How would he tell Araa what happened to her? And what was in store for her? Even with his General Order, he still had to play the part —at least for his conscience. Explain to her what exposer to the Beast was doing to her, and her options, as false as they were. Glen warned him not to tell her, but how couldn’t he? He owed her that much to put her mind at ease. ‘It might scare her. Do more harm than good,’ Glen argued, and normally Ed would agree. Islanders weren’t the strongest of mind, always singing their mantras and meditating —more like daydreaming— their worries away. But shouldn’t she know what’s happening to her? What would happen to her? Even if it was just a lie? A lie…. He lied to Glen just now. And Doctor Alexander seemed less than uncomfortable in carrying out Ed’s order. If he faltered, and somehow Araa survived, Ed would have to— No, he stopped himself from going through with that line of thought. But she’d be a risk in any case. It wasn’t as if Ed could hide her under a basket; the damn girl had become ‘memorable.’ People would ask her questions. She’d blurt out what she saw out of politeness. Damn. Why did this happen now? Why couldn’t it happen in the spring when it didn’t matter? If word got out, Sig could be here in Ruby City with in the month. Doctor Alexander must kill in her sleep.
Ed startled himself. “Kill her in her sleep,” he whispered. And now that he heard himself say it, his entire body constricted. That’s what he thought before, wasn’t it? That this was murder. Wasn’t that what the nobles were ordering him to do? Ordering a soldier to commit murder. Ed snickered; they probably didn’t the difference. Murder a poor girl because she happened to stumble upon their secret. What other choice did he have? To risk her actually surviving the operation….
But then a thought began forming in his mind, then a plan: a way for the Doctor to keep his conscience clean and for Ed’s lie to Glen be absolved. A smile crept on his lips. He could even make amends to Ninn too —in a way. He could give Araa a choice: to stay or to try to make it back home to die there. She wouldn’t make very far, Ed knew. The nearest island was more than a month away, far too long before she succumbed. And without help, she wouldn’t even make it anywhere near Faf’r or Sat’r. She wouldn’t even make out of the piedmont. But, at least she would die striving for home instead on the Doctor’s table under the guise of being helped, the excavation secret would remain safe, his and the doctor’s conscience would be satisfied, and Glen would never know.
But uneasiness filled his stomach at the idea. It meant he would have to let her go, help her out of the jails. He remembered how weak he was even weeks after the surgery. And if they found her alive and he was found out, he’d lose his command, his chance to fight the Empire, his chance to confront Sera. He’d lose everything.
Just an idea, he told himself, to be mauled over.
Pleased, Ed took in the sereneness of the wood. The birds had quieted. The breeze had died and only his slow breath puffing out fog made any noise. Peaceful, he thought. He reached up to above his right eye, feeling the start of a scar that stretch to the top of his head –the Doctor’s operation to remove the tumor. Araa would have gotten the same. It was supposed to cure him, but instead, he felt empty. No, like something was taken from him. What the hell happened to me?
Dread welled up in him. His hands shook as a wave of anxiety washed through him. He leaned his hand against a tree, just letting the sensations pass through him. Wave after wave. It will pass. Stop fighting me. He shut his eyes tightly, repeating his mantra. I’ve been cut. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.
It will pass. He snickered at the thought that he was actually using mantras. It will pass. Maybe those Islanders we onto something. And that realization calmed him. His heart slowed. His breathing deepened. The sense of danger passed. The chirping of birds came to his ears as did also the neighing of horses. He balled his fatigued hands into fists and watched the trembling subside, the muscle weakness fade. He clenched his jaw. “It was my fault, Araa,” he said. “I failed Ninn too. But, at least I can give you a choice.”
Part Two: Decision
8
Princess Zana Ladress II: The Eldest Brother
“Good morning, Mister Blue. Cyne tells me you’ve become lucid again. I’m glad. I would like to continue our talk from last time. Is that alright with you?”
“…”
“Wonderful. Now, as I recall, we were speculating as to why you’re unaffected by the Sea Roar Beast here on the island and how we can use that fact as a remedy should anyone be exposed. As you can see. I’m in a suit. You are not. What do you believe is your connection to this thing?”
“…”
“Don’t remember? It keeps you grounded? Stuck? Prison? Not a prison. A duty? Imposed by whom—”
“…”
“Who betrayed you? How did you survive?”
“…”
“Please. Mister Blue. We both can see that you have not been killed. Yes, yes. I already know your mind is frayed and disjointed. Looking into your mind’s eye is like looking into a pond stretched to fill an ocean. Thoughts seem so far from each other. No reflection of yourself, long incoherent inner speech. Yet, here you are, communicating into my mind. You certainly are something of a mystery.”
“…”
“Others? Who’s in danger? Eventide? You can’t be serious. Well, I’m sorry to say we only found you—“
“You have to find her! I don’t know what he’s doing to her. Don’t know who else survived. So much time is lost. So much left to do. We can’t let this world be Silenced too.”
“I have to fine her? Me? Why me?”
“Because, you are the one I choose this time. You are my Champion to your people. We have a lot of work to do, Champion.”
-Conversation between Siga and Mister Blue
Zana drummed her fingers on the windowsill overlooking a majestic blue sea —the Knives’ Sea— known for its difficult navigation, but today, they shimmered like a bedecked dress, sparking in rippling waves against the early morning sun, hiding their danger. The suite Big Sig had given her this time was high in the second tower of his island’s fortified palace —the Look Out, he called it. A ‘look out’ conjured images of her brothers building small tree-branch forts in the forests outside the Holy City, but this certainly was not a simple ‘look out.’ Its bold architecture might even have made Landrie redden with envy with all its blue dyed…everything: blue mortar, blue drapes, blue wood, stones, and carpets. All in varying shades and hues, but blue, black, and white seemed to be the theme here on the “Golden” Island —the theme of the Sea Roar. In unsurprising contrast to Landrie, nothing was adorned with gold or jewels, no obvious show of wealth, except for modern luxuries and technologies. A joke, she assumed, that same terrible sense of humor common among the her immature Ladress siblings.
Still, the island and this Look Out did take her breath away at times. Her brothers would have loved to see it; probably would have taken some cryptic notes for their own city planning if they’d been here —if they ever come here. What would it be like to be a normal noble family competing over prosperity, power and pride instead of blood, bitterness and backbiting? The family would be together; the country would finally heal. Their mother would be resting in peace. Maybe even Gene would be less…serious? No, zealous, Zana decided. And less dark. All she wrote about were dark things. But maybe even for herself, Zana would indulge in the luxuries of a normal life of a noble: find a good suitor, an honorable virtuous husband of good stock, start a family of her own, and expand the Holy City. A noble man from a noble house with noble ambitions, if such a person existed. Her little espionage always seemed to dash her opinions of people, something Fiora Cortress warned her about. She shook her head, banishing the thought. Stay in the present.
A knock came at the door. Sig’s Master of Servants, Cyne Munda, it could only be him. “Your Highness,” came that familiar slow and deliberate voice, a voice of a man that seemed to contemplate every word, making her always irritatingly insecure ab
out how she spoke. “May I come in?”
Zana closed her eyes. She and Big Sig never had their ‘brother-sister’ breakfast this early. Could it be her itinerary already? That would make sense; Sig always gave her one and it was ‘helpful’ to know where and how she had to spend her visit. “It’s unlocked, come in,” she said, hoping the intruder wouldn’t hear.
Zana sighed as the door clicked open. Be always proper, her mother would say, so she straightened her posture and turned to face him. Standing before her, erect as the building around her, was Cyne, wearing the same blue, black and white theme as the Look Out with his usual demeanor matching its impersonal foundation. If it hadn’t been for his darker skin, he’d blend in and disappear. Bald with a clean shave revealed angular and boney facial features. Although almost always as stoic as the fortress around him, he held his chin up slightly with eyelids slightly slitted in apparent boredom, or perhaps inquisitive. Yes, pretentiously examining and judging everything.
“His Majesty would like me to inform you that breakfast may be a little late today,” he said with all the assuming dignity she’d come to expect from those blessed by the King-Maker. The King-Maker, being the name of the Shard residing in their capital, Paulina’s Peak on the Highlands, blessed many of them with the ability to coerce emotions, even —if the stories were true— convince many of the legitimacy of one’s reign by projecting magnanimity, loyalty, strength of will on others, creating false, yet unbreakable, narratives. Even some of her potential suitors tried that craft on her. Idiots. Lady Fiora quite literally put the fear of death into them. Cyne, thankfully, never showed any sign of affecting her emotions —except one, her patience. No, he was just haughty, Zana decided, from the first moment she met him. But for all his arrogance, Cyne was much more consistent than Big Sig, and for that reliability at least, Zana did appreciate him.
“Is he still feeling frail this morning,” she asked. “Last night, you told me he wasn’t well enough to greet me and mine.”
“No, as a matter of fact, he is feeling much better,” he replied with a tone that seemed to suggest they were equals. Zana tried her best to keep her expression light. “But, pressing imperial matters needed his immediate attention.”
“Ah, well. I’m happy to hear he is well then. I’ll wait here till he’s ready.” She turned back to the window and the wonderful view sprawled out before her, but Cyne remained like a permanent shadow.
“His Majesty has asked me to escort you to the table to wait for him there,” Cyne said. “It’s a much more pleasant place than this room. You would enjoy it.”
“Oh,” Zana replied. Pretty presumptuous of him to think what she’d enjoy. She didn’t move, soaking in the cool breeze of the ocean from a high enough perch that only a hint of salty air reached her. Still, she wouldn’t mind leaving this room. As spacious and luxurious as it was, she was anxious to move about outside. To do something. Never mind that Cyne would probably plant his feet there waiting for her till Almighty returns. So, she walked over to the armoire and selected a light blue mantle for herself. Placing it on her shoulders, she told Cyne to lead the way. He bowed curtly, opening the door for her.
“Thank you, Cyne,” she said, passing into the warmth of the tower interior, a broad hallway that stretched the width of the tower. Zana walked to the opposite side, marveling at Sig’s gas lighting he had installed everywhere. So much more reliable than having one of her mages running around filling and refilling gems all the time. Big Sig offered to equip her palace with the lighting, but certainly, that would mean she’d have to buy the fuel from him. Not to mention the thought of having his so-called ‘engineers’ anywhere near her home unnerved her.
“Would you like me to schedule a demonstration of these lamps,” Cyne asked, joining her. “The manufacturing is done downtown, but we have a repair facility below us.”
“No,” she said, still debating. “But I would like to know how Sig comes up with these new mechanisms.”
“Ah,” he replied with a perk in his voice. “He is a brilliant man, but you would have to ask him how his mind works.” She let a slight smile creep on her lips, softening her eyes. Maybe, she could tease some information out of him.
“Cyne, yes I would like to know how these are made.”
He nodded stoically. “His Majesty would like that. These are one of his early works, and comparatively simple to understand.”
“Oh? Then these aren’t from the Sea Roar?”
Cyne turned away, leading her down the hall. “The artifact—”
Zana cleared her throat.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” he said, unapologetically. “I do not consider that object anything but an object. The gods, if they exist, shouldn’t have need of flesh, meat, rock, or otherwise.” For all his stoicism, Zana detected disdain in his voice. The King-Maker, as many of her prospecting suitors have told her, had selected a new ‘King’ around the time she ascended to the throne —a Prophetess, she was told— and Cyne had escaped the revolution. Perhaps his disrespect led their country’s patron deity to select a more devote sovereign.
“So, you’ve said before,” she replied. “But in my presence, you will address them as they are. Understood?”
“Whatever makes your stay more comfortable,” he said, omitting the honorific.
“Continue.”
“The Shard does not have any use for gas, so, no. His Majesty, along with his team, invented it on their own.” That didn’t answer her question, however. She knew Sig to be smart and an extremely skilled memorizer, but it seemed every visit he had some new device to show off. How did he have time to do it all?
Cyne led her down the empty hall so silent that she noticed the wind buffeting the walls outside.
Eager to question him again, she asked, “how many reside in this tower?”
Cyne, with his hands clasped behind his back, answered without turning around. “This tower is reserved for dignitaries. From base to summit, it can support one hundred and ninety-nine residents,” he said with a sharp point.
“And…”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “Yes?” As reserved as ever. Gossip from this man was as difficult as prying Makim from the kitchen. Her heart dropped. Makim, poor Makim. She still hadn’t decided what to reveal to Sig, but he’d definitely try probing her mind for anything. Put it out of your mind, she told herself. She had to be ready for him.
“Cyne, this tower is empty,” she continued. “I haven’t seen a soul. Where is everyone?”
“Most of the current visiting dignitaries happen to be elsewhere at the moment,” he answered, enigmatically. “Your retinue has been given lodge in the lower levels. If you require something, I’m sure I can help you.”
“That’s thoughtful of you, Cyne,” she said, trying to think of how to coach more out of him, but within moments, he led her to one of the tower lifts. She stopped before entering it. Powered by the Sea Roar, she couldn’t —wouldn’t step on it.
Cyne turned and as though guessing her thoughts said, “It’s the only way up from here.”
“No stairs? I walked up to this level.”
“No stairs,” he repeated with stubborn finality.
“Then I won’t join my brother for breakfast. He can come down here, if he wants, but I will not get on that lift.”
“Your Highness, His Majesty requires fresh air this morning to recover from yesterday’s frailty. Am I to say that the Archduchess won’t meet with him because of scruples?”
Zana jerked her head straight, blinking a few times. Keeping eye contact with this pretentious man was the only thinking keeping her in discipline. “Archduchess?” She even stuttered saying the word. Cyne opened his mouth— “No,” she quickly said. “Don’t explain.” She walked into lift and the door closed behind her. “I want a word with my dear ‘Archduke’ brother.”
“His title would be Emperor.”
“Push your damn button,” she hissed.
Cyne didn’t change his expr
ession, cool and indifferent, as he pushed some button on the wall and the lift began rising. “Are you not feeling well,” he asked.
“Why,” she snapped, trying to loosen her tight jaw.
“You appear flush. Perhaps the cool deck air would do you some good also.”
Her eye twitched. Cyne was testing her —always tested her— and worse, he seemed to be getting better at it. Were all people from the King-Maker’s lands so acidic or just those born with his blessing? Or was it his education in the Demos that made him so hostile toward her? Those anti-monarch propagandists poisoned his mind, yet he did respect her brother. Yes, that would be it: a distasteful joke from Sig. In whispers, he would call her ‘archduchess’ teasingly with undertones of the Holy City becoming part of his empire. But he knew Mother’s wishes. He knew the Holy City had to remain neutral. But now his servants were calling her that? How far did he intend to carry on his games? If rumors were to spread back home, she’d have to address it and threaten her vow of neutrality. Damn you, Sig.
“Cyne,” she said in a slow calm voice. “You do know how the titles and rights of the Ladress Family are conferred, don’t you?”
“I believe so.”
“Don’t call me archduchess again. I am a princess of my own sovereign land.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” he said, sounding more of acknowledgment than real understanding. Sig, I will respect Mother’s wishes even if I have to embarrass us.
Before long, a bell rang, and the lift slowed. The doors slid open to the chill of the morning air, revealing a great stone patio and a bright blue sky above; they had reached the tower’s summit. Tables and chairs sprawled the level and to her surprise, there were quite a few people lounging about. In groups of two or three, some reclined with beverages, others at table, while others stood by the tower’s parapet, overlooking the scenery. Not so ill last night to turn your guests away, were you, she thought. And they all seemed like important guests too. By their mien, she guessed them to be nobles, statesmen, and ambassadors, all wearing colors some she recognized, others she didn’t. Sig’s servants, wearing a simpler version of Cyne’s uniform, ran about the patio tending to them. Zana gripped her mantle, pulling it tighter across her chest. She was woefully under dressed, even forgoing her circlet. This was supposed to be a casual breakfast. So this is why the tower’s so empty. Everyone is here.
Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms Page 23