by Tammy Salyer
Still looking away, he gave a brief tip of his chin. “I know.”
There was nothing left for Eisa to say, and she’d already given her goodbye, such as it was. Turning to the scout, she climbed inside, closed the hatch, and began the task of getting power built up.
As she cranked the engine, she took a quick glance out through the window screen. The Wing was stepping back toward the shade-giving rock to escape any wash from the scout’s oscillating wings. His shoulders sagged. If you’re wise, Wing, you’ll remember this lesson, she thought coldly.
In moments she knew the work he’d done had been effective. The gears cranked as fluidly as if made of water, and in no time she had the craft in the air.
When Omina had grown small behind her, and her dealings with Rekkr were over for good, her chest finally released the tightness that had overcome her while discussing Mylla’s fate. The breath she drew wasn’t so much relief as it was resignation. If anyone were to ever pass judgment on her for her actions, none would be harsher than her own.
The moment of ambivalence was short-lived, however. Within an hour, the scout’s improved speed brought her within range of Asteryss City. Destruction spread out below her like a shattered clay goblet. She hadn’t seen any town so riven in many hundreds of turns. Even Yor’s own capital hadn’t been hammered as hard as Asteryss after the coup her lover had started that led to the Cataclysm. Eisa had assumed Balavad would take over Ivoryss the same way he had Yor. Through subterfuge, manipulation, and deceit. This all-out assault showed he’d known he would find what he sought here and had no patience to acquire it through slower means.
But it was what she saw beyond Asteryss in the Verring Sea that captured her full attention.
The Dyrrakium fleet, hundreds of ships, was amassed off the coast south of the cliffs where Vigil Tower stood. And in the air, several hundred Dyrrakium attack crafts circled the city. It was a magnificent fleet, an indomitable one, and a fleet the Dyrraks had been building for hundreds of turns for one purpose: dominion.
Chapter Fifteen
Brun dispatched a messenger to the council chamber to announce the Knights when they arrived. Soon, the doors swung wide from inside to welcome them. Beatte herself, wearing a light shift of mail just visible at the collar beneath her fine robes, stood there to greet them. Her black hair, elaborately decorated with diamonds and ribbons woven into its complex style, was pulled back so tightly the skin over her sharp cheekbones and edges of her lips was stretched taut. She was much paler than the last time Ulfric had seen her, but makeup artfully enhanced the richness of her umber hue.
Immediately, she caught sight of Safran’s two axes worn in her crossed baldrics and the hilt of Ulfric’s sword. The ancient hallowed weapon was Star Spark, Mylla’s sword and the sword that had helped them all discover Jaemus’s new status as a fellow Knight. Ulfric had adopted it for now, as his own, Light Spell, seems to have gone missing. Upon asking Brun, he’d learned Acolyte Irrick had given Symvalline the sword the day that Balavad’s Raveners has attacked Asteryss. Where the familiar weapon, one that had been by his side nearly as long as he’d been a Knight, was now, he couldn’t guess. He prayed Symvalline had it with her in Arc Rheunos.
After taking in the armed Knights, Beatte’s gaze fell on Brun, and none present could miss the censure in it. Her tone, however, was cordial. “I had hoped for the full complement of the Knights Corporealis, and our Verity Most High as well, to join this council, but I do not blame you for your caution. We must replant our gardens of peace one seed at a time. Welcome, Knight Glór and Stallari Aldinhuus, welcome. You do Ivoryss a great honor.”
The Arch Keeper neither knelt nor cast her eyes down before any other person in Vinnr, but when she dipped her head in a show of courtesy to them, Ulfric was astonished. Was her action a habit of having been brought up in the Resplendolent Conservatum—all Arch Keepers were chosen from among the acolytes—or a genuine gesture toward reconciliation?
Or, Ulfric’s cynical side offered, was she simply being cagey in order to lull them into easy manipulation?
Ulfric caught Safran’s glance as she sent, So, there’s confirmation. Your true nature is still secret. Nonetheless, neither could predict how this meeting would unfold.
The Arch Keeper had spoken in the Ivoryssian tongue, though it rang strangely to Ulfric’s ear. The Knights had grown used to speaking in Elder Veros for Jaemus’s sake.
Safran lifted her hand and held forward the Fenestros she’d brought, responding in Ivoryssian as well, “Greetings, Arch Keeper Beatte. I have not seen you since before you left the Conservatum. Almost thirteen turns ago, hasn’t it been? I wish the circumstances were not so somber, and on behalf of the Order, Stallari Aldinhuus and I extend our sympathies for all who have suffered and fallen throughout Ivoryss.”
The Arch Keeper’s eyes flicked more than once to the Verity stone as Safran spoke. The effect of the Knight’s voice echoing from within it would naturally take some getting used to, but Ulfric wasn’t sure if that was the Arch Keeper’s only cause for distraction.
Cagey, the word flashed through his mind again.
“Thank you, Knight Glór.” She looked at Ulfric curiously. “Those are unusual eye shields, Stallari. I trust they serve some purpose?”
Ulfric nodded and said, “They do.”
She waited a moment for more of an explanation but soon realized none was coming. “Very well. Please, come to the table. Refreshments have been prepared.” She turned and led them to the grand oval council table. A dozen seats extended down each side, and once the Arch Keeper took the head, she motioned Safran and Ulfric to the two immediately to either side of her.
The chairs provided were well cushioned, plush by anyone’s standards, and attendants moved smoothly from their posts along the walls of the room to assist them. A variety of court personalities, some graduates of the commoner branch of the Conservatum, whom Ulfric recognized but only knew by face not name, took the remaining seats. The far end of the table hosted someone unfamiliar, however. A Yorman, and clearly an important one.
Brun, not having received an invitation to sit, turned toward the west wall to take a position of waiting. The Arch Keeper stopped her.
“Commander, you are dismissed. See to it that we aren’t disturbed,” Beatte said crisply.
“Aye, Arch Keeper.” Brun’s reply was equally curt.
One less ally present. Ulfric cursed inwardly. This observation, as precise as it was, only brought greater anxiety. Silently, he thanked Brun for ensuring he and Safran had not been disarmed.
Once all were settled, the Arch Keeper spoke again. “I am sure most at the table here need no introduction.” Her meaning was clearly: I have no interest in introducing them. “Except for our esteemed guest from Yor. Newly appointed Arch Keeper Fergus.”
Both Safran and Ulfric rose from their seats and dipped their chins toward the round-nosed, ginger-bearded giant. “Arch Keeper,” they said together.
As the Yorish went, the man appeared the epitome of their stock. Pale and built lithely but robustly, with flashing gold eyes that showed a ruthless wisdom. With the exception of the ruthlessness, Ulfric imagined he might be looking at some many-turns-removed descendent of Mallich, the resemblance was so keen.
The Yorman also rose. His uniform, though made of plush fabric by a commoner’s standards, was purpose built. Woven in the deep greens and reds of his homeland, it was still equally suitable for fighting, working, or enjoying a dinner. Ulfric had a sense he’d like this man and his practical nature, though the Yorish had not been friendly with the Knights since the Cataclysm.
“Knights, I am most honored,” Fergus said in Ivoryssian, tipping his chin in acknowledgment.
His husky voice carried weight that Ulfric felt sure could be leveraged to strike fear if he chose to. His presence and title confirmed that their previous Arch Keeper had not survived Balavad’s sack of their kingdom. The Yor elected their leaders from among their own branch of the Conservatum, and only those
who excelled in both leadership and scholarship were considered. Given Fergus’s intimidating stature, Ulfric suspected his appointment had also been based on the kingdom’s need for more than symbolic strength in the position, therefore they’d chosen the most formidable representative they could.
All this aside, the real question was, what would the Yorish Arch Keeper be doing at the Ivoryssian mourning ceremony?
Once Fergus sat back down, he and Safran did likewise.
What do you think this is really about, Safran? he sent.
We’ll know in a moment, but based on the way Beatte eyed the Fenestros, I believe they are planning to invoke the old custom of the Armistice of the Stones.
The next moment, she was proved correct. “With deep sadness,” Beatte opened, “I want to acknowledge how much we’ve all suffered—too much—both as the singular kingdom of Ivoryss, and as Vinnrics as a whole. I’ve requested Arch Keeper Fergus to join us because it is no longer a possibility to consider our kingdoms divided. The peril from beyond is much too dire, and we know too little about it. From what our Yorish friends tell me, the damage we Ivoryssians suffered was indeed grave, but Yor lost even their renowned former leader, Colnach, along with most of their own naval forces. Many of their people, like our own, were rounded up by Balavad the Desecrator.
“For this reason, Knights of Vaka Aster, we intend to once more, after so many turns, call a worldwide peace under the sanctity of the Armistice of the Stones.” She looked to Safran, recognizing her position as speaker for the Knights with the ease of any skilled politician, and said, “Knight Glór, will you do us the courtesy of presenting the remaining celestial stones?”
She knows we haven’t brought them, Safran sent.
We shall remain forthright, he responded. Simply tell her the truth.
“As you must know, the celestial Fenestrii were one of the usurping Verity’s targets. The Knights have reclaimed them and will continue to guard and protect them against any such future threat. The one I am using today is the only stone among us.” Safran completed her statement by lying the Fenestros atop the table, still tucked beneath her palm.
Beatte’s lips pursed, pulling even more on the taut skin of her cheeks until no lines creased her face. She looked as though she wore a mask, a tool for concealment, though nothing about her simmering anger was hidden. She went on. “Our disappointment is heavy that the Knights did not have enough trust in us, in me, to fulfill my request to bring the Fenestrii to this meeting. No, don’t say anything, for I understand.”
She held up a hand to keep Safran from interjecting, though Safran had made no indication she was about to. The Knights would not bother giving platitudes or making excuses for the truth. The truth was, they didn’t trust the Arch Keeper, and there was no reason to lie about it.
And the Fenestrii—Ulfric had vowed during the chaos of these past days that he’d never let the celestial artifacts into the hands of commoners again. There was simply too much at stake with the power they held.
“But again, as I said, I can understand your hesitations. I’ve heard,” her tone dropped in sympathy, “that you also lost some of your own. Is it true?”
This gave Ulfric a start. Rumors had a way of growing like weeds, becoming more distorted as time passed, but he hadn’t anticipated this. He would have preferred their reduced numbers and the vulnerabilities this created be not widely known. But worse, Beatte had hit a painful mark. He didn’t need to be reminded of Symvalline or Mylla.
Beatte’s words, again, were intentionally vague. Did she know who among them was absent, what their actual numbers now were? The thought gave him an uncustomary moment of paranoia. Did spies walk inside Vigil Tower even now?
Attempting to remain impassive, Ulfric held his tongue as Safran relayed what was occurring back to Mallich and Stave through the Mentalios-Fenestros link.
“Knights?” Beatte inquired politely.
Safran turned her dark eyes on the Arch Keeper. “Your information is understandably incomplete, Arch Keeper. Though both Knight Lutair and the Stallari’s daughter are temporarily absent, the Order remains full strength, despite these recent events.”
Many at the table shifted uncomfortably. A term like “temporarily absent” was widely understand in politics to simply be an attempt to hedge, and they certainly assumed Symvalline and Isemay were dead. Some cast expressions of sympathy toward Ulfric and Safran, others didn’t bother to pretend. The Yorish leader Fergus remained quiet and still, but his eyes missed nothing.
Ulfric approved of Safran’s tactic and sent: We won’t mention Eisa or Mylla, even if Beatte asks directly. He doubted she would. Nothing in this court moved in a straight line.
“These recent events,” a young court fixture repeated. Ulfric knew him as a child of privilege from Asteryss whose enrollment as an acolyte at the Conservatum most likely had been granted because of his family name instead of any of his personal qualities, which he’d heard were best characterized as limited. “We have chosen a name for these dark days. ‘The Desecration of Vinnr’ seems to fit the best.”
Something told Ulfric the young man had been the one to suggest the name. Yet, despite the aristocrat’s magniloquence, Ulfric thought it fit.
The Arch Keeper flashed the man a look of irritation, and he closed his mouth abruptly. Ulfric took this to mean that Beatte wanted no one else to speak, intending to control the conversation herself.
Growing suddenly weary, he recalled Stave’s attitude regarding politicians and started second-guessing his decision to come. Speaking out of both sides of their mouths, feigning and implying, parrying and thrusting like combatants—this was politics, and it bored him. He’d been a lensmaker all those hundreds of turns before becoming a Knight, not a nobleman, and certainly not a politician. His attitude, much like Stave’s, had always been that if the object was to defeat each other, it would be better to do it openly and honorably, in a fighting arena or through a straightforward competition. Lies, disingenuous flattery, and subterfuge were the trades of cowards.
He glanced over to see Safran smirking at him, and he realized she’d heard his thoughts. Except you, of course, Safran, he covered, having forgotten it was her trade once, long ago.
Don’t worry, Ulfric. Why do you think I became a Knight? But that just means we have to be twice as careful. Even cowards, especially cowards, are as dangerous as vipers.
Sweeping away any last vestiges of pretend sympathy, the Arch Keeper finally came out with what she’d been waiting to say all along. “We can no longer afford to allow the Knights Corporealis to lock away the artifacts that we require to keep our world safe from another incursion. Arch Keeper Fergus and I request with all urgency that the Knights turn over the Fenestrii to us, where we can use and protect them, and allow us complete and unfettered audience with the Vigil Star as we please.”
She placed both her palms firmly on the table and stared into Ulfric’s eye shields. “You will open Vigil Hall to this court and to the Yor court immediately.” With an actress’s expertise, she softened her expression and tone just a fraction, ending with, “We request this in the Vigil Star’s name and the names of the sovereign kingdoms of Vinnr. And if the Knights wish to maintain the goodwill of all, you’ll cease further prevarication and submit immediately.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jaemus had been pacing his and Cote’s room since Ulfric and Safran left for the keep, watching over Cote sleeping fitfully on their bed. His lifemate’s breath was more labored than it should be if he were merely suffering a touch of indigestion from too much Vinnric chelbiefin shark and lind mead (which Jaemus would have been happy to consume until his belly burst). Jaemus had nearly worked himself into his own fit of indigestion, worrying about what might occur over the next few hours. What if the Knights didn’t return? Maybe he shouldn’t have changed his mind and decided to stay.
He knew he wasn’t the only one on edge. He’d only briefly crossed paths with any of the Knights during the pr
evious evening. They’d been busy preparing their defenses, spending all their time checking gates and the wards, whatever those were. He’d stayed out of the way and avoided asking too many questions, as their agitation had seemed ripe enough to burst, and he didn’t want to get any of that on him.
He needed no further evidence of how high tensions were running than Stave’s reaction when he’d asked him what dangers they needed to be concerned about, and the Knight had replied, “The danger is a blargy power-hungry Arch Keeper whose guts I’ll wring out like a moldy sponge if any harm comes to Safran, I will.” Jaemus had seen in his eyes that he hadn’t been speaking metaphorically.
Cote coughed in his sleep, a rattling sound that reminded Jaemus starkly of his mother’s last few cycles in Himmingaze before she’d died. He stepped over to his beloved, brushed Cote’s dark hair from his forehead, noting how much paler he’d become, and whispered, “I’ll be back in a moment, my captain. Just need to see what’s going on with Stave and Roi.”
As he reached for the door latch, a quavering chirp resounded from the central courtyard. It was like the sound the Singing Pillars made in that it seemed to not just travel up the walls but through them. Yet there was a note of alarm to the ringing, not harmony. Cote startled awake.
“What is that?” he asked alertly, as ever. Cote’s trait of instant readiness, no matter the situation, sent Jaemus into momentarily entertaining the thought that he would make a much better Knight Corporealis than Jaemus ever would. Then Cote coughed once more.
“You relax,” Jaemus said. “Let me go see.”
But Cote was already out of bed and pulling on his boots. Knowing there was no point in arguing, Jaemus waited. Together they made their way toward the landing at the end of their hallway, meeting a few of the other ’Nauts who’d opened their doors to find out what the sound was about.
Jaemus, his role as emissary between the ’Nauts and the Knights fully entrenched by now, assured them, “I’ll chat with Knight Roibeard and be right back.”