Orla wanted to look away, but she forced herself to look at him, to see him. He was clothed, not in military blue any more, but in a richly layered cloak of burnished orange, the colour of flame. He was flanked on either side by heavily-armed Uruhenshi soldiers. And they in turn were flanked by the members of the King’s own guard, men she recognised, whose loyalty had, it seemed, changed direction more easily than a spring breeze.
There was no music today. There were no eager crowds watching, just a scattering of officials, and a few faces Orla recognised: her tutor was there, along with some of the older members of the Court. Lyria was seated in the row of chairs that lined the wall. She waved as Orla entered. Swallowing down her rising fear, Orla walked across to where Lyria sat, and joined her. Roland was nowhere to be seen.
A few of the Council members sat at the long table already, silent and pale-faced. Orla recognised the members from Tev, women Roland’s age, their white hair coiled and piled upon their heads and ornamented with small black shells. Genevieve entered with Estredik. Galed was one of the last to arrive, exchanging furious whispers with an elderly man who Orla didn’t recognise.
‘Well this should be interesting,’ Lyria breathed and sat back in her chair as though waiting for proceedings to begin. Orla tensed.
She’d been running through it in her mind. The Vote. The capitulation that she felt certain would follow. And then what? Would the Uruhenshi continue this approach of bloodlessness? It was not their usual way, she thought. Giving power to Jexin would be giving power to the Brethren, whether he said so or not. They would be ruled by faceless men clothed in black, their scars the only distinguishing feature between them. What had long been the case in practise would now also be the case in name.
She sensed a sudden murmur of surprise. Around her people began to stand. She was confused for a moment until she looked up and saw the King.
Of course he would be here, she thought, though she was still surprised to see him. He was carried by two of the Uruhenshi guards, his chair hoisted between them like they were lifting a child in play. Orla did not want to look at his face. She was sure the darkness she had left him in the last time she’d seen him would only have grown deeper. She had hoped to go and speak to him the night before, to tell him what little she’d found out, but Roland had not come and she didn’t know how to find her way on her own.
The final murmurs died away as the last few Council members entered and took their places at the long table. Jexin Beyn stood.
‘My friends, for I hope that I may still call you that. This is not how I imagined my time here would be. Our bonds of brotherhood have been strained these past days. I have lost a valued member of my retinue. We have lost a ship, a ship that was supposed to have been unsinkable, carrying the flower of Uruhenshi society, the Ambassador and his family who should by now have been passed safely through the Turmoil to carry on the holy work beyond the veil in the far bright lands. The core of the Treaty that binds us together has frayed and broken. Your own King sought to undermine the trust between us. I hope that I have shown you that the Uruhenshi can be calm and rational in the face of such an attack. I had to act, of course. Doing nothing was not an option. But I have not acted disproportionately to the loss that has been suffered. If anything, I have done less than would be expected. I have given you a choice. An attempt was made on my life in the presence of your King. I believe that attempt was the reason why I was invited here, and why that invitation came without the prior knowledge or consent of the Council.’
At this there were a few small nods, some restrained murmurs.
And so, they turn, Orla thought.
‘I cannot hold you responsible for that which you did not plan or intend. In fact, the Council has shown nothing but generosity and cooperation to the Uruhenshi, and in particular to the Brethren in their work here. It is for that reason that I have given you a choice.’ He turned now, holding one Councillor after another in his gaze. ‘Your King was weak. Your King betrayed the Treaty that protects his own people. He allowed the Archipelago to fracture, has taken no decisive action against the remnants of the Dryuk who continue to dwell within your borders. He no longer deserves your loyalty. I will return the Archipelago to its former state, I will bring Aturi back to the fold. I will banish the Dryuk, all of them, forever. Together, Uruhenshi and Sond shall be a force to be reckoned with. With the Ashkarai ships we shall cross into distant lands and spread the light of the God Assayn. All that I require is your consent. I do not take it, I ask it. You have had time to consider. Now you must decide. Will you stand with me, Uruhenshi and Sond, side by side, looking toward a stronger, brighter future?’
‘Shall we vote then, Councillors?’ For once the toad-man’s dry and slightly bored tone seemed to lighten Orla’s heart. It was the first hint of normality she’d heard all day.
‘The mirror, Rahlein,’ and Estredik’s attendant took the mirror from the wall.
‘I think we can dispense with these primitive formalities today, can we not?’ Genevieve’s voice was smooth. ‘We’ve all had time to think. And I’ve had no assistance with my hair since all this began. The last thing I want right now is to see my own reflection.’
‘When you are ready then,’ Estredik said slowly.
‘Will it be a secret ballot?’ Lyria whispered to Orla.
‘I don’t know…’
‘As this matter concerns the King most directly, it is right that he should be present for the vote. Agreed?’
There was a general voicing of agreement.
‘All those who wish to hold the Treaty by allowing the King’s abdication, raise a hand.’
There was a moment in which nothing happened.
Then two people raised their hands, the Councillors from Tev; one of them was the silver-haired woman who had argued against Orla at every turn. The rest of the Council sat, still and silent.
Two was not enough. The Council stood with the King.
Chapter fifty
She had to hand it to Jexin Beyn. He did not even blink. For a moment, Orla could sense things moving, like clockwork gears shifting into place, and then he looked up and smiled. There was movement at the back of the hall. The heavy doors that stood closed shook and then inched apart. There was a sound of footsteps like drumbeats in the corridors. Soldiers streamed in. The walls were already lined with them, but now the room filled. Orla wondered how he had managed it, how the King and Council had stretched themselves so thin that the Uruhenshi High Command could simply walk up to the front door and take the Palace? The King’s guard, of whom there were only a dozen or so in attendance, were grossly outnumbered. There was a short standoff as the guard and the command faced one another, each waiting for the order to act.
‘Stand down,’ Estredik said in a resigned voice, ‘The King can’t say it so I will. We cannot win this fight.’
There was another look from Jexin Beyn and a heavyset soldier at the front of the guard stepped forward towards the table. He wore masking armour that covered his face and rose in twin horns either side of his head. He drew a curving blade from the belt at his hip and raised it high. He brought it down and around in a single graceful arc. There was a moment of silence, then somewhere, someone screamed. Estredik brought his hands up but he was unarmed and unarmoured and had no means of defending himself. He stiffened, a gurgling noise sounding in his throat, and then toppled sideways from his chair. Blood began to ooze thickly in a dark pool. Orla felt a sudden electric shock of energy fill her. The other Councillors sat for a moment as though what was taking place before them was a show, not real. Only Galed reacted, looking out to the watching crowd and giving a gesture that Orla did not understand.
Lyria grabbed Orla’s hand and pulled her to her feet.
‘We must run,’ Lyria said. The guards were all around but their focus for the moment was still on the scene at the front of the room, which as yet still had the form of an execution and was not a general slaughter. The doorway they’d entered through
was blocked, and the entrance at the back of the room was filled with soldiers, but there was a small exit to the far side which was for use of the servants only.
Lyria ran towards it and Orla followed. The room seemed to be moving strangely around her, as though she were in a dream. She vaguely registered more commotion behind them but did not stop. She did not want to see. The King may as well be dead, she thought. What difference did it make now? Though her heart was black with her own betrayal of him.
Then she felt something that made her stop in her tracks.
She turned. The soldiers were parting, forming two squads in orderly formations, a clear space between them. Into that space stepped Piroxi. Orla gasped. His hood had fallen away and the light of the torches brought into stark relief the jagged etching of scars upon his face.
When he spoke, his voice, though quiet, filled the great hall easily.
‘The God comes now in blood and fear, can you not feel his presence? Can you not smell his scent on the very air?’
Against her will, it seemed, Orla took a breath, and found her head filled with the metallic smell of fresh-spilled blood, a scent that brought her back to days in the slaughterhouse.
Then Piroxi raised his voice, so it rang through the hall. ‘God of cracks and fissures, of wounds that do not heal, God of shadows and silence, God of ash and dust, show your face to all Sond who do not believe, and let that face be death…’
Orla stood, captivated in horror. Lyria tugged at her hand but she hardly felt it. He was before her, the one she had sought for so long, the one she had dreamed of and in her dreams killed.
‘Bring him in,’ he said, and a group of soldiers pushed through the doorway and into the hall. They were surrounding somebody so at first Orla could not see who it was. Then she caught a glimpse of hair red as the sunset, a light-set body, and then she saw his face. She gasped.
Ged. They had Ged.
‘Today we wipe clean the Archipelago of those who have pretensions to rule by blood. For the only rule is that elected by our God. Bring him up,’ Piroxi said. ‘Let them stand together, father and son.’
Something lurched within Orla. Lyria pulled even more desperately at her hand but Orla only stood, dumbfounded, as she watched her friend stumble and stagger as he tried to ascend the stairs to the podium where the King waited, helpless.
‘This cannot be,’ a voice rang out. It was Galed.
‘Father, no,’ Lyria sobbed.
‘A thousand years of rule, it cannot end like this,’ Galed said, and stood. ‘Will nobody fight them?’
The other Councillors watched on as though stunned. Galed looked out to the hall, shading his eyes as though looking into a great light. ‘Are there no guards left who are true, who stand by the King and his seed? Are there none?’
But the room he looked into was filled with the blue of the Uruhenshi, and nobody rose to join him.
Orla watched speechless with fear, with anger, as the guards dragged Ged stumbling up the few steps to the high podium where his father, the King, was seated. He’d been beaten. His face was bloodied and misshapen from swelling. One eye was black. He limped and stumbled as he walked.
At the sight of his injuries, rage filled Orla, chasing away fear, doubt, thought itself.
Ged was gentle. He would never hurt any living thing. He’d done nothing but suffer the accident of his own birth. He did not aspire to power, he did not understand the games that sang in the blood of most of the Court. They seemed like just that to him – games. And now he was a part of them, and the price of playing would be his life.
Lyria pulled at Orla’s arm. ‘Please, we have to go…’ she whispered fiercely.
‘No. I have to stop this. I have to save him.’
‘You will die–’
‘Then I will die,’ Orla said, and turned away from Lyria, back to the events that were unfolding like some macabre theatre on the stage before them.
‘Last words,’ Galed said, choking a little as he spoke. ‘If they’re to die, you owe them that at least. Unless you are become as barbaric as you seem.’
Piroxi scowled, but Jexin Beyn’s expression was calm, although he held the sword hilt at his belt so tightly his fingers were white.
‘Of course. I would be happy to permit last words, could the King utter them. As circumstances present themselves, they don’t seem to offer much benefit, do they?’
Orla pulled free of Lyria and stepped forward.
‘I am Reader to the King,’ she said. ‘I speak for him. I should be with him now. It is his right to speak.’
She looked directly at Piroxi, who seemed to look through her. He didn’t recognise her. She couldn’t believe it. His face, those eyes, were burned into her memory. They returned to her most nights in her dreams. And he did not even recognise her.
Somehow, that made his crimes seem all the worse.
Piroxi looked at Jexin, his scowl deepening.
‘It is blasphemy,’ he said, ‘an insult to the God.’
‘It is their way,’ Jexin said. ‘We are not barbarians. We do not take from them their own notion of a proper death, however misguided it might seem to us.’
‘You do not speak for the God,’ Piroxi’s voice was low so for a moment Orla thought she had misheard.
Jexin turned, holding Piroxi in a long stare. ‘I am the High Command. This earthly sphere turns on my choosing. The God will make his judgement of how I have chosen when the time comes.’
It may come sooner than you would expect, Orla thought, watching the venom with which Piroxi regarded his leader.
‘Come, girl,’ Jexin gestured and the guards stepped back, allowed her a clear walkway to the King. She stood, heart thudding so loud she thought it should echo on the walls of the Great Hall. She began to walk.
She had no plan. No idea of what she would do. They were surrounded by enemies. The exits were barred. The Council was likely about to be executed along with the King, along with Ged. She would probably die too, she realised, now that they knew who she was. If she was lucky her death would be as easy as Estredik’s. If not…
Focus, she told herself. One step and then the next. Everything changes. Death is just the final change of life, the pathway to the changeless lands. She should know that better than anyone.
She climbed the steps.
Chapter fifty-one
The room fell silent. She tried to keep her mind clear but could not help but sense the upwelling of murmured thoughts. Reader to the King, dwelling within these walls, look at her, I hear that she can turn herself into a serpent and that at night she hunts for prey in the Palace grounds…
‘My Lord,’ she said, falling to one knee as was proper before the King, even as he now was, captive and condemned. She held her gaze steady, seeking his eyes, not trusting herself to look to Ged for even a moment. She would break if she did. And she could not afford to break. Not now. She had no plan, only a deep sorrow and a sense, somehow, that there was something she could do, that there must be something she could do…
She reached for him and was surprised to find that the darkness that had filled him on their previous meeting was lifted.
You stayed, he said.
‘I am Reader to the King,’ she responded quickly. ‘My place is here.’
You should not have stayed. My life is not worth yours.
She shook her head and reached out to take hold of his hands, trying to communicate something, some hope, some anger, in her touch and her gaze. ‘I can speak last words for you, if you wish, my Lord,’ she said, loud enough that all assembled could hear her.
Last words…. Last words… For whom should I speak, and to whom? His mind was wandering, as though part of him were already gone.
‘To your people,’ she said quietly. ‘If not for yourself, for your lineage. For the binding that should not be broken.’
She sensed something, a sudden shift, a warming, and she realised that if he had been capable of it, it would have been a smile.
Aderon did well, bringing you to me.
‘Aderon is gone, my Lord.’
And I am soon to join him. Look after my son….
Orla held herself steady, did not let any expression reach her face. Although she tried to push it away she could sense Ged, his anguish and pain, his fear. It was all she could do to hold her fury in check.
Promise me, the King said, not an order but a plea.
‘I promise. Go on now,’ she said softly. ‘They are ready.’
Tell them… tell them… tell them that although they thought that they were mine, the truth is I was theirs. It is for that reason that I am not afraid to die. Let my death here, now, stand in for all the rest. And tell them all I’m sorry...
‘Well?’ Piroxi’s voice cut through, tight with impatience.
Orla bowed once more to the King where he sat, and then rose from kneeling to face the assembled Council and Court. The Uruhenshi guard were ringed around the outer limits of the hall, as though corralling sheep in a pen. Sheep for the slaughter. For a moment Orla’s blood chilled, then she caught herself and continued. The duty that she had to perform was a sacred one; at this moment, nothing else mattered. Whatever would come, would come. She took a breath and began to speak.
‘The King has given me last words to pass on now to all of you. With these words, he wills his spirit’s release. He says that though you thought that you were his, in truth he was always yours. He is not afraid to die, and hopes his death will mean that the deaths of others are unnecessary.’
She did not say that he was sorry. Never apologise if you have done nothing wrong, Joseph always said, and that applied, she decided, even to a King. Especially to a King.
There was silence in the halls and Orla saw the pain in the eyes of those before her, as the reality gradually grew of what was to come. She could not believe it. She turned to the King, waiting for something more.
‘Very well,’ Jexin Beyn said quickly, ‘Black Arm, he is yours.’
The Dying Flame Page 25