by Cindy Dees
She and Regalo made their obeisances to the Emperor and she made sure not to skimp on the depth of her curtsy or the length of time she held it. While she was thus contorted, she heard a commotion behind her. Someone else made an entrance to the chamber.
Starfire hurried in and bowed briefly. “Your Resplendent Majesty, I attend at your request. My humble apologies for making you wait.”
Maximillian sat down upon his throne, taking a moment to adjust his robes. He looked up, casting a razor-sharp look at his assembled subjects. A look of decision crossed his face, and only then did he announce in supreme boredom, “Speak, Starfire.”
The chamberlain indicated that they could rise, and Gabrielle straightened. She was startled to see that Princess Endellian had slipped into the room and stood at her father’s right hand. The symbolism of her position was not lost on Gabrielle. A dangerous woman, Endellian, heir to a throne that would never be vacated by her immortal sire.
Gabrielle gritted her teeth as Tyviden gave a more or less accurate account of the events leading up to Darius smashing his fist into the Kothite’s nose, but spun in such a way that he appeared to be entirely the victim. It galled her that he was allowed to act so badly and her man was arrested for merely doing his duty.
Although kings and queens technically held similar rank to High Lords and Ladies, the reality was that Kothites took precedence above all others. The Council of Kings was also technically a governing body, but everyone knew they were merely a rubber stamp for Maximillian’s decisions. The Emperor might make a show of appeasing one of his powerful kings tonight, but in reality, Starfire was guaranteed to get away with his atrocious behavior. And Darius was guaranteed to pay.
Her indignation must have been palpable, for the Emperor glanced over at her more than once during Starfire’s recitation.
When the whoreson was finished, Maximillian asked with deceptive mildness, “Have you something to add, Queen Gabrielle?”
As much as she burned to defend her loyal defender, she must not. “No, Your Resplendent Majesty. Nothing.” The words were acid on her tongue. They ate at her spirit, which was, of course, exactly Maximillian’s intent in voicing the question in the first place.
Regalo took a breath as if to speak, then waited for the Emperor’s permission as protocol dictated.
“Speak, Your Noble Highness of Haraland.”
She took it as a good sign that the Emperor was dropping Starfire’s title and honorific, but using her husband’s. It was a clear signal of Maxmillian’s displeasure with his High Lord.
Regalo spoke formally. “If it pleases Your Resplendent and Just Majesty, we acknowledge Sir Darius’s error and cannot forgive it. However, I would like to offer the fire of youth and his extreme eagerness to protect his queen as explanation. He mistakenly perceived a threat where there was none.” Gabrielle caught the subtle emphasis Regalo placed on the word “mistakenly,” as if perhaps his knight had not been mistaken at all. Surely Maximillian caught it as well.
Her husband finished, “There can be no excuse for his rash and reckless behavior other than excessive zeal to serve.”
“Your knight punched me in the nose!” Starfire exclaimed.
“Would you not love to have ten thousand knights as eager as Darius and so devoted to you?” Regalo observed dryly to Maximillian.
Gabrielle noted that not by a single hair’s breadth did Regalo’s gaze stray toward Starfire, even though that last comment was clearly a veiled criticism directed at the High Lord.
Maximillian’s eyes flickered briefly with amusement at her husband’s smoothly delivered dig. She spotted a hint of annoyance in the Emperor’s eyes as he glanced over at the High Lord, who had obviously caused this whole stew. Gabrielle closed her eyes in a moment of abject gratitude. The stars bless Regalo’s skill at reading the Emperor’s moods. Perhaps there was a minuscule chance Darius would escape this debacle alive, after all.
The Emperor sat silent upon his throne until she thought she might die of the suspense. Was it possible he was rethinking his decision? Turning his attention away from the insolent mortal who punched a High Lord and toward the failings of the High Lord, himself?
Abruptly the Emperor ordered, “Let the prisoner stand forth.”
Darius was dragged upright. Stoic to the last, he stood at attention and stared straight ahead at nothing. Pride for Haraland’s native son swelled in her bosom.
“I find your devotion to your queen touching. I also find you guilty of treason against the person of Dread High Lord Tyviden Starfire. And in consequence, I hereby strip you of…”—a pause, and then Maximillian uttered lightly, “… everything.”
He said that last word so simply, so matter-of-factly, that the import of it did not fully register upon Gabrielle until he leaned forward on his throne, glaring down at Darius. “You shall have no country, no queen, no rank.” The slightest of pauses. “And no name. Henceforth, you will be known as … Krugar.”
Gabrielle suppressed a shudder. Krugar was the name of a nasty little man in Haraland whom Darius had caught tricking unwed mothers into indenture under illegal contracts that amounted to slavery and working them and their young children nigh unto death. Darius despised the fellow and for good reason. The Emperor must have plucked the name from Darius’s mind as someone her knight hated.
Now why would the Emperor take away Darius’s name? The rest of it was no great surprise. But his name?
Ammertus made a sound of disgust, bit off quickly, but not before enough of it escaped to express his opinion of the Emperor’s sentence.
Starfire declared with gleeful viciousness, “Traitors do not deserve to wear the blazon of a king.”
He started to reach for Darius, no doubt to rip off the knight’s Haraland badge, but Regalo stepped smoothly in front of Starfire, saying, “You are correct, High Lord. I placed the colors upon him. It is up to me to remove them.”
Gabrielle watched in open grief as Regalo used his small ceremonial dagger to carefully slice the stitching holding Darius’s house badge and badge of knighthood from his tabard.
Regalo stepped back, remarking casually, “Not that what he wears upon his clothing matters, anyway. It is the mark upon his spirit that counts.”
Starfire opened his mouth to make a retort, but Maximillian interjected first. “Indeed.”
She threw Regalo a look of abject gratitude not only for sparing Darius the humiliation of Starfire ripping off his blazons, but also for reminding her knight that his honor was writ upon his soul and not his shirt.
Maximillian was speaking again. “As for you, Krugar. I shall leave your memory intact that you may know him whom you insulted, and that you may never forget the reason for your fall from grace. If, however, you make any attempt to contact any person or persons from your past, they will not live long enough to utter your true name.”
The extent of the Emperor’s punishment dawned slowly on Gabrielle. Darius would have no home and no title … but furthermore, he would have no honor, no reputation that lived beyond him, no noble death. He had been banished to obscurity, never to be remembered, never to be spoken of fondly by family, friends, or his fellow knights. Even his honorable sacrifice for her and for Haraland was to be stripped from him. For a knight, it was a more cruel punishment than death.
The Emperor continued. “I banish you and your zeal permanently to Haelos to spend the rest of your days serving me in the Imperial Army.”
So. The Emperor had plans for her knight. Except he was her knight no more. Sadness flowed through her. Such a waste of a fine man. She amended her thoughts hastily. If Darius could be of more use serving the Emperor, then his life was not wasted, after all. Not in the least. An honor to have a Haraland man serve His Resplendent Majesty.
A … ripple … passed through the room, seeming to emanate from the throne. And a great, dark, surging power responded to the call. It felt as though a monstrous beast roused from the depths of the earth below their feet and heaved to life
, spewing its evil with every breath. Alien, focused intent to destroy rolled over Gabrielle’s mind like air surging from a smith’s bellows, and yet her hair did not stir in the awful breeze of its passing. She frowned, and found herself blinking a few times to clear her head.
She realized with a jolt that the Emperor was speaking once more and she was not attending to him. “… beloved queen shall remain here, bereft of your protection—another shame for you to live with, Krugar.”
Shame … and a threat against her. The shackled prisoner must be a Haralander, although she could not place his face. Krugar’s gaze flickered briefly toward her at Maximillian’s words. He, too, had caught the implied threat. If he stepped out of line or in any way failed the Emperor, the consequences would land upon her head.
Gabrielle winced. It was not that she feared the Emperor’s wrath, although she certainly did. Any sane person would. But she winced at how thoroughly Maximillian had locked this man, Krugar, into his punishment. For the barest instant something felt strange about that name, but then the feeling passed.
Maximillian continued, “You shall be sent to the furthest outpost of the Empire buried in the most remote forest of the northern colony, Krugar, where you shall impart your zeal to serve me and my empire to the Imperial Army legion there. Whether you succeed or fail, live or die, I leave to you and your own industry or lack thereof. You shall depart immediately.”
Gabrielle murmured the ritual response along with everyone else in the chamber. “So shall it be.”
Regalo touched her arm, reminding her to make her obeisance to the Emperor. She did so with alacrity. This Krugar fellow would live, at any rate. Not many prisoners who came before the Emperor could claim that.
“My deepest gratitude for the mercy and wisdom you have bestowed upon my house,” Regalo intoned as he bowed beside her.
A foreboding that great events had been set in motion this night filled her for a moment, but then the Emperor spoke, erasing the sensation. “Indeed,” Maximillian replied as dry as dust.
Oh yes. Repayment for tonight’s favor would be demanded. And part of it would be the agony of anticipation while she and her husband waited to learn the shape it would take.
* * *
Endellian turned to her father the moment the golden doors clanged shut behind the departing Haralanders and the prisoner. She murmured in alarm, “Father, we and the archdukes talked about this. I thought we agreed you would not call upon … that thing … again, so soon. It has been barely a century since you released its power in the north.”
Maximillian snapped, “Have a little faith in me, Princess. I see clearly what needs to be done. This was necessary. Let us not forget I have ruled for thousands of years. I do not invoke such power lightly!”
“I worry about you—”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Speak of it no more.” But his tone was more affectionate than angry. And in truth, she should accept that he was, at all times, in control of everything within his Empire. For a bare instant she wondered what it would be like if he were not, and a shudder of dismay rippled through her. She’d heard the stories of mad Maximillian II, and it was a bad time for Koth.
She subsided behind her father’s shoulder, her worry not entirely assuaged. Great avalanches began with one tiny pebble. Then another. And before long the entire mountain was crashing down.
“As for you, Tyviden…,” her father commented, jarring her from her dark thoughts.
The High Lord bowed elaborately to Maximillian. “My gratitude is boundless that you took swift action to punish that cur, Your Majesty.”
She picked up speculation in his voice. Curiosity. He, too, wondered why Maximillian had resorted to such terrible and dangerous power to wipe out the name of a simple soldier. Too smart for his own good, Starfire. Always looking for an angle to manipulate and harm others.
The line of Ammertus thrived on others’ despair and fear, operated from a place of chaos and rage. While her father was a pillar of strength and control, of will over all, Ammertus and his demi-scion son were the polar opposite. It was no surprise that Ammertus had earned the honorific “Dread.” It fit him … and his son.
Unease settled in her stomach that Starfire and the line of Ammertus had come into play at this particular moment in time. It made an already-complicated situation even more complicated. Why the escalation of events, so many and so sudden? This confluence of disturbing threads was unlike anything she’d seen in her long existence to date.
She turned her attention back to Starfire fidgeting before her father. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it, she felt the frustration roiling within him. He’d wanted blood from Haraland’s man. Did he not understand that taking away a man’s identity, a man’s place in history, a man’s hope, was worse punishment than death? Her father had proven that over and over through the centuries of his reign by doing the same to entire nations, entire races. It broke them more surely than the most devastating war upon them.
A flash of Maximillian’s thoughts came to her mind. Ammertus and Anton Constantine were cut from the same cloth. She had to agree. At the end of the day, they were greedy, lustful, self-indulgent, self-aggrandizing thugs. The old warden, Henrik Volen, had been firmly her father’s man, but Anton was … not.
“Have I not served you well, Your Resplendent Majesty—” Starfire started.
Maximillian cut him off, his voice resonating with irritation. “I know who got me my Black Ships.”
Her eyebrows lifted. Her father rarely slapped a noble—metaphorically—so openly. He must be more annoyed than she’d sensed. For his part, Ammertus seemed to soak up the tension in the chamber like a thirsty sponge.
Maximillian leaned forward, his voice growing in anger as he addressed Starfire. “By what right do you involve the Heart in a scandal at my court and potentially strain our ancient relationship with them? And then you anger the king of a powerful nation and a good friend of this throne? He is my subject to do with as I will.”
Endellian contained a flare of amusement. Would Starfire be subtle enough to understand he’d just been told not to play with the Emperor’s toys? That he was replaceable, and he had shown himself not to be entirely and loyally her father’s man? She doubted it.
Her father continued, glaring, “You went too far this time, Starfire.”
Ammertus blustered, mayhap just now realizing the depths of his liege’s ire, “He’s young … impulsive … a small prank—”
Starfire added hastily, “My apologies, Your Majesty. I did not mean—”
Maximillian cut them both off. “You have offended the throne. Embarrassed yourself. Created tension and bad feelings with the Heart that I shall have to repair. For this, I am sending you away.”
“Where to?” Starfire managed to croak.
“Go south. To Georwell. Traverse the Bridge of Ice.”
Starfire and Ammertus stared, appalled, as well they should be. Although many Kothites had crossed the Bridge in search of fame and fortune, none had ever returned from the other side. The Bridge was not actually made of ice; rather, it was always covered in ice. It was made of titanwood and stretched south into the Sea of Glass as far as the eye could see. Given that it was giant made, one could assume it stretched across the entire sea to some unknown location. Being sent across it was tantamount to a death sentence.
Maximillian was speaking again. “Bring me back something … interesting … from the other side. New. Powerful. Impress me.” The real meaning of her father’s words hung unspoken in the air. Not only must you survive this test, but you must prove to me that I should reinstate you in my good graces at court.
“But Your Majesty,” Ammertus spluttered. “First my daughter, and now my son? I cannot bear the loss—”
Maximillian cut him off sharply, but with a certain sympathy. “I would have annihilated any other high lord who acted so egregiously toward one of my kings. It is out of consideration for your loss that I spared your scion.”
Starfire stared thunderstruck and, for once, entirely speechless. Although she contained her reaction better than the High Lord, Endellian shared his shock.
What game did her father play at, now? Even the Emperor did not lightly sentence a demi-scion to death. They were the grandchildren of the greater beings, children of the scions of the greater beings, and immortal themselves unless brought to an untimely death by some special means.
Maximillian had taken a series of quick, forceful actions in the past few minutes that were entirely unlike him. Normally, he was thoughtful and deliberate in his decisions, diabolically so. Moreover, she got the distinct impression he was not finished, yet, this night.
Perhaps the oracle’s prophecy of the end had shaken her father more than he’d initially let on. Now was probably not the time to share what else Laernan had shown her, the other things the oracles had been revealing about this nameless threat destined to emerge from the wilds to threaten the Empire.
* * *
Anton fretted every second the Emperor was absent. So close. He could taste the heft and weight of yon iron key in his palm. His impatience to officially be the governor was almost too much to stand. He itched to examine his new swords more closely, but it would not be seemly to do so in front of the assembled court. Let them see him accept such a shockingly extravagant gift as casually as if it was his due.
A veritable eternity after he’d disappeared, Maximillian finally reappeared in the doorway behind the throne, accompanied by Princess Endellian. Anton barely refrained from scowling at her for her untimely interruption earlier.
“Now where were we?” Maximillian said. “Ahh, yes. A governor for Dupree.”
Anton took a deep breath and held it as the Emperor continued.
“I hereby appoint former warden Henrik Volen to be the first governor of the colony of Dupree.”