“By the law of the Krushan, I demand the right to submit my grandchild to the Test of Fire.”
This was met with such deafening silence that even the earlier roars of exultation could not match its impact.
On a day without precedent, here was yet another unprecedented event.
Vrath said, “The throne has chosen its heirs. Prince Adri and Prince Shvate shall rule the empire jointly. The test is over.”
King Aqron replied, “Nevertheless, by Krushan law, I demand that my grandchild be permitted his test.”
Vrath’s thick brows beetled. He was not known for his patience. Before he could speak again, Jilana spoke. “King Aqron, you are not of Krushan blood. Neither is your wife, nor your daughter. How then do you claim the right to test your grandchild?”
King Aqron gestured toward the nearest entrance. A young woman stood there, bearing an infant child. At his gesture, she held up the child proudly.
“My daughter, Princess Aqreen, bore a child of Krushan blood six months ago. We have traveled here from the kingdom of Aqron, far beyond the white deserts of Reygistan, to submit to the test. We were set upon by dacoits in the Ravines of Beedakh and held captive for months until my aide could ride back home and fetch our ransom. When we finally arrived here in Hastinaga and sought to present ourselves to the court, we learned that there was to be a Burning. It was such fortuitous timing that it cannot be a coincidence. Only the gods themselves could have planned it thus. Pray, command your guards to let my daughter enter the great hall, that we may submit to the test.”
Eyes flicked from King Aqron to the dais, watching and drinking in every word and gesture, nuance and intonation. This was turning out to be quite a day.
Quite a day indeed.
Now it was Jilana’s turn to frown. Her slender, artfully plucked brows arched as she asked, “You say your grandchild is of Krushan blood. Who, then, is the father?”
King Aqron offered a peculiar expression, neither a smile nor a scowl. “My daughter has not confided that to me, and refuses to do so to anyone. She says it is a woman’s business whom she chooses to take to her bed, and I cannot argue with that.”
Jilana and Vrath put their heads together briefly to consult, and neither looked very pleased when they parted.
Vrath asked with obvious irritation, “You understand what it means to fail the test?”
“I do,” Aqron said. “As does my daughter. I sought to dissuade her, but she is as stubborn as I am when she sets her mind to something. She will not rest until her child is tested.”
With obvious reluctance, Jilana said, “Let Princess Aqreen and King Aqron approach the dais.”
The sentries at the door parted, the princess entered, watched by all eyes. She wore the head-shawl of the Aqron people, a mark of their faith, and her finely carved features were as delicate as a profile drawn in desert sand. Like her father, and like most Aqron, she was taller and thinner than most of the grown men in the great hall, except for Vrath, who was the tallest by far. Accompanied by her father, she strode to the dais, bowed gracefully to the dowager empress and prince regent despite the burden in her arms, and ascended. The two princesses Ember and Umber glared at her without any attempt to conceal their disapproval. If their resentment could have been expressed with fire, Princess Aqreen would have been burned to a cinder right there and then.
She approached the stonefire and raised her child, offering the thousand and eight their first clear view of the infant. It was a handsome girl of some six months of age, her tiny features a miniature of her mother’s but with a high, flat forehead. She gazed with intelligent eyes at the vast hall filled with men and women in garments of every color and style, and gurgled happily, stuffing a fist into her toothless mouth.
“I, Aqreen, princess of Reygistan, child of my father, Aqron, and my mother, Aqreela; and servant of the prophetess Aquirella; unwed mother to my daughter, Krushita. I submit this flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, life of my heart, to your keeping. I pray to thee, bear her with grace, guard her with fire, empower her to rule the great Burnt Empire. In the name of the prophetess, namas!”
More than a few brows other than Vrath’s were raised at this dramatic deviation from the traditional words of offering, but none objected or intervened.
The child’s fate was now in the hands of the stonefire.
Moments later, the Burning Throne delivered its verdict.
It embraced the child with fire and warmth, and when the smoke and flames cleared, the little girl sat of her own accord, chubby arms splayed, patting the razor-sharp black rock as affectionately as if it were a beloved pet. Where her tiny fingers made contact with the jagged stone, sparks flared. She laughed at the phenomenon and clapped her hands together in approval. Her laughter echoed around the great hall, for words spoken upon the Burning Throne were amplified by its power.
Vrath and Jilana exchanged a stormy glance. It was clear to everyone present that they were furious at this turn of events. Tradition and Krushan law demanded that they acknowledge Princess Krushita as the rightful heir and yield the throne to her, with her mother and father managing the empire until the girl was of age. This meant, in effect, that both Jilana and Vrath would have to relinquish their roles and step down. Neither appeared willing to do so.
Vrath was renowned for his adherence to Krushan law. Those who knew his expressions and body language read the telltale indications. Despite his resistance to relinquishing the reins of power, Vrath was prepared to step down because it was the right thing to do.
He spoke. “The law of my ancestors is clear. King Aqron, your granddaughter has passed the test of fire. She has proven her right to sit upon the Burning Throne and rule the empire. Under the circumstances, I have no choice but to—”
“One moment, Vrath.”
The prince regent frowned at the interruption.
He glanced at his stepmother.
Dowager Empress Jilana’s face was as stormy as a monsoon cloud, her sharp tone of voice leaving no doubt about her refusal to accept the situation. “There is still the question of succession. Before we can accept this aspirant as our future ruler, the people of the Burnt Empire have the right to know from what bloodline she is descended. Princess Aqreen, I demand to know the name of this child’s father.”
Princess Aqreen, her baby safely in her arms again, lowered her chin to the shorter, older, woman, completely unabashed by Jilana’s imperious tone and manner. “Among the Reygistani, a child is known by their mother’s name. We are a matriarchal society. A woman may take as many husbands as she wishes, or bed a hundred men, it matters not. Her children are her children.”
Though Jilana had to raise her head to look at Aqreen directly, she did so in a manner that made her seem the taller and more threatening woman. “This is not the white desert. You are not in Reygistan. Krushan law is patriarchal, paternity is determined by the father. You must name the father of this child.”
Aqreen set her jaw defiantly, showing Jilana her long, delicate neck. “The stonefire has proven her legitimacy. She is of Krushan blood. That is all you need to know.”
“Stepmother,” Vrath said cautiously, for once in the unlikely role of intermediary, “what she says is true. Under Krushan law—”
Jilana responded with a tone as scathing as the stonefire. “I am Krushan law. As dowager empress, I still hold the reins of power in my fist. I will not relinquish ten thousand years of greatness to a desert rat and her bastard daughter!”
Aqron’s face turned dark with blood. “You insult my daughter and grandchild and our people! Prince Regent Vrath, will you stand for this? Is this how the great Burnt Empire treats its own heir and her family?”
Vrath, for once in his life, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else than upon this dais at this moment. He raised both hands. “Clearly, we are not all in agreement. I recommend we convene in chambers to discuss the matter further. It is not seemly to continue a family dispute in the public view. ”
>
“It is hardly a family dispute,” Jilana countered, breaking with tradition again by publicly correcting her stepson. “These people are not family by any definition.”
“My father told me you would not accept the stonefire’s test,” said Princess Aqreen, cradling her daughter. “He told me that the only way to force you to let us take the test was to make our demand publicly, during the Burning. I am sorry that he was right. Had we approached you privately as I wanted, you would not have accepted us. I see that now. I was foolish to ever think that the high and mighty Jilana would ever loosen her iron grip on the reins of power. But my daughter has no part to play in your politics and your bigotry. She is of the same blood as Prince Vrath, the same blood as your late husband, Emperor Sha’ant, and the princes Adri and Shvate. That makes us family, whether you like it or not. For my daughter’s sake, and for the sake of this family’s future, I ask you respectfully, Dowager Empress Jilana and Prince Regent Vrath, is not her claim upheld by Krushan law? Is not her seniority over Adri and Shvate evident to anyone present here today? She is elder to them and has passed the test of fire. The Burning Throne has accepted and embraced her. She is a daughter of queens and champions, a proud inheritor of the great tradition of Reygistani warrior queens for seven hundred years. She will make a great queen, a fine empress, and the worthy successor to great Kr’ush himself. Give her her rightful due, and I predict the Burnt Empire will flourish. But deny her, and you will bring down the wrath of the gods themselves upon this dynasty.”
Prince Vrath spoke into the heavy silence that followed. “Krushan law—”
It was as far as Jilana allowed him to go. “Krushan law demands that the lineage of any successor be made known to the world, that there be no doubt about the parentage and right of any aspirant. This law was laid down by Krushan himself to prevent any counterclaim or dispute. By failing to identify the father of her child, Princess Aqreen has forfeited her claim under Krushan law.”
King Aqron spoke, tempering his obvious outrage for the sake of his daughter. “The Burning Throne has identified the father’s bloodline. If little Krushita were not of Krushan blood, she would not be alive right now. She passed the test of the stonefire. She has been declared fit to rule and a worthy successor. That is also Krushan law.”
Jilana turned to address the king of Reygistan. “Then we are in conflict, and as dowager empress, I have the sole right to break that conflict with my decision. And I say that your granddaughter is unfit to rule. That ends the matter. Now take your bastard grandchild and whore of a daughter and return to your desert rat hole.”
King Aqron’s fist clenched the hilt of his scimitar, the knuckles whitening with force. “Jilana, you dare speak to us in this manner? Why, you yourself are nothing but the daughter of a fisherman! You ferried travelers across the Jeel River for pennies a crossing! And your own son Vessa was born out of wedlock, from a casual night spent with an anonymous stranger of Krushan blood. And yet you, the pot, are now presuming to call the kettle black! My daughter is a princess and the daughter of queens. You were nothing but a common fisher caste. They say your skin reeked so much of fish no man would touch you. It was that Krushan stranger who magicked away that smell, making you desirable and seductive. It was with that magic that you seduced Emperor Sha’ant when he happened to board your ferryboat, and enticed him into taking you for his wife. From a ferryboat to the Burning Throne! What a long way you have come, Jilana. How dare you criticize the morality of my daughter when you yourself had your own first child out of wedlock. Indeed, when your two sons by Emperor Sha’ant died tragically in their youth, you summoned your own bastard son, Vessa the mage, to force himself upon your two daughters-in-law, seeding their wombs with offspring of Krushan blood. Did you announce that today? You presented Princes Adri and Shvate as the heirs, but you did not name their father, did you? Such hypocrisy! You did not name their father because that would have meant acknowledging the fact that he was your son, and of Krushan blood. Moreover, it would have meant naming the Krushan stranger who fathered Vessa himself upon you, even before your marriage to Emperor Sha’ant. Who was that stranger, Jilana? The mystery has been kept for decades. You will not name him, yet it is of his son Vessa that these two heirs apparent were seeded. And yet you have the audacity to claim that my daughter, an honorable and brave warrior princess who is a shining exemplar to the women of our nation, has no right to take your place as Queen Mother? Your hypocrisy and duplicity are an insult to Krushan law and an affront to the people of the empire! You, Jilana, are the one who is not fit to stand where you stand today. By the same token that you dismiss my daughter Aqreen, I dismiss you!”
“Enough!” Vrath thundered.
The thousand and eight staggered back, their ears ringing from the deafening bellow. For when Vrath spoke in anger, it was with an impact to match a thunderclap. While Jilana could only posture and pout, Vrath was the real power. It was not for nothing that his name kept any dissenters across the vast and unruly span of the empire in check. A demigod in full temper is not something any mortal can withstand and still survive.
“I will not tolerate anyone speaking to my stepmother in such a manner,” he said, his eyes dribbling fire. Behind him, the dark throne glowed a deep scarlet, sensing the mood of one of its own. “She has already communicated her decision. Her word is final. If you wish to complain or protest, you will follow the usual protocol. There will be no more mouthing of cheap insults by anyone.” At this he paused and turned to glance briefly at Jilana, including her in his stricture. “The Burning has concluded, and this matter is over. The people expect a jubilee, and they shall have it.”
7
“The people expect a lot, but they get very little.”
The words came from the entrance, spoken by a voice as quiet and smoldering as a banked fire. Heads turned to see which new character had entered the stage of this imperial drama. The figure that stood there resembled a life-sized version of a child’s stick-figure drawing. Tall, a whole foot taller than seven-foot Vrath himself, and with angular shoulders and bony limbs jutting at sharp angles to the rake-thin torso, he loomed above the imperial guards who held their short spears pointed at him. By some trick of the light, his features remained clouded, shrouded by a miasma that seemed to move when he himself moved. All one could see was the impression of a face, and there was clearly something not quite human about those features, yet one would be hard-pressed to say what it was exactly that it lacked. Though the figure’s face was a mystery, his mouth and tongue were very visible and constantly motile; indeed, his tongue flickered in and out of his thin lips, punctuating his speech with sibilance.
“Least of all, justice,” he added. “This reputation you have earned, Vrath, of being the great pillar of Krushan law, upholder of the great tradition of Kr’ush himself . . . it is ill-deserved. Today, you put the lie to the claim that Vrath the Oathtaker always upholds the law. Today, all of Hastinaga witnessed firsthand that Vrath was confronted with a clear matter of law and even voiced his agreement, only to then dissemble, bluster, and bully his way out of his own decision. Does your father’s widow have such sway over you that you forget your first loyalty is to the law? Has Empress Jilana completely corrupted your moral code? Has your legendary vow of celibacy weakened your adherence to law? Are you too distracted by your unfulfilled lust for the three beautiful widows with whom you share a household?”
“Silence!” Vrath thundered, fire spilling from his eyes and mouth now. Tiny motes of flame fell from his eyes and lips, turning to bits of coal as they cooled. His boots crushed them underfoot, smearing the pristine white marble. “You are out of order, stranger. Sentries, clap him in irons and drag him down to the dungeons.”
The sentries moved to comply, a half dozen strong men with short spears converging on the insolent speaker.
One sentry, in his zeal to comply with his prince regent’s command, put the point of his spear to the waist of the stranger.
Like a coi
led whip unleashed, the tall man’s hand shot out and struck the sentry’s forearm. The sentry collapsed, gagging as froth welled from his open mouth, eyes rolling up to reveal their whites. Before he had touched the ground, the stranger’s hands had whipped around, striking at each of the other sentries in turn. The strikes were minimal, barely a pinprick; the effect, instantaneous. All six sentries fell to the polished floor of the great hall, writhing and kicking in their death throes.
The stranger stepped over their flailing bodies as he approached the dais. Kings and queens parted to let him pass, eyes wide with awe.
A name rustled through the air like a dry leaf in an autumn breeze.
“Jarsun.”
Jilana’s voice was quiet, her temper banked now, her face guarded.
As a hundred more sentries sprang forward, willing to die rather than let a stranger trespass, she gestured sharply. “Let him pass.”
They paused as one man, and retreated to their posts.
“It has been a long time, brother-in-law,” she said, visibly regaining her composure as the tall stranger reached the foot of the dais. Even standing three feet lower, his eyes were at the same level as hers. “But I don’t seem to recall inviting you to this occasion. Why is that?” She snapped her fingers in a mocking pretense of absent-mindedness. “Because you were banished from Hastinaga thirty years past! It was my own father-in-law who banished you, as I recall.”
“You speak as if you were there when it happened,” Jarsun said, placing a foot on the lowermost step of the dais. “You were still a ferrywoman on the Jeel River at the time. I sat in your rickety little boat once, though you had no idea who I was, and to be fair, I had cloaked my identity to appear as a Gujwari merchant. What King Aqron said was true. You reeked of fish. It was difficult enough to endure the river crossing. If my father had not used his power to eliminate the odor at your request, I doubt my brother Sha’ant would have endured it when he sat in your boat. Let alone have wooed you. More likely, he would have jumped overboard.”
Upon a Burning Throne Page 3