by Gwynn White
With a bit of a shuffle, Felix, Tao, and the men assembled themselves into two rows down the length of the hall—a guard of honor to welcome Lukan. Once everyone stood at attention, Artyom lifted the trumpet off an elaborate mounting on the wall, shaped like the Dragon. It had been used for generations to summon the emperor. Before he could raise the mouthpiece to his lips, the door flew open, and Lukan barged into the room.
“Sorry I’m late.” Sweat gleamed on Lukan’s face as if he had just run twenty laps around the palace gardens.
That was not the only instance where all similarity to Lukan, master of appearances, ended. His nephew’s face was even more haggard than Felix’s, if that were possible. This wreck of a man seemed a shadow of the crown prince who had so glibly threatened Felix just a day before and then casually announced to the Fifteen that he would kill them if they didn’t support him.
What could possibly have gone wrong in Lukan’s life?
Yet another mystery to add to the mounting mysteries.
Every man in the line, Felix included, stiffened.
“Highness, I was about to summon you,” Artyom said, not bothering to hide his annoyance at the breach of etiquette.
Lukan’s jaw dropped. A flush of red crossed his face. “Of course.”
His hands flew up, and he took a couple of steps back toward the door.
Artyom sighed and gave a short blast of the trumpet before waving Lukan into the archway of saluting men. As Lukan moved down the line, the slight reluctance in each man’s bow came as no surprise. Lukan stopped at the heavy double doors leading into the throne room.
“Allow His Imperial Highness, Crown Prince Lukan Avanov, to enter,” Artyom declared to the guardsmen on duty.
The guardsmen swung open the doors.
First Lukan, and then everyone else, passed into the long, narrow chamber. Flags hung from the vaulted ceiling, one from every nation Chenaya had conquered. Felix bowed his head to the black, red, and gold Dragon on the wall behind the elaborate gold throne at the head of the hall. Monstrous in size, the Dragon dwarfed the throne, the room, and everyone in it.
That was just how it should be. An implacable force, the Avanov Dragon had outlasted four hundred years of emperors, and, if Felix had anything to do with it, would outlive another four hundred years of them.
Rows of ornately carved, high-backed wooden chairs lined two opposing walls, a High Councilman’s name engraved on a wooden plaque above each. Axel’s seat, to the left of Felix’s, stood empty thanks to that rat Morass.
Tao grimaced at Felix as he took his seat on the right.
For the occasion, another piece of furniture had been added to the room—a lead-lined coffin containing the remains of Emperor Mott Avanov. On it lay the sable coronation robe and the scepter and orb that would pass to Lukan as a sign of loyalty after the councilmen pledged their allegiance at the end of this meeting. The crown would be conferred later that day at his official coronation.
While Felix had dressed that morning, he had idly wondered what he would feel at the sight of his dead brother’s coffin.
He snapped his lips closed; he felt nothing but pleasure for Mott’s rotting corpse. Since the shooting, the coffin had lain in the great hall for Mott’s subjects to cry crocodile tears over. By the end of today, he would be shoved into the family crypt and forgotten. Tao and Lukan had decided not to hold an official funeral for their brutal father. No one had objected.
Felix stood at attention while Lukan, who had farther to walk, made his way to the front of the room. Lukan stopped below the dais, where the enormous gold throne was situated. Still exuding panicked despair, the crown prince took a deep breath, rubbed his hands on his trousers, and then turned to face his counts. His eyes were fixed on one spot at the end of the room, a little above the men’s heads.
A scuffle caught Felix’s attention. Unaided, Morass dragged a chair into the throne room. He slotted it at the end of a line, next to Count Pavel, who sneered at him and then looked away.
Lukan caught Morass’s eye, a deeply questioning look on his face. Morass nodded, and Lukan seemed to relax a little.
Then silence.
Everyone looked to Count Artyom Zarot to open the proceedings.
Artyom bowed. “Your Highness, before we pledge our allegiance, I understand that certain of our members have some questions they wish to present.” He bowed again and turned to the Fifteen. “Gentlemen, the floor is yours.”
He returned to his seat, the signal for everyone, except Lukan, to sit.
Felix scanned the faces of his colleagues, wondering who their spokesman would be and if any mention would be made of Lukan’s breach of protocol. Felix was too wise to speak in such forums, where mental notes were taken of offences, perceived or real.
Count Vasily, who commanded Zakar satrapy, where the empire’s factories where hidden, cleared his throat. His enormous bulk rippling, he heaved himself from his chair. It took him a moment to catch his breath. “Highness, the last week has seen some astonishing changes in Chenaya.” A podgy hand waved at the coffin. “Your father is dead but, perhaps, not as lamented as he would have liked. Warlord Avanov is lying in an infirmary, not in Cian, but in”—Vasily swept his arm out wide, making his skin wobble—“Norin!”
Heads shook and men tsked in controlled outrage at Axel’s shooting. It warmed Felix’s heart.
“If that is not enough,” Vasily wheezed, “we have a new High Councilman.” Another hand wave, this time at Morass. “A count, no less—and along with that, a new division of duties between him and Count Felix.” He clipped his thumbs behind his lapels and pushed his belly out even further. “These are matters that distress the High Council.”
Lukan took so long to reply that a few of the men began to shuffle in their seats. Finally, he seemed to come to himself. With more of the bravado Felix had seen of late, he walked over and rested his elbow on his father’s coffin. A strong power play, it would have felt less contrived if Lukan’s eyes had not flickered with uncertainty.
“We face a most uncertain future filled with war and—and change.” The crown prince’s voice sounded hesitant, unrehearsed.
The Fifteen glanced at each other, doubt and questions flashing like lightning around the room.
“The war in Treven is hemorrhaging our country,” Lukan said more firmly. “This is upsetting the low-born, who carry the bulk of the losses. Mother Saskia, our Great High Priestess, has even been heard to complain of the death of her brother in Treven. It’s thanks to the mercy of Count Felix that she was spared a trip to Galec Prison Camp.”
That raised a few eyebrows, including Felix’s, that Lukan dared publicly accuse him of mercy. It would do his reputation no good if the Fifteen thought he was going soft.
“I, myself, have heard . . . rumors of impending change. The perpetrator of those has been dealt with.” Lukan waved at Morass, who kept his eyes fixed to the floor. “But we cannot purge every high-born.”
Nods of approval at Lukan’s decisive handling of the dissent, although Felix had yet to learn of any dispatched by Morass since his release from prison the day before. Did that interesting exchange between the two of them at the start of the meeting have anything to do with it? It reaffirmed to Felix that this was no prepared speech.
Still, fifteen sets of emerald-embedded faces shot around to look at Morass. The low-born, the only one to wear jasper, hunched down even further into his seat.
“These and other events I foresee in our future are unparalleled in our history,” Lukan continued. “No emperor or High Council has ever confronted the challenges that lie before us this day.” He paused again. After some throat clearing, he added, “I have plans to solve these problems and to secure our future. Felix will now use his unrivaled talents to devise and implement technology that will forever prevent insurrection.”
Muscles tense, Felix sat forward to better hear what Lukan was promising in his name.
“Unbeknown to all of you, Felix has been
working on a human host-based monitoring system called The Final Word. An apt name. It can track a human anywhere in the empire—all controlled from within this palace.”
Felix’s mouth dropped, and he gripped his chair, unable to believe Lukan would share that with the Fifteen—especially after saying so categorically that they didn’t need to know about the secret technology. After all, they were not members of the Avanov family. For generations, the Avanovs had limited how much they revealed to the High Council about the technologies used to control them.
Apart from Vasily, who oversaw Zakar and was paid handsomely for his silence—hence his gross size—none of the other Fifteen knew much of what fueled their empire and its monitoring devices. Felix had always intended to keep it that way.
It seemed that Lukan now had other plans.
Why? What had happened between last night and this morning to bring about such a radical change?
“Walls, concrete, and steel cannot stop the flow of the signal.” Lukan smiled for the first time. “It will beam a three-dimensional image of the subject onto an informa that we will watch, right here, in the palace. We will read his mind, hear his conversations, check his health, his mood, his emotions, and even his facial expressions. With one click, we can kill him.”
Felix shook with rage. How dare Lukan reveal this—this masterpiece Felix had spent decades perfecting? Almost as precious to him as his children, he had crafted every element himself, ready for the day when—
A rustle in the room interrupted his thoughts.
The Fifteen whispered to each other, their voices incredulous. One by one, they turned to Felix for confirmation. Lukan also looked at Felix, his face challenging.
Not for the first time since turning off the ice crystal in Lukan’s neck, Felix wished he could read the worm’s thoughts. He ground his teeth, fighting to keep his face expressionless as he scrambled for a reply.
“Such is the talent of Count Felix,” Lukan said, taking advantage of Felix’s hesitation. “I have a greater vision for him than playing executioner for palace rabble.”
Lukan walked down the center aisle, looking at each man in turn. “But, of course, that technology would only be used in the most extraordinary of cases. For the rest of our subjects, I have something simpler in mind.”
Felix knew exactly what was coming.
The bastard is going to announce a mass rollout of ice crystals!
Felix closed his eyes, not wanting to see Lukan’s face, but he couldn’t drown out Lukan’s hateful voice as he laid claim to another of Felix’s ideas.
“Before the last—” A hesitation. “Before the Burning, nations routinely injected their populations with serums to prevent disease.”
Felix suppressed a derisive snort. As if the Fifteen would understand. Vaccinations had been lost to everyone but the Avanovs, who saw no reason to spend resources on protecting their subjects against disease.
But it made Lukan sound both wise and knowledgeable—traits valued in an emperor. It grated to hear the plundering little thief riding the crest of Felix’s own brilliance.
“It is time we reimplemented that service amongst the low-born,” Lukan droned. “But instead of serums, we will inject them with tiny shockers, much like the priestesses wear. A sharp prick will coerce them to gather at a specific assembly point. Or, just as easily, it can force them to disperse from a place we do not wish them to be.”
The bastard is quoting the actual words from my notes!
Felix almost launched himself out of his chair to shout his outrage, but he bit down on his tongue and sat still.
“It will kill the herd instinct in our people,” Lukan said, still quoting Felix. “Insurrections happen when unruly crowds gather on street corners. But not in the Chenaya we will rule.”
The tension in the air changed. It now crackled with an excitement that was almost palpable. Only Tao remained withdrawn, lips pinched together, jaw clenched.
“These two different, but related, systems will protect us from all deviants who would wage war on us, securing our future for your posterity.”
Felix looked around. The men were grinning and slapping each other’s shoulders as if they, too, had dreamed up this technology—marvels of creation that would secure their families a share of the empire’s spoils for generations to come.
Felix shook his head in disgruntled wonder. From being despised by all, Lukan now held the High Council in the palm of his hand.
“Does that address your concerns, Count Vasily?” Lukan asked, with a smile.
The folds in Count Vasily’s face shifted into what everyone who knew him took to be a grin. “I have no further questions, Highness.”
Lukan turned toward the coffin, where his scepter and orb awaited him.
Was Felix the only one who noticed that the cretin hadn’t addressed any of the issues Vasily raised? Tao sat tight as a fist, but he didn’t move to speak.
Felix’s heart soared when Artyom leaped to his feet.
Tall and agile, Artyom had aged well, looking like a more distinguished version of his son Stefan. Only Artyom’s tongue was a lot slicker. “A moment, Highness! I have a question. Will we need to embark on more conquests to secure the resources for these projects? The treasury will be unable to support another major theatre of conflict.”
Felix grunted. What Zarot was really saying was that the Fifteen would not entertain the cost coming out of their pockets. Usually, Zarot’s infuriating tightfistedness annoyed Felix.
Not today.
Even though these were his pet projects, Felix didn’t want them implemented if they entrenched Lukan—which was clearly what the thief intended.
But that still doesn’t explain Lukan’s motives, he told himself sharply. Let me not become so enrapt that I forget the bigger picture. Felix sat back thoughtfully in his chair.
Meanwhile, the mood in the room changed again. Avaricious eyes turned to Lukan, their owners sitting on the edge of their seats.
Lukan hesitated again, and Felix could almost see his mind whirring.
“The treasury will not be asked for the money,” Lukan finally ventured. “The Avanov family will make the sacrifice to fund these operations using the excise from chenna sales.”
Again, Felix almost bolted out of his seat before he stopped himself. Lukan was spending his money! Axel’s money!
But he didn’t need to look around the room to know that Lukan had won.
The Avanovs’ centuries-old refusal to share chenna tax with the Fifteen had always been a source of contention.
Lukan leaned against the coffin, his hand lying casually next to the scepter. “If there are no other questions, perhaps we can—”
Felix caught the flash of the diamond next to Tao’s eye. He grabbed the opportunity. “Highness, I think Prince Tao has something he wishes to say.”
A flash of irritation shot across Lukan’s face, but he quickly smiled it away. He looked expectantly at his brother. “Tao?”
Tao stood, his body shaking, his face bleached white. “You cannot be serious with what you plan!” He flung his hand out toward Felix. “He has been suggesting this for years, but not even our father would agree to the mass rollout of ice crystals. And to shock the low-born to death for gathering on street corners! It is untenable.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Not to be endured. Any thinking man can see that.”
Tao glanced around the room, but the Fifteen only offered stony disagreement.
Lukan’s eyes widened, and his face flushed with what looked a lot like guilt.
Artyom stood. “It seems, Highness, that we have some dissent.” He turned to Tao. “May I suggest you consider your course carefully, Prince Tao, before answering the following question: Do you withhold your allegiance from your brother?”
Desperation and pleading in his eyes, Lukan shook his head at Tao. Felix waited for Lukan to beg, something that would instantly lose him favor with the rest of the Fifteen, who sat forward like crows waiting for the
executioner to leave the body on the block.
But Lukan didn’t say a word.
Tao’s chin dropped to his chest, and he kneaded his forehead. Then he looked up and begged, “Lukan, is it not enough that we virtually starve the low-born? Must we make their lot even harder by inflicting this kind of cruelty on them?”
Lukan frowned, and his fingers picked at the sable coronation robes lying on the coffin. “Tao, these measures are . . . preventative. If the low-born refrain from rising up against me—us—then we will have no cause to shock them.” Another pause. “There are other things we can do for them. Better supplies of food. Other medicines we can share.”
“And that makes injecting them with lethal shockers right?” Tao waved off the notion with his hands like a bad smell. “No, Lukan, this is not you. Not the brother I have known all my life.” He glared at Felix. “Why?”
Felix shrugged. Tao wasn’t the only one who wanted that answer.
“My dear prince, I am not the emperor here.” Felix gestured to Lukan.
The crown prince looked even more discomforted than he had when he gate-crashed the meeting.
“Ask him if you are unhappy with his answers about Treven and the losses our low-born, including our High Priestess, are experiencing in that war. For those are the explanations your brother has given us for this . . . development.”
“He is not emperor yet.” Tao’s face softened. “Please, my brother, don’t embark on this. If you do, I truly fear for your soul.”
“It’s too late,” Lukan said, his entire focus on Tao. “The—the damage is done.” He straightened his back. “My actions cannot be recalled. We will proceed in Chenaya as I have outlined today. You either support me or . . .” His voice trailed off.
Tao swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. “Then I seem to have no choice. I can never support a system that will allow such atrocities.” Face resolute, he bowed to Lukan. “Perhaps, instead of death, you will allow me exile to the Free Nations. I will never return. To that, I will swear.”
A flurry of emotions, none of which Felix understood, flashed across Lukan’s face. Finally, he said, “Tao, you know I cannot permit that. How can I have one set of rules for you and another for everyone else?”