Palatine First (The Aurelian Archives)

by Courtney Grace Powers

  “What?”

  “The Vee’s serum,” Gideon said dryly. “It about killed you. Should’ve killed you, the doc said. Settled for puttin’ you in a coma for four days instead.”

  Well, that explained why Eldritch hadn’t taken Reece’s body when he’d had the chance. He hadn’t wanted to go down with the ship. Ha ha. “Four days!”

  “Yeah. The doc said somethin’ about a, uh…sim-bee-somethin’ relationship…” Gideon uncertainly shrugged a shoulder and glanced at Po, who helped, “He supposes Vees are slowly brought up on the serum, till their bodies and it kind of have a—”

  “Symbiotic,” Gideon remembered.

  “Yeah, a symbiotic relationship. You takin’ it all at once should have been fatal. They pumped everythin’ outta your stomach, and even then…” Po cringingly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You had us worried, Cap’n.”

  Reece considered that for a minute, made aware of the hollow emptiness in his stomach by Po’s words. It let out a mutinous grumble right on cue, and Po, smiling, stood up and left to fetch him a tray of food. Reece was glad for a minute alone with Gid—he had a lot to sort through, and Po’s glowing smiles could be distracting.

  “Hayden?” he asked, and then after a pause added, “Nivy?”

  “Both fine. Aitch got pretty roughed up, but they let him outta here yesterday, so he must be on the mend.”

  Reclining in his pillows with a sigh of relief, Reece asked, “What happened? I thought we were scrap metal.”

  Gideon just looked at him blankly, then stood, wandered to the other side of the sparsely-furnished chamber, and returned with a wrinkled evening newspaper. He unfolded it and snapped it open so Reece could see the front page, decorated with, “Palatine Second Pilots Burning Heliocraft to Safety”.

  “There are more,” Gideon said, handing over the paper with an unreadable look on his face. “All namin’ you the hero’a Parliament. Not one person died in the crash, though the hospitals are still pretty well stocked. You landin’ in the lake saved all our necks.”

  Reece gave a low whistle as he scanned the article, admittedly a little proud. The writer of the article rambled on and on not only about him “valiantly steering the dying Jester to a gentle touch-down”, but about him saving the duke from an assassination plot hatched by persons yet unknown, though it was implied Eldritch was involved in the scandal. Most of the article was bogrosh—especially the bit that mentioned Reece was a handsome, strapping six foot two inches tall (he was only five foot eleven)—but that was likely for the better. The public wasn’t ready for the truth about The Kreft.

  “What about the duke and Abigail?”

  Gid shrugged, staring at nothing. “They’ll be alright.”

  Something about the way he said it made Reece cock his head and frown. Meeting his eyes, Gid sighed, “Liem’s dead, Reece.”

  Reece’s empty stomach twisted as he dropped his head into his pillows and glared up at the ceiling. Something indefinable broke off inside of him; he felt the jagged edge it left behind, unsmoothed, rough, and sharp. Liem, dead. It would have been easier to swallow if he could just picture Liem shaking hands with The Kreft, agreeing to help kill his own father…but all he could see was his stepbrother as a kid, grudgingly playing magnetic blocks with him. No matter where Liem had ended up, he had had the same humble beginnings as Reece, the same chance at different choices. There would be no more choices, now. His last had been his most important, and it had been costly.

  Gideon slowly updated him on everything else, but Reece only half listened. Robert Gustley hadn’t turned up on the airship, or anywhere else, and Parliament had put a steep reward on his head. That had been the duke’s idea. Apparently Parliament was groveling to get back in his good graces, now that Eldritch’s threats of blackmail and murder held no water. They had even heard his proposal regarding the disbanding of The Veritas.

  “That’s another thing,” Gid said with a foreboding scowl, “the Vees have disappeared.”

  Reece bolted upright, gasped at the stitch in his side, and repeated as he massaged it, “Disappeared?”

  “Yeah. Parliament sent ambassadors to them to talk about the duke’s proposal…but The Tholos Stone or whatever they call it was abandoned. And the apothecary’s gone. The bleedin’ cowards, they’re prolly halfway across Epimetheus by now.”

  “Probably,” Reece repeated quietly. “Let’s hope they didn’t go looking for The Kreft.”

  They gave that a moment of solemn silence.

  “Look,” Gideon began after a time. He sat on a neighboring mattress that had been stripped of its bedclothes. The springs squeaked beneath his weight. “I know you haven’t had much time to think on it, but I’ve gotta know.”

  Reece studied him curiously. “Know what?”

  “What’s next. The Kreft are still out there. Most’a the planet doesn’t know about them, but Parliament, they’re catchin’ on to the duke’s urgings. It’s come out that Eldritch was the one who wanted to build our armies, but the armies are still bein’ built. Only now, instead’a bein’ used by The Kreft, they’ll be used against them. There’ll be a war. Just not the way The Kreft figured.” Gideon hesitated, and then said in a gruffer voice, “I can’t fight in the war, but dirt if I’m gonna be useless when it comes. With Panteda…not doin’ anythin’, even against a lost cause, was almost worse than the thing itself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gideon grappled with his words for a moment, a fold of wrinkles deepening between his eyebrows. “Mordecai can tell you how it happened, but he can never tell you how it was. Waitin’ on an airship, chosen to be sent to safety, me because I was a kid, him because he’d been wounded…and lookin’ out the window, watchin’ my whole world fail. I know there was nothin’ I could’ve done, but I at least… I should’ve…”

  “Gid, you said it yourself,” Reece said carefully, “you couldn’t have done anything.”

  “But I should have!” Gideon snapped. His face softened after a moment of stiffness, and his shoulders slumped, defeated. “I’ll always feel like I should have.”

  Reece absently rubbed his bad shoulder and frowned at his friend. “Why are you telling me this now?” He weakly teased, “I’m not going to die, right? This isn’t a deathbed confession?”

  Gideon shrugged uncomfortably, still not meeting his eyes. His dark hair looked like he’d run his hands through it all night. “You ever wonder why I became friends with you and Aitch?”

  “I was kind of hoping it was our winning personalities.”

  With a snort, Gideon replied, “It was seein’ you save him, on Bus-ship Ten, when no one else gave a second look at the kid with the pail and the ugly bifocals.” Squinting up at the cloud-patterned ceiling, he let out a heavy breath. “I’ve promised myself I’ll never do nothin’ again. If you go off to war—”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” Reece interrupted, and Gideon looked at him sharply. “I have a promise to keep, too. The Aurelia belongs to The Heron, Gid. I told Nivy I’d take her home, and I will.”

  For a moment, Gideon studied him fixedly, almost as if expecting Reece to take back what he’d said. Then the chamber door reopened, and Po entered with a hum, bearing a wide silver tray stacked with food enough for the three of them. She set it at the foot of Reece’s bed, making the toffee-colored juice in the curvy glass pitcher jump and splash. Iced chocolate tea.

  “It’s lucky you woke up today,” she chatted as she handed Reece a plate of fruit, bread, and cheese. “It’s the first day since you were brought in the corridors aren’t chalk full’a visitors.”

  Reece stacked the cheese on the still-steaming bread and packed it into his mouth. “Like who?” he asked, imagining the sorts of rabid fans the newspaper article would have brought. Hopefully they weren’t admitted to see him in his scanty bed robe.

  “Hayden’s family, and your parents, for a little bit…though they’ve been pretty busy since the masquerade, you can imagine. Mordecai a
nd Nivy keep tradin’ shifts with Owon—”

  Reece choked noisily on his bread, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he shot Gideon a wild look. Gideon flushed.

  “Me and Aitch filled her in,” he grumbled and accepted a plate of food from the smugly-smiling Po. “Seemed like we ought to, after everythin’ she already knew from the masquerade. Besides. She’s pushy.”

  “Anyways,” Po went on, “they keep tradin’ shifts so they can come see you, so Nivy should be here any minute now. All your tutors came through—even Agnes—and a lot’a people from The Owl, and even some from The Guild House! Oh, and your friend,” she said casually, but watching his face intently. “What’s her name? Scarlet?”

  Reece nodded. “So where are they today?”

  “Well,” Po suddenly looked cautious, “the snows are keepin’ most people at home with airship problems. Actually, if I’m not back to the shop soon, Gus and Tilden will likely tie my braid in a knot.”

  Twisting uncomfortably, Reece glanced out the oval window over the spare bed. Snow was piled high on the sill, and more was dropping outside, great, cottony tufts of it.

  “And, um, today is...the funeral. Liem’s, I mean.”

  Reece could have sworn he felt his stomach shriveling; his hunger went out like a snuffed candle. He decisively put his plate on his nightstand and used his free hands to rub his tired eyes. He hadn’t been to many funerals—just his grandparents’, and Scarlet’s father’s—and the thought of attending his own stepbrother’s when what seemed like only hours had passed since he’d last seen him was so surreal it fogged his mind.

  “It ain’t bein’ made real public…and the duke, he didn’t tell anyone about what Liem did,” Po said gently, chasing her fruit around her plate with a fork.

  Gideon, eying Reece, grunted, “Do you wanna go?”

  Reece drew a breath that stretched the aches in his ribs. “Yes.” He kicked back his blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed, briefly distracted by how thin they looked. Then he remembered Po could see them too, and he belatedly yanked a blanket over his lap, holding it like a towel around his waist as he stood and wobbled. “I should be there.” He knees buckled, nearly giving out, and Gideon caught him by the arm, slinging it around his shoulders like a yoke.

  “I’ll come with you. Make sure you don’t steal the show by fallin’ over your own feet.”

  “You don’t—” Reece started, and then thought the better of it. “Thanks,” he said instead, meaning it.

  Gideon made a never mind noise and half dragged him towards the chair in the corner that was piled with a few clean sets of clothes. “I’ll have to borrow a suit,” he mumbled.

  “It’ll be too small.”

  “I’ll slouch.” Straightening up, Gideon pointedly jerked his chin, and Reece glanced over his shoulder, wincing as his neck muscles balked.

  Nivy was leaning in the chamber doorway, as silent as ever, her eyes holding him. He said nothing, just smiled tiredly in greeting, and she smiled back, the smile of an ally.

  The three of them went to the funeral alone, and stood inconspicuously off to one side of the casket, on a small rise beneath a bare-branched oak tree that hid them from most stares. All throughout the ceremony, Reece felt as if he were dreaming awake. He didn’t move forward to scatter rose pedals on the closed amber coffin with everyone else, didn’t raise his hand in salute when it was lowered into the hard, snowy ground. Something kept nudging him inside, telling him to say goodbye, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Those nudges scraped the raw edges of whatever had broken off inside of him when he’d heard Liem was dead, and the deep, internal stinging was all he really felt.

  The duke and Abigail stood nearest to the rectangular hole in the ground, Abigail in a black veil that draped to the ground and unfurled like a banner when the wind gusted. Reece couldn’t see their faces, but more than once, he thought he felt the duke’s eyes graze the shadow of the tree…and he felt warmer inside for it. Things were never going to be the same, but in some ways…that gave him hope.

  He listened to the bland voice of the long-faced speaker and had to keep swallowing impatient sighs. A life of sacrifice, giving…”unwavering conviction”. Lies meant to make the people in attendance feel better. He wondered if the duke and Abigail felt as badly as he did, hearing those lies. It was hard to imagine what that would feel like.

  The funeral ended, and the crowds scattered, some people lining up to offer the Sheppards their condolences, others seeking the warmth of the mansion or wandering curiously in the direction of Emathia’s flooded lake, where the battered Jester was still roped off, the last shreds of her ravaged balloon deflated over her like a blanket.

  Reece tugged up the collar of his jacket to block cold wind and unwelcome glances alike. For a time, he stood there with his good hand on his collar and stared at Liem’s grave without really seeing it. Slowly, feeling returned to him. Cold as it was, he still felt as if he were melting, and all his stiffness was leaking out around his feet. He shut his eyes and let out a breath that haloed around his head.

  When he turned around, he had an audience.

  Nivy and Gideon were there, sitting with their backs against the gnarled oak, but so were Hayden, Hugh, Sophie, Po, and Scarlet. He looked at them one at a time as the wind roughed up his hair. Hayden, wearing a long dark overcoat and hobbling on a pair of wooden crutches, smiled and nodded at him encouragingly.

  “What are you doing here?” Reece asked.

  The others exchanged uncertain looks.

  Pushing his bifocals up the bridge of his nose with a finger, Hayden asked, “Where else would we be?”

  Reece looked at Po, and she shrugged, stepped forward, unwound her red scarf from around her neck, and looped it instead around his. “This was more important than any old shop. Gus and Tilden…they’ll understand.”

  “You didn’t have to come. None of you did.”

  “That’s kind of the point, Reece,” Scarlet said patiently. She stood a little apart from the others, stealing surprisingly insecure glances at them when they weren’t looking.

  Not sure he understood, Reece absently reached up and scratched at the wool scarf. His friends’ stares were expectant in a wary way, as if he was a geyser in a Freherian deadland liable to explode if they didn’t tread just so.

  “Thank you,” he finally sighed, smiling an unintentionally-lopsided smile. “I’ll be fine.”

  But if they managed one more knowing, seven-way look, he really was going to explode.

  “Of course you will.” Sophie stomped through the snow that nearly spilled over into her bluebird-egg-colored boots and hugged him. “It gets better, Reece,” she whispered, and despite her smile, her voice caught. “The emptiness, I mean. I remember. From Mother.”

  “Does it?” he asked doubtfully.

  “It does,” she promised. “It fills back up, if you let it.”

  As if directly connected to the pressure of her arms around his middle, a lump bobbed into his throat. It didn’t feel like he’d refill. It felt like a leak had sprung inside of him that would slowly tap him dry.

  Clearing his throat, Reece patted the top of Sophie’s head and resignedly pushed her out to arm’s length.

  “You should go inside,” he said, sweeping his eyes over the rest of his friends so they’d know they were included in that almost-order too. “I didn’t know this, but apparently, it’s customary to serve profane amounts of food at funerals. You should see it all. Clam chowder, stuffed shells, hot lemon pudding…” When they just stood there, their faces collectively sympathetic, he exasperatedly tossed up his unslinged arm and groaned, “Just go, alright? I’m fine.”

  They obeyed, if grudgingly, starting with Sophie. Hugh, Scarlet, and Po each had a hug and a quick, warm word for him, and Po even came back for seconds before she hurried after the others with a face as red as her scarf. Nivy was the last to go, with an extra penetrating glance in his direction and a nod he took to say, “W
hen you’re ready.” Right.

  Surprisingly, he did feel better by the end of the little procession. He was a long way from jumping around and dancing, but he really was fine. Just focused. And cold, now that the feeling had come back into his extremities. It was nearing on dusk, and even though it had stopped snowing, there was enough wind to make him think longingly after the hearth in his mansion bedroom and the hot soup the guests inside were no doubt tucking into. Maybe there’d be some left. A gallon or so would suffice.

  Gideon’s hand clapping his shoulder buckled his knees, and he jumped.

  “Hey,” Gid said, almost cheerful, “we’ve got somethin’ for you.”

  “Huh?”

  “What, you think a funeral alone would be enough to get Aitch outta bed? He’s been makin’ such a bleedin’ fuss about his foot, you’d think—”

  “I came for the funeral!” Hayden exclaimed indignantly before glancing at Reece and earnestly insisting, “I came for the funeral.”

  “What are you talking about?” Reece tiredly laughed.

  Hayden juggled his crutches for a second, propping one against the oak tree while balancing on the other and digging inside his patched jacket. “I hope this is alright,” he began, sounding nervous, “they wanted to make it a ceremony, but I thought—what?” he demanded of Gideon, who had coughed noisily.

  Gid lowered his voice as if Reece wasn’t a mere two feet away from him. “Maybe I should do it.”

  “I thought we agreed I would.”

  “Yeah, because you bullied me into it.”

  “I bullied you? You—” Sighing, Hayden hung his head in surrender and held out in a fist whatever it was they were arguing over. “Go ahead.”

  Reece watched, confused and amused, as Gideon discreetly took the thing from Hayden and straightened up as if to make a presentation. He went so far as to clear his throat and open his mouth before hesitating and frowning down at his big, cupped hands.