by Leigh, J.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I know every time it’s brought up…” The memory of the mirror displaying his cleaved face, a mask of fury condemned by a smear of blood. Not all the wicked wear red. The image terrified him. “I get so angry. I walk around every day with this ember of rage in my chest, and when it flares, I’m almost not me anymore. I also know the idea of a war breaking out horrifies me to the very depths of my soul.” He ran shaking fingers through his hair. “But as far as some intuition of faith as to should or should not, I don’t know.”
“Well, I do feel this way, my dear, very strongly in fact, and I’ve learned over the years to trust my sense of what is just and what is right.”
“Kyanith seems to feel rather strongly about it, too.”
“His belief does not stem from faith but from prejudice. Perhaps some fear and pride, too. He’s not wicked, just stubborn.”
“He might say the same of you, all these years fighting for me, and I’m not even sure I’d want to rule, let alone if I would be good at it.”
“Wanting to do something and being good at doing it are not mutually inclusive.” She patted his knee. “If the time comes and you do feel it’s not something you wish for yourself, or for our nation, that is fine. I will not feel as if all these years fighting for you have been for nothing. I am fighting for your right to decide. In the end, it will be up to you. That is what is important to pursue, no more, no less.”
Petalith added, “And Kyanith, for all his bluster, is more terrified by a civil war than anything else in the world.”
His mother nodded. “That’s true. It’s the whole reason he opposes ‘a weak-willed moot’ on the throne, as well as our trump card against him. Trust me.” She gave Jathen a reassuring look. “He will not drag this country through that over you.”
“If that’s the case,” Jathen said, “what if we just ask Kyanith to delay it?”
“What do you mean? Delay what?”
“This announcement of his.” He straightened, the blooming idea lifting his spirits. “Let’s be honest, Mother, I’ve never done anything to make anyone think I could run a country. As angry as I get, I can’t ignore the fact that I don’t believe it of myself, either. But maybe, with a little time, I might.”
He told her of his visit with Hatori and the offer of travel. “If we can get Kyanith to agree to delay his choice until after I return, say in a few years or so, perhaps I’ll have changed enough to at least know what I want. It would give Dolomith time to grow and you more time to maneuver the support you need.”
His mother nodded. “That is a rather grown-up proposal, Jathen. And it might just work.”
Chapter 7
Thee was not pleased.
In the library the next day, Jathen told her his plan. The enormous chamber was reminiscent of the Montage citadel but for the musky scent of leather and the rows of shelves holding the sources of the smell. They were supposed to be studying after breakfast, Thee her empathic psychology and Jathen his genealogy. However, he had forgone the cumbersome tome for the more fluid crystal reader.
Talents could imprint, store, and retrieve information on quartz crystals. Jathen and the rest of the non-Talented population, however, had to use a crystal reader composed of a storage quartz, several types of charmed, energy-looping and prismatic gemstones, and an empathic plant called an iungo, which served as a bridge in lieu of a real Talent to read the storage quartz, while the rest of the device was charmed to project the information stored for non-Talents. Jathen scrolled through holographic images of text and pictures stored on their library’s only imprinted quartz, refreshing his memory on the Lu’shun Republic, while enduring his sister’s disapproving silence.
“I’m not leaving today, Thee.”
Her frown twisted into an even deeper scowl.
Jathen stopped to peer at her from around the reader’s green glow. “Even if Kyanith agrees, it’ll take quite a few weeks—months even—to get everything in order. Master Hatori will have to sell a good portion of his belongings and remaining inventory, finish his commissions, and make arrangements to reestablish in the Lu’shun Republic. Plus, it’s probably better to wait for fall and start travel in the early winter to avoid the worst of the spring rains in the Furōrin-Iki. Perhaps I’ll even get lucky and miss all the mating season mess for once.”
“Do you have to go with them, though? I mean, they are…”
“What?”
“You know… bloodsuckers.”
“First off, Thee, Master Hatori is the only Clansman. Jephue is human and does not Feed. Even if he did, he’d probably follow the majority of Clan in drinking from people only with permission. Most of them take from animals. Second...” He shot her a concerned look through the map display. “What is wrong with you? It’s not like you to be prejudiced about anyone or anything.” He amended, “Except maybe Anganites.”
“I just….” She yanked a wayward orange thread from her bronze tunic. “There has to be better.”
“Better what, exactly?”
She tucked her knees up under her arms, rocking in the cushioned reading chair large enough to accommodate most adult Tazu. “I just don’t understand how you are going to learn to be a good ruler if you leave the Nation. You need to be here to learn how to run it.”
“I’m not leaving to learn how to rule, Thee. I’m leaving to learn whether or not I want to.”
“I thought you did.”
“I thought I did, too.” Sweeping a hand down, he cleared the display so he could confess with nothing between them. “But I really don’t know. I’m not certain I’d be very good at it. The point of this trip is to figure out who I am without the whole of the world telling me what I’m not. It’s also to buy time, Thee. If I do want it, I don’t want to fight our brother for it. He has a right to choose, too. What will happen if it turns out he doesn’t want it? What then?”
“That’s a lot of ‘whats,’ Jathen.”
“I know.” He sighed. “And it’s still pending Kyanith’s approval.”
“Will you go if he doesn’t agree to the delay?”
“Probably,” he admitted, though the thought made rage spark in his chest. “Though to be honest, I’m not sure.”
“When do you see him?”
“I’m not sure yet. Mother’s petitioning for a meeting even as we speak. She promised to let me know this afternoon.” Jathen toyed with the rim of the reader. “After I see Hausmannith about the mirror.”
The iungo plant responded to the proximity of his fidgeting finger, its pale green tendrils retracting. It had reacted oddly toward him often enough that he had asked Petalith about it when he was five. “They don’t like negative emotions,” she’d told him.
I’m just saturated with negative, aren’t I? He curled his fingers back toward his palms. Quite the proper Red follower, and I don’t even know any.
Thee asked, “Can you just promise me you won’t leave before the Feast of the First King?”
Jathen smirked at her choice of the weeks-away holiday then considered seriously. “I believe Master Hatori can probably accommodate that, so I won’t promise yet, but I will talk to him as soon as I know for certain.”
“All right.” She slid from the chair and left with a doleful expression.
At noon, Jathen made his way to the Montage Temple for his penance. Telling Hausmannith of his plans was thankfully easier than telling Thee.
“A very good idea,” Hausmannith responded.
Jathen found a part of himself warmed by the Walker’s smile and nod of approval. “I was hoping you’d think so,” Jathen admitted.
“Flattery will not get you out of helping, young sir,” Hausmannith said playfully, motioning him along.
Jathen chuckled, following the man. Nearly empty but for a few scattered worshipers prayi
ng at the front altar, the main sanctuary was so peaceful that Jathen was moved to whisper. “Does it at least get me some extra penance points? So I can have a less dire punishment next time?”
“Oh, I hadn’t realized hanging and sanctifying were such dire tasks.” Hausmannith raised a brow-ridge. “I’ll need to think of something even nastier for the next one, since you’re so confident in your ability to smash centuries-old relics.”
Jathen wrinkled his nose. “I am sorry Master, despite the sarcasm, I assure you.”
“Actually, I am rather pleased you broke it.” Hausmannith inclined his head toward a wrapped package leaning against the wall beside the table holding the holy water basin. “It turns out the metal behind the glass pane wasn’t actually silver, as we were led to believe.”
“That matters?”
He smiled. “Yes. Silver is truth, and that is what it reflects. Without silver present, the mirror lacks certain mystical properties.”
Jathen racked his mind for any memory of Hatori’s charm-making rants that might explain but recalled nothing. “Oh.”
“Well, come then. Let’s get it unwrapped and up.”
“Right.” Jathen nodded and knelt before the parcel.
Jathen knew Jephue’s knots and how best to untwine them. When he started pulling away the covering, he frowned at the glass. Uncertain what he was seeing, he shoved the remaining cloth out of the way. A clear view didn’t change the image. Glancing over his shoulder, he found no one other than Hausmannith. He turned back to the mirror.
A Tazu stared back at him.
But not just any Tazu. The gilded boy was made of metallic scales with no pattern or markings, just the classic gleam of gold splayed over familiar features. The eyes were Monortith eyes—specifically, Jathen’s eyes.
It’s me. It’s the real me.
Hausmannith inhaled sharply. “Well, that’s an unusual occurrence.”
Tearing his eyes from the image, Jathen looked at the Walker. “You see it, too?”
“Yes.” Bells jingled as he shook his head. “Though I’m at a loss to explain it.”
Heart fluttering, Jathen returned to gaping at his reflection. “I thought you said the mirror would have more mystical properties now?”
“I did. Silver mirrors such as this are charmed to reflect the defining vibration of one’s soul. The higher the vibration, the more blurry—or even absent—one’s reflection will be. Certain races are absent as a whole, like the Muilan or the Clan, because their souls vibrate higher from birth. That’s how we discovered the mirror wasn’t silver. Charm Master Hatori saw his own reflection. You, however… if you have a higher vibration, you should simply be blurry or missing. This…” He shook his head again. “I have never seen this before.”
Jathen scrutinized his shimmering face. “It’s not quite Tazu, though.” The scales were smaller, more delicate. Also, there were no forehead horns, and the brow ridge wasn’t pronounced.
“Maybe a half blood,” Hausmannith murmured. “No. For some reason I’m inclined to say you look more like a Drannic than a half human. Though I cannot pinpoint why, as I have never seen one.”
“A Drannic?” Jathen scoffed. “Really? Me, a member of the most mysterious of the races and keeper of the Children’s secrets?” He laughed. “That’s silly. And probably some sort of blasphemy.”
“Well, maybe if you come across one in your journey, you can ask if it is or not. They would know.”
He snorted. “Sure. How does that joke go… something about how few of them there are?”
“If you see two together, it’s a herd.”
“Well, if I see a herd, I’ll ask.”
The Walker chuckled. “All right, let’s get this hung and your penance officially completed.”
The task was no different than any other ritual cleansing and sanctifying Jathen had attended. Yet as he watched Hausmannith sway the incense burner and chant the proper rites, he stared at the streams of drifting smoke from where he sat on the floor, caught up not in the details of tile or inlays but in something… more. As quickly as the feeling came, it was gone.
“Done.” Hausmannith’s burner spouted the scent of musk and citrus. “How about a drink before you’re off? I’ve some excellent ebanna tea in from southern Lubreean.”
“Sure,” Jathen said because he knew of the herb’s soothing properties. Between the mirror and his other worries, something calming would probably do his chest’s spark good. And it’s not as if I have anything else to do with my time.
Jathen also received an unexpected treat in seeing Hausmannith’s redecoration of the head Walker’s office. What once had had an interrogational atmosphere under Basimess had been transformed into a cozy study perfect for chat and tea. The tea was warming and put Jathen at considerable ease.
Jathen decided to mention Skaniss’s harassment, though he didn’t relay the full story. “Suffice it to say, he was annoyed. And I can’t say I much blame him. Breaking rules and opening my mouth always seems to lead to the breaking of bones, usually mine. Though not in this case.”
Hausmannith took a short sip of tea. “Timing is a deserving quality to hone. Not to mention volume. Just because I said you should express your feelings didn’t mean I wanted you to spout it all out at once to someone who’s obviously disinclined to like you and who could cause harm to your person.”
“Heh, I’ll keep that in mind the next time the big lizard threatens to squish me,” Jathen replied, only to regret it immediately. Something about Hausmannith put him a little too at ease, which deepened Jathen’s suspicion that the Walker was a far stronger and broader Talent than he admitted. Unfortunately, his own massive lack of Ability left Jathen deficient in any way to be certain.
Hausmannith put his cup down. “Why do you think Skaniss dislikes you so, Jathen?”
“He’s a slaga’s ass, and I’m a moot.” Jathen shrugged, taking liberty to curse in front of the Walker with a mild enjoyment. “He always has. And he’s not the only one.”
“It has been my experience that people rarely hate for hate’s sake. There is usually some deeper reasoning.”
“My mother tried to sell me that when I was little. ‘Oh, they’re just bullying you because they’re insecure. Try being their friend, and they’ll be nicer.’” Jathen swirled his tea. The cups were indigo glazed with white speckles, and the dark tea looked like thrashing waves. “I get it. I do. There’s probably some reason Skaniss, a decorated captain of the guard with the king’s favor, chooses to continuously berate a poor little moot. I bet everyone he outranks feels his wrath. Maybe he has something to prove because his mommy didn’t coddle him enough as a hatchling. I don’t know.” He put the cup down and met the Walker’s eyes. “The point is: I don’t care. Skaniss does what he does, and there isn’t much I can do to change it, short of sprouting my own claws and wings and putting his nose in the dirt.”
“You are probably right.”
Jathen almost spilled his tea. “Really?”
Hausmannith chuckled. “What do you expect me to say, Jathen? Ideally, if one can learn what is the cause of someone’s actions, one might be able to alter how they act or react. However, when someone like you comes along who is a target for anyone to take out their own insecurities on, it’s nearly impossible to offset all of them without eventually resorting to a behavioral hierarchy they understand: Whoever beats the crap out of the other one is the winner. It’s instinctual, it’s bestial, and unfortunately, it’s very much Tazu.”
Jathen laughed. “So you’re admitting I’m doomed to a life of bruises?”
“No, I’m saying if you cannot beat them, and you cannot join them, then you might want to consider getting around them.”
“And how does one do that?”
“Quite a few ways. I have to admit your sister’s
idea of falsified blackmail was rather effective.”
“You are joking, right?”
“Only somewhat. That’s the interesting part. The very interesting part is that for real blackmail to work, you would have to dig into Skaniss’s past to find something.”
“And maybe stumble across why he hates me so much in the first place.”
“Either way, you’d have an advantage.”
Jathen smiled, conceding the well-played point. The Walker was like the Montage Temple—beautiful inside and out, undeniably admirable, giving warmth and comfort to thousands—yet coupled with a spiritual overtone that fascinated and confused Jathen, as it was something he knew was there but could not see.
The two chatted about inconsequential things for the remainder of the time: what Hausmannith thought of the city, places to see in Kidwellith, what colors Jephue’s hair had been recently.
A bit later, Skaniss appeared in the study doorway. “Your mother wishes your return. Move.”
“It seems I am summoned.” Jathen reined in his annoyance, and put down his cup. “Thank you for the tea, Master Hausmannith.”
“Thank you for the conversation, Highness.” The Walker stood and inclined his head. “Your presence is an honor, and one I hope recurs.”
The stint into the formal confused Jathen, as he was generally unused to a proper prince’s treatment and such seemed out of character for the Walker. Then he spied the tilt of Hausmannith’s jade eyes, slanted at Skaniss. “Thank you.” Jathen wondered what point the Walker was trying to make and to whom. “It will.”
“Good.” Hausmannith smiled. “And good luck.”
When Jathen stepped outside, followed by a glowering Skaniss, he found Eglestonith sitting on his haunches in tyrn form. His gray six-point wings quavered with almost every twitch of his tail, and his white claws clicked impatiently on the steps.
Eglestonith bowed. “Highness.”