Call of the Chosen- Broken Kingdoms

by Michael DeSousa

  “Who are these people,” she whispered, hesitant to leave the lift.

  “Some of them are Governors and their spouses. Others are potential Regents of various future protectorates under consideration,” he said, not answering her question at all. “There has been a bit of excitement here on the island, but His Majesty would not turn you away.” Zana caught a bit of annoyance in those last words. Cyne walked out. “Please follow me, Princess.”

  Zana looked herself over, ruffling out creases in her ankle-length dress and white blouse that thankfully covered the unflattering bodice. Painfully under dressed, she thought about pushing the button and returning to her room but then a loud voice caught her attention. “Cyne! Finally, you’re here! Did you have to build a set of stairs up here?” Jovial. Mocking. Unpredictable. Big Sig.

  “Uh, no, Your Majesty,” his eyes shifted to her, no doubt seeing her discomfort. She could almost see a slight grin tugging at his otherwise relaxed mouth. “I have Princess Zana Ladress the Second here for you.”

  “All that? Quite formal,” Sig said curiously from out of her view. Zana stepped back deeper into the lift; maybe after a brief ‘talk’ with her brother she could go back to her room and change. “So that little archduchess joke didn’t go well, did it?” A joke? She almost shouted, feeling a mixture of relief and aggravation. Breakfast promised to be fun, she thought sarcastically.

  “Uh, no, it didn’t, Your Majesty,” he looked at her again, this time with a flat expression.

  Sig finally came into view. “Hello, Your Highness,” he said before bowing and drawing the attention of some of the dignitaries. He smiled, showing wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and forehead under Father’s black hair and their mother’s blond highlights. A thick short beard clung to his face with graying sideburns, but his hazel eyes were surprisingly lucid, considering how ‘ill’ he must have been the night before. She couldn’t help but let a smile out herself, for a much as Landrie acted like their father, Siga looked more like him, and it softened her a bit to see he wore casual clothes too, except of course, he wore his circlet on his head.

  She grabbed her hips. “Cyne said you were going to be late.”

  “I hurried.”

  “And that we were having breakfast alone.”

  He reached out his hand for her. “I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped. I had already postponed this appointment once before.”

  She still hesitated, fluffing invisible dirt off her blouse. “You could have told me you were expecting others.”

  Sig waved his hands at his own attire. Grey pants, white silk shirt that flapped in the wind. “They dress for us, Za’nina. Not we for them. Besides, my little sister can look beautiful in anything.” He reached his hand out again. With a huff, she took it and joined him outside. “Everyone, my lovely sister has finally arrived,” he announced raising her hand in his. “Don’t any of your try to steal her away, now.” All those there paused their conversations for a moment and raised their glasses. She returned with a wave and smile, trying keep herself from blushing with embarrassment. “In a few short moments, we will begin.” Begin? “Cyne,” Sig called before pointing to Tower One, the tallest of the towers on Look Out, which stood boldly a great distance at the other side of the palace. It rose some twenty stories taller and, up on top, barely in view, was another of Big Sig’s ideas, a telescope pointed to the heavens. She could barely make out people bobbling above the parapets.

  Cyne immediately went off and unrolled a small yellow flag, waving it about toward that the tower.

  “Begin what,” Zana leaned into her brother. “Please, no surprises.”

  He ignored her, opening his hand toward an empty table in the center of a cluster of tables. “Hungry,” he asked. She eyed him a moment before sitting down, her brother pushing the chair underneath her. “I thought you were ill last night, but you look healthy.”

  “Well, I lied,” he said, sitting down beside her instead of the opposite side of the table. “Or better yet, an excuse. Yes, excuses are better than lying, aren’t they?”

  “Generally,” she said with concern. Maybe he wasn’t well. Maybe this time, it was his mind that weakened and not his body.

  “Yet, what are excuses but just rationalized lies,” she tested him, but he ignored her. Instead, he rose an arm to one of his servant who immediately rushed over.

  “What will you be having, Your Graces,” the servant asked.

  “Well, that depends,” Sig replied, glancing a look at Cyne. Cyne fanned his fingers out. “I suppose we have a few minutes. I’ll have a vegetable drink, heavy tomato and dash of red summer. …Wait, reverse that. Dash of tomato, heavy red summer.”

  “Isn’t it early for red summer,” she asked, bumping her arm against his.

  “It’s late somewhere. Besides, it’s been a …hectic few days and today —in few minutes— I’ll need it.” So that’s it. He wasn’t frail at all, just occupied with a new device. She gazed over to Tower One, seeing small black figures against the blue sky rushing around. The telescope jetting up behind them.

  “That’s not where you should be looking,” he said.

  “Where then?”

  “To Syven, he wants to take your order.”

  She blinked a few times. “Oh, yes, thank you. Uh, I’ll have the same.” The servant said some obligatory acknowledgment, but Zana couldn’t keep her eyes off the other tower. What had Sig built now? Did he manage to figure out how to breath more life into Sea Roar?

  “I see it’s been a ‘hectic’ week for you too,” he said, leaning back on his seat while looking intently at her. She noticed her focus drifting and thoughts began to wander—

  She smacked her lips. “Don’t,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

  “Don’t?” He flashed his eyebrows, smiling sheepishly.

  “If you’re trying to read my mind, you know I’ll be able to read yours too, dear brother. Any secrets you wish to share. Hmm?”

  He laughed. “OK, O. K,” he raised his palms in surrender. “We’ll use boring old words then. So…inefficient. I was hoping we could have a little fun with my guests. What happened to those conversations we used to have when you were little? You leading me around the gardens, drinking imaginary tea, pretending to be a mage princess. I think I walked you down the marriage aisle at least a dozen or so times. Who was your imaginary husband? Oh, I remember—”

  “If you think you’re being funny—”

  “I am being funny.”

  She pouted, crossing her arms. “What I remember is that we stopped having those mental conversations about the same time you were courting Alia Belefont. I remember some of your thoughts about her being—”

  “Wow, Z,” he chuckled and exposed his neck to her. “You really go right for the jugular, don’t you?”

  “You started it,” she said, smiling triumphantly.

  “Yes, yea, I did,” he replied, glancing around him while tapping his finger on the table. “How was your trip here,” he asked with his attention elsewhere. “Not too eventful, I hope.”

  “No, no. Pleasant.” She looked around too, trying to figure what Sig was looking for.

  “And, our ‘governess?’ She came too?”

  “Who?”

  “Lady Fiora Cortress,” Sig whispered.

  Zana chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Yes, Fiora came and she still wants a word with you.”

  “She had her chance when we were little. Tell her I’m busy.”

  “You might insult her. She’s pretty old now, you wouldn’t want her last memories of you to be sour.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first person,” he muttered with a grimace. She cursed herself for saying that. He and mother parted on sour notes too. “How are the other ladies doing? Well, I hope,” he changed the subject while squinting his eyes on the other tower and mouthing numbers.

  “Ladies? There are quite a few engagements I have to plan,” she replied as vague as possible. Despite her brot
hers’ break up, the ladies from all over the Ladress Kingdom still came to the Holy City and she welcomed them: her prime source of information. Although Makim’s wife, Sabina, hadn’t come for any dinner parties in a while now. She meant to check up on that. Never enough time. “Receptions, plays, festivales. Charities and our own ‘little empire building.’”

  He looked at her longways, screwing his lips in sarcasm.

  She scrunched up her nose at him. “I can’t have ambitions of my own?”

  “No,” he said with a sharp point. She couldn’t tell if he was serious or playing a joke.

  “No?” She tested.

  He mocked a deep frown at her. “Look how much fun I’m having with my ambitions. Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up, Za’nina.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to—” she stopped herself.

  “Not going to what?”

  Not going to conquer other lands, she intended to say. “Stop growing,” she said instead. “It’s autumn, a very busy time for us. Harvest has already begun and so has some of the festivities. …You missed the Golden Lady’s Festival,” she said slowly, testing him, trying get a hint of how he would react if she let Mak enter her city.

  He snapped a cold look at her. “Ask your brothers,” he said coolly.

  Damn. That settled that. She wouldn’t tell him now, she decided, not about Makim. Not now at least. Maybe when Sig feels more relaxed, she’d try again. Maybe, the only price Sig would ask for would be to let him see Mother too. She could manage that secret against the other three much better than hiding Mak from Sig.

  Sig’s foot tapped against the stone floor as he stared at Tower One, losing himself in the view. Then suddenly, “How’s Landrie, Advin and Makim,” he said in a casual tone. But she knew better. The corners of his lips tugged down slightly, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and not for focusing on the distance tower.

  “Well, well, they’re doing well. We were together a couple of week ago.”

  “Unusual. So soon?”

  “Yes, well. Mak had a very good year for his wine,” she excused. “He was excited to share.”

  “Odd,” Sig answered. “I haven’t seen anything new from his distributors. Good for him. I don’t blame you for trekking out to see them, if he was cooking… he was cooking, right?”

  “Oh yes, yes. He did.”

  “Glad he still has the stamina for it.”

  Dancing around the subject, she now wanted to tell him to the whole truth, if just to unburdened herself of Mak’s terrible secret. But they hated each other now, and years of resentment have built up such high walls over what? Mother’s assassination that could have been nothing more than a stray arrow by some reveler? No, she didn’t believe it was a stray arrow either. But Zana couldn’t do everything, be everything for everyone. Why didn’t Sig look for the real killer? Too busy being ‘world-defender.’ Why couldn’t her other brothers look for the killer. Too busy conspiring against Sig. Her own investigation came up with nothing, but by the time she gained full authority over the Holy City, the killer’s trail had become colder than the sea. All she found out was the poison on the arrow, Valerian, too common to be any good. If she was any more cynical, she’d believe it was all planned by that assassin to break up the family …too cynical or too afraid to consider it? She didn’t want—

  “It’s fine, Z,” he said, giving her a wide smile.

  She relaxed her expression, realizing she had been frowning.

  “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with. I’m just happy you’re here.”

  “No, no, it’s alright,” she replied, knowing from experience staying silent only made Sig’s mind go to darker places. Thankfully, Syven, Sen, or whatever his name was returned with a large bowl of the drink they ordered and two empty glasses.

  He preceded to pour for them. “Your Majesty, I took the liberty of bringing out a decanter. I hope it’s to your liking.”

  “Always thoughtful, thank you,” he said, then muttered, “If this doesn’t work, I’ll need it.”

  Before Zana could asked him what he meant by that, he raised his glass to meet hers. “Same old toast.”

  “Yes of course. To our family reunion.”

  He snorted before taking in a big gulp, his foot still tapping the ground. He readjusted himself on his seat before running his hands through his hair. Whatever he was worried about caused his old tick to appear, his fidgeting.

  She took a drink. Delicious, hearty, yet mild with spice, but deceptively alcoholic. She’d have to be cautious. This wasn’t the Red Rock with Landrie and the others. At least they were not actively trying to annex the Holy City. Sig was. She placed the drink down. “What treat are we in for,” she asked.

  “First,” he said. “Since you said it was alright. What are they up to these days? Lan, Ad and Mak?”

  Despite herself, she took another drink. “Oh, they’re well… Landrie’s still mining. Advin’s industry is doing well, moving more toward machine parts now—” Sig grinned. Under the armistice, Ad had to change much of his industry to supply Sig. “And Mak has his produce.”

  “I know how their industries are doing,” he said, turning back to the tower across the expanse. “How are they personally?”

  She stared at her drink, turning the glass in semi-circles. How should she answer? That Mak was dying, seeing visions of the Almighty’s return. That would certainly blaze Sig’s paranoia into a wildfire. She resisted a snort, thinking of how Gene would react when Mak tells her of his visions. He wasn’t convinced they were from the Almighty anymore, but who knows what Gene would think with her research on the Chills. She almost laughed. Gene and Sig seemed to share the same madness now. In another world, the two might have worked together. Now, Zana was the only sensible one.

  He leaned back, hands together behind his head. “Let me guess. Ad’s a bachelor, again, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. He. Is,” she groaned, hoping the subject would put him more at ease.

  Sig smiled, taking another deep drink. His tapping foot slowed. “I told you not to try. He never seemed all that interested in that…sort —no, that’s not right. He’s just more interested in efficiency and process. Remember that miniature ship we all had to build when we were little? After he built his, he wrote down a faster way and had ten hired hands build ten in half the time. ‘A good job shouldn’t be done twice,’ isn’t that what he always said? …I really wish he could be here. I could really use his help. I suppose I’ll settle on him making parts for me.”

  “I thought you contracted with him to make his land more depended on you.” She gasped, but it was too late. For a moment, she let herself feel too comfortable. She cursed the delicious drink, but took a another sip anyway to mask her flub.

  Sig laughed. “Is that what he thinks? Well, he’s partly right. And very smart man; he’s a Ladress, so I’m not surprised. His idea of contract work in tour rotations across the country was ingenious.”

  “I don’t think so,” Zana whispered, remembering the shanty town of displaced families settling around her Holy City, another mess waiting for her when she got home.

  “You’ve got only one city, Z. Imagine an entire country. By centralizing major works like mining and manufacturing and circulating workers around the country, local loyalties are discouraged, national allegiances are strengthened. Men and women from one part of the country mingle and mix with the other parts. Less of that feudal competition Father and Mother had to deal with. Nasty business having to rein in a lord or lady who’s become too big for their hill. Especially for Mother, after Father died, she had to…bare…her fangs…. I’m sorry, I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

  “No, no,” she forced a smile. Just seeing how short-sighted all of you are. “Sounds much like those Demos hypocrites. You remember what they did to Mother’s family and the other nobles on the other side of the mountains.”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, darkly. “But she would say good ideas are good id
eas despite where they come from, you know that.”

  She wanted to argue more about their disastrous tour-policy, but Sig seemed to have relaxed. And being relaxed meant she could learn more from him. Not that it made any difference if she did argue. She was their little sister stewarding over their prize, the Holy City. What leverage did she have over them? Lan, Ad, and Mak only cared for Sig’s head. Sig only cared for his empire-building. If she could deny them both what they wanted, maybe she could get them to listen.

  “But, it’s not what Father wanted,” he waved his drink between the two of them as his eyes grew dark and distant. “We both want the same thing, Z. You and me. We want the family together again.” Then he leaned and whispered. “Father knew it too. That we need a strong unified Ladress for when this so-called ‘Almighty’ returns and his ‘Vassals’ are exposed for what they really are. The Seven,” he mocked a laugh. “Culling the human race. I don’t doubt for a damn second that’s why Mother was killed.”

  Zana sipped, groaning inwardly. That again. Usually, she’d have a whole afternoon, maybe even up to the evening, without Sig spouting his insane blasphemes.

  “But, I don’t want to argue,” he said, leaning back again. “And I still want to ask…how angry are they with me now?”

  “Sig…I…”

  “I know, I know. Thank you for trying. They say time heals these sort of things, but I’m starting to think time just scars the wound. Just tell me what you can. Their hopes, goals?”