by Anna Banks
Sethos jumps to his feet, startling all present as his chair topples over behind him. His nostrils flare, his eyes wild. Tarik is wise enough to dread whatever words his brother carries on his tongue.
Sethos points at the Lady Gita. “You can tell King Ankor that I would sooner wed a hairless mule than his upstart daughter!”
“Sethos, enough!” Tarik bellows even before his brother is finished, but Sethos won’t be quieted. He points his accusing finger at Tarik now.
“Everyone else may bow to your wishes, but I’ll not allow you control of my life! I’d rather spend the rest of it in shackles than be tethered to that shrew.”
Lady Gita is on her feet as well, her staff shaking in her hands. She moves faster than an old woman should. “This is outrageous! I’ll not allow you to insult Princess Tulle with such viciousness.” She glares at Tarik. “A fine prince of Theoria indeed! He has no respect for his own king, and even less for his future bride. When King Ankor hears of this, I can assure you there will be dire consequences. And to think I almost fettered the good Princess Tulle to the likes of that appalling brute!”
“Sethos,” Tarik growls, “you will apologize at once.”
“Sethos, please,” Sepora pleads, “do calm down.”
“I won’t,” he says with venom, and in that moment he resembles an enraged bull ready to strike at anything that moves. He has a savage look about him, his manner unstable. Sethos has reached his temper’s threshold. During all the negotiations, his brother has sat quietly without so much as a snide remark—a sign Tarik should not have taken as comfort. He knows there is no reasoning with his brother at this point, the way there is no reasoning with a scorpion, once provoked. He must remove his brother from the room before all is lost.
Lady Gita whips her outermost coat behind her and taps Tarik’s desk with her staff. “There will be no wedding,” she says, her ire and shock tightening her lips into a white line. “And no alliance. You can be assured of that. Prepare yourself, Highness. Prepare yourself for what is to come!” With that, she sweeps out of the room, taking all hope of peace with her.
13
SEPORA
My bedchamber is the only place I feel safe visiting with my mother. The castle is abuzz with the way Lady Gita had stormed out this afternoon, at the way she’d mounted her great white bear, then spat upon the dirt beneath them both before she vacated the palace grounds, her guards barely able to keep up with her. Right away, Mother had summoned me to my chambers, eager to hear all that had taken place.
Even now, she sits across me in the seating area near the balcony, eyes wide with horror. With one hand, she covers over her gasp. “He refused to marry Princess Tulle? And insulted her to her own ambassador?”
“I’m afraid so,” I tell her. I desperately want to defend Sethos to my mother, but the words elude me. I know Sethos has a temper, and he’s always made it clear that he did not want to wed Tulle. I had always assumed, though, that he would do what is best for Theoria. After his outrageous display just hours earlier, how can I assure Mother that Sethos has good intentions? Even I don’t believe that anymore.
Mother rubs her temples with her fingertips. “This will not do. Oh, this will not do at all. Don’t you see, Magar? This will mean certain war.”
“Yes.”
“Where is Sethos now?”
“Tarik has called for his imprisonment. I haven’t had a chance to speak with him about it.”
“What is there to speak of? He blatantly disobeyed his king and started a war in the process. The Falcon King is right to jail him.”
“Sethos is his brother,” I say, astonished. “And a prince of Theoria. He does not belong in chains.” Although right now, it would not bother me to see Sethos given a lesson in humility. For all his arrogance, I thought he had at least a fraction of reason within him.
Still, I cannot be too hypocritical. I have made plenty of brash decisions, decisions that affected a great number of people. Decisions that could be considered selfish.
Mother sniffs. “Sethos did not seem to care about that fact when he was so busy looking after his own needs and not the kingdom’s. The Falcon King rules with a strong mind. You’d do well to emulate him, Magar.” She leans forward, pulling her thick braid around and caressing it with her fingers, unaware of how her words sting. Still, it is not lost on me that this is the only sign of fidgeting my mother ever shows. “Your father will take advantage of this situation. He will insist that it is only logical that you Forge. That our kingdoms arm themselves with as much cratorium as we can produce.”
“He may be right,” I say, defeated. “Hemut is not weak. Its army is vast and well trained.”
“You must not give in, Magar. Wars have been fought—and won—in the past without the need for cratorium. This will be no different. Theoria has their powerful Majai force. Serubel has a suitable army to complement them. No, Forging is not the answer.”
I stand, walking to the balcony. Despite its size, my bedchamber seems to be closing in on me. I had hoped to confide in Mother about Bardo. Now I see that there is no need. I must Forge. Yes, the united forces of Theoria and Serubel may be able to defeat Hemut. But cratorium will end a war much sooner—and with fewer casualties. Fewer Theorian casualties. Fewer Serubelan casualties. This is what Father will say.
This is what Tarik will be thinking.
Oh, how I hate Sethos at this moment.
“You cannot carry the weight of this on your shoulders, child,” Mother says. “Let the kings discuss this. Let us see what they decide. Your Falcon King is wise and respects that you do not wish to Forge. After they have spoken, then we will determine what our next course of action will be. I will speak to your father. You mustn’t worry, child. All will be well.”
“Yes, Mother.”
But I alone possess the power to make all well again. And Sethos has forced my hand.
14
TARIK
Tarik was not expecting to find Sepora waiting for him in his bedchamber, and especially so late in the evening. She had been particularly quiet at the evening meal as her father ranted on and on about how they should be preparing for war with Hemut, not even attempting to mask his suggestions that Sepora should be forced to Forge. Wise Queen Hanlyn did little to calm her husband, as it was plain that he would not be placated, and especially not openly, for others to hear. The entire meal had been exhausting, and Tarik had thought Sepora would retire early after having been subjected to the ordeal. Even Tarik had wished to do so.
Yet here Sepora stands, leaning upon the threshold of the arched balcony entranceway, hands folded in front of her, her feet bare and her hair let down in all its glory. She is here to speak privately of the day’s events, he knows. He wonders if they will someday make this a ritual, performing their duties as required during the day and confiding in each other at night. He fervently hopes it will be so. But so much of their future rests with her, and she can be as volatile as her father at times.
“I thought you posted Lingots at your door, Highness,” she says. “You assured Rashidi and me that you would.”
“I did, Princess.”
She pushes off the wall and seats herself in the chair closest to her. “I told your guard that you had requested my presence. He let me in immediately.”
“It’s as it should be. I’d instructed my guards to let you in, under any circumstances.”
“Oh.” She ponders over that for a moment. He wishes she would say something, so that perhaps he could discern her thoughts, but she seems determined to keep her reflections to herself. She has come to know him and his ability to read her well—and has learned to adapt even better. It is bittersweet, he finds.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I’d thought you’d be sound asleep by now.”
She sighs. “Would you be able to sleep after all that has happened?”
“No.”
Shaking her head, she leans back in a way that Tarik discerns as a sort of
finality. Her next words confirm it. “I have reached a decision about the matter of spectorium.”
Tarik seats himself across from her and tries not to appear as tense as he feels. He had not been aware that she had been deciding anything on the matter of spectorium. That she is even reconsidering her stance of Forging must be a good thing. A small hope settles on his heart. Perhaps he will not have to confront her after all. Perhaps she will tell him of the other Forgers. And perhaps it will be enough to forgive her. “Go on.”
“If anyone is to Forge, it will be me,” she says. “It is my duty as the queen. In any case, it isn’t likely that Bardo is ready to take on such responsibility. It is unlikely that he can control his ability enough to be of use to Cy, and what’s more, in the creation of cratorium. When you are inexperienced, it can sometimes be difficult to summon spectorium at your whim. If Forging must take place, I will be the one to do it.”
She speaks of Bardo and of herself, yet no mention of the other Forgers. A bit of his optimism disintegrates.
Still, Tarik is more than a little surprised at her mention of cratorium. He’d felt sure that she would stubbornly refuse, even now, as she has all this time. But Hemut is not to be trifled with. Neither he nor Sepora needs his leading commander to remind him of this fact. His father always instilled in him the belief that Hemut was powerful, and every effort was always to be made to keep the peace between them.
If only Sethos had been privy to those conversations.
But now, when Sepora speaks of duty, it is easy for his shock to give way to understanding. Out of duty to Theoria, she ruined her reputation today. She is becoming the queen he had hoped she would be. But what of the wife he so desperately wants?
With her promise to Forge, she speaks the truth. He just hates that she delivers it with the enthusiasm of a dead animal. And her omission about the others is as good as a lie. He cannot allow himself to forget that.
“Thank you,” he says simply, matching her colorless tone.
“Now that it is settled, we need to talk about my father. And the war with Hemut.”
“Yes. We do.”
“Wars have been won without cratorium,” she says quietly.
So, her submission in the matter of Forging was not the same as her permission to make cratorium of it. He sighs. “Commander Morg is anxious to produce it and I can’t say that I blame him. Rashidi pressures me each day to make it a priority.”
Sepora rolls her eyes. “Of course he does. I would expect nothing less.” Tarik wonders if the animosity between Rashidi and Sepora will ever end. To say it would be a relief would be an understatement; their bickering and differences of opinions seem to pull him in opposite directions sometimes. Both are precious to him. Both are valuable to the kingdom. But both want different things. Rashidi wants Sepora to Forge. Sepora wants Rashidi to eat his own walking stick.
Why must he always choose between them? Should he choose between them? He doesn’t know anymore.
“Hemut is strong, Sepora. A swift end to the war means more lives saved. If we used cratorium from the start, we would defeat them with few casualties. Fewer Theorians die, fewer Serubelans. Is that not what you want?”
“I think you misunderstand my request,” she says. “It is not the war I’m concerned about. It’s my father I don’t trust. Giving him access to cratorium would be a mistake.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“Then what will you do?”
He presses his lips together. He and Rashidi have discussed the matter at length. As long as King Eron keeps up his pretense of peace, there is nothing he really can do. Withholding cratorium from Eron’s armies would offend him and give him a reason to turn on Theoria. In the midst of a war with Hemut, that would be disastrous. Not withholding the cratorium would give Eron the means to turn on Theoria. It is a difficult thing to contemplate. “I’m not sure yet.”
“How long do you think we have before Hemut attacks?”
“Lady Gita will be arriving home to tell Ankor of the news in a matter of days. It will take at least a week to assemble his army, and another few days to move it to Theoria. The heat may slow them, but not much.”
Sepora scowls. “That is not a long time.”
“It could be longer. But given the insult, I think he will rush straight to our boundaries.”
“And how long will you keep Sethos imprisoned?”
“Until I feel better.” And the matter is not up for discussion. The very mention of his brother makes his blood simmer. Even now, he clenches his jaw to refrain from uttering expletives Sepora is not meant to hear. Sethos has endangered the entire kingdom. Still, Tarik knows he himself is partly to blame. Himself, and his father, King Knosi. He gave Sethos too much freedom, too much leniency. Tarik hadn’t wanted to upturn his brother’s world after their father died, but he should have slowly begun to rein him in, adjust him to the life of a prince. After all, Sethos cannot shun his duties forever.
Yet, that is exactly what he has just done. And now Tarik must deal with the consequences.
“I’d rather not discuss my brother at the moment, if it’s all the same to you.”
Sepora looks as though she would say more but crosses her arms instead. She studies him for a long time. It’s a maddening habit of hers of late, to consider him without expression, without so much as a clue to what she could be thinking. No doubt Master Saen has taught her many effective ways of eluding a Lingot. And apparently Sepora is a zealous study.
After an endless silence, she says, “I will begin Forging in the morning. But for now, I think it’s wise to keep this from my father. Perhaps even my mother.”
Tarik is more than surprised to hear this. Thus far, Sepora has shown a certain loyalty to her mother that, until now, he had deemed unbreakable. What has changed? And does her mother know of the others? Ask her, you dolt. But still, he cannot. Cannot, or will not. “You think your mother will side with your father in using it?”
“No. But she advises me not to Forge out of fear my father will take advantage. If she finds out that I—it’s just that I do not want to disappoint her, if you must know.”
So. She is going against her mother’s wishes in order to aid him. It is more than he ever could have asked for. No, not more. It’s precisely what she should have done to begin with. The same bitterness settles over him. He will not thank her for something that should have been her duty all along. And he has more than that to discuss with her. “I think you’re making a wise decision.” It’s all he can offer her at the moment.
She stands. “We must protect Theoria. And in doing so, I’m protecting Serubel as well.” She looks at him sideways. “It is another secret we must share together. You must tell Rashidi not to open his flytrap of a mouth about it, too.”
“And what will I tell Rashidi about the others?”
She tilts her head. “Others?”
“Yes, Sepora. The other Forgers in the Baseborn Quarters. What will I tell him of them?”
The color leaves her face as water from a broken vessel.
He runs a hand through his hair. “So. You did know about them. You knew, and you didn’t tell me, even when I asked. You remember our engagement procession? You remember me asking if you kept anything else from me?”
“I … I did not remember at that moment of the other Forgers.”
It is the truth. Pride of the pyramids, at least she did not lie to his face then. But what about the time that has passed since? He finds it difficult to believe that when considering whether she would Forge for him, she did not also think of them. “You have kept this from me. How long have you known?”
She takes a seat again and folds her hands in her lap. “Since before I knew I could trust you.”
“Are you so sure you trust me at all, Sepora? Not once did you think of the other Forgers since our engagement procession?”
Sepora removes her gaze from his and fixes it to the stone floor. “I did not feel that mentioning it was
necessary if I was going to Forge.”
“It was necessary for our trust, Sepora. And now I’m afraid that has been irretrievably broken.”
Her eyes fly toward him. “What are you saying?”
He inhales, still not ready to utter his next words. “I’m saying that our engagement is off. You may tell your parents on your own time; I’ll not force your hand in that. I will play the part until you have told me otherwise. I will make a diplomatic announcement to the kingdom when the time is right. But we will not wed. I’ll not have a wife I cannot trust.”
Just as quickly as her color had drained from her features, it returns with an ire he has not yet seen. Her cheeks fill with blood, her eyes near slits glaring up at him. “You allowed me to make a fool of myself today in front of Lady Gita. You allowed me to ruin my reputation, to humiliate myself, all for the sake of your glorious Theoria. And now this?” She shakes her head. “You are not the king I thought you were.”
The painful truth, as she believes it. She sweeps up and out of the chair.
And then she is gone.
15
SEPORA
A plump tear slides down my cheek, pausing momentarily at the tip of my nose before plummeting to the pillow beneath my head. I pull my blanket up over my face as a shield against the midnight moonlight spilling in from the balcony in my chambers. In my old servant’s quarters, I had only one entrance to the balcony; the cloudless sky and moonlight did not bother me so much then. Now I have five entryways to the balcony, and the sheer tapestries do little to block the luminous orb from interrupting my sleep.