A Wizard's Sacrifice

by Amanda Justice

  Elekia paced while other officials filtered in, some with wide, terrified eyes; others whining or wailing; some stoic and silent as their Ruler. Soon Ministers, Senators, and Guildleaders sat round a heavy table shouting at each other while Elekia scowled. Timny sat beside her, staring at clasped hands. Cimba and Selcher huddled in a corner, arms round each other. Geram watched the other Listener through Drak’s eyes. When she glanced up at him, they shared a nod of understanding.

  “What does my housemarshal recommend?” Elekia finally cut off the arguments.

  “Remove to Erin, immediately,” said Olivet. “There is no Device there.”

  “That we know of!” Silnauer protested. “They could be swarming all over the Weavers by now.”

  The Senator from Erin pulled back his shoulders. “We know our own valley, Harmony, and there is no Device there. I agree—we move the capital there.”

  “Moving the capital is a wise plan,” Fensin said, entering with Breon and another Caleisbahnin.

  “Where have you been, sir?” Prime Minister Velbaor asked.

  “Conferring with our allies.” Fensin waved at Breon, who gave a shallow bow.

  “The Archipelago is no ally of Latha,” Velbaor said. “Ambassador, you are not welcome here.”

  “How can you say that when the Caleisbahnin supplied the Manor with steel?” Fensin replied. “Your Majesty, I’m so distressed to hear of the danger you faced today and how quickly your troops were overwhelmed despite the help of our friends.”

  Geram’s ire swirled like sparks in the wind, igniting his fears and frustrations into a roaring fury. He lunged at Fensin, slammed him into the wall, his forearm pressed to his throat. “Did you know?”

  “Know what?” Fensin choked.

  “Did you know Parnden was in league with the Kragnashians, that they would invade today? Why weren’t you at the reception?”

  Fensin’s breath, hot and sour, puffed feebly against Geram’s chin. People shouted; hands grabbed his arms, but he leaned into the Senator. “Did you know?”

  “Step back, lieutenant,” Elekia said sharply. Something solid wedged under his forearm and pushed him off Fensin’s throat.

  “Come on, cousin.” Drak pulled him away.

  Fensin coughed. “I assure you I had nothing to do with this incursion.”

  “It would not be the first time you conspired with our enemies,” Elekia said.

  “I have never taken any actions that were not in the interest of this nation, Your Majesty. I would ask if you could say the same.”

  Panting, Geram took Drak’s sight again. Elekia glowered as Fensin coughed and mopped his face and neck.

  “Everything I have ever done has been for Latha,” she said.

  “If that’s true, you should speak with the ambassador. He has a proposal for you.”

  Elekia arched an eyebrow, her face otherwise impassive, but Geram Heard sorrow welling beneath the mask. “The Kragnashians claimed control over the Device and Latha based on a treaty with the First. What do you know of this, ambassador?”

  “I suggest we speak in private, Your Majesty.”

  She cast an eye round the room. “Very well. Velbaor, Fensin attend me. Olivet, bring Lieutenant Geram as well.”

  They filed into a nearby chamber, where Elekia rounded on the Caleisbahnin. “What about this treaty, ambassador? Answer me or I will send you to the Shrine—you and all your embassy.”

  “I know of no new agreements between the Archipelago and Kragnash, Majesty. Whatever they may be, however, I am here with an offer of help against this invasion if you answer a question for me.”

  “Captain, we cannot defy a treaty with the First,” the ambassador’s aide whispered in mindspeech, too quietly for anyone but Geram to Hear.

  “I must know,” Breon replied.

  The pact, Ashel said as Demsch’s guards and a Kragnashian positioned themselves in front of the palazzo gate. They all swore fealty to Vic, just because she’s a wizard.

  “Must know what?” Geram asked.

  The aide’s gaze flashed to him, but Breon turned to Velbaor. “Sir, as Prime Minister, if it were to be revealed that the Ruler has broken one of your nation’s laws, what would you do about it?”

  “You dare come here with threats?” Velbaor said. “The Ruler will not hesitate to have you tried and executed for espionage.”

  “It is a question. If you do not know the answer, I suggest you leave the room.”

  Elekia glanced between the minister and the Caleisbahnin, her eyes falling last on Fensin. Shutting them, she expelled a long breath and sat at a desk. Dipping a quill into ink, she began to write. Geram took her sight, and his skin prickled with crippling cold as he watched the words stretch across the page. Abdicate. Ruler-designate. Regent. In Traine, Ashel breathed an oath.

  Dripping hot wax onto the paper, Elekia pressed it with her seal. “Senator, you will get what you want, so long as you agree to these terms.” She motioned Fensin and Velbaor forward.

  Scanning the text, Fensin coughed into his handkerchief, and choked laughter emerged from the cloth. “You sent him to me, didn’t you? Well played, Your Majesty.” The Opposition stood straight. “As long as our young friend agrees to my guidance, I will not object.”

  “I object!” said Velbaor. “Majesty, with all due respect, your . . . forgive me, but your, your paramour is hardly fit as a regent. We need your leadership, not his or anyone else’s!”

  “I can serve Latha best in another capacity,” Elekia said. “The Opposition is right, for once; this nation cannot afford a succession battle right now. Please call the Senate to order.” The paper crinkled as Velbaor took it, and the door clicked shut behind the Prime Minister and the Opposition.

  Elekia’s gaze arrowed to Geram. He saw himself in an aura of golden light, standing like a hero with bright eyes. He cast her vision aside, feeling bent and crippled. Blind. She came toward him. Her perfume filled his lungs, stopping his heart. Ashel muttered his name over and over, and Geram’s awareness of the other man faded, leaving his darkness total.

  He reached for her. His hand clasped only air.

  “I dare not,” she whispered.

  “Olivet knows; the Caleisbahnin don’t care.”

  “If I held you now, I’d call them back and rip that paper up, all for a little more time with you.”

  “Why?” The question clawed out of all the questions, pleas, threats, and wishes crowding his thoughts.

  She sniffed softly, and he imagined she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, putting herself together for the pirates, for the world. “You will do well, my love.”

  He couldn’t get a full breath. “I . . . I’m not suited, not trained. I don’t know anything—I’m blind!”

  Her fingers caressed his cheeks. “You are clever and wise and passionate about this nation, and you can Hear, Geram. I sent you to Fensin not just to spy on him but to learn from him and gain his admiration and respect, in anticipation of this day. I’ve known it might come to this since the moment my daughters disappeared and my son forsook me. But you have sense and sensibility, wit and insight. You will do well.”

  “I don’t want this!” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Her scent was acidic yet sweet, like the late summer smell of ripening cerrenil fruit.

  “Let me go,” she whispered.

  “I—” he stammered, “I can’t.” His mouth found hers, his tongue tasting the fresh, wet salt of her tears. Her lips parted for his, but her fists remained at her sides and her trembling grew more violent the longer he held her.

  “You must stop.” The whisper bathed his cheek in warmth, but her next words were cold and imperious. “Go and join the Senate.”

  He stumbled to the door, bumping into chairs and fumbling for the doorknob.

  “She’s going, then?” Selcher asked as soon as the door shut behind him. A pair of troopers stood at attention by the stairs, but they were othe
rwise alone in the hallway.

  “She is,” he mumbled around the thick knot of sorrow clogging his throat.

  Selcher’s hand curled around his wrist, and she spoke in a Listener’s whisper. “She was broken a long time ago and has held herself together with nothing but rage and ambition. Don’t hate her.”

  He blinked, a habit of confusion from sighted times. “Hate her? I love her!”

  Selcher pinched his ear. “That was for Prince Ashel, dundlehead. You should have known better, lieutenant, and stayed clear of her. How cruel and selfish are you?”

  Geram shrugged out of her grip. “Will you go with her?”

  “I will. What will you do?”

  “Sir.” A trooper clomped to the bottom of the stairs. “Velbaor asked me to bring you to the chamber.”

  “My duty.” He stumbled to the staircase and felt for the balustrade, unwilling to use another’s vision for this journey. “See that Elekia gets safely out of the city,” he ordered the guards.

  Did they wonder at his use of her name instead of title? The trooper said nothing as he led the way up two flights to the Senate chamber. Could they know what had just happened? His limbs like hardened clay, he gasped on the landing between flights—an old, wizened man. Kragnashians were in the Manor, in Traine, likely in Relm and Eldanion; the greatest threat to human history was upon them. He shrugged off the fatigue, shaking his head, walked up the next flight without help.

  Cries of fear and uncertainty spilled from the Senate chamber into the hallway, but when the door swung open and he stood on the threshold, the room fell silent. There was a creak of wood, then the squeak and thunder of dozens of chairs pushed back as people stood. The gavel struck three times, then three times more.

  “Under the emergency powers of the Prime Minister, I declare a quorum in effect. Those assembled here represent the entirety of Latha.” In fact, fewer than a third of the two hundred Senators were present, far less than the half needed for a quorum. But the Constitution dictated that as long as all Senators who were in town assembled, catastrophes could be legally addressed. One of the many bits of law Geram had learned since he’d become Fensin’s unwitting pupil. “The Ruler of Latha has abdicated,” Velbaor continued. “A candidate for regent has entered. What qualifications do you bring?”

  Geram let the trooper lead him forward so they could not mistake his blindness. The darkness beyond his eyes yawned like the gulf inside. She was gone.

  She’s done what’s right, what she must. Ashel’s relief and pride washed over him. Geram set his jaw—he wasn’t proud; he was devastated.

  Knees weak, he expelled a breath and faced the direction of Velbaor’s voice. “I bring the education of a tradesman and the honor of a soldier. I bring the wisdom of a Counselor and the discernment of a Listener. I bring the knowledge of an attaché to Elekia, the last Ruler of Latha.”

  “Do any object?” Velbaor intoned.

  “I do!” Fensin’s voice rang out. “Are we mad? Latha is under attack, and we’re making this blind kitten regent?”

  Startled, Geram took Velbaor’s vision as the Prime Minister choked a surprised response: “I thought the Opposition would be pleased the queen chose an Alnan to steer the Republic.”

  “He attacked me not half an hour ago!” Fensin had the audacity to wink. “You asked him his qualifications, and he’s offered nothing of substance beyond his intimate acquaintance with the queen.”

  Gasps echoed, and Geram’s blood boiled. “I may be young and blind, Senator, but I assure you I am the fittest Alnan in this room.”

  “And I’m too old to get riled at insults, young man. However, I am willing to forgive your outburst and acknowledge it was motivated by patriotic passion.” The Opposition steepled his fingertips at his chin. “So long as our young friend is willing to be guided by the senior members of this body, I accede.”

  Velbaor cleared his throat. “Geram of Alna, do you agree that Timnon of Narath should serve as Ruler-designate, and that you should serve as regent only until such time as the Senate deems him mature enough for the throne or selects another to rule instead?”

  “I do.”

  “Do the assembled concur that Geram of Alna should be regent of Latha?”

  The vote was unanimous, and Velbaor struck his gavel three times. “Your first proclamation, Eminence?”

  His mind reeled, but one thought rose out of the vortex. “We are at war. The Senate should move to Erin, but the bulk of Lathan forces will stay here. Alert the outposts. We must retake the Manor.”

  * * *

  As the door closed behind Geram, Elekia buried grief and remorse with rage. Kragnashians had invaded, and now she must reveal herself as an outlaw, little more than a year after her reign began. Lornk had been right—she hated that more than anything else.

  “Olivet,” she said, “you’ve always been loyal to the throne. You also must make a choice, now.”

  Her housemarshal leaned against the door, blocking entry or exit. “I have, madam.”

  The ambassador’s gaze snapped to Elekia. She half-smiled, remembering that Olivet had been educated at the Academy. He would know how to address a wizard.

  “What do you want?” she asked the pirates.

  “We have a sacred pact. If you show your nature, our lives are yours.”

  “Is this true of your entire embassy?”

  “Yes.”

  Eyes shut, she crushed wishes and regrets. Decades of hiding in plain sight would now end. Summoning the Woern, she yanked the feathers off their scabbards. Seabird plumage sailed twenty feet into her hand.

  Breon dropped to a knee, head down. “Madam, in honor of what was, I pledge my life to yours. My sails and my sword are at your service.” The aide knelt and repeated the pledge.

  “Breon, meet me outside the city’s east gate with your men,” she said. “Olivet, we must reach the Academy before word of my abdication. There are some books there that I’ll need.”

  Blood Brothers

  “What shall we do, my lord?” Elsa asked. Housemaids and scullions wept together in a knot behind her. The grooms and gardener held back their tears but looked just as fearful. Wineyll clutched her flute case, murmuring a prayer while Kelmair paced, glowering at the Commissar’s guards who stood shoulder to shoulder, penning them into a corner of the courtyard.

  “For now, whatever they want,” Ashel replied. Maids, scullions, and grooms mewled and clustered tighter, wild eyes darting at the guards.

  “This is not Latha,” Elsa hissed at Ashel.

  Heat flashed up his neck. No, it wasn’t. He pushed through the soldiers, ignoring muttered threats. “Major, a word, please.”

  She sauntered over.

  “I’ll ask you again: am I under arrest?”

  “The Commissar will determine that when he returns.”

  “Will you ensure the safety of my staff? They have duties to attend without being hindered or harassed by your troops.”

  She frowned. “They’ll be safe; on that, you have my word.” She glared at the soldiers until each nodded. “But everyone must remain here until the Commissar is finished with you.” A guard signaled from the door, and Demsch continued, “It looks as if he’s returning now. Come inside, Citizen.”

  In the library, the table and chairs had been shoved aside to create a path wide enough for the Kragnashians, and the bookcase covering the secret passage stood open. Ashel followed Demsch into the sloping corridor. Next to the Device stood two warriors, their antennae brushing the ceiling, abdomens curled in the confined space. It was difficult in the flickering light to distinguish the curves and points of the creatures’ tattoos from ordinary shadows. As Ashel studied the markings, the air above the Device shimmered and resolved into Parnden, Earnk, and a Kragnashian, its mandibles pinched around his cousin’s neck.

  “Restrain Citizen Korng and bring them both up,” Parnden clapped at a Kragnashian.

  A warrior locked its
mandibles around Ashel’s neck, loose enough it did no harm but too tight to break free. It pushed; he staggered and caught himself, then walked with back straight, trying to maintain some dignity. As they passed into the library, the creature’s wing covers rustled, knocking books off the shelves.

  A guard set up two chairs, and the Kragnashians forced Ashel and Earnk to sit, pinning them as easily as Ashel might hold an infant.

  Parnden sauntered forward and cupped Earnk’s chin. “You were a fine youth, my lord. Do you remember the summer you clerked for me?”

  “It was unforgettable,” Earnk said, his face splotched red.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Ashel asked. “What have you done?”

  “And you, Citizen.” Parnden rubbed the backs of his fingers against Ashel’s cheek. “This beard must come off. Major, find a shaving kit.”

  A cold sweat beaded Ashel’s skin, and he rubbed the empty knuckles, beset by visions of blades and blood and agony.

  “Don’t fret, Citizen,” Parnden said. “You’ll be in good hands. I believe I mentioned that I was born a barber’s son? A wealthy barber, to be sure, one who owned several shops that catered to merchants and guildleaders, and who could afford to send me to the Academy. But a barber all the same.” He rubbed his bald pate. “My own handiwork—keep up the skills, much like your music, I expect.”

  A guard rushed in with a sloshing basin and shaving implements, and Parnden asked the Kragnashian to adjust its grip, exposing more of Ashel’s neck. The mandibles opened and pressed down on his shoulders, holding him tight against the chair back.

  “I told you in Relm,” Earnk said, “we don’t know where my father is.”

  Parnden chuckled. “I’m sure that’s true. Lornk wouldn’t tell you, so you couldn’t tell me. Nevertheless, the situation leaves me in a quandary: what to do with you both while Lornk Korng is at large.” He snapped steel-bladed scissors. “I’ll trim it first, Citizen.”