature of the Arcana Majeure. As a matter of survival.”
“Ah,” I said. My lungs felt heavy all of the sudden—the air had weight, the way it did right before you knew you were being told something very, very important.
I had a lot of questions. Only one was essential. “You told me I could hurt Brand by using it.”
“You have hurt Brand by using it, Rune. You have hurt yourself. Irredeemably.”
“I need to know more.”
The Tower dipped his chin in agreement. “It is a closely guarded secret. You must talk about it to no one other than Brand. Not even Addam.”
“But I can tell Brand.”
“Companions are often the exception to the rule. I’m not sure you could keep it from him. Nor should you when the damage applies to him as well.”
“What damage?”
The Tower turned to face me. “How have I always appeared to you?”
“How . . . what? I don’t understand.”
“My appearance.”
“Are you fishing for compliments?”
He didn’t say anything, as he often didn’t when I cracked a joke.
“Okay,” I said uncomfortably. “You appear as a man in his mid-forties. By human standards. Hard to tell with our aging—some people hold that look longer than others, even well into their sixties. I don’t often see you younger or older.”
“Have you never wondered why?”
“There is literally no end to the list of questions I have about your whys. But I suppose I thought you just liked this age. It makes you look old enough to be wise, but young enough to be strong.”
“True. But wrong. I always rejuvenate to my youngest age.”
“Your—” I bit down on the sentence. It made too little sense to be anything but a significant, significant fact.
“I cannot rejuvenate any further. I’ve used the Arcana Majeure too much over the course of my life.”
My intuition drew lines, and realization sparked along them, as quick as instinct.
My sabre.
My own life force powered my sabre’s magic. A weapons master had once told me that every firebolt took a second off my life. I was literally its battery, and there was no replacing the energy I used to wield it.
I closed my eyes and said, “The Arcana Majeure . . . it’s like a sigil, isn’t it? It’s like using your body as a sigil, only it all happens at once— there’s no meditation, no storing of spells. Your life force powers the spell.”
“Yes. And that cost becomes very pronounced during rejuvenation. It is why you must be sparing in its use. It is a seductive ability, and there is no undoing its damage.”
“And my rejuvenation is Brand’s rejuvenation.”
“Exactly.”
“Are there other limitations?” I asked uneasily.
“Some. No one knows where the magic comes from—we suspect it’s genetic. By convention it’s what marks an Arcana or Principality. It’s a measure of considerable power. You can rapidly deplete your ability to use it, and it takes a while to . . . I suppose the word is recharge.”
“Why is it such a secret?”
He gave me his schoolmaster smile. “What question did you just ask a moment ago?”
I thought back. “Limitations. You don’t want to promote its limitations. You like the fact that the average Atlantean sees you doing these completely inexplicably powerful things, but you don’t want them to know it comes with a finite limitation. It could be used against us.”
“As you say.”
I thought more about it. “What I’ve done . . . Do you have any idea how much of my life I’ve used? Is there, like, an equation or something?” “Would that there were. But your use of the Arcana Majeure is still in its infancy. I would not be overly worried about the cost. Yet.”
This line of thinking led to another unpleasant thought. I remembered Lady Death summoning the ghost steeds, telling me I better be worth the gray hair. “Lady Death used the Arcana Majeure. For me.”
“Quite a bit of it, yes. It was her choice. You can’t shoulder that blame. But . . . Yes. She will pay a price for it.”
“Damn. Did you say before we had two things to talk about? Please tell me it’s not more existential dread.”
“I’m afraid I can’t promise that. But still—Yes. I have a gift for you. Another secret. Freely offered.” He met my eyes and said, with clear pronunciation, “Virsa pulcrra.”
I blinked, surprised. “That’s what Quinn called me. On the ship. It means beautiful man in Old Atlantean. Is this about that stupid prophecy?”
“It is about your misinterpretation of the prophecy. I’m afraid you may be quite mad about what I’m going to tell you. Bear with me, and I’ll explain.”
“. . . Okay.”
“The seer who made that prophecy—of you being the most beautiful man of your generation—was very old. It was during a gala at Sun Estate not long after you were born. Before, even, Brand was brought to you. Wine flowed and I believe the seer overindulged. She was rather indiscreet, in my opinion, in speaking the prophecy while others were around her.”
“You were there?”
“I was. Your father was my closest friend.” Lord Tower’s gaze unfocused for a beat or two, then he shook his head. “I miss him. Now that you have your throne, we’ll need to speak more of him. But for now, the rest of the story: The seer was ancient. She’d spent centuries living in a time where Old Atlantean was the only Atlantean dialect. In modern Atlantean, virsa means man. As it did then. But pulcrra? Modern Atlantean translates it as beautiful. Old Atlantean translated it as compelling.”
My breath caught. My thoughts froze. That damn prophecy had hounded me my entire life. I didn’t know what he was saying.
“The seer, Rune, saw that you would be the most compelling man of your generation. More importantly, you need to understand that the whole of the word compelling had a larger meaning, once upon a time. Especially to a far-seer.”
“What are you saying?”
“That while you are a very handsome young man, the prophecy had nothing to do with your physical appearance. It meant that you will play a deeply profound role in this generation.”
“Why . . .” I looked down at my hands, which I’d knit together so hard that I could see blue veins through pale flesh. “Why wouldn’t you tell me this before now? Do you have any idea how often I’ve been mocked for that? My entire life?”
“Because it’s a heavy secret, Rune. And you’ve spent enough time with Quinn to understand that telling people their future can often times change it. Sometimes, to ensure the best possible outcome, one must be left alone to fumble through the dark. I apologize if I made a mistake— really, Rune, I do—but I felt you weren’t ready to know the whole truth.”
“Why tell me now, then?”
“Because I heard what you told the Hanged Man. In this very room.” I knew exactly what he meant. I hadn’t known I was overheard, though. I’d said: And think on this. I know a lot of prophets. I am hip-fucking-deep in prophecies about my future. Are you? Are there any prophecies about your future?
Slowly, I unclasped my hands, and shook the blood flow back into my fingers. “I think I get it,” I said.
“I suspect you do. I suspect it’s why you made the decision you did. Claiming the throne wasn’t a spontaneous decision. You did it because you knew dangerous events were spinning closer and closer around you.”
“Something is coming, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I believe so, yes.”
“You know a lot more than you’re going to tell me, don’t you?”
“Smart boy,” he said softly. “You must fumble through this dark. This is your generation, not mine. This is your story.”
Before the gravity of that sank too deeply on my shoulders, Lord Tower added, “But when the moment comes, I promise, I will walk by your side.”
The truth of the words passed by me like feathers, a manifestation of a vow. I blinked my eyes—which felt suddenly gritty—and managed a single nod.
Brand, Anna, and I joined a security team from the Crusader Throne, which was sifting through the ashes of the Dawncreek house.
Addam—of course—had loaned the security team to me, with his mother’s explicitly neutral approval. More surprising was that almost all of the guards were from the original team, which had lost two of their number in the explosion. I wasn’t sure if they were loyal to Addam, or just furiously determined about their losses, but Addam had made a few oblique comments about hiring them away from his mother.
Which led back to the consuming Question of the Day: hire them to what?
Could Sun Estate be saved? Where would I build my court? How would I finance that court? Even Corbie knew enough to tell me, point blank, “You’re a superhero. You need a lair.”
“That,” Brand said, and pointed at my face.
“What?”
“That look. That’s the reason the guards have come over twice asking if you needed them to find you a bathroom.”
“I’m just thinking,” I said defensively.
“You’re obsessing. And it can wait. Let’s just get this over with and head to the Enclave. We deserve a few days off.”
The this we needed to get over was a task I’d only described to Brand in general terms. There was something I needed to find here. Corbie and Anna had both insisted on coming, but in the end, I thought it’d be too much on the youngest. I tried to pull the same line with Anna, but she neatly responded with, “You wouldn’t tell your heir to stay behind. So I’m not your heir?”
It had become a theme. Last night I asked her if she had a bedtime, like normal kids. So I’m not your heir? This morning she wanted Brand to train her in using a knife, which I’d objected to. So I’m not your heir?
But in this, at least, she was right. If she was powerful enough to be my heir, she needed to be strong enough to deal with the sight of her burned house. I couldn’t keep her a kid any more than I could make the sun rise in the west. The Universe simply had other plans for her.
She was standing near the smoking ruins of her living room, well out of earshot. Her face was . . . Not blank. Not empty. There were so many emotions that the whole bundle of them had become a colorless gray. But she wanted this moment to herself, so I gave it to her.
“Okay,” I said to Brand. “A few days off. You’re right, we deserve it. And then when that’s done, we’ll need to figure out how the hell I’m going to support a court.”
“Because you shot Plan A in the gut,” he added, not helpfully.
Brand hadn’t been very happy with my decision to take the smallest piece of the Hanged Man’s spoils.
“Because I shot Plan A in the gut,” I agreed.
Brand settled into a grumbling simmer. It wouldn’t last long. He had something to say—I’d felt it move along our bond in a hesitant stop-start dance for a while now.
A minute later, he finally said, “Why didn’t you tell me your plan?”
“About taking the throne?”
“Yes, Rune. About taking the throne.”
“Embarrassing?”
“Yeah. I mean. Grrrrrr, I am the Sun of Atlantis.” I shook my head. “That’s the sort of pageantry we always make fun of.”
Brand stared at me for a bit, then shook his own head. “Humans don’t usually feel magic. Even Companions. We feel the effect of it, especially when you’re setting us on fire or stabbing us in the stomach with stalactites. But we don’t . . . sense it. The closest I’d ever come before this week was when I once pissed off Lord Tower and saw his Aspect.” Brand went a little pale at the memory. I didn’t blame him.
“Until this week?” I prompted.
“Until you. Until that moment, in the Arcanum, when you claimed your throne. I felt you. Not through our bond. I felt you. So don’t . . . Don’t demean the moment. Don’t take it away from all of us who watched it. Because it was fucking glorious.”
I swallowed and cleared my throat, and had to blink a few times.
When I was sure my voice was steady, I said, “I like you.”
“I like you too.”
And then . . . there it was. Right in front of me. The moment I’d been waiting for. The discussion I knew needed to happen.
I thought I’d be a lot more scared to talk about it, but that’s the funny thing about secrets. When they finally come out, they move too quickly to spare energy on anything except the momentum of unburdening them.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said.
He started staring at me again.
“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before, but . . . It’s not easy. It’s hard. It’s so hard to talk about what happened. About . . . that night. The night our court fell.”
His face had grown increasingly upset as I spoke. “Rune, no. Fuck, you’re so sad right now. I can feel it. You don’t have to—”
“You know about my apartment in LeperCon,” I blurted.
The Hanged Man Page 37